Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1)

by N. A. Alcorn

  Destination: Guadalajara.

  Operation: Snake Eyes.

  After a short trip across the Mexican desert, the chopper begins to fake false inserts—miles apart—as they near their actual landing zone. Each time they fake a landing, the helicopter starts to move in low and hover over a specified area to give the impression that they are about to land. This is a necessity in thwarting off any of Arturo’s men who may be watching for United States military to attempt to come in and save the day.

  The ramp of the helicopter is down in the rear as all seven SEALs prepare for landing.

  Two gunners keep watch on either side of the chopper, ready to unload their M240 machine guns towards anyone who fires their way. There is no way in hell this mission will allow any sort of ambush on one of its best SEAL Teams.

  Blackness consumes the night as the chopper continues to move in, hover, withdraw, go back in, pull out, and then leave. To anyone watching, it is beyond impossible to figure out their plan of action.

  “Snake Eyes, prepare for landing! We’re a go!” The landing controller is calling the shots from the front of the chopper. “Four minutes out!”

  Black Mamba SEALs glance at one another, their hearts pounding in anticipation, as their bodies go into that familiar state of mind they’ve been trained for.

  A giant smirk encompasses Julian’s face as he begins to sing their song, the one song that describes this SEAL Team perfectly. “Our backs to the wall! A band of brothers! Together, alone, the outsiders!”

  Slade immediately joins in, singing completely off-key but not giving a shit. His deep voice simultaneously mixes with Julian’s, and within seconds, all seven men are belting out the lyrics in unison. “That’s who we are! We do our talking, walk that walk! Wide-open rocking! That’s how we roll!”

  The landing controller announces into their earpieces, “One minute out! Let’s go!”

  “Yeeehaw! Saddle up and tighten your fuckin’ towels, boys! It’s go time!” Rob shouts in his Southern twang as they prepare for landing.

  With no gunfire in their direction and the night air nearly silent besides the familiar sound of the rotor blades, Black Mamba lines up, ready to land. Their gloved hands grip the thick, coarse rope hanging from the rear of the chopper, and one by one, they descend into the night. They execute the forty-foot drop with precision and hit the deck in no time at all.

  They spread out, their boots crunching quietly through the barren terrain. In skillful movements, they relocate several yards from each other, crouching down behind whatever cover they can find. The sound of the helicopter eventually becomes a distant memory as it disembarks from their current location.

  The heat of the dry Mexican air consumes them as they remain frozen in the still night. They navigate through the darkness with night-vision goggles and keep communication intact with military-issued tactical headphones that utilize bone-conduction technology. Basically, this device allows them to be continually aware of their surroundings yet still communicate directly with one another.

  Silence fills their ears as their lungs move air in and out in controlled movements, and their hearts thump at a slow-and-steady pace. Only SEALs—trained warriors—can maintain such calm composure when they’re about to put themselves in life-threatening danger.

  After twenty minutes pass, they begin to move forward, ready to firmly place their combat boots in enemy territory.

  Jack communicates with their home base. “Alpha Three One, Black Mamba preparing to move.”

  “Roger that,” he receives in response.

  With the go-ahead from their superior, they begin their journey towards the Arturo compound—approximately two miles. Their route is preplanned, and it moves along a fairly flat terrain they can travel across in no time. With way points already marked on a map and precise, detailed GPS coordinates in place, Black Mamba moves out.

  All systems a go for Operation Snake Eyes.

  ALL SEVEN SEALS GET IN place once they reach the Arturo compound. They are not here to talk, nor are they here to show their presence. Black Mamba is following the plan of going in, securing the hostage, and leaving quicker than they arrived.

  With their strategic plan committed to memory, Black Mamba flanks the small body of water that lines the back entrance of the compound. A dark tunnel will lead the way to the depths of the basement, where intel is certain that Sloan Walker is being kept hostage. Precise satellites have already given them the complete layout of their current location.

  Every hallway, room, window, and door is ingrained into each SEAL’s memory.

  They surround the perimeter, their bodies camouflaged in the night by both their gear and the brush of the terrain. Minimal light from the silent compound reflects off the water, their night-vision goggles giving them the advantage.

