around. Her expression flattened to a cold indifference. “I know you are trying to relieve your mind and conscience of the horrors we’ve witnessed here today, but do not tease or test my faithfulness. I have killed and will die to defend my mother country, or my agency. My parents named me Batya. Had it been me, and I knew Moses would have presented a threat to my country, I would have drown the baby then and there.”
Justice pushed his palms up in surrender. “Whoa, no need to take it so personally. I was just trying to get some distance from this hell. Sorry if I offended you.”
“Thank you. Twice you’ve said ‘I’m sorry’ today. Maybe it is you with a soft heart.”
Batya patted his chest over his heart, their faces within inches of each other. Justice felt the warmth of her breath, through the scarf, huff against his face.
His smile vanished. His gaze zeroed in on the small, cracked rearview mirror. With his right elbow, he nudged her back into the passenger compartment. He moved slightly and when his hand reappeared, he gripped a weapon.
“Fuck.”
“What?”
He snarled, “We got company.”
Chapter 7
S ome of the most gorgeous sunsets witnessed by Justice had been in the Middle East. That dusk was no different, as another night quickly chased the day’s heat into submission. Brilliant orange and blues intermingled in what was becoming an ink black canvas. Justice saw the colors, but he focused on the platoon of men that scurried over the ridge.
He pressed his left hand along the submachine gun strapped across his shoulders. It was fully loaded and the selector switch was set to three-round bursts. He mashed his left boot heel into the floorboard as he cursed beneath his breath. He’d fucked up by turning his back to the ridge where Ben Ford had discarded the Popi tribesman’s body. Anyone spotting it would naturally enter the valley to investigate. He’d screwed up, and now had about thirty armed men heading this way.
Batya watched through her passenger’s side mirror. Her hands solidly resting on her rifle, Justice noticed the tunic rise and fall quickly across her chest.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she snapped.
“Quick assessment. Still enough distance to engage them,” Justice said.
“Who do you think they are?”
Justice flashed a closer look with his binoculars, “Their uniforms are from the Afghani security forces.” He set the binoculars against the center console and pressed a hand against Batya’s left bicep. “I’d hate like hell to start dropping innocent men, but I’m not above maiming a few for our sake.”
Justice blinked against the dusty winds that sent sharp granules of sand across his face. His body tensed at the reality of their being taken captive. He’d endure torture before they beheaded him on film, but Batya. He winced inwardly at the thoughts of what they’d do to a female—a Jewish female.
“Getting closer,” her voice waxed with anxiety.
“Let’s give them one chance to acknowledge and then start shooting.”
Batya nodded as she slid the rifle across her shins—ready to open fire. The further away they were, the better their chances of outshooting them.
“Here goes nothing.” Justice spun around and kneeled in his seat. He raised an empty hand and waved to the advancing platoon. There was nothing friendly about their non-response. They continued to encroach like nasty, hungry ants at a park-side picnic.
“No response. That means they are either too stupid to show diplomacy or too determined to neglect it for our sake. Their graves to be filled,” Batya whispered as her rifle crossed both knees and swung to the rear. Her head tilted against her left shoulder to match an eye with the scope.
Justice raised his rifle too. “Here goes nothing.”
Justice heard the gunshot milliseconds before he felt the explosion and the driver’s side front tire deflate. His eyes ripped open as he turned back around to
Justice pushed his palms up in surrender. “Whoa, no need to take it so personally. I was just trying to get some distance from this hell. Sorry if I offended you.”
“Thank you. Twice you’ve said ‘I’m sorry’ today. Maybe it is you with a soft heart.”
Batya patted his chest over his heart, their faces within inches of each other. Justice felt the warmth of her breath, through the scarf, huff against his face.
His smile vanished. His gaze zeroed in on the small, cracked rearview mirror. With his right elbow, he nudged her back into the passenger compartment. He moved slightly and when his hand reappeared, he gripped a weapon.
“Fuck.”
“What?”
He snarled, “We got company.”
Chapter 7
S ome of the most gorgeous sunsets witnessed by Justice had been in the Middle East. That dusk was no different, as another night quickly chased the day’s heat into submission. Brilliant orange and blues intermingled in what was becoming an ink black canvas. Justice saw the colors, but he focused on the platoon of men that scurried over the ridge.
He pressed his left hand along the submachine gun strapped across his shoulders. It was fully loaded and the selector switch was set to three-round bursts. He mashed his left boot heel into the floorboard as he cursed beneath his breath. He’d fucked up by turning his back to the ridge where Ben Ford had discarded the Popi tribesman’s body. Anyone spotting it would naturally enter the valley to investigate. He’d screwed up, and now had about thirty armed men heading this way.
Batya watched through her passenger’s side mirror. Her hands solidly resting on her rifle, Justice noticed the tunic rise and fall quickly across her chest.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she snapped.
“Quick assessment. Still enough distance to engage them,” Justice said.
“Who do you think they are?”
Justice flashed a closer look with his binoculars, “Their uniforms are from the Afghani security forces.” He set the binoculars against the center console and pressed a hand against Batya’s left bicep. “I’d hate like hell to start dropping innocent men, but I’m not above maiming a few for our sake.”
Justice blinked against the dusty winds that sent sharp granules of sand across his face. His body tensed at the reality of their being taken captive. He’d endure torture before they beheaded him on film, but Batya. He winced inwardly at the thoughts of what they’d do to a female—a Jewish female.
“Getting closer,” her voice waxed with anxiety.
“Let’s give them one chance to acknowledge and then start shooting.”
Batya nodded as she slid the rifle across her shins—ready to open fire. The further away they were, the better their chances of outshooting them.
“Here goes nothing.” Justice spun around and kneeled in his seat. He raised an empty hand and waved to the advancing platoon. There was nothing friendly about their non-response. They continued to encroach like nasty, hungry ants at a park-side picnic.
“No response. That means they are either too stupid to show diplomacy or too determined to neglect it for our sake. Their graves to be filled,” Batya whispered as her rifle crossed both knees and swung to the rear. Her head tilted against her left shoulder to match an eye with the scope.
Justice raised his rifle too. “Here goes nothing.”
Justice heard the gunshot milliseconds before he felt the explosion and the driver’s side front tire deflate. His eyes ripped open as he turned back around to
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