Morgan's Hunter Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Author

  Morgans Hunter

  Copyright © 2012 by Cate Beauman. All rights reserved.

  Visit Cate at www.catebeauman.com

  Or visit her Facebook page: www.facebook.com/CateBeauman

  First Kindle Edition: September 2012

  Editor: Nicholas J. Ambrose

  Cover and formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  DEDICATION

  For my boys, Brian, Joel, and Connor, whose love and support made all of this possible.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A big thank you to my amazing husband, my number one fan, for your love and support during this exciting journey. I couldn’t do this without you!

  To my Critique Circle crew—Melissa Mayberry, Rachelle Ayala, Dawn Wimbish Prather, Joel Muranelli, Susan Elsworth, Aminah Grefer, and Angela Quarles. Thank you for helping me shape my story into something I can be proud of.

  CHAPTER 1

  September 2010

  Helmand Province, Afghanistan

  GUNNERY SERGEANT HUNTER PHILLIPS AND his men drove toward their target: Al-Qaeda’s number three.

  Satellite imagery confirmed Abbas Muhammad Muhammad Tayi hid in a small village ten miles away, but a source warned they had the wrong man.

  Hunter and his force recon unit were about to find out. After a year of searching, tracking, hunting, they would substantiate the evidence either way. Bringing the fucker to justice thirty days before they departed this godforsaken land would be the perfect end to their tour.

  The caravan of two up-armored Humvees moved swiftly down the endless, dusty road, dodging enormous blast holes created by Soviet mines years before, skirting past the blackened remains of a truck three Marines died in yesterday.

  Like a mascot of death, the burned vehicle welcomed the recon unit to “The Danger Zone”. In the last month alone, ten soldiers had lost their lives along the eternal stretch of dirt. Rocky terrain laden with caves and deep crevices surrounded the Humvees. Insurgents roamed the area, ever eager to take their shot at US forces.

  Although the route clearance team had driven by twenty minutes before, ten pairs of eyes scanned the road and dirt beyond, watchful for mounds of sand and small rocks—tell-tale signs of IEDs.

  “And as we drive through the fucking valley of the shadow of death, I would like to remind you all that God is good, men. Keep Him with you today,” Hunter said into his radio.

  Nine “Amens” answered back.

  Tension hung thick and the vehicles were silent except for the hum of motor and constant click of Carson, Hunter’s gunner above, moving in half circles in his mechanical seat.

  The unit had gone a year without a casualty—a miracle in direct action warfare. But the law of averages told them they were due, and they all knew it.

  Somewhere during the last mile, the AC had petered out. Hunter tugged at his collar, sweat soaked and miserable, trying to ignore the one hundred degree heat and baking sun boring through the windshield, zapping energy from him and his men like a furnace straight from hell.

  Perspiration trapped by camouflage fabric and bulletproof vests mixed with sand, chafing, burning, only adding to wretched conditions.

  As the truck plowed ahead, Hunter’s shoulder blades itched, his stomach pitched. His eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening as he searched the rocks beyond. Something wasn’t right. His gut instinct was never wrong and his men didn’t question it. “Men, I’ve got the itch. Stay alert. I repeat, stay alert.”

  “Still glad you picked this route, Gunny?” Jake Johnson said from truck two.

  Despite the situation, a small smile ghosted Hunter’s mouth. “Don’t be a pussy, Johnson.” He lurched to the right as the driver swerved around another blast hole. “The fastest route isn’t always the safest. That’s why I’m lead truck. I’ll keep you safe, honey.”

  Jake chuckled. “Fuck you, man.”

  Hunter grinned, forever scrutinizing their surroundings. “You’ll be tucked in with your blankey before—”

  The massive explosion cut him off, shaking his vehicle as it deafened. “What the fuck?”

  He glanced in his rearview mirror. Smoke plumed from truck two. Oh God—Jake. Bullets pinged against armored trucks as the unit took on fire, making it impossible to check on their brothers.

  “Return fire! Return fire!” Hunter instructed as he peered back at Jake’s vehicle. “Truck two, do you copy?”

  Static crackled in his earpiece as his heart pounded—in his chest, in his throat. His body revved from the swift flow of adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins.

  Hunter radioed back to camp, struggling to remain calm. “Thunder Main, this is Patriot Zulu. We have IED detonation—one truck hit. We’re taking fire. I need fire support now and casualty evacuation on standby!”

  “Patriot Zulu, this is Thunder Main. That’s a good copy of last transmission. Scout weapons team is inbound. ETA ninety seconds.”

  With help on the way, Hunter tried Jake’s Humvee again. “Vehicle two, do you copy?”

  “Hunter, this is truck two. We’re smoking and rattled, but we’re—”

  Another explosion roared, cutting them off as a rocket propelled grenade hit Humvee two. Metal smashed, scattering through the air as Jake’s vehicle rolled twice.

