Chapter One
The troop had been dropped behind enemy lines. As far as the government was concerned, they didn't exist.
Nigel leaned against an old tree for support, being sure to stay low to the ground so that the bushes near the base of the tree mostly obscured him.
Sweat was beginning to stream down his face now. He had to resist the instinct to mop at it, knowing it might take off some of his face paint. He ignored the discomfort of the heat and the mosquitoes whining in his ears. His life and the life of his fellow troops were in jeopardy if things didn't go according to plan.
He heard a bird call, the signal to proceed toward the package. Just as he rose up, though, he heard rapid gun fire and return fire on his left.
Then, all hell broke loose.
The enemy started running from the undergrowth on the other side of the forest opposite his troop, whooping and hollering like maniacs, firing at everything and anything that moved. Men shouted and screamed in agony as they were gunned down. His nostrils stung with the smell of gunpowder as he raced forward from his hiding place toward the package, but it was too late. The enemy was bearing down on it and all the rest of his troop were in mortal combat. Static broke through on his shoulder com, and then he heard his commanding officer yelling for all of them to fall back to the extraction point.
Cursing, he left the package, to heavy for one man alone to carry, and headed for the deep cover of the woods, stopping to fire at the enemy as he ducked behind trees here and there. He kept going, trying to keep up with the rest of the troop, most of which were further ahead. Thankfully, they weren't far from the extraction point.
Firing again at the enemy hot on his trail, he broke away from the protection of a thick tree and made a run for it. He heard the crack of a gun from behind him, heard the sound of it as it continued to fire in his direction. And then he felt the heat of the bullets as they tore through his flesh. He grunted in pain and fell forward, whether from the force of the bullets or the pain he wasn't sure.
He couldn't stop. He had to keep moving. If they caught up with him, he was a dead man. He got to his feet and willed his body to ignore the pain. Thankfully, adrenaline was kicking in and it wasn't too unbearable. He ran as fast as he could through the thick undergrowth of the woods until he stumbled upon another member of his troop on the ground leaning against a tree. He leaned down and pushed the man's head back so that he could see his face. It was Sgt. Wilmont, a good friend.
Wilmont moaned when Nigel pushed his head back.
Nigel could see why. He'd been shot through the neck and there was a massive amount of blood coating his camouflage.
Grabbing Wilmont by one arm, his slung it over the back of his shoulders and helped him to his feet. He was like a dead weight against him, but he wasn't about to leave him. He set off as quickly as he could, more urgent now that he could see the break in the tree line.
They knew they were fucked, but he wasn't going to let that knowledge stop him.
As he ran from the coverage of the forest, he was almost blinded by the light that met his eyes. His breath left him in short bursts. The pain shooting through his arm and leg from where the bullets had gone through him were almost too much to bear, but still he continued to carry Wilmont. The smaller man had long since passed out from loss of blood from the gunshot through the side of his neck.
Too many had already lost their lives this day, he was determined they wouldn't be among them. He struggled on, willing himself to go faster as he heard the snipers closing in on their group and a few of his fellow soldiers return fire just a few yards behind him. Soldiers rushed past him to the plateau up ahead. He could hear the engine of the helicopter that had come to get them, but it was still out of site. Not long now. He could make it. He could see the swirling of sand up ahead, he could almost feel the buzz of the engine.
A shot whizzed past his ear, and he ducked down behind some rocks close by, dragging Wilmont with him. His lungs were on fire now, and he was covered in sweat and blood. There was so much blood he couldn't tell how much of it was his and how much of it belonged to Wilmont, but he knew they were both bleeding profusely. They didn't have much time. More gun shots rang out, and he could hear return fire from the plateau. The rest of the group had made it to the helicopter. A few seconds later, he saw the chopper fly overhead.
They had left them! A sinking feeling of despair began to fill him.
They must have thought he had been gunned down like the rest of the party. Realizing that he didn't have the luxury for remorse at the moment, he acted quickly. Looking around for some kind of cover, he spotted a small depression in the rock just a few feet from him. He could make it and still be sheltered from view by the jutting rocks he was leaning against.
Picking up Wilmont again, he gritted his teeth against the pain coursing through him. He slowly made his way over to the depression, hoping they would make it inside before they were found. The hole was shallow, but it was large enough for the two men to lay down inside and not be seen. Getting down inside, he laid Wilmont on the floor quickly and quietly.
Turning to see if they had been spotted, he saw that blood had dripped all the way to where he was, creating an easy line to follow. He had to hurry, he had to cover up the trail of blood he had left in his wake before the enemy found them.
Grabbing a handful of sand from the cavern floor, he stood up, exposed from his shoulders up, and tossed the sand over the blood. It wasn't enough. He bent and grabbed two more handfuls twice again, quickly covering the trail.
Rock crunched under the booted feet of the enemy as they approached the outcropping of rock he had leaned against for protection just a few minutes earlier.
As he lay waiting to be captured by the enemy, he pulled his rifle up and gripped it tightly against his chest with both hands. He tried to maintain alertness. He had to be ready. At least, he might be able take some of them with him. But, despite his best efforts, he began to drift toward unconsciousness.
The depression was much cooler than the hot sand he'd been running through. A breeze swept over his hot skin. It felt good. He closed his eyes.
Briefly, he considered trying to bandage his injuries, but he became more lethargic by the second, and his thoughts were a dizzying dark spiral in his mind. Had he covered their tracks well enough? Would the enemy find them anyway?
For what seemed like an eternity, he lay, waiting for something. He couldn't tell how long he'd been there, minutes, hours? But soon, he lost focus, and he thought of his mother and his brothers back home. The life he could have had floated by in his mind's eye, a home of his own, a job outside the military, a family. His mother had so desperately wanted grandchildren, but he had kept putting it off. There was plenty of time to make a family, to have children, he'd told her.
Before he slipped into the black abyss calling him, one thought haunted him. I will never see my sons.
)
Sera was moved by the plea of the woman who'd posted the ad for a surrogate to carry her dead son's child. Beyond that, it sparked a need dormant within her. She still had her doubts as to whether she was actually cut out to be anyone's mother, and whether or not she could juggle motherhood with her demanding business, but realized it was an opportunity she didn't want to slip by her. She discovered a lot of things she hadn't counted on--morning sickness, a sky rocketing libido--and the sudden arrival of the man she'd never expected to meet--her baby's father. Rating: Carnal.
