Free Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) by Iain Rob Wright Page B

time to cry later.  She slipped her hand down to her
waist and slid her sidearm out of its holster — a
SIG Sauer L105A1 9mm — and thumbed the safety off.
    One last time, she shouted
out.  “ Hamish!  Hamish, are you awake? ” 
    Still no answer.  She thought
she heard a shuffling behind her, but there was no time to investigate.  She
straightened out her legs and shuffled towards the opening where the Snatch ’ s windscreen used to be.  Bits of glass and jagged stones dug into
her shins and elbows as she crawled, but she moved quickly.  Even now she could
hear the strangers outside chattering to one another and kicking up sand as
they rushed towards her.
    Sarah rolled onto her side and
clutched her SIG, ready to start popping shots at whoever looked like they
deserved it most.  She clawed her way through the last of the broken windscreen
and made it out onto the dusty road.  The heat was on her back immediately. 
    She spotted the body of one of
her men.  It might have been Hamish, for he hadn ’ t
been in the driver ’ s seat when she came to.  He was lying on his back, one arm missing
and his face completely gone.  Sarah was glad he was dead, instead of screaming
in agony and begging for his mother.  One of Hamish ’ s
biggest fears was finding himself in a wheelchair or a hospice bed.  He would
rather have lost his life than his legs.
    Sarah dragged herself to her
feet just in time to meet the approaching crowd.  She raised her SIG and
prepared to pull the trigger.  Her burning legs wobbled beneath her and blood
ran down her face, but her hands were still as stone. 
    There were children in the
crowd, with wide brown eyes and gawping mouths.  Their innocence was still
intact — it was clear on their
frightened faces — but
that innocence was fading fast, about to be washed away by the blood of Sarah
and her squad.  It was how children were baptised out here in the desert.  They
were about to witness an execution, and in that moment Sarah finally
understood: you couldn ’ t stop
violence with violence, and you couldn ’ t teach children with
bloodshed. 
    A man stepped out of the crowd,
putting a hand up in front of him as he approached Sarah.  “ Please, we not here to hurt you.  You are British, no? ”
    Sarah nodded.  She realised
that her hands were no longer still and that her arm and aim were shaking.  “ Y-you speak English? ”
    The man nodded and smiled.  “ I studied at your Oxford University.  Economics, yes? ”
    “ I need to get back to Camp Bastion, ” Sarah
said.  “ If you ’ re friendly, let me go on my way. ”
    “ Your Camp Bastion is sixty miles away.  The sun is hot, your face
and leg are bleeding.  You will not make it there. ”
    Sarah glanced down at her leg
and saw the top of a twisted nail sticking out of her thigh.  It must have come
from the IED.  She was lucky it hadn ’ t entered her skull. 
    Seeing the cause of the pain
in her leg seemed to make it hurt worse, as if she could feel the nail clawing
its way into her muscle.  The stranger was right: she would never make it back
to camp by foot, but what were her options? 
    “ Give me a car, ” she said.  “ It will be returned
later along with a reward for your assistance. ”
    The young man looked at her
like she was a confused child.  “ We have nothing.  You
think we have car?  You think we believe in British reward?  You offer only
death and suffering to people of this village.  If we help you, Taliban kill us. 
We help Taliban, British kill us.  You are not our friends and you do not offer
reward.  Only Allah can provide justice for our actions.  We all get what is deserved. ”
    “ If you don ’ t help me, I ’ ll die.  Will Allah provide you justice for murder? ”
    The man continued smiling at
her like she was a child.  There was something predatory about the way he was
looking at her.  
“ Sometimes death is the only way to ensure life, ” he said.
    Sarah felt