Page 114 of Peace Under Fire

Pipe pulled out his phone and checked the GPS coordinates. After a moment he shook his head. “This is the place.” He scanned the clearing, then glanced up. “Maybe their extraction team is coming down by rope and they’re grabbing you and Mandy through a harness and lift.”

“Maybe.” But Squish was dubious. This evac hadn’t sounded like a hover operation.

“We’re three minutes out,” Pipe said, looking up. “You hear rotors?”

Squish shook his head. He’d been listening too. Hell, they must be at the wrong place. They would have heard a chopper by now.

“What’s the plan if these dudes don’t show?” Pipe asked.

Squish grunted and shook his head. He had no clue, and his brain was currently incapable of creative problem solving. Damn, he wished Grumpy was here. Grumpy would have come up with a crazy, yet workable, idea by now.

Seconds later, he cocked his head and listened hard. Something, like a whisper, or a …faint squeak?…was coming from overhead. He glanced up as a huge black machine—it sure as hell wasn’t a chopper—flew over the clearing and hovered. The hovering wasn’t strange; choppers did it all the time. What was weird was that the damn thing had no rotors. It had flexible wings or some shit, and those fucking wings were arching straight up in the air—straight up!

He rubbed his eyes. Christ, he was hallucinating.

“Bloody hell.” Pipe’s voice was breathless. “I’ve turned into a bloody nutter.”

Squish opened his eyes at Pipe’s outburst. Good to know he wasn’t the only one hallucinating. He watched the matte-gray machine—or was it black? The color shifted every time he blinked—as it sank straight down and settled neatly, with near silence, into the clearing. Its wings were still arched up, but its enormous abdomen dominated the clearing, almost touching the trees.

It looked like a butterfly.

A gigantic, mechanical butterfly.

He stared in dazed disbelief at the crazy thing. How was it going to get enough lift to rise from the clearing? They couldn’t use the wings because of the trees. Nor was there enough room to build up speed. What crazy method of aerodynamics and propulsion did this machine have?

Unbelievable.

A door in the middle of the abdomen slid back and a horde of men dressed in camo, face paint, and military helmets stormed out. The weapons they carried were rifle-like, but oddly futuristic. They made the rifle hanging from his shoulder look like an antique. However, the guns didn’t faze him, not after that freak of a machine.

A huge dude with long black hair strode toward him. His weapon was cradled in his arm but pointing toward the ground. “We need to make this quick. You got hotspots all around you.” The dude didn’t offer his name, and Squish didn’t ask. The niceties could come later.

They must have some kind of imaging technology that picked up heat signatures. He’d known the cockroaches were out there, but it was nice to have his hunch verified.

Without the big dude saying a word, his men broke into teams of two and melted into the forest. The guy turned back to Squish, his long black hair swaying. Squish was surprised the guy let it hang loose like that. Seemed like a grabbing hazard. But hell, what did he know?

“Let’s get your woman,” the big dude said. He turned to Pipe. “You the one with the coordinates to the bunker?”

“Yeah, it’s this way.” Pipe headed south.

The long-haired guy paced silently alongside the Englishman, his space-age rifle up and ready.

That was when Squish realized four men flanked him. Big men. Seasoned warriors. They wore the same gear and carried the same space-age rifles as the rest of the men who’d disembarked from the butterfly, but he recognized these men beneath their helmets and war paint—Zane, Cosky, Rawls and Mac. His old SEAL teammates.

He gave them chin lifts and received multiple chin lifts in return. Except for Rawlings. The dude delivered a fist to the shoulder in the universal demonstration of camaraderie.

Fuck, it felt good to have men he knew and trusted at his back. Especially now, during the most important mission of his life.

“Looks like you kicked over a hornet’s nest.” Mackenzie shot him a hawkish look. “You’ve got hot spots everywhere. Not to worry. We got you covered.” He clipped Squish’s shoulder with the flat of his hand and strode after Pipe and the dude with the long hair.

Mackenzie looked good. A little grayer at his temples, a little thinner in the face, and more crinkles around his eyes. But he looked fit. And that black cloud of frustration and irritation was gone.

Damn, he wished there was time to sit down with these dudes and catch up, but there was a woman—his woman—to rescue.

“How many operators did you bring?” Squish asked, glancing over at Zane, who was walking beside him.

“Twenty-four. An even match for your bogies.” Zane scanned the clearing before shooting Squish a bland look. “You want any of these bastards alive? We can catch one, if you’d like to do some questioning.”

“That would be helpful,” Squish returned, just as blandly.

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