Split Second

by Louis Scott

  “Sorry, no invisible blankets, but we’re operating out here on our own. Congress is still pissed and unsure if they’ll fund FORCE any longer.” Jonas’s voice lowered as his mission focus amped up. Thunder clapped to cover the last of his words.

  “Damn, we stick out like a boner in a speedo,” Jim laughed.

  Voodoo wrapped her arm tighter around Pike’s. She smiled behind the thick rubber mask.

  “I love you,” she mouthed.

  He nodded with a thumbs-up—she punched him in the arm.

  “You know the drill. Lots of ground with limited talent. We’re running in two-man elements. Teams 1 and 2 go straight to the wheelhouse. Secure the engine and radio controls.” Jonas’s speech was sharp and invigorating.

  Voodoo began to feel more comfortable—she was back in her SWAT environment. She worried less about world destruction and focused more on protecting her partner and team while they cleared this ship.

  Pike and Jim nodded.

  “Teams 3 and 4 cover the open deck space and then find secure over-watch positions,” Jonas continued. “Sorry, that’s Alex and me—we got each team covered.”

  Voodoo looked at the other two FORCE Agents accompanying Jonas and Alex but hadn’t met them before.

  “Finally, Team 5 and 6 dive straight for the bowels and make sure to disable the engine room.” Jonas looked around the jammed carry area and smiled. “Cake.”

  “I’m taking us to the front door,” Alex instructed. “Ready in three, two, one—Go.”

  Voodoo’s heart raced as the thick doors were shoved open to meet a torrential downpour. Stress from the extra equipment’s weight caused her breath to labor heavy and deep. Pike looked into the facemask and connected with her.

  “Watch each other’s six,” Pike said.

  She nodded. Pellets of water crashed against her thick plastic encasement. It kept her clothes dry from rain but she was soaking wet with sweat.

  Alex and her partner took cover positions along the running boards on the opposite side of the MRAP. Jonas and his SEAL partner ran to the front quarter panel and also provided cover.

  “Team 1 and 2. Move out.” Alex commanded.

  Voodoo willed her pulse to settle as she jolted from behind the ballistic plated, military-style vehicle. Her steps slapped through standing water as she carefully navigated broken chunks of cement that led to the gangway.

  Nuzzled behind Pike, Voodoo raised her Colt 9mm submachine gun to cover as they sped up the steep incline on the starboard side. Gale force winds shimmied the thin material. Her quadriceps seared as she moved in a crouched position to steady her weapon’s barrel. Below, black, threatening waters churned violently between the ship and dock’s narrow space.

  “Right behind you, Team 1,” said Jim Graham.

  The former Force Recon Marine’s voice was calm, unaffected by the situation. Voodoo smirked—his voice should be calm—he was a freaking United States Marine after all. She felt comfort being surrounded by such skilled military tough-guys.

  Reaching the five percent elevation eventually numbed Voodoo’s pain, but her upper torso continued to struggle with the gear and pace. She smeared rain off her facemask, vowing her fierce determination would be the difference in this operation.

  No way will I let Pike down.

  “Teams 5 and 6. Move.” Alex’s rain-garbled voice rung through Voodoo’s tactical headset.

  Voodoo knew back-up was on the way. It was reassuring to know the best this country had to offer were collected at this scene. Although a bit overwhelmed, she knew ops and her strengths relied on them to contribute to the team. Heck yeah, she was proud to be a part of this unit.

  The warped aluminum base of the gangway begin to rattle as four full-sized, fully equipped warriors trotted up the grade.

  Voodoo’s foot slipped on the saturated gangway as she followed Pike’s lead. He jerked a sharp right once his boots hit solid deck. Quick and silent, only the patter of rubber soles tapped a gentle hint of their approach. They stopped short of an open hatch. His Kevlar helmet nodded. Voodoo confirmed Team 2 was in position before she pressed against his left shoulder. They were ready.

  Her heart pounded. She sucked large gulps of air; her claustrophobia intensifying. Pike disappeared around the corner of the opening. Voodoo was left looking through the drizzle. Starbursts of lights illuminated an empty deck that lined the starboard bridge. She held her weapon at a slanted ready-gun position.

