Operation Zulu Redemption: Hazardous Duty - Part 3 by Ronie Kendig Read Free Book Online Page B

Reiker?”
    Her heart spasmed, and her mouth went dry. She couldn’t move. How would he know her name, her
real
name? She hadn’t used it in Greece at all. Which put this man on the deadly side of the Richter scale.
    With a nervous glance down both ends of the hall, he pushed a large hand through a mop of tangled, dirty-blond hair. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can I come in? I–I’m not safe.”
    “Tell me who you are first.” She said, easing her weapon to a visible position.
    His gaze went to the weapon. “H–hey. Easy now. . . .” He licked his lips. “You’re looking for me. I–I’m Carl Loring.”

Trace
Somewhere over Salamina, Greece
2 June – 0515 Hours EEST
    Sitting on the edge of the Black Hawk, boots dangling in the predawn air, Trace used his thermal scope to scan the forest below. Boone and Caliguari were scoping the terrain as well. Three pairs of eyes were better than two, though Trace hated having the guy with him.
    Hated that it was possible Caliguari would find her first.
    The thought pushed Trace to pay attention.
    “I’ve got something,” Boone spoke through the coms. “Chopper’s two.”
    Trace looked to his left where the chopper’s two o’clock position lay. Sure enough, a handful of heat signatures—small ones—raced over the ground.
    “Goats?” Caliguari said.
    Trace shook his head. They were too agile, moving too fast. “Dogs,” he countered. “Hunting party.”
    “Yeah, and One is the quarry.”
    That’s when Trace saw it—a heat signature alone, about a half mile away from the dogs. “Toomer, take us half klick to your three.”
    “Copy that,” the pilot said as the bird swung in that direction.
    Trace zoomed in on the position, but the image had vanished.
    “What’d you see?” Boone asked.
    Maybe he’d imagined it. “Not sure,” Trace said, scanning, agitation growing. She was out there. Had been for hours. Daylight was on the horizon, which put Annie’s odds at being recaptured higher. “Lost it.”
    “Hang on,” Toomer pulled away and came back at a different angle. “There’s an incline. If someone’s hiding in the cleft. . .”
    As they raced up the slope one more time, Trace spotted the signature again. “One o’clock.”
    “I see it,” Caliguari called.
    “Can we put down?” Boone asked.
    “Negative,” Toomer said. “No room.”
    Trace harnessed and hooked up to the steel rings riveted to the floor of the chopper. Just before he stepped off, he looked over and spotted Caliguari doing the same.

Sam
    Hot in his gloved hands, Sam fast-roped out of the helo. Wind fought him, its needling fingers tugging at him as he made the rapid descent. He landed with a soft thud and went to a knee, his M4 sweeping the area. Weston hadn’t been pleased about Sam having a weapon, but he also hadn’t been able to argue against it. The man hated Sam, and it felt very personal.
    Sam wasn’t worried. He had no ill intent here. His only mission and purpose was to find Ashland and make sure she was okay.
    Then kiss her senseless.
    The trees were quiet sentries on this Greek island, providing cover against the moonlight and the early morning lightening of the sky. He saw no visible threat. “Squid clear,” he said, hating that he had to use that term, but it was a concession. If it meant finding her. . .
    To his right, he spotted the colonel kneeling behind a large boulder. He signaled Sam forward. Moving along a dense copse of saplings, Sam hustled toward the rendezvous point—the location they’d spotted the heat signature. No way of knowing if it was Ashland, but it’d be a long shot if it wasn’t her.
    Thwack! Thwat!
    Heat seared across his shoulder. From behind. Sam hurtled himself over a fallen limb and scrabbled up against the decaying wood. “Taking fire,” he gritted his teeth, refusing to admit he’d been nailed. Hand near the spot, he eyed it. Blood glistened under the moonlight, but it wasn’t much. Just a graze.
    To his six, he