Page 9 of Freeing Lark

Soon, the team with the additional members from Praetorian were on their way to yet another mission. The parameters were clear in each of their minds. Mission success their goal. But every man on that helicopter knew that things could go FUBAR in an instant. Including Hoot whose instincts were screaming at him.

Flint had noticed Hoot’s tension wasn’t the normal pre-mission nerves. He’d pulled his second in command aside before they’d even left the planning room. “What is it?”

Years of working side-by-side had honed their ability to interpret even the most minute of their partner’s non-verbal signals. Decades of operational experience together had honed a deep trust, enabling them to rely on those unspoken cues. Hoot knew that if he voiced true, verified concerns, Flint would work to postpone the mission. Unfortunately, in this instance, Hoot couldn’t come up with a concrete answer to what was bothering him.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Just a niggling feeling.”

“Anything concrete?”

Hoot shook his head. “No.”

“Okay then. I’ll tell the guys to use extra caution.”

As the helicopter flew closer to their target, the niggle grew like an itch he couldn’t reach. Flint gave him one final look as the helicopter approached their target. Notwithstanding his inner misgivings, the sole utterance that escaped his lips was “Charlie Mike.” Continue Mission.

The assault unfolded with practiced precision. The first compound fell in under thirty seconds. The second offered resistance. Suppressed gunfire echoed through narrow hallways. Targets dropped before they could react.

The team flowed from room to room like water finding cracks in stone. Still... the niggle lingered in Hoot. Something wasn’t right. Every instinct he’d honed over nearly twenty years whispered the same warning. Something was waiting. He just couldn’t find it.

Outside the final compound, Flint pulled the team together. “We split here.”

As a well-oiled team, they all nodded. The underground intelligence vault lay beneath the east wing. The HVT occupied secured rooms to the west.

“Voodoo, Atlas, Ma—you’ve got me.”

Flint looked toward the others. “Bullet. Dell. With me.” They’d gone over this mission, detail by detail. They each knew their roll. None needed the reminder of the split yet the order was still given verbally.

Bullet flashed Hoot’s team a grin. “Race you to extraction.”

Hoot managed one in return. “Don’t get cocky.”

“When have I ever?”

Voodoo snorted. “About every five minutes.”

Bullet laughed as the teams separated. The sound lingered with Hoot longer than it should have.

The western wing exploded into violence as automatic fire shredded plaster walls. Mud brick erupted into clouds of dust.

“They’re dug in,” Atlas shouted.

“No kidding”

The closer they came to the HVT, the fiercer the resistance became. As if every fighter in the compound had been ordered to die protecting one man.

The breach charge detonated and the door folded inward. Inside, the HVT reached for a pistol. He was too slow. Hoot slammed him face-first onto the floor and had him in plastic restraints in seconds.

“Package secure,” he reported.

Flint answered immediately. “Vault secure. PSG’s downloading now.”

Minutes later they moved toward the extraction zone. Atlas and Ma escorted the hooded HVT between them. Voodoo watched the rooftops. Hoot covered the rear. The helicopters were close enough now that he could hear the faint chop of rotor blades in the distance.

“Hoot!” The shout came from behind them. He turned to see Bullet running full speed toward them. Fast enough to live up to his nickname. His rifle was already coming to his shoulder. “Down!”

Hoot reacted on instinct, dropping into a crouch. Bullet fired. One shot. Then another. The suppressed rifle barked twice. A figure hidden beneath collapsed masonry pitched backward from a rooftop, rifle tumbling from his hands before he disappeared from sight.

Bullet reached them, breathing hard but grinning ear to ear. “Told you I’d win the race.”