Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1) (45 page)

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 began 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…