That was a very good question.
Conflict-avoidant people did not become soldiers. This sentiment went doubly so for those tough enough to make it through the grueling selection process required to earn the Ranger Regiment’s coveted tan beret. That said, the Charge of the Light Brigade played great on the movie screen but was considerably less palatable in real life. Coleman knew that Mark and his band of marauders would fight their way into the caves to find Rapp without a second thought, but he was no longer sure this was the right course of action.
As much as Coleman didn’t want to admit it, the gunshots Steve had reported changed the equation. Rapp was industrious and he could improvise, adapt, and overcome with the best of them, but he was not invincible. If faced with armed resistance, Rapp would either overwhelm the aggressors immediately or try to find an alternate egress route. Coleman could imagine a scenario in which Rapp had managed to arm himself, but even if he had a weapon, Rapp would still be a singleton with a possibly injured Army Ranger in tow.
One of the reasons why Rapp was so effective was that he precisely chose the time and place for most of his kills. He wouldn’t shirk from a fight, but neither would Rapp allow the enemy to dictate the terms of the engagement. If the main egress route was clear, Rapp would be out of the caves momentarily. If not, it made no sense to send the Rangers in after him. Rapp was probably already searching for a secondary exit.
“Havok 6, this is Chaos 7,” Coleman said. “Do not proceed to WILLIS. I say again, do not proceed to WILLIS. I think Ironman will seek an alternate egress point. I want to get a closer look at the objective.”
“Chaos 7, this is Havok 6. Understand all. What element will be conducting the recon, over?”
“This one.”
CHAPTER 39
THE strand of lights flickered to life like a scene from a B-grade horror movie.
Though the filaments barely illuminated, the change from cavernous darkness to hazy light was still shocking. One moment Rapp couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. The next a string of hanging bulbs revealed the passage in a wavering kaleidoscope of shadows. The overhead lighting buzzed as the load posed by the countless bulbs warred against unseen generators laboring to provide power. A sickly orange flooded the passage.
Then the filaments burst into full brilliance.
“Shit,” Saxton said.
The Ranger’s whisper conveyed a scream’s worth of emotion. The gunshots in the hallway gave way to shouts in at least two different languages.
The gig was up.
“Down the corridor,” Rapp said. “Go.”
Shouldering the still-limp CYCLONE, the Ranger moved at a respectable trot. While no longer a competitive endurance athlete, Rapp could still match the pace of men half his age. But loaded down with the deadweight of someone CYCLONE’s size, Rapp doubted he’d have been able keep up with Saxton.
They must build them strong in the Ranger Regiment.
Rapp gave the Ranger a bit of a head start and then followed. He ran for half a dozen steps before pausing to clear the passageway behind them. The presence of two patrols meant that he and Saxton were being hunted. It wouldn’t take the jihadis long to sort out their confusion. The narrow passageways weren’t big enough for more than two men to pass abreast, but this advantage evaporated if the jihadis were fine with killing rather than capturing their prey. In that scenario, the engagement would be like shooting fish in a barrel.
As if to add emphasis to his thoughts, the clank of metal striking stone sounded from the passageway’s mouth. Rapp tried to yell a warning, but his words were drowned out by an ear-shattering detonation. The concussion slapped against Rapp and Saxton staggered.
The passageway formed a Y just ahead of the Ranger.
“Right!” Rapp yelled. “Go right!”
Saxton groaned, but he staggered toward the branch Rapp had indicated. Turning to face their pursuers, Rapp dropped to one knee, sighted toward the mouth of the passageway, and squeezed off a controlled burst. Rapp waited for the report’s echo to fade and then fired again. The passageway’s mouth remained empty, and he risked a glance over his shoulder in time to see Saxton limping down the intersection.
Perfect.
Rapp turned back to the entrance in time to see three tennis-ball-size objects tumble into view. Rapp dove toward the Y-intersection, stretching to full extension. He didn’t so much hear the exploding grenades as feel them deep in his core. The concussion prompted an instant bout of nausea as shock waves buffeted his internal organs. His right foot jerked as if someone had smacked the sole of his foot with a rubber mallet. Pins and needles shot the length of his leg, but Rapp ignored the pain in favor of a more pressing priority.
Staying alive.
Squirming onto his back, Rapp aimed at the entrance. Though his ears were still ringing, his eyes worked just fine. Two men raced into the area cleared by the explosion, their AKs belching fire. Rapp centered his rifle’s front sight post on the lead assaulter’s center mass, aligned the rear sights, and pressed the trigger.
The man dropped.
Rapp transferred his aim to the second man and fired again. He was expecting a three- or four-round burst. The AK sounded just once.
His magazine was empty.
The assaulter stumbled but didn’t crumple like his partner. Dropping the rifle, Rapp pushed himself backward. If his ears were ringing, the shooters pursuing him had to be half-deaf. Hopefully it would take them a moment to realize that Rapp was no longer shooting back.
A scrum of bodies poured into the hallway.
Rapp swore.
If he got to his feet, he’d be cut down in a volley of rifle fire. If he stayed on his back, he’d never make the intersection before the jihadis gathered their wits and aimed at the figure squirming across the ground.
He was in trouble.
A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him up. Saxton churned forward in a low crouch, dragging Rapp across the intersection like he was an offensive lineman exploding out of a three-point stance. Rapp’s foot caught on the uneven stone, and he stumbled, fouling Saxton’s legs in the process. He slapped his forearms onto the ground to keep from face-planting onto the rock.
Saxton wasn’t so fortunate.
The Ranger’s face bounced off the stone and his lip split in a burst of red.
“This is the worst rescue I’ve ever seen,” Saxton hissed. “We’re gonna die.”
“Nope,” Rapp said, “we’re out of here.”
“How?” Saxton said.
