Morgan's Hunter
Authors: Cate Beauman
Table of Contents
Morgans Hunter
Copyright © 2012 by Cate Beauman. All rights reserved.
Visit Cate at
www.catebeauman.com
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www.facebook.com/CateBeauman
First Kindle Edition: September 2012
Editor: Nicholas J. Ambrose
Cover and formatting: Streetlight Graphics
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedication
For my boys, Brian, Joel, and Connor, whose love and support made all of this possible.
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to my amazing husband, my number one fan, for your love and support during this exciting journey. I couldn’t do this without you!
To my Critique Circle crew—Melissa Mayberry, Rachelle Ayala, Dawn Wimbish Prather, Joel Muranelli, Susan Elsworth, Aminah Grefer, and Angela Quarles. Thank you for helping me shape my story into something I can be proud of.
Chapter 1
September 2010
Helmand Province, Afghanistan
G
UNNERY SERGEANT HUNTER PHILLIPS AND his men drove toward their target: Al-Qaeda’s number three.
Satellite imagery confirmed Abbas Muhammad Muhammad Tayi hid in a small village ten miles away, but a source warned they had the wrong man.
Hunter and his force recon unit were about to find out. After a year of searching, tracking, hunting, they would substantiate the evidence either way. Bringing the fucker to justice thirty days before they departed this godforsaken land would be the perfect end to their tour.
The caravan of two up-armored Humvees moved swiftly down the endless, dusty road, dodging enormous blast holes created by Soviet mines years before, skirting past the blackened remains of a truck three Marines died in yesterday.
Like a mascot of death, the burned vehicle welcomed the recon unit to “The Danger Zone”. In the last month alone, ten soldiers had lost their lives along the eternal stretch of dirt. Rocky terrain laden with caves and deep crevices surrounded the Humvees. Insurgents roamed the area, ever eager to take their shot at US forces.
Although the route clearance team had driven by twenty minutes before, ten pairs of eyes scanned the road and dirt beyond, watchful for mounds of sand and small rocks—tell-tale signs of IEDs.
“And as we drive through the fucking valley of the shadow of death, I would like to remind you all that God is good, men. Keep Him with you today,” Hunter said into his radio.
Nine “Amens” answered back.
Tension hung thick and the vehicles were silent except for the hum of motor and constant click of Carson, Hunter’s gunner above, moving in half circles in his mechanical seat.
The unit had gone a year without a casualty—a miracle in direct action warfare. But the law of averages told them they were due, and they all knew it.
Somewhere during the last mile, the AC had petered out. Hunter tugged at his collar, sweat soaked and miserable, trying to ignore the one hundred degree heat and baking sun boring through the windshield, zapping energy from him and his men like a furnace straight from hell.
Perspiration trapped by camouflage fabric and bulletproof vests mixed with sand, chafing, burning, only adding to wretched conditions.
As the truck plowed ahead, Hunter’s shoulder blades itched, his stomach pitched. His eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening as he searched the rocks beyond. Something wasn’t right. His gut instinct was never wrong and his men didn’t question it. “Men, I’ve got the itch. Stay alert. I repeat, stay alert.”
“Still glad you picked this route, Gunny?” Jake Johnson said from truck two.
Despite the situation, a small smile ghosted Hunter’s mouth. “Don’t be a pussy, Johnson.” He lurched to the right as the driver swerved around another blast hole. “The fastest route isn’t always the safest. That’s why I’m lead truck. I’ll keep you safe, honey.”
Jake chuckled. “Fuck you, man.”
Hunter grinned, forever scrutinizing their surroundings. “You’ll be tucked in with your blankey before—”
The massive explosion cut him off, shaking his vehicle as it deafened. “What the
fuck
?”
He glanced in his rearview mirror. Smoke plumed from truck two.
Oh God—Jake
. Bullets pinged against armored trucks as the unit took on fire, making it impossible to check on their brothers.
“Return fire! Return fire!” Hunter instructed as he peered back at Jake’s vehicle. “Truck two, do you copy?”
Static crackled in his earpiece as his heart pounded—in his chest, in his throat. His body revved from the swift flow of adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins.
Hunter radioed back to camp, struggling to remain calm. “Thunder Main, this is Patriot Zulu. We have IED detonation—one truck hit. We’re taking fire. I need fire support now and casualty evacuation on standby!”
“Patriot Zulu, this is Thunder Main. That’s a good copy of last transmission. Scout weapons team is inbound. ETA ninety seconds.”
With help on the way, Hunter tried Jake’s Humvee again. “Vehicle two, do you copy?”
“Hunter, this is truck two. We’re smoking and rattled, but we’re—”
Another explosion roared, cutting them off as a rocket propelled grenade hit Humvee two. Metal smashed, scattering through the air as Jake’s vehicle rolled twice.
“Shit! Shit! Fire support, what is your location, goddamnit? Carson,” he hollered to his gunman, “suppress that fire so I can move toward those rocks.” He had to get to Jake’s truck.
Carson gave him a nod, pummeled fifty caliber rounds into the boulders, decimating rock and anything behind them.
Hunter opened his door, crouching next to the wheel-well, assessing the unit’s dire situation. Help was still sixty seconds away, and they were surrounded by insurgents. Truck two lay on its side four hundred yards back as heavy black smoke plumed from the twist of metal. Hot rubber and burning electrical equipment choked the air.
A movement in the rocks caught Hunter’s eye. He fired his weapon and a man fell to the ground. “Let’s do this,” he said to the three soldiers waiting for his command. As they bolted from the truck, taking Hunter’s place at the wheel-well, Hunter ran for the boulders in the distance.
