Stone Hard SEALs Page 3

  His head was a little light—from the excitement, sure, but probably because his system was flooded with O2. As always, they’d done an hour of prep with oxygen, getting their bodies ready for the high-altitude jump, and while each man had a special HAHO helmet, equipped with oxygen, the prep was necessary.

  Stone and Mason shared a grin. As nervous as they were, this was exhilarating. It always was. Every time. “Check your gear, guys,” he barked through his mic. Though they’d checked it and checked it again, another pass never hurt.

  A metallic clatter rumbled through the cabin as his men reviewed their weapons, their ammo, and their packs. “Checks five-oh,” they all responded.

  Excellent.

  Stone went through his gear as well, paying special attention to his main weapon, a suppressed HK416 with an infrared laser, magnifier, and a Nightforce scope. It was his favorite because it was fucking sweet.

  Each man on his team carried multiple weapons, and each had his favorite. Tate preferred his M4 assault rifle and Mason had the SAW—the Squad Automatic Weapon. Garrett and Luke both fought over the pirate gun, a blunt-nosed M79 grenade launcher, and of course they each carried a SIG Sauer P226.

  Drake just liked them all. And it didn’t matter which he carried; he was lethal with anything. Even a KA-BAR.

  He leaned around Mason and shot Stone a grin. “Hey, Ryder—” he began, but Mason cut him off with a smack to the back of his head.

  “You gotta call him Stone, doofus.”

  “What?” Drake snorted.

  Zack nodded. “Ya do…if you’re gonna be in this platoon, son.”

  Garrett and Luke—the Zipperhead Twins, so called because they were nearly identical, right down to their hideous haircuts—chimed in with, “Damn straight.”

  Drake put out a lip. “How come I don’t have a nickname?”

  “I thought he had one,” Tate said, glancing around the cabin, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Yeah. It’s Doofus.” Zack snickered.

  “A real nickname. And not something lame, like Raven or Hawk.”

  Luke and Garrett—Raven and Hawk—bristled.

  “You don’t just get a nickname,” Mason explained. All the guys guffawed at his patronizing tone. “You have to earn it.”

  “What do I have to do to earn one?”

  Stone glowered at him. “Survive,” he barked. “Fucking survive this mission.” He turned away. He had enough on his mind without worrying about a nickname for Drake. Although Doofus was definitely a contender.

  The six-minute call came, and with it, the ramp of the C-17 opened up like a gaping maw. Stone peered out at the night, though there was nothing to see. It was dark; the sky was cloudy. Not even a moon tonight. The wind was cooperating. Perfect for a raid, although once they landed, things could get dicey.

  They’d all done hundreds of precision drops before. The standard operating procedure was to touch down away from the target, and then patrol in. This was supposed to be a surprise attack in the middle of the night. He could only hope the stillness didn’t work against them. They were coming in high enough that the pirates wouldn’t hear the approaching engines, but so much as a stray breeze could give them away when they got close to the island.

  At the three-minute warning, all the men came to attention. The jumpmaster signaled them to don their helmets and check their oxygen, waiting for each man to respond that they were good to go. He raised his arm, cuing the teams to stand and prepare for the jump. Mason took the lead, stopping at the hinge of the ramp. Stone went last. He would float on the top of the stack, watching each man’s strobe to make sure they lined up correctly.

  The jump light flashed green and Stone’s pulse kicked up a notch. God, he loved this.

  In a well-practiced formation, his team stepped out, man by man, into the open air.

  As always, it was a rush, free falling, wind whipping at his face, the drone of the engines replaced by the whistle in his ears. Stone’s drogue chute popped off, stabilizing him. He did his checks as he watched the chutes below him plume out, right on cue. Like a well-oiled machine, they formed a perfect stack. Damn, his guys were good.

  He yanked the handle, opening his main chute. The canopy released in a billowing ripple. It caught with a snap. The silence of pure sky surrounded him—his favorite part of the jump.

