Mercy and Mayhem Men of Mercy(24)

       
         
       
        

This environment wasn't his first choice for a battleground, especially when his men were possibly injured and definitely outnumbered. But if they failed to escape, there was no question his men were ready to do battle. They'd taken on worse than this, pulled off covert raids into war-torn countries.

Of course, the snake incident had already proven that the guerrillas weren't the only type of enemy they were facing. He hadn't studied the Congo with as much intensity as he'd studied Jack Mankel's compound, but he'd watched enough National Geographic to know there were thousands of poisonous insects and animals. And hell, he could hear them. A single bite could take any of them out as fast as a bullet could.

Ultimately, that didn't matter though. Mack sure as hell wasn't about to let Mankel get off with anything less than death. If he had to cut the head off of every snake in this forest, he would. Nothing and no one would stop him from exacting his revenge.

Mack dug his elbows into the wet, sticky mud covering the forest floor and dragged himself forward inch by inch, looking for any sign of movement of the enemy. It didn't take long for the water from above and around him to soak his jump suit straight through. He felt like he was belly crawling through a damn bayou rather than the forest floor.

After continuing on this way for a while, he paused, sensing something was off, and listened to the sounds of the jungle around him. He couldn't hear his men crawling across the floor next to him, and he shouldn't. His team moved with deadly silence.

But he didn't hear the local wildlife either; even the din of insects buzzing had died out, leaving the forest eerily quiet.

Even though his instincts were urging him to get to his feet so he could get a better read on the situation, he didn't move a muscle. The silence in the forest could only be caused by one thing-men.

The prickling sensation down his neck wasn't from the droplets of water still working their way down his spine-his inner warning bells were ringing, trying to get his attention. As quietly as he could, Mack turned his head slightly to the right, peering through the small gaps in the leaves for any break or abnormalities.

About five feet out, he caught sight of a black boot, its toes scuffed and covered with streaks of mud. That boot didn't belong to any of his men. And then that foot shifted, there was a faint crunch and a muffled cough, and Mack realized they'd crawled right into the heart of the enemy.

Fuck! This situation was a nanosecond away from going fubar.

Mack could practically feel the fear spilling out of Marley. She'd seen the guerrilla, too, and she was smart enough to realize exactly where he'd inadvertently led them. His men had one factor on their side-surprise. 

If their comms system hadn't been smashed into a million pieces from the HALO jump, Mack would've been able to quickly communicate with his team, but as it stood they were blind and deaf. If they stayed where they were, they'd only make it a few more minutes without detection. Their only hope was to go on the attack, using the element of surprise to confuse the enemy, and book it the hell out of Dodge at the earliest possible opportunity.

Mack closed his eyes for a brief second and drew in a long steadying breath, allowing the cold control to take over. Nervous trigger fingers would only get them killed, and his goal was to get each and every single one of them out of the situation alive.

He'd ingrained each and every single one of his men with the ability to work as a team. They would all have a gauge on the situation by now; it was up to Mack to take charge and lead them through it. His men would follow without hesitation, despite their lack of communication. He'd been with them long enough, trained them hard enough, to know they'd read his moves and intuit what he wanted them to do.

But Marley wouldn't. She'd have no idea what his hand signals meant and he couldn't risk talking to her without giving away their position. He said a quick prayer that she wouldn't scream and run the minute the battle broke out. Damn, he and his men would have already disabled this enemy if they'd been here alone. Now, they'd be booking it out of this jungle.

But no matter how much Marley slowed him down, there was no way he could leave her to fend for herself or treat her like one of the guys. There was something soft and feminine about her, beneath all the attitude, that called to him. Something that would be extinguished along with the rest of them if he didn't get them the hell out of this mess.

The time for action was now.

Mack shot to a standing position, pulling the trigger as soon as he had a lock on the man closest to him. He registered the split-second of shock on the guerrilla's face before Mack's bullet lodged in his throat.