Warrior Hearts

By Beth Sadler

Clare Henderson's ESP went on red-alert when a handsome, SAS soldier appeared, looking for her friend Adam. Her senses warned her that the big Australian was lying through his teeth, even as his aura intrigued her. Seth James took one look at Clare and wondered who-the-hell he would have to kill, to claim her for himself. Her psychic itch telling her that Adam was in serious trouble, Clare's mind screamed at her to act. Evading Seth, Clare raced across the world to rescue Adam, with the SAS soldier dogging relentlessly at her heels, with his own agenda----and desires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Sadler
• Release date: Jan 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310649950

Beth Sadler

Married for 49 years to my own Tall, Dark and Handsome Hero. A marriage that has produced three sons and four young grandchildren. Through all of life's ups and downs I have always found pleasure in jotting down the scenes that played out in my imagination. Now, I'm finally able to sit at my desk and let the stories flow, (Ah retirement feels good). Cheers, Beth Sadler

Book preview

Prologue

Burunda, East Africa

The sun beat down mercilessly, its brilliant rays scorching everything it touched, a fiery ball in the cloudless blue sky. The humidity so thick, that simply breathing was a test of the will to survive and suck in the next moist breath.

In this forgotten corner of the African jungle the ability to inhale was only possible if you moved slowly, or not at all. Filtering the scorching air through gritted teeth was the most popular form of taking in life giving oxygen.

A huge, fiery red caterpillar, easily twelve inches long, inched its way relentlessly over the fetid jungle floor, scrabbling through the rotting cushion of fallen leaves and tree bark. The humus was a vivid reminder of life that had given up its fight for survival long ago, the sickly sweet smell of dead and decaying foliage overpowering in its intensity. The caterpillar moved with determination to reach the shady patch of dirt just ahead where it could burrow out of sight in the moist, cool earth, safe from predators. It came to a barrier of tanned, lean flesh. Giving a nudge with its wary snout, it tested for life, ready to burn the enemy with the poisonous hairs covering its body.

Nothing moved.

Continuing on, it trudged over cotton covered flesh, and finally made it to its destination safely. The flesh hadn’t moved. Neither had the other darker, tougher flesh that stood in its path.

Nothing moved.

The minds controlling the flesh were too caught up in the sickening violence taking place a hundred feet below them, on the valley floor, to pay attention to something so common in their lives.

The watchers refused to turn their eyes away from the monstrosities being enacted on people they knew and loved. Good and kind people; people, who were only in this forgotten part of the jungle to help, people, whose only sin was to bring food and education; to bring love and their Lord. Christians who only wanted to spread good will according to their religion. For this, for just being in this place at this time, the missionary and his wife and children were being slaughtered.

These weren’t the first victims the little band of warriors had watched being slaughtered, but perhaps, these were the hardest to bear.

The missionary and his family had taught all the watchers. One amongst them had been raised with their children.

Waiting was hard, but the time was not yet right to take revenge. The watchers had seen at least six of these raids in the last month and knew to their cost that they were no match for the machete wielding marauders. Some of their number had tried to fight back in the early days; defeat had come swiftly, far too easily, and left the survivors totally demoralised.

Slaughter was a gristly business, and these mercenaries were terrifyingly well skilled at it, getting endless enjoyment out of their barbaric acts.

The watchers couldn’t afford to lose any more of their little group if they were to survive and eventually triumph over their enemy. But soon, soon their leader would exact revenge for the monstrous deeds being committed just a short distance away.

The little band was finally learning how to fight back.

Down below, Reverend Davy and his family were dying. Their terror filled screams filled the air and reached the watchers, bathing their skin with a sick cold chill.

Wait, wait, the time for retribution was not yet right.

Finally, finally the screams of the dead and dying sobbed to a stop. The mercenaries raised their blood soaked machetes in the air as they screamed their victory over their dismembered prey. Rubbing their bloodied bodies, laughing and jeering, they pushed one another out of the way in their rush to enter the mud brick home. The watchers knew what would happen next. The murderers would search for anything of value, fighting and arguing amongst themselves.

The time for them to make atonement had arrived. Now; it had to be now while they were all inside.

