One
Northern Syria
Luca Saxon had been born in this dirt. It stood to reason he was going to die here as well.
His back hit the ground, and he rolled. Sand and dust coated everything. He coughed against the wave of grit but was unable to hear it over the sound of his ears ringing. Someone pulled him up roughly, lifting him by his vest to his feet.
The bearded face of his sergeant swam in front of him. Luca watched Hammer’s lips form the words not today.
Luca could barely breathe, but he coughed out the words, repeating them back to his team leader. “Not today.”
Hammer slapped the back of his shoulder, and they were on the move, weaving through rows of white tents while the oppressive July sun beat down on them. Away from the tent that was in flames and what remained of the camp stove, nothing but charred debris now. All thanks to a member of an ISIS sleeper cell working in this forsaken part of the world.
A woman hurried past them in a black niqab, completely covered except for the slit of her eyes. Clinging to her hand was a little boy who couldn’t be more than six years old. Both of them needed a full meal and a peaceful night of sleep—neither of which were commodities that could be easily obtained in the back alleys of this refugee camp.
The comms earbud in one ear hummed to life. “Trigger One, this is Trigger Three. I have visual.”
Sweet. Kane, a member of their team and one of Saxon’s best friends, had the suspect in sight. But this was far from over. They needed to get their hands on Namir Hassan Al-Hijazi, fleeing through the camp up ahead, before the ISIS terror cell members that remained after last night’s raid caught him first. Namir needed to be in prison for what he’d done, betraying those Marines for such a deadly cause. And while he was at least partially responsible for the death of six US soldiers, he had also stolen sensitive information that was now on a flash drive in his pocket.
Not only could they not lose Namir, but they also couldn’t afford to lose the information he carried.
Running full speed ahead of Saxon, Hammer called on the radio. “Trigger Three, give me his twenty. Over.”
Kane responded, “Three rows west of the medical tent.”
Saxon could see the Red Cross flag flying high in the center of the refugee camp and made a beeline toward it, catching up to Hammer so they were almost side by side. His buddy glanced over and grinned, as if this was just your average footrace through a war-torn country.
Up ahead, in the direction they were going, gunshots rang out. Someone screamed. Answering gunfire sounded across the open air.
“We’ve got company,” Elias said over the radio. The fourth man of their team, Redding, wasn’t someone Saxon would have called a friend. The guy was too edgy for his taste. But the US Army had seen fit to put them together on a team. Considering how well he liked Hammer and Kane, Saxon wasn’t going to complain about one team member.
Hammer raced around the corner of the next tent, almost colliding with an armed insurgent. The two faced off against each other for a second before the other man slammed into the Delta Force team leader. They hit the ground in a cloud of dust.
Another man stepped between two tents about twenty feet up the row.
Saxon lifted his rifle and squeezed the trigger for a split second. But it was too late. The man’s gun fired, and the bullet slammed into the left side of Saxon’s arm. Tearing through flesh with heat and pain.
He cried out, almost going down, but managed to keep his wits about him. He aimed again with the rifle and squeezed off another grouping of shots. His left arm hung loose by his side, trickling blood down to his elbow.
The man collapsed to the ground in a pool of regret and bad choices.
Saxon turned to Hammer. The sergeant was on his feet now, blood running from a cut on his temple, his gun aimed at the man on the ground. The insurgent looked at Saxon, fully aware of what was about to happen.
He said the word brother in Arabic. More of a question than anything else.
“I’m not your brother,” Saxon replied in the same language, turning away so he could go and help Kane and Elias.
The shot exploded behind him, and a second later, Hammer caught up. “You need to get that arm looked at.”
Saxon wouldn’t have said he did, except that now Hammer pointed it out, the whole thing started to throb. “Let’s secure Namir and I’ll put some cream on it or something.”
Hammer snorted. “I will make it an order.”
“Did you get a picture of that guy?” They were supposed to photograph everyone they killed. With most of them being high-value targets, the higher-ups always wanted proof when a target was taken out.
“I recognized him from the briefing. Last year the guy blew up a home for orphans about a hundred miles east of here.”
Up ahead, the gunfire had eased off. Which could mean good or bad things for Kane.