Page 41 of The 9th Man

“That’s a FLIR,” she said, referring to forward-looking infrared radar.

“These guys are well equipped.”

Bullets rained down.

They both sought cover behind a thick trunk.

To whoever was wielding that rifle he and Jillian were easy targets, negative-image monochrome silhouettes set against the dark forest floor, the weapons coupled to the thermal imaging. On the upside, NV optics didn’t wield the same penetration power as infrared.

Which offered them an opportunity.

“Get ready to move.” He peeked around the tree and received another near-miss bullet. “He’s still in the same place, but that won’t last long. He’ll be guiding the others toward us. Let’s go.”

He kept the tree between them and the chopper, crouched down, moving forward with Jillian close behind. He spotted a narrow game trail, slithered under a fallen tree, then turned left along its length. Sure, he should be concerned for snakes, but the bullets from above seemed a far greater threat. He rolled right, scrambling, then started sliding downward. Branches and leaves slashed his face. He spread his legs to slow his descent. Jillian bumped into him. Tangled together they lurched to a stop and the bottom of the slope, inside a tunnel of sorts, a tangle of fallen trees and crisscrossed branches that blocked out the sky. Above, the helicopter was circling as the shooter tried to reacquire them.

In the distance came a shout, then another.

Over here. This way.

Bad guys were converging from every direction. Not an unfamiliar feeling, like an old friend you don’t especially like but can’t seem to shake. Especially when you know you’re outnumbered and the cavalry ain’t coming.

But he wasn’t caught.

Not yet.

What was the Ranger way?

When in doubt, act.

17

LUKE CRAWLED FORWARD, LETTING THE SLOPE TAKE HIM DEEPER INTOthe makeshift vegetation tunnel, which was roomy. He lifted his hand and felt the curve of a tree trunk. He reached back, grabbed Jillian’s arm, and dragged her closer.

“Through there. Go as far as you can.”

“They’re right on top of us,” she whispered.

“I know. Crawl through.”

She wriggled through the gap ahead and disappeared.

Behind them at the mouth of the tunnel a voice called, “Over here.”

He froze, then gripped the pistol, flattened himself on his spine, and stayed still. A flashlight beam panned down the slope.

“I’m going in,” a male voice called out.

The beam advanced, widened, then grew brighter. Slowly Luke eased the pistol up and aimed between his legs. His heart pounded. He sucked a breath, held it, then slowly let it out. His pulse slowed. Overhead, the thump of the helicopter’s rotors intensified. Surely circling. Hunting for movement. Were he and Jillian deep enough to make the radar useless? Was the brush thick enough? Up the tunnel, the flashlight beam appeared over the crest. It moved down the slope, gliding toward him. He readied himself, settling the pistol’s sight on the figure behind the beam. The light skimmed over his head, then stopped. It returned and paused. He gently tightened his index finger, eliminating the trigger tension, readying for a quick shot.

Milliseconds counted here.

A radio chirped and the man said, “Nothing down here.”

The flashlight retreated over the crest and back up the tunnel.

He wriggled himself sideways and crawled into a bough-covered cave-like cavity. He and Jillian lay shoulder-to-shoulder, staring upward. Boots clomped on the logs above. A flashlight beam pierced the branches above Luke’s head, casting moving shadows. When the footsteps faded he whispered to her, “Looks like they’re headin’ out. They may think we’re still ahead of them. Let’s get moving before they decide to double back.”

“And the helicopter?”