She had her head down, just praying. She'd started off praying that somebody would come rescue them all. Now she was just praying that somebody would come before it was her turn. She'd done the math.

Depending on what pattern they used, she had either forty-six or fifty-two hours to live. And the last two hours would be really bad. Bad enough she'd rather just die beforehand and get it over with. The one thing she had going for her was that the guards were pretty lax with the girls. When they got to her, a.s.suming none of the others were any good at self defense, she'd have a trick or two for them. With any luck she'd be enough of a problem they'd just kill her. a.s.suming she could stay sane that long.

She looked up, though, at a scream from the front of the girls and the shot by the door.

"What's the situation with SpecOps, Don?" the President asked. He'd dropped just about everything to cover this situation and he was starting to get a little ragged at the edges. "Do we have a mission plan to get these girls out?"

"Yes, Mr. President," the secretary said. "We have the alert Ranger battalion at Fort Bragg rigged and in the air. Delta is on the way and performing mission planning enroute. However, it'll take time for Delta to get there. We'regoingto lose hostages if we wait. So. The best compromise between time to target and available forces is in theater SpecOps units. We've got a SEAL platoon staged out of Baghdad International looking at all the intel that we have. They're the closest, and best trained, team we have for this. Delta is as good as they come and I'd rather use them. But given the time constraints, I'd say go with the SEALs. It's going to be a high risk mission, though, even for the SEAL team."

"Why?" the President asked.

"I've brought in someone to brief on that," the secretary said, clearing his throat and gesturing at the major by his side. "Major Andreyev is an expert in advanced HALO, a special forces officer. It was his suggestion on insertion which is being implemented. It is . . . somewhat unusual . . ."

"It's insane, sir," the major said, in a soft-spoken voice. "But it's the only thing that might work."

"Go ahead, Major," the President said, leaning back.

"Sir," the major replied, getting up and going to the briefing stand. "The problem is that Syrian Integrated Air Defense System is as advanced as that of most first-world countries. They were defeated by the Israelis in 1978 but it took four days for the Israelis to fully suppress them. The Syrians have been playing against the varsity for a long time, and were positioned to learn all about our air operations during the previous fracas to the south. We don't have the time to roll back the air defense system prior to inserting the a.s.sault team. The need was to place a team on site, before the enemy was fully aware that they were under attack. There is only one way to do so: stealthily."

"You mean 'stealth,' don't you, major?" the NSA said, wonderingly. "As in inserting them by, what?

Stealth bombers? We don't have enough B-2's to lift a large a.s.sault team! And where would you place the parachutists?"

"Yes, ma'am, I mean stealth," the major replied, bringing up a Top-Secret schematic of a bomb-bay rack. "Special Forces HALO did a very secret test with the Spirits last year at Nellis. The bomb-rack ejector mechanisms were modified, and an O2distribution hookah was improvised. In addition, the B-2s are required to modify their climb profile for decompression. On the plus side, it is possible to eject a full SEAL platoon from a bomber, stealthily. Their insertion will be from forty thousand feet, twice normal height and about the maximum a person can handle without specialized equipment that can't be made available in time. We have already begun the necessary modification on a B-2 that was rotating through Prince Sultan Air Base in Saudi, and the SEALs will marry up with their transport there. The down side is that the bomber is visible to the enemy radar as long as the bomb bay is open, discharging the team. It has to offload the entire platoon in a hurry, which won't be pleasant for the SEALs, in order to avoid missile fire, which is more unpleasant. Given Syrian air defenses, we may lose a Spirit."

"Authorized," the President said, coldly. "How soon are they going to be on the ground?"

"The team is supposed to be being briefed about now, Mr. President."

"You havegotto be s.h.i.tting me!"

Petty Officer First Cla.s.s Roy Simmons was the Leading Petty Officer of Charlie Platoon, SEAL Team Three. He had had been at Team Three his whole career. He'd gone through the predictable stages. The new meat that thought being a SEAL was just the coolest d.a.m.ned thing in the world but wasn't quite sure they were up to it. Then when he was "made" in the teams and promoted to PO Third he knew he could lick the whole world because he was a G.o.d d.a.m.ned Frog. Then came the wife, then the kids, then the regular deployments and the advanced training, and now he knew it was just a job. One of the toughest jobs in the world, one that occasionally threw you a d.a.m.ned curve. But at the end of the deployment it was good to get back to the mamasan and forget the blood and the screams and just play with the kids.

And he'd thought he'd heard it all until he heard this d.a.m.ned Air Force major lay out this s.h.i.t in a calm and matter of fact voice.

"Oh, dude!" Roman snorted. "This is going to besocool!"

"We're going to be SEAL legends!" Sherman said, raising his arms in victory. "Live or die, we're going to be f.u.c.kinglegend!"

"This ain't happening," Simmons said, looking over at the new meats. The poor guys' eyes were as round as saucers and they were looking at Roman and Sherman as if they were f.u.c.king insane. Which, of course, they were. That was the job of the PO3s on the teams and Roman and Sherman werealready legends.

"We're inserting from aB-2?" Vahn asked. "I want to be clear about that. We're going to be loaded in the G.o.d d.a.m.nedbomb bay? Hooked in a rotating bomb release system and, what?Automatically ejected?

