Page 34 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

Sanaa, Yemen – Medina District

Mission: JSOC/CIA “Iron Veil”

“Confirmed,” came the disembodied voice of Commander Gregg. With Stemmons out recovering, Hunt took the empty slot for the eight-man team. Their rhythm should be off, but the band was back together again, and Brennan fit right in. Haze clung to the shadowed skyline, a slight breeze kicking up dust.

Nerves lasted until the turn of the first blade, then Hunt sank into mission rhythm like he’d never been out.

He was sweating under his gear; the low seventies temperatures and dry air made him wish for a cool mountain breeze.

He studied each man and found nothing to correct, complain about, or compliment.

They’d hashed it out, practiced, and were ready.

They took off from a secret JSOC base and scooted like wildfire across the sky.

Timing was everything. Objective: to extract CIA Field Officer Ethan Tate, held hostage by an Al-Qaeda-affiliated militia.

Intelligence suggested the man was secured in a building mid-city but would be moved or executed in the next twenty-four hours.

Doogie read his mind. “How good is this intelligence?”

“Confirmed via aerial surveillance and intercepted chatter. He’s there.”

“So rooftop arrival, move to the next building, find the man on one of the four floors, and exit. Hostile encounters expected.”

“Can’t have it too easy,” Tommy threw in.

“You forgot,” Baxter added. “Don’t get caught. Covert in, covert out.”

Hunt nodded. “Same deal, another day.”

The pilot interrupted their chatter. “Two minutes out. Secondary site for evac identified and currently clear.” This part of the deal Hunt wasn’t happy with. They had to make it through two alleyways to another building. “Copy. Two minutes.”

Hunt turned to the team. “Rules of engagement: Get Tate by any means.”

No one talked. No one bitched. Same page. In and out. All of them.

To the second, the helicopter slowed to a hover. Hernandez popped the door. “Let’s go.”

One at a time, they each rappelled the rope onto the roof deck.

“Last man,” Hunt called to the co-pilot. “See you in a few.”

He hit the deck and waved the chopper away. K-Rock followed Hernandez to the rooftop door.

The flat surface was faded beige with patchy stucco and eerie shadows. Tommy moved to set up his scope where he could see to the next building. The team would split inside to search for Tate.

“Stallion, this is Scout One. We have reached Trigger.” Starting point.

“Copy, One. Trigger.”

The locked roof door blew with quiet precision. K-Rock finessed the right mix. Night goggles on, Tommy joined them. They split into two teams and executed a rapid descent from roof to ground floor. No obstacles.

Outside, K-Rock performed the same process to open a side door on the target building. No security, no patrols.

That didn’t make sense. Unless the man wasn’t here or they didn’t want to attract attention to themselves. “Expect company,” Hunt sent to the team. The man had to have guards. They didn’t drop him here and not leave a babysitter. Unless the intelligence was wrong or the man was already dead.

They had the general floor layout from intelligence. The ground floor had offices. Tate wouldn’t be on that floor. They would clear top to bottom.

After a silent climb of the stairwell, they peeled off – Carter, Doogie, Mateo and K-Rock moved to the fourth level, while Brennan, Baxter, and Tommy went with him to search the third.

A maze of hallways looped around in a mass of beige walls and sand-colored linoleum. The halls intersected each other. Several spots led to dead ends. Two by two, they followed separate hallways and checked all doors.

Dark.

“Scout One, No joy.” Doogie’s quiet voice whispered in his ear.

“Copy. No joy here either.” They met in the stairwell.

Hunt shifted his weapon. “Second floor it is.”

Splitting into teams of two to cover the layout more efficiently, they moved fast. Hunt and Brennan maintained a methodical pace, guns drawn, and focus attuned to any noise. Baxter covered their backs and checked anything they missed.

Two men dressed in black appeared.

Brennan on his right fired when Hunt did.

Pop. Pop. Down .

Baxter peered in both directions of the intersection. “LC, light on at the end of the hall.” He moved ahead of them weapon ready, stopping short of the plain brown door with a square window.

Why not turn off the light?

Brennan stopped to check the two men and confiscate any intel.

Hunt joined Baxter and ducked underneath the window, posting on the opposite side.

The smoky glass blocked the view.

Baxter tested the knob. Not locked.

Hunt raised a brow but nodded at Bax.

Counting down three, two, one with his fingers, Bax shoved the door open. Neither of them moved.

Fire hit the wall in front of them. One assault weapon. An AKMS from the sound.

Hunt went low and leaned into the doorway. He needed only a millisecond to separate Tate strapped to a chair from the shooter hiding behind him. Two tight head shots. Over .

The gunshots echoed, then quiet prevailed.

Baxter moved in. The small office space left no room for anyone else, but he did a cursory search.

