SEALed With A Kiss: Heroes With Heart

by Low, Gennita

  “Team Charlie reporting. Exit secured and open, over,” Jazz’s voice announced over the mic.

  “Team Alpha reporting. We got the Cob. Cover us, over,” Hawk said. “Cumber?”

  “Ready!” Lucas confirmed.

  Lucas pulled down the special gas mask that had been secured under his thin hood to protect it from being pulled off by the wires sticking out from under the chicken cages. Thank the Lord for some quick thinking there or they’d have been smeared with bird crap too.

  A flashbang was discharged. It exploded in the central courtyard, the noise and sudden light creating panic among the partygoers. Lucas rolled two small CS canisters into the targeted area.

  There was a quick barrage of gunfire and then an odd silence as all the male hostiles were momentarily incapacitated. Everyone in the vicinity without a gas mask was down. And then the coughing and choking began.

  They had used a minimal dose of CS gas, just enough to create panic and confusion so they could make a quick escape. There were too many women and children around to take down all the men, even though the women of this culture were traditionally separated. Also, not all the men belonged to the terrorist cell the SEALs were after, only those around the Cob.

  “Alpha, Team Bravo got your back, over,” Lucas said. “Mink, flank left. Dirk, to the right. Confirm positions, over.”

  “Affirmative,” their voices said in unison.

  The familiar figures of Hawk and Turner jogged past them, each dragging a prisoner. Lucas’ team followed, guarding the rear.

  Jazz and Turner beckoned from the open exit and they disappeared through it with the prisoners. Lucas and Dirk fired shots to keep any attackers from behind at bay. Mink threw a fire pellet into a bale of hay near the entrance, setting it on fire—distraction for those who might run after them. Zone appeared out of nowhere, having left his position on top of the wall at some point. He was alone. No time to question him about that strange female who climbed the rope.

  The team had mapped out the escape route from the compound after the first recon to check out the terrain. The path, well worn by horses and carts, veered off precariously and wasn’t suitable for a quick run with two reluctant bodies. They had instead chosen the river as transport and had made the necessary arrangements.

  Lucas followed his SEAL squad, constantly turning around to eye the rear. The dark was their friend as the enemy would need lights to search for them. Easy to detect. They were making more noise than usual, though, what with dragging along two reluctant men. Neither was calling for help. Hmm. Hawk must have taken the time to gag them.

  Lucas grinned in the dark. He would have to ask his commander whether he had given the bride a kiss since he appeared to have plenty of time to gag the asshole.

  Jazz whistled softly and not far away, a whistle replied back. An engine rumbled to life. The shadow of the Special Operations Craft-Riverine boat they had ordered appeared out of the darkness, illuminated by only one pinpoint of light.

  Lucas’ team hurriedly boarded. It wouldn’t be long before any nearby Yakob men and allies who might be rushing toward the courtyard heard the SOC-R and start signaling their river guards. Recon extraction over. The fun had begun.

  Hawk and a few others shoved the two prisoners into the boat and the shadow crew on board pulled them up. They were members of Special Boat Team 22, all elite Special Warfare Combatant-craft Crewmen. Lucas and his team had worked with them before and relied on their water-navigating skills many a time while on hydrographic recons.

  One of them patted Lucas on the back—three taps—signaling his identity. Lucas returned the greeting with a familiar nudge of his elbow as he positioned himself and his weapon. No words needed. River Devil was one of his close friends from the Naval Academy. Good to have him by his side in combat.

  They zoomed off into the murky darkness. The noise they were making would only give them enough time to get far out enough—glints of lights to the left, moving shadows and yeah, Lucas fancied he could hear a lot of shouting going on—before the situation became noisy.

  “Showtime,” Mink shouted into his ear.

  Lucas crouched low.

  The SOC-R was equipped with five guns that could go 360 degrees. Good luck, terrorist dudes. In the face of enemy attack, the SWCC response, in military speak, was usually “violence of action.” No finesse at all, Lucas mused, but hey, it got the job done, so no complaints from him.

