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“They’re too close,” Honor replied with a shake of her head. “Can’t risk moving right now, we’d be sitting ducks.” And the civilians even more so.
“Hang tight, I think they’re moving again.”
At Smithers’ low words Honor lifted her head and strained to hear what was going on outside. Before moving to aircraft maintenance the master sergeant had done six years as an infantryman, so for damn sure she was going to listen to him now.
The volume of fire had decreased slightly, she realized a moment later. As she listened, the shooting seemed to move to the left, away from the hangar. The spacing between the volleys lengthened. Then stopped abruptly.
They all waited, holding their collective breaths. In the distance more emergency vehicles wailed past and the helos were almost directly overhead now.
Honor cocked her head and kept listening. There was only silence.
She waited thirty seconds, then a minute before whispering, “They’ve either been taken out, or moved on to another target.”
Smithers nodded, his profile barely visible in the dimness of the Huey’s belly. “I think we’re clear.”
The others all expelled relieved breaths. Honor wiped the back of her arm across her damp upper lip. “You can all stay here if you want, but I’m finding a weapon. There are some in my commander’s office in the next building.”
“I’ll go with you,” Smithers answered instantly.
“Me too,” Ipman said. The male civilian said he’d come as well, while the women chose to remain behind and wait it out a while longer.
“Everyone coming with me, let’s get going.” Honor climbed out of the Huey and stayed below the windows as she hurried to the far door. Smithers came up beside her and tilted his head as he listened.
He shook his head. “Don’t hear anything.”
“I’ll take a look,” Honor said, reaching for the release bar.
Smithers planted a solid hand against the metal surface. She looked up into his face in surprise, read his fierce expression. “I’ll check,” he insisted. Before she could argue he pushed her aside and crouched on one knee to push the door open a crack. He peered through the tiny opening, checking each direction before replying. “We’re clear.”
“Okay, on three,” she whispered. “One. Two. Three.”
Smithers pushed the door wide and Honor darted out, taking the lead in the sprint to headquarters. Several bodies lay crumpled a few dozen yards away, one of them holding a rifle in his outstretched hand. A shooter? Or a soldier who’d managed to find a weapon and return fire?
She didn’t stop to check as Smithers picked up the weapon, just kept ru
Sighing, Honor allowed herself to sink to the floor with her back to the wall and wiped a hand over her sweaty face. The civilian, Ipman and Smithers did the same, all of them breathing hard.
Smithers checked the weapon. “Fuck, it’s empty.”
Either the soldier carrying it hadn’t gotten to the AHA before it exploded, or he’d been a shooter and run out of ammo.
“Think it’s over?” Ipman asked, casting an anxious look at the door.
“Hope so,” Honor said. She got to one knee, started to push to her feet and go to where the pistols were locked up when her cell buzzed again with an incoming text. Grabbing it, she anxiously sca
Not Liam, as she’d been hoping. Her CO.
The message on screen made her stomach drop. Lowering the phone, she looked back at the others. “The President’s dead.”
Smithers cursed and Ipman lowered his head, shaking it back and forth as if he couldn’t believe it. Honor wouldn’t either if she hadn’t seen firsthand the damage the first two drone strikes had done.
Footsteps sounded outside the rear door.
Everyone tensed. Honor held a finger to her lips to signal for silence then sank back into her crouch. All four of them kept their gazes trained on the far door as the person approached. Her muscles contracted when the person tried the handle. It rattled, the entire door shaking with the force of the person’s frustration when it wouldn’t open.
Honor’s gaze darted to the left in the direction of her CO’s office. The gun safe was right there. So close but still too far away.
She jumped when the door jolted under the force of a solid kick.
Whoever was out there was about to force his way inside.
Chapter Twenty
Liam pushed the Chinook as fast as it would fly with its full load of Rangers and equipment in the back. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered to Freeman as JBLM finally came into view out the cockpit window, visible from miles away because of the towering plumes of black smoke boiling into the sky.
A deep, burning rage built inside him. Details were still sketchy but he already knew the most important points. The cowardly fucks had attacked not only the President of the United States and its military tonight, but numerous civilians and families on base as well. There were freaking kids and babies caught up in this.
And Honor.
She was down there somewhere and he didn’t know if she was one of the victims. If he thought about it he’d lose it so he shelved his fear for her and focused on flying his bird. The sooner he got on station, the sooner he could help end the threat and hopefully find her.
To his four-o’clock he saw several Black Hawks were already in the air on station, as well as one Apache, all hunting for targets. As far as he knew they hadn’t been able to identify any yet.
Liam blocked out everything but the task at hand as they approached the base. They’d been east of Yakima on a joint exercise with their Canadian counterparts to do live fire training, in the midst of delivering a rigid-hulled inflatable boat to a SF team already in the water when the call had come in about the attack. Command had ordered them back to base immediately to help combat the threat, and assist with helping the wounded. Liam’s crew had dumped the RHIB in the middle of the lake and raced back to pick up the Rangers waiting on shore. The 47 behind them carried both Special Forces A-Teams.
Every single soldier in the air with them right now was impatient to get on the ground and start kicking some serious ass. That is, as soon as they identified the tangos, at least four shooters who were reportedly wearing Army uniforms to blend in.
Liam wanted all of them sent straight to hell courtesy of American-made bullets for what they’d done.
“Razor three, you’re approaching restricted airspace. State your intended approach,” the tower said when they were a few miles out.
“Roger, request direct approach to the eastern PT field for touch down and unloading,” Liam responded.
“Roger, Razor three. Turn left to two-seven-zero. Land at your discretion.”
“Razor three out,” Liam confirmed, then banked to the southwest. The wind shifted, clearing the smoke enough to give them their first clear view of the damage on the PT field.
A giant, smoldering crater marked where the stage and VIP area had been. An unknown number of top brass had been killed in the initial strike. The President’s status and location were unknown. Soldiers and civilians were ru
Freeman shook his head in disbelief. “Damn, that’s a helluva mess down there.”
Liam contacted the other Chinook pilot. “No more drones reported in the area. I’ll take the west side, you take the east. Let’s see if we can help find some tangos.” His gu