Undeclared War Read Online Free

word being spoken, Reaper and Bear exited the vehicle and headed for the schoolhouse in a low, crouching run. In spite of their haste, the two SEALs would alternately stop as one covered the other’s advance. As the leading SEAL knelt in a crouch and covered with his weapon, the trailing SEAL would move forward and pass the other.
    The practiced leapfrogging movement was quick and efficient—eating up the meters between theHumvee and the far edge of the village where the schoolhouse was. The gunfire increased as the SEALs grew close, then suddenly tapered off. As they came close to the side of the schoolhouse, the SEALs passed the small, still form of the child who had been tossed out onto the rocks.
    There was no time to feel anything for the child, or even to stop and see if he was still alive. There were others in immediate danger inside the schoolhouse—if it wasn’t already too late to save them.
    Reaper did not feel rage. Even the anger he felt against the astonishing orders of his commanding officer had melted away with the need for sudden, precise and controlled action. Only a cool head would prevail in such a situation, and Reaper could be as cool and hard as old bone if the situation warranted. It was one of the reasons he had long ago received the nickname “Grim” Reaper.
    Other figures were slipping away into the woods as Reaper and Bear moved up to where they could see the door of the building. As a figure came out the door, Reaper could see that the man was wearing the same mottled, gray-and-brown camouflage uniform that so many of the mixed regular and irregular forces in the war-torn country used.
    On the man’s head was an odd thing, a flat round cloth hat with a rolled brim. It was a Pakol, the traditional Afghan hat. But it was the objects in the man’s hands that seized Reaper’s eye. In his right hand was an AK-47, held away to shield the man from the smoking-hot barrel. In his left hand was a child’s rag doll. The man was laughing and sayingsomething in what sounded like Arabic to Reaper. Coming out of the well-lit schoolhouse, the man probably never even saw Reaper standing nearby.
    The gap-toothed smile on the raider’s face was enough to heat the SEAL’s cool resolve. And the weapon in his hand registered as a threat. Reaper didn’t even consciously think of his action as the muzzle of his shouldered M4 carbine settled on the center of the man’s chest. The short stutter of a three-round burst was quick justice for a single individual’s action of ethnic cleansing.
    Just to the right side of Reaper’s field of vision, he saw the orange-white flower of an AK-47’s muzzle blast bloom in the night. Before Reaper’s mind could do more than register the light, there was a smashing pain against his chest. A thundering blow knocked the big SEAL down to the ground. Multicolored lights danced in front of Reaper’s eyes as he tried to just draw in a breath. As he fell back, the rest of the rounds fired from the AK-47 passed over him.
    His hands tingled oddly as Reaper pulled up his M4 and fired back. Or at least he tried to fire back. When he squeezed the trigger, the M4 refused to fire. Without conscious thought, Reaper let go of the M4, which dropped to his chest, and he reached for his SIG P-226. In a smooth movement, his right hand grasped the pistol, his thumb releasing the restraining strap of the holster as his fingers closed around the rough, checkered finish of the plastic grips.
    As the bearded face of the man who shot him came up from the darkness, Reaper was already pulling his pistol up and thrusting it out. As he pulled the trigger and double-actioned the SIG, timeseemed to change in its natural flow. As if in slow motion, Reaper could see his pistol come up even as the hammer was going back for the shot. The bearded man appeared to be moving very slowly as he started to point his rifle. There wasn’t much of a