On Fire

On Fire
Lindsay McKenna

The fine line between strength…and surrenderWhen a Navy SEAL drops into Khat Shinwari's life unexpectedly, love opens her up for the first time. But her bond with Mike Tarik comes at the expense of her family's expectations that she quit the military and start a family in her village.A sergeant in the U.S. Marines Corps and a Shadow Warrior, Khat is torn between giving in to the love she has for this courageous man and walking away from him forever. But deep in dangerous territory, Khat goes missing. The only man who can save her is the one she might need to give up. With Mike’s bravery, Khat learns to trust in the future, all while her ingrained values pull her back to old traditions. Will love or duty win out?

The fine line between strength...and surrender

When a Navy SEAL drops into Khat Shinwari’s life unexpectedly, love opens her up for the first time. But her bond with Mike Tarik comes at the expense of her family’s expectations that she quit the military and start a family in her village. A sergeant in the US Marine Corps and a Shadow Warrior, Khat is torn between giving in to the love she has for this courageous man and walking away from him forever. But deep in dangerous territory, Khat goes missing. The only man who can save her is the one she might need to give up. With Mike’s bravery, Khat learns to trust in the future, all while her ingrained values pull her back to old traditions. Will love or duty win out?

On Fire

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Dear Reader (#ulink_f8b24ff6-caf7-55c2-bd5a-5d9835ba2e25),

I wrote Taking Fire and it ended up being 140,000 words long! MILLS & BOON can only print and publish up to 100,000 words. So, something had to give. I didn’t want to just “throw away” 40,000 words about Mike Tarik and Khat Shinwari!

I suggested to MILLS & BOON to create what I term a “Director’s Cut” ebook that would tell “the rest of their story” that couldn’t be told in Taking Fire. And they said YES! That they’d support this extra material so the readers could get the rest of what I had written.

This is a continuation of Mike and Khat’s journey with one another. Where Taking Fire leaves off, this is the “real” ending to the book. I hope you find it emotionally satisfying to walk these extra 40,000 words with them. Do let me know.

Please sign up for my free quarterly newsletter. It is chock-full of exclusive content found nowhere else on the Net. Plus, giveaways to my subscribers! The sign-up button is on the front page of lindsaymckenna.com (http://www.lindsaymckenna.com).

Lindsay McKenna

Dedication (#ulink_46e07107-b0f6-52e7-a478-e2d4c19125b6)

To my editor, Tara Gavin, Executive Senior Editor, who is one of the most talented people in publishing that I know. She loves her writers. And she supports them with her passion and love for their words and stories. I was lucky enough to have her as an editor in the 1990s, and then again, in 2014. There is no one quite like her and I’ve had the privilege of working with her in a teamwork fashion that has only made me a better writer over time. I salute you, Tara. Thank you for ALL that you’ve done for me over the years. You’re a true editorial champion and there’s no one who can ever replace you in the publishing world.

Contents

Cover (#u31a09789-4f09-5fd8-b830-e50f4da4506d)

Back Cover Text (#ub05f8a2b-d776-5356-9846-62b6905da7c9)

Title Page (#u1d687237-9e3d-5dda-9fa1-fa5872d44aab)

Dear Reader (#uf7663ca0-89ff-5078-b836-91655bb4f7c4)

Dedication (#u34bfd601-36a2-53ff-a3ed-eb5e58aabffd)

Chapter One (#u8fd5149b-3471-5394-bf9e-4bf02fbf50a5)

Chapter Two (#ue92c21dc-54e6-50b0-a39f-ca053b85355a)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ulink_9bca91dd-5b51-5861-8163-e1acc85b2b6e)

AS SEAL PETTY OFFICER First Class Mike Tarik trotted up the ramp into the Chinook, its twin blades turning, shaking and shuddering, he tapped into all radio communications with his SEAL team on board. He sat near the door, in battle gear, and watched his seven other men enter. Lieutenant Jim Sanders, who headed up this QRF, quick reaction force, would lead the men, and Mike would be second in command. LT, as the SEALs referred to their officer, was a seasoned vet and the right man to be on this emergency rescue operation.

