He reached back and took her hand. This was a very bad situation and flying her out of Bagram wasn’t an option at this point. He wasn’t sure that going back to DC was a good idea, but it was a damn sight safer than staying here. But with the insurgents overrunning the base, their best bet was to get out and find another way to get her back. “This is going to get dicey. There is only one way to get off this base. The gates. They aren’t just going to let us leave. But we can’t stay here. For one, I have no idea what is going on with your detail, and we don’t know if the Afghan forces can keep or maintain security on the base. It really wasn’t a good idea for you to come here at all.”
“I know it wasn’t, but it was supposed to be quick. My brother is important to me and I wanted to…see him in case…” She trailed off.
“I get that, but this country is a powder keg and they don’t need provocation to kill anyone.” He took in her pale face, but her eyes were steady. He shook his head, sighing. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you alive and get you back to DC. We’re going to be moving fast. Don’t stop until I tell you to, and Piper, there will be shooting, so stay behind me and use your weapon without hesitation. Just, ah, don’t shoot me. All right?”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” she said shakily.
“Ah, yeah.”
“Ha, ha.” Piper took a fortifying breath. When he looked back at her, several explosions lit up the night.
“They’re blowing up aircraft,” he said under his breath.
His mind worked furiously, but he could see no way out of this. They had to get off base, a loose and desperate plan forming in his mind. He dragged her down the hall and went out one of the side exits that gave them some cover from the open area where the road was. He stepped outside and paused. It was pitch-black, except for the ambient light from the yellow-and-orange glow of the fires. What he wouldn’t give for his night-vision goggles.
He ducked to the side, bringing her with him, looking right and left for any threat. He moved again, threading through the maze of buildings and heading for one of the gates, avoiding the main one.
Much of Afghanistan consisted of mountains cut by deep and narrow valleys, few and poor roads and thousands and thousands of small villages. Where the land flattened, the summer heat was even more intolerable. He knew it from experience. Even though it was the middle of the night, Dex was already sweating from the ninety-degree temperature.
As he stopped and took a few quick looks around the side of the building, they ran into trouble. Up a long alley of concrete barriers, the gate was blocked by at least eight insurgents. He could see the bodies of the dead guards lying in the road.
There was no way to sneak past them. They would have to try another gate. Just then, someone started yelling, and most of the men there took off in that direction, which only left two. That was more manageable.
“Give me the pistol.” He traded the assault rifle for her weapon. “Stay here,” he whispered, close to her ear, trying not to breathe in any more of her scent than he had to; the woman was distracting and he had to keep himself grounded in pure warrior mode to get her out of this danger zone.
Crouching, he ran to the side of the building where one of the men was standing. An eight-mile perimeter road circled the base, and just beyond the road were wire fences separating the base from the treeless fields of the local villages. Rectangles of metal, printed with skull and crossbones, dangled from the fences, dancing in the wind against the wire, providing a metallic warning of minefields. Both men had their backs to Dex, but they were a little too far apart for a quick, unarmed double takedown. Good thing the gun had a silencer. He hated to waste even two bullets, but it couldn’t be helped. If they were caught, it was over. He aimed, bracing the barrel of the gun on his forearm as he lined up his shot. He took three deep breaths and then pulled the trigger. The closest guy dropped, and he moved just a few inches and neutralized the second one without a sound.
He quickly motioned her forward and they ran full out toward the gate, kicking up dust and displacing gravel, and didn’t stop running until they were clear of the outside walls and heading into vegetation on the side of the road.
He immediately hit the deck and a fiery blaze of pain flashed across his side, burning like a freaking hot poker from one edge of the wound to the other—and it didn’t stop. The pain just sat on him and burned. Gritting his teeth, he pulled her down with him. Then he poked his head up, watched and waited to make sure they weren’t followed. The locust trees were in bloom with their stubby trunks of thick interlocking ropes of blackened bark, and their white blossoms that filled the air with a sweet aroma that mixed with jet fuel, diesel and the always-constant, unrelenting rising dust. The combination of pollen, fuel and dust produced a light paste that covered everything on base. An odd perfume of summer accented by the smells of war.
Now that the drugs were clearing from his system, any minute movement set that agony off. Right now, it would be easier to just pass out, seek dark oblivion.
The only easy day was yesterday. That was quite fitting here.
Right. He was about to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.
As soon as he was sure they hadn’t been followed, one hand cupping his side, he took her hand and started following the road, alert for any kind of danger. Now that they were away from the base, the constant aching of his side throbbed harder with every beat of his heart.
Damn, that hurt. Every single part of him hurt like a son of a bitch. He swiped his sleeve across his brow and tried not to feel so freaking awful. He was in trouble. He didn’t have to look down at his wound. He knew what he felt.
He was still bleeding, but he wasn’t going to tell her, and he wasn’t going to stop. They had no choice but to move. He would patch himself up once they got clear of the baddies he was certain were after them. As soon as they reached a mile away from the base, he led her to a small outcropping of rock and hunkered down. The sweat was pouring off him now, and he was worried that he was going to lose whatever food was still in his stomach.
A wave of dizziness washed across the back of his skull—not the first of the night, and sure as hell not the last. He carefully lowered his head, fighting it, focusing on his breathing, making it deep, making it count, and he held on. Losing blood and hyperventilating were a bad combo. Passing out meant they would be toast.
“Dexter?”
He took one more fortifying breath. His hand was wet against his side. That bastard had done a number on his wound. It took Dex a moment to find his breath, another couple of moments to work through the pain and find his voice, but when he did, he laid it out for her. “We’re going to head to Charikar, which is about twelve klicks from here.”
“Klicks?”
“That’s military speak for kilometers. So, that’s a little less than twelve miles.”
“You think you can make it that far?”
“Once there, we can hire a cab to take us to Kabul and the airport. I speak the language, so let me do all the talking.”
When his eyes met hers through the mesh of the burka, he could see her concern, her fear.
“You really need medical attention.”
She was as perceptive as she was beautiful. “Not…going to…happen. We can’t stop and we can’t go back. There’s only moving forward. Are you with me?”