  "Ghost, set your sights," Nix instructs Jack—the platoon’s sniper one.

  "Both eyes in place," Jack answers in less than thirty seconds. His eyes seek out his planned target, Arturo’s guard of the tunnel door.

  "Ace, set your sights," Nix communicates to Andrew—Black Mamba’s sniper two.

  Andrew’s response is nearly instantaneous, already anticipating their next move. “Trigger’s ready.” He’s prepared to hit any additional men who may file through the back entrance.

  "Irish, time to get wet and wild," Jack voices once his target is locked, his finger inching towards the trigger of his M14 sniper rifle.

  Rob eases into the murky water, his entire body immersed within seconds without the faintest ripple of water revealing his location. He moves through stagnant liquid with stealth and precision until he sees the prone figure that stands on the small, wooden pier hovering above him. Both of Rob’s hands rise to the surface, the only signal Jack needs to pull the trigger. One 7.62mm bullet finds its way between the eyes of the target, the suppressor muffling the shot and reducing the flash from the muzzle. Rob’s strong arms catch the fallen body, easing it into the murky depths without a single splash.

  "We're in. Fan out and move forward," Nix instructs with an even tone.

  Black Mamba continues onward with accuracy. Both snipers relocate to higher perches where they can watch all four entrances of the compound. Jack and Andrew are prepared to knock out any of Arturo's watchdogs that show signs of knowing Black Mamba's presence.

  Nix, Julian, Slade, Smith, and Rob gain entrance into the tunnel, moving quickly and in a manner that doesn't reveal their wet presence. They are prepared to pass three doorways inside the tunnel, each necessitating stealthy maneuvers and unwavering focus. With their M4 assault rifles customized to their shooting skills and adorned with suppressors to aid in their need to stay under their enemy’s radar, they move forward. They ignore the rancid odors that fill their nostrils as their combat boots barely make a sound inside the tunnel.

  “Sniper One, all clear,” Jack communicates to his Teammates inside the tunnel.

  “Sniper Two, all clear,” Andrew adds as both snipers are prepared to keep their Team abreast of anything that appears suspicious or out of place on the outside perimeter.

  “Roger that,” Nix responds.

  Once they reach the first open doorway, they utilize military formation to clear the unknown.

  Nix makes eye contact with Julian. In one quick motion, he points two fingers to his eyes and then one towards the right side of the doorway, silently giving his instructions.

  Julian nods and then holds his position on the left side of the doorway, his eyes seeking out movement from the right. Slade taps Julian’s shoulder, conveying his presence and waiting for the go-ahead. Julian signals that the right side is clear and Slade presses forward, his focus intent on the left side as he holds his position. Smith taps Slade’s shoulder and waits for the ‘all clear’ signal.

  “Clear,” Slade responds quietly, giving his SEAL Team the approval to press onward past the first doorway.

  The tunnel remains silent and not a single soul has been seen since their boots bega
n their path towards the basement of the compound. Each member of Black Mamba advances, continuing on in their stealthy formation.

  Minds are clear, focused, and ready for anything.

  When the second open doorway is cleared, the five SEALs are one step closer to saving Sloan. Nix fights the worry and unease that threatens to fill his brain as he strives to maintain one hundred percent control of his emotions. His breathing is quiet and steady as his heart thrums along at a comfortable ninety-beats-per-minute pace, his highly trained body showing no signs of anxiety or stress.

  All five SEALs are in tune with one another, working together like a well-oiled machine as they navigate through the pitch-black tunnel, their night-vision goggles and M4 assault rifles giving them the advantage. The rigorous training their bodies have endured proves that it has done its job.

  And time continues to tick by at a far-too-quick pace…

  The third and final doorway comes into focus and they hold their positions. Nix locks eyes with Smith, motioning for him to clear the left side. Smith nods and moves into position, his eyes finding movement on the opposite side. Holding one finger to his lips, he motions towards the left once he spots one of Hector’s men walking in their direction.

