Chapter 1

Ambushed

January 18 – Democratic Republic of the Congo

Grabbing Miss Rake’s sleeve, Maxwell Stirling redirected her towards a building as he shouted, Run!

Max gritted his teeth as he urged the annoying celebrity, known as RaRa to her fans, toward shelter. However, the image-conscious singer stumbled with every step because she refused to swap her impractical high heels for the serviceable boots Draper offered to her before they left the aircraft this morning.

When one of RaRa’s spiked heels snapped, Max managed to catch her before she face-planted in the dirt. Unfortunately, her uneven hobble further impeded their pace to a defensible position.

Move it! Max roared as she halted for an unknown reason.

Don’t yell at me! Raechella Rake snarled as she stood firm. This is all your fault, and you’re going to pay for my ruined shoes. They are custom made by Roberto … five thousand dollars.

Max would’ve laughed but didn’t have time. Whether he liked it or not, his job was to ensure Miss Rake stayed alive. Whoever authorized her trip to this war-torn hellhole should be raked over hot coals—or at least be the one saddled with babysitting her.

But no, this shitty duty fell to him as Zulu’s rookie. To be fair, he lost the rock, paper, scissors throw down with Zach when the four senior members appointed them as the unlucky ones to deal with the rude and haughty celeb during today’s outing.

Again, he seized her arm and propelled the imbecile toward cover. Only a few feet from relative safety, Max overheard Zulu Two in his headset, Zulu Six, down. Now!

Without reservation or hesitation, Max launched himself at RaRa, taking them both to the ground. His body covered hers as an RPG struck the third floor of the edifice he planned to take shelter in. Rubble rained down on them, slamming into his back. Fortunately, his backpack and the armor plate in his vest provided his ribs some protection and cushioning from the shower.

Although he used his arms to partially cover his head, one fairly large rock, brick, piece of mud-concrete … whatever, smacked the side of his skull, ringing his bell and making him wish he wore a helmet. But being incognito as hired bodyguards had been the plan of the day, nixing that particular piece of gear.

When the debris deluge ceased, Max rose and dragged RaRa up with him. Though damaged, this building was still the closest refuge in which to assess his options without being exposed to the bullets kicking up dust around them.

Once inside, he lowered his now quiet charge to the floor and peeked out the doorway, hoping to locate his teammates. Being separated from them would be a surefire way to end up dead—like the FARDC soldiers in the truck blown to bits by an RPG.

Those men never stood a chance when the rebel attack came out of nowhere. Max refused to become a casualty in a conflict that tore apart this country for twenty-odd years. Sighting a man on the roof across the plaza with a rocket launcher pointing in his direction, Max sent a bullet down range. Pink mist bursting from the man’s head confirmed he made a clean kill shot.

Though Dave had warned him to get down, Max wondered where his 2IC and the rest of Zulu ended up in the scramble for cover. His visual scan netted no results, so he tried comms.

Zulu Six to Zulu One.

Silence met Max’s call.

Six to any Zulu element.

Nothing.

TOC, do you copy?

When he received no answer, Max grabbed his radio from his waist, and the reason became apparent. The durable device was no match for bullets. Though thankful the slugs found a home in the radio instead of him, now he wouldn’t be able to communicate with his team or the tactical ops center.

You didn’t have to land on me. I was going as fast as possible. You ripped my designer shirt. That will be another two thousand added to your bill. Raechella scowled at the blond soldier as she removed her shoe to dump the offending gravel.

Having had enough of RaRa’s grating voice and total lack of comprehension of the reality of their dire situation, Max bit out, Saved your fucking life. I’d call us even. Besides, all my money is taken up buying beer.

Max couldn’t believe the last slipped out, but it was true. He probably owed the team at least a dozen cases for all the firsts on this deployment. Rubbing the left side of his head, Max’s fingers came away damp with blood, which he wiped on his dark jeans. He figured the rock must’ve created a gash, but he didn’t have time to worry about a minor injury.

Too wrapped up in her own little world to notice the soldier’s bleeding head, Raechella spat, Don’t you dare curse at me. You will speak respectfully, or I will inform your commanding officer of your foul language and rough handling.

He could only stare—thinking the dye used to color her hair radish-red must’ve seeped in and caused brain damage. His life, and the ridiculous singer’s, depended solely on him until he located the others. He turned away from her to peer outside.