"Yes," the Air Force officer replied. "It has been . . . successfully tested."

"How manytimes?" Simmons snapped. "And who in the f.u.c.k was crazy enough to try even once?"

"I'll go, daddy!" Roman said. "Me! Me!"

"Me, too!" Sherman said, grinning.

"Height?" Chief Adams asked, calmly.

"Forty thousand feet."

That shut Roman and Sherman up. Roman was left frozen with his mouth open and one hand raised in a "number one" sign. Sherman was just openmouthed.

"That's unsurvivable!" Vahn snapped. "d.a.m.n it, I was in Dev Group. Youdon'tgo over thirty thousand!"

"At thirty thousand the Spirit, especially with personnel and equipment in the bomb bay, is marginally detectable, given the radar signal strength that we are expecting over the target," the Air Force major said. "Again, forty thousand has been tested."

"Successfully?" Vahn snapped.

"Successfully," the major replied calmly.

"This ain't happening," Simmons said, his head in his hands and shaking back and forth. "This just ain't happening."

"In addition, it is antic.i.p.ated that there may be significant aerial combat in the area of operations," the major continued with his briefing. "Your position will be noted and AWACs support will attempt to steer such combat into other areas of operation, however, the reason that the Spirit is being used is due to the conditions."

"You're talking about a dogfight going on," Vahn said, with the voice of calm terror. "Whilewe're in the drop."

"Yes," the major said. "Time is of the essence, gentlemen. I would suggest you begin rigging up."

"Well, with all due respect, Major!" Simmons snapped. "Fu-"

"Wait," the chief said, holding up a finger. And everyone turned to look at him.

That's what Simmons remembered. The OIC had just been sitting there the whole time, trying to look frosty and doing a pretty good job even though Simmons knew he was probably on cloud nine with fear.

The whacko E-5s were high-fiving. The new meats were terrified. Vahn and he were bothreallyterrified because they'd done enough to know how just completely f.u.c.ked they were. The mission was s.h.i.t, no idea where the hostages were, maybe somebody on the inside but no name except "Ghost" and no idea who you're dealing with, no plan for thebuildingfor G.o.d's sake; ground penetrating radar hadn't been able to get anything more than ghost images. But everybody stopped and everybody turned to look at the chief, even the d.a.m.ned AF major.

"We're good," the chief said, nodding. "Let's get it on."

"Chief," Simmons said, quietly. "Yousure?"

"Sure," the chief said, standing up. "I've done weirder things."

"Really?" the OIC asked, standing up as well as the chief headed for the door.

"Yeah," the chief said, pausing in the doorway. "I was in Cla.s.s 201."

"Nos.h.i.t?" Roman asked, his eyes wide. "Jesus, Chief!"

"No s.h.i.t," the chief said, his demeanor suddenly cracking slightly and a shiver shuddered through his body. "After that, being shot out of a B-2 at twice the recommended alt.i.tude into a dogfight and a mission with no d.a.m.ned plan or even a d.a.m.ned map . . . well . . . it ain't much."

"What in the h.e.l.l is Cla.s.s 201?" Meat Two whispered as the team quietly got up and started to file out.

"Meat, you're too young to know," Roman said, his head twitching in horror. "You're just too young.

Maybe if you're drunk enough to take the horror. G.o.d. I knew Chief wastoughbut, G.o.d!" He shuddered again and walked out, shaking his head.

"Normally, Meat," Simmons said, gently putting his hand on the newbie's shoulder, "I'd tell you that Roman was as full of s.h.i.t as a Christmas turkey. But . . . in this case, he's right. Sometimes, when you're a SEAL, you have to be harder than stone. When you're with a survivor of Cla.s.s 201, well, you know that they're not going to quit unless they're dead."

Chapter Nine.

Mike stepped through the door, kicked it closed and drove the barrel of his weapon into the guard on the left of the door. Then he turned and fired two rounds into the guard on the right, turned and fired two into the guard that was bent over and retching.

The group of soldiers lined up to rape the girl on the table stepped backwards, towards the wall, holding up their hands in placation but he didn't really care. He just started servicing them.

One of the men in ap.r.o.ns had pulled out a knife and held it to the girl's throat by the time Mike had killed all the soldiers.

"Put down the gun," the man said, calmly. He was wearing a suit under the ap.r.o.n and it had gotten spotted by blood. "Put it down or the girl dies."

Mike looked him in the eye and dropped the magazine out of the AK then reached into his back pocket to pull out the spare. Mike kept looking him in the eye as he raised the weapon to his shoulder and sighted on his forehead.

"Put down the knife, and I'll leave you the use of your upper body," Mike said mildly.

One of the other ap.r.o.ned torturers was shuffling around the one holding the girl hostage, knife in hand, clearly headed for another hostage. Mike kept the weapon on the one with the girl until the other had almost reached the line of girls and then swung to the left, putting one round through the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's head and splattering the two girls on that end of the front rank in blood and brains.

He ignored the screams from the girls as he pivoted back and killed the two video technicians and the third torturer who was cowering behind the table, then pivoted back to target the hostage holder.

