The Exfiltrator by Garner Simmons (read after txt) 📗

Just beyond the riverbank, the night was aglow with the flames from the burning tents of the base camp. The sounds of sporadic gunfire punctuated the eerie silence as the terrorists roamed through the campsite, systematically making certain there would be no survivors.  Crouching low, Corbett began to move along the bank in search of the others.

*****

As the kerosene torch finally flickered and went out, Jarral cast it aside.  Left to feel their way forward, the two Jihadis were on the verge of panic when Jarral spotted the thin beam from the American’s handheld LED flashlight perhaps a hundred meters ahead. Barely able to make out any details, he caught a glimpse of Corbett as he assisted Tariq into the swift moving channel then turned to help the woman.  Instantly, he shouted to Raif to open fire.  But in their haste, their shots had been off the mark.  A moment later, the American extinguished the flashlight and vanished into the dark water, leaving the Jihadis once again to their own devices.  Relying wholly on sound and touch, they felt their way toward the swift moving stream.  With only the sound of rushing water to guide them, they urgently picked their way across the rock-slick surface of the cavern floor.  Reaching the underground river at last, Jarral shouldered his Uzi and plunged his hands into the rapidly flowing torrent, attempting to get some measure of its width and depth.

“An underground channel,” he shouted.  “They are escaping. Quickly!  After them….”

Despite his fear of the raging current, Raif obeyed without question.  Embracing the Kalashnikov, he swung his body up and into the water.  In an instant he was swept away. Clutching his Uzi tightly to his chest, Jarral did the same.  The water temperature was colder than he expected, causing him to suck air into his lungs.  A moment later, he felt himself being swallowed beneath the surface, his body racing into the void.

*****

Emerging in the blackness beneath a moonless sky, Ella struggled to stop her momentum as the water catapulted her out into the summer night.  Fighting against the current, she managed to drag herself out of the water and onto the embankment.

A few meters ahead, Tariq clung to a log, soaked and struggling.  Spotting him in the darkness, Ella made her way to his side.  His head was bleeding where he had struck a rock.  Seeing this, Ella attempted to apply pressure and staunch the flow of blood.  But having only encountered her in the darkness of the cave, he found himself disorientated and confused by this strange woman suddenly attending to his wound.  Overwhelmed by a sense of panic, he released his grip on the log and started to slip back into the river. Grabbing him by one arm, Ella helped him crawl his way back onto the riverbank away from the fast-moving current.

“Listen to me,” she said, her voice raw and filled with frustration.  “God damn it, stop it...!  Let me help you.” But refusing to listen, Tariq continued to resist.

A short way off, a young Jihadi named Yousef had suspended his rampage long enough to allow him to reload his Glock .45. Only three rounds left.  He would have to make them count.  Hearing a woman’s voice, he glanced toward the riverbank.  Spotting something moving in the darkness, he turned and moved toward the water’s edge.

Ripping the left sleeve from her shirt, Ella was attempting to bandage Tariq’s head when she heard someone approaching from behind.

“Michael…?” she said, starting to rise and turn toward the sound.  But instead of Corbett, she found herself staring into the intense gaze of the young terrorist as he grabbed her by the arm and hurled her roughly to the ground.  Then setting down his pistol, he ripped open her shirt and began to tear at her thermal top exposing her breasts.  Excited now, he was grabbing at her tights attempting to pull them off as well when Ella’s hand found the rock.

Grasping the once rough fieldstone worn smooth by the passage of time and rushing water, she swung it with all her might striking the Jihadi just above his left temple. Stunned, he toppled sideways clawing the air as he fell.  Pulling herself free, Ella scrambled to her feet.  Still clutching the rock, she turned to face him.  His now bloodied face filled with lust and rage, he hurled himself at her again.  Refusing to back down, she lashed out with the rock once more catching him hard in the mouth.  Seemingly unfazed, her assailant shook it off smiling back at her through broken and bloody teeth.  Then drawing a knife from his belt, he began to circle her searching for an opening.

Gripping the rock, Ella stared defiantly waiting as the Jihadi feinted left then reached out attempting to grab her by the hair.  Dodging away, Ella lashed out hoping to dislodge the blade from his hand.  But the man evaded the blow then rushed her once more.  Slamming the rock into his groin with every ounce of strength in her body, she heard him groan as he grabbed her by the arm.  But as he drew back the knife to slash her throat, emerging from the darkness, Corbett hit him full force from behind knocking the blade from his hand.  With practiced efficiency, Corbett snapped the young terrorist’s wrist while delivering a sharp elbow to the throat, then another breaking the bridge of his nose.  Spotting the Glock lying a few feet away, Corbett snatched it up emptying the final three rounds into his chest.  Ella stared down at the pulverized face of her attacker.

“I’m going to be sick,” she whispered aloud.

“No time,” Corbett replied, tossing the empty pistol aside as he moved to Tariq.  “Help me get him up.”

As the two of them struggled to half-walk, half-drag Tariq along the riverbank, Corbett spotted