There were only a handful of military and paramilitary organizations that required their people to be HALO trained, and none of them — at least to the best of Hood’s knowledge — employed female operators. It was of course possible that the woman was an Agency spook, trained on an ad hoc basis for this single operation, but as Hood watched her approach, he dismissed that explanation. The woman — a petite but well-proportioned figure hidden beneath coveralls, balaclava, and the same brand of sunglasses as her partner — exuded the kind of confidence that could only come with real experience downrange.
She took a position at Jack’s left elbow, let her SCAR hang from its sling, and stuck out one gloved hand. “Major Hood. I’m Delilah. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but like you, we’ve got our orders.”
Hood accepted the unexpected handclasp. Behind them, another jumper had touched down. Even from twenty meters away, Hood could see that the man was a giant — almost seven feet tall, and built like a mountain. He wore the same kit as the others, but unlike them was armed with an M240B machine gun, though he carried the twenty-eight-pound weapon with the same ease as the others did their battle rifles.
Hood nodded toward the imposing figure that was now lumbering toward them. “If you’re Delilah, then he must be Samson?”
“Bonus points for getting the Biblical reference,” she said, “But Delilah is my given name. I also answer to ‘Lila,’ or you can use my callsign, ‘Bride.’”
“Bride. Like Uma in Kill Bill?” Hood liked the association and decided to go with it.
He could almost sense her smiling behind her mask. “Not exactly, but that would be a better story.”
“He doesn’t need to hear it,” Jack said, flatly. “We’re not here to make new besties. His job is to get us to the objective. Nothing more.”
Mad Dog’s voice sounded in Hood’s ear. “What a dick.”
“You’re not the first to say it,” remarked Bride, glancing toward the distant spot where Mad Dog was posted.
Apprehension surged through Hood. Had she overheard the transmission? That shouldn’t have been possible. Their MBITR radios were encrypted, and not even the JOC had the cipher key for their internal comms.
“Are they monitoring our freq?” Mad Dog asked, echoing Hood’s thoughts.
“Yes, we are,” Jack replied, irritably. “Now, can we please get moving?”
Son of a bitch, thought Hood.
“We might as well wait for Sharky and Vlad,” Bride countered.
Hood however had enough. “Fine. Let’s go.” Without waiting for a reply, and not really caring whether Jack and his crew kept up, he turned and started up the narrow goat trail leading out of the valley. He had only gone a few steps when he saw Mad Dog hurrying along the hillside on an intercept course. When the latter realized he had Hood’s attention, he raised a finger to his lips and then lowered it a little, drawing it across his throat in a cutting gesture. Hood got the message and thumbed off his MBITR. A few seconds later, the sergeant major fell into step beside him.
“Jeff, I think I know who these guys are,” he said in a low whisper.
“Yeah?” prompted Hood.
“You ever hear of the Monster Squad?”
“Wasn’t that the name of a cheesy movie from the Eighties?”
“Yeah, but it’s also the name of a deep, deep, deep black special operations team.”
Hood glanced over, trying to see if the other man was serious. With the NVGs covering half his face, it was hard to tell. “Something’s getting deep all right,” Hood muttered.
“RUMINT says they’re not part of any chain of command,” Mad Dog went on. “I’m not sure who they answer to, but they’re the guys who get called in when shit gets really real.”
“Dale, no offense, but you sound like a fucking fan boy. Monster Squad? It sounds like a bad GI Joe rip-off.” He paused a beat. “Why have I never heard about this?”
“Probably because of that gold oak leaf on your uniform. Even in the Unit, there are some things we don’t talk about in front of the brass.”
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“The callsigns are what gave them away. They’re all based on famous movie monsters.”
Hood glanced over again. At the edge of his field of view, he could see Jack trailing at a discreet ten-meter interval, and ten meters behind him, Bride was on the move. “I don’t follow you.”
“The Bride… of Frankenstein. Vlad… Dracula. Sharky… I’m not sure about that one. Maybe the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
“And Jack?”
From somewhere behind them a low howl split the air.
Hood froze and immediately brought his weapon up. Wolf attacks were a very real problem in the Spin Ghar region, but as the sound died away, Hood heard Jack snarl, “Knock it off, Sharky.”
“What the hell?” Hood muttered, turning slowly to look back. All five of the jumpers—the Monster Squad, Hood thought acidly — were on the ground and moving up the trail single file behind Mad Dog and himself. Hood stalked back to join Jack. His right hand squeezed the grip of his HK416, his empty left hand had unconsciously curled into a fist. “What the fuck was that?” he growled.
Jack stared back at him, his face an unreadable mask behind his sunglasses, but Bride hurried forward to interpose herself between the two men. She had removed her balaclava as well, revealing blonde hair pulled back in a tight braid. She was good-looking, albeit in a generic sort of way, but there was something like a streak of dirt on her forehead, right above the bridge of her nose, and after staring at it for a moment, Hood realized it was a scar. “I’ve got this, Jack. Major, walk with me. I’ll try to explain.”
She took his elbow and guided him away from the other man. “Sorry about that, Major.”
“It’s just Jeff.”
She nodded. “Jeff. Jack’s not really a people person, but his bark is usually worse than his bite. Sometimes when we take over for another spec ops team, it can get ugly. Lots of chest thumping. Obviously, I can’t tell you everything, but I think you’re entitled to at least know some of it.”
Hood was keenly aware of her hand on his arm. If she had been a man, the uninvited physical contact would have prompted Hood to put her on the ground and wrap her up in a submission hold. But she wasn’t a man, and that, he realized was the whole point. She was playing him.
He stopped and pulled free. “What the hell was that howl all about?” he hissed, trying to dredge up a little of his earlier ire. “I thought you people were professionals. We’re not back on the block here.”
“Sharky can be a bit of a clown, but trust me, he would never do anything to jeopardize the mission. We did a full aerial sweep on the way down. Believe me, we’re the only living things in a ten-mile radius. And your friend is right. We are the Monster Squad, and yes, our callsigns are all famous movie monsters… I know, it sounds a little corny. It wasn’t my idea.”
The comment set Hood’s mental alarm ringing. He stopped and faced her. “Wait, you heard that? That didn’t go out over the net.”
“Like Jack said, we’ve got some pretty advanced tech.” She tapped the side of her dark glasses. “Not much gets past us. We’re all linked to a VARE — virtual augmented reality environment — so what one of us sees or hears, all of us do. It gives us an edge when things get hairy. Sorry about eavesdropping.”
Hood scowled. “So I guess that means your friend Sharky can hear me telling him to quit screwing around and grow the hell up.”
“I was just trying to answer your question, hoss.” A tall powerfully built man stepped up to join them. He had pushed his balaclava up like a stocking cap. Though it was hard to tell for certain in the green-tinted display of the night vision device, Hood thought the man looked like a Pacific islander, maybe Samoan. The man’s sardonic grin revealed teeth that had been filed to points. Sharky, no doubt. “Jack is the Wolfman.”