  “Contact!” A voice he recognized as Devil’s shouted. That was standard command for ‘Yoohoo, bastards, here we come!’

  A deafening torrent of gunfire pounded all around them. Water rose up like a moving magic curtain from the spray of bullets. There was some return fire but Lucas doubted that would last too long.

  In front, Zone and Turner pushed the two prisoners down as shell casings from the tremendous show of firepower started to fall all around them. The fog of smoke from the weapons burned the back of Lucas’ throat. He helped to feed the ammo, his gaze following the plumes of smoke on the bank, signifying the demolished targets. The river wasn’t very wide so the best defense was to keep shooting. One never knew whether there were hostiles crawling along the banks. With the help of night-vision goggles and high-tech equipment, the lookout man gave directions and warnings of sighted targets.

  Lucas shoved away a pile of spent slugs and bullet casings that had landed at his feet, making room. The boat began to speed up, taking off down river. The thumping of gunfire became less and less sporadic. Wedding party over, folks.

  The rest of the trip went without incident. Everyone was still on high alert, with no small talk other than greeting and acknowledgement. Lucas could hear his commander, Hawk, speaking quietly with the boat crew commander, then watched curiously as they walked back and pulled the Cob—he recognized him by his shiny clothing—into a sitting position before placing a hood over his head. As soon as he was secured that way, the other prisoner sat up without help and Hawk leaned over and cut his ropes. The man rubbed his wrists, shaking away the stiffness, but neither man exchanged any words.

  What the hell?

  “Separate the prisoners when we arrive and ship them to the assigned detainment cells,” Hawk said. “No communicating with anyone where each prisoner is to be held.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Lucas watched the freed prisoner hand his commander a note. Clearly, the order just given was bullshit being fed to the Cob or he’d eat his shoe. Lucas made a face. Okay, not his currently shit-infested shoe, but one that was sitting on a shelf back home. Home made him think of Kit-Ling. He immediately shut that door mentally. Think of that wild woman and he’d get his pants tight from a hard-on. He had done that so many times since Charleston, he was beginning to wonder what was wrong with him. One couldn’t afford to lose focus out here in the field or chance being killed.

  The rest of the trip back to base was uneventful. The well-guarded US-controlled canal was a welcome sight and Lucas found his tenseness dissipating. He cricked his neck and relaxed his grip on his weapon. If he were lucky, he could actually get a shower tonight. He sniffed himself. Right now he’d settle for a quick dip in the canal.

  They gathered as a group, both his team and the special ops boat crew. An interpreter met with Hawk and after an exchange of instructions, the Cob was marched off, with guards holding him on both sides. Interestingly enough, the other prisoner just stood there with his guards. He was definitely local but much taller, more Lucas’ size, actually. And he seemed very comfortable standing there, quietly taking in the scene with an impassive face. Lucas doubted any of his team mates were deceived by the easy stance. This man knew how to fight.

  Someone called out his name. He turned and high-fived his buds. Mink and Dirk did a chest bump. His friend, River Devil, looking appropriately devilish with his face streaked in green and black and tufts of his red hair falling out of his head gear, gave him a fist bump.

  “I’d hug you, man, but not with that fucking garbage truck stench,
” he said, grinning. “What did you do, frogman, swim in their sewage?”

  The others laughed as they studied the three men from Team Bravo.

  “Stooges, you look and smell like shit,” Jazz remarked, sniffing the air. The tall and lean Cajun grinned wickedly. “Can’t wait to hear your report.”

  “You have a knife sticking out of you, Cumber,” Hawk pointed out conversationally. “Must not be hurting too much.”

  Lucas looked down. Sure enough, that darn blade was still embedded in his belt and yeah, part of it was still inside him.

  “Not hurting at all, sir,” he told his commander. “Blade’s barely in.”

  “His big balls deflected most of it,” Mink explained and they all laughed again.

  Hawk turned to the “prisoner” who still stood there in silence. “He’s out of hearing. Thank you for all your Intel. Did you get what you wanted?”

  Ah. He was their inside guy.

