Dragonslayers: Kill Box

To the men and women of the U.S. Armed Forces:

Sometimes the demon within is more frightening

than the enemy on the battlefield.

Acknowledgments

My husband Scott:

Thanks for standing by me.

My best friend, Jessica Betancourt:

For talking me through the rough times.

And

William (Bill) Shaver:

My #1 fan who I also call a very good friend.

In Memory of

Mozart: May 1992 - 28 Sept 2010

Never have I been so lucky to have

had such a great four-legged friend in my life.

Editing

Joyce M. Gilmour

Editingtlc.com

Cover

SSgt Damien Wells

Artwork

Badger and Wolverine: Erika Brown

Chameleon Skin: Becky Adams

CHAPTER ONE

Night ops suck, thought Lieutenant Colonel D.M. Elliott as he sat in over a foot of snow. He looked at his watch and noticed it was 0200. Of course this is my job, what I get paid the big bucks for, he continued to think as he peered out of his hiding place. It was mid-March and it seemed like the winter would never end.

A few flakes of snow drifted down. He hated the snow. His Spanish blood preferred a more temperate climate. But here he was, sitting in the mountains in the middle of the night, in the snow. He could think of a far better place to be right now: curled up with his lovely wife, Colonel Eagle Tryggvesson, who was tucked away, warm and happy in the Knight’s Keep.

Hey, I think I hear ’em, came a whisper from behind him. It was his partner, Captain Jake Collins. D.M. blinked a couple of times trying to get his eyes to focus through the night vision goggles. They weren’t much use; the cloud cover was hiding the moon and stars. Flipping them up, he decided to let his own senses do the work. His ears worked overtime to find where the target was located.

Where? he whispered over his shoulder. Jake put his hand on D.M.’s arm and made a motion, trying to direct him to the noise. After a few more minutes of listening, he zeroed in on it. His target was moving very slowly through the dense forest, trying not to make noise in an environment nearly devoid of it. Being silent in the snow was difficult, however.

Carefully, he raised his HK-417 rifle and did his best to look down the barrel. He could hear the popping of footsteps on the snow. In the near darkness, he saw a faint shadow advancing toward him. His finger curled around the trigger and he slowly let out his breath. The figure moved closer. As his breath finally left his body, D.M. gently squeezed the trigger. A bright flash and loud report echoed through the valley.

Fuck! the shadow said, in a distinctly down-under accent. He was so close; there was no time delay from the sound of the rifle to the crack of the chalk round as it impacted on his armor. Their little game of capture the flag was finally over. Captain Mark Kippie Te Ika was dead.

D.M. stood. Hah! Got ya, Kip.

Son-of-a-bitch; I thought I was awfully close.

Jake crawled out of their hiding place, a red flag shoved in the neckline of his armor. You’da had to go through me as well. I was the keeper of the flag.

Well, we gave it our best shot.

D.M. keyed his radio: All teams, end exercise, repeat, end ex. He walked into the clearing and waited until everyone arrived. Good game, everyone, I think we all learned something from this.

Yeah, don’t leave Kippie to defend the bloody flag! Major Tige St. Ivor said. He was the other one with a down-under accent. Having been with the team since the beginning, he was the second in command of the A team. Tige was also the second ranked sniper in the unit.

Aw come on, I drew the short straw, Kippie protested. He preferred offence to defense. As the third sniper in the unit, he found himself not always behind the scope of his rifle at a distance. Fortunately, he was laid-back and adaptable, making his rather dubious arrival on the team much easier.

Come on, guys, let’s head home, D.M. said as he flicked the switch on his rifle, turning on the flashlight. He took point and led the rest of the unit toward the Knight’s Keep.

Static crackled in his ear, Lone Wolf, White Feather.

He keyed his radio, White Feather, what are you doing up this time of night? Are you okay?

I’m going to the medical floor, something’s wrong.

Shit! D.M. hissed. Hang on, I’m coming! He took off running, the rest of the unit right behind him. If Eagle was in trouble, they were going to be there for her. They hurried along the trail, flashlights bobbing, lighting their way. D.M. was now pulling away from the group; his six-foot-six frame and nearly three hundred pounds plowed through the snow; he was desperate to get to her. His foot caught a log, and he fell face first into the snow. Tige came and helped him up. The colonel kept on going, driven to get to his love.

Major Cabbott Westmoreland was a few paces behind him. He heard the radio traffic and knew what it was like to have a pregnant wife. His wife, Cara, had a miscarriage scare a few months earlier and was relegated to bedrest. This was nothing to be taken lightly.

