Trinity: Military War Dog (50 page)

T
hey’re going to die because of me
.

The thought strangled her as the sky twisted into a cauldron of white and gray fury. Darci appreciated the warmth of the thermal blankets and the less-jarring method of carrying her. But that these men were placing their lives on the line. For her. Unacceptable.

In all, she counted four men carrying her, at least four others and Heath closely trailing her. Had he been carrying Trinity? I
thought he carried me
. Two men, shoulders burrowed and heads tucked, trailed Heath. A couple more behind them. A dozen? Why were a dozen men searching for her? Too many! She didn’t want to be responsible for that many lives. She’d seen the weight her father bore after her mother’s death and being separated from her brother. She didn’t want that burden.

She shifted her left arm and felt the familiar pinch of a needle. For what? Darci searched her mind for coherency. She didn’t feel addled. That told her they hadn’t given her morphine. Saline, most likely. Maybe antibiotics. She was, after all, missing a few fingernails.

Down the length of her body, at the foot of the stretcher that bore her, Darci locked onto Heath. He’d stormed into the hut, all bravado and good looks. Face still streaked with tactical paint, he maintained that grim determination. But beneath it … something else spoke. A certainty. A … knowing.

What was that? He’d done that at Bagram, too. One thing remained clear to her: When that man decided something, he went after it with war dog-like tenacity. Or was that just a one-day fluke? Would he press her again? Funny enough, it hadn’t bugged her the way he’d gotten into her face about hiding her feelings. She liked it. Felt drawn to it. Nothing fake there.

It reminded Darci of her parents. Especially her mother. She’d been so strong, right up to the day she never came home. Friends said she’d been taken from the street on her way home from a Bible study. It still happened today—Christians vanishing into the penal systems of countries like China, Afghanistan, Iran. And the world looked the other way, right into the mind-numbing, moral-erasing conscience of entertainment: television, movies, Internet. Anything to anesthetize their minds to things they didn’t want to deal with. Things they felt were out of their control and power. And so … they let it continue.

Then there were the men like those around her. They’d sacrificed time with their families, some sacrificed everything—even their lives—to make a difference. Fight wars nobody wanted to fight. Again, more of the same that most of the world didn’t want to face.

The sense of justice faded. But not for all. Darci felt the call burning in her from the moment her mother vanished. What put the burning in Heath to be a soldier? To fight battles? To live a brutal life? Who was he, really? What family did he leave behind? Parents? Siblings? A girlfriend?

Darci swallowed. Did he have one? Why wouldn’t he? Handsome, funny, inspiring … But he hadn’t mentioned one at the base when he took her into his arms and all but demanded she admit she liked him. And he hadn’t diverted her obvious interest.

“Thought so.”
At first, he’d come across as cocky. But it wasn’t that. He was confident. He knew how to read her. And he called her on her attraction to him.
“I see it in your eyes.”
Then he nearly kissed her. But she’d pushed him away. And now, she was afraid she would die before they made it home. Heath would never know how much she wanted to see what would happen between them, how much she regretted pushing away that kiss.

This is crazy
.

Voices drowned against the roar of the wind. The team slowed and stopped, her stretcher jarring, sending spikes of pain through her side and back.

One guy shouted to the others, but by the time his words hit the icy din, the sound was lost. Darci tried to read their faces.

Heath’s gaze skidded into hers. The left side of his lip slid upward. Then he shot a look to the man who stood shouting. An argument ensued. When he looked back at her, she mouthed the word
bomb
. Had he told them? They were up here in the swirling anger of a winter storm, but down there … at the bases … was Jianyu finally exacting his vengeance?

The thought of people losing their lives … because she’d angered a beast of a man …

One of the men supporting the side reached toward her. His large hands bathed in black gloves, he retrieved something near her shoulder. He gave her a firm nod, then slipped an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. Only as he did that did she realize what he planned. Her gaze cut to Heath’s just seconds before a blanket blacked out her visual.

No, no! Blind. I’m blind
.

At being covered, head to toe, to protect her from the driving wind and snow, Darci lifted her chin and tried to avoid the suffocating pressure that built in her chest.

No, not your chest. Your mind. It’s in your mind. You have oxygen. You’re warm
.

Being able to talk herself off the ledge was part of the reason Burnett had said she was a prime candidate for an operative. Those who didn’t fear were willing to risk too much. Fear kept a healthy balance. Maintained an awareness.

And her awareness now was that this was a smart move, to cover and protect her face and nose from the freezing elements. But she couldn’t see what was happening. Couldn’t be prepared.

Darci tried to focus on where she knew Heath to be—right at her feet. She trained her ears to listen for his steps. Wind, wind, and more wind pawed at the blanketed environment, rustling out any ability to detect noise.

Faith. Have faith
.

A swirl of panic laced through her chest.
I don’t have faith! My mother had faith
.

The thought strangled her hope. If she didn’t have faith …

No, she had to have faith. She’d grown up in a Christian church, her father’s attempt at keeping the spirit of her mother and their faith—there was that word again—alive. She’d gone through VBS, memorized the Twenty-Third Psalm, faithfully—ack! would that word not leave her alone?—attended youth group. Dated John Byrd, the most spiritual teen in their group.

When had she needed to stretch herself as she did now? Most likely she had broken ribs, and one wrong move and she’d puncture her lung. Which could be fatal without proper medical treatment. Which was impossible up here in the mountains during a storm.

