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Kennedy smiled. “Don’t worry about him. I can tell you that he’s nowhere near the action. He’s helping plan the rescue, but will not be participating in it.”

Distrustful but hopeful, Anna asked, “Really?”

“Yes,” nodded Kennedy.

Anna let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Good. I just don’t know if I could bear losing him.”

Kennedy tried to see things through Anna’s eyes. It had been so long since she’d been in love, and it was a very real possibility that she had never felt as deeply for her husband as Anna did for Mitch. Theirs was a passionate marriage born in the heat of battle. He had saved her life, and then she had given him the one thing he secretly yearned for: a real life.

There had been plenty of times when Kennedy had worried about Rapp when he was on operations. She loved him like a brother and stayed up late at night hoping he would return safely. Kennedy gave Anna an unusually warm smile and said, “I know how much he means to you, and if at any time I can help ease some of your worries, if I can answer some of your questions, then I will.”

Anna was shocked by the generous and uncharacteristic offer. All she could do was smile and say thank you.

“All off the record, and never to be discussed with anyone else, of course,” Kennedy said with a very serious expression.

“Of course.” Anna took a drink of her cosmopolitan and studied her husband’s boss. Maybe she’d misjudged Irene Kennedy.

34

Coleman and Wicker had descended the mountain without incident and then very slowly and deliberately worked their way through the thick jungle with the goal of linking back up with Hackett and Stroble. Using the various paths that snaked their way through the plush vegetation was unwise, so even though they were going mostly downhill, it took a full two hours before they reached their comrades.

The last hundred or so feet was navigated on their bellies. Thanks to their secure Motorola radios and GPS devices, they were able to locate the well-concealed Hackett and Stroble without needing them to reveal their position. The two former SEALs had picked a spot atop a small ridgeline among the roots of a large mangrove tree. Their vantage of the Abu Sayyaf camp was ideal.

When Coleman reached the hide, he was surprised to find how lax the enemy’s security was. A cooking fire puffed smoke into the air and the men lounged about with no apparent concern that they might be attacked. At first glance there appeared to be no perimeter patrol.

Coleman took this as further evidence that General Moro had been under their payroll.

Looking through binoculars he counted four dilapidated lean-tos and two green tents that appeared to be of the U.S. army surplus type. Two men were busy tying down a blue tarp over one of the lean-tos as they prepared for the storm that was coming. The color of the tarp was further evidence that contrary to the intelligence reports they’d seen, these guerrillas were not a crack outfit. Coleman guessed the site was an abandoned village of some sort. Methodically, he scanned every foot looking for the Andersons. He checked each dwelling and saw no sign of the family. This meant they’d already been moved to a different camp, or they were inside one of the army tents. Coleman prayed it was the latter.

Knowing they had a long day ahead of them, Coleman ordered Hackett and Stroble to get some shut-eye while he sent Wicker to reconnoiter their left flank, and see if he could confirm the location of the Andersons.

As Wicker squirmed away, the former commander of SEAL Team 6 got Rapp on the secure net and began the process of meticulously relaying the location of each structure, the precise terrain of the camp and the exact strength of the enemy. Neither man communicated the obvious. Come nightfall they would be launching one of the most delicate and challenging of all military operations: a hostage rescue. Unlike almost every other military engagement, this one needed to be exercised with great restraint. It needed to be carried out with extreme skill and precision, or the hostages would get mowed down in the cross fire.

The expansive nonskid deck of the USS Belleau Wood pitched and rolled as the seas intensified with the oncoming storm. Standing on the aft section of the flattop, Rapp picked up a suppressed MP-5 submachine gun that was lying on a tarp with several others. He held the weapon in his hands for a second getting a feel for the balance, and then pulled back the slide. After checking the chamber he released the cocking lever and listened for the click of a 9mm round being chambered.

In front of him were eight cardboard silhouette body targets. Rapp thumbed the selector switch from safety to single shot. He paid no attention to the men who were standing behind him. Moving with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before, he brought the weapon up into the firing position. His right foot moved slightly in front of his left, his entire body crouched a bit and he leaned forward. With the butt of the weapon nestled firmly to his left shoulder he looked down the black steel and through the hoop sight.

The ship rolled under his feet and with his knees flexed, Rapp found the rhythm. He squeezed the trigger once and a bullet spat from the end of the thick black silencer. Thirty feet away the projectile tore a hole in the center of the head of the paper target. Rapp squeezed off two more rounds that enlarged the hole created by the first bullet. Then flipping the selector switch from single shot to fully automatic he began moving down the line, spraying the targets with lead. Each paper silhouette varied in distance from thirty to fifty feet but it didn’t seem to affect Rapp’s marksmanship. By the time he reached the end all eight heads were shredded.

Pausing for only a second, Rapp did a speed load on a fresh thirty-round magazine and started back down the line, this time shooting with one hand and moving at a much quicker pace. When he reached the end he stopped and analyzed the fresh set of holes he’d added to the chest of each target. Satisfied with the weapon he turned to the chief and said, “This one will do just fine.”

Lieutenant Jackson, who’d been watching with great interest, smiled and said, “Not bad.”

Rapp grinned. “It was easy. They weren’t moving.”

As Rapp walked toward the superstructure Lieutenant Jackson fell in. “Do you want to tell me what you’re up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Somehow I get the feeling you’re not going to sit this one out on the sidelines.”

Rapp kept walking toward the superstructure. He’d been on autopilot all morning, diligently putting the op together. It was now after noon and things were gelling nicely. Coleman had confirmed that the Andersons were in one of the army tents, both SEAL platoons were ready, the insertion had been planned, the backup was in place and the extraction was ready. Now all they had to do was wait for nightfall.

The only thing that was left for Rapp was to be honest with himself. He was drawn toward the action like a surgeon to the operating room. He didn’t have to go; Coleman and his men were some of the best in the world, as were Jackson and his SEALs. But as good as they were Rapp knew he was better, and Coleman would be the first to admit it.

Rapp knew if he didn’t do everything in his power to save that family he’d never forgive himself. Anna would never understand that, but she didn’t have to know. That, combined with being on the other side of the planet, made it easier to make the decision.

“Yeah,” said Rapp, “I’m going.” One concern had consistently come up in the operational planning meeting. The Abu Sayyaf group that was holding the Andersons was not the only guerrilla element on the island. The way they were armed made it highly unlikely that they were the force that had ambushed the SEAL team several nights earlier. With that in mind Jackson was concerned about landing his platoon on the beach. Like any leader he had no desire to lead his team into an ambush.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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