"I'll give you this. I won't put you on that table, I won't turn you over to the girls and I won't do more than break your back in the lumbar region. But you don't get the use of your d.i.c.k. Take it or leave it."

"Iwillkill her," the man said, angrily. "You don't understand that?"

"You are one lousy negotiator," Mike said and put a round through his forehead. The knife nicked the girl's neck and that was about it. The body slumped backwards. "Never bluff if you're not even holding cards."

He walked over to the girl on the table, who even as f.u.c.ked as she was looked pretty d.a.m.ned good, and looked her in the eye.

"You probably don't want to see guys at the moment or have them near you, so I'll get one of the girls to let you go," he said, nodding, then turned to the room. "Which one's got the keys?"

"The one that was holding Rachel hostage," one of the girls in the front rank said, gesturing with her chin.

"Who are you?"

"A very bad man," Mike said, stooping down and going through the guy's pockets. "Who, in this one case, is willing to be a good guy for a while. But if I don't get atleasta b.l.o.w.j.o.b out of this, I'm going to be mighty p.i.s.sed."

One of the girls in the front rank, dropped her head and shook it.

"How can yousaysomething like that?" she shrieked. "You're as bad as them!"

"Yep, sure am," Mike said, standing up and holding the keys. "Iwas in Cla.s.s 201, you weak-kneed p.u.s.s.ies! But if you want to get out of this f.u.c.king place alive, and not end up back where you are right now, you'd all better get really d.a.m.ned frosty, really d.a.m.ned quick. Quit f.u.c.king crying, quit b.i.t.c.hing, quit quitting on me and get G.o.d d.a.m.nED FROSTY. Because right now it's justme. And I'm not going to be able to hold this d.a.m.ned place by myself. I'm going to need help. Even nekkid female help will do.

And I'm not going to use these d.a.m.ned keys until I get a big 'HOOWAH' out of y'all. Because if I can't get a big hoowah, then you're totally f.u.c.king useless to me, and I'll just G.o.d d.a.m.ned leave you to be raped. Am ICLEARHERE? Now let me hear you give me a big HOOYAH!"

"What?" "What's hooyah?" "Who? Us?"

"HOO-YAH!".

"Ah, now there was one solid hooyah out there. You all heard it. Now, all of you, give me one great big f.u.c.king hooyah, or I'm walking out the door!"

"HOO-YAH!".

"There were some wimpy ones in there," Mike admitted. "But, overall, I'll give you a sixty, with the curve that comes up to eighty." He stepped off the dais and applied the key to the first rank on both sides and then stepped down the aisle.

"Where was that solid hooyah?" he asked, looking at the girls.

"Here," Amy said, lifting her chin. "What are you, Ranger?"

"Bite your tongue," Mike said. He unchained that rank and looked at the girl on the far end. "Pull it through, honey. I needs this girl. I wants her and I needs her.

"Okay," he said, stepping back up on the dais. "Get this girl loose, do what you can for her. I have some errands I need to run. I'd like most of you to stay in your seats or sitting down at least. Donotopen that door until I tell you. Some of you bigger girls, drag the bodies over by the door, we might need them later. Waste not, want not."

"What are you going to need bodies for?" a short-coupled blonde who had sidled past him to get to the girl on the table asked.

"Barricades," Mike said. "Other than sandbags, there's not much better than a fresh dead body to use as cover."

"That isgross," another girl snapped. "Could you quit being so . . ."

"Mean?" Mike asked, angrily. "Hard? Macho? Male? Conservative? Overbearing? I just tracked you G.o.d d.a.m.ned wenches from the States by getting the bends in the unpressurized nose wheel of an airplane, getting busted up holding onto the underside of a d.a.m.ned truck, getting stuck in holes and getting touched by mustard gas! Not to mention killing about twenty of the f.u.c.kers that kidnapped you and were torturing you! Do NOT give me any of your whining PC liberal bulls.h.i.t! This iswhyguys like me hate you f.u.c.king whiners! We don't havetimefor you to go all weepy! Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," the girl said, meekly.

"You," Mike said, pointing at the solid hooyah. "Name."

"Amy," the girl said. "Private Amy Townsend, Army ROTC."

"Amy will do," Mike replied. "Call me Ghost. AKs," he said, turning and pointing to the weapons with two fingers. "Can you use one?"

"Yes, sir," Amy replied, crossing to the weapons and picking one up. Then she suddenly bent over and gagged. "Sorry."

"Dead bodies do that," Mike said, picking up some sort of big bone saw off the floor. "Cover the door."

He walked out and looked up and down the corridor. Still no sign of reaction. Good. He grabbed the second AK off the guard along with their web gear and slung one of the latter on. They not only had six magazines of ammo, the grenade pouches had fragmentation grenades in them. He shook his head at that.

Frags were a good way to fragyourself;he hated the d.a.m.ned things.

He put his mask back on and went in the viewing room. The tall man had quit twitching as had the rest.

He pulled the rest of the "samples" out of the bag, and the Semtek, then took the knife to the terrorist's neck, cutting off the head. It was still pretty drippy when he dropped it in the bag.