“Paintball guns only,” Tucker said, “If you got your firearm, take it back inside.”
No one moved. With a jovial smile, he wished them good luck and headed back inside.
After the team had suited up, they slid in their comms, pulled on their headgear, eye protection, and gloves. Each Op grabbed a paintball marker.
Greystone called out the teams. He separated husbands from wives along with siblings, so Dakota, Stryker, Prescott, Brit, Slash, and Sydney were on Greystone’s team. Sin, Hawk, Rebel, Emerson, Addison, and Caroline were on Teddy’s team.
Seven on seven, the teams moved out.
Tucker Town had grown to twelve buildings and twotowers. The popular training location was ideal for any group—law enforcement or civilian—wanting to fire off NLTA—non-lethal training ammunition. Members could enter the buildings in search of the “enemy” or go hunting for them anywhere on the compound. The towers were five and seven stories high with stairs on the inside that led to sprawling rooftops.
“Team,” Teddy murmured, the mic in the comm picking up his words. “Brown bear strike.”
After a thumbs-up and verbal acknowledgments from his team, they took off toward the two closest buildings. They’d practiced together long enough to know the plays. What made it challenging was that the other team used the same exact strategies.
While massive egos were attached to these training drills—and the losing team always bought the winners dinner—it was more about teamwork and camaraderie. In a real-life mission, he neededeveryoneon his team to walk out alive. If anyone was taking a bullet, it would be him… for them.
Hugging the outside of the building, Teddy entered through the back door, cleared the room. As he was rounding the corner, Prescott appeared.
POP-POP-POP-POP-POP-POP!
Paintballs flew. Prescott got hit in the chest, but Teddy had dodged Prescott’s return fire.
“Man down,” Teddy said to his team. “Prescott’s out.”
Cheers and congrats echoed in his ears, but he stayed focused-up as he exited the building. Twenty minutes into their first drill, the teams were down to Teddy and Sin versus Sydney and Slash.
As he and Sin rounded the corner of the “bakery”, paint pellets exploded on Sin’s chest.
Teddy fired, the pellet hitting Slash in the chest, dead center.
“Fuck,” Sin growled. “Tank, it’s you and Sydney. Make it happen for Team Red.”
Someone appeared from around the corner of the “bank”, dressed in black, his face hidden by a ski mask. Cradled in his arms was an AR-style rifle.
Who the fuck is that?
And that’s when everything went into slow-motion.
