Disclaimer: All the characters you recognize from the Stephanie Plum books belong to Janet Evanovich. The Inferna Angelus' on the other hand are solely mine as is the tiny terror tiger that rules them.

A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews! I want to answer them each individually; but didn't manage before finishing this chapter and I thought you might want to know how it goes on with T and her gang. Anyway, I love you talking to me via those sometimes short, sometimes longer comments. Thanks for that!

Chapter 54 – The Assault 2

In-ground storage next to Escobar's lab, northeast of Sardinata, Colombia

T lay motionless on the ground as her brain jump-started and began assessing the damage. Definitely some broken ribs, make that several broken ribs, add in theraging fire rippling through her lungs and each labored breath T struggled to take felt like a scorching poker piercing her chest. Bracing for the incredible pain, she cautiously inhaled an arduous breath and let her mind reach out.

Silence. Blissful silence. Not a living soul left in the storage cave.

As it was safe to move she unfastened her tactical vest, lifted her head and looked at the deformed round that stuck slightly out of her chest.

Mother of God, T exhaled sharply and winced at the burning pain it caused.

Even the best flak vest couldn't absorb the impact of a point blank shot so she turned her vest over and blanched. There, right front and center where her main dagger was held, she discovered that the round had pierced the thick black steel blade, then was further slowed down by the hard-plate reinforced vest before penetrating the skin and getting stuck without punching through the breast bone. Lying her head back onto the ground T did something she hadn't done in a long time; she prayed.

Thank you God for giving me another day, another chance to become a better individual, another opportunity to give and experience love. Thank you for sparing my life and the pain it would have caused Bobby and Ruben. Oh Dear God, please let me get home to them. I need them as much as they need me.

Putting the vest back on and fastening it, T decided to be on the safe side and keep the round where it was in case it had pierced some blood vessels. Furor or V could do their magic and remove it once they met up. Her arm was still bleeding from the through and through earlier, so she worked a makeshift bandage around that wound and strained as she slowly got up.

When T finally reached the lab, she was panting in painful shallow puffs. She realized nothing more could be done and began to search for the rest of her team. Just as she was about to leave the lab through its inlaid glass front, she sensed men advancing from her right. All she could read in their minds was gunshots, a heated gunfight.

My men!

Scrambling back behind one of the aisles, she locked her pain away, took aim and had the first three down when the fourth of the men opened fire on her. Cussing, she crouched down, removed the silencer and changed magazine.

One, two, three, T took a breath, hurled herself to the left and while still airborne, took the two Guerrillas out that had come into the lab. More shots volleyed around causing rock shrapnel to fly everywhere.

Black dots danced in front of her eyes and the edge of her sight got fuzzy.

Hey! We're in a fucking drug lab, stop shooting, T thought angrily as the scorching pain in her chest made breathing nearly impossible. Some things are allergic to bullets here, like me.

Squatting down she sensed five more men closing in on where she crouched behind an aisle block. She was fucked; but she wouldn't give up. Loading her second Glock, T smiled diabolically and with a soundless war cry straightened up and opened fire. Eye for an eye, Terror Tiger style!

A short while later…

A tugging sensation on her left leg brought T back to consciousness. Opening her tired eyes, she watched Button squatted over her lower end sewing some deep gashes at her thigh which looked like a sieve. Two deformed bullets and a pile of stone chips had accumulated next to her leg.

Hey Angel, I wondered when you'd come around, Button smiled at her but it never reached his brown beady eyes that were full of worry and anger.

What's the damage? T nodded toward Knock, Vince, Scar, Les and Rage who were all obviously wounded with Les and Vince lying stretched out on the ground.

Rage took one to his arm and two to his leg, all through and through. Knock got one to the shoulder, slug's still in there somewhere. Scar managed just one to his leg; but with severe muscle damage. Vince has two to his chest. Bullets are still in there; but apparently no damage to the lungs or heart. He's critical. Same goes for Les. One to the leg and one to the abdomen. Definitely internal damage. We'll go in as soon as the situation here is clear and we are out of this damn cave-system.

Fuck! T moved her good arm over her eyes and kept up with her shallow breathing as the stitching became more and more painful.

You want something against the pain? Button asked without interrupting his work.

Nah, I'm good. What about the slug in my chest? You got it removed?

The tugging stopped instantly and T peeked out from under her arm. Button's face was unreadable as he seemed to whistle to someone. Like a flash Rev squatted next to her.

Angel, was all he could think as he started stroking her hair.

"Remove her vest. She says she has a round in her chest," Button ordered Rev who cautiously unfastened and peeled T's tactical vest from her upper body.

