PART 7
Back on Echo Ridge, Holt was no longer making jokes.
Sweat ran down his temple despite the cold.
“They’re pulling back behind the rocks.”
“No,” Ava said. “They’re regrouping.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the commander hasn’t moved yet.”
Holt scanned wildly.
“Commander?”
Ava adjusted her scope.
“The one not shooting.”
Deep in the ravine, Sergeant Rudd pressed himself against a fallen trunk while rounds tore leaves above him.
Blood ran down one side of his face.
Beside him, Private Grant was breathing too fast, one hand clamped over his wounded arm.
Rudd keyed his radio.
“Stroud, talk to me.”
Ava’s voice returned, calm as stone.
“Your west ridge is clear. North pressure reduced. South flank paused. Enemy command element is east of your position, high brush, near the dead cedar.”
Rudd looked.
He saw nothing.
“Negative visual.”
“They see you,” Ava said.
The words chilled him.
Then she added, “Smoke in ten seconds. When it blooms, move your wounded behind the black rock.”
Rudd didn’t argue.
He had learned long ago that calm people under fire were either useless or priceless.
Ava Stroud had just become priceless.
“Copy,” he said. “On your mark.”
Ava shifted her rifle slightly.
“Holt.”
“I have it,” he said quickly. “Man with smoke grenade on Rudd’s right. Green pouch. He’s ready.”
Ava did not fire at him.
Instead, she watched the enemy commander raise his hand.
Timing was everything.
If the Rangers moved too early, they would die.
If they moved too late, the ravine would collapse on them.
The commander’s hand dropped.
May you like
Ava fired.
But not at him.
