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Bishop, Stormy, and I haven’t had the most routine introduction to the club. We’ve gone through months of mental health testing on top of the already strenuous requirements Cerberus required us to meet before joining. We haven’t been singled out. Every team member has the same requirements, but it’s left us grounded, not doing any fieldwork until now.
Even so, the teams are now staggered, only two going out at a time. I’m on team C with Grinch as our leader. Legend, Rivet, Scooter, and Boomer are also on this team.
“My head is in the right place,” I assure him.
I know that the adrenaline pumping through my veins is a natural response to what I know we’re facing. Being a hundred percent calm right now would only be possible for an insane person. Each time you’re faced with a possible life-altering situation, you should be a little nervous. The heightened senses are helpful in most cases. You can see a little better, hear a little better, read things faster. It’s basic survival instinct.
“No concerns?” Grinch asks.
“None,” I tell him.
I know that if I had them, I wouldn’t be penalized for voicing them. It’s something that was drilled into our heads with the extra training we’ve been doing in recent months. We’re more valuable to Cerberus than any given mission we’ve been assigned to. If we aren’t feeling it, we need to let them know.
They nearly lost Aro last year, and they aren’t willing to endanger our lives any more than necessary. Every precaution is taken. We’re outfitted with the best weapons and gear money can buy.
“Good to hear,” Grinch says, finally accepting that I’m ready to go. “You’re behind Scooter.”
I nod, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.
“Let’s go ring some fucking bells,” he growls to the rest of the team as he walks around to the passenger side of the armored SUV. It isn’t exactly a SWAT type vehicle, and it probably wouldn’t withstand an IED, but it’s mostly bulletproof and could probably run through a house without hesitation. I know not to put all my trust in it. I know from firsthand experience that bombs have a way of being unpredictable.
The ride to the compound is silent, and I put all my focus into not bouncing my knee up and down as we draw closer.
Team A, led by Hound, is in the SUV ahead of us. They’re the front entry team. Team C would normally be the rear entry team, but the compound we’re heading to only has one way in. It makes it more dangerous because it means that the men we’re going to be facing will be like caged animals. They have no means of escape. It’s kill or be killed, and I don’t doubt these lowlife pieces of shit would do anything to stay alive.
We park a quarter mile away, traveling on foot to the compound. Max, our IT specialist back in New Mexico, has somehow managed to work some magic, making the electronics the traffickers have useless. He’s been having them glitch off and on for the better part of a week, with the hope that they’re more annoyed and less suspicious when they go out fifteen minutes before Hound’s team breaches the front door.
We hit the compound in the early morning hours, the first Cerberus member crossing the threshold at exactly 3:42 a.m. as planned. The time of day is important. Most people will be asleep, making them vulnerable. But it’s always a gamble with places like this because they host visitors with sick-and-twisted needs at all hours of the day and night.
The sound of limited gunfire echoes through our comms, the Cerberus members rattling off as they clear each room. We still haven’t been given the go-ahead to enter. We knew there was a real chance that our team would never even enter the tiny compound. Doing so while there were still men to take down would mean that Team A ran into a problem, and none of us wanted that.
The compound consists of five rooms total, including the bathroom and kitchen. I’ve been told it’s one of the smaller places we’ll deal with. As Hound informs us through his mic that the house is clear, I feel a little disappointed, like I donned all of this gear for nothing.
I shove that feeling down because it means that every Cerberus member is safe and unharmed. That’s the best outcome we could hope for.
“Two women, one small boy,” Apollo says.
“He’s asking for his mother,” Hound says. “These two women aren’t her.”
There’s no damn telling where this boy’s mother is. The men who abduct people aren’t exactly concerned with keeping family members together. They send them where they’re more likely to make the most money.
I stand back, keeping the nose of my assault rifle angled at the ground as the two women and little boy are escorted from the house. Their stares are blank, the abuse they’ve endured too debilitating to feel an ounce of happiness at being rescued. Hell, I wouldn’t doubt if they aren’t imagining they’re just being taken by a stronger cartel, unbelieving that they’re finally free of the torture and abuse.
