Page 53 of Flint's Battle

Lewis lined up next, shaking his head once he’d had a look. “Color me impressed, O’Connell. All right. As discussed, Flint, I’ll go with you. Sam’s with Bowie and Luke with Carter. We’ll work our way inside — try to wrangle them without it turning into a bloodbath. Though, I doubt that’s how it’ll go down.”

Lewis twirled his finger in the air and the other men moved out. Flint paused to nod at his team, that prickling between his shoulder blades teasing his senses, again. Not quite a full-blown warning. More of a suggestion that something was off. Bowie gave him a light shove as he moved past, disappearing into the brush a moment later, Sam on his heels. And Flint had to admit, the other men were skilled. Looking as natural as Carter and Bowie as they vanished into the night.

Lewis met Flint on the driveway, then took off, winding his way down the pavement then across a field and onto the road below. The man headed straight for the parking lot, double checking each vehicle before making a dash to the right side of the main door. He barely waited for Flint to take his position on the left before he was palming the handle — darting inside.

Flint cursed, moving into position on Lewis’ six. Ensuring no one flanked them. They cleared their section of the main floor, then slowly picked their way over to the stairs. Voices echoed down from above. Not loud enough Flint could make out the words. More of a low din that held an almost ghostly quality to it.

They took up point, waiting for the others to arrive, when two men appeared at the top, pausing long enough to do a quick sweep of the area before slowly making their way down. Rifles notched into their shoulders. Night vision in place.

Bowie had been right. These guys were fully kitted out. Not that Flint and his crew weren’t wearing protection, but they’d opted for lighter vests in order to give them the most mobility. They wouldn’t take on multiple rounds from armor-piercing bullets, but the trade-off was worth it.

Flint lined up the lead guy, following his progression down the stairs. He could have eliminated him with a single trigger pull, but even with suppressors, the lingering report would have alerted the rest of the crew. Instead, he waited, staying low until the men reached the bottom and turned left.

That was his signal to move. A push off the wall and Flint was quick-stepping across the floor. Staying low. Rifle at the ready. A dart around the staircase and the men were in view. Backs facing him. Their attention focused straight ahead.

Half a dozen steps and Flint and Lewis were on them. Allowing their rifles to rotate to their sides as they seamlessly switched to their tasers. A quick lunge and a grab, and they had the men by the jaws — their heads turned off to one side. A press of the unit against their necks and the tangos were thrashing from the voltage, arcs of blue light glowing on their skin. Less than ten seconds, and the bastards were down, legs still jerking. Low moans sounding around them.

Flint dragged his guy off to the side, securing a piece of tape across his mouth before hogtying him with zap straps thentossing his weapons off to one side. Lewis followed suit, giving Flint a thumbs up before signaling back to the staircase. Flint moved in behind the other man, thankful when his teammates materialized out of the shadows. Both men moving like wraiths. They met at the bottom, Flint and Lewis taking point as Bowie, Sam, Luke and Carter started up.

The other men darted to either side once they’d reached the top, allowing Flint and Lewis to leg it up the stairs — move in beside them. A few hand signals and they were heading down the main corridor, pausing to clear every branching room before striking off, again. Heading for that same spot he and Emery had witnessed the flashlight beams that first night. What was likely the main staging area.

Only Flint knew the group would have more countermeasures in place tonight. Guards at the door. Blankets covering the windows. Maybe tripwires along the hallways. Flint wasn’t sure if they’d actually use explosives or if it would be more lights and sound, but it would ruin any chance at surprising the group.

Bowie held up his fist a moment later, pointing to the low cable strung across the corridor. That trap Flint had just been thinking about. His buddy took a minute to move it off to one side without activating it, then they were off, again. Closing in on the far junction. Carter and Luke went first, sweeping the adjoining corridor then taking a knee — setting up as sentries. Bowie and Sam followed, hoofing it to the next doorway before mimicking Carter. Waving Flint ahead.

