Page 30 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

TWENTY-SEVEN

Countdown

HANK

The beach has transformed into something between a command center and a military camp. What started as our sanctuary—the only place we could speak freely—has become our base of operations.

Walt and Hank were pulled from their rotation at Collins’s facility, joining the rest of us as we regroup and strategize, the firelight flickering over faces too exhausted to pretend anymore.

Waterproof equipment cases dot the rocky shore. Portable communication arrays stretch between higher rocks above the tide line, their cables snaking across stone worn smooth by decades of Pacific surf. The salty air carries the metallic scent of electronics and the sharper tang of gun oil.

I kneel beside a makeshift table we’ve constructed using driftwood and flat stones, studying satellite imagery downloaded to secure tablets an hour ago.

The photographs show Malfor’s island in high resolution—every building, every guard tower, every potential approach vector mapped in detail.

“We’ve got a perfect tide window,” Gabe drops beside me, small rocks shifting under his knees as he spreads maritime navigation data across our makeshift planning surface. “Low tide hits at 0347. Gives us about ninety minutes for a beach landing.”

The intelligence is better than anything we have a right to hope for. Guard rotation schedules. Communication array specifications. Even architectural blueprints of the main facility complex. Each piece of data builds a picture of an operation that’s not just possible—it’s achievable.

“What’s the perimeter defense situation?” Defensive capabilities always determine approach vectors.

“Pretty light,” Sam approaches our makeshift planning area, his boots crunching against shells and seaweed. “Automated systems focused on deep-water approaches. Minimal ground coverage on the north beach.”

Ethan moves to the center of our planning area, taking charge like he always does. “Alright, let’s break this down piece by piece. We’ve got good intel, but I want every angle covered.”

“Approach vectors?” Rigel asks, already thinking like the methodical operator he is.

“Three viable options,” I respond, pointing to different sections of the satellite imagery. “North beach during low tide, east cliff face for technical climbers, or direct assault on the main harbor.”

“North is our best bet,” Walt states, finally looking up from his weapon maintenance. His voice still carries that roughness, but there’s steel underneath it now. Purpose. “Minimal coverage, natural concealment from the rocks.”

“Agreed,” Blake adds, moving closer to study the photos. “East cliff gives a height advantage, but it’s a bottleneck if we need to extract fast.”

“Harbor’s suicide,” Carter observes quietly, speaking for the first time in an hour. When Carter talks, everyone listens. “Too exposed. Too many kill zones.”

The tactical situation becomes clear. Malfor built his facility to repel large-scale military assault, not small-team infiltration. The kind of oversight that creates opportunities for operators who understand how to exploit defensive blind spots.

“So Charlie team goes in as one unit,” Ethan continues, taking charge like he always does. “Six-man insertion, sweep, and clear as a team.”

“We need a support structure,” Sam interjects, looking to his operations chief.

“Alpha team provides covering fire from elevated positions,” CJ responds, taking over the broader deployment planning. “Bravo handles communications and coordination. Delta takes overwatch.”

“What about extraction?” Rigel asks, always thinking about the way out.

“We extract together,” Blake responds, tracing paths on the satellite photos. “Primary route via beach. Secondary, through the east cliffs if the beach gets compromised. Helicopter pickup if everything goes to hell.”

“Which it might,” Carter adds with characteristic understatement.

Walt looks up from his weapon. “What’s the building layout look like? Where are they most likely holding the women?”

I point to a central structure on the satellite imagery. “Main facility, probably underground levels. That’s where I’d put high-value assets.”

“Agreed,” Ethan nods. “Charlie team goes in together, sweeps and clears as one unit, locates targets, extracts as a team before they can mount serious resistance.”

“Time on target?” Blake asks.

“Fifteen minutes, max,” Gabe responds, his demolitions mind already calculating. “Any longer and we lose the element of surprise.”

“Fifteen minutes to find six women in a facility that size?” Walt’s skepticism shows.

“That’s why we move fast and stay together,” Ethan explains. “No splitting up once we’re inside. We clear room by room, systematic and quick.”

“Actually, we won’t be going in blind,” Mitzy speaks up from her analysis station, excitement building in her voice. “I can deploy my bumblebee drones ahead of you. They’ll rapidly map the interior of the facility and locate the women in real time.”

“How fast?” Blake asks.

