Down Range. Lindsay McKenna

because of Operation Shadow Warriors, Morgan saw the General was focused on thumbing through the briefing. At fifty-four, she was one of the youngest women ever to achieve the rank of General.

      “All right,” Maya said, “let’s go to page five.”

      Morgan opened the red briefing folder, noting it was top secret.

      Houston poured coffee for everyone and passed it around. “The cookies are for General Stevenson,” he intoned, a grin coming to his face. “Off-limits to the rest of us non-Oreo lovers.”

      Maya smiled briefly. “Roger that.”

      Morgan couldn’t help a small chuckle. Right then, Jake looked up, confused, glancing first at Maya and then over at her for some explanation. None was forthcoming as Mike Houston picked up the plate and set it near the General’s left hand.

      Jake shifted uncomfortably, which made her wonder how he’d reacted to knowing she was his sniper partner. Sniper teams could go out in the field as a single operator, or as a twosome, depending on the mission. She couldn’t read into his bloodshot gray eyes. Jake must not have gotten much sleep last night.

      Houston looked over at Maya. “General Stevenson, want to tell them why this op has been initiated?”

      Maya nodded, folded her hands over the briefing. She pinned both officers with an intense look. “Sangar Khogani is an opium warlord in Afghanistan. He’s chief of the Hill tribe, and they are at war with the Shinwari tribe, next door. We couldn’t care less about this except that the Shinwari are under our government’s protection. We’ve given them millions of dollars in the past few years because they asked for our help. They want infrastructure, schools, medical clinics and help in creating a viable economy for the four-hundred-thousand strong in their tribe.

      “The biggest reason why we’re involved with them is that the Khyber Pass, between Pakistan and Afghanistan, occurs in their territory. They are the front door to all al Qaeda coming from Pakistan into their country. They’ve promised to give us intel, and they have. They are Pashtuns who live by a fifteen-hundred-year-old code where your word is your bond.”

      Jake nodded. He slipped a glance over at Morgan. She had turned her chair, fully facing General Stevenson. Maybe he should, too? A sign of respect?

      “Questions?” Stevenson demanded.

      Jake said, “Ma’am, it’s my understanding, after being assigned to that region of the Hindu Kush, Sangar Khogani is a menace to everyone in the area.” Jake opened his hands. “The Shinwari call him the Phantom. He’s got two hundred men on horseback and literally strikes and hides in one of those thousands of caves in those mountains. This is the same man we’re talking about?”

      Maya looked pleased. “Yes, it is, Lieutenant Ram­sey.”

      Jake relaxed a little, the General’s smile easing some of his inner tension.

      “But let’s move forward to three months ago. Turn to page ten. You’ll see a map.”

      Jake turned to the map, instantly recognizing the village of Margha. It was the same one where he and his team had holed up to wait out a blizzard two years ago in December. Heat tunneled through him. It was the village where he’d unexpectedly met Morgan. They’d shared three days of incredible sex and intimacy. Until he’d opened his big mouth about women being weak and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. Gulping, Jake didn’t dare look over at Morgan. She had to be thinking the same thing. Damned karma…

      “Margha,” Maya said, jabbing her index finger at it, “had a hundred and fifty Shinwari men, women and children. All pro-American. Captain Boland was in that village along with an Army Special Forces team a year ago. They were there rendering medical aid to the populace for five days and were going to leave the next day. Khogani descended at dusk and attacked the village.” Her voice lowered. “The Special Forces team tried to protect the villagers, but it was eleven people against an estimated two hundred riders on horseback. Even they can’t buck odds like that. And it was impossible to bomb the village with a drone or fighter jet or they would end up killing the very people we were trying to protect from Khogani.”

      Maya gestured toward Morgan. “Captain Boland had a couple of guns in that fight, Lieutenant Ramsey. What you don’t know is that the Special Forces team had to evacuate and hightail it to a rally point to be lifted out by the Night Stalkers MH-47 helicopter. Every person in that team was more or less wounded. So was Captain Boland. They fought until they ran out of ammunition, and only then did they run for their lives.”

      Jake sucked in a quiet breath, twisting a look toward Morgan. She refused to look at him, her attention on her clasped hands in her lap. His heart squeezed with pain for her. Unconsciously, Jake rubbed his chest, remaining silent but wrestling with unexpected emotions about her being wounded.

      “The next day,” Maya went on, “Captain Boland returned with reinforcements, but the damage had already been done. When Captain Boland landed with two SEAL teams and two Special Forces teams, they found a hundred and fifty people murdered.” Her voice lowered even more. “Khogani slaughtered innocent people because the elders of the village had refused to allow opium transport through their valley. This is why we’re initiating this op. We feel it’s best to send in a sniper team. And that’s the two of you. You will have time on target for as long as it takes. Snipers know how to stalk. And they know how to track and be patient in finding someone like Khogani. Questions?”

      “This is a SEAL op?” Ramsey demanded.

      Houston said, “Yes, but you’ll have any other military assets available you need via GPS satellite and/or radio communications. Camp Bravo, an FOB, has a squadron of Apaches on standby, a medevac squadron, the CIA is there with drones and so are a number of Special Forces teams. There are a number of Operation Shadow Warrior women combat operators who are already assigned to some of these teams.”

      Jake asked, “Who’s my SEAL contact? Is he out of Camp Bravo or J-bad, Jalalabad?”

      “Lieutenant Ramsey, let’s starting thinking plural here, shall we?” Maya met his startled look. “You said ‘my contact.’ It should have been our contact.”

      Realizing his mistake, Jake nodded. “My apologies, ma’am. I meant our.”

      Morgan almost felt sorry for Jake. He wasn’t about to back up on a General, man or woman. He’d backed up on her in many a furious argument about women being weak. She saw the banked anger and confusion in his eyes for a moment, but being a SEAL, he moved on to the next important item.

      “Who’s running radio comms?” Jake asked.

      “Captain Boland will,” Mike Houston said. “She’s taken SEAL schooling in every kind of communications gear you presently utilize.”

      Relief sizzled through Jake, because that was not his specialty. “That’s good to know,” he murmured, lifting his gaze and meeting Morgan’s cool green eyes. He’d leafed through the report last night and seen her impressive list of training. If Morgan wasn’t in Afghanistan with black-ops teams, she was stateside getting more training. He respected her for that. And it could save their lives out in the field.

      “You’re going to be working with Lieutenant-Commander Viera out of J-bad,” Houston said.

      More relief showered through Jake. He might be forced to have a woman on this mission, but at least he had a solid SEAL officer supporting it. “Yes, sir. He’s the best.” And Julio Viera, or Vero, his nickname in the SEALs, was a badass Puerto Rican from the slums who had worked his way up through the ranks. He was a mustang, someone who started out as an enlisted person but eventually got to officer’s school. With a decade of experience behind him, Vero’s reputation in the community was as one of the best SEAL planners in the business. Vero would have their back, and Jake was grateful. His karma had just turned into dharma.

      Houston looked at his watch. “You’re wheels up at 1100 from Andrews. You’ll be hopping a C-130 flight to Travis Air Force Base, California. From there, you’ll fly across the Pacific and get a hop on