The leader of the band of watchers brought the old, scarred and scratched butt of the rifle to a skinny, tanned shoulder, and slowly, carefully, steadied it. Through the gun sights a bright, oblong tube came into focus. A slim, scratched and bleeding finger, gently stroked the trigger as a tear soaked eye stared down the barrel and took aim at the middle of the cylinder then, with a carefully held breath, gently squeezed.

The explosion blew apart the mud brick house and everyone in it, the blast reaching up to the watchers and sucking the last of the oxygen out of the air for long, agonising seconds.

Slowly the dirt and debris settled to reveal a scene of complete and utter devastation. Nothing moved in the heat of the day, not a bird or a beetle, certainly nothing human. That’s what happens when a rifle bullet pierces a household gas cylinder. The watchers only had one rifle and a handful of bullets, and only one person who knew how to use them.

But, the fight back had begun.

This was their first taste of revenge in a war that had been sudden and unexpected. But, no one was cheering, the loss was just too great; they had arrived too late to warn this beloved family of the evil coming their way.

The mutilated bodies of the missionary family were hurriedly collected, buried in a mass grave and quickly prayed over. There was little time to spare on tears or religion; that would have to wait until they were safely hidden again.

Efficiently gathering anything they could use that had survived the blast, they vanished back into the jungle. ‘Live to fight another day,’ had to be their new motto. From now on until the war was won, they wouldn’t be able to afford the luxury of sorrow.

The battle ahead of them was going to be long and brutal and they would never get these lost years back. Maybe this was the greatest tragedy of all. Especially since the eldest of their little band of warriors was only sixteen years old.

The mercenaries had crossed the border from Zandu a month earlier; paid to take over the country and its small diamond mines for its corrupt military leaders. Diamonds that would pay for even more carnage with the weapons they could buy.

Burunda had no army to fight back with, only a couple of hundred poorly outfitted men who doubled as traffic police and crowd controllers at the local soccer games. Burundans were a simple, law abiding people who had never needed a large army. Now, its rulers in Kula, the capital, were scrambling to find weapons and train soldiers to protect its people. It was going to take more of these young warriors to fight and die if Burunda was to ever be free again.

Paris, France

Eight Years Later

Helen James couldn’t help herself; she kept sneaking happy sideways glances at her lovely, effervescent daughter. Lynette’s pleasure was her pleasure; she was a daughter anyone would be proud of. Lyn had just graduated from university and would take up her first teaching post when they returned home. She was pretty, endlessly kind, and to top it all off she actually liked spending time with her parents. Her delight in the sights and sounds of Paris was letting Helen see it all again with fresh eyes. Ah! Paris. The most beautiful city in the world, Helen had never been happier.

Lynette slipped her hand into Helen’s and with a huge smile tugged her closer. Oh Mum, isn’t this just wonderful. We’re here on the Boulevard St. Germaine at last, I’ve dreamed of strolling along here forever. Or at least it has felt like forever while my nose was in all those books for months on end. Helen grinned back.

The best part was your father and brothers encouraging us to come without them. These past three weeks of just the two of us have been a gift beyond price. I miss them but, not the ruckus they would have caused if we’d had to do everything to their agenda. Lynette laughed happily.

I’m with you there. I’ve really enjoyed our time travelling through Europe with no males to time our shopping trips or hassle us about train timetables. My big brothers are great, however, a little of their organising goes a long way. Helen gave a knowing grimace.

That’s the truth, they learned well from their father. I’ve spent all of my married life being cared for and very gently led down the path that your father thought was the best one for me. We have definitely been well loved and well provided for, but---. Helen winked knowingly at her lovely daughter. Freedom, for a short while, sure is great.

Mother and daughter hugged tightly, then, laughing happily continued on down the boulevard, hands tightly clasped. The next hour passing in pleasantly relaxed window shopping.

Life changed forever as they paused in front of the huge glass windows of a chic department store. Suddenly the air stilled. Silence formed a bubble that stretched for 400 metres in all directions. Nothing moved, even the elegant, animated people sitting at the sidewalk cafes, seemed to still into colourful wax mannequins. The traffic continued to flow but, inside the bubble they seemed to make no sound.

For these few precious seconds of time the world still existed; the cafe patrons expected to taste their coffee, the pedestrians to keep their appointments and the traffic to flow on to their destinations.

It would never happen.