Max longed for his sunglasses, his head aching as he squinted against the bright midday sun. Regrettably, RaRa slapped his face upon their arrival at the orphanage earlier today, knocking his eyewear off, then stomped on them for no reason.

Searching spots where the guys might’ve taken cover, Max wished to find Jake. Zulu One would have a plan to save their asses—he always did. Still awed Master Chief Marshall selected him for the Navy’s premier strike team, Max strove to make the man who became his mentor proud.

As his gaze hunted for his scattered teammates, he realized Dave had at least spotted where they were headed since he warned him of the RPG. As he scanned the rooftops and windows nearby with his scope without locating anyone, Max weighed whether staying put or moving out would be the safest course of action.

The decision was made for him as he focused on a dust cloud in the near distance. It alerted him to the imminent arrival of a substantial force. With no way of knowing if they were friendly FARDC reinforcement or ISIS-aligned Allied Democratic Forces, Max couldn’t take the chance of it being the ADF.

Pivoting and crouching, Max grabbed the foolish shoe from RaRa, snapped off the spike, and shoved it on her foot. After pulling the reluctant woman to her feet as she ranted at him about deliberately destroying her expensive footwear, he prodded her to the rear of the room.

Quiet! We need to haul ass. If more rebels are arriving, we’ll be overrun in less than five minutes. Our only chance of survival is to find transport or a hidey-hole. Move if you want to live.

As the mouthy woman pursed her lips and stopped resisting his attempt to make her go, Max hoped to locate a vehicle of some sort because it was unlikely RaRa would be able to keep her trap shut for long unless he gagged her.

DRC Airport – Zulu’s Plane – TOC

Richard Wimbly got into Lieutenant Commander Lockwood’s face, spittle coming out with his furious, berating words, What do you mean you lost her? How could you lose RaRa?

Bryan Lockwood wiped the flecks of liquid from his cheek but didn’t back down. His voice calm, Zulu’s commander replied, A rebel force ambushed them.

How? I thought you were supposed to be hot-shit, the best the Navy has to offer, Wimbly scoffed.

Undaunted by the rat-faced man, Petty Officer Kira Draper replied, Perhaps if you hadn’t publicized her exact route on social media, they wouldn’t have had such an easy target.

But RaRa is loved. Her adoring fans would want to come out to see her. A rare opportunity for them, Richard retorted.

Bryan turned back to the comms, giving a slight nod to Draper to relocate Rake’s slimy public relations representative. If anyone was to blame for this going off the rails, it was Wimbly. The idiot posted her itinerary on several media platforms, blatantly ignoring all the security protocols designed to keep everyone safe in this hostile area.

This Personal Security Detail assignment pissed him off. Zulu shouldn’t have been pulled from their main deployment objectives to act as a celebrity’s PSD. If Captain Athole hadn’t been court-martialed and convicted, he might believe the corrupt, former intel officer arranged another attempt to murder Zulu.

But Athole was in prison, and Max’s father, Preston Stirling, had been vindicated. So, Bryan wondered who possessed the power to divert a top-tier team from going after terrorists, even for a few days, to play babysitter. He might understand if they were providing security for a prominent diplomatic envoy but not a two-bit singer on a promotional tour.

Leaving the whys and wherefores on the back burner, Bryan focused on the current situation as he lifted the mike and said, TOC to Zulu One, sitrep.

Village – Jake’s Position

As Grant Beckett, the unit’s medic, wrapped his left wrist and Zach Connors, their dog handler, guarded the doorway, Jake Marshall replied, No change. Two’s scanning for Three. Rebels converged on the building Six entered with Cherub, but they aren’t celebrating. Think the rookie eluded them, but don’t know what direction he went. Thick smoke is obscuring our sight.

Ours too, but hoping when it clears, ISR nets us a direction for you. How’s your wrist? Bryan asked.

Tweaked, but usable. Not an issue.

Are the rebels aware of your location?

Not yet, but they are searching.

Dave cut in, Found Three. We gotta get him. He’s buried in the rubble. His leg appears stuck. We need to move now. A group will be on him in less than two mikes.

Racing down the stairs, Dave Katz met Jake, Grant, and Zach at the bottom and led the way. As they rounded the corner, Finn McBride had already rendered two of the eight rebels lifeless, but being trapped with no cover, if they hadn’t arrived when they did, he would’ve met the Grim Reaper today.