The voices were clearer now, with a dim glow brightening the next bend. The last branch before the hallway ended, the final two doors branching off at the back. Flint stopped near the junction, waiting for his crew to get into position, when three men rounded the corner.

No time to backtrack or slip into a room. Instead, Flint engaged, catching the first guy in the face with the butt of his rifle, while kicking the next back — giving himself a bit of room to move. A quick pull of the trigger and the tangos were down. A mist painted across the far wall.

Bowie and Carter rushed forward, dragging the two men back as Flint kicked the one still breathing. Knocking the guy out. The voices cut off, that glow winking out as something clattered to the ground in the distance.

Not exactly how Flint had hoped the first phase of their op would go, but adapting was always a bitch.

A wave to Bowie and Carter, and the three of them were up and quick-stepping down the hall, rifles notched. Senses honed. A couple guys popped out to check the corridor then dropped, the low echo of Flint’s rifle ringing through the air.

That got everyone hustling. Footsteps pounding in the other room. Flint and his buddies hit the doorway in full formation, a series of controlled bursts scattering anyone not already taking cover. Dropping another two.

Having a canister click across the floor a second later, twirling to a stop a few feet in front of them hadn’t been part of the plan. Put them on the defensive. A few rolling dives and they were crouched behind some overturned tables — doing their best to cover their ears as the grenade erupted into a fiery blast of light and sound. The sheer force of the flash bang rattling the windows.

Smoke billowed through the room, the lingering shrill ringing in the air. Flint fought through the initial roil of his stomach, trusting all those years of dynamic entries to get him back on his feet and moving. Bowie and Carter tripped in beside him, shaky but standing, when shots sounded behind them.

They spun, Carter watching their six, as they made their way back to the door, cursing when an onslaught of bullets whizzedthrough the air, a few hitting the wall beside them. Flint scanned the hallway. Lewis, Sam and Luke had retreated to the end of the corridor, all three of them tucked into a small doorway. What was likely a closet since they weren’t trying to bust inside. But there wasn’t enough cover to keep them all breathing for long.

Bowie took the initiative, stepping out amidst the gunfire and capping the tango closest to him. Bowie took a round to the vest, knocking him against the wall, but it got the other bastards moving — their footsteps pounding toward the stairs.

Carter charged out, laying down cover fire as Flint grabbed Bowie and pulled him back inside the room. Giving him a quick once-over. He’d be bruised and sore, but nothing lethal. Which meant, they were pressing on.

A nod and a tap, and Flint was at the threshold, falling in behind Lewis’ crew when the men ran past. They looked rattled and unsteady, but at least they were moving. They hit the landing at a decent clip, getting halfway down before the remaining tangos opened fire.

Flint palmed the railing, vaulting up and over — dropping to the floor a couple seconds later. He rolled to soften the impact, rising to his feet already firing. Several shadows moved along the far wall, a couple jerking backwards, then crumpling.

Had the group called in backup? Or had another vehicle arrived while Flint’s team had been inside? Unlikely with Quinn providing overwatch. But there were definitely more men still standing than there should have been with how many they’d eliminated.

He pressed his side into the staircase, glancing at where he and Lewis had tied up those first two tangos. Finding the area empty had that pressure building between his shoulder blades. That voice in his head screaming. He rounded the barrier, mapping out where the other men were. Cursing when Lewisreached the other side of the room with Sam before spinning — aiming at Flint’s team.

That got Flint sprinting. Zero to ballistic in two seconds flat. Bowling Bowie and Carter to the ground as the first few bullets whizzed past, one catching him in the side. The vest held but the force knocked him back — made it hard to suck in any air until his muscles relaxed. Cleared the dots scattering across his vision.

Luke landed beside them, two hits to his vest making him wheeze. He managed to roll onto his back as Carter laid down more cover fire, dragging Luke into a small alcove. The guy waved Carter off, eyes wide. Mouth pursed into a grimace. Looking more than pissed.

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