Chapter 2 #5
They all looked up as Aberlour entered the room. He didn’t stop to chew their asses, as they’d expected him to. Instead, he walked right up to Oliver and raised a hand.
With a nearly imperceptible flinch, Oliver took a step back. But Aberlour, slowly and carefully, placed two fingers to the corner of Oli’s jaw and turned his head one way and then the other to examine his injuries.
It wasn’t as bad as Aberlour had feared.
The black eye had swollen only slightly, which was good since they needed Oliver to have two fully functional eyes for the mission.
The split lip had stopped bleeding, and the faint bruising on his cheekbone would heal in a few days.
The worst injury was the angry red bruise covering half of Oliver’s neck.
“You breathing okay?” Aberlour asked, his voice calm as he scrutinized Oliver’s neck.
“I’m fine,” Oliver assured him tersely.
Aberlour could tell he was pissed at having been dismissed so coldly earlier, but Aberlour refused to apologize for it.
He’d needed to speak with the SEAL team captain, and it was best not to have Oliver or the rest of his team standing there.
He would have been too distracted by their presence, fighting his need to make sure his men were okay, to be able to deal effectively with O’Reilly.
He took a deep breath, and with a nod, dropped his hand. Going over to the stateroom door, he turned to face his team and leaned back against it.
“I’m fine too, by the way,” JD said sarcastically as he reclined on his top bunk, feet dangling over the side with an ice pack pressed to his right cheek.
Carlos snorted, only to end up cursing from the resulting pain.
Lifting the wet washcloth pressed to his nose, Aberlour could see he’d taken a hard punch, but his nose didn’t look broken.
Marcus looked alright, but Ghost, who sat behind him on the next bunk, held an ice pack against Marcus’ left shoulder in one hand, and a cold compress against his own right eye with the other.
“He’s done it before,” Aberlour told his men, swiftly holding up his hand to halt their instantaneous reactions of cursing and rolling out of their bunks. “They’re already working on kicking him out. He won’t remain a SEAL for long. O’Reilly confirmed it a few minutes ago.”
It wasn’t enough to pacify them. Aberlour could tell. All of them wanted a piece of that asshole, but it was better than nothing. “O’Reilly and I agreed to keep it under wraps. No official reports.”
Marcus sighed with relief while JD whined like a petulant teenager. “Fuck! So, we don’t get to boast that we fought some SEALs?”
“Got our asses handed to us by SEALs, mostly,” Ghost muttered, shaking his head.
“One of the bastards kneed me right in the balls,” Carlos complained, and Aberlour chuckled.
At the sound of his laughter, the rest of his crew visibly relaxed, even Oliver, who sat down on his bunk and fell backwards laughing.
Aberlour walked over and sat down next to Oli as the others continued to bitch about the various ways in which they’d gotten their asses kicked.
His best friend looked at him, eyes narrowed but his trademark smile tugging at his lips.
Aberlour shook his head, and carefully wrapped an arm around Oliver’s shoulder.
“Did you have to spit in his face?” Abe asked Oli conspiratorially.
“I was thinking, what would Dumber do? And it just felt natural,” he answered, like a little fucker.
Aberlour shook his head again, and as he breathed out, said, “You fucker.”
Oliver shrugged, but his smile stayed bright and mischievous, so Aberlour took it as a win.
Aberlour looked him over again, searching for traces of the asshole on Oliver’s skin.
Just imagining that asswipe’s hands on Oli’s arms—or wrapped around his neck—was enough to send him spiralling.
Aberlour couldn’t explain the sudden urge he felt to caress those precious inches of skin—show them the gentleness they deserved—but it was emotionally overwhelming.
He balled his fists and took a steadying breath instead.
Fuck, he needed a goddamned smoke.
It took them an entire day to pinpoint the exact location of the cargo ship.
That timeframe had been fully anticipated, but Aberlour and his team wanted nothing more than to get this goddamned mission over with and be on their way home.
The naval destroyer they’d been assigned to along with the SEALs was about 500 feet by 60 feet, giving it stability and decent-sized rooms below deck.