Sustained gunfire alerted other rebels to their position, and they came running. Zach and Grant rushed to uncover Finn as Jake and Dave picked off hostiles that were dimwitted enough to make themselves easy targets.

Once freed, Finn endeavored to stand on his own, but pain radiated up his right leg. Grant noted blood soaking Zulu Three’s jeans and, without wasting words, swung Finn’s arm over his shoulder to assist him. Zach took point, glad Rocketeer hadn’t come with them today. His furry, four-legged partner remained safe on Zulu’s plane with Draper and Lockwood.

As a group, the five men rushed to another building. They entered, then exited out the rear and sprinted down the backstreet. Ducking in and out through a maze of buildings and narrow alleys, they didn’t rest until they put enough distance between themselves and the rebels. Once Jake found a defensible spot, they stopped to allow Grant to check Finn’s wound.

Chapter 2

Mad Dash

Village – Max’s Location

Surprised the singer was not overly winded during their mad dash, Max realized she likely exercised, which worked in his favor. They made dozens of direction changes and backtracked multiple times in the past hour as he strove to evade the rebels.

With each move, he hoped to run across Zulu, but regrettably, he only found more dissidents. To conserve ammo, Max sought to hide or retreat, but when those options failed, he aimed for and nailed the light switch, dropping the pursuers before they killed or captured them.

Halting at the next corner, Max took a quick peek. Relieved to find it clear, he moved again, and his shadow, who had become quiet, gripped his pack and followed him step for step. As they neared the village’s outskirts, places to hide became sparser.

Aware he must find a location for them to rest while he got his bearings and determined how the hell to get them out of here alive, he approached what he assumed to be a storage shed and stopped. As his hand reached for the handle, rusty hinges squeaked, and it opened from the inside. Max raised his weapon, ready to take out the person if they posed a risk.

A teenage girl’s brown eyes widened with shock, not at the gun, which didn’t appear to faze her, but at the woman behind the man. Speaking French, she excitedly gushed, "RaRa! I can’t believe it.

Oh, my goodness, you are my all-time favorite singer in the whole world. My teacher plays your music for us at school. You have such a beautiful voice, and I love your song, Kindness Soothes the Soul.

Interjecting himself, Max asked in fluent French, Is anyone else inside? When the girl shook her head, Max lowered his gun and gripped Rake’s arm, pulling her with him as he said, Your lucky day. RaRa wants to visit with you.

Once inside, Max scanned the one-room, corrugated tin hut before taking a sentry position at the partially open door to check if any rebels followed them. With the area clear, he shut the portal and moved to the small, curtained window.

Raechella peered at the ruthless man she had initially believed to be a baby-faced hottie. But he killed over a dozen men without blinking an eye, making her sick to her stomach. She didn’t speak the language, so she had no clue what he said to the gibbering girl but was glad for a respite. She sank to the floor, her feet aching—running around in broken high heels was not fun.

Without shifting his eyes from the window, Max asked the young girl, What is your name?

Pausing from talking to RaRa, who only stared at her with a confused mien, the teen said, I’m Ryta. Who are you?

RaRa’s bodyguard. Does anyone else live here, and if so, when will they return?

What are you saying to her? Raechella demanded in English.

Quiet, Max responded to his charge before glancing at Ryta and switching back to French. Please, it is important. I must keep her safe. Rebels are trying to find us.

Not wanting either of them to be harmed, Ryta told the truth, Only my mom, and she won’t be home until after dark. She works long hours to buy food and send me to school.

Realizing her idol might be thirsty, Ryta poured water from the pitcher into the best of the two cups they owned, hurried over to RaRa, and held it out to her with a bright smile.

Raechella’s lip curled in a sneer when the wooden cup appeared before her. What is this?

Max again glanced over and spoke English. Ryta’s offering you water. I have a bottle in my pack, which would be safer. Don’t need dysentery. Shifting off his backpack, a stab of pain made itself known in his right side.

Ignoring it for now, he withdrew two bottles and a protein bar. He handed one bottle to RaRa before holding the chocolate-covered granola bar out to Ryta and used French again. I’d like you to have this token as a thank you for your kindness. Please don’t be offended, but RaRa isn’t used to the local water, and it might make her sick, so she must drink what I brought.

