Page 6
Story: Dagger
The man who had died at the hands of a SEAL team hellbent on making sure he never hurt another soul.
Dagger exhaled.Compartmentalize.
But ghosts weren’t the only thing clawing at him. Whiskey-colored eyes burned in his mind. Brian’s wife. She had once been dazzling. Fierce. Impossible to ignore.
Bali. That was where Dagger had first realized it.
They had been in Indonesia, protecting a group of divers exploring the wreck of the USSKittiwake, and he discovered how deep his love went for his brother’s wife. She wasn’t his. She had never been his. Yet, something inside him had shifted, something dangerous.
Guilt stabbed him.
Tex’s voice cut through the cabin, pulling him back. “We hit the ground running. The rendezvous point is two clicks from extraction. Hostiles are probable. We go in quiet and fast.”
Dagger forced himself into the moment. The job. The mission. That’s what mattered. “How many bodies between us and him?” Dagger asked.
Tex’s piercing blue eyes flicked toward him. “Intel says a lot.”
Flash chuckled. “It’s a good thing we have those guys.”
“Intel’s usually optimistic, anyway,” Bale "Shark" Maddox muttered.
“Then we put ‘em down fast,” Brawler added. “All of them. Clean.”
“Simple,” Dagger said.
The affiliation of the hostage they were after had nearly knocked the air from his lungs.
Joseph Baxter, a Diplomatic Security Service agent. Same as Brian.
Same job.
Same city.
Same goddamn risk.
Brian had died protecting people like this. Protecting Astraea. Protecting Easy and Shark, who had gone into the prison to rescue Astraea. Without the distraction, the warden would have been all over his buddies.
Dagger hadn’t been able to save Brian, but he was going to save this guy, and even though Brian was gone, this guy, he was doing that same job, and in a haunting way, he was part of Brian’s legacy. That made him part of his battle family.
The aircraft dipped in turbulence. Cold bit through gloves. They were thirty thousand feet above a world that wanted them dead. Dagger flexed his fingers. Their gear was black, thin, but thermal, non-reflective, built for the cold, designed for war. A helmet. An oxygen mask. Gloves, thick enough for protection, thin enough to pull a trigger.
Flash gave a subtle nod.Ripcord is your friend.
The pack was sixty pounds, and Dagger would have to account for drag and airspeed with the additional weight. But, hell, like almost every SEAL on the teams, night jumping was their bread and butter and a complete head rush. Even Beast, Brawler’s sixty-five-pound Belgian Malinois, was kitted up in his own doggles and oxygen gear. Beast, who was so laid back, was almost asleep. The animal was unshakable, vicious at one word from Brawler, but like a playful pup when there was downtime. Dagger loved the animal like hell. That military working dog had saved them more times than he could count. Especially with Brawler at the helm of that juggernaut ship. If anyone couldmanhandle Beast in freefall, toting his pack to boot, it was the big muscular dude beside him.
The handler was a motherfucking wall. Nothing got past him, and nothing he loved got left behind. Charming and capable, he was a natural leader but preferred action over authority. He was also too damn nosy, perceptive, and pushy for his own damn good. Dagger thought he should take care of his own needs first, but the man couldn’t seem to find those in the dark with both hands. Fucking Mother Hen.
SEALs didn’t fly their own rides. The Air Force got them close. But it was the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, or SOAR Once they jumped, they were on their own. The famed Nightstalker pilots often pulled their asses from the fire.
Tex called out. “HAHO jump, boys.”
“Hoo-yah,” rang through the plane.
“Ten-second intervals. Drop fast. Hit the LZ. No delays.”
High Altitude, High Opening. A hell of a ride with a full load of gear, but nothing new.
The jump light flickered from red to yellow. They all stood, shuffling toward the ramp that was slowly descending, sending gale-force winds through the aircraft. Adrenaline shot into his bloodstream.
Dagger exhaled.Compartmentalize.
But ghosts weren’t the only thing clawing at him. Whiskey-colored eyes burned in his mind. Brian’s wife. She had once been dazzling. Fierce. Impossible to ignore.
Bali. That was where Dagger had first realized it.
They had been in Indonesia, protecting a group of divers exploring the wreck of the USSKittiwake, and he discovered how deep his love went for his brother’s wife. She wasn’t his. She had never been his. Yet, something inside him had shifted, something dangerous.
Guilt stabbed him.
Tex’s voice cut through the cabin, pulling him back. “We hit the ground running. The rendezvous point is two clicks from extraction. Hostiles are probable. We go in quiet and fast.”
Dagger forced himself into the moment. The job. The mission. That’s what mattered. “How many bodies between us and him?” Dagger asked.
Tex’s piercing blue eyes flicked toward him. “Intel says a lot.”
Flash chuckled. “It’s a good thing we have those guys.”
“Intel’s usually optimistic, anyway,” Bale "Shark" Maddox muttered.
“Then we put ‘em down fast,” Brawler added. “All of them. Clean.”
“Simple,” Dagger said.
The affiliation of the hostage they were after had nearly knocked the air from his lungs.
Joseph Baxter, a Diplomatic Security Service agent. Same as Brian.
Same job.
Same city.
Same goddamn risk.
Brian had died protecting people like this. Protecting Astraea. Protecting Easy and Shark, who had gone into the prison to rescue Astraea. Without the distraction, the warden would have been all over his buddies.
Dagger hadn’t been able to save Brian, but he was going to save this guy, and even though Brian was gone, this guy, he was doing that same job, and in a haunting way, he was part of Brian’s legacy. That made him part of his battle family.
The aircraft dipped in turbulence. Cold bit through gloves. They were thirty thousand feet above a world that wanted them dead. Dagger flexed his fingers. Their gear was black, thin, but thermal, non-reflective, built for the cold, designed for war. A helmet. An oxygen mask. Gloves, thick enough for protection, thin enough to pull a trigger.
Flash gave a subtle nod.Ripcord is your friend.
The pack was sixty pounds, and Dagger would have to account for drag and airspeed with the additional weight. But, hell, like almost every SEAL on the teams, night jumping was their bread and butter and a complete head rush. Even Beast, Brawler’s sixty-five-pound Belgian Malinois, was kitted up in his own doggles and oxygen gear. Beast, who was so laid back, was almost asleep. The animal was unshakable, vicious at one word from Brawler, but like a playful pup when there was downtime. Dagger loved the animal like hell. That military working dog had saved them more times than he could count. Especially with Brawler at the helm of that juggernaut ship. If anyone couldmanhandle Beast in freefall, toting his pack to boot, it was the big muscular dude beside him.
The handler was a motherfucking wall. Nothing got past him, and nothing he loved got left behind. Charming and capable, he was a natural leader but preferred action over authority. He was also too damn nosy, perceptive, and pushy for his own damn good. Dagger thought he should take care of his own needs first, but the man couldn’t seem to find those in the dark with both hands. Fucking Mother Hen.
SEALs didn’t fly their own rides. The Air Force got them close. But it was the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, or SOAR Once they jumped, they were on their own. The famed Nightstalker pilots often pulled their asses from the fire.
Tex called out. “HAHO jump, boys.”
“Hoo-yah,” rang through the plane.
“Ten-second intervals. Drop fast. Hit the LZ. No delays.”
High Altitude, High Opening. A hell of a ride with a full load of gear, but nothing new.
The jump light flickered from red to yellow. They all stood, shuffling toward the ramp that was slowly descending, sending gale-force winds through the aircraft. Adrenaline shot into his bloodstream.
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