  As they neared the target, Stone could make out the shapes of the little islands growing larger. Mason veered to the one he recognized from the sat photo and the team followed. As they drifted toward the north shore, Stone scanned the area. To the south, the parachutes of the other teams silently blossomed. He turned his attention to their target, the northern village. A fire in the middle of a huddle of huts glowed green through the scope of his night-vision goggles.

  Stone flared out his chute and landed in the soft sand. They all touched down on the beach, all but Zack, who splashed down in the water. Stone tried not to frown. It was a small mistake in the scheme of things, but one small mistake could get them all killed.

  Without a word, they stripped off their harnesses, bundled up their chutes, and switched from jump to assault gear. They headed out in standard formation along the beach, weapons up, locked, and loaded. When the tiny village came into view, Stone held up his fist and his team halted. Everyone took a knee as Garrett scanned the scene with a thermal scope. He drew pictures in the sand of the layout so everyone understood what was what. If they needed to talk, they whispered into the coms. When his crackled, Stone thumped it with a finger until the static cleared.

  He had two buds in. The one in his right ear was the troop net, where he and his guys communicated. In his left ear, he heard updates from Command on the status of the overall mission.

  They all wore a brand-spanking-new version of the bone phone the quartermaster had issued, and while they had trained with it—their motto was “train like you fight”—this was their first mission with the new equipment. So far, Stone was not impressed. The feed in his left ear cut out and he tapped it again until it picked back up.

  The other teams had all deployed. As soon as they were in position, the Head Shed would give the order to go.

  In the meantime, they continued their recon. Based on the heat signatures in the village, there was one warm body in each of the four huts. Though based on the intel, they didn’t expect to find hostages, they had to go in prepared for anything. The glowing huddle around the fire was definitely pirates. Stone counted three of them. Mason surveyed the scene through his 3x scope and identified that they all had AK-47s…which lay beside them on the ground.

  Piece of cake.

  The real challenge would be securing the unknown threats in the huts. Garrett would clear the first hut, Luke the second, Drake the third, and Stone would take the fourth. Zack and Tate would neutralize the pirates by the fire while Mason, with the SAW, would provide cover if needed. Their mission was to disarm and confine the hostiles and make sure there were no hostages being held here. If there were, their mission would shift to rescue, to get the hostages to the extraction point as quickly as possible.

  Regardless, they needed to clear the village.

  Protocol allowed the use of deadly force only if the team or the hostages were in danger, but his men knew how to take a man down without killing him.

  They knew how to kill a man too.

  Naturally they preferred the nonlethal method of dealing with a hostile. The alternative involved too much paperwork.

  Intel had guestimated sixteen pirates on the island. That meant there were more out there somewhere, though they were probably concentrated on the south end. If the pirates knew what they were doing, they would have some men out on patrol as well.

  When the go signal came through on the Command net, Stone motioned to his men and they melted into the shadows. He quickly followed. They had trained for missions like this, and then trained some more. They all knew their roles and while they had their ears on, there was little need for chatter. As a man, they
moved with deathly silence.

  The huts were in a U-shaped formation, so he could see his men approach their targets. With the exception of the murmuring pirates huddled around the fire, the village was deserted and silent. Stone held his weapon at the ready as he scanned the area around his target hut. He edged around the back then slowly slipped into position.

  “Chipmunk one, set.” Garrett’s low voice crackled through his earpiece.

  Really? They were going with the Chipmunks?

  There was a thread of laughter in Luke’s response. “Chipmunk two, set.”

  “Chipmunk three, set,” Drake said in a clipped tone. For all he was a dipwad, he could be serious when he needed to be.

  Stone tried very hard to keep a straight face as he whispered, “Chipmunk four, set.”

  He could hear the smile in Mason’s voice as he gave his ready call. “Dave, set.”

  Seriously. The guys really needed to quit watching cartoons.

  Zack and Tate eased into position behind the guards and, at a motion from Mason, lunged.