  The man nodded. “I got the name of the buyer from Yakob. I’ll need to use a satellite feed to pass it on to Number Nine.”

  Lucas’ ears pricked up. Number Nine. Wasn’t that the COS Commando they’d met in Asia, the one with the strange eyes? So this dude was part of that outfit. These COS commandos and his team had crossed each other’s paths a lot lately. Not surprising, since they were fighting the same people, only with different goals.

  “You can use my private one,” Hawk offered.

  “Thank you.”

  “Everyone meet up in thirty minutes at Debriefing. Cumber, if you need to sew that up first, let me know, but definitely wipe off some of that shit before entering the war room.” Hawk’s serious expression broke into a smile. “All three from Team Bravo. Miss Hutchens would appreciate it.”

  Amber Hutchens was Hawk’s fiancé and also an Intel asset, supplying information on illegal weapons dealings and their international routes. Not too long ago, she’d played a major role in helping the SEALs locate some caches of weapons hidden in Croatia. That’s where she and Hawk had met and Lucas had known, from the look in his commander’s eyes whenever Amber Hutchens was around, that his bachelor days were numbered.

  “Aye, sir!”

  “I’ll see you all in thirty, then. Follow me, Shahrukh, Jazz.”

  The insider, Jazz and Hawk walked off.

  “Someone’s wedding party sure ended with a bang,” River Devil remarked. “You guys made quite a noise. We were thinking the Cob’s men might be closer to the river to get you guys when you ran so we set some traps, just in case, bro.”

  “Aw, you river cowboys were worried about us. You do care!” Mink joked.

  “Nah. We didn’t feel like working too hard tonight rescuing your frog asses,” someone quipped back.

  “It’s good to have everything work out as planned,” Lucas agreed, “except for the damn chicken cages.”

  “Phoowee. Get the fuck out of here and take care of that wound too, will you? Fucking gagging me to death, you three,” Turner said.

  Zone shook his head, poking Mink with a stick and holding up some smelly piece of crap that had been dangling over his shoulder. “Trust the stooges to get themselves in shit.”

  Lucas shrugged. He didn’t mind being made fun of—they got the job done. That was all that mattered.

  “See you in a few. Peace out.” He, Mink and Dirk were heading to the clean-up area when he remembered. “Hey, I forgot to ask Zone about that girl climbing up the wall. What was that all about?”

  Dirk shrugged. “Beats me. I saw Zone helping her up.”

  “She didn’t come with us, though,” Mink said. “Nice strong legs.”

  “You had time to look at her legs?” Lucas asked.

  Mink grinned. “Hey, I looked over there and there they were.”

  “You’d better not boast about that too loudly, bro. The native men will kill you for insulting their females”

  “Yeah, watch your mouth,” Lucas said.

  “I know, Cumber, I know. We’ll talk about other things, yes?”

  They bantered on as they undid all the weaponry and gear strapped to their bodies. Lucas yanked the knife out of the strap around his waist, studying the short blade for a moment before throwing it in the pile. They stripped off soiled clothes in record time, kicking them under the shower, letting the water wash away as much of the animal crap as possible.

  “Shit, man, you need stitches for that,” Dirk said, pointing down.

  Lucas checked. The knife had gone through the strap sideways, embedded in the skin near his waist between his belly button and hip, deep enough to cause a little damage.

  “Meh. Just give me a Band-Aid.”

  “Dude, you’re bleeding. Take care of it.”

  “Don’t want to miss the meeting. I’ll let you sew me up later.” Mink was the medic on their team. “Then you can tell my sis you saved my life and she’ll kiss you again.”

  Mink gave him a wink. “You’re a generous brother. I’ll tell Kit you nearly died and she’ll kiss you better too.”

  “Damn, I feel all lonesome without someone to kiss me,” Dirk said, throwing a bar of soap at Mink. “Here, wash my back and make me feel better.”

  *

  “How are you doing?”

