Page 53 of Boomer
Boomer shook his head, the smile tugging at his mouth completely involuntary. They finished gearing up without a word, plate carriers on, weapons ready, silencers attached. Taylor checked her comms, then tapped his shoulder. Just once. The brush of her fingers set every nerve inside him alight.
She keyed her mic. “Red team getting into position. Tag planted. No contact.”
Then Breakneck’s voice came through the comms, clean and sharp, “Break here. Overwatch set. Nest is solid. Clear visuals on mezz upper left.”
Bash followed, clipped and dry, “Eyes on high right. No movement. Door is dark.”
Anotherclick. Lockhart, curt and cool, “Main team stacked. Forge on breach. Timer’s ticking.”
He gave her a nod. “Ready?”
“Let’s secure the rear.”
They moved fast.
Low run to the access door.
9
Boomer pressedhis back against the wall, the coarse concrete cool against his spine. He glanced at Taylor. She gave him a nod, unslinging the breaching tool from her back—a collapsible fiberglass pole with a window rake and punch on either end. She handed him a flash-bang, then gestured to the window, her fingers brushing his wrist.
Just a touch.
But he felt it. The same way he felt her presence behind every breath.
They were different now.
Eight hours ago, she’d shattered in his arms. Now she was steel again, but he knew what was beneath that forged shell. Knew because she’d shown him. Somehow, that made her even stronger.
Boomer turned to the wall, weapon slung as he stepped up into position. Taylor braced beside him, rifle up to cover him. She gave a final nod.
He pulled the long break-and-rake tool from his back, a long shaft with a handle on one end, and on the other a serrated edge with a hook to remove blinds, but in this case, there were none.Boomer keyed the mic, voice low. “Secondary ingress set on your mark.”
Over comms, Forge's voice crackled. “Stack’s set.”
“Copy,”Iceman said. “Execute, execute, execute.”
Boom!
The front door erupted.
Gunfire shattered the quiet.
Comms exploded as he broke the glass in rapid strikes, one to fracture, one to rake, one to clear. The sound was sharp but covered by the noise up front and contained in the metal rib of the alley.
Forge’s voice came, terse and controlled. “Contact front. Multiple tangos! Heavy fire, upper catwalk.”
Breakneck calm, cool, composed said, “They’re using shadow cover—can’t get a clean bead?—”
Bash chimed in, “There’s your .50 cal. Right where I said. Muzzle flashes from behind crate stack, mezz high!”
Boomer dropped the tool, reached up, pulled himself through the opening in a fluid motion, rolled, and landed on the interior platform. His rifle swept the room, dark shapes, and crates. They entered into darkness, but his NVGs illuminated everything. The area was open, fed by several doors, one leading to the front and the main team.
Immediately the air shifted, hotter, heavier. The stench of acetone, cleaning solvent, plastic resin. Somewhere nearby, somethinghissed.
They moved as one, clearing corners, marking movement zones, checking for traps. Everything was still.
Boomer’s blood snapped cold at the deepthud-thud-thudof the .50 caliber cutting through the air, shredding everything in its wake. He had confidence in not only his team but the Brits and both their leaders. This fight was going to be over fast.