D.M. ran as hard as he could, his legs pumping through the snow. The frigid air burned his lungs as he fought to breathe. He had to get to her. Eagle was four months pregnant with their first child. It was a pregnancy that wasn’t supposed to happen—yet. She’d been on birth control pills for quite some time, and had only been off them a few weeks when she got pregnant. It was too late when she discovered. Her original plan was to have an embryo removed and transferred to her cousin, who would carry and raise the child for her, allowing Eagle to continue with her job on the team for a few more years. Unfortunately her plans got changed.

They reached the main entrance to the building and D.M. burst through the door. He gasped for air, his lungs felt like blocks of ice. Staggering over, he pushed the button for the elevator. The rest of the unit came in and grouped up with him. They were out of breath as well. The base was situated nearly six thousand feet up in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and the air was thin. Most of them were used to it, but with the bitter cold, it added a level of difficulty.

The elevator arrived and they piled in, taking it to the fourth floor. As the doors opened, D.M. dashed out. He stopped, there was no one about. What the hell? Where is everyone? He looked around frantically. Finally he found a technician. Where’s Eagle?

They took her to surgery, Sir.

Oh God. He turned around and went back to the others. They were waiting in the hall. The medical floor wasn’t equipped with a waiting room, so they waited where they could. D.M. leaned against the wall. Jake and Cabbott joined him.

They took her to surgery, D.M. said softly. His stomach churned with apprehension.

Jake slid over so his arm was touching D.M.’s. It was an unobvious way to show he cared about his friend and was there to support him. Eagle’s tough, I’m sure she’s gonna be all right.

I wonder what happened? She seemed fine last night. She kissed me as I went out the door and said she was gonna go to bed. He started to pace the floor.

Hard to tell with women and kids, Cabbott said as he slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He’d make sure he called Cara to see how she was doing.

Two hours later, Lieutenant Colonel Dr. James Miles came out. He was the resident orthopedic surgeon, and by no means was he skilled to deal with an obstetrical type of an emergency. D.M.?

The colonel spun around and immediately went to him. What happened, Jim? Is she okay?

Jim took D.M. by the arm and led him around the corner away from the rest of the unit. I’m sorry—

Oh God, no! D.M. felt ill.

D.M., Eagle had a miscarriage. There was nothing I could do to save the baby. I think it was already dead.

D.M. dropped to his knees, anguish filling him. Is she okay? He couldn’t bear to lose her; she was his everything.

I did what I could for her. I even called a colleague of mine for some long-distance help…She’ll be moved to a room shortly. I think she’ll be okay.

What happened?

Jim put his hand on the colonel’s shoulder. I dunno, sometimes things happen and babies die. I plan on sending the remains out for an autopsy.

D.M. looked up. Thanks, he said weakly. Now he understood how Cabbott felt. Except he was lucky, Cara had kept the baby and was due the middle of May. D.M.’s whole world felt like it had been turned upside down.

Jim figured D.M. wanted a few moments to get his composure. He turned to leave; then stopped. Umm, I’m not sure if you are interested…

What do you mean?

The baby, umm, it was a girl.

He got to his feet and nodded. Going back around the corner, he rejoined the others. They all stood when he appeared. Eleven worried faces regarded him.

What happened? Jake said. He was probably almost as worried as D.M.

Miscarriage.

Shit! Cabbott said, smacking the wall.

Jake stepped close to him. Is she okay?

Jim said she should be fine. I can’t see her yet; they’re moving her to a room. D.M. shook his head slowly. Jake put his hand on his arm, trying to give him some comfort. He knew the only one who could really give him comfort was Eagle, and he couldn’t be with her right now. Tige came forward and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. We’re here if you need us, mate.

Thanks. I appreciate it.

Half an hour later, Jim came down the hall. You can see her now. He saw everyone in the unit make a move. Uh, just D.M., sorry, guys. D.M. followed him down the hall and into a room. You can’t stay long, she needs to rest.

D.M. quietly walked over to her bed. Eagle had her eyes closed and she looked peaceful. Her shoulder-length golden blonde hair lay tousled on the pillow, her white bangs parted to the sides. He leaned down and gently kissed her on the forehead.

Her eyes opened. Hi, she said softly. He noticed her eyes were glassy from the anesthetic, not their normal brilliant blue.

Hi, he replied, at a loss for words.

I don’t know what happened.

Shhhh, rest, my love.

I’m sorry. She started to cry.

He carefully took her in his arms and held her. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. He almost couldn’t bear to think what his life would be without her. They were bound together by a love so fierce, neither could comprehend living without the other.

Eagle wiped her eyes and sniffed a few times. D.M. grabbed a tissue and offered it to her. Thanks, she sniffed again. It was a girl.

