Primary Valor by Jack Mars (booksvooks TXT) 📗

to the house. It bumped andbounced over the uneven gravel. The driveway dead-ended at a picture window,blinds drawn. The truck was headed right for it.

“Impact!” the driver shouted.

Luke braced himself withoutthinking.

BOOOM.

The truck crashed through thewindow and the wall that held it. Luke caught a glimpse of the glass and thewall—aluminum siding, outer wall, Sheetrock, all of it—exploding inward.

He put his visor down.

Then the back door was open and hewas up and moving.

“Go! Go! GO!”

Ed and the man next to him wereout the door ahead of Luke. Luke landed on the carpet of the living room withboth feet.

“DOWN!” someone shouted. “DOWN!”

Two helmeted figures in blackthrew a guy in a T-shirt and jeans to the floor. A table was upended, severalguns, money, and bags of white powder flying. One beefy man in black wrestledthe guy onto his stomach, pulling his arms behind him.

Then Luke was moving down thehall, steps behind Ed and the other man. Their target was the third bedroom. Agentswere bursting into rooms right and left. Their chatter came through the speakerinside Luke’s helmet. Ed hit a door to his right and blasted through it. Thenext agent went in. Luke was three steps behind.

“Drop it!” he heard a voice shout.It was Ed.

Luke turned the corner. Ed wasthere in the room, his huge body crouching forward. His shotgun was in his lefthand, pointed upward toward the ceiling. His right hand was extended, fingerssplayed out.

Across the room, in front of anarrow twin bed mattress on the floor, was a kid. Luke absorbed everythingabout him in a split second.

He was a skinny black kid in awhite T-shirt and blue shorts. His feet were bare. His thick hair was out in acrazy Afro, a bright green plastic pick protruding from it. He seemed like hewas twelve years old but could have been a little older. Regardless, he lookedbarely strong enough to hold up the rifle he was leveling at Ed.

“Wait,” Ed said. “Wait. Don’t youdo it.”

The DEA agent with them was in atwo-handed stance just inside the door, his Glock pointed at the kid.

“Drop it!” the agent shouted.

“Wait,” Ed said again.

BANG!

The kid fired. The round hit Ed’svest and knocked him backwards against the wall.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The DEA agent fired three times infast succession.

The kid bucked and shivered as therounds ripped through him. He dropped his gun, his head drooping at the top ofhis neck for a second. His eyes seemed surprised, like the possibility that hemight get shot, that he might in fact die, had never occurred to him beforethis moment. His shoulders dropped and he slid bonelessly to the mattress. Thekid’s white shirt, and the dingy white sheet on the mattress, instantly beganto turn red.

“Man down!” Luke shouted into hismicrophone. “Man down!”

“Medic!” the DEA agent shoutedinto his own mic. “We need a medic in here!”

Luke went to Ed. It seemed as ifLuke’s feet were floating several inches above the ground. Bad memories floodedhis mind.

Suddenly, the drug house was gone,and Luke was back there. Afghanistan, along the eastern border withPakistan. A long, bad night in a dust storm. A bad mission, poorly conceivedand planned.

He was in a stone house inside awalled compound. A large back room. Luke’s team had fought their way throughthe house to reach this room. The floors were covered in thick, overlappingcarpets. The walls were hung with carpets—ornate, richly colored carpetsdepicting vast landscapes—deserts, mountains, jungles, waterfalls.

Luke glanced around the room. Thereseemed to be corpses everywhere.

Luke went to one man inparticular, a huge lump of a man. It was Hendricks. Wayne.

WAYNE.

He was still moving.

Luke kneeled by him and pulled offhis helmet.

Wayne’s arms and legs were movingslowly, almost like he was treading water.

“Wayne! Where are you hit?”

Wayne’s eyes rolled. They foundLuke. He shook his head. He began to cry. He was breathing heavily, almostgasping for air.

“Oh, buddy…” Wayne said.

“Wayne! Talk to me.”

Feverishly, Luke began to unfastenWayne’s ballistic vest.

“Medic!” he screamed. “Medic!”

Wayne was hit in the chest. Somehowshrapnel had gotten under his vest. Luke’s hands searched him. He was also shothigh in the leg. That was worse than the chest, by a lot. His pants weresaturated with blood. His femoral artery must be hit. Luke’s hand came awaydripping red. There was blood everywhere. There was a lake of it under Wayne’sbody. It was a miracle he was still alive.

“Tell Katie,” Wayne said.

“Shut up!” Luke said. “You’regoing to tell her yourself.”

Wayne’s voice was barely above awhisper.

“Tell her…”

Wayne seemed to be looking atsomething far away. He gazed, and then did a double take, as if confused bywhat he was seeing. An instant later, his eyes became still.

He stared at Luke. His mouth wasslack. Nobody was home.

Just like that, Wayne was dead. Luke’sblood brother. The godfather of Luke’s unborn son. A long, helpless breath wentout of Luke.

Luke shook his head to clear it. Now,he kneeled over Ed. For a moment, Ed didn’t move at all. His eyes were closed.

“Come on!”

Luke felt for a pulse at Ed’sneck. It was strong. Fast. Ed’s heart was pounding, probably from all theexcitement.

Ed opened his eyes.

“How you feeling?” Luke said.

Ed stared at Luke. For a moment,he didn’t say anything. Harsh breaths escaped him. He struggled to speak.

“The kid?” he said finally.

Luke looked across the room. Thekid was a bloody wreck on the mattress. The DEA agent was pumping the kid’schest. Another agent came storming in, helmet off, and kneeled next to thefirst one.

Luke shook his head. “Doesn’t lookgood.”

Ed made a sound like a groan.

Luke paused, then started again. “Youhurt?”

Ed touched his chest where theround had hit him. He pulled the smashed bullet out of the front mesh of hisvest. “Only my feelings.”

“He’s gone,” one of the agentsacross the room said.

Ed closed his eyes for a longmoment, then opened them again. He shook his head. “God,” he said. “He was onlya child.”

* * *

“I thought I lost you there for asecond,” Luke said.

It was later that day, earlyafternoon. They drove south on the New Jersey Turnpike in a nondescriptgovernment sedan, Luke at the wheel. They were dressed in white shirts andties. Their sports jackets were draped over the back seat. In a few