part0018

The hangar had been converted to a mockup of the campground's cafeteria. The dimensions were marked off with tape across the linoleum floor, and office partitions had been used for walls with gaps left for the entry points. They'd been running the drill non-stop since arriving in Anchorage. The only breaks occurred during the debriefs, the last of which had lasted five minutes. The teams were staged for another run when a loud boom rumbled across the tarmac like thunder.

"What the hell was that?" Kevin Medina caught himself on Babz.

"Nothing good." Babz stabilized both herself and Medina. She looked around for the source of the disruption. “Were we bombed?”

"Get used to it." Hoop shouted over the noise of a taxiing plane. "If we get the green light, this is the environment we'll be operating in, so this is the environment we train in. Now let’s run it again. Team one, stack up. On my command…Execute!"

Babz stayed tight. She was the proverbial fifth wheel, literally the fifth person on a four-man team designed to make a dynamic entry. They stayed tight, but not so much that they could trip. But as soon as one stopped or halted, they had to be on each other’s hip.

"Execute means staying tight."

Gaps meant time, and time in life and death situations was everything. The more sands in the hourglass, the better your odds of survival.

Never move faster than you can shoot .

Babz posted up behind Medina. Once the point man had stopped, Babz tapped up her non-gun hand to smack the back left hip of Medina, who in turn sent it up the chain until the "Good to go" message was received by the point man.

Her Glock 35 long barrel with laser sight and trigger modifications was in the Sul position pressed low at the center of her chest. A few seconds later, Hoop banged a drum loudly to simulate the sound of a flashbang. Babz thrummed with energy as she surged forward with her team. Their movement was fast and precise as they launched into the open door. The ammunition in their weapons had been exchanged for real action die markers, which were accurate in close quarters. They showed shots placed and gave simulated impact, marking the target where you hit it.

And these were live targets who would shoot back with the same markers.

Babz moved in. She could hear the suppressed sound of the simulation fired by members of her team. Her focus was on her lane, and as Medina shifted left, he missed sight of a target who’d popped out from behind a large cabinet in the kitchen area.

Babz fired three shots in a matter of a split second, two striking center of mass, the third hitting the visor. A red dot of splattered die marker paint was dead center between his eyes.

"Time!" Hoop called. "Twenty-two seconds from movement to door to entry to elimination of all targets and safe rescue of the hostage."

Medina looked at the shooter who would’ve shot him, and then back at Babz. He opened his mouth to speak when Hoop interrupted and moved himself between them and the target that Babz had eliminated.

"Let me guess, you were about to say something to her like, 'It should be you going in on this assault team and not me'?"

Medina, a man of confidence, looked shell-shocked. "I was just gonna say it was a hell of a shot and..."

"And?” Hoop’s eyes narrowed. “You're stammering, Medina. Save yourself the embarrassment and shut your mouth.” Hoop’s attention swiveled to Babz like he was sizing her up in his scope. “Do you think you deserve a shot on the assault team, should this thing get the green light?"

Babz felt a tremor, but she contained it. She knew what he was doing. He was looking for an answer, and she had to make sure she gave the right one. "Medina goes."

"You’re just saying that because I put you on the spot."

"No, Medina goes because when it mattered, he won." Babz's father had taught her that philosophy early on. Redos don’t happen in real life. “If you don’t win when it matters, it doesn’t matter when you win.”

Hoop paused for a moment. "Sounds like your father taught you well.” He leaned back and addressed everyone. “That’s right, boys and girls. Your shots don’t count in this room if they don’t work when the pressure's on. You better rise to it or you won't be here long." Hoop turned and almost ran into Brett Larson. “Larson? What do you need?”

“Your team needs to saddle up.”

"Hoop, you’re the show now. I just got word."

Hoop’s chest puffed out as he turned to address the room, but Larson stopped him. “You’re not going in on the assault just yet. The other team is down. Landslide.”

Hoop appeared rattled by the information. "Are they still alive?"

"Unknown. Your team is going to be the rescue. Only way in at this point is by helicopter. You’re going to have to use one of those choppers as medevac. Anchorage has the closest major hospital with a helipad, but you'll have to be the one to get them there."

"What about Lawson?"

"It's going to have to wait. There's going to be no assault mission until these quakes settle. I need you to put together a rescue team and get to that LZ. The assault team will remain on standby, but from the looks of it..." Larson cast a glance around at all the die markers on the bad guys, and not one on any of the entry team members. "If it comes to that, you’ve got assault in the bag."

“I'll pull a few guys and run the rescue." Hoop clasped a firm hand on Bill Sykes' shoulder. "Have the assault team get some rest. Because when I get back, I'm going to push like hell to get us in there so we can get that marshal the hell out.”

Sykes agreed with a nod.

"Wren, Medina, and Babz, you heard Larson. This is a rescue mission. Now get your ass in a chopper, you're coming with me."