However, the boat they’d just launched from the side of the destroyer wasn’t anything close to that.
At 10 feet by 13 feet, their boat had poorly designed stabilizers, a tiny engine, and no extra room.
They were practically sitting on top of each other.
There was no privacy aboard the vessel. None.
After hours of searching, JD had shouted “Hallelujah!” when they spotted the cargo ship.
The team kept their distance to avoid detection.
They needed to ensure that their mission wouldn’t be over before it had even begun.
Maintaining a safe distance, they’d followed the ship.
They had a long wait ahead, as they needed the cover of darkness to sneak on board.
In the early pre-dawn hours, they steered their boat slowly towards the side of the cargo ship.
They were fully dressed for combat, their gear checked and secured, night vision goggles providing their only source of light.
JD expertly maneuvered the boat alongside the ship, avoiding the churning water surrounding the ship’s propellers to prevent getting sucked underwater.
Using hand signals, Aberlour ordered Oliver to launch the grappling hook with fast ropes attached to it.
As soon as it grabbed the deck railing, Oliver pulled on it, using his full body weight to make sure it was secure before signaling to the others to begin climbing.
The climb was the worst part. It always was, and Aberlour cursed his choice of careers as every muscle in his body fought to overcome the force of gravity. He walked his feet up the wall of the ship silently and methodically, while monitoring the progress of the others advancing ahead of him.
Ghost was the first one to reach the ship’s deck.
Silently, he swung himself over the railing, immediately reaching for his Glock 19, prepared to lay down cover fire if they were spotted.
Aberlour listened for any shots fired as he pulled himself up a few more feet.
Marcus boarded the ship next. It was quiet so far.
Oliver was next to climb over the railing with Aberlour right on his heels. JD stayed with the boat. They needed a solid escape plan if the SEALs failed in executing their mission, or worse, if things went to hell and Team Specter never made it to the command center.
“JD to Dumber, do you hear me?” They needed to test their comms before JD retreated a safe distance from the cargo ship.
“Copy,” Aberlour replied softly, his feet landing on the deck in complete silence.
Before he had a chance to look around, a hand gripped his arm, forcing him to his knees and pulling him sideways behind a metal shipping crate.
Before he could react, Oliver was holding a finger up to his mouth, gesturing for Aberlour to be quiet.
“Three guns on the upper deck, two guards patrolling the main deck,” Ghost whispered as he approached them from the side of the container, quickly and expertly completing the initial threat assessment of the open areas of the ship.
“We execute the mission as planned. Carlos and Ghost, you take out the guards. Oliver, Marcus, and I are going up,” Aberlour whispered back, confirming the plan they’d agreed on during their pre-mission briefing.
They’d planned for various scenarios, but this one had been the most likely for them to have to deal with.
The standard set up for pirates and insurgents taking control of a ship was to have a few guards posted as lookouts, several men to handle the hostages, and a few men assigned to the control room.
Aberlour gave the signal for the team the go ahead.
As graceful as a cat, Ghost sprang up from his position next to the container and grabbed a guard as he walked by.
Swiftly covering his mouth, Ghost snapped his neck with a single twist of his gloved hands.
He slowly lowered the man’s body to the deck and then dragged him behind the container where the rest of the team was hiding.
Then he took off with Carlos hot on his heels, racing down the deck silently.
Aberlour was hit with a single pang of worry, as he always was, when watching his men race headfirst towards danger while he had to stay back.
He brushed it aside quickly. They were more than capable, and he had his own job to do.
He signaled for Marcus and Oliver to follow him, and peered over the crate to his right, making sure the coast was clear and that no guns on the upper deck were trained on him before darting from his hidden position to the opposite side of the deck, pressing himself against the wall to remain undetected.
Marcus and Oliver immediately followed him, and together, they inched towards the stairs leading up to the next deck, Oliver checking their six as Marcus covered Oliver’s 9 o’clock.
As he reached the top of the companionway, Aberlour hesitated. There was a strange sound, like something rubbing on metal. Something dull, or soft, or—
Footsteps.
Aberlour flattened himself against the wall and his men followed suit, as voices reached them from just a few feet over their heads.