Free Rules of Betrayal by Christopher Reich Page B

The sergeant nodded, then ducked into the passage and opened fire. The Rangers ran out first, then Hamid, and last Jonathan. He’d made it five steps when there was an explosion in the main entry chamber. He glimpsed a body launched into the air and heard a scream. A grenade. Keeping a hand on Hamid’s back, he kept moving. The corridor grew light. The Rangers kneeled at the mouth of the passage, firing. Jonathan heard a smack, and one of the soldiers collapsed.
    “Man down!” shouted the captain.
    A second grenade exploded near the doorway and the Taliban fighters escaped outside. Jonathan rushed to the wounded Ranger. He could see blood spreading from a chest wound. He felt for a pulse. Nothing. Then, a faint tremor.
    “How is he?” asked the captain.
    “Unconscious. He needs attention fast.”
    “Can you carry him?” asked the captain.
    Jonathan nodded. Bending double, he hoisted the soldier onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Let’s get out of here.”
    The officer ran toward the doorway, followed by Hamid and the sergeant. Jonathan took a breath and staggered into the large chamber. Exhaustion, adrenaline, and the din of combat blurred events. He saw the captain firing in disciplined bursts. He saw Hamid cross the chamber, throw open the exterior door, and lob a grenade. He saw the sergeant bolt upright, with half his head shorn away, then stumble backward and fall to the ground.
    And then Jonathan was at the door leading to the clearing, the captain and Hamid next to him. From high in the sky came the dull, rhythmic chop of a helicopter. A moment later, an earsplitting roar louder than anything Jonathan had ever heard filled the air. The ground shook. Men screamed.
    “Gatling gun,” said the captain. “Let’s move!”
    “What about the sergeant?” asked Jonathan.
    The soldier lay a meter away, his brains spilled on the ground beside him.
    “He’s gone.”
    Hamid opened the door and tossed the last grenade. There was a flash of light, and a stream of white smoke curled into the air. The captain ran ahead, turning every few feet and spraying the area with machine-gun fire. Hamid pushed Jonathan out the door.
    “Run to the far side of the plateau. Don’t stop for anything.”
    “You don’t have to tell me that twice.” Jonathan jogged unevenly behind him, head down, his only thought that he must deliver the wounded Ranger to safety. He sensed rather than saw the helicopter hovering overhead. Geysers of dirt and crushed stone erupted from the Gatling gun’s rounds, spraying his face. Dead Taliban lay everywhere. To his right, the pickup trucks burned magnificently. Afghan fighters dashed across the clearing, seeking shelter from the withering cannon fire.
    The helicopter touched down at the far end of the clearing. SEALs jumped to the ground and ran toward them. Jonathan transferredthe wounded Ranger to their care, then pulled himself into the open compartment. The captain hauled himself in next to him. “You did good, doc,” he shouted, barely audible above the rifle fire and rotor wash. “We could use you on our team anytime.”
    Jonathan looked at the Ranger, seeing him clearly for the first time. The captain had shorn blond hair and wide, knowing blue eyes that were too hardened for a young man. The name Brewster was stenciled on his uniform.
    “No thanks,” said Jonathan. “Never again.”
    Gunfire raked the helicopter. Jonathan saw an Afghan fighter nearly enveloped in flames manning the .30 caliber machine gun. Another burst of fire struck the helicopter. Something hit close to Jonathan. Captain Brewster was flung onto his back. A string of bullet wounds laced his chest, and Jonathan knew immediately that he was dead.
    A moment later, an explosion rocked the pickup truck and the machine gunner vanished.
    “We’re outta here,” called the pilot over his shoulder. “Strap in.”
    The aircraft lifted off.
    Jonathan spotted Hamid trapped behind a rock outcropping twenty meters