  “Move,” Jim ordered. “Watch his six.”

  But intuition seized her.

  A shadow flashed, then became flesh around the bow’s end of the bridge. Voodoo didn’t give him time to lift the shotgun. She rocked the weapon up, stock rotating in the crook of her shoulder. Her index finger pulled back. She felt the click. The anonymous body crumpled lifeless. She looked over the barrel because there wasn’t the loud spatter of rounds fired. She smiled at the sound suppressor attached to the tip.

  “Thanks, Voodoo.” Jim’s voice whispered through her headset.

  “That’s why we’re here.” She replied.

  “Move to Pike. We’ll secure this threat.” Jim nudged Voodoo through the hatch.

  Pike waited for her. His weapon trained up the stairwell to protect them from an overhead ambush.

  “Ship is occupied, and armed,” an anonymous voice warned.

  “Suspect one is neutralized. Moving back to Team 1,” Jim updated.

  Voodoo heard Alex and Jonas announce they’d arrived and had taken up over-watch positions along the top deck.

  Jonas’s voice amplified sharp but surprised, “Looks like meth heads have turned this ship into a lab.”

  “We don’t have a beef with these people. Lets stand ground and call them out. Give a chance to vacate,” Alex suggested.

  Her partner, a young Navy SEAL with a shaggy beard and spooky bright blue eyes called in to assist with the ship’s assault, agreed. Once each team radioed they’d established secure positions to monitor door and access ways, he activated the bullhorn to warn everyone on the ship to leave immediately.

  The warrior stepped away from the steel upper deck and popped three siren wails, “Leave the ship now. We are not here to arrest you. There are dangerous chemicals on this ship. We only want to secure those chemicals. You are free to leave.”

  A shot rang out from behind a hatch on the port side. It cleaved the bullhorn from his hand. Ricocheted shrapnel sliced through his protective suit. He dropped the speaker and shook his hand to ease the impact vibration.

  Alex’s eyes narrowed on the location of the shot. Anger bubbled up but she settled it. Nothing pissed her off more than one of her team being attacked. She leveled her Heckler and Koch MP5, peered through the optics scope, exhaled, and strategically placed two quick rounds into the area.

  “Screw these people ma’am. Excuse my French, but screw ‘em.” the SEAL said.

  “Team 3 took shrapnel but still operational,” Alex announced.

  “Highly operational,” the SEAL clarified over his tactical headset.

  “Oorah,” sounded over the tact earpieces.

  “Gotta be Jim. Radio discipline, Jarhead,” Jonas kidded from his Team 4 position on the starboard side across from Team 3.

  Alex took a breath, making sure she was dealing with a steady head and not from anger. “Okay, they made their decision. Teams move to secure. We have zero arrest authority,” Her words resonated—she’d just signed death warrants.

  “Does she mean what I think she means?” Voodoo’s words hitched in her throat.

  Ellie nodded yes.

  Voodoo’s gut still reeled from the man she’d just taken out. She wasn’t sure if she could do it again. The other two waited for her to cover Pike.

  “Hey, bayou belle,” Ellie got her attention. “Reload.” She tapped Voodoo on the shoulder and seemed to have snapped her from a trance. “Thanks for saving Jim. Had you followed your gut, he would’ve been in that dude’s sights.”

  Voodoo released
a huge lump of air that had wedged in her chest, and winked.

  “Heads up, I’m moving.” Pike began to climb the stairs.

  The hollow metal staircase clanked with each footfall. His hard polymer thigh holster brushed against the handrail. It rattled to announce his arrival. Voodoo tiptoed behind him, careful not to sweep him with the barrel of her rifle. Her eyes fixed on an opening to the landing platform’s left flank.

  “Hold Pike. Check left,” she said.

  “Got it—I’ll secure. Voodoo, sweep right. Team 2, clear passageway ahead to captain’s wheelhouse.”

  A series of mic clicks and shoulder squeezes signaled they were ready.

  “Move.” Pike ordered.

  Booms of unearthly thunder concealed their flurry of rushed movements. An orchestrated tableau of violent actions aimed to detect and neutralize any threat was executed to perfection. Voodoo hadn’t noticed, but her breathing and pulse had leveled off. She was responding as she’d been taught—kicking tail was her skill set, and it reassured her that she belonged. Hours of repetitious training and endless rounds of ammunition fired during drills had prepared her for today—for every day.