  Nix taps Smith’s shoulder before easing his body towards the left side, his back pressed against the cement tunnel wall. He observes the right side of the door way, his eagle eyes noting that it is clear. The footsteps of their new target move closer, echoing off the walls and giving Nix precise calculations on when to make his move. His M4 assault rifle hangs across his chest as chooses his bayonet, which sports a sharp-as-fuck six-inch blade.

  Tip, tap, tip, tap. The enemy moves closer.

  In the blink of an eye, Nix’s blade slices the unsuspecting target’s jugular, blood spurting from his neck as his limp body unceremoniously falls to the ground. Black Mamba holds their formation as they wait for a reaction from anyone else who may be lurking down that hallway. Silence is their signal to move forward, and they quickly navigate through the rest of the tunnel until they locate the steel door.

  “Ghost, Ace,” Nix voices to the two snipers covering the outside perimeter. “Notify Alpha Two,” he instructs.

  “Roger that.” Andrew promptly radios to their ground support. “Alpha Two, Black Mamba is a go,” he communicates.

  He receives an immediate response from the squad leader of the Humvees. “Alpha two en route. Roger that.”

  He promptly updates his teammates inside the compound. “Alpha two on board.”

  Nix motions for his team to take position and gives the go-ahead for Smith to set up the doughnut charge on the steel door. All five SEALs ensure that enough distance is between them and the steel door to prevent injury.

  “Mac, in control?” Nix asks.

  “In control. Everyone clear,” Smith instructs as he holds the detonator button in his hands.

  Six male voices repeat simultaneously, “All clear.”

  BOOM!

  The breaching device detonates, blasting the locking mechanism on the steel door. Smith and Rob stay back, keeping their exit route clear, while Julian, Slade, and Nix move in quickly. The three SEALs never stray from their strategic formation and move through the smoke-filled room highly aware of their surroundings and time limits.

  Two minutes…

  “Clear right,” Julian updates.

  “Hold left,” Slade voices before firing one shot into the heart of one of Arturo’s armed men who had the unfortunate job of guarding the cells. “Clear left,” Slade informs once the perpetrator is down.

  Their combat boots step over four male bodies whose weapons lie discarded at their sides, the explosive device thankfully doing more than just giving them an entrance. Shots are fired behind a decrepit, wooden table that’s been tossed on its side.

  Nix’s reaction is lightning quick. Two bullets are fired from his M4, both piercing through the flimsy barrier and skull of the lone shooter who was guarding the door that led to the cells of the hostages who are under Hector Arturo’s mercy.

  “Motherfucker!” Slade hisses through gritted teeth. The lone shooter’s bullet made contact with his left thigh and blood is beginning to seep down his camouflage pants.

  “Here!” Julian throws a bandanna in his direction, a perfect tourniquet for Slade’s injured thigh. Slade wraps the cloth around his leg in a matter of seconds and follows Nix’s lead, clearing each cell.

  “Clear!” Cell one—no one.

  “Clear!” Cell two—empty.

  “Clear!” Cell three—a lifeless male occupant.

  Nix’s heart begins to pound wildly in his chest as his frantic emotions boil to the surface. His feet continue to move forward, but his chest is getting heavier by the second.

  “Clear!” Cell four—no one.

  “Clear! Two females!” Cell five—two female occupants.

  One of the women sits crouched in the corner, her hands tied behind her back and her mouth gagged with a putrid cloth that’s tightly wrapped around her face. Her eyes hesitantly peer in their direction.

  The other woman lies on the makeshift cot, her hands and legs tied to the rusted metal rods of the bed, her practically lifeless body splayed above a filthy mattress …

  One minute…

  NIX’S HEART NEARLY CLIMBS OUT of his chest once his eyes take in the appearance of the woman on the cot. It’s her. It’s Sloan.

  “Fuck!” A terrible, heart-wrenching sound escapes his lungs as he practically runs to her side.

  Her helpless form lies bloodied and beaten. She’s only dressed in a torn T-shirt and underwear. A discarded rubber tourniquet is underneath her right arm and an empty syringe is discarded on the ground. Three distinct track marks mar her skin. Sloan’s eye lids are open, but her russet irises are rolled in the back of her head, showing no signs of the vibrant woman he loves. Her tiny, fragile chest struggles to inhale and exhale with shallow, uneven breaths.