"Goddamn," Rev cussed and within seconds his dagger had both her shirt and bra cut open.

Looking at her bared chest the two men winced. A bruise the size of a dinner plate was blooming over her scarred cleavage and breasts with the bullet plus some trickled blood in the center of it.

"I have to finish her leg and then I will take care of that," Button murmured as he went back to his handiwork.

Where's Agony? T pushed as Rev covered her up.

He and Cal are fitting the storage with explosives. As soon as they are finished there, they'll take care of this lab. The others are collecting the hostages. There were no hostile survivors. You were right all along, Angel. We would have never stood a chance to survive with a less aggressive assault.

How are the Rangemen taking it?

Rev shrugged and made an unhappy face. So far they are running high on adrenalin. I don't have your ability of reading minds; but my guess is the Boston and Miami guys will struggle with what happened today. It was a mess, bringing each of us to our limits. I sure as hell won't forget what went down here.

Just as T was about to answer, Button gently pulled up her cargoes, knelt next to her upper body and bared her chest again to take a closer look at the imbedded bullet. Fortunately, there was no further vessel damage and by the time he had cleaned the wound and applied two tiny stitches the rest of the men had arrived and congregated in the lab. Button went over to V and CP outside the lab to help take care of the hostages while Furor and Ram hoisted T into a standing position. Her leg hurt like a bitch and she sagged into Ram as she cautiously put some weight on it.

Report, she pushed out while grimacing in pain.

Six out of seventeen are down, you included. Minus the medics, we have seven men left to ensure our safe retreat. Les isn't looking good. He needs field surgery asap and a lot of luck. Vince can wait; but should his circulation start crashing we'll need to go in there, too. We'll need stretchers for both of them. Scar can't walk on his own either; but can manage with help. We'll have to see about you. Knock's no problem and Rage will be a sissy bitch complaining the whole time; but can manage on his own, Furor summed up the injuries.

We need to change our retreat plan, Ram spoke up. With so many men injured, we won't make it over the mountain's peak and we don't have enough men left standing to split the group. There's no chance a chopper can land in this valley, so we'll have to make a detour and skirt the mountains. It'll be slow progress and take us four days at least; but I don't see any other options.

Nodding her head, T confirmed that she understood and agreed. Four more days in hell's kitchen.

Ram, you are in charge of building the stretchers, she ordered, Rev packed his chute for this very scenario. Furor, talk to Scar and see whether he can really manage with some help. Otherwise we'll need a third stretcher. I will be okay and if not, Agony or Rev can help. Inform the remaining men about the change in plan and get them organized. I want Zero, Woody and Scotch as spearheads and lookouts, the rest is up to you, T leaned against the wall and with a grimace relieved her burning leg.

Ten hours later…

The scorching afternoon sun and unbearable humidity was sucking the last bits of energy from the group of men and women as they labored along. Slowly, the band of hostages, Rangemen and IAs worked their way through the soggy dense green of the valley. Zero, Woody and Scotch were in front, clearing the way with their machetes. The injured on stretchers and those limping followed by the hostages ambled along wordlessly. Furor and V secured the retreat exhausted after just having dealt with Lester.

Those two were real master knives and his surgery had been a full success bearing in mind that it took place on a small clearing under less than sterile conditions. The chance for a sepsis setting in was high as it was for every other injured fighter; but Lester was alive and that was all that mattered. For now, he was out cold and topped off with high amounts of antibiotics and pain killers. Vince was conscious and stable so far; but CP kept a very close eye on him. Scar leaned heavily on Ram with his injured leg barely able to carry any weight at all. Lastly there was T, who was piggy backing on Agony. Her leg was bleeding anew from the strain of walking alone and an hour before she made the decision to turn the command of the group over to Ram and Furor in an effort to recharge.

T's head snapped up and her body tensed as her mind reached out toward whatever had interrupted the tranquil zen she had achieved.

Stop! She pushed to everybody, causing an instant halt and high alert.

Sliding down from Agony's back, T limped a few yards ahead of the group and concentrated. The pain relievers she had taken earlier turned her senses to mush. Her brain lay covered in a thick almost impenetrable fog. She tensed and cocked her head. Closing her eyes, T strained to reach out beyond the haze allowing her senses to travel through the brush and trees ahead.

Men… Armed… They are searching for us… Five hundred yards ahead… They have a tracking device showing a constant signal from us. One of us must be carrying a transmitter, she pushed to the men.

How many? Furor and Ram asked at the same time.

Twenty… Twenty five… no wait… thirty. Thirty heavily armed Guerrillas in all.

Are they aware that we've stopped and now know about them? The two men suddenly stood next to her.

