Page 99 of Boomer
Breakneck swore under his breath.
Skull’s hand hovered near Bones’ collar, but the dog had already gone tense, whimpering soft and low.
“They’re alive,” Kodiak added, more to himself now. “I don’t know how, but they’re alive.”
No one spoke after that.
Boomer’s hands tightened around the ladder rail.
They climbed.
Most of the resistance was on deck and holed up on the bridge. The operators, grim, lethal, hellbent, swept through with no hesitation. While the bridge was being taken, Taylor and her team breached the cargo hold in a triangle formation, expecting resistance.
What they found instead stopped them cold.
Cages. Dozens. Some welded shut, others latched with cheap padlocks. Girls. Boys. Two women. All silent. All staring like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.
Hazard’s voice broke on comms.
“Fuck. It’s a trafficking ship.”
Taylor didn’t answer at first. When she did, her voice was a whisper, steel beneath it. “Secure them. Medevac is incoming. Record everything. We’ll get to the top of this filthy organization before this mission is complete.”
Boomer moved first, bolt cutters out, hands shaking as he snapped steel, one lock at a time. Breakneck covered. Skull, Kodiak, and the SBS started pulling kids out with a gentleness Taylor had never seen from men that dangerous.
One little boy wouldn’t let go of Boomer’s neck.
They gave him ten minutes. That was all they could spare.
As the transport ship glided up to the hull, they left twenty-seven living souls, a hull full of horrors, and something in all of them cracked wide open.
As 0300 came and passed, the RHIBs were quiet on the ride back.
No one spoke.
Even Bash was subdued.
The ocean stretched black and silent around them, the first hints of gray bleeding into the eastern horizon. Salt and rot clung to their skin. Grief settled in their chests like waterlogged stone.
But the mission wasn’t over. Nine ships remained.
Somewhere out there,Málaga’s Reachwas still slipping through the dark.
As the RHIBs sliced through the pitch dark toward the Lisbon House docks, Taylor caught sight of Boomer, body hunched, eyes forward, hands flexing like they didn’t know how to let go.
But in the low churn of the waves, she felt the weight of him like an anchor. She crouched beside him, her fingers brushing his forearm. When he raised his head, she said quietly, “Come on. Let’s get some chow and a short respite before we get at it again.”
He nodded, and her throat tightened because the pain of what they’d just seen was etched into his face.
“You gave him the first taste of freedom and safety he’s had in a long time,” she murmured. “That’s going to stay with him.”
He didn’t answer. But the look in his eyes saideverything.
His unspoken thanks settled over her like a weight, one she didn’t mind carrying, as they stepped off the boat together.
They had thirty minutes. Just enough for a quick rinse, protein, coffee, and a new op brief.
Boomer sat at the long metal table, still wearing a towel around his neck, his food untouched. Taylor stood across from him, dressed down to her black undershirt, her hair pulled back into a tight knot. She passed him a sealed pouch and a look that said, eatit or I’ll make you.