Ryta smiled and graciously accepted his offer, tucking the shiny package into her pocket to share with her mother when she got home tonight.

What did you say to her? Raechella demanded as she twisted off the bottle’s top, annoyed because he gave away the food.

Max paraphrased, We appreciated her thoughtfulness and wanted her to have a treat.

But I need those supplies. I’m hungry. You should’ve given it to me instead of the filthy little urchin. Raechella shuddered and screwed up her face as she pinched her nose. She stinks. Don’t they ever bathe?

Disgusted by the narcissistic redhead and glad the considerate teenager didn’t understand English, Max refused to deign RaRa’s offensive question with a reply. The woman was wholly indifferent to the suffering of people around the globe.

After witnessing RaRa’s repulsed expressions as they toured the school and orphanage she donated to, he grasped the only reason for her visit was self-promotion. This was a publicity stunt, an attempt to repair her reputation after she’d been lambasted on social media for making several racist comments.

Max uncapped his water and took a sip as the pain in his side gnawed at him. Pressing his hand to the aching spot to ascertain how badly he’d been bruised, he wasn’t surprised to encounter dampness since he sweated buckets during their run.

But when he spied his bloody hand, he realized it wasn’t just a contusion. Well, shit.

Lifting his shirt, he tried to determine if his injury required more than a simple bandage. However, no matter how he twisted, Max couldn’t view the extent of the damage. Unhappy he had to ask her, he turned to RaRa. How big is the gash? Is it deep?

Gagging at the sight of the jagged cut and blood, Raechella promptly ralphed.

Ryta raced forward, grabbing their only stool, and spoke rapid-fire French. Sit down. Oh, my! That is terrible. It must hurt a lot. How can I help you? Concern etched her features as she waited for him to tell her what to do.

Describe what it looks like, please.

I have a mirror. Ryta pivoted and rushed to the rickety table by the single bed. She picked up a small rectangle before returning and holding it to provide him a visual.

Max grimaced. Although not a major wound, it wasn’t so minor as he could ignore it. His medkit had a mini-staple gun, but based on RaRa’s reaction, she would be useless in assisting him. With reluctance, not wanting to impose or traumatize the teen but having no other option, Max said, If I explain what to do, would you be willing to help me close and dress the wound?

Yes. Yes.

Max handed Ryta a pair of gloves to don, then swallowed the broad-spectrum antibiotic pill he retrieved from his medkit. Being in less than stellar sanitary conditions, he’d do what he could to avoid infection. Following his directions, his young Nightingale rinsed the gash with the remainder of his bottled water, applied antiseptic, pulled the ragged edges of his skin together, and stapled it closed for him before deftly applying a bandage.

During the whole process, Raechella averted her eyes after moving away from the vomitus she left on the floor. She stewed, blaming him for everything, including making her puke. While he was occupied, she rummaged in his pack, taking another water and one of his candy bars, then furtively consumed them.

Pulling his shirt down, Max smiled at his assistant. Thank you. We won’t stay much longer. I don’t want to put you at risk.

Ryta nodded sadly. May God keep you safe.

Max lifted his pack, wincing as the staples pulled when he slung it over his shoulders. His gaze turned to Ms. Rake, and he swapped languages again. Time to go. Our pursuers will kill Ryta if we’re found here, and I don’t want that to happen.

But we can’t go out there. They’ll find us. Raechella backed up as fear increased. Besides, I can’t walk anymore. My feet are sore. You ruined my shoes.

Max seized RaRa’s arm. We’re leaving. Had you taken the boots Draper offered, your feet wouldn’t hurt.

They weren’t designer. I can’t be seen in something so tacky and rustic. I have an image … a brand to protect.

Max muttered under his breath, And I have a tactless, spoiled brat with no common sense to protect.

What did you say?

Let’s go. Now! Max tugged the revolting woman to the door. Keep your mouth shut and do as I tell you, and you might live.

Might? Raechella’s mouth went dry. You mean you will kill me if I don’t?

You’re fucking ridiculous. Do you possess even one brain cell? If I wanted you dead, which quite frankly is surprisingly not as abhorrent as I once thought, I would’ve let the dozen men I killed have you.

Max’s words induced the desired effect. RaRa shut her pie-hole as her eyes widened. If they got out of this with their lives intact, both Lockwood and Marshall would likely dress him down for the harsh words, but at this point, he hurt too much to give a damn.