  It was over in seconds. The pirates were little more than boys. Too inexperienced to even have their rifles close at hand. With practiced flair, Garrett quickly gagged them and secured them with flex cuffs. Once they were incapacitated, Mason motioned to the rest of the team to move in. Stone used the barrel of his rifle to ease open the flap covering the door of his hut. While their recon had shown there was a warm body in each hut, they were probably pirates, so extreme caution was necessary.

  He leaned in for a quick scan…and froze.

  The hovel was dark, but in the green haze of his night-vision goggles, he saw her face.

  His breath caught. The angel.

  Liliana Wilson.

  She was sleeping. Her sooty lashes arched over her cheeks. Her lips were parted. Soft skeins of gossamer hair curled around her shoulders. Her alabaster skin glowed. Her tongue peeped out as she grunted in her sleep. The exquisite lines of her face were marred only by a dark bruise on her chin.

  The sight of her dazzled him.

  But he couldn’t afford to be dazzled.

  “I have a target,” he said softly. “Repeat. I have a target.”

  “Roger that,” Drake replied. “I have a target too.”

  Garrett and Luke gave the same response. Shit. What were the odds they would hit the lottery? That all four of the passengers were being held in their village?

  “Team one has four targets,” he told Command. “Shifting to plan B.” Their top priority now was to get these hostages to safety.

  He slipped through the door, hunkered down, and set his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open and her gaze hit him like a grenade blast. Holy hell. Wide and clear. She was even more stunning in person. And warm. She was warm.

  He pointed to his call sign patch, which identified him as one of the good guys, though it was clear from her expression she knew just who he was.

  Her mouth opened—fascinating, that—and he put a finger to her lips.

  Though they had dispatched the guards, there was no telling if more were around. They had to assume there were. Best to remain as quiet as possible.

  Still, he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him when she smiled. Because, holy God, it was a hellish smile. Impish and crooked and far too appealing. Her soft lips moved against his finger in a tantalizing brush. Despite himself, he was tempted to yank her into his arms and kiss her.

  Where such a notion came from, he had no clue.

  Brutally, he shoved his inconvenient lust away. He could think about it later, when they were all safe. He took her arm with a bit too much force. She flinched.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, though to his ears, he didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. He reminded himself not to care, to focus on his primary objective: getting her safe. He peered out of the hut and checked the clearing.

  Zack, Mason, and Tate were holding their ground by the fire, scanning the area, ready to provide cover for their retreat if needed. Garrett and Luke had their hostages in tow and were heading back to the beach. But of Drake there was no sign. Stone’s gut clenched. He should be out by now. Where the hell was he?

  He was about to utter the incongruous words “Chipmunk three” when he saw him. The breath gushed out of Stone as Drake emerged from the hut, supporting a limping woman.

  Stone gave the signal for retreat; his men by the fire began backing toward the huts.

  “I’ve got movers,” Mason clipped, just before a shout rang out from beyond the clearing.

  Shit.

  Four shadows danced along the tree line and hunkered behind an outcropping.

  Steeling himself, Stone lifted his weapon, shoving his hostage behind him in the same motion.

  The pop pop pop of gunfire hailed them. Lights flared from the enemy’s position as the chatter of AK-47 fire peppered the dirt of the encampment. Mason returned fire as Zack and Tate edged back. The SAW went hot, spraying the rocks with hundreds of rounds.

  More shouts…and then all hell broke loose.

  Rifle shots and blasts from automatic weapons raked the little village. The guys by the fire dove for cover. One of the pirates stood, holding an RPG. He fired. Stone saw it coming in, screaming directly toward his position, and instinctively hunched his body over the tiny woman by his side. The grenade hit the hut and it exploded in a rain of fire and debris. Something heavy hit his shoulder but he shook it off.

  Even though they were pinned down, his men continued to return fire.

  From the corner of his eye, Stone saw Drake push his hostage toward the beach. His buddy stumbled as a round hit him in the leg, but he didn’t stop. Another slammed into his back and he pitched forward, propelled by the force of it.