Helen and Lynette turned to each other in confusion; their smiles slowly fading, their fingers tightly clinging together in an instinctive attempt to reassure each other.

Sound returned to the street with a greedy, cataclysmic howl, bouncing off the glass windows and walls, tearing down the sidewalks and road and ravenously gobbling up the protective bubble.

The return of sound heralded the destruction. Glass windows shattered into the street like demented icicles, carving up the elegant Parisians and tourists alike; bloody pieces of meat wrapped in colourful rags was all they left behind on their glittering journey of butchery. What was once elegant and animated was now simply-- gone.

Cars caught in the blast were thrown into each other, rolling over and over, tangled in an obscene dance of grinding metal, meat and blood; finally coming to rest in the street to resemble pieces of grotesque modern art.

Dust, rags, paper, all drifted slowly back down to the street trying desperately to slot back into place; it was a futile effort. The chaotic, lost jigsaw puzzle pieces would never fit together again.

Nothing escaped the carnage; not buildings, not men, women or children, not dogs, not anything that lived and breathed. Not Helen and Lynette. All that was left of them were their tightly clasped hands, lying in the road. They were forever joined now, this loving mother and her beloved daughter.

A little known terrorist group proudly claimed responsibility for the bombing; they blamed France for some tiny slight against their dignity.

Of course, that wasn’t going to save the terrorist responsible from Mathew James and his sons’ retribution.

Chapter 1

Present Day

Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan.

Seth James slowly raised his head the few inches it took to be able to see over the icy, white mound of snow and sleet that he’d been lying in for the last nine hours. He’d hollowed out a slightly higher mound in front of his face, to absorb the white, misty plume his breath created when he was forced to breathe without his headgear ---his life wouldn’t be worth spit if the Taliban spotted the tell-tale plume indicating human presence. Every careful breath he took was slow and controlled, filtered through his white balaclava for the most part. Holding his breath he quickly scanned the rough, dirt road, directly below his position with his scope. Finally, success, the first beat-up, tarp covered truck came into view around the bend at the base of the mountain, opposite his position. Their intel. had said that there would be three trucks in all and each would be carrying rockets, launchers and ammo to arm the insurgents.

A soft grunt sounded two feet to Seth’s right. Glancing over he saw a snow covered mound, barely distinguishable from the mountain of snow at his back, tremble slightly before a whisper sounded.

Number one, is that our target?

Yeah, two, it looks that way. Pass the word quietly to three, four and five to get ready to burrow deep and play dead, no movement from any man, on penalty of my foot up their ass. When I call the strike in then all hell is going to break loose around here,

Seth’s reply was so soft it was barely distinguishable from the wind, whistling around their cold bodies. The big problem was not calling in the strike; Seth had faith in the radio that he’d kept working by tucking it close to his skin, keeping the batteries warm and alive. It was being able to move fast enough to escape detection after the fact. He started tightening and releasing his muscles one more time, he had lost count of the times he’d done this in the hours that they’d lain here waiting for this moment. He just hoped him men had been doing the same because it was going to be hell-on-wheels trying to carry a man out of these mountains to get back to the recovery point.

Seth wondered if he’d make it out alive this time, the odds were stacked against them but, they’d had worse and come through. So, to hell with the cold, they’d get each other out, that was why the regimental motto was ‘Who Dares Wins’ not a man here today would do less than that. Hell of a time to draw this mission though.

He was due to rotate out of SAS Sabre One and into the training unit back home in Australia after this mission. He planned on taking some of his overdue leave and catching up with his father and brothers before taking up his new post. He might even spend some time checking out the modern dating game, now that his overseas tours were finished.

There was very little chance of him settling down with a nice, normal woman but, hell, a few weeks of down time with a nice lady and his brothers would be good. He didn’t think any woman could accept the violent memories that disturbed his sleep, or the constant wariness that was now part of his being, but, a few casual dates would be fine.

Bloody hell, he’d better get his mind back on the job, pronto, or he could kiss goodbye to seeing his family again, his ass would be toast instead.

Down below a second, beat-up, old truck, lurched and rumbled shakily around the corner of the gouged out road. The melting snow had not only cleared the pass for the trucks to ship in their weapons, it had eroded deep trenches and pot holes in the dirt road. This was going to be to the watchers advantage, it would make it harder for the trucks to get away when the air strike came.