She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. It used to be a beautiful raven black; now with the stress of his job, there were quite a few gray hairs mixed in. And he bore a white scar on his left temple from a bullet crease he’d gotten on a mission. His dark brown eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room.

I know. Jim told me, he said softly.

He wants me to go to Reno tomorrow and be seen by an OB-GYN doctor.

You mean later today? It’s almost 0600.

I guess that’s what he meant.

He straightened up. You rest. I’ll check with Jim and see what he wants to do. D.M. touched his fingers to his lips and pressed them to her forehead. I’ll see you in a little while, my love.

Jake perked up as he saw D.M. coming down the hall. Well? He eagerly awaited some news.

She seems like she’ll be okay. I guess Jim wants her to go to Reno and be seen by someone there.

I’ll take her, you know I will.

Thanks. I’ll go too.

Just let me know when.

D.M. looked around the hall. Not one team member had gone upstairs; they were still there, waiting. He managed a slight smile. You guys are the best. We’ll be okay. Why don’t you go up and get some sleep? Don’t bother with the training schedule, I have to tend to Eagle.

We’ll find things to do, don’t worry, Tige said as he picked up his rifle and headed to the elevator. The others filed along behind him. D.M. was left with Jake; he refused to leave his friend.

Jake, why don’t you go to bed?

I’m staying with you, you need support.

That’s what a jock strap is for.

The captain chuckled. "Well, yeah, maybe. Okay, I’m here for moral support; is that better?" Jake was about five foot eight and roughly one hundred eighty pounds. He had dark brown hair and dark hazel green eyes. His rather notorious past as a criminal made for a rough beginning between him and D.M.; in fact they absolutely hated each other for nearly the first year the team was together.

Vacations were supposed to be fun, thought Army Specialist Matthew Hartford as he strained against the ropes that bound him. The rough sisal rope dug into his flesh and he thought he felt a trickle of blood run down his hand. There was a blindfold that kept him from seeing anything; a cloth gag pulled painfully at the corners of his mouth. He was so thirsty.

It sounded like such a good idea. He and his four other friends from Ft. Huachuca, Arizona wanted a retreat from the pressures of army life. They just wanted a nice little vacation to Cabo San Lucas to enjoy the sun, fun, and nightlife. What a mistake. Considering they normally worked for the Army Intelligence Center, they should have known better. The Department of Defense had removed the travel restrictions to Mexico only a month earlier. They should have waited.

Deciding one night to go out after dark, four of them strayed into a bad neighborhood and were taken captive by a drug cartel. The one member of the group, and the only female, had decided she wanted to stay in that night. Now Matthew was really wishing he’d stayed in too. His head hurt due to repeated blows from a pistol butt, and he was confident his jaw was broken. He could feel the dried blood crackling on the side of his face.

How he longed for a shower, to wash and be clean. His stomach growled; he dreamed of diving into a big thick steak and washing it down with a cold beer. It didn’t seem as if it was going to happen anytime soon. Matthew felt something crawling on his arm; he jiggled it, trying to get whatever it was off.

Next to him on the dirty floor was Specialist Pete Kent. He was also bound and gagged. The other two men, Specialist Thomas Blake and Corporal Don Di Arnesto, were somewhere else. In fact, Matthew wasn’t even sure the men were in this same house. Once they had been abducted and shaken down, the cartel members separated them. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been captives; one of the blows to his head had knocked him unconscious. Four, five days maybe? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was he had to get out of here; he had to fight.

It was late afternoon and D.M. was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. Jake flew them down so Eagle could be seen by a proper obstetrical doctor. She’d been behind closed doors for over two hours. Jake came down the hall carrying two cans of soda; he offered one to D.M. You know, it’s sad that I know about this place.

What do you mean?

This is where we brought Cara. He eased into a chair, popping open the can. Do you think if we’d gotten her here earlier she would’ve been okay?

No.

Why not?

Jim said the baby was dead.

Oh, he said softly.

The door at the end of the hall opened and Eagle came out, accompanied by the physician. She walked slowly. Both men stood. Should you be walking? D.M. said.

No, she should not, the doctor said. But your wife is stubborn.

Jake chuckled. I wonder where she gets it from?

My mother, Eagle said as she carefully sat down.

D.M. looked at Jake. See, wasn’t me.

You two are made for each other.

Umm, Sir? the doctor interrupted.

Yes? Sorry, Doc.

I examined her, and surprisingly your orthopedic surgeon did a good job of ensuring everything was removed. He should be commended. I have, however, advised Eagle against getting pregnant again.

Why?

We did an ultrasound and she’s got some abnormalities in her uterus. Any more pregnancies will probably result in miscarriage.

D.M. looked at Eagle. Did you know about this?

