Page 34 of Fixed Asset

“Hey there, cutie,” I cooed.

I didn’t want to wake her mother, but I was pretty sure she needed a new diaper. I’d never in my life changed one, though I was fairly confident I could figure it out. I mean, I could drive an M1A2 Abrams—not that I’d been authorized to take the controls of the tank, but when you’re in the sandbox, you find fun where you can.

“Five, post up, you have incoming.”

It took my brain a moment to engage and remember I was Five.

I scrambled to my feet, doing my best not to jostle the baby or wake the mother. Berta’s gaze came straight to me, going from relaxed to high alert in the space of a second.

“Here.” I gently shoved the baby into her arms. “We have incoming.”

In the blink of an eye, Berta’s brown gaze turned lethal. She would fight and die to protect the people in this room.

“Go.”

I turned the mic to my comms on and radioed back, “Good, copy.”

I went straight to the stairs and took them two at a time, fastening the sides of my vest I’d released to get comfortable while sitting.

When I made it to the top, I grabbed my M4 by the barrel and pulled it over my shoulder. I let go, the sling caught, and I pulled the Rugger-Magpul RXM from my holster. I quickly pulled my hearing protection from the carabiner hooked at my side and slid the noise-canceling headset on over my earpiece. With my left hand, I slowly opened the door, keeping my RXM close to my chest.

Training day one: never lead with the barrel.

I didn’t hear any sounds.

I pushed the door open just enough to slip through and silently closed it behind me. Someone knows how to use WD-40. As quietly as I could, I made my way down the short hallway that opened up to the main part of the house.

“I’m entering the house, east side,” Pete called in. “Everyone else, hold positions.”

Two “copy that” calls immediately came in—Fallon and Mason.

It took another few seconds before Jack’s tight, rumbled “copy” came through.

In my mind’s eye, I could see his angry frown.

The open living room, kitchen, and dining space came into view. One of Berta’s men stood to the side of a window peering out, until he swung his rifle in my direction. I held my breath and waited for the man to recognize me. It was never fun being on the business end of a weapon—friendly force or not.

I heard the door to my right open. I pivoted and waited. Pete appeared and shoved his goggles up onto his helmet.

“Rough night?” I asked when he got close.

“Not for us,” Pete told me. “Four tangos broke through. Fallon can’t get a shot, and Mase and Jack are still on the other side of the building.”

“You broke cover for four tangos?”

There were three of Berta’s men in the house and me. Pete didn’t need to come in.

“You’ve only got one man in the house. Two broke station and went outside.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask why the men had left the house.

The window to our far right shattered. Glass exploded into the room, followed by two men. I popped off a shot, hit my target in the shoulder, adjusted, pulled the trigger again, and he fell. Pete’s target was down with one.

The window behind us broke. Pete went left for cover while I went right. Berta’s man at the window went down, blood oozing from his forehead.

“One, you’ve got at least two more coming your way,” Fallon announced.

The door swung open. I dropped to a hip, leaned out from behind a chair, and fired. The newcomer stumbled, his shot went wide, and I fired a second time.