Too much time had passed ruminating over worthless what ifs with her and Fuse. She needed to get back to reality and her life after this all ended.
Until the raid and arrests at Fuse’s house, she’d thought the nightmare might continue forever. Now she told herself it was a matter of days before her move back to Phoenix. First though, she’d make a trip to D.C. to visit her parents.
Her excitement about working for Senator Holden had lessened with each passing day, the dream of teaching rising from the ashes of her past. Whenever Brittany thought about helping kids reach their goals, the more her eagerness grew.
Jotting down notes, she wanted to clarify her plans before talking to her parents. She had to have her thoughts in order before dumping her new future on them. Brittany had a master’s degree, and about a year into a doctoral degree before deciding to take a break from formal learning.
An hour passed as she reduced her dreams to writing, each sentence bringing her closer to a final decision. This time, no one would dissuade her from pursuing what meant the most to her.
Not her parents. Not her boss. And certainly not her own fear of failing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Where’s Brittany?” Gunner glanced at Fuse from his spot in the office. Fifteen minutes before go time, the two, plus Mitch and Deke, waited for word from Wrath.
“Downstairs in the gym.”
“At midnight?” Gunner asked.
Fuse shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. She’ll work out until exhausted. I’ll check on her in a while, after we have a report from Wrath.”
“Nice of her to make dinner for everyone. Not a bad cook, either. She might be a keeper, Fuse.” Deke’s lips twisted into a grin.
Not disputing it, Fuse adjusted his earpiece. They’d done a comms check before Brittany went downstairs, allowing them to keep updated on the progress of both teams.
“Five minutes,” Mitch updated them. “Wish I were with them.”
“We all do,” Deke responded.
“Not me. Sitting in a beautiful home, a full belly, and good company works for me.” Gunner patted his stomach.
“Rock. Ghost. Report.” Wrath’s voice came over the comms, causing the four to sit up, their features turning serious.
“Red team is set,” Rock reported from his position near the Night Devils clubhouse.
“Blue team set, Prez,” Ghost responded. His team had positioned themselves not far from a modern house several miles north of Liberty Lake. Secluded in several acres of thick pines, they’d breached the fence without incident, surprised at the lack of outside guards.
“Roger. Hold your positions and wait for my signal.”
Several minutes ticked by before Wrath spoke again. “Fire only after you’ve been fired upon. Repeat. Target must fire first.”
“Check,” Ghost and Rock said at the same time.
“To confirm, this is not a body snatch, gentlemen. You’re there for a DA op to destroy our targets.” Direct action missions were a strength of Navy SEALs involving their specialized skills to seize, destroy, capture, exploit, recover, or damage the target.
“On my count, gentlemen. Three…two…one. Go! Go! Go!”
There were no visuals of the action at either location showing the two teams advancing on their targets.
Rock’s red team moved to within one-hundred-seventy yards of their targets. “Wrangler. Communicate our presence.”
Raising the blow horn, he brought it to his mouth. “Attention, Night Devils. Come out with your hands up. If you have weapons, leave them on the floor. Repeat. Exit the building with your hands raised.”
Before Wrangler could lower the horn, shots whizzed out through the windows. None got close, but the Devils had inadvertently sealed their fate.
“Bas. Raider. Ready your weapons,” Rock called through his comm unit.
Each lifted an M320A1 grenade launcher, resting them on their shoulders. Admiral Grayson had obtained several of the newly fielded Marine weapons for the Brethren.
“Wrangler. One more time.”
“Roger that, Rock.” Again, he lifted the blow horn. “Night Devils. This is your last chance to come out with your hands up. Repeat. Surrender or prepare for the consequences.”
The same as before, bullets hit the ground, none coming close to any of the Brethren.
“Bas. Raider. On my count. Three…two…one. Deploy.”
Not three seconds passed before the two grenades slammed through windows from the front and side.
“One more round.”
“Roger that,” Bas and Raider answered in unison.
Again, two grenades breached the clubhouse. Ear-piercing screams came from the inside. Smoke spewed upward, flames taking shape inside.
Rock touched his earpiece. “Ready your weapons.” Waiting, he began to wonder if all the men planned to take their chances inside.
“They’re coming out the east door.” Wrangler’s voice came across the comm units.
Those escaping still held their weapons, bringing them up to fire indiscriminately into the night.
“Finish this,” Rock ordered. He raised his weapon, aimed, and fired.
The sound of M4A1 assault rifles discharging hit his ears. Gut clenching, sweat beaded on his forehead, but he continued to pick out targets and eliminate them.
Rock reminded himself of all the pain the Devils had caused—the people they’d killed in cold blood, the human trafficking, and drug smuggling. In his mind, he accepted they were evil to their core. The world would be better off without them.
Several minutes passed before the firing stopped. Lowering his weapon, Rock adjusted his night vision goggles, scanning the area. Other than the sound of flames crackling, the area had gone eerily silent. Time to survey the area and report to Wrath.
Fifty miles north, Ghost and his team moved through the lush landscape of the property where Viktor and his men were holed up. Tracker continued forward to recon the house, stunned to find the windows open, Russian accents streaming outside.
“Cocky sonsofbitches left the windows open,” Tracker reported through his comm. “Confirm our targets are inside.”
“Roger. Get your ass back here,” Ghost replied. “Moses. Let the targets know the welcoming committee is here.”
The same as Wrangler on Rock’s team, Moses lifted the blow horn. “Viktor Gelonkin. You and your men are under arrest. Leave your weapons behind and exit the building with your hands raised.”
The words had just left his mouth when two men emerged through the front door, firing in their general direction.
The instant Tracker reached them, Ghost ordered Fargo and Chaos to shoulder their M320A1 grenade launchers.
“Fire when ready.”
The first two grenades slid through the open windows, exploding inside.
“Once more,” Ghost ordered.
Fargo and Chaos repeated the action, satisfaction rolling through both when the grenades hit their targets.
Two more Russians joined the first two, firing indiscriminately.
“The range is open,” Ghost boomed through the comm unit. In seconds, the men raised their rifles, picking off one man after another.
“This is almost too easy, Ghost.” Iggy, the last man on the blue team, fired again.