She shook her head.

Is your cousin still game?

Yes, as far as I know.

He looked at the doctor. I guess we get to make a test tube baby, huh?

You have a recipient?

Her cousin, Sigrid.

Well, when you’re ready, we can certainly help with that part. We have an extensive fertility lab.

The colonel put his arm around Eagle. I guess it’s not as much fun as making a baby the old-fashioned way, but at least you won’t be at risk.

We were gonna do it that way in the first place.

That night, Eagle was sitting in bed reading a book. D.M. came in and started to undress. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be handling everything with a sense of stoicism. In fact, she seemed rather unfazed by the whole ordeal. And tonight, she was ignoring him, which was unlike her. She always enjoyed watching him undress.

He finished taking off his clothes and wiggled back into his robotic arm. D.M. had been the very first casualty on the team. Having taken a .50 cal round to his left shoulder, he’d lost the use of his arm. It was still there, and he had minimal feeling in it, but it was of little use.

D.M. put his MIT education to work and fashioned a robotic arm that went over his own arm. A computer was implanted into his chest where he was missing most of his left lung, allowing him to wirelessly interface with the arm. It was part of him now, an extension of his own body.

Are you okay? he finally said.

She looked over the top of her book. Yes, I’m fine.

You sure?

Yes, I’m fine, really.

He stood at the end of the bed. Kneeling down, he leaned forward, kissing the tops of her feet. I love you, and I’m here to talk if you want to.

I know, she said with little emotion.

Do you wanna talk about it?

No.

D.M. crawled up on the bed next to her. I was talking to Jim, and he said you might have some problems dealing with this.

I’m okay, D.M.

You’re not sad you lost the child?

She closed her book. Yes, I’m upset. But spending days bawling my brains out over it doesn’t change the situation. She paused. I have to be strong for you and for this unit. It was an accident that I got pregnant in the first place. I guess I should’ve been more careful.

I’m just worried you’ll be depressed over it. You were nearly halfway along.

There was no changing the outcome. The last ultrasound I had two weeks ago showed the baby was fine. Jim doesn’t know what happened, but the baby died. I couldn’t control that. At least now I know I shouldn’t get pregnant.

D.M. sighed. Well, as long as you’re okay with everything. Please promise me if you start to feel bad, you’ll talk to me?

I promise.

He leaned over and kissed her. Good-night, my love.

Matthew awoke to the creaking of a door. He wasn’t sure what time of day it was, the blindfold was thick, and evidently their captors were keeping the drapes drawn in the room; it always felt dark. He was so hungry and thirsty; he couldn’t remember the last time he ate.

Footsteps sounded on the floor. Matthew thought two men had come in. Then there was the sound of dishes clanking. Were they bringing them food? Or was this a hoax? His stomach growled fiercely. The men spoke in Spanish.

Despite living in Arizona for the last two years, Matthew only managed to pick up a few of the words. He was an Iowa farm boy for most of his life. His parents owned one of the most beautiful farms around, until an outbreak of hoof and mouth disease forced them to cull their entire stock of prized Holstein cows, and the farm fell to foreclosure. With no jobs in the area, Matthew decided to join the army. He was a good son, and regularly sent money home to help his folks. They now lived in a small apartment in Des Moines; his parents hated it, but it was all they could afford.

A pair of arms grabbed Matthew under the armpits. He was manhandled to his knees. Oh God, what’s happening? he thought as he fought to keep his balance. One of the men said something to him in Spanish. He didn’t understand. The man repeated; Matthew shook his head. The man grew impatient and hit him on the side of the face. Matthew cried out through the gag. The pain was nothing like he’d ever felt before. He could feel the broken pieces of his jaw grating together, the muscles going into spasm. Matthew fell to the ground on his right side. He needed to try and defend himself. Kicking out with his bound legs, he managed to hit one of the men in the shins. It was a solid hit; Matthew could feel his toes stinging from the blow.

¡Ano americano! the man shouted, calling Matthew an American asshole. He kicked him several times in the stomach. Matthew groaned in pain. Next to him, Pete Kent could do nothing but try and lie as still as possible. He could not help his friend and he knew it.

¡Vaya a matar a este bastardo! the man said to his partner; he wanted to kill this bastard.

Sevy, no no. ¿Y si Emesto Garza lo quiera vivo? the other man told his partner, Sevy Melendez, that Garza the local cartel cell leader might want him left alive.

Veremos, Melendez said as he left the room. He was going to see Garza and find out.

A few minutes later, Garza and Melendez returned to the room. There was much discussion going on and Matthew wished he could understand. His friend, Pete, was fluent in Spanish, but he was gagged, and of no help.