No. Furor, V; get the hostages and the injured to the little stone circle we passed ten minutes ago. It's as good a hideout as we can get here. Scar, Rage; you accompany them. The rest of us will fan out, surround and ambush the enemy.

Are you fucking insane? Knock asked incredulous. They are thirty and we are… what… ten?

Knock was one of the Miami Rangemen who seldom went on missions anymore. The happenings of the early morning plus his own injury had shaken him and were taking a toll. T sensed his increasing stress level and knew she had to keep him on track so he'd be of some help.

We're eleven and an ambush is the last thing they are expecting; it's our best chance, T leveled a cool stare at him. The important thing while playing cat and mouse is to know who's the cat. Thirty to eleven means not even three men for each of us. You mean to tell me you can't take three of those bastards out?

Knock looked at her and she could see the tautness in him making room for a steely resolve. Gazing at the men around her, T saw the same determination in their eyes and felt it in their minds. They would go into this fight guns blazing and make sure that the hostages, the injured plus Furor and V were safe.

Cal, Zero, Knock, Woody, Scotch, Button, Ram, CP, Agony, Rev and T silently moved toward the enemy and scattered forming a loose circle. Crouching hidden among the trees, the group waited while the hostile Guerrillas appeared in their field of vision.

No sound now. We hold until they are completely surrounded by us, then we take them out, T gave final instructions. On my command… wait… wait… wait… NOW! She barked the second the last men had entered their circle.

The whole gunfight lasted approximately six minutes. When silence settled over the battlefield, the enemy was down and T's men had managed to sustain no further injuries. Her crazy ass plan was a full success. The men surfed on the wave of adrenaline with whoops and hollers as the ominous noise of an approaching chopper rose over their exclamations of relief.

Furor, T yelled in her mind. Air attack; one chopper. Take cover, everybody.

Under Ram's lead, the men around her frantically started lugging the dead bodies into the brush so they wouldn't be seen from above. T immediately began to concentrate and scan for any incoming threats. Instantly, she sensed an imminent danger. A cross hair on Ram's back. T knew time did not permit her to identify the source or attempt to warn Ram. Only one thing would guarantee Ram's safety. Racing the few strides needed to reach him, T took a flying leap and barreled into Ram's body. In that same instant two gun-shots could be heard. The most curious sensation ebbed through T as the two slugs first hit her tactical vest and then smashed into her body. She saw the ground flying towards her and wondered whether or not she would hurt Ram when she landed on him. Then there was some rumbling and flipping end over end. Finally, stillness followed by faint, muffled echoes in her mind's background.

T lay on the jungle floor gazing toward the heavens mesmerized by the green canopy surrounding her. Someone was pulling her roughly into the brush and away from her fantastic view. Her front felt warm and wet and the guys around her were in a panicked frenzy. Something was wrong; but she had no cares because of once in her fractured life she was at peace. Just as CP landed on his knees right next to her, T saw a huge dark insect flying over the tree tops making the branches whip around as though a storm was brewing.

"Fuck! Button, get over here. Furor, V; I need you – T is down. Woody, Scotch; go and replace them and stay with the hostages. Cal, Zero, Agony, Rev; keep eyes and ears out for an attack team," CP called out commands over his throat mic already removing T's vest.

Button dropped to the ground opposite him and immediately started to take vitals. Blood was gushing out of the wounds in T's abdomen and thorax. The froth bubbling at the chest hole was a sure sign of a pierced lung.

"Fast man, we need her vitals," CP hurried Button along as he pressed huge amounts of gauze onto the two wounds.

"Pupils dilated and unresponsive," Button called out as he checked T over. "I'm putting in two large-bore IVs with lactated ringers. BP sixty over forty… falling. Heart rate is… forty… falling… Respiration is… forty… shallow and increasing. I'm intubating."

CP was still pressing gauze to the wounds while Button was bagging her. Furor and V slid to a dramatic stop next to them with shock and fear etched on their faces.

Linho? T looked at the young man standing between CP and Furor.

Her brother smiled at her as she felt his hand caress her face and brush through her tangled, sweaty hair.

Linho, eu senti tanto sua falta. (Linho, I missed you so much.)

Suddenly, T was snuggled in her brother's arms. They stood aside, watching as CP kept pressure on her abdominal wound and Button checked her parameters. Furor and V were frantically working on her chest while the blood kept gushing around their expert hands.

Venha pequena borboleta. Sassa está esperando, Linho thought. (Come on little butterfly. Sassa is waiting.)

"BP forty over thirty… Heart rate is twenty and sporadic… we are losing her," Button's call cut through the tense air.