Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Ava (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Jillian Anselmi

“Anyone got a beer?” I ask, falling forward onto my knees. As I go down, I catch a glimpse of Ava, whose face is as white as a ghost. Red oozes from behind her ear, and my blood runs cold. I clench my jaw and reign in my anger.

  If they hurt her, I’ll kill them all.

  One of the terrorists grabs my arm and drags me up, then tosses me on the floor with the other hostages. Pointing an AR-15 assault rifle in my face, he hisses in broken English, “Drunken infidel!”

  The terrorist farthest from me says, “Seems today isn’t your lucky day.” He’s light skinned and blond where the other three have dark skin and darker hair. He doesn’t have quite the same accent as the others when speaking in English either.” I wouldn’t have pegged him as a Jihadi, but here we are.

  “What should we do with him?” one of the men asks in Dari.

  “Nothing. They’ll all be dead soon enough,” the blond terrorist answers.

  No one else on the train can understand what they’re saying.

  But I can.

  This blond guy must be the man in charge. Nothing like an American being in charge of an Islamic terrorist group.

  I take a good look around. The passengers are frozen in fear—the women clustered together and crying. Men trapped, unable to do a damn thing.

  I glance over at Ava. Her face is blank, but her hands are trembling at her sides. She’s terrified, and it kills me that I’m not there to comfort her.

  Of the four terrorists, the one closest to me seems less confident than the others.

  He’s young.

  Nervous.

  The other three are comfortable holding their rifles, and he looks like he might drop it at any time. He’s my target.

  Now, how do I get the gun away from the younger terrorist and save the passengers?

  It would help if I could alert the police in New York City, let them know they might have to evacuate Penn Station. Unless the jammer’s hidden in the first couple cars or Dude was ambushed, he should have found it by now.

  Like magic, the answer reveals itself. A passenger’s phone rings, and a startled terrorist looks around the car in horror. The blond in charge storms back into the car. “Was that a phone I just heard?” he growls in Dari.

  The other terrorists look around in disbelief.

  The phone rings again, and this time, blondie hones in on the culprit. “You!” he shouts to a woman on the floor. “If you answer that, I’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t, I promise!” she sobs.

  While the blond guy is yelling at the woman, Ava comes back to life. She glances side to side, then reaches into her pocket. Slowly, she pulls out her phone and hides it under her untucked shirt.

  One of the wonderful features of cell phones. If you’re in danger or otherwise in need of help, holding down the right buttons will let you summon help without drawing attention to yourself.

  She’s smart, but so damn foolish to place herself in danger this way.

  One of the terrorists catches her and before I have a chance to react, the blond guy whirls around and smashes Ava in the side of the head. It takes every ounce of energy I have to not jump up and choke the life out of him.

  Her phone flies across the floor and lands in front of me. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” comes from the speaker, but one of the terrorists picks it up and presses end.

  I turn back to Ava, who’s slowly getting up off the floor.

  No! Just lie there, don’t get up!

  I curl my fingers into a fist, my nails digging into my palm.

  Fear engulfs my conscience, knocking all other thoughts aside.

  If he lays a finger on her, I swear, his death will be slow and painful.

  “Ava, Ava, Ava,” the man taunts. “Why would you go and do something so stupid?” Wait, how does he know her name?

  “Brian, please,” she begs.

  What the fuck?

  “Now, I have to kill you,” he snarls. “But…” he points his rifle to the huddled mass on the floor, moving it back and forth across the frightened passengers, “I have other plans for you, so this will have to suffice.” Brian places a bullet in a random man’s head. The men flinch from the echo of the shot, the women cry. Children curl up into their mother’s arms for protection. It’s a vision I’ll never forget for the rest of my life.

  Ava jams her fist into her mouth to stifle the scream, her eyes filling with tears.

  The frightened passengers are trapped in a nightmare screaming won’t save them from. I need to take control of the situation, and fast.

  12:50 pm

  Trenton, New Jersey

  Last stop before Penn Station

  One hour before detonation

  Ava

  The train whizzes by the Trenton station without stopping as I come to grips with the fact that Brian shot an innocent man. All because I was stupid and took out my phone. What was I thinking? He’s clearly not the man I thought I loved. How could I have been so blind? “I imagine you won’t do anything that stupid again, Ava?” Brian smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.

  “No,” I insist.

  “Good.” He turns to the other terrorists. “Watch them carefully. I’m going to go check on the jammer. That phone shouldn’t have rung.” They nod, then Brian walks past me toward the back of the train.

  I glance over at Dalton, whose eyes are everywhere. His jaw is clenched as he surveys the room. God, I hope he doesn’t do anything to jeopardize his safety. Then I remember—he’s a SEAL. Of course he’s going to do something.

  12:55 pm

  55 minutes before detonation

  Dalton

  With Brian out of the car, it’ll make it that much easier to take down these poor excuses for men.

  Planning my moves like chess, I need to be aware of the potentials and drawbacks.

  The threats and opportunities.

  The young terrorist was the closest to me, his hands shaking as he tries to be tough. The other two are less than ten feet away—two large steps if I’m quick.