Focusing on the priority—keeping them alive—Max exited Ryta’s home.

TOC

Arriving at Zulu’s plane, Jake deposited Finn on a gurney near the aircraft’s ramp, leaving him in Grant’s care. They lucked out and found a truck to exit the remote area, crawling with rebels. It was one of the hardest decisions he ever made to retreat without Max, but they would all be dead if they hadn’t.

Determined to rescue their rookie, Jake figured his team would be here only long enough to gear up properly and resupply. He hoped Lockwood found a lead on Stirling’s whereabouts during the hours it took them to return to the airport.

Richard Wimbly glared as five members of Zulu entered the aircraft. He went on the offensive, singling out the leader. Why’d you leave RaRa? Get your asses back out there and find her!

Jake kept walking, disregarding the man he deemed responsible for the attack that separated him from Max and the repugnant protectee. His destination was Lockwood, who gathered with Draper around the ISR feed.

They needed a plan, resources, and a heaping ration of luck if they were gonna find Max before the radicals. Bryan, what do you have for me?

Grabbing the sleeve of the dismissive man, Richard roared, Soldier, don’t you ignore me!

Whipping around, Jake used his uninjured hand to dash the singer’s rep into the racks on the plane’s side, pinning Wimbly with a steely glare radiating barely controlled rage. If his wrist wasn’t aching from landing on it wrong and he didn’t need it to be in working order to help the kid, the man’s teeth would be down his throat—courtesy of his fist.

That’s sailor, and don’t touch me again, or I’ll rip your fucking head off and repatriate it up your ass. You’re the reason my rookie is alone, trying to keep himself and your precious RaRa alive. So back off, sit the fuck down, shut your goddamn mouth, and let me do my job.

Bryan’s brows arched, not because of Jake’s words but because of his restraint. Jake, we might have a location. Draper captured an image of two people on the edge of the town.

After releasing Wimbly, Jake pivoted and strode to Lockwood. Show me.

Dave joined them to view the footage and review the maps of the area. Meanwhile, Zach put Rocky’s working vest on and then grabbed one of Max’s t-shirts to give the hair missile a scent to work with once they got close.

Grant made Finn drop his pants so he could inspect the thigh wound. On the way here, Finn argued with Jake and him, insisting he would go with them when they located Max. Assessing the laceration, Grant shook his head. Gonna need a few stitches. Think you’ll be sitting this one out.

Like hell! Clean it. Sew it. Not leaving the wee lamb out there to fend for himself. Got some serious payback in mind. Finn eyed Grant, refusing to be put on the injured reserve.

Aware Finn was pissed he failed to reach Stirling after they exited the vehicles as RPGs launched from several directions, Grant held his tongue. It wasn’t worth poking the bear since he’d leave the final decision to Jake, anyway.

However, fully understanding McBride would do whatever was necessary to retrieve their brother, as would every one of them, Grant said, I can use topical lidocaine, but can’t give you anything strong for pain if you’re coming with us.

Don’t need any. Git ‘er done so I can restock my ammo. Finn gritted his teeth as Grant rinsed out his wound. Though he might pop a few ibuprofens before heading out, Finn would use the throbbing discomfort to strengthen his resolve to locate their pain-in-the-ass rookie.

Though Zulu Six wheedled his way straight into Finn’s heart, he wouldn’t shirk his responsibility as the team’s chosen shepherd. Once their lost lamb was safe and sound, he’d read Max the riot act for running the wrong damned way.

Chapter 3

No Decent Options

Outskirts of Village – Near River

Though his pack and armor saved him from busted bones, the pummeling his body took when the rubble fell on him left Max aching after several hours of playing hide and seek. After leaving Ryta’s home, he managed to evade the rebels, but with the sun near the horizon, he must find a secure place for the night.

It sucked, but he recognized he and the abhorrent, although mercifully now silent, Rake would spend tonight in this wretched place. Unfortunately, he had not located a decent spot within the village to hide overnight. The ADF soldiers were everywhere, and multiple times, he barely gave them the slip.

Coming to the edge of a building, he halted to catch his breath and peek around the corner, hoping he eluded the latest batch of armed men. Severely low on ammo, he couldn’t afford to engage with them in an extended firefight. Thankfully, the coast was clear.

With no decent options, Max eyed the filthy