  The ping didn’t register at first. When the second round bounced off the steel bulkhead, she felt the crush against her ballistic SWAT vest. Her protective suit crumpled as shards of metal pellets pulled it apart.

  Wrath flashed. The will to survive, and fury at someone trying to kill her set off a peppery personality.

  “Oh no, sucka.”

  She spun and dropped to one knee. Eyes wide, she peered over the barrel and through the scope’s tritium reticle.

  Where’s Dwight?

  “Man down,” she radioed. Her trembling tone was obvious, but so was her resolve.

  Pike was flat on his back and motionless—trapped in the fatal funnel. His weapon lay off to his right, still snugged by the sling. She noticed Ellie return to the main passageway where they’d all just departed.

  “Jim is covering down on our area. What happened?”

  “Shotgun. I’m hit, but fine. Pike’s down. Eyes on, see nothing.”

  “You cover up. I’ll bang and snatch him,” Ellie said.

  “10-4. Clear to go.”

  Ellie crouched to the edge of the open door. Voodoo watched her yank a flash bang from her vest and pull the pin. The heavy metal casing was about the size of a soft drink can. It bounced and clanked for a second. The thin metal spoon that held the firing mechanism in place, popped off. A brilliant explosion of light and sound ripped through the slight opening. Voodoo blinked to shield her eyes. When they opened, Pike was gone.

  “Team 6 taking fire. Engine room.”

  “Cobra, we’re right around the corner. Take cover. We got a better angle,” Team 5’s leader said.

  Voodoo jumped at the intensity of their radio broadcasts. She was in her own gun battle, but hated that her teammates were in one too.

  “Team 6—one man down. Non-life threatening,” Cobra’s voice sounded pissed. Voodoo knew the feeling.

  “Two down and departed. Thanks 5,” Cobra said. “Coming up with one medevac.”

  Voodoo pressed the communications headset against her ear to follow the action. Her heart grew heavy. She’d had enough of this bull. Penny ante meth heads playing shoot ‘em up while the fate of thousands drifted up river. Not to mention her dumb roommate Bonny being central to the whole mess.

  She heard the soft touch of a sole upon diamond-plated steel. Raised her weapon, and rattled off three rounds. An emaciated bag of skin dropped a sawed-off shotgun as he crumpled. Brass casings from her Colt 9mm jingled, as they bounced along the metal platform. Burnt powder saturated the filter to her mask.

  “Look who’s awake,” Ellie teased as Pike shook his head and tried to lift himself to a seated position. Voodoo heard her transmission but kept her sights down the passageway. She was sure another voice had gasped as the shooter was dropped.

  “I’m okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me. Back in the game,” Pike assured.

  Voodoo’s heart leapt—there was no denying how she felt for him.

  “Good,” Jim radioed. “Ellie, come back my way to clear this last room.”

  “Moving,” Ellie responded.

  Pike gave Voodoo a thumb up as he leaned against the bulkhead taking in deep gulps of tanked air. She’d never been so happy as right then. What better way to build a relationship than fighting with, and for, the one you cared about most.

  “Team 4, assist Team 6 with casualty,” Alex said. “Chopper coming into hot LZ, so make transfer quickly. Weather getting worse. We’ll meet up at hospital later.”

  “Team 4 moving,” Jonas acknowledged.

  “Team 5 move to captain’s bridge to help Teams 1 and 2 finish clearing.”

  “Yes ma’am,” The SEAL’s acknowledgement showed no signs of apprehension over taking orders from a woman. Of course, Alex Vaughn was no typical woman.

  Voodoo knew she could learn plenty from her as a role model. But would she be accepted as a peer? Her heroism in battle would go a long way toward that acceptance among all.

  Chapter Five

  “This ain’t the Peabody Hotel?” Jim stated the obvious.

  Their flat panel van strolled across a bumpy gravel-paved path off Macon Cove Road—about 15 klicks east of downtown Memphis.

  “Brief and bunk here tonight,” Jonas ordered. “Intel Section promised more diary decoding by this evening. No need hustling back to HQ—the path to Bonny is up river. We just don’t know how far at this point.”

