Page 20 of Hazard

Iceman, deadpan, his frosty eyes chilling yet somehow reassuring, said, “There’s no place we fear to go.”

“I love the smell of fear in the air,” Preacher said.

Boomer grinned. “If we’re told to go, fuck it, we’re going. We’ll make that green devil our bitch.”

Leigh laughed softly, the strain surrounding the gap not quite broken, but the levity helped to alleviate some of the tension.

When the plane landed, they were directed to a corrugated-metal-roofed makeshift square building with dirt-caked windows and an old, wheezing air conditioner. Skull shrugged off the heat and humidity as they filed into the building, the techs dragging the equipment they would need.

“Not very sturdy or defensible,” Patch murmured.

“No one knows we’re here. We should be in and out without any fuss or muss,” Anna said. “We have a drone for surveillance.”

Patch unrolled a map, and he pointed to a cleared area. “This is the target. It’s about five mikes from here. When you get close, let us know and we’ll scan the area for hostiles.”

“Copy that,” Iceman said.

“Pull up your big girl panties, ladies. We’re heading out,” Boomer said.

“Got my tighty-whities on,” Breakneck said. “How’s your lace and bows, Boomie?”

“Hey, I’m wearing Teflon undies,” Boomer said, his deep voice underscored with humor. “GQ is probably wearing his lace and bows. Goes with all that pinup blonde hair.” He chuckled. “Probably the same fabric covering Hazard’s ass. Am I right, Miss America?”

Hazard looked at Boomer. “I’d wipe the floor with you in the swimsuit competition, you knuckledragger.”

“How about you, Skull?” Boomer asked. “You wearing your Batman, dark knight underoos?”

“He’s wearing a thong. His ass is rock-hard. Bullets bounce off,” Kodiak said, deadpan.

“Iceman?”

“I go commando.” His boss dropped his night vision goggles over his eyes.

“Yeah, he has hoo-yah! tattooed across his ass,” Preacher said.

Skull and the rest of them broke up as they left the ramshackle TOC, the air outside not much worse than inside. The CNP commandos just looked at each other, not understanding the Norte Americano humor. And Hazard with his way too serious face. He lingered in the doorway and Skull nudged him. “She’ll be okay,” he said. “That’s a seasoned Marine.”

“If you say so,” Hazard said. “I don’t like to leave a job I’m given in someone else’s hands.”

“Truer words were never spoken, but we’ll be in and out.”

Hazard glanced back, sighed, then focused up. This wasn’t a walk in the park.

They dropped into single file, five miles an easy trek, even with sixty pounds on their backs. The rhythm, the heat, and the years of working together were just ingrained. He and Bones took point, his pal sniffing the air and doing his job. The wind came up and the dog seemed to have picked up something. He hesitated, and eight ninja gunslingers paused with him, but then he moved on. The CNP took their cues from the SEALs.

Every one of his teammates knew that they could trust Bones. His senses would tell them if there were bad guys, weapons, or explosives. Skull never second-guessed his K9 partner. Besides, the Malinois outranked him.

The trek was uneventful, but when they got to the compound, it was completely dark.

“No movement in the target area,” Jack Morefield, their tactical officer said, over the comms.

“Ah, where’s our target practice?” Boomer said.

“Can it, Boomer,” Iceman said, every nerve in his body in leadership mode. Skull scanned the area, everything visible in the green glow. Dark shadows, unknown situation. Right up their alley.

“Preach, go and get a look-see,” Iceman ordered.

“Copy that,” Preacher slipped from the thick foliage coverage just at the edge of the compound filled with a flat, square, long warehouse, complete with a loading dock, some kind of guard station, and a myriad of chemical dumps around the vicinity. It was right alongside a janky airstrip. The pilot had to have some brass ones to land a plane there.

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