Pete listened to the conversation. He was horrified. Thoughts flew through his head; he wanted to react and try to do something, but that would put him in jeopardy as well. And then their captors would know he understood Spanish, which could be a threat to them. No, no, he had to stay calm, listening and praying that no harm would come to them.

Todo este americano ha hecho es luchan contra nosotros, Melendez said, telling Garza that all the American did was fight them.

¿Entonces él es un verdadero problema? Garza replied, asking if he was a real problem.

Si, si!

Bien, Garza said lowly as he pulled out his pistol. He stepped over Matthew, lined up, and pulled the trigger.

Specialist Thomas Blake awoke to a loud crack. What was that noise? Was it a gunshot? His mind was fuzzy; dehydration was taking its toll. Next to him, he could feel Corporal Don Di Arnesto. He jolted awake too. They weren’t sure where Matthew and Pete were, but hoped they were okay.

The door opened and they heard men come in. Fear gripped them; neither moved a muscle. They were wrestled to their knees. You, Americans. You behave if you want food, were the coarse words of Ignacio Vega, the second in command of the cartel cell.

Both men slowly nodded. Neto Mendoza removed Thomas’s gag and offered him water. He drank like he’d never had anything better in his life. The water was truly terrible tasting. It had a peculiar odor and tasted of salt. But it was water, he hoped.

And then a surprise. Thomas thought he heard the noise of a bowl or something. A few moments later, a spoon was being shoved at his lips. He got a faint whiff of what he thought was rice. It certainly smelled like it. He opened his mouth slightly and the spoon was rammed in. Yes, it was rice! Food! Something! He was so hungry that cardboard probably would have tasted good. Quickly he chewed and swallowed, opening his mouth for more. After four spoonfuls, his gag was just about to be replaced. My friends, he managed to squeak out.

¡Silencio!

Thomas figured he’d better not press his luck. He was happy for the little bit of food and water he’d gotten. The men moved on to Don and repeated the process. Perhaps the cartel was keeping them alive for ransom? If that was the case, he hoped someone would come for them soon.

The next morning, both teams were in the dining room. They sat around the large oval table and chatted noisily about various events and happenings. Eagle came in. The room immediately fell silent as they stood. She carefully took her seat at the head of the table.

As you were, gentlemen. Grabbing the teapot, she poured a cup.

Good morning, Ma’am, Cabbott said softly. His position as B team leader meant he now sat next to her on the left side.

Good morning, Cap, she replied, looking over at him. He stood six-foot-two and had nearly black hair. His eyes were normally a medium brown, but when he got agitated, they burned a fiery red. At nearly two hundred fifty pounds, he was a force to be reckoned with.

To Cabbott’s misfortune, he’d suffered a horrific parachute accident that left the majority of his lower body shattered. After many surgeries, he was back doing what he loved, although he was always mindful of his physical state. Despite being a major now, they still called him Cap, as it had become something of a nickname.

Jake leaned forward slightly. He sat next to D.M., so he wasn’t far from Eagle. How are you feeling? He kept his voice low, afraid to upset her.

I’m fine, Jake.

He nodded politely and sat back. Eagle looked around the table at everyone. They all seemed to be concerned about her. All right, enough. Yes, I had a miscarriage, yes, I’m a bit upset about it, but we must carry on as a unit. We have training to do, and quite possibly a mission coming up.

Where to, Ma’am? Tige said. He was five-foot-ten and weighed about one-eighty-five. His blue-green eyes forever had the thousand yard stare from years of killing. Tige kept his medium brown hair fairly short. He’d come from the Australian Special Air Service Regiment, more or less by accident. The major had arrived in the U.S. as a sergeant, sent to train at Ft. Bragg. In a barroom altercation, he’d killed a man and ended up in a military prison. He’d been assigned to the team as part of a sabotage plot by Admiral Westland, who was trying to put an end to the team Eagle fought to form. Tige was the oldest on the team at age forty-four.

Mexico.

Mexico? Kippie repeated. He scratched his head, his black hair showing a few gray hairs from his rough living. At age forty, Kippie was one of the oldest members of the unit. He stood six feet tall and weighed just under two hundred pounds. A native-born Maori from New Zealand, he moved to Australia at age fifteen. He’d been kicked out of the SASR because of his post-traumatic problems. Going rogue, Kippie killed six innocent civilians as he let his emotions rage. The government wanted him dead, but Tige managed to broker a deal that brought Kippie to the Dragonslayers.

What kind of mission, Ma’am? Lieutenant Jon Red Knife asked. He was one of the newest members of the team. He’d come from the Seventh Cavalry where he distinguished himself in many battles in Afghanistan. Jon was a Lakota Sioux, standing about six foot and had a face that looked as if it was chiseled out of red rock. He was solidly built, weighing two hundred ten pounds. Eagle partnered him with Kippie since they got along well.