“Clarke, Tanger, I need an update on truck two. Move forward.” As Carson continued shooting from the Humvee roof, Hunter and Sergeant Smith laid down fire, providing cover as the soldiers ran.
Halfway to the vehicle, bullets rained down from an unknown area in the rocks above. Clarke and Tanger stumbled, falling to the ground.
“No! Cover me, Smith.”
Without thought, Hunter sprinted toward his fallen men as the rhythmic thump of chopper blades echoed closer. A Kiowa Warrior soared overhead, dropping missiles among the crevices and caves, obliterating large chunks of mountainous terrain. The helicopter banked right as the next aircraft flew in, repeating the same procedure.
Fire support vanished as quickly as it appeared and the air fell silent.
The heavy breathing of his soldiers filled Hunter’s ear. The firefight was over. For the moment they were clear of danger and a weight lifted from his shoulders, leaving him lightheaded with relief.
Sergeant Tanger groaned as a chunk of dangling metal fell from truck two with a deafening crash. Reality rushed back like a punch to the gut. Hunter ran to his men, shot and bleeding as Carson continued with precautionary fire into the mountainside. “Smith, get the truck over here!”
Hunter dug into Clarke’s medical pack, applied a tourniquet to the unconscious man’s arm. As he twisted the black fabric tight, the flow of blood ceased.
With Clarke as stable as he could make him, Hunter crawled forward to Tanger. As he ripped Tanger’s pant leg, exposing three bullet wounds, he glanced at Jake’s truck, desperate to get to him. Distracting flashes of their childhood played through his mind. He ruthlessly squashed the memories.
“Shit, man, you’re a mess,” he said to Tanger, attempting to keep his soldier lucid and himself calm.
“It hurts like…shit!” Tanger tensed as Hunter packed his first wound.
Sergeant Smith backed the Humvee closer and crouched next to Hunter, waiting for orders.
“Smith, finish this. Get them secured. I’m heading for truck two.”
With his gun to his shoulder, he peered through the sight, moving toward Jake’s vehicle. It had only been five minutes since the rocket propelled attack. It felt as if it’d been hours. “Truck two, do you copy?”
The air remained dead. Panic rose from his depths. Everything he’d learned as a force recon escaped him. All the training on procedure vanished as he thought of Jake and four men. “Jake. Jake, do you copy? Can you hear me?”
“Hunter,” Jake answered, coughing.
“Oh, thank God. You scared the sh—”
“I’m hit, Hunt. I’m hit.” Jake wheezed, coughing again. “And they’re all dead, man.”
Pain sliced his heart as he yelled into his radio once more. “We need casualty evac, ASAP! Get them here now! I have four confirmed KIAs and three wounded.”
Hunter whirled when footsteps approached from behind. Sergeant Smith’s face lined up in the crosshairs of his scope.
“Clarke and Tanger are secure.”
“Let’s go then,” Hunter said, running to what was left of the vehicle. “Jake, I’m here.”
Jake gasped for air, coughing violently.
Climbing to the top of the heap, burning and cutting his hands, Hunter peered down at Jake’s battered face. Gashes riddled his cheeks, dribbling blood. He glanced at the remains of his four other men, buried the fisting pain deep. Jake was all that mattered. The only one he could help.
Hunter locked his legs around mangled metal, anchoring himself. He reached his arms through the opening, grabbing hold of Jake. “Come on, man, I’m going to get you out of here. Evac’s on its way.”
Jake tried to sit up on the console and yelled out. “I can’t do it. I can’t get up.”
“Yes, you can. I don’t know how long we have before they fire on us again.”
Taking a deep breath, Jake hollered, sat up.
As Hunter hoisted him up, Jake screamed.
“I’m sorry, man. Almost there.”
With Jake’s head and torso freed from the wreckage, Sergeant Smith climbed up, grabbed hold of Jake’s legs, helping Hunter lay him on the ground.
“Sergeant, get me a kit.” As Smith ran for their truck, Hunter assessed injuries. Blood saturated Jake’s plated vest. Sweat covered his face as he grew pale with every heartbeat.
Hunter ripped through armor and cloth to the wound. He fought to steady his breathing, horrified by the injuries. He applied pressure to the gaping hole in Jake’s abdomen, blood pooling over his fingers.
Helplessness consumed as desperation clawed at his throat. Hunter yelled into his radio, “We need casualty evac now, goddamnit! Do you hear me? Right now!”
Private Smith hustled back with a kit, but there was nothing among the first aid supplies that would help. The medics on their team were dead or gravely injured and Jake’s entire midsection was full of shrapnel.
“I’m not going to make it,” Jake gasped.
“Don’t you fucking say that!”
He coughed again, violently. “I’m not. Take care of them. Take care of Sarah and the baby.”
Hunter pressed harder as blood oozed over his fingers, pooling in the sand. “No, you’re going to take care of them. They’re coming.” The rhythmic sound of chopper blades echoed off the mountains. “Listen, they’re almost here.”
Jake’s body shook as shock set in. “Promise me. Promise me, goddamnit.” Tears streamed from his brown eyes. “Tell them I love them—that I’ll always be with them.”
“I promise, Jake.” It was too late. There was nothing the medics could do.
White as a sheet, Jake convulsed even as Private Smith tried to help keep him still. His voice grew weaker. “Kiss Kylee for me. Tell her it’s from her daddy. I never got to…I never got to hold her. Tell her about me.”