“We’re inserting from a B-2?” Vahn asked. “I want to be clear about that. We’re going to be loaded in the god damned bomb bay? Hooked in a rotating bomb release system and, what? Automatically ejected?”
“Yes,” the Air Force officer replied. “It has been… successfully tested.”
“How many times?” Simmons snapped. “And who in the fuck was crazy enough to try even once?”
“I’ll go, daddy!” Roman said. “Me! Me!”
“Me, too!” Sherman said, grinning.
“Height?” Chief Adams asked, calmly.
“Forty thousand feet.”
That shut Roman and Sherman up. Roman was left frozen with his mouth open and one hand raised in a “number one” sign. Sherman was just openmouthed.
“That’s unsurvivable!” Vahn snapped. “Damn it, I was in Dev Group. You don’t go over thirty thousand!”
“At thirty thousand the Spirit, especially with personnel and equipment in the bomb bay, is marginally detectable, given the radar signal strength that we are expecting over the target,” the Air Force major said. “Again, forty thousand has been tested.”
“Successfully?” Vahn snapped.
“Successfully,” the major replied calmly.
“This ain’t happening,” Simmons said, his head in his hands and shaking back and forth. “This just ain’t happening.”
“In addition, it is anticipated that there may be significant aerial combat in the area of operations,” the major continued with his briefing. “Your position will be noted and AWACs support will attempt to steer such combat into other areas of operation, however, the reason that the Spirit is being used is due to the conditions.”
“You’re talking about a dogfight going on,” Vahn said, with the voice of calm terror. “While we’re in the drop.”
“Yes,” the major said. “Time is of the essence, gentlemen. I would suggest you begin rigging up.”
“Well, with all due respect, Major!” Simmons snapped. “Fu—”
“Wait,” the chief said, holding up a finger. And everyone turned to look at him.
That’s what Simmons remembered. The OIC had just been sitting there the whole time, trying to look frosty and doing a pretty good job even though Simmons knew he was probably on cloud nine with fear. The whacko E-5s were high-fiving. The new meats were terrified. Vahn and he were both really terrified because they’d done enough to know how just completely fucked they were. The mission was shit, no idea where the hostages were, maybe somebody on the inside but no name except “Ghost” and no idea who you’re dealing with, no plan for the building for God’s sake; ground penetrating radar hadn’t been able to get anything more than ghost images. But everybody stopped and everybody turned to look at the chief, even the damned AF major.
“We’re good,” the chief said, nodding. “Let’s get it on.”
“Chief,” Simmons said, quietly. “You sure?”
“Sure,” the chief said, standing up. “I’ve done weirder things.”
“Really?” the OIC asked, standing up as well as the chief headed for the door.
“Yeah,” the chief said, pausing in the doorway. “I was in Class 201.”
“No shit?” Roman asked, his eyes wide. “Jesus, Chief!”
“No shit,” the chief said, his demeanor suddenly cracking slightly and a shiver shuddered through his body. “After that, being shot out of a B-2 at twice the recommended altitude into a dogfight and a mission with no damned plan or even a damned map… well… it ain’t much.”
“What in the hell is Class 201?” Meat Two whispered as the team quietly got up and started to file out.
“Meat, you’re too young to know,” Roman said, his head twitching in horror. “You’re just too young. Maybe if you’re drunk enough to take the horror. God. I knew Chief was tough but, God!” He shuddered again and walked out, shaking his head.
“Normally, Meat,” Simmons said, gently putting his hand on the newbie’s shoulder, “I’d tell you that Roman was as full of shit as a Christmas turkey. But… in this case, he’s right. Sometimes, when you’re a SEAL, you have to be harder than stone. When you’re with a survivor of Class 201, well, you know that they’re not going to quit unless they’re dead.”
Chapter Nine
Mike stepped through the door, kicked it closed and drove the barrel of his weapon into the guard on the left of the door. Then he turned and fired two rounds into the guard on the right, turned and fired two into the guard that was bent over and retching.
The group of soldiers lined up to rape the girl on the table stepped backwards, towards the wall, holding up their hands in placation but he didn’t really care. He just started servicing them.
One of the men in aprons had pulled out a knife and held it to the girl’s throat by the time Mike had killed all the soldiers.
“Put down the gun,” the man said, calmly. He was wearing a suit under the apron and it had gotten spotted by blood. “Put it down or the girl dies.”
Mike looked him in the eye and dropped the magazine out of the AK then reached into his back pocket to pull out the spare. Mike kept looking him in the eye as he raised the weapon to his shoulder and sighted on his forehead.
“Put down the knife, and I’ll leave you the use of your upper body,” Mike said mildly.
One of the other aproned torturers was shuffling around the one holding the girl hostage, knife in hand, clearly headed for another hostage. Mike kept the weapon on the one with the girl until the other had almost reached the line of girls and then swung to the left, putting one round through the bastard’s head and splattering the two girls on that end of the front rank in blood and brains.
He ignored the screams from the girls as he pivoted back and killed the two video technicians and the third torturer who was cowering behind the table, then pivoted back to target the hostage holder.
“I’ll give you this. I won’t put you on that table, I won’t turn you over to the girls and I won’t do more than break your back in the lumbar region. But you don’t get the use of your dick. Take it or leave it.”
“I will kill her,” the man said, angrily. “You don’t understand that?”
“You are one lousy negotiator,” Mike said and put a round through his forehead. The knife nicked the girl’s neck and that was about it. The body slumped backwards. “Never bluff if you’re not even holding cards.”
He walked over to the girl on the table, who even as fucked as she was looked pretty damned good, and looked her in the eye.
“You probably don’t want to see guys at the moment or have them near you, so I’ll get one of the girls to let you go,” he said, nodding, then turned to the room. “Which one’s got the keys?”
“The one that was holding Rachel hostage,” one of the girls in the front rank said, gesturing with her chin. “Who are you?”
“A very bad man,” Mike said, stooping down and going through the guy’s pockets. “Who, in this one case, is willing to be a good guy for a while. But if I don’t get at least a blowjob out of this, I’m going to be mighty pissed.”
One of the girls in the front rank, dropped her head and shook it.
“How can you say something like that?” she shrieked. “You’re as bad as them!”
“Yep, sure am,” Mike said, standing up and holding the keys. “I was in Class 201, you weak-kneed pussies! But if you want to get out of this fucking place alive, and not end up back where you are right now, you’d all better get really damned frosty, really damned quick. Quit fucking crying, quit bitching, quit quitting on me and get GOD DAMNED FROSTY. Because right now it’s just me. And I’m not going to be able to hold this damned place by myself. I’m going to need help. Even nekkid female help will do. And I’m not going to use these damned keys until I get a big ‘HOOWAH’ out of y’all. Because if I can’t get a big hoowah, then you’re totally fucking useless to me, and I’ll just god damned leave you to be raped. Am I CLEAR HERE? Now let me here you give me a big HOOYAH!”