  Kit looked up from writing an email on her tablet in a moving vehicle. They would soon be out in the countryside and wireless connection would be spotty. She wanted to reply to Lucas’ email—if you could call a three-word sentence mail—before she took a nap. Normally, she would look out of the window and take in the view but it was pitch black outside and the others had advised her to sleep because tomorrow would be a busy day.

  Sean Cortez sat across from her, long legs stretched out. The light from his tablet illuminated his face, making his watchful dark eyes gleam. Kit wished she had half his energy—the man was seemingly indefatigable, always up and about interviewing people, making plans for clandestine meetings and taping reports for the news service for which they worked. She was determined to copy his non-stop pace, even though almost everyone on the team had assured her she wasn’t the only one having a tough time keeping up with Sean and that he didn’t expect them to follow his schedule.

  Other than talking to the man on the other side of the camera when she was in the States, she’d never met the celebrated road journalist in person before. Face-to-face, he was just as she’d imagined—bigger than life, intense about his work, and a demanding teammate. She’d applied to be on his team this time as part of her expanded work load precisely because of his focus and passion about his projects. Working on his team would teach her a lot more about international field work as a journalist.

  So far, he’d kept her busy reading up on the Afghan-Pakistan border and its history and people. When they had a few spare moments, he’d quizzed her knowledge, always pointing out her wrong assumptions about people and culture. So much so that now, every time he asked her anything, she would give his question detailed consideration before replying.

  “As in how am I at this moment?” she asked. “Or, how am I doing at my new job? Or, how am I doing in a general life sort of way?”

  He laughed quietly. “You have a different answer for all three conditions?”

  “Of course. Unless you just want the standard ‘I’m fine, thank you’ reply but then why ask in the middle of nowhere, right?”

  “Right. So, should I reply for you myself or are you going to answer me?”

  Kit looked down at her tablet. Some men were so prickly. No sense of humor at all. Not like Lucas Branson, who made her laugh so much for three days.

  I miss Cupcake.

  That line made her want to giggle again. What a ridiculous nickname. Besides, that was the name she used on him; somehow, it’d ended up being hers. Of course, how did one top Cucumber as a nickname? Well, she too could be short and sweet.

  She typed: “I miss Cucumber” and hit send, then looked up at the man still studying and patiently waiting for her to say something.

  “At this mo
ment,” she said, “I’m just chilling. As for my new job, I think I’m doing quite well, getting the hang of working in a culture where women are second-class citizens. As for my general well-being, I don’t think it’s of any interest to you. Satisfied?”

  “Of course your general well-being is of interest to me,” Sean said. He looked down, frowned and tapped on his tablet. His attention still on his screen, he murmured, “If it weren’t, I wouldn’t ask. You seemed so at ease with your new responsibilities. I’m very impressed with your prep work and the way you handled talking with the locals.”

  Surprised, she stopped checking her Inbox. From just a few weeks with him 24/7, she knew praise coming from Sean Cortez was a rare thing. “Thanks,” she said.

  “You told me when we started you wanted to learn about international field work. Are you ready to dip your foot in the water?”

  “I thought that’s what I’ve been doing.” Part of her job had been scouting where the women folk gathered and seeing who indicated an interest in talking to the journalists.

  “We’ll be out of the Swat Valley district tomorrow. There won’t be much contact with the locals because they’re more traditional in the mountains, especially with foreigners. Do you know why I picked you as part of the team? Besides your excellent resume and ability to communicate as a public info officer, of course.”

  Her tablet was buzzing. That was quick. Lucas was sending a private message.

  “I’m not as dumb as you think. You picked me because of my looks.” Kit grinned. “That came out wrong.”

  Sean smiled back, amusement stamped on his face. “I think you like to tease, Kit.” He shifted in his seat. “But you’re right. You blend in with the locals, especially when you wear their clothes, and I wanted to take advantage of…your looks.”

  “Ha. Knew it.” No doubt about it, because of her mixed Asian facial features, she had been able to get the Pashtun women to feel comfortable enough to talk to her through a female interpreter. She glanced down at her tablet again.

  I can’t talk tonite. Debriefing. Not that kind.

  She quickly typed back.