Retribution (Moonstruck Genesis #4)

Chapter 19

DUKE HUNKERED down behind the boulder, his right side protected by an ancient tree trunk, fallen in some storm. The team had spread out to surround the campground. The bonfires created from the first explosions shot sparks into the sky. Lights shone in a few windows, but no one had moved down there for at least twenty minutes. He’d put a bullet through the window of the last building where he’d seen someone move behind the curtains.

As he settled in to wait for the team to tighten the containment net, the back of his neck itched. Someone was watching him. He was absolutely positive of it. Unlike Carter, he wasn’t about to underestimate the men they were up against. They were trained military operators, not some homegrown militia.

Traitors? Maybe. Rogue mercenaries? Probably. Still, Duke wasn’t convinced this whole mission was kosher. Something didn’t sit right in his gut, starting with the fact they were on American soil. The prickles on his neck disappeared as abruptly as they’d arrived. On the hill below him and off to the left, a branch cracked. The sound ricocheted through the night as loud as any gunshot.

“Idjit.” Tank’s whispered pronouncement created a momentary grin. Yeah, LT Carter was a total idjit. Why the hell the man decided to hook up with the team at this point, he didn’t know, but as soon as they’d radioed they’d finally located their target, the sorry sonvabitch told them to stand down until he arrived to lead the operation. What a freaking joke. The man was a paper pusher. Oh yeah, he’d tried BUDs training and rang the damn bell his first day.

They’d lost almost half the night waiting for him to arrive and now here he was turning the mission into a FUBAR of the nth degree. Fucked Up Beyond All Repair. Unable to change things now, Duke resigned himself to doing his job. He sighted in his sniper’s scope, settled down with the rifle to his shoulder, and waited for the next sign of movement. Whoever these guys were, they were well-trained. He’d figured the first explosion would have brought them all running. Out in the open, he could pick them off one by one, freeing up his men to safely finish deploying and setting off the explosives. The order from on high insisted they level the place.

Ten minutes later, a quick flash of light caught his attention. Dalton. Dammit. The dude was supposed to be covering Cop’s back while the EOD expert rigged those structures to blow. The flash came again, this time several short bursts. What the fuck was going on? Morse code? Dalton had obviously lost his freaking mind.

He whispered into his mic. “Delta One?”

Dalton didn’t answer. Duke focused the night vision scope on the spot he’d last seen the flashes. He acquired Dalton in the crosshairs and realized the brain-dead doofus was flashing hand semaphores at him. What the hell? Was there a problem with the radios? He focused on the other man’s gestures.

K.I.D.S. What did that mean? K-i-d-s. Kids. Kids? He froze. W.O.M.E.N. Women? Children? This was a kill mission. No survivors. Their orders were to take out all unfriendlies. Everyone in the compound and everyone within a two-mile radius was considered an unfriendly. They had a green light on the kill order, straight from the Pentagon.

Movement off to his left pulled his attention that way. The fuckin’ LT was down there floundering around like a drunken Marine.

His earpiece filled with radio chatter.

“Jesus, LT. Hold fuckin’ still. You’re gonna give our positions away.” Leave it to Tank to get right to the heart of the matter.

“Shut up, Russell, before I bring you up on charges.”

“Yeah, good luck with that, asshole.”

MASON CARTER licked dry lips, griping his pistol with both hands to help disguise the trembling. Why the hell he had to be here he couldn’t fathom, but once he notified the Pentagon that the team had located their target, he’d been ordered in. A shadow drifted through the trees to his right and he jerked his hands around, aiming his pistol.

“Holy crap, LT. You better have the freaking safety on.” Dalton hissed the words as he dropped into a crouch and covered the distance between them in about two heartbeats.

Mason breathed deeply, settling his nerves. He was the commanding officer here, despite what that asshole Master Chief believed. Duke Reagan thought he was hot shit. Well, the fuckin’ SEAL wasn’t. It was obvious, even though he didn’t want to be out in the field, that General Bradshaw had enough faith in Mason to make sure the team’s orders were carried out to the letter. And no matter what these bleeding-heart SEALs did, he’d make sure the mission was accomplished. Those people down there in that campground were freaks and traitors. They didn’t deserve to live. General Bradshaw trusted Mason enough that he knew the truth.

“I will bring you up on charges, Thomas. Why aren’t you in your position?” Mason didn’t lower his voice.