“With God all things are possible.”

Okay, she knew that verse. Matthew 19 … something.

Darci groped for a tendril of hope, of faith.

What is faith?

Faith is the evidence of things … the substance …

Augh!
Why were all the verses tangling in her mind?

I get it, God. I get it. I’ve been doing it all in my own power. Living off my mom’s faith, not letting You in deep enough to risk vulnerability
.

Weightlessness clawed at her, as if she were falling.

Darci started.

The blanket pulled back. Heath hovered over her. “You okay?”

“Where…?” She tried to look around but felt pinned to the ground.

“The storm’s raging. We had to take shelter.” Heath pivoted in his crouched position, looking around. “Not much of a cave, but it’ll give us some protection for a while.”

Her mind chambered the volatile round. “The bombs. Have you told them?”

Dragging the heavy scarf off his head and neck, he shook his head miserably. “No time. Storm wouldn’t let us talk.”

“Tell them. It might not be too late.”

He nodded. “Okay, tell me what you know.”

She eased back, tracing the crooked lines of the granite-looking ceiling a foot above Heath’s close-cropped, sandy blond hair. “Just … bombs. At the bases.” She wet her dry, cracked lips and grimaced. She must be quite the sight. Then again, God had given her the chance to do this, to tell them so they could stop the attacks.
Not in my power, in Yours, Lord
. “They’re planning to hit the bases, and they’re waiting for Jianyu’s activation codes.”

“Rest, I’ll talk to Watterboy first chance I get.”

“First chance?”

Another nod, this one slower, less confident. “They’re scouting positions, trying to reestablish contact. He’s not here.” “Are we alone?”

“That a problem?”

Her cheeks tingled with unexpected warmth. “I just meant …”

“Relax, Jia. We’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugged and pursed his lips. “I … just do. Trust me, okay?” Was his face red? “I won’t—”

“Beg.”

He smirked. At least she thought he did. With the shadows and rogue snowflakes that took shelter with them, she couldn’t tell for sure.

He patted her shoulder. “Rest. Hopefully, our time here will be short.”

Deep in the Hindu Kush
Village 15 Klicks from Afghan-Chinese Border

The chair sailed through the air, straight toward the rounded wall.
Crack!
Wood splintered and shattered, raining down in a heap at the feet of Major Wang. The man had enough gall not to flinch. Blood and swelling disfigured his face.

“Is this supposed to stay my anger?” Jianyu stormed toward him. “You are already disfigured—no Yanjingshe allows a prisoner to escape. You have failed!” He raised a hand and struck the man. “You have dishonored your family and your name.”

“There was nothing I could do! I was knocked out.”

Jianyu’s temper trembled beneath the cauldron of fury. “Would you bring this excuse to your father, General Wang, and tell him you have allowed the great enemy of China, the one who stole his life work to walk out of this village—alive?”

The man lowered his head.

Hand on his weapon, Jianyu glowered. “I thought not.” He lifted the gun from its holster, aimed it at the man’s temple, and fired.

Satisfaction thrummed through his veins as he took in three large, deep breaths. Teeth ground, he stared at the lifeblood spilling out just as the man had bled Jianyu of the right to strip Meixiang of the victory she’d stolen from him, his fathers, and his ancestors.

“Feed him to the dogs,” Jianyu said as he holstered the weapon and turned back to the table and chairs.

Behind, he heard the scraping of the body as his colonel dragged it into the bitter storm. Jianyu dropped into one of the chairs and stared at the map adorning the wall. He traced the line the Americans would take, the trail he’d sent four of his elite along to track them down and kill those who had stolen from him.

“Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent’s fate.”

Sun Tzu might have succeeded in that, but Jianyu still had yet to master that tactic. Perhaps he should have withheld his anger, been more forceful with Meixiang’s questioning.

“She still holds power over you.”

Jianyu kept his gaze locked on the map. On where he imagined her to be. She was badly injured. How did she expect to survive out there, in this, the last of winter’s fury unleashed on the mountains? Why would she not listen to him, work with him, let him help her? He’d even summoned a surgeon, who had arrived with the helicopter.

“She will die in the mountains with her American counterparts.” But he hoped not.

“Do not underestimate her.”

“I have not.” Jianyu pushed out of the chair and strode to the map, hands behind his back. “Four Yanjingshe—four of the best—are on their trail.”

“A wise decision.”

Annoyed with the patronizing tone, Jianyu moved to the soiled earth. He smeared the spot with his boot, then strode to the small serving table and dumped steaming tea into a mug. He stirred honey into the warm brew.

“Honey will not sweeten what is about to happen.”

Words meant to reduce him no longer held sway over him. “Retaliation against the ones who dishonored us is sweet enough.”

“Do not take pleasure in pain.”

“I take pleasure,” Jianyu said as he returned to the table, “in delivering justice where it has gone unmet.”

“You take too much glory upon yourself, Jianyu.”

Seething at the antagonism, he settled in the chair and blew across the top of the ceramic mug. In the hot liquid, he saw his own anger. His own sense of indignation. And like a cool wind, the bitter herb of revenge sailed across it. Sated it. Reminded him to be patient in the journey. To let the leaves settle, the flavor imbued in the hot water, filling every cell of flavor, till the drink was consumed.