The ramp ground noisily upward. The two air crew chiefs inside the bird, gave the Army Night Stalker pilots a thumbs-up to take off. Urgency thrummed through Mike. The woman he loved, Sergeant Khat Shinwari, US Marine Corps, was very ill, being taken care of at the destination village. Worse? Taliban insurgents hid in the nearby woods, ready to attack the walled village to search for Khat and kill her.

Night was falling. Mike listened intently to chatter coming from one of the pilots flying an Apache combat helicopter. One helo had flown out when they needed two. But two were not available from FOB Bravo. There was no drone in the area because none were available. He cursed. The female Apache pilot reported thermal imaging on at least a hundred Taliban fighters amassing about a mile away from that vulnerable Shinwari village. It was men on horseback. She switched to television and although light was bad, she reported RPGs and AK-47s among the group. She sent streaming video back to TOC, Tactical Operations Command, Bagram at the Army base outside Kabul, Afghanistan, who was working with the LT and Chief Mac McCutcheon, back at FOB, Forward Operating Base, Bravo.

The Chinook’s two engines powered up, the shaking intensifying. The smell of kerosene aviation fuel filtered through the nearly dark tube of the oddly shaped helicopter. Mike told his SEAL team to double-check their gear and make sure they had at least eight mags in their H-gear. Everyone began checking. Mike strapped his Kevlar helmet on tighter, making sure his night vision goggles were locked on the rail system on top of it. So much could go wrong. He needed to hurry to save Khat and felt slight relief as the Chinook began a rolling start down the runway. The roar was ear-splitting, but the helmets protected their ears from the worst of it.

“Okay, listen up,” the LT said over his radio, “Bagram is reporting that Khogani is with this group waiting inside the treeline. I’d sure like to nail his ass, so let’s keep a sharp lookout for this bastard.”

Mike wasn’t surprised. Khogani was the leader of the Hill tribe, the ancient enemy of the Shinwari tribe. He also worked actively with the Taliban. Khat had taken out fifteen of his men as a sniper yesterday night in the Hindu Kush Mountains. Khogani wanted revenge. Mike was sure the hill tribe leader would put his best trackers on trying to find any footprints Khat had left behind as she’d fled her sniper hide and made her way back toward FOB, forward operating base, Bravo on foot. Drops of blood could leave a trail. Or, if she was injured in the head, not thinking clearly, she could have left an easy trail to follow, too. He didn’t know much about what had happened and it gnawed at his heart. His soul. He loved her. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Khat had covered his back as he’d rode ahead of her on the mountain trail, leading a pack horse. He had been a quarter mile ahead of her when she’d radioed and told him she’d spotted Taliban on horseback on their trail. If she didn’t stop them, they’d catch up, killing both of them.

Mike had tried to help, but he’d been on a narrow path where he couldn’t turn around the horse he rode, much less get the pack horse turned around. He’d had no choice, dammit, but to kick the horses into a fast trot and get off that trail three miles down the slope of the mountain, in the dark. And then it had started to rain, on top of everything else. Khat was left to protect both of them, alone. Twelve hours later, he’d ridden into FOB Bravo. They’d lost radio contact. But she had never come back to the base. The next morning, after getting an Apache helicopter broken loose from other combat demands, they had found Khat’s horse dead up on a ridge in the Hindu Kush. But no sign of her.

It was a special hell for Mike. They’d found no trace of Khat’s body. But he sensed she was alive. And it was only when a man by the name of Mohsin, from the nearby Shinwari village had ridden twenty miles to Bravo, to tell them that an American woman Marine had walked into their village, wounded and in dire need of help and medicine, that Mike found out it was Khat. The villager had warned them that the Taliban had followed her, that they were amassing outside his village to attack it in order to find the American woman soldier.