  And I am quick.

  One thing I excelled at in training was unarmed combat. Not a very useful talent as a SEAL—but it will work amazingly well here. Most of our training involved engaging with hot weapons at minimum risk to the home side—shooting the enemy long range with a rifle and a scope or short range with a handgun. Unarmed combat was almost an afterthought. It wasn’t like there was anything written in the manuals.

  No martial arts training.

  No boxing in a ring.

  No.

  It was straight up bar room brawling.

  And I was a pro.

  I watch each terrorist, planning my attack with forethought and care. The younger terrorist loses focus, and I make my move.

  Threats and opportunities.

  Bouncing up on the balls of my feet, I twist hard at the waist. I keep my palm close to my body as I smack the muzzle of the assault rifle. First, I push it wide and safe. Then, I grasp it and haul on it hard. The terrorist loses his balance and falls to the floor face first.

  The other two terrorists spin toward the action, but I anticipate this.

  Since I grabbed the rifle from the muzzle, I need to spin it around to fire it. I don’t have that kind of time. Seizing the stock in my other hand, I thrust the butt of the gun at the closer of the two terrorists’ heads, bashing him square in the temple. He’s goes down like a bag of bricks.

  Out the corner of my eye, I catch the reflection in the glass of the third terrorist winding up a roundhouse right. He’s too close to raise his large rifle and chooses to swing.

  His bad luck.

  I duck my head, letting the punch scythe through the empty air above me. Launching from my feet, I bounce back up and jerk my elbow into the guy’s kidney. I’m able to flip the assault rifle around and shoot him in the temple.

  Spinning on my feet, I point the rifle at the first terrorist who’s starting to rise. He throws his hands up in the air, and his eyes go wide as his face pales. K
eeping the rifle on him, I lean down and check the pulses of both the other terrorists.

  No pulse.

  They’re not getting back up.

  Ever.

  “Ava, are you all right?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the younger terrorist, who’s starting to panic in front of me. He’s in over his head, and it’s starting to dawn on him.

  “I’m okay,” she answers, her voice a little shaky. Her face contorts as she inhales a sharp breath. “Cody! There’s a bomb on the train! Brian said it’s supposed to explode underneath Penn Station.”

  “I know, sweetheart. I’m going to go take care of that right now,” I say as calmly as I can under the circumstances.

  I move closer to the boy. When I’m inches from his face, I ask in a low and controlled tone, “Where is the bomb?” He stares at me with narrowed eyes, like he doesn’t understand the question. So, I repeat it. “Where is the bomb?”

  “I don’t know,” he utters, panic showing in his features.

  I back up a step and move so the rifle is in two hands—one on the stock and one on the butt. “Wrong answer,” I caution, then thrust the butt of the rifle into his ribs. He bends forward, then staggers back a few feet until he hits the train car door. Flipping the gun around, I point it at his head. “Where. Is. The. Bomb?” I ask him again, enunciating each word to make sure I’m crystal clear.

  “I don’t know!” he insists, clutching his stomach.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” I snarl.

  “Only Brian…knows…where it is,” he groans, doubled over.

  I might have broken a rib.

  Or two.

  “Ava, sweetheart, could you find me something to tie this guy up with?” Shifting so I’m sideways, I’m able to see both the terrorist and the passengers. I keep the rifle trained on him, should he try to do something stupid. She reaches up and looks through the luggage racks above the seats and finds a bag with a detachable strap. Removing it, she brings it over to me. I cringe when I see the dried blood matted in her hair by her ear.

  I’ll worry about that in a minute.

  I need to be quick—Brian could be back any minute.

  With the rifle slung across my back, I grasp the back of the terrorist’s head and yank him upright, spinning him so he’s facing the door. Ava hands me the strap, and I tie the boy’s hands behind his back. I turn him back around and push him against the door. “Find me something to put in his mouth,” I murmur to her. Nodding, she starts to rummage through the luggage.

  While she’s looking, I check on the other passengers. “Anyone hurt?” I ask, still keeping an eye on my prisoner. The ones who aren’t in shock shake their heads.

  So far, only one casualty I’m aware of.

  Ava comes back with a silk scarf.

  Perfect.

  I hold the terrorist’s nose so he opens his mouth, then shove the scarf in so he can’t scream for help.

  Now that he’s detained, I turn my attention to Ava. “Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask, placing my hand on the side of her head. She nods, but her eyes betray her. I take a look at where the blood is matted and see a small cut. Someone hit her on the back of the head close to her right ear.

  I place my hands on her cheeks and check her eyes. The sparkle is gone, but her pupils are the same size.

  No concussion.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, then refocus. “You need to stay here with the passengers while I go find Brian,” I mutter softly. “I want you to take this.” Bending down, I pick up one of the other assault rifles.

  She takes a step back and puts up her hands as she shakes her head. “I-I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can,” I assure her. “You won’t need it if I have anything to do with it, but I want you to have it. Just in case.” She extends her shaking hands, and I place the rifle in them. “Just point and shoot,” I tell her, trying to get her to relax.

  “No, please. Take me with you.” I think about her request for a split second and decide she may be right. If she’s with me, I’ll know she’s safe.