“We need to call this off, Lieutenant Carter.”

Mason worked to control his nerves. Just as the general had suspected, the men were going to be stupid. Well, he’d just nip any sort of mutiny in the bud. “What the hell are you talking about? We have our orders.”

“Dude, there’re kids down there. I heard a baby cry. For real. And there are toys in the yard. For little bitty kids. Christ, LT. Those are families living down there. I don’t care that it used to be a military installation. There are families living here now. Maybe this place is like what that sign said. Like a scientific foundation or something.” Dalton knew the rest of the team heard his every word.

“Or something, Thomas. Those are subversives down there. Terrorists. You will execute your mission as I’ve ordered or you will be court marshaled. Are you clear on that, sailor?”

Dalton stared, his mouth a grim slash of disbelief. Shaking his head at the LT’s idiocy, he spoke softly into the special operations mic he wore. “Master Chief?”

Carter’s eyes widened in irritation. “I’m the commanding officer, Thomas. Not fucking Duke Reagan.”

“Duke?” Dalton wasn’t backing down. He was not going to murder babies or their mommas. He’d put a bullet between Carter’s eyes before that happened.

“What’s it gonna be, boss?” Coppola’s voice ghosted through everyone’s earpieces. “I’ve set the explosives, but no triggers yet.”

Before Carter could say anything, Duke cut him off. “Sit rep, Cop.”

“Dude’s right, boss. Bunch of kid toys. Heard some women talkin’ in one of the houses before the first explosion. Not finding evidence of a militia. Or men. This place looks like what the sign said. Just a bunch of hippie types tryin’ to protect nature.” Coppola’s New Jersey accent came through loud and clear.

Preservation of Indigenous Species Society. Hell. The place could be a frickin’ summer camp for all he could tell. Duke pressed fingertips against his temple, in a vain hope of throttling the pounding headache developing there. Then things went to hell in that literal handbasket. His ear piece registered a harsh sigh, followed by a thud and a hissed word.

“One.”

Duke didn’t recognize the voice. The words two, three, four , and five followed in quick succession. That spot between his shoulder blades itched like fire ants were chomping on it as an appetizer. His team was down, his CO was a total fuck-up, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Carter’s voice shouted in his ear. “What the—?”

“Ease off there, asshole.”

Was that a woman’s voice? Duke swiveled his head, focusing his night-vision goggles on the scene playing out forty feet down slope from him.

DALTON STARED at the woman jamming a pistol into the bass of Carter’s skull. He sat back on his heels, though his hands remained on his weapon. Warm breath whispered across his skin like a lover’s kiss, but the words coupled with cold metal pressed against his neck chilled him to the bone.

“You’ll die before you can squeeze the trigger, motherfucker.”

He didn’t try to see the woman standing behind him even though her husky voice made his balls tighten almost as much as the weapon she’d stuck to his head.

Hannah kept the barrel of her 9mm leveled on her guy, though she watched the other man and DJ from the corner of her eyes. A lieutenant and a master chief meant Navy. Considering what was going on, that meant SEALs. Once again, Harjo’s info proved correct. Not that she was too worried. The blond surfer dude at her feet looked a little too relaxed. That meant he probably had an ace in the hole. All she had to do was hold things steady until the Wolves got back, which would be any time now. She hoped.

“Ah…Duke? Like maybe I misjudged the situation.”

“Yeah, Cali-boy, maybe you did.” Hannah poked him with her gun barrel. “Who sent you?”

“None of your business, bitch.” The man in front of DJ spat out a reply.

Yeah, DJ’s prisoner would be the lieutenant. Hannah offered him a cheeky grin. “ Awww . I didn’t know we’d met.” She returned her gaze to the surfer. “You feel like talking?”

“Above my pay grade, ma’am.”

Hannah choked off a laugh. “So it seems. Guess I’ll just have to deal with dickhead here. You know—” DJ jabbed the lieutenant between the shoulder blades with the barrel of her pistol a couple of times to make sure Hannah had his attention. “You’ve come to the wrong place. We aren’t who you think we are.”

“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,” Dalton muttered.

Hannah snorted out a dry chuckle. Who knew? Surfer dude was a geek. With a misplaced sense of humor. She was almost sorry she’d have to kill him if he moved again.