The SEALs at Bravo had sprung into action, to try to save her and protect the people in the unarmed village. Would they get there in time? His throat ached with tension, unshed tears and terror. He loved Khat. He’d die for her. She deserved to live, not be murdered by Khogani and the Taliban. God, let them arrive there in time!

The Chinook took off from the lip of the runway into the evening air, engines roaring. Mike looked at his watch, his heart doing a slow, dreaded pound. This helo would make the infil point in approximately fifteen minutes. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and his heart centered squarely on Khat. He had to force his love for her out of this equation for now. He was responsible for his men and to his LT. If they couldn’t fight off Khogani, then Khat would possibly be lost in the firefight. Mohsin, the man who had rescued her, kept saying she was dying. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pinched the ridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Would there be time enough before Khogani’s forces attacked the village?

Nasreen moved restlessly about the room where she cared for Khatereh Shinwari, the Marine. She had heard from her mother, who lived next door, that Taliban were poised at the edge of the forest, waiting to ride into their village. Controlling her fear, she looked anxiously to the SEAL woman who lay unmoving, her face so pale Nasreen thought she had died. Wringing her hands, she worried about her husband, Mohsin, who had ridden off many hours earlier for FOB Bravo to get help for this military woman. He’d never returned. Had Mohsin been caught by Khogani and tortured? Did he speak of the SEAL woman to their enemy? Is that why the Taliban were there, watching, waiting to attack the village? Her husband had not returned. Oh, Allah, have mercy upon us!

She heard more of the villagers, their voices turning to shouts. Rushing to the other room, Nasreen pulled open the door. Through the gathering dusk, she heard noises. Unseeing, she looked up toward the sound of the beating blades of a helicopter. And it was close! Gasping, she heard one of the men from the village scream out a warning. Shots were being fired! The Taliban fighters were charging toward their village. They would all be killed!

* * *

THE CHINOOK LANDED just outside the village. The SEALs piled out of it on a run, in a crouch, fanning out into a diamond pattern, and hurtled toward the closed front gate. Mike was in the lead, and he heard the bark of orders in angry Pashto from the tree line. The Taliban were attacking. They had to get inside the walls. On his orders, the SEALs moved swiftly forward like silent ghosts. The thunder of many horses shook the ground in an earthquake as the Taliban fighters swept across the fields toward the village. There was wild AK-47 fire filling the air, the muzzles winking red lights in the gloom of the dusk, looking like fireflies.

Two SEALs got the gate open. The other six filtered in, quickly shutting and barring the massive entrance. The LT order a diamond pattern within the village, the best way to protect those inside it. The SEALs positioned themselves within the four-foot-thick mud wall that surrounded the homes, rifles resting on the top of it, sighting through their scopes, watching the charging insurgents draw near. Mike was near the gate. Down on one knee, he had his M-4 jammed against his shoulder, sighting any rider with an RPG. If one of those got fired at them, lives could be lost. A hole blown into the wall of the village would create a breach, allowing their enemy inside.

“Focus on RPG riders,” he told his men in a calm voice.

The Taliban hit with ferocity. The hundred or so riders swirled around the walled village, firing their AK-47s. The horses were at a gallop, thundering around and around. The SEALs calmly picked their targets and fired. There was no wild shooting on their part; just cold, hard sighting and firing. They did not waste bullets. Taliban riders were falling quickly. They did not have night vision goggles, nor did they have night vision scopes on their rifles to see through the dark like the SEALs did as night fell.

Mike heard and felt a blast to his left. Dammit! An RPG had been launched against the village wall. He wasn’t sure if it had blown through the wall or landed inside the village, destroying homes. Seconds later, SEAL Travis Cooper came over the radio with his Texas drawl.

“Wall breach, north. We can use some help over here.”

Mike ordered his other man to stay where he was. He sprinted down the wall, M-4 up. Several riders leaped their horses through the wall breach, firing everywhere. Sonofabitch! He saw Travis and his other SEAL buddy against the wall, methodically firing as the horsemen forced their balking, crazed horses through the hole.