  “Okay,” I concede. Looking into the crowd of frightened passengers, I find the biggest man in the group. “Have you ever shot a gun before?” I ask him.

  “I’ve never shot a person, but I’ve gone deer hunting before,” he answers.

  Good enough.

  “Do you think you can keep the rest of the passengers safe while I go find and disarm the bomb?” He nods. It’s not the most confident yes, but it will have to do.

  1:10 pm

  40 minutes before detonation

  Dalton

  Step by quiet step, I walk through the speeding train with Ava right behind me. “You doing all right?” I whisper.

  “No, but being with you makes me feel a hell of a lot better than staying back there,” she answers, motioning her head to the car we just left.

  “The authorities must have an idea that something is wrong since we flew right past Trenton,” I assure her. “If they can’t get ahold of the conductor or someone on this train, the helicopters will be deployed and we’ll most likely be derailed before we get to Penn Station—which is in…” I look down at my watch, “forty minutes.” Her eyes go wide. Damn, I’m not helping. “Once we find Dude…errr…Faulkner, we’ll find the bomb and he’ll disarm it. He’s the best in the business when it comes to explosives.” She smiles, but it’s weak and doesn’t touch her eyes. “Do you trust me?” I ask, taking her hand and bringing it to my lips. As I place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, she nods her head. “Good. Now, let’s go find Dude.”

  Where the fuck is Dude?

  With the assault rifle in the ready position, I clear the car. One down, three more to go.

  Looking through the small window in the door, I peer into the next car. I wait for a second, trying to pick up any sign of movement. When I’m satisfied, I slide the heavy door open.

  Slow.

  I stalk down the row, checking every seat for a body.

  This car is clear as well.

  I repeat my careful entrance with the next car, Ava close behind me. When I get to the back of the car, I hear the click-click of the slide of a handgun as a bullet’s being chambered. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill her.”

  I turn around.

  Brian has a gun pressed against Ava’s temple, his free hand wrapped around her throat. Fuck. How did I miss him?

  “It’s over, Brian,” I reveal, watching his eyes. They’ll tell me if he’s going to make a move. “That is your name, right?”

  “Please, Brian! Let me go,” Ava begs, taking her tiny hands and clawing at the arm holding her hostage.

  “I told you before—I have plans for you,” he answers with a smirk. The gun shakes in his hands, but his grip around Ava becomes tighter.

  “I would advise letting her go,” I warn him, taking a step forward.

  “Ah, my angel. You have an admirer?” he says, his lips curling upward into a sardonic smile.

  “That’s right, and I suggest you take your hands off her.” I stand in place, waiting for his next move. I’m not comfortable with the gun so close to her head. If it were just him and me, it would have been over already, but I’m not putting her life in jeopardy.

  She’s remarkably strong—holding it together better than most men I know. There are tears welling in her eyes, but she’s not letting him get to her. She’s an amazing woman.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he answers.

  “You’ve already signed your death warrant by touching her. I’m just deciding the most painful way to kill you,” I confess, biding my time.

  “When you meet the unbelievers, smite their necks,” he recites. “It’s unfortunate I don’t have a knife to behead you with, my dear. I guess a gun will have to do.” She squirms in his grasp, her eyes wide.

  “Don’t you fucking do it!” I roar.

  He glares at me, then laughs. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “The hell there isn’t!” Dude
’s voice echoes off the walls behind Brian. He’s distracted for a second—just long enough for me to act.

  I lunge forward, reaching for the gun with one hand and pushing him away from Ava with the other. He releases her as he stumbles back, but his grip on the pistol is strong. “Dude! Find the bomb!” I order as I fall forward with Brian. Ava scrambles out of the way onto one of the seats.

  We crash to the floor, and the gun comes loose, skidding out of our reach.

  Brian scrambles to get up for his weapon, but I’m quicker. I jump up, positioning myself between him and the gun. He has no choice now but to try to take me one-on-one.

  Brian leans in and swings his right fist wildly, trying to connect with my cheek. I side-step the blow. As he spins back around, I twist my waist and hit him in the temple with a horizontal elbow. He staggers back a step, but the blow doesn’t take him out; it only angers him.

  Before he can retaliate, I flick my right hand out and back real fast—like a snake’s tongue. As my arm is in motion, I ball my hand into a fist and land on the bridge of his nose. The crack it makes along with the spray of blood tells me it’s broken.

  His head snaps back as I continue, my left hand landing on his throat. He moans and hits the floor with a thud. His incapacitation gives me enough time to swing around and pick up the gun located behind me.

  Twisting, I dive for the piece. As my fingers curl around the grip, Ava screams. I roll onto my back just as Brian pulls a detonator from underneath his coat. Before his thumb can press the red button, I take aim.

  The bullet leaves my gun and enters his skull—right between the eyes.

  I take one more shot for good measure, hitting him in the chest as he falls backwards. Once he hits the floor, the detonator rolls out of his fingers and onto the metal boards. I lean over and check his pulse, even though his eyes are wide and lifeless. Once I decide he’s not getting back up, I check my watch.