“Reagan, you’re the sniper. Shoot this fucking bitch!” Carter screamed, forgetting about the highly sensitive mic resting along his cheek.

Hannah barely maintained her composure. She should have taken that into account. Any SpecOps team came equipped with a sniper. She and DJ had avoided the other men on their way up here. Luckily, the old fort had secret bunkers and passages. As soon as she’d gotten Mac’s text, they started making defensive plans. Once they realized they’d run out of time, Jacey, Liz, Izzy, and Annie had rounded up the kids and were hunkered down out of harm’s way for the moment. She and DJ had gone hunting, eluding the men down in the compound. Hannah wanted the man in charge. Too bad the asshole was a freaking pissant.

A red light flashed in the corner of her eye and Hannah fought the urge to hit the ground and roll. She caught the flash again and started laughing, her shoulders shaking with glee though the hand holding her Sig Sauer remained steady on the surfer. “Yo, LT. I’ll see your sniper and raise you one of my own.” She tapped the surfer on the shoulder with her hand.

Duke heard every word around the pounding of his heart as he stared at the red dot centered on his chest. Then the dot disappeared. A warning. He only hoped it was a fair one. Provided that gawddamned Carter didn’t get them all dead.

“Dalton, ask nicely about the rest of the team,” Duke commanded quietly.

“Ah, ma’am? Master Chief wants to know about our team.”

Yeah, Hannah would like that information, too. Then Mac’s mind nudged hers. The calvary had arrived. “As of about a second ago, they were all still breathing. Their continued ability to do so depends a great deal on what you, your CO and the Master Chief do next.” Hannah tried very hard not to smirk. Navy SEALs. Thought they were all that and a cup of hot buttered rum to boot.

“Dalton, very carefully hand your mic to the nice lady so I can talk directly to her. And if Carter moves, kill the asshole.”

“Roger that. Ah, ma’am? I’m supposed to hand you my mic?” He cut his eyes to Carter. “And if the LT moves, I’m supposed to kill him.”

Hannah now knew why the lieutenant’s face had drained of color an instant ago. Still, she had no reason to trust these guys, even with the Wolves moving into position. “If he moves, my friend will kill him with no help from you. Trust me. She doesn’t miss.” She snagged the ear piece-microphone combo off her prisoner and backed away. “Now very carefully put your weapons on the ground, Cali-boy.” Once he’d done so, she added, “If either of you do anything more than breathe, both of you are dead. We clear?”

Glancing down at the red dot painted on his chest, Dalton shifted his gaze to meet Hannah’s. “Perfectly, ma’am.” He did exactly as he was told.

Hannah settled the communications gear on her head, saying, “Master Chief.”

“What do you want?”

“A chance to talk.”

“You have a funny way of asking.”

“You have a funny way of sneaking up on a place with women and children, wiring their homes to blow up with said women and children inside, and sticking a sniper in a tree to take out any survivors. Pardon me for not being real…trusting.”

“Point taken…ah…”

“Oh? Now you want to know who I am? It was okay to just slaughter strangers, but when we get the drop on you, you want to get friendly?” She uttered a dry chortle. “Here’s the deal, slick. I know exactly who I’m playing with, but you have no clue.” She let him think on that a moment before adding, “Let me hazard a guess about your name.” She hummed the Jeopardy theme. “Who is John Wayne Reagan, also affectionately known as Duke?”

The silence emanating from the ear piece was almost deafening. A ragged breath and then, “You have the advantage on me, ma’am.”

“Last time I saw you, Master Chief, you were a lowly E-3 and some fucking scientists had just implanted gills in your neck.”

Duke didn’t breathe for almost a full minute. This wasn’t fucking possible. In fact, it was fucking impossible. “Captain Jackson? Though I doubt you’re still a major…”

“I’m just plain ol’ Hannah McIntire now, Master Chief, though I did make major.”

“Wait. McIntire? As in Command Sergeant Major Ian McIntire?”

“Yup. That would be my hunny-bunny, Duke. But he’s a civilian. Sort of.”

“What the hell, Major—Mrs. McIntire?”

“Long story, Duke. You got time for a cup of coffee?”

His spidey sense went off and when he glanced down at his chest, the red dot was back. “I seem to have nothing but time at the moment, ma’am.”

“Glad to know someone in the Navy has some manners. Leave your rifle, Duke. It’ll be taken care of.”

“Yes, ma’am.”