  Stone calmed his breathing. They all wore heavy packs and body armor. Drake was fine. Indeed, he kept going despite a pronounced hobble. He disappeared into the scrub surrounding the camp.

  To cover Drake’s retreat, Stone laid down suppressive fire, aiming for the bursts of light from the AK-47s. He heard a wail and then silence.

  The men all held position, scanning for movement. Then Zack tacked to the right, circling around to clear the area behind the rocks. To Stone’s horror, a shadow rose and spattered his buddy with a flurry of bullets; he jerked with each one. With his body armor, he could have survived…if one of the rounds hadn’t hit him right between the eyes. It slammed into him with a force that blew his helmet off. There was no doubt. Zack was gone.

  Stone was trained for this. He’d seen men die. But the shock was always there.

  “Eagle down,” he whispered into his mic. There was no response. He tapped it and tried again. Nothing. Not even static.

  Shit. The debris from the blast must have knocked out his coms.

  His fingers tightened of their own accord and he railed back with a rain of fire, giving Mason time to scuttle for cover, dragging Zack’s limp form behind him.

  Another shadow rose. With a snarl, Stone aimed and fired and scored another hit. Tate fired as well, catching yet another before following the others.

  With one last glance at the clearing, Stone turned and scooped up his hostage and ran for the beach. They had to move fast because if they hadn’t neutralized them all, the pirates would follow, so he carried her. Judging from her squirming and mutters, she didn’t care for the treatment. She was a tiny thing. He hardly noticed her weight. Her warmth, though, her softness, he noticed.

  When they reached the sand, he set her on her feet. “Come on,” he said. “Run.”

  Hunkering low, they made their way along the shore, using the cover of the undergrowth to hide their movements. His coms were totally dead and he couldn’t see any of his men. Luke and Garrett had gone ahead with Drake and their hostages, but Tate and Mason would be bringing up the rear, one of them carrying out Zack’s body because SEALs never left a man behind.

  Even though he couldn’t communicate and even though he had no idea where anyone else was, Stone knew he had on
e mission. Saving the senator’s daughter. He had to get to that landing zone and get her on the evac chopper. And once she was safe, he could go back for his men…if they didn’t show up.

  He stilled as a sharp call echoed off to his right.

  Goddamn it. The pirates had cut around through the brush and were coming up behind them. Close. Too close.

  A shot whizzed over his head.

  Liliana made an eep and bent lower.

  Stone herded her closer to the tree line. They dodged bushes as they moved inland. If they followed the coastline they would find the LZ and, hopefully, his men would be there.

  Another burst of shots rang out. They pinged off the rocks that littered the dark landscape.

  Something hit him in the back of the head below the rim of his helmet, and hit him hard. The strap snapped and his helmet tipped off. A sharp pain screamed through his skull.

  He tried to keep moving, but his vision blurred. His knees went limp. Still, he pushed on.

  Get her safe. Get her safe. It was the only thought in his spinning head.

  But then, just like a stone, he fell.

  “Oh dear,” came a soft gasp from the woman he was supposed to be saving. It was the last thing he heard before everything went black.

  * * *

  “Mister? Mister?”

  Lily shook her savior, but to no avail. Oh, she did so hope he wasn’t dead. She’d always thought herself a laid-back kind of person, with a “What will be, will be” attitude. But at the moment, she didn’t feel so blasé. He wasn’t moving, this mountain of a man, and she needed him. Fear coiled in her chest. She stared at him, willing her eyes to focus through the murk. With great relief she saw his chest rise.

  Thank God. He wasn’t dead. But…

  A rustle in the distance and a random shot reminded her that even though they’d moved inland and were somewhat cloaked by the scrub, they were hardly safe. If the pirates came past this spot, they would see them. Her hair alone was like a beacon.

  She could easily run. She could probably hide successfully, but she couldn’t leave him. She gazed down at her rescuer. In the shadows, she couldn’t make out any of his features. But what she did know was he had a low, melodious and very reassuring voice. And he weighed a ton. Probably an actual ton.