  Jonas sat on the floor of the van, his forearms hugging bent knees. His body swayed with the motion of the transport as it had in the chopper.

  “I ain’t ever seen this type of haul and switch operation up a river before,” Pike huffed. “Heck, up any body of water in all my years with Team 6. The guy Alex winged from the balcony said Bonny and friends traded them the ship for a hand in offloading barrels. He said the next boat was about the size of a river ferry.”

  Pike was exasperated, but made sure his touch was gentle against Voodoo’s back. She’d leaned against his shins, which set his heart on alert.

  “Good point. How does a ship of that size cruise up river and no one notice?" Jonas said. "At least we’re not tied down to a HAZMAT decon. The zombies must’ve been the meth cooks,”

  “So zombies do die?” Voodoo snickered nervously.

  Her pupils were so large they almost consumed the green of the iris. Pike knew all too personally that everyone reacted differently to taking a life—and she’d taken two. He rubbed fingers up and down her spine making her head roll side-to-side.

  “Almost there,” Jonas said. “Hit the head, chow on your own and prepare to brief once Alex returns from Methodist Hospital. Your Navy squid’s almost back to good.”

  “You mean back to freaking awesome,” Pike corrected.

  Their eyes met, “Yes, what you said,” Jonas humored him—he knew everyone’s adrenaline affected them differently.

  “Any word on Lawless?” Jonas asked Voodoo.

  Pike watched Voodoo’s reaction, and assumed Jonas asked without thinking through the implications.

  She shook her head no.

  “How’s Alex pull it off?” Voodoo asked.

  “Pull what off?” Pike asked.

  “The armored truck, the van, the hotel, knowing my size in SWAT gear and boots. And now, I’ve got a wardrobe laid out for this evening. Amazing.” Voodoo gushed over the clean clothes and toiletry supplies left organized in the hotel room.

  “She takes care of the team that takes care of America.” Pike boasted.

  “She’s fantastic.”

  “No, you’re fantastic. You saved Jim’s and my hide today.” Pike kissed her.

  He held her gently; a contrast to the furious warrior that had led the charge on locking down an entire ship. Voodoo’s adrenaline, however had spiked, and hours after the shooting, she still felt the aggression of survival. She bit against his bo
ttom lip. Held it between her teeth and growled.

  “Oh, baby’s frisky?” Pike growled.

  “Yes, sir, I’m feeling very frisky.” Her hands roamed across his broad shoulders, and up his neck. “You got soft skin, why no tattoos?” She asked.

  “I’m too pretty. Don’t need to decorate what is already perfect.” Pike smirked.

  Voodoo rolled her eyes, “Yeah, you’re just scared of needles.”

  She felt the tension escaping his shoulders in waves, as he responded to the sensation of her touch. The rain had calmed but continued to patter against the balcony doors. Still, a snake of dread wormed its way up her spine because she knew the comfort was only a façade. The reality was, they were in hiding, and only the most fierce fighting would save them, and the nation.

  Pike groaned. It wasn’t from pleasure, but because he was drained from the high-speed tactical encounter, and soreness from the shotgun’s concussion. He pretended to not be interested in Voodoo’s advances.

  “Old man, you better get your act in gear, or this gator girl’s gonna get’cha.” Playfully, she pushed against his shoulders. He winced at the sharp pain. “I’m sorry, baby.” She closed the gap and drew close to him.

  Pike scowled. “I didn’t realize how bad it hurt until after we showered and ate. My body’s cooling down, so the aches are heating up.”

  Still a young man, he dreaded the older side of active field ops. The inevitable bothered him—though he’d never admit it.

  “It’s okay, we can just hit the hay after Alex’s intel briefing.” Voodoo offered.

  Pike couldn’t shake the anxiety of feeling on edge. He was well aware with post-critical incident trauma. The heroic Navy SEAL prided himself on self-assessment and treatment. Getting yourself back in the fight, and keeping your head on straight were his specialties. Of course, he’d never had someone like Voodoo on his team before either.

  “No way, we never finished what we started in Biloxi." He pulled her close with his left arm, letting the right one dangle against his side as he ached in agony.