Hunt rose from the floor and went to the captured man who cringed in the chair. “Ethan Tate?”

Eyes wide, the man nodded vigorously. The tape over his mouth stopped any verbal response.

“Navy SEALS. We’re here to get you home.” Hunt secured his weapon and took out a knife. He sliced through the bonds and peeled the tape off his mouth.

“Room is clear, LC.” Baxter grabbed his radio to report to the team. “Scout Six. Champion.” Package found.

Hunt helped the man stand, then keyed his own radio. “Stallion, this is Scout One. Champion. We are at Buttermilk.” Medical assessment.

“Copy. Note there is movement in the street, coming your direction.” Gregg’s voice stayed calm, yet tense.

Hunt kept focused. They weren’t done yet. “Copy. Scout Two, unfriendlies coming our way.”

He noted Tate’s bruises, awkward posture, and his bloody clothes. He was a short, thin man with a scruffy beard. But his eyes were clear, and his hands gripped the chair. It was obvious the man was in pain. “Can you move?” Hunt helped the man stand to assess for himself.

“To get out of here, I’ll drag myself over hot coals.” The man’s raspy voice held the promise.

“We’re moving with package. Exfil,” he radioed to everyone.

Expecting contact at every point, they met by the stairwell door. Carter came around the corner last and made his way to Tate. “Do I need to check him?”

The man shook his head, and Hunt agreed. “No time. Let’s save it for the chopper.”

Doogie came to his side. “Men out front and pouring into the building. At least ten maybe twelve. Let’s separate. We’ll meet at the chopper.”

“Plan?”

“Monitor, evade, engage if we have to.”

Hunt stayed silent, thinking the idea through.

Doogie checked his weapon. “Let me take Hernandez, Tommy, K-Rock, and Carter. We’ll give them a distraction while you get to our exit.”

Hernandez came to his side. “Let’s do it. We don’t have much time before they discover the man is gone.”

Hunt agreed. “Buy us five minutes, then move to exfil.”

“Copy, LC.” Hernandez proceeded with instructions to the team.

“Baxter, Brennan, with me. Let’s get Tate out.”

The men separated. The five-man assault team went down the stairwell to the first floor and split up, three inside and two outside.

Hunt waited a few seconds, then led his team to the exit door. “Stallion. Silver complete. Fury coming at us hard. Exfil in progress.” Hostage saved, but clusterfuck in progress.

Gregg’s response stayed brief. “Copy, Scout One.”

Brennan had Tate. Hunt held the door. Baxter stepped out to cover them.

Gunfire.

Thud. Silence.

Baxter dropped.

Blood.

Hunt blew out the door returning fire, aiming at a shooter hanging from a second-floor window next door. Bullseye. The enemy fell from the window.

No other shooters appeared. Gunfire erupted at the front of the building.

Hunt looked down.

Baxter’s eyes remained open, but the two bullet holes in his forehead said it all.

He was gone.

“No, no. God dammit.”

“We gotta move LC. Now.” Brennan already had Tate in a fireman’s carry.

Hunt reached for Bax, his brother, and lifted him over his shoulder.

They raced to the end of the block and took another alley to get to the evacuation site.

Baxter dead.

Baxter dead.

Baxter dead.

Reality echoed in his footsteps. His mind shut down. He pushed back, trying to shove emotion in a box. The monster rose stronger instead.

Mission focus. They weren’t safe yet.

He wanted to go home to Cait, not get nailed in this shithole country.

Hunt hit his mic. “Stallion.” He choked.

“Stallion here. Repeat.”

“Scout One. Blackjack. I repeat Blackjack. Six is down.”

A few seconds passed. The quiet answer brought no relief. “Copy. Blackjack confirmed.”

Brennan stopped at the corner to preview their destination, then grabbed his radio. “Scout Three. Exfil. Everybody. Now.”

Jack cleared his throat before continuing. “Stallion, Scout Three. Comet. I repeat Comet.” Rapid extraction requested.

“Copy. Blackbird inbound.”

Hunt kept a tight hold on Baxter. “Leave no man behind. No man behind.”

Brennan answered him. “Yes, no man behind.” He popped a flare, and the MH-60 stole in and landed in a tight, flat area across from the alley.

Both men raced across the street. Brennan lifted Tate into the chopper and pointed at a seat. “I’m going back to cover.” He returned the way they’d come.

Hunt eased Baxter’s body off his shoulder at the door, then laid him gently inside.

“I’m so sorry about your man,” Tate whispered, his face crumbling.

Hunt struggled with the standard answer. “It’s the job. We all know the risks.”

He sat on the floor instead of a seat, cradled Baxter’s body between his legs, and wrapped him in a tight hold. His weapon lay at his side.

If there was a quiet exit room before going to heaven, he wanted Baxter not to be alone.