  “Shit! Shit! Fire support, what is your location, goddamnit? Carson,” he hollered to his gunman, “suppress that fire so I can move toward those rocks.” He had to get to Jake’s truck.

  Carson gave him a nod, pummeled fifty caliber rounds into the boulders, decimating rock and anything behind them.

  Hunter opened his door, crouching next to the wheel-well, assessing the unit’s dire situation. Help was still sixty seconds away, and they were surrounded by insurgents. Truck two lay on its side four hundred yards back as heavy black smoke plumed from the twist of metal. Hot rubber and burning electrical equipment choked the air.

  A movement in the rocks caught Hunter’s eye. He fired his weapon and a man fell to the ground. “Let’s do this,” he said to the three soldiers waiting for his command. As they bolted from the truck, taking Hunter’s place at
the wheel-well, Hunter ran for the boulders in the distance.

  “Clarke, Tanger, I need an update on truck two. Move forward.” As Carson continued shooting from the Humvee roof, Hunter and Sergeant Smith laid down fire, providing cover as the soldiers ran.

  Halfway to the vehicle, bullets rained down from an unknown area in the rocks above. Clarke and Tanger stumbled, falling to the ground.

  “No! Cover me, Smith.”

  Without thought, Hunter sprinted toward his fallen men as the rhythmic thump of chopper blades echoed closer. A Kiowa Warrior soared overhead, dropping missiles among the crevices and caves, obliterating large chunks of mountainous terrain. The helicopter banked right as the next aircraft flew in, repeating the same procedure.

  Fire support vanished as quickly as it appeared and the air fell silent.

  The heavy breathing of his soldiers filled Hunter’s ear. The firefight was over. For the moment they were clear of danger and a weight lifted from his shoulders, leaving him lightheaded with relief.

  Sergeant Tanger groaned as a chunk of dangling metal fell from truck two with a deafening crash. Reality rushed back like a punch to the gut. Hunter ran to his men, shot and bleeding as Carson continued with precautionary fire into the mountainside. “Smith, get the truck over here!”

  Hunter dug into Clarke’s medical pack, applied a tourniquet to the unconscious man’s arm. As he twisted the black fabric tight, the flow of blood ceased.

  With Clarke as stable as he could make him, Hunter crawled forward to Tanger. As he ripped Tanger’s pant leg, exposing three bullet wounds, he glanced at Jake’s truck, desperate to get to him. Distracting flashes of their childhood played through his mind. He ruthlessly squashed the memories.

  “Shit, man, you’re a mess,” he said to Tanger, attempting to keep his soldier lucid and himself calm.

  “It hurts like…shit!” Tanger tensed as Hunter packed his first wound.

  Sergeant Smith backed the Humvee closer and crouched next to Hunter, waiting for orders.

  “Smith, finish this. Get them secured. I’m heading for truck two.”

  With his gun to his shoulder, he peered through the sight, moving toward Jake’s vehicle. It had only been five minutes since the rocket propelled attack. It felt as if it’d been hours. “Truck two, do you copy?”

  The air remained dead. Panic rose from his depths. Everything he’d learned as a force recon escaped him. All the training on procedure vanished as he thought of Jake and four men. “Jake. Jake, do you copy? Can you hear me?”

  “Hunter,” Jake answered, coughing.

  “Oh, thank God. You scared the sh—”

  “I’m hit, Hunt. I’m hit.” Jake wheezed, coughing again. “And they’re all dead, man.”

  Pain sliced his heart as he yelled into his radio once more. “We need casualty evac, ASAP! Get them here now! I have four confirmed KIAs and three wounded.”

  Hunter whirled when footsteps approached from behind. Sergeant Smith’s face lined up in the crosshairs of his scope.

  “Clarke and Tanger are secure.”

  “Let’s go then,” Hunter said, running to what was left of the vehicle. “Jake, I’m here.”

  Jake gasped for air, coughing violently.

  Climbing to the top of the heap, burning and cutting his hands, Hunter peered down at Jake’s battered face. Gashes riddled his cheeks, dribbling blood. He glanced at the remains of his four other men, buried the fisting pain deep. Jake was all that mattered. The only one he could help.

  Hunter locked his legs around mangled metal, anchoring himself. He reached his arms through the opening, grabbing hold of Jake. “Come on, man, I’m going to get you out of here. Evac’s on its way.”

  Jake tried to sit up on the console and yelled out. “I can’t do it. I can’t get up.”

  “Yes, you can. I don’t know how long we have before they fire on us again.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jake hollered, sat up.

  As Hunter hoisted him up, Jake screamed.

  “I’m sorry, man. Almost there.”

  With Jake’s head and torso freed from the wreckage, Sergeant Smith climbed up, grabbed hold of Jake’s legs, helping Hunter lay him on the ground.

  “Sergeant, get me a kit.” As Smith ran for their truck, Hunter assessed injuries. Blood saturated Jake’s plated vest. Sweat covered his face as he grew pale with every heartbeat.

