Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

his horse and sat undera tree, writing a letter to his wife. I think you find out a lot about someone when youtravel with them. And though our initial trip was way too short, I already know I’d like totake a much, much longer one together. Don’t shake your head. I know that’s whatyou’re doing. So how about it? I’m going to finish every letter with a question, because Iwant you to have all sorts of answers for me when next we see each other . . . but one willbe more important than any of the others.

“I’ve got movement to the left,” O’Neill said sharply.

Dana’s attention snapped fully back to the present, though even with the distraction of Peter’s letters, the forefront of her mind had never left off surveillance of their surroundings. Vehicles moving supplies between towns were too rich of a target, and Combat Logistic Patrols ran every day to supply Combat Outpost Posts. The up-armored FMTV lumbering behind them carried medical and food supplies. In front of their vehicle was Sergeant Sinclair’s up-armored Humvee, and two more followed behind the FMTV.

“Where?” Leslie asked, and then the question became moot. Dana shouted out the

warning as the RPG round whistled through the air. The rear vehicle of their convoy exploded, the flash illuminating the area.

In a matter of seconds, everything was chaos. They’d hit a straight stretch between two curves, and the insurgents had set their ambush well. The sergeant and his detail ahead barely made it out before their vehicle exploded, blockading forward progress. A hail of AK-47 gunfire rained down from the ridge on their three o’clock. It was a sure bet they’d mined the sides of the road with IEDs to keep them from going around.

Fortunately, they hadn’t gotten the Humvee that mounted a 50-cal, right behind the FMTV. Those guys were firing hot and heavy up into that ridge.

“Go, go, go,” O’Neill was barking. Dana slid out after Leslie and they hit the

hard-packed ground, running for the meager ditch on the opposite side of the road.

“Straighten up.” Dana grabbed Leslie’s vest and hauled her along. Leslie rarely got out of the Battalion S4 shop and had made a newbie mistake, trying to crouch down as she ran.

The body armor was too heavy to allow for that. She’d trip and land on her face. “Move your ass!”

The dirt kicked up around them as they ran, but Dana heard the M-4 fire as O’Neill covered their six. In the corner of her eye, she saw the men in the Humvee and supply truck doing the same, a gradual fall back to this ditch line.

“Targets ahead.” Dana heard the shout, saw the insurgents waiting in the ditch, guns raised, dark eyes wild, faces wet with nervous sweat. She swung her own gun around, braced for recoil and let it go, sending them scattering. One got punched through the head and flipped back, and then she and Leslie were in the ditch and she was shoving the body out of the way.

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she counseled Leslie, hunkering down. “Just keep it together, shoot straight and wait for orders. They’ll call for air support.”

And please God, let them get here in time.

“God, no women in combat. Yeah, right.” Though Leslie’s voice was cracking, Dana was glad to see she was keeping it together, checking her ammo with shaking fingers. Then her gaze landed on something else sharing the ditch with them.

“Les, look.”

Her friend followed her gaze, saw the RPG left behind by the fleeing insurgents on this side. “I’ve never shot one.”

“Me neither.” Dana firmed her chin. “We’ll sure as hell figure it out. That Humvee only has a few minutes before someone throws a mortar on it.”

“Us, too, probably. Fuck. God, this is crazy.”

Thankfully it wasn’t Dana’s first firefight, so the rapid change of circumstances and incredible noise wasn’t new to her. There was no communication down the line yet, the sergeant likely trying to raise that air support and relying on their knowledge of how to stay down until he decided how to form their defensive line. Right now, this was likely the best they could do.

Snatching up the weapon, Dana examined it closely, figured out the dual trigger. She had to wiggle up the side of the ditch. Bullets cut through the ground at the edge. But setting her teeth, she went to her knees, lifted her helmeted head and took aim.

The missile shot up. She’d aimed lower than her target. As she’d anticipated, it went higher than she’d intended, but not too high. It hit the ridge a couple feet below the edge.

Dirt and rock exploded, sending an avalanche of debris and flailing bodies down.

“O’Neill,” Leslie screamed.

Dana tossed the RPG aside. O’Neill had gotten briefly pinned down at the vehicles, providing additional cover fire for the drivers. When he made a run for it, a round hit him from the insurgents who’d come out from the hidden curve ahead. He dropped like a stone.

The two women didn’t hesitate, coming up over the edge of the ditch shoulder to

shoulder. “Get him to cover,” Dana shouted, turning the M-4 toward that group of targets along with the others who came to back her up. Leslie grabbed hold of him, tried to get him onto his feet, but O’Neill was six feet of muscle. Another soldier went to help. Dana backpedaled in front of them, bullets whistling around her, kicking up dirt. Thank God, the insurgents were probably jacked up on adrenaline shots or Khat, not shooting worth shit, but it was close enough. Any second she expected one to punch through her. Noise and AK-47 fire, hell on earth.

She had been in active engagement before because of situations like this, but nothing this intense. She’d trained for it, though, and kept training for it, even more so than the guys who got field experience far more often. The enemy didn’t give a damn if you were a woman or not when it came to