Trident's First Gleaming: A Special Operations Group Thriller by Stephen Templin
Authors: Stephen Templin
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Harvard and the mentorship of Reverend Luther. He remembered God. And he prayed.
The bushes wouldn’t protect him from bullets, but they might conceal him from enemy eyes. Shots were fired from the south, then the west. Chris’s heart picked up speed again as the firepower increased in volume and intensity. He suddenly realized they weren’t shooting at him. The soldiers and Black Hoods are shooting at each other!
He crawled through the bushes until he reached the long grass and wildflowers. If I can just make it to the SUV, I’ll have mobility. And the HK416’s salvo.
Chris moved forward and winced. One of the pieces of electronics worked its way out of his leg, but another seemed to be digging in deeper. Sweat stung his eyes, and tree roots and rocks bruised his knees. He pulled the last bloody piece of cell phone out of his leg before he finally neared the SUV. His spirits rose—until he realized he wasn’t the only one who’d reached it. He fell flat as three Syrian soldiers approached the vehicle on foot.
His muscles tensed, and he tasted the salt of his sweat. Can I take them? Armed only with a pistol, it would be risky. Maybe I should wait them out. But more soldiers were likely to arrive soon . If they search the area, I’m done for. It would be better to fight them when there were only three than when there was a whole platoon. Now I have surprise on my side—later, I may not. He quietly ejected the partially spent magazine from his Glock and replaced it with a full magazine—fifteen rounds. He aimed at the head of the soldier nearing the SUV. Chris exhaled, waiting for his lungs to expel all the air, waiting for the motionless pause of his upper body before inhaling. As he neared the right moment, his finger slowly drew the slack out of the trigger. In his peripheral vision, he saw the soldier reach for the SUV door handle. Chris’s lungs had deflated. He squeezed the trigger, trying not to anticipate the loud report, trying to let the shot surprise him.
BOOM!
The suddenness of the explosion jolted even Chris. It took out the Syrian soldier and his buddies, and a hunk of metal whizzed by, nicking Chris’s shoulder. The heat burned hot enough to nearly singe his eye-lashes, and the earth shook. What happened? He glanced at the sky for an aircraft that could’ve fired a missile—nothing. Suicide bomber? It was a possibility. But the timing… The soldier had been just about to unlatch the door…
Victor . Chris’s surprise turned to the urge to shoot Victor for trying to kill him. But he wasn’t sure Victor was the culprit, and killing him in anger would be akin to murder—especially for a minister.
Now that the explosion had been heard for miles around, there was no need to be quiet. Chris rose to his feet and quickly limped past the smoking twisted metal and dismembered bodies. Half of a soldier, stinking of burned flesh, hung suspended from a tree. It was disgusting to look at but mesmerizingly morbid at the same time. He forced his head to turn away out of respect for the dead soldier.
The blood rushed to his head, and his nostrils flared as he descended the mountain.
That explosion was meant for Hannah and me.
11
_______
C hris activated the compass of his Pathfinder watch. He briefly pressed the light button while cupping the watch face with his hand to limit the amount of light that escaped. He wanted to bandage his wound, but he wanted to put distance between himself and the enemy forces behind him.
For several hours, he persevered down the mountain. He hoped Hannah and Jim Bob were okay, but he couldn’t muster the same hope for Victor.
A wave of weariness swept over him. As a child prisoner, his body had become weak, and his time in the Teams had torn him down frequently, but he’d forgotten all that. He’d forgotten what it was like to be exhausted in his bones. Since leaving the Navy, he’d kept himself fit, but now he felt physically unprepared for the rigors of combat.
The bushes wouldn’t protect him from bullets, but they might conceal him from enemy eyes. Shots were fired from the south, then the west. Chris’s heart picked up speed again as the firepower increased in volume and intensity. He suddenly realized they weren’t shooting at him. The soldiers and Black Hoods are shooting at each other!
He crawled through the bushes until he reached the long grass and wildflowers. If I can just make it to the SUV, I’ll have mobility. And the HK416’s salvo.
Chris moved forward and winced. One of the pieces of electronics worked its way out of his leg, but another seemed to be digging in deeper. Sweat stung his eyes, and tree roots and rocks bruised his knees. He pulled the last bloody piece of cell phone out of his leg before he finally neared the SUV. His spirits rose—until he realized he wasn’t the only one who’d reached it. He fell flat as three Syrian soldiers approached the vehicle on foot.
His muscles tensed, and he tasted the salt of his sweat. Can I take them? Armed only with a pistol, it would be risky. Maybe I should wait them out. But more soldiers were likely to arrive soon . If they search the area, I’m done for. It would be better to fight them when there were only three than when there was a whole platoon. Now I have surprise on my side—later, I may not. He quietly ejected the partially spent magazine from his Glock and replaced it with a full magazine—fifteen rounds. He aimed at the head of the soldier nearing the SUV. Chris exhaled, waiting for his lungs to expel all the air, waiting for the motionless pause of his upper body before inhaling. As he neared the right moment, his finger slowly drew the slack out of the trigger. In his peripheral vision, he saw the soldier reach for the SUV door handle. Chris’s lungs had deflated. He squeezed the trigger, trying not to anticipate the loud report, trying to let the shot surprise him.
BOOM!
The suddenness of the explosion jolted even Chris. It took out the Syrian soldier and his buddies, and a hunk of metal whizzed by, nicking Chris’s shoulder. The heat burned hot enough to nearly singe his eye-lashes, and the earth shook. What happened? He glanced at the sky for an aircraft that could’ve fired a missile—nothing. Suicide bomber? It was a possibility. But the timing… The soldier had been just about to unlatch the door…
Victor . Chris’s surprise turned to the urge to shoot Victor for trying to kill him. But he wasn’t sure Victor was the culprit, and killing him in anger would be akin to murder—especially for a minister.
Now that the explosion had been heard for miles around, there was no need to be quiet. Chris rose to his feet and quickly limped past the smoking twisted metal and dismembered bodies. Half of a soldier, stinking of burned flesh, hung suspended from a tree. It was disgusting to look at but mesmerizingly morbid at the same time. He forced his head to turn away out of respect for the dead soldier.
The blood rushed to his head, and his nostrils flared as he descended the mountain.
That explosion was meant for Hannah and me.
11
_______
C hris activated the compass of his Pathfinder watch. He briefly pressed the light button while cupping the watch face with his hand to limit the amount of light that escaped. He wanted to bandage his wound, but he wanted to put distance between himself and the enemy forces behind him.
For several hours, he persevered down the mountain. He hoped Hannah and Jim Bob were okay, but he couldn’t muster the same hope for Victor.
A wave of weariness swept over him. As a child prisoner, his body had become weak, and his time in the Teams had torn him down frequently, but he’d forgotten all that. He’d forgotten what it was like to be exhausted in his bones. Since leaving the Navy, he’d kept himself fit, but now he felt physically unprepared for the rigors of combat.
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