“Three minutes to map a standard facility layout,” Mitzy responds. “The drones are silent, nearly invisible, and can transmit location data directly to your tactical displays. You’ll know exactly where they’re holding the women before you breach the building.”

Walt’s expression shifts from skepticism to hope. “That changes everything.”

“Cuts our search time from fifteen minutes to maybe five,” Gabe adds, his tactical mind already recalculating. “Get in, get them, get out before anyone knows we’re there.”

The plan takes shape with the efficiency that comes from men who’ve worked together long enough to anticipate each other’s thoughts. Every man has a role. Every role serves the mission. Every mission objective serves one purpose—bringing our women home.

“What about air support?” Walt asks, his voice carrying a roughness that’s been there since Malia disappeared.

“Collins has helicopters positioned offshore,” CJ responds, consulting waterproof tactical notebooks that contain every operational detail we’ve planned.

He shifts his massive frame on the piece of driftwood he’s claimed as a seat, the wood creaking under his weight.

“Medical extraction and fire support if we need it.”

“What about rules of engagement?” Blake’s question carries weight. We all know this isn’t a standard hostage rescue where we worry about collateral damage or legal consequences. He looks up from the weapon he’s been field-stripping, blue eyes hard as winter ice.

“Whatever it takes,” Forest states with granite certainty. His weathered face shows no emotion, but I catch the way his eyes sweep the beach, taking in every man under his command. “Primary objective is recovering our people alive. Everything else is secondary.”

“Not everything,” Sam interjects, his voice carrying the weight of broader tactical concerns. “We need to neutralize Malfor and eliminate the nanobot threat. Those nanobots could spread worldwide if we don’t shut down his operation completely.”

The reminder settles over the group like cold water. Rescuing the women is personal, but stopping a global surveillance network from falling into the wrong hands affects the entire world.

“Secondary objective then,” Forest acknowledges. “Destroy the facility and eliminate Malfor’s operational capabilities.”

“With Alpha, Bravo, and Delta already assigned support roles, we’re stretched thin for a dual-objective mission,” CJ observes, consulting his tactical notes.

Sam and Forest exchange looks, recognizing the need for additional resources beyond Guardian HRS capabilities.

“Time to call in favors,” Sam states, pulling out a secure communication device. “Cerberus Protection Specialists. We’ve worked with them before.”

“Ghost?” Forest asks.

“If anyone can handle the secondary objective while we focus on extraction, it’s Mason Blackwood’s team.”

The mention of Ghost brings nods of approval from Charlie team. Cerberus is a smaller operation, but Mason draws exclusively from special operations—highly trained operatives who are familiar with how Guardian HRS operates and can be trusted with high-stakes missions.

“Good call,” CJ says with a nod. “Blackwood’s team is surgical. No collateral, no mess, no traces.”

His tone carries the respect of a professional who recognizes equal skill. In our world, that kind of acknowledgment doesn’t come easy.

“Cerberus?” Collins questions, his billionaire instincts kicking in. “Are they reliable? This isn’t just any extraction—this is my daughter we’re talking about.”

“They’re the best,” CJ assures him. “And Ghost has saved our asses more than once.”

Collins’s shoulders relax slightly. “Then spare no expense. Whatever they need, they get.”

“Glad to have Cerberus help on this,” Rigel says quietly, but there’s satisfaction in his voice. “No more playing by rules that don’t apply to bastards like Malfor.”

“Damn right,” Walt adds, his hands finally still on his rifle. “Time to show him what happens when you take our women.”

Carter nods once, which, from him, is equivalent to a rousing speech. Blake grins for the first time in days, the expression sharp and predatory. The authorization settles over Charlie team like armor—no restrictions, no limitations, no mercy for anyone who stands between us and the women we love.

“Equipment loadout?” Ethan asks, moving through the checklist with team leader efficiency.

We’re getting down to operational details.

Finally.

Gabe likes to think I overthink and over plan, but I’m just as eager as him to get in there and shoot shit up. It feels good to be planning rather than sitting around with our thumbs shoved up our asses doing nothing.

“Standard assault kit plus demo charges,” Gabe responds. “Breach and clear, fast and violent.”

“Communications gear for everyone,” Rigel adds. “Redundant frequencies in case they jam primary channels.”

“Medical supplies?” Blake asks.