I’m not exactly sure. She looked at D.M. and Cabbott. After breakfast, I’ll have the team chiefs meet in my office and we’ll discuss this. I should have more info then.

They both nodded.

Cabbott secretly hoped it wouldn’t be a long mission. Cara was due in another month and a half, and he wanted to be there for the birth of his first child. They weren’t sure if it was a boy or a girl; they wanted to be surprised. He didn’t care either way, he’d just be happy for a healthy baby. He turned to Max. How’s your Spanish?

¿Mi español es sólo la penalidad, usted consiguió un problema con ello? Max replied smugly, folding his arms. He was another member of the six-foot club and weighed about the same as Jon. Captain Max Hauer had been with the team since the beginning and proved his worth as a translator/interpreter. Speaking seven languages fluently, he was a handy addition. He was partnered with Cabbott as his spotter. Max had dark sandy brown hair, green eyes, and a mustache that Eagle despised.

D.M. chuckled. Parece bueno a mí, Max.

Okay, what did he say? Cabbott said, confused and finding himself in a crossfire of languages.

Lieutenant Erik Sutton piped up. Sir, Captain Hauer said his Spanish was just fine, and did you have a problem with it? At age twenty-two, he was now the baby of the unit. His uncle, Admiral Connors, told him about the team, and when Erik graduated West Point, he wanted to join the Dragonslayers. He quickly learned it wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Erik stood six-foot-three and weighed one hundred eighty-five pounds. His youth meant he still had not developed the bulk of muscle the other members of the unit boasted. He kept his medium blond hair cropped short. His amber eyes were piercing. And the colonel said he thought it sounded good to him.

Cabbott leaned forward and looked down the table at him. You speak Spanish?

Yes, Sir. I took four years of it in school.

Bueno, más el merrier, D.M. replied. The more the merrier.

Lieutenant Ryuu Kurosawa figured it was his turn. He rattled off something in Japanese. All stopped and looked at him. He was another new member of the unit. At five-eleven and two hundred twenty-five pounds, he more than earned his call sign: Sumo. A former navy cook by trade, he’d nearly completed SEAL school before having to take a humanitarian assignment because his father was ill.

Hey look, buddy, my Japanese isn’t that good yet, Max said. He’d been taking lessons in all the other languages the team members spoke.

I said that I agree, Sir.

Ahau whakaae, Kippie added, smiling.

Tige looked down at him. Kip, don’t start with the Maori now.

He shrugged his shoulders. I was only agreeing.

Eagle rested her elbows on the table. I don’t recall scheduling language class to coincide with breakfast, gentlemen.

They laughed.

D.M. looked at Eagle. What, my love, not gonna join in the party?

Beklager, ikke spiller! She giggled.

Kippie cocked his head. Ma’am? Did you just say something about spilling beer?

She laughed and shook her head. "No, Kip, I said sorry, not playing."

After breakfast, D.M. and Cabbott reported to Eagle’s office. They both stood looking out the wall of glass. She had not yet come in.

So, you think this’ll be a job for both teams? Cabbott said.

Dunno. I guess she wants to meet and discuss the parameters. The sun was out and the reflection off the snow was nearly blinding. D.M. was happy being in the comfort of the building. Mexico, hmm, it’s warmer there this time of year, he thought, watching a deer walk across the runway.

Eagle came in and sat down at her desk. Without a word, she turned on the computer and went to work downloading the mission brief. All right, come here you two.

They stepped behind her desk and looked over her shoulder.

There’s four U.S. military personnel who were taken hostage by a splinter faction of the Sinaloa cartel.

I thought there was a ban on travel to Mexico? D.M. said as he read through the information.

It was lifted a month ago; evidently a bad idea since we now have four friendlies in their hands.

So all we gotta do is get ’em back? Cabbott asked.

And eliminate as many cartel members as you can. The Mexican Government can’t seem to put these guys down.

Ah, I love hunting drug lords, the major said with a smile. It was one of the few pleasures he truly enjoyed.

I think we only need to send one team. Cap? How’s your team coming along?

Good, Ma’am, they’ve been training hard.

Think they’re ready for a job?

He rubbed his chin. Erik and Ryuu are still a little green, but I think they’ve shown they can kill and handle the consequences of it. He paused. How long are we projected to be gone?

Eagle smiled. You should be home long before the baby arrives.

All right, we’ll take it. Where in Mexico are we going?

Mark my words; you boys will not be making a vacation out of this.

Where? He was playing along with her.

