Jack Coughlin - Dead Shot

Nevertheless, no plan ever worked perfectly. Sooner or later, you had to face something unexpected, and Swanson had made an instant decision based on factors that Hughes was only now adding up. It wasn’t really the rape at all that triggered him.

If they allowed the IRGs to kill her, the fuckheads probably would have thrown the bodies into the building anyway. Then again, if they were any sort of soldiers at all, they probably would have at least taken a quick look inside the building. Chances of exposure in either case were almost certain, so the mission was already compromised.

That meant that the Marines were going to have to smoke the Iranian troops anyway, so Swanson decided to take them down hard and fast to prevent any information from being radioed back to their headquarters. The woman obviously was not with the soldiers, therefore she was against them, which made her a good possible source of intelligence, but only if she was alive. Kyle had decided all that in the space of a few seconds and triggered a rescue.

It was not a heroic act. Swanson had just figured that was the best way to salvage the mission and at the same time gain a bonus of intelligence. Now he sat over there talking quietly to her and letting her cry on his shoulder, as if this whole effort had been mounted just to save her.

Travis was impressed. He leaned close to Joe Tipp and motioned at Swanson. “I think ol’ Shake has a girlfriend,” he whispered.

T WO CLUSTERS OF PEOPLEwere waiting at the hospital helipad when the Pave Low came to rest at Camp Doha. They were standing apart, grouped by their specialties, as if on different teams. Just because everyone wore the same uniform did not mean they were friends.

The first small group was comprised of medical personnel, and even before the helicopter cut its engines, they hurried forward with a rolling stretcher. The team of medics helped maneuver Double-Oh onto the gurney, and the entire group ran off toward the emergency room of the base hospital, a young triage doctor trotting along behind calling instructions ahead into a handheld radio. Swanson checked his watch. Double-Oh had made it with time to spare in the Golden Hour, and now the professionals could get to work.

The second group was more rigid and moved with serious purpose: four grim soldiers wearing armored vests and carrying weapons. They approached as the MARSOC Marines climbed out of the helicopter and gathered their gear.

“Captain Newman?” called a tall man. “I’m Lieutenant Zahn, sir. Military Police. We’ve been sent to collect your enemy combatant for interrogation.”

Rick Newman was surprised. “What?”

“Your prisoner, sir. We’ll take her now.”

Newman looked over at Kyle Swanson and shrugged his shoulders. His brief situation report during the helicopter ride had somehow been read as the team bringing home a valuable enemy prisoner. Swanson had his face turned away from the soldiers but shook his head slightly. No.

“Afraid there has been a mistake, Lieutenant. We rescued a civilian who got caught in the middle of a firefight, that’s all. You can stand down. We will turn her over during our debriefing.”

The woman understood every word and pushed closer to Kyle as fear grew inside of her. She had heard how Americans interrogated prisoners.

“Sorry, Captain. I don’t know anything about that, but our orders are to bring her in immediately because she is a suspected terrorist.” The lieutenant waved his hand, and three MPs, two male and one female, moved forward.

While the officers had talked, Kyle had helped the Iranian girl from the helicopter and moved her in behind the MARSOC Marines, who appeared to be lounging about watching the episode with disinterest. When the MPs stepped forward, however, they were met by a solid wall of special ops warriors. Darren Rawls, Joe Tipp, and Travis Hughes stood between the MPs and their target. Kyle was close behind but did not want them to see his face.

“Okay, fellows, move aside,” ordered the lieutenant. “Your part of the mission is done, and now we have to deal with the captive.”

“Sorry. Can’t help you,” said Travis Hughes. “Sir.”

“Lieutenant, you can lead us to the debriefing room if you wish, but that is all,” snapped Rick Newman.

Lieutenant Zahn was not used to having his orders disobeyed. He squared up before Newman and sharpened his voice. “Captain! I am giving you a final warning. You and your men will stand aside and give us the enemy combatant or you will be placed under arrest.”

Darren Rawls grabbed the lieutenant and leaned into his face. “You want her? Well, you will have to come and take her. Sir.” The rest of the team formed a knot around the woman and Kyle. Then Rawls pushed the lieutenant so hard that the man sprawled on the helipad.

Newman stepped forward and extended his hand to the fallen officer and pulled him up. “Be careful there, Lieutenant. Easy to trip and fall around here. How about taking us over to the debriefing room now. You can’t have her because we won’t give her up. The woman is already in the custody of the CIA, and you don’t know shit about what is going on, so let’s cut the crap and get on with things before somebody gets hurt.”

Zahn brushed himself off. He made a mental note about that big black guy who shoved him and would settle that score later. “Yes, sir. This way, sir.”

The MARSOC team moved as a group toward a convoy of waiting vehicles that would take them over to another part of the base. The MPs posted themselves in a square at the front, back, and sides of that formation, as if taking the whole group to the brig.

“You are CIA?” the woman asked Kyle softly as they walked to the Humvees.

“No,” he said quietly. “But those people don’t need to know that. And don’t worry. You will be treated well here.”

“So who are you, then?”

“Me? I’m nobody.”

M AJOR J IM R ILEY , Asurgeon, was ready, scrubbed, and gowned as he pushed open a swinging door with his elbow and stepped into a bright, cool operating room of the 856th Combat Support Hospital. Sterilized implements gleamed on a steel tray, and everyone around him was also gloved and masked.

Before them lay a huge soldier with a bullet hole in the back. The patient had been stripped, cleaned, put to sleep, and thoroughly prepped. There was an IV of blood and another of a hydrating solution. The vital signs were being constantly measured and displayed on monitors.

Dr. Riley had been working in the hospital too long to be shocked by the condition of any patient, since there was a never-ending river of them. He studied the X-rays on the light board and moved over to the table. “Very well now. Everybody ready? Let’s save this guy’s life today.”

“M Y NAME IS D ELARATabrizi, and I teach at a girls’ school in Khorramshahr.” She sat at a small table in a well-lighted room with a cup of tea. Across the table were two intelligence officers who had been alerted about the unique circumstances and acted with respect and politeness. Adding to her comfort were Darren Rawls and Travis Hughes, still in combat gear and face paint, sitting beside the door to prevent a recurrence of the incident with the MPs at the helicopter. There was always somebody who did not get the word, and Captain Newman had ordered them to stay with her until final arrangements could be made. Delara was already considering them to be “her” Marines; she believed they would protect her against any rough interrogation and was ready to answer the questions of the officers.