“Full trauma kit,” I respond. “We don’t know what condition they’ll be in.”

The words hang heavy between us. None of us want to think about what Malfor might have done to them, but tactical reality demands we prepare for worst-case scenarios.

“Equipment decontamination?” I voice the concern that’s been nagging at me.

“Mitzy’s working on a solution,” Sam responds. “Portable EMP units that won’t fry our electronics. Should have something ready before we deploy.”

“Should?” Walt looks up sharply.

“Will,” CJ corrects with granite certainty. “Mitzy doesn’t miss deadlines when lives are on the line.”

That’s reassuring. Mitzy’s track record speaks for itself. Everything about this mission is coming together exactly as we need it to.

“Training drills?” We can’t run mission-specific drills down here on the beach, but we also can’t let Malfor see what we’re preparing for.

“Cover operation,” Sam responds immediately. “We’ll run standard hostage rescue scenarios at Guardian HQ. Multiple facility types, various approach vectors. Make it look like we’re preparing for several possible targets.”

“Misdirection,” Blake nods approvingly. “Smart. Malfor sees us training for a dozen different scenarios; he won’t know which one is real.”

“If any of them,” Ethan adds. “For all he knows, it’s all routine training exercises.”

The deception makes tactical sense. Train for the skills we need while hiding the specific target. Let Malfor’s surveillance network see our preparation without revealing our true intentions.

“What’s the weather looking like?” Meteorological conditions can disrupt even the best-planned operations, and ocean weather changes rapidly.

“Clear skies. Light winds. Minimal wave action.” Mitzy looks up from her portable analysis station, where she’s been monitoring quantum signatures for signs of nanobot activity. “Perfect conditions for getting in there.”

The weather window aligns with everything else. We’ve got good intelligence, a sound tactical approach, and optimal timing. For the first time since Harrison’s betrayal, all the pieces are falling into place.

“How confident are we in this intel?” Ethan asks.

“Rock solid,” I answer without hesitation. “This intel came directly from Collins’s secure research facility. We’re not getting this secondhand or from questionable sources—we’re getting it straight from the inside of his operation.”

“Everything looks solid,” Sam responds, consulting data sheets that contain verification protocols.

“Facility seems well-suited for our approach,” I observe. The defensive weaknesses are exactly what we need to exploit for a successful infiltration.

“Remote location works in our favor,” CJ suggests. “Limited backup, restricted reinforcement capabilities.”

“And overconfidence,” Blake adds, reassembling his rifle with smooth efficiency. “Malfor thinks his island location makes him untouchable.”

Both explanations make tactical sense. Remote island locations can create complacency in defensive planning. Overconfidence is a documented weakness in high-profile targets who believe geography provides sufficient protection.

Collins approaches our planning area carrying an expensive thermal container.

Steam rises from the cup, carrying scents of premium coffee and barely controlled anticipation.

His silver hair is perfectly styled despite the beach environment, but dark circles under his eyes betray sleepless nights of paternal worry.

“Is the timeline locked in?” The question comes out sharp, eager. His free hand taps against his thigh—nervous energy that he’s trying to control.

“Insertion at 0300 hours tomorrow night,” Sam responds. “Gives us eighteen hours for intelligence verification plus training time. Facility penetration thirty minutes after insertion. Extraction window opens at 0400.”

Collins nods, anticipation radiating from him like heat from a fire. “So we’re ready to go tomorrow night.”

“After final verification,” Sam states. “Standard operational procedure. Confirm intelligence through secondary sources, then we execute.”

“How long for verification?” Collins asks.

“Twelve hours should be sufficient,” I estimate. “Satellite thermal imaging, communication intercepts, standard confirmation protocols.”

“Excellent,” Collins responds, satisfaction clear in his voice. “Finally, we’re moving forward.”

Nobody else speaks, but the energy around our planning area has shifted completely.

Charlie team has run operations like this before.

We know our roles, understand our objectives, and accept the risks involved in rescuing people we’d die to protect.

But more than that, we trust each other.

Trust that every man will do his job, watch his brother’s back, and bring everyone home.

This is what Charlie team looks like when we’re united. Men who’ve bled together, fought together, and survived impossible odds together. Each of us brings different skills to the mission, but we’re all committed to the same outcome.

Bringing our women home.