Number two, I’ll be calling in the strike soon, there’s only one more truck to wait for. Pass the word to get ready. Seth spoke quietly into his snow mound, no time now to make mistakes.

Will do sir, replied number two.

The message was whispered from one snow mound to the next, until all five men in the patrol were alerted to the coming air strike. Now was not the time to jump at a sudden noise. Their safety lay in being invisible to the watching eyes of the locals here in the mountains. A shepherd could be watching the area from a cave and seeing movement would raise the alarm and have them surrounded in minutes.

Seth slowly inched his hand inside his jacket, careful not to dislodge the six inches of snow covering his body. The snow was his enemy and his friend, as long as the snow hid him he was safe and as long as he could stay warm he would live. Wrapping his icy cold fingers around the warm box he carefully felt for the send button, soon now, soon.

The third truck came into sight, sliding sideways around the corner, its wheels fighting hard for traction on the greasy road. Righting itself it slammed to a halt, rocking backwards and forwards on its springs, the driver obviously needing time to get his courage back. Minutes passed as Seth waited. Eventually the truck was put into gear and it lumbered forward again. All three trucks were now in the open.

Seth pressed the button and whispered one last time. Now, number two.

Seconds turned to eons as the watchers waited. Suddenly, a mighty crack that sounded like the gates of hell opening, exploded over their heads. The hellish sound was followed by a blinding light that flashed across the valley floor, melting the snow and obliterating everything in sight. A strange hush fell over the mountains. No insect noises, no bird calls and certainly no human sounds could be heard. Only the hushed silence of emptiness reached out and wrapped the mountains in endless nothingness.

The trucks were gone and the arms for the Taliban with them, now Seth had to keep his men here, not moving until dark if they were to get out alive. Even as they burrowed deeper into the snow, he knew that there were men in these seemingly empty mountains, who were already looking for the spotters. It was going to be a long night.

Five hours later, Seth and his number two staggered to the extraction point carrying two of their men and piled them into the helicopter, before going back for the last man. The fifth member of their patrol had limped along behind them, leaning on a walking stick that Seth had fashioned for him. Picking him up between them, they chair-lifted him to the open door of the helicopter and dumped him inside before falling in behind him.

They were alive, but Seth decided then and there that, he never wanted to be cold again.

Chapter 2

Brisbane, Australia

Seth eased his huge, six foot five inch frame into the lounge of the pub at South Bank, in Brisbane, finding the shadows against the wall with the same instinctive wariness that he had used when entering a cave in the Afghan mountains, while hunting Taliban rebels. Survival had been the name of the game for too long now for him to be relaxed about his safety, even if he was in his own country now. The wariness would settle down to a manageable level after a few days in safe, familiar surroundings —it always did. But, for now he would have to deal with the uneasiness.

Seth figured he could be forgiven for being antsy today, considering he’d flown non-stop from Afghanistan via his SASR base in Perth the minute he’d got his leave papers. There hadn’t been the usual two or three days let-down time in the barracks before he ventured out into civilian life. The message that had been waiting for him on his email program had been too important to waste time sitting around contemplating the meaning of life and studying his navel.

A nondescript, beat-up backpack slung over one shoulder, carried his quickly gathered belongings from his locker on base, including some serious medals stuffed at the bottom of the bag he was going to leave with his brother. He had the art of survival down to thirty kilos including the backpack. It felt featherweight compared to what he usually carried into battle. His long, dark hair curled into his muscular, tanned neck and kept catching under the backpack strap, it reminded him he would either have to tie it back or get a haircut, another bloody delay if he opted for the haircut.

Suddenly pausing in mid stride, all thoughts of haircuts vanished from his mind as he spotted his brothers sitting at a table in the corner of the room. He caught his breath as his heart swelled in recognition of his family, the realisation slowly sank into his soul that he had made it home alive to see them again and this time it was to be for good. His overseas duty to his country was done.

Seth gave each of his brothers a one armed hug that turned into a vigorous backslapping session as they all fought to hold back their tears. He was finally home and safe, after six years serving with the Australian SAS in Afghanistan and Iraq. Six years doing and seeing actions that would live with him in his nightmares for the rest of his life. He now had ten months of paid leave accumulated, ten months he