  Slade cuts the rope that’s firmly tied around Sloan’s wrists and ankles, blood oozing from the raw skin that’s left in their wake.

  “Wake up, baby! Open your eyes!” Nix urges with anxiety leaking from his normally composed voice. His fingers check her delicate neck for a pulse.

  Bum…Bum…………Bum…Bum………..Bum…Bum

  The feel of her weak, unsteady lifeline vibrates underneath his fingertips.

  “Fuuuuuuuck!” Panic consumes his soul as he struggles to inhale a shaky breath.

  Nix knows that her condition is deteriorating by the second. The deep, open wound imbedded in her thigh continues to excrete blood past the poorly applied tourniquet. Her body is visibly in shock from the large blood loss and unknown substances that have been forced into her system. Her pale complexion and unconscious state are evidence of this ominous fact. Sloan’s life is hanging on by a mere thread. Every shallow breath—every feeble beat of her heart—leaves her one step closer towards that thread—her lifeline—snapping and unraveling towards something Nix refuses to let happen.

  I can’t fucking lose you twice, his shattered heart cries as he pulls her unconscious body into his strong arms. He buries his nose in her hair, grief overriding his capability of rational thought.

  Thirty seconds…

  “Boss!” Slade hisses towards Nix, striving to pull his focus. “Wrap her up in the sheet. We have to move,” he voices sternly. “Boss!” Slade shouts adamantly, knowing that he needs to get his Team leader to regain his composure. “Get. Your. Ass. Moving!”

  Nix nods in understanding as he slides the sheet around Sloan’s prone form and stands up with her secured in his arms. “Come on, Meli. Open your eyes,” he whispers into her ear. “Fuck, baby. Don’t give up on me. Don’t you fucking dare give up on me!”

  Fifteen seconds…

  Julian resides in the corner of the room, his knife slicing the ropes that bind the other woman’s hands above her head. Her piercing, brown eyes bore into his soul as she sits destitute on the putrid ground—h
er pitiful body only covered by a ripped-up T-shirt. Her skin is marked with bruises and bloody wounds from obvious beatings.

  Slade sees Julian in the corner of the room as he helps the other hostage to her feet. Her injuries not nearly as bad as Sloan’s, but her body has been visibly beaten while she’s been at Arturo’s mercy.

  “Julian! We have to go! Move!” Slade urges with a stern tone.

  “I can’t leave her here,” Julian responds obstinately.

  “God damnit! We didn’t come here for her!”

  “I’m. Not. Leaving. Her. Here!” Julian shouts as he pulls the woman into his arms. “Hold on tight, doll. This might be a bumpy ride,” he tells her as her large doe eyes peer up into his. Gratitude permeates from the relief that consumes her face—tears beginning to fall down her cheekbones.

  “No tears,” he demands as he files out of the cell behind Nix and Slade.

  A small, relieved giggle escapes the woman’s throat, stress playing into her back-and-forth, yo-yo-like emotions that force strange reactions to overwhelm her.

  Julian smirks down at her. “No laughing either.”

  A small smile threatens the corner of her mouth as she keeps her arms tightly wrapped around her hero’s neck, holding on for dear life.

  “What’s your name?” he questions as his combat boots move quickly, already heading through the tunnel.

  “Alejandra,” she whispers to Julian.

  Her eyes are no longer open, her brown irises blocked by her delicate lids, which are now firmly closed. Her battered heart has already seen too many bad things. She forces her mind to go somewhere else—somewhere far away from her terrible brother, Hector, and the cruel man she was going to be forced to marry, Nico. Alejandra silently prays that these men get her and Felicia out of the compound before any of Hector’s men catch up to them.

  Slade, Nix, and Julian reach the other two SEALs waiting at their exit path. Smith leads the group while Rob flanks the back, both men maintaining a watchful eye for the enemy, who is undoubtedly hot on their trail.