  Hunter ripped through armor and cloth to the wound. He fought to steady his breathing, horrified by the injuries. He applied pressure to the gaping hole in Jake’s abdomen, blood pooling over his fingers.

  Helplessness consumed as desperation clawed at his throat. Hunter yelled into his radio, “We need casualty evac now, goddamnit! Do you hear me? Right now!”

  Private Smith hustled back with a kit, but there was nothing among the first aid supplies that would help. The medics on their team were dead or gravely injured and Jake’s entire midsection was full of shrapnel.

  “I’m not going to make it,” Jake gasped.

  “Don’t you fucking say that!”

  He coughed again, violently. “I’m not. Take care of them. Take care of Sarah and the baby.”

  Hunter pressed harder as blood oozed over his fingers, pooling in the sand. “No, you’re going to take care of them. They’re coming.” The rhythmic sound of chopper blades echoed off the mountains. “Listen, they’re almost here.”

  Jake’s body shook as shock set in. “Promise me. Promise me, goddamnit.” Tears streamed from his brown eyes. “Tell them I love them—that I’ll always be with them.”

  “I promise, Jake.” It was too late. There was nothing the medics could do.

  White as a sheet, Jake convulsed even as Private Smith tried to help keep him still. His voice grew weaker. “Kiss Kylee for me. Tell her it’s from her daddy. I never got to…I never got to hold her. Tell her about me.”

  “I will. I will.” Hunter was losing him. Life seeped from his best friend, his brother. “I love you, Jake. I’ll take care of them.”

  “I love…take care of….” Jake stopped moving; stopped breathing.

  Desperately, Hunter started chest compressions. “God, no, no! Don’t you leave me!”

  The chopper landed in the distance and gunfire broke out. Heat seared through Hunter’s left shoulder.

  Bullets sprayed from Sergeant Smith’s weapon. “I got him, Hunter. I got the fucking bastard.” His brows furrowed as he crouched behind the rocks. “Shit, you’re shot.”

  Hunter sat in the sand and dust with Jake, blood dripping down his arm.

  After a miserable week in West Germany’s Landstuhl Regional Medical center, followed by four days at Walter Reed, Hunter landed in Los Angeles. If he never saw another doctor again, it would be too soon. The constant poking and prodding had been enough to drive any sane man crazy, and he couldn’t be certain he was sane any longer.

  The nightmares he woke from left him in panicked sweats for hours. Loud sounds spooked him, and at the strangest times he swore Jake called out to him. He was a mess—his life a disaster.

  The plane taxied to the gate and he reached for his bag, jostling his stiff shoulder. On a sharp intake of breath, Hunter clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, waiting for the twinge to pass.

  The nagging throb wouldn’t allow him to forget he had physical therapy the next day. He would’ve preferred another gunshot wound over the twisting and turning, the bending and stretching that left his shoulder radiating with pain and aching worse than the bullet had itself. The sadistic bastards were relentless with their sunny smiles and encouragement. With every agonizing movement, they reminded him his hard work would be well worth the time he’d put in when he achieved full range of motion.

  At this point, Hunter didn’t give two fucks about his range of motion—or much of anything else, for that matter. He could’ve sat in the hospital bed indefinitely, letting the morphine drip into his veins, inviting the drug-induced fog to take all of the memories away. He didn’t want to rememb
er anymore, he didn’t really care to live, but he’d made Jake a promise and it was one he intended to keep.

  As the cab traveled Highway 1 to the Palisades, Hunter stared at the palm trees flashing by, the waves churning the massive Pacific. He rolled down the window, breathing in the salty sea.

  It smelled like home.

  He wanted to be happy he was here, to feel something, but he couldn’t shake the empty numbness that’d consumed him since the casualty evacuation chopper flew him back to base. He’d stared at five body bags, the remains of his unit—his family—while medics had worked on his arm and his two fellow men.

  He came to attention, shaking the images away as the cab pulled up to the curb in the upscale neighborhood. Hunter stepped from the car, handing the cabbie a fifty.

  The taxi drove off as a door closed behind him. Hunter peered over his shoulder. Sarah, with her grief-shattered blue eyes, stood on the entryway steps, surrounded by concrete planters thriving with sunny pink pansies. The creamy white of the ranch-style house looked exactly the same, but everything would be forever different.

  Despite the heat of the day, Sarah hugged herself tight in one of Jake’s thick gray sweatshirts. Hunter turned, took a step forward, and she ran to him with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Oh my God, Hunter. Hunter,” she sobbed, collapsing into his arms, holding on tight.

  Hunter freed his arm from the sling, picked her up. Dull pain radiated through his shoulder as he brought her inside. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over as he sat down, gripping her against him on the couch.

  Twinges of loss and grief attempted to surface as he glanced around the living room. He’d spent countless hours within these walls; watching games with Jake and Ethan, unwrapping presents under a prettily decorated tree. Life had happened here, had been taken for granted. At twenty-eight, time seemed endless—until it unexpectedly ran out.