Stone’s hand shot up again. “Killing, sir?” Typically pirate crews avoided bloodshed if they could. The clans frowned on it as it was not profitable.
“Right.” Harper massaged his temples. “These fellows, apparently, are rebels. Or desperate. They’ve already broken multiple conventions your typical Somali pirate follows. Our intelligence says…” He glanced at the Commander again. “At least one of the passengers and three of the crew are dead. The crew members were killed during the firefight and the passenger apparently attempted an escape.”
“How many hostages are there?” Rocco asked.
“Twenty-seven crew members and four passengers. From what we can tell, a total of sixteen pirates. There were originally eight, but when they landed on the island, they were joined by another crew.” Harper flicked a switch on the remote and a new map came up with the layout of the island. It was long and slender and the topography was fairly flat, but then, most archipelagos were little more than glorified reefs. There was a village on each end and an X on the eastern shore about midpoint marked as the extraction point. “We believe the pirates are holding the hostages here.” He pointed to the village on the south end of the island. “Squads 3, 4, and 5, this is your target. Your mission…take out the pirates and rescue those hostages.
“Squad 2, you clear and hold the landing zone here. We’ll send Chinooks out for pick up when you radio in. Squad 1, you’re tasked with clearing the village to the north. According to our drones, there’s not much activity there, but some hostiles have been spotted in the vicinity.”
Stone nodded, swallowing his disappointment. He’d hoped to be part of the frontal assault. Every SEAL wanted to be in the middle of the action pretty much all the time, but he knew each task was critical to the overall mission or it wouldn’t be a task. Clearing and securing the northern village would protect the troops at the extraction point as well as the ones working to the south.
But damn.
Harper scanned the company with a razor-sharp gaze. “Our top priority is the four passengers.”
“Wait,” Buzz piped up. “The four passengers?”
He shouldn’t have piped up.
Harper gored him with a glare.
“These are high profile passengers.” Every head whipped to Brandywine who, until now, had not spoken.
“High profile, sir?” Something tensed in Stone’s gut. Crap. He hated anything high profile.
The Commander nodded to Harper who switched the screen. An angel appeared. No. Not an angel. A girl. A woman. Ethereal, beautiful with soft blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. The lines of her face were delicate and perfectly symmetrical. Even her teeth were straight. She held a puppy in her arms and smiled with a brilliance that should have blinded him.
Whistles rounded the room. Harper didn’t even bother to glare everyone down.
Goddamn, she was gorgeous.
Stone’s lust rose and he wrangled it back.
This was a briefing. She was a target. A high profile target. The worst possible kind. There was no room for lust in his work. When the thought flickered that he probably needed to get laid, he pushed that away too.
He focused instead on the delicate features, the vulnerability in her eyes. Shit. A woman like this, in the hands of heartless pirates? The thought tore at him, and his resolve to do what he could to bring her home unharmed swelled.
“This, gentlemen, is Liliana Wilson.” Harper shot a hard look at each and every man. “What? Name not familiar to you?”
“No, sir.” A chorus.
“Well, maybe you’ve heard of her father? Senator Oberon Wilson?”
Silence settled on the assemblage.
Shitfuck.
A senator.
They were the worst.
And Wilson was the front-runner for the Vice Presidential slot in the next election. Could this get any worse?
“The other passengers…” Harper flicked through the papers on his clipboard. “Pierre LeMarc, a French sociology student. Michael Tippet, an engineer. Nancy Sayers, a nurse and…” His gaze flicked to the Commander and he toggled to the next slide. Another smiling girl. This one with auburn pigtails, a raft of freckles over her nose, a crooked smile…and braces. “Susan Brandywine.”
All eyes snapped to the Commander. All but Drake’s. “Shit,” he muttered. “Is she seven?”
Brandywine’s expression flickered as he stared at the picture of the little girl. His little girl. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “This is the only photo I have of her. The last one her mother sent me. She is…older now.” His throat worked. “If you boys could bring my daughter home safely, I would be very appreciative.”
