Desperado (Murphy's Lawless: Watch the Skies Book 2), Kevin Ikenberry [reading the story of the txt] 📗

near Mogadishu. Every nerve ending seemed to fire all at once. His eyes were clear, and the weapon felt like an extension of his central nervous system.

Track, fire. Track, fire.

The familiar sound of approaching Hueys caught his attention as the last of the militia fell to the charging whinnies. His gaze flashed back to the street. The whinnie lying there had stopped moving and its head was facing his direction. Across the distance, he felt the whinnie’s eyes on him. The rifle nearly slipped from his grasp. Bo picked up his pace, hobbling more with each step.

Weapons fire from the militia ebbed to nearly nothing. Riderless whinnies screamed and fell upon the men, bounding over their fallen herd mates. Another whinnie fell in the street. Bo saw the coloration; his heart leapt into his throat.

“Scout!” Bo yelled. “Scout!”

The big whinnie rolled his head to peer down the street at Bo. He gave a low, throaty call and turned back to one of the other fallen whinnies wobbling for a moment, as if dazed. Then Scout’s head and neck went limp and fell to the dusty ground with an audible smack.

“No!”

Adrenaline coursed through Bo’s system as he shambled down the street on his injured leg. The militia’s guns had fallen silent. Some of the ones with face paint were running hard to the west. Bo wasn’t watching. He reached Scout just as he heard Aliza wail from behind him. Now she was running down the street, her good arm cradling the bad.

A whinnie’s trumpet echoed through the quiet town from the west, and Bo raised his eyes. Overhead, two Hueys hovered in security positions. They were close enough to see their gunners scanning the streets for targets. One of them waved, and Bo responded. The helicopter slid slowly toward them and hovered directly above. The gunner was pointing down at the carnage around them. The pilot turned and studied the ground. Bo could see them talking on the radio. Exhaustion crashed over him as the adrenaline wore off.

Bo knelt by Scout and stroked the smooth leathery skin on the animal’s head. But were you just an “animal?” Fresh tears filled his eyes, and Bo tried not to let them come. He failed. His head swirled with dizziness, and he collapsed onto the ground next to his mount.

We almost made it, Scout.

Almost.

* * *

“Hotel California, Gunsmoke Lead. Desperado Six needs assistance. He’s down. I say again, Desperado Six is down. East side of town near the wall. At least one other injured with him. Over.”

Fahey and the others moved toward the stairwell into the city. “Copy, Gunsmoke. Fastlane, send security and medic that way now.”

“Fastlane, roger. Out.”

“Gunsmoke Lead, good copy. Shadower is three minutes out. LZ status?”

“The LZ is green, Gunsmoke,” Fahey replied. From the top of the plateau, he was roughly at the same altitude as the hovering helicopters. More noise came from the north, and Fahey turned to see the strike team approaching at high speed. The UH-1s appeared to be about a foot off the deck as they streaked east over the plateau.

Damn, Major Lee. You not only taught them what to do, but how to do it with style.

Impressed, Fahey shook his head and laughed. After all, helicopters never flew. They simply beat the air into submission.

* * *

As Lieutenant Stewart and a section of riders arrived, Aliza knelt in the dusty street by Athena’s lifeless body. Words wouldn’t—couldn’t—manifest in her tight throat. They’d had so little time together, yet Athena was special, and not only to Aliza. Her hand traced the angles of the whinnie’s jawline and her serene face for a long moment.

She died here with her mate. They died protecting us.

Our greatest allies.

Aliza sobbed and clapped her dirty hands to her face. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She wiped at them with a dust-covered sleeve as Stewart dismounted and walked over to Bo where he sat with his back against Scout.

“We have the town secured, sir. Most of the militia have surrendered. We’re mopping up the others now. Our guys took the tunnel.”

“Casualties?”

“One of ours dead, PFC Rich. Crazy asshole took out some kind of crew-served weapon in the tunnel’s entrance and turned it on the militia trying to get through. Stopped them cold, sir. Fucking incredible. We lost at least forty-seven indigs; we’re gathering bodies now. Morton is going door-to-door looking for F’ahdn. Cook has established a security perimeter around the bazaar. It’s big enough for an LZ and Fahey’s directing them in from the top of the plateau.”

“How many wounded?” Bo asked.

Stewart looked down at Bo’s bloodied lower leg. “Counting you and Aliza? Sixty-one. Most of those are minor. Let me get a medic up here, sir.”

“I’m fine, Johnny,” Bo replied.

Aliza looked up and saw Bo trying to laugh off his own wound, but he was pale and his clothes were almost black with sweat. She went to him and knelt at his side.

“Lay down, Bo.”

“I promise I’m fine,” he replied with a smile. Aliza did not reciprocate, and his bravado evaporated in an instant. “No, I’m not, huh?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “You’re going into shock. Help me with him, Johnny.”

Stewart went to Bo’s other side. They turned him and raised his legs carefully, resting them on Scout’s body.

Bo’s eyes were on Scout’s still head; his face threatened to break. “He—they—”

“They fought for us,” Aliza whispered. “You were doing the same for them, yes?”

He nodded. “I was.”

“Then leave it be, Hubert.”

“Stop calling me that.” Bo half-smiled.

Aliza smirked. “It gets your attention.”

His eyes cleared up a little. “Where are the targets? The people Murphy wants us to grab?”

“I have some names. Militia leaders mainly,” Aliza said. “I’ll get them to Cutter. There were others: a man named Zeesar