I don’t want to see a single photograph of you guys on the beach; that is, unless you’re in full battle rattle.

Where?!

She handed him a folder. Cabo San Lucas.

Sweet!

CHAPTER TWO

I can’t fuckin’ believe we get to do a job in Cabo San Lucas! Lieutenant Ross Murphy cheered. He was at the controls of the Warhawk, their transport helicopter. Ross was a former Marine Cobra pilot who joined the Dragonslayers after witnessing the amazing abilities of Captain Collins during an exercise at Twenty-Nine Palms.

Jake had flown the Badger attack helicopter and eliminated anything that said USMC on it. Ross wanted to fly with the best, so he volunteered for the team. He was the smallest in the unit, an inch shorter than Eagle at five-foot-five and tipped the scales at a scant one-sixty-five. As the only black man on the team, he’d taken some heat from his assigned partner, Lieutenant Louis Guerrier.

Don’t get all excited, Ross. This is still a job, and we have to do it. There are four American service members being held and we need to spring ’em, Cabbott said as he studied a map of the area. They were over halfway through their 1300-mile journey.

Yes, Sir, I know. At least we’re out of the snow for a little while. That sun is gonna feel mighty nice.

Cabbott looked out the window; the sun was bright and he could feel the warmth of it on his face and black flight suit. Yeah, these ol’ bones will be happy with some warmth.

Have you ever been to Cabo?

No. I hear it used to be really nice before the cartel muscled their way in.

Ross made a minor course correction and checked the fuel gauge. They would be landing to refuel in another hour. I came down here with my girlfriend one year. It was absolutely fabulous.

Must not have been that fabulous, you don’t have the girlfriend anymore.

Oh, it was a nice time. But she dumped me six months later and decided to date one of the other guys in my squadron.

Ouch, that must’ve been uncomfortable.

It was, because she was cheating on me with him for three months before she broke it off.

Now that really sucks.

Sad to say, they got their just desserts.

What do you mean? Cabbott said.

He knocked her up; they were two weeks from getting married when he got deployed to Afghanistan. Hajjis blew him out of the sky.

Oh shit, that’s not cool.

Now she’s got a kid to look after and no death benefits because they weren’t married.

Cabbott checked the nav computer. That’s why I married Cara before we went to Yemen.

And she almost became a widow too.

He pointed a finger at Ross. Don’t go there.

In the back of the Warhawk, the rest of the B team chatted about the mission. Considering most of them were new to Special Forces, and new to working together, they got along well.

Hey, Louis, you remember to pack enough sunscreen? Max joked.

Louis flipped him the middle finger. Ha ha, das not very funny, leaf me alone. He was a volunteer who came from the Army Rangers. Don’t be no cooyon, Captain, he said deliberately in Cajun.

Lieutenant Louis Guerrier stood five-foot-eleven, and weighed about one hundred ninety pounds. He was average size for the team. What made him stand out from the rest of the others was his unusually pale skin and disturbing light gray eyes. He looked like he’d come off the set of a horror movie. With his love of killing with edged weapons, some on the team wanted to re-christen his call sign from Butcher to Freddy Krueger.

Aw, just kidding, you know that. How’d you manage to grow up in Louisiana and not get burned to a crisp?

Louis chuckled. Where I grew up, de trees was so thick in de swamp, you’d be lucky if you saw de light a day. He rubbed his bald head. There was no need for suntan lotion.

So, Louis, you eat much gator? Erik teased. Despite being nearly twenty years younger, he couldn’t resist the occasional jab at the seemingly uneducated Cajun.

Yes, I did. And yes, it tastes like chicken, Louis replied; he was anything but uneducated. Having attended four years of college, he was studying toward a degree in criminology. His deep Southern back-bayou upbringing gave him a rather coarse personality. He wasn’t a typical Southerner.

Jake was in the lab. He studied a complicated wiring diagram. Something wasn’t making sense. In his trials, the nanos in his experiment did just what he asked of them; they changed colors. Now for some reason, they were simply ignoring him. He scratched his head in frustration. Grabbing the laptop, he typed in a few commands and watched; nothing happened. All right, guys, what gives? You worked a little bit ago, why are you fucking with me now?

Perhaps you’re not speaking to them in their native nano language, D.M. cracked as he walked in. Originally the lab had been his to use for experiments, but with Jake’s growing interest in science, he’d graciously decided to share. Now the captain spent as much, if not more time than D.M. did in the lab.

Smartass. I had it working a while ago.

Now it’s not?

Nope. They’re ignoring me, giving me the nano middle finger salute, if you will.

D.M. chuckled and sat down next to him. May I have a look? He motioned to the diagram. Jake passed it to him. He looked it over and then carefully inspected the tiny circuit board and wires that controlled the nanos. Hmm.