“Yes, sir.” The response was automatic. As though there was any possibility of failure. They were Navy SEALs for fuck sake. They never failed.
The Commander nodded and checked his watch. Then, after a whispered confab with Harper, he sketched a salute to the men and left the room. When the door closed behind him, a ruckus broke out. Harper silenced them all with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t want to stress this in front of him, but you all need to be aware. This is not your typical crew. Most pirates try to keep their hostages safe and in good health. They are respectful of women. But with these guys…”
Stone’s attention tracked back to the picture of Susan Brandywine. He set his teeth as he thought of what could have happened to her, what could be happening now.
“Needless to say, time is of the essence. And team medics, be sure your bags are stocked. We have no idea what we’ll find.” Harper flicked back to the slide showing the map of the island. Though it only flickered for a second as he toggled through, that vision of the angel hit Stone like a fist to the gut. Again.
“Okay. Here’s how it’s going to play out. It will be a nighttime incursion. We’ll be flying you in with a HAHO drop out of Lemonnier.” Not a surprise. If one wanted to be stealthy, a High Altitude High Opening was the best way to infiltrate a target, and Lemonnier was the closest airfield that could handle a C-17. That they were dropping in over the Indian Ocean, shooting for a tiny island, wasn’t a concern. With their gear and Mason’s navigation skills, they knew they could land on a dime.
At Stone’s side, Drake gave a little chuckle. He loved nighttime drops—probably because jumping out of an airplane from a high altitude in the pitch dark was one of the most dangerous maneuvers they did. And Drake loved a thrill. He always had.
“We’re doing concurrent drops with the first team to the north.” Harper glanced at Stone. “The second team to the extraction point and the other teams to the south. Try not to tangle. Assault teams, once you land, clear the villages, collect your hostages, and make your way here, to the east coast at the center of the island for extraction. We’ll have choppers standing by on this carrier just out of line of sight.” He blew out a breath and his gaze rounded the room. “Any questions?”
“Yes, sir.” Buzz offered a snarky grin. “What if the mission goes tits up?”
Harper was not amused. But then, he rarely was. He was a damn good leader, but took no shit off anyone. “Your first priority is those hostages. Whatever it takes to get them out.”
“And the secondary extraction point?” Stone asked. He had to ask. More than once, he’d needed one. Shit happened in the field. Shit happened a lot.
“If, for some reason, you can’t make it to the eastern shore, head for this promontory on the southern coast. At low tide, you can wade across to the next island, but watch your timing or you could be swimming.”
Buzz snorted. Harper narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I know you boys can swim with sixty-pound packs, but we don’t know if your hostages can. And if the tide is coming in, the current could be strong. Not to mention the sand sharks. Your best bet…don’t need the secondary extraction point. Okay. Everybody good?”
“Aye aye, sir!”
“Good. Keep your ears on and your comms open. Anything else?” He scanned the assembly. “Nothing? Okay. We’ll deploy in two
hours. Mess is still open,” he said with a wan grin. “Today’s special is Shit on a Shingle.” A groan rose. “Eat up, boys. For the next few days, it’s MREs. Dismissed.”
A rustle of activity rose as the SEALs all collected their gear and filed from the room. Drake gusted a laugh as he stood. He laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. Stone had always hated that. Ever since they’d been kids. His grin was annoying too. “What do ya say, Ryder?” he chirped. “Pretty fucking exciting, isn’t it? Our first mission together and we get to rescue a senator’s daughter?”
Stone frowned. “Just don’t get your ass killed,” he muttered.
“Hey, I’m hardly a bubblegummer,” Drake smirked. “I did earn the Silver Star, you know.”
Hell yeah, he knew. Drake never let him forget it. Brought it up every chance he got. He’d graduated boot camp in a Hall of Fame Company—perfect marks—and since he’d earned his trident, he’d been on one award-winning mission after another—including the one where he saved an admiral’s ass.
It would be hell having him on the team because, damn it all, Drake was like a brother to him. Though all the guys on his team were like brothers, Stone still managed to keep some emotional distance when it came to the missions. With Drake, it was going to be tough.
They’d grown up together. Their families were still close. When they’d been younger, Drake had followed Stone around like a puppy dog. He’d joined the SEALs because Stone had. Drake’s mom still held him responsible for that.
If anything happened to Drake under Stone’s watch, Elaine would kill him. And then his own mom would kill him again.
Chapter Three
‡
Excitement whipped through Stone as the C-17 fired up and lifted into the sky. The teams were seated in the belly of the plane in the order they would drop. His team was closest to the ramp, because they’d be jumping first.
His head was a little light, from the excitement, sure, but probably because his system was flooded with O2. As always, they’d done an hour of prep with oxygen, getting their bodies ready for the high altitude jump, and while each man had a special HAHO helmet, equipped with oxygen, the prep was necessary.
Stone and Mason shared a grin. As nervous as they were, this was exhilarating. It always was. Every time. “Check your gear, guys,” he barked through his mic. Though they’d checked it and checked it again, another pass never hurt.
A metallic clatter rumbled through the cabin as his men reviewed their weapons, their ammo and their packs. “Checks five-oh,” they all responded.
Excellent.
Stone went through his gear as well, paying special attention to his main weapon, a suppressed HK416 with an infrared laser, magnifier, and a Nightforce scope. It was his favorite because it was fucking sweet.
Each man on his team carried multiple weapons, and each had his favorite. Tate preferred his M4 assault rifle and Mason had the SAW—the Squad Automatic Weapon. Garrett and Luke both fought over the pirate gun, a blunt nosed M79 grenade launcher and of course, they each carried a SIG Sauer P226.
Drake just liked them all. And it didn’t matter which he carried; he was lethal with anything. Even a KA-BAR.
He leaned around Mason and shot Stone a grin. “Hey, Ryder—” He began, but Mason cut him off with a smack to the back of his head.
“You gotta call him Stone, doofus.”
“What?” Drake snorted.
Zack nodded. “Ya do…if you’re gonna be in this platoon, son.”
Garrett and Luke—the Zipperhead Twins, so called because they were nearly identical, right down to their hideous haircuts—chimed in with, “Damn straight.”
Drake put out a lip. “How come I don’t have a nickname?”
“I thought he had one,” Tate said, glancing around the cabin, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Yeah. It’s Doofus.” Zack snickered.
“A real nickname. And not something lame, like Raven or Hawk.”
Luke and Garrett—Raven and Hawk—bristled.
“You don’t just get a nickname,” Mason explained. All the guys guffawed at his patronizing tone. “You have to earn it.”
“What do I have to do to earn one?”
Stone glowered at him. “Survive,” he barked. “Fucking survive this mission.” He turned away. He had enough on his mind without worrying about a nickname for Drake. Although Doofus was definitely a contender.
The six-minute call came, and with it, the ramp of the C-17 opened up like a gaping maw. Stone peered out at the night, though there was nothing to see. It was dark; the sky was cloudy. Not even a moon tonight. The wind was cooperating. Perfect for a raid, although once they landed, things could get dicey.
They’d all done hundreds of precision drops before. The standard operating procedure was to touch down away from the target, and then patrol in. This was supposed to be a surprise attack, in the middle of the night. He could only hope the stillness of the night didn’t work against them. They were coming in high enough that the pirates wouldn’t hear the approaching engines, but so much as a stray breeze could give them away when they got close to the island.
At the three-minute warning, all the men came to attention. The jumpmaster signaled them to don their helmets and check their oxygen, waiting for each man to respond that they were good to go. He raised his arm, cuing the teams to stand and prepare for the jump. Mason took the lead, stopping at the hinge of the ramp. Stone went last. He would float on the top of the stack, watching each man’s strobe to make sure they lined up correctly.