What?

The colonel reached into a drawer and took out a pair of glasses. Putting them on, he leaned closer to the project. Jake watched him. Since when do you need glasses?

Magnifying glasses. My vision is just fine, but I needed a little help seeing all your tiny wires.

Do you think one came loose?

That’s what I’m checking for.

See any?

Shush! D.M. picked up a very fine probe and began testing wires. After a few minutes of careful probing, he sat up. I don’t see any loose ones.

Jake rubbed his forehead. Then what is it?

He followed the wire back to the computer and unplugged a standard USB connection. Opening a port on the front of his robotic arm, he plugged in the cable. What are you doing? Jake said, confused.

Gonna see if I can interface with them. He closed his eyes and began to think, his brain working in concert with the computer in his body. Jake watched, wondering what the colonel was doing. He couldn’t fathom how D.M. could function with a computer and his robotic arm. Even though he’d helped him make the arm and the technology, it was still a mystery how he got it all to work.

A few moments later the swatch of material, which was embedded with nanos, went from dull gray to hot pink.

Hey, what’d you do? Jake said.

D.M. opened his eyes. Ah, it worked.

Yeah, what’d you do?

He unplugged the cable and put it back into the laptop. Then he accessed the program Jake was using. You must have accidently deleted a line of code.

Aw shit, I wonder how I did that?

I dunno. Mistakes happen. He picked up the material. Is this still your Phantom Cloak project?

Yeah, got more bugs to work out. Maybe in a few months I’ll have a good working prototype. Cap’s graciously offered to test it for me.

After flying through a raging blizzard to save his wife and unborn child, I think he more than owes you.

And I’d do it again if need be. We’re all family here; we have to watch out for one another.

D.M. stood and patted Jake on the shoulder. Keep up the good work, Jake.

Max grabbed a beer and sat down next to Cabbott. They were on the balcony of their room enjoying the fresh sea air, and reviewing photos of the operation area. It was early afternoon and most of them slept in from their long flight.

So, what’s your assessment? Max asked.

I think we need to gather some more up-to-date intel. The stuff we have is almost a week old.

Can’t believe a drug cartel would hold four hostages for that long. Don’t they usually kill ’em pretty quick?

Mmm, yeah. They made a demand of the U.S. Government of fifty million dollars, which they aren’t gonna pay. Why I wanna get something up to date.

Max looked at a photo of the target area. That’s the building?

Two story, standard block construction; nothing fancy. Should be fairly straightforward if they haven’t left any surprises.

And then there’s that. He studied the photographs some more. Is this a junkyard?

Yeah, big one to the south.

That should make the approach pretty easy—well provided there’s no junkyard dogs.

Cabbott chuckled. And then there’s that!

A knock on the door got their attention. You wanna go see who it is? Cabbott said.

Max got up. Yeah, sure. He went inside, grabbed his .45 off the nightstand, and went to the side of the door. Who is it?

Ross and the rest of the crew.

He opened the door and let them in. Morning, all.

Afternoon, Sir, Ross said as he came in. They were all dressed for the beach.

Cabbott came from the balcony, a pile of papers and photos in his hand. And what’s this?

Well, Sir, we were hoping to have a little time to hit the beach. The weather’s fantastic, Erik said.

Beach? You’ll do no such thing, Cabbott replied. There were groans from the group. Eagle gave me express orders that we were not to be on the beach—unless we were in full battle rattle. He paused. However, she did not say that we couldn’t partake of the fine pools the hotel has to offer.

There were cheers from the group. I will ask that you be ready to go by 1900. We have intel to gather.

Thank you, Sir! Erik snapped to attention and saluted.

Cabbott returned the salute, although far more flippantly. "And the order of the day is you will all behave. We are here on official government business. Stay out of trouble, and please, refrain from anything more than casual banter with the ladies; we need to be focused. He looked around at the men standing in front of him; they were eager and ready for some fun. It was his responsibility to keep them in check, now he realized how Eagle felt. Dismissed."

They cheered and tore out of the room in a noisy stampede. Max stayed behind. And what are you gonna do, boss man?

"I was thinking I’d grab a book I brought, get one of those Bali beds by the pool, and relax."

That sounds like a nice day.

What are you gonna do?

Max rubbed his fingers over his mustache. Oddly enough, I was thinking about taking a walk and checking stuff out. Get a feel for the area.

I’d advise against it. You’re obviously American, and the cartel will know that; you’d be easy prey. And I can’t afford to lose you.

Mmm, true. Maybe I’ll hang with the guys in the pool.

"That would probably be the safest bet. And