The jump light flashed green and Stone’s pulse kicked up a notch. God, he loved this.
In a well-practiced formation, his team stepped out, man by man, into the open air.
As always, it was a rush, free falling, wind whipping at his face, the drone of the engines replaced by the whistle in his ears. Stone’s drogue chute popped off, stabilizing him. He did his checks as he watched the chutes below him plume out, right on cue. Like a well-oiled machine, they formed a perfect stack. Damn, his guys were good.
He yanked the handle, opening his main chute. The canopy released in a billowing ripple. It caught with a snap. Silence of pure sky surrounded him—his favorite part of the jump.
As they neared the target, Stone could make out the shapes of the little islands growing larger. Mason veered to the one he recognized from the sat photo and the team followed. As they drifted toward the north shore, Stone scanned the area. To the south, the parachutes of the other teams silently blossomed. He turned his attention to their target, the northern village. A fire in the middle of a huddle of huts glowed green through the scope of his night vision goggles.
Stone flared out his chute and landed in the soft sand. They all set down on the beach, all but Zack, who splashed down in the water. Stone tried not to frown. It was a small mistake in the scheme of things, but one small mistake could get them all killed.
Without a word, they stripped off their harnesses, bundled up their chutes, and switched from jump to assault gear. They headed out in standard formation along the beach, weapons up, locked, and loaded. When the tiny village came into view, Stone held up his fist and his team halted. Everyone took a knee as Garrett scanned the scene with a thermal scope. He drew pictures in the sand of the layout so everyone understood what was what. If they needed to talk, they whispered into the comms. When his crackled, Stone thumped it with a finger until the static cleared.
He had two buds in. The one in his right ear was the troop net, where he and his guys communicated. In his left ear, he heard updates from Command on the status of the overall mission.
They all wore a brand-spanking-new version of the bone phone the Quartermaster had issued, and while they had trained with it—their motto was train like you fight—this was their first mission with the new equipment. So far, Stone was not impressed. The feed in his left ear cut out and he tapped it again until it picked back up.
The other teams had all deployed. As soon as they were in
position, the Head Shed would give the order to go.
In the meantime, they continued their recon. Based on the heat signatures in the village, there was one warm body in each of the four huts. Though based on the intel, they didn’t expect to find hostages, they had to go in prepared for anything. The glowing huddle around the fire was definitely pirates. Stone counted three of them. Mason surveyed the scene through his 3x scope and identified that they all had AK47s…which lay beside them on the ground.
Piece of cake.
The real challenge would be securing the unknown threats in the huts. Garrett would clear the first hut, Luke the second, Drake the third, and Stone would take the fourth. Zack and Tate would neutralize the pirates by the fire while Mason, with the SAW, would provide cover if needed. Their mission was to disarm and confine the hostiles and make sure there were no hostages being held here. If there were, their mission would shift to rescue, to get the hostages to the extraction point as quickly as possible.
Regardless, they needed to clear the village.
Protocol allowed the use of deadly force only if the team or the hostages were in danger, but his men knew how to take a man down without killing him.
They knew how to kill a man too.
Naturally they preferred the non-lethal method of dealing with a hostile. The alternative involved too much paperwork.
Intel had guestimated sixteen pirates on the island. That meant there were thirteen more out there somewhere, though they were probably concentrated on the south end. If the pirates knew what they were doing, they would have some men out on patrol as well.
When the go signal came through on the Command net, Stone motioned to his men and they melted into the shadows. He quickly followed. They had trained for missions like this, and then trained some more. They all knew their roles and while they had their ears on, there was little need for chatter. As a man, they moved in deathly silence.
The huts were in a u-shaped formation, so he could see his men approach their targets. With the exception of the murmuring pirates huddled around the fire, the village was deserted and silent. Stone held his weapon at the ready as he scanned the area around his target hut. He edged around the back then slowly slipped into position.
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