Hemingway grabbed a couple slices of pizza and some water, settling into a chair, but as soon as he leaned back, the sound of metal chains rattling against the door handles brought him upright. Then the room was on fire, smoke making it hard to breathe and to see.
He got up and called for Professor, making his way to the door. Pushing hard, he tried to get out, but someone pushed him down.
The doors were locked, and they were trapped.
13
As Shea had watched the weary, battered men move through the last evolutions of Hell Week, she began to get a bad, bad feeling. She hadn’t been able to get it out of her head how many of the men who were on her NWO list had DOR’d. In fact, those men would all be at the Special Activities Training unit. Their barracks were across from the chow hall.
BUD/S trainees were physically at their absolute low, and there were fewer of them to handle. It would be the optimum time to attack them as a whole.
She’d alerted Max, and they had driven over to the barracks. Her hunch was correct. None of the DOR’d trainees were where they were supposed to be.
That feeling got worse. “Max, where are the Hell Week candidates now?”
He looked at his watch. “Being bussed over to the First Phase classroom. We have a skeleton crew over there now. Most of the instructors would have left except Hal Cheezer who’s giving them all an atta boy.”
Shea pulled her weapon out from her waistband and checked the clip, then slamming it home with purpose.
“Damn, you think—”
“Yes. I think they’re going to attack now when the instructors are sparse, and the trainees are sleep-deprived and physically exhausted.” She pulled out her cell phone and contacted Mak. As soon as she answered, Shea explained her theory.
“You think this is happening now?”
“Yes, you, Griff, and Kai get here ASAP. Alert REACT and base security. Max and I are going over to the First Phase classroom. You know where that’s located?”
“Yes, near the grinder.”
“I’ll see you there.”
They got back into Shea’s car and drove over to the classroom. The bus was pulling away, and the students were inside. Shea parked, then she and Max rushed up to the grinder. She motioned for Max to stop and did a quick peek around the corner. Several armed men were standing at the entrance to the administrative offices.
Smoke was billowing out of the doors.
“Oh, God. Max, they’ve set the place on fire.”
“This is not our jurisdiction, but I don’t care. I’ve already texted the guys. They should be here any minute with—”
“Max,” Dodger came up to them in full tack. He handed Max a vest, his weapon, and Juggernaut’s leash. Pitbull, Fast Lane, 2-Stroke, Saint, and Dragon crowded around.
“What do we have,” Fast Lane said as Pitbull handed Max and Shea a headset.
“Approximately ten men, NWO, automatic weapons and the trainees and Instructor Cheezer are in the First Phase classroom.”
“Dragon and Saint go around the front, and on my mark, take down whoever is holding the door. The rest of you with me,” Fast Lane said. “We’ll give them time to get set, then we go.”
“Yes, sir,” Max said.
“LT,” Dragon’s voice came over the mike. “They’ve chained the door. We need a minute to cut it free.”
“Get it done and let me know.”
“Copy.” After a few minutes, Dragon keyed his radio. “It’s done. On your mark.”
“Clear the grinder and then breach the building. Take down anyone who stands in our way.”
“Go!” They entered the grinder. Breaking into two groups, they spread out. Max unleashed Jugs, and he took off at a run, attacking the first guy so that he couldn’t shoot at anyone. He screamed, but Jugs wouldn’t let him go. The haze was thick, the SEALs moving like ghosts. Shots sounded inside the building and Shea’s nerves drew taut. Hemingway. Please let him be all right. Let them all be okay.
Hemingway got up off the floor, making out Wilson in the haze. Wilson reached for a chair and turned toward the front of the room. Cheezer was face down on the linoleum, dazed and coughing, a gash across his forehead. The attack against one of his instructors pumped anger into his system, but he fought it. Blind anger would get him killed. Wilson raised the chair, getting ready to smash it against Cheezer’s skull.
Hemingway’s battered and exhausted body screamed for rest, but he dug down deep for whatever was left and rose, ramming into Wilson while coughing in the smoke. Wilson crashed into the wall, dropping the chair. He came up swinging, and Hemingway blocked the first two punches and slammed his fist into Wilson’s nose, hearing a satisfying crunch as blood splattered.
Damn, NWO was attacking the administration building.
Wilson howled and jumped at Hemingway, taking him down to the floor where they wrestled for control, punching and kicking until Wilson got the upper hand and pummeled Hemingway’s face, his lip splitting, the taste of blood in his mouth. Then Wilson set his hands around Hemingway’s neck and started to squeeze, cutting off his air.
Hemingway thrust up his hips and knocked Wilson off balance, using his arms to break the hold. Flipping Wilson onto his back, Hemingway landed two vicious blows to the face and Wilson was out.
Rising, Hemingway rushed to the door. He rattled it, but there was no getting it open with the unbreakable chains. He ran for a chair and smashed it through the window, venting the room, but feeding the fire that raged in the back. Then he heard the hammering and saw that plywood had been set over the broken window. Fuckers! Same with the other door.
He ran over to the outside window and used the same chair to smash it. But there were NWO just below the window with automatic weapons. They turned at the sound of breaking glass, pointed their weapons at him, and opened fire. Bullets thunked into the wall and ceiling.
Hemingway ducked, but at least some of the smoke cleared. Guys were coughing in the sheer pandemonium. Then Lane’s voice rose above the shouts and coughing.
“Everyone follow my voice and rally to me.”
That’s when they heard the automatic gunfire in the hall.
As the trainees made their way to Lane, he said to them all, “The best thing we can do is stay low out of the smoke.” Then he grabbed Hemingway’s sweatshirt and said, “Is there any way out?”
Hemingway coughed and said, “No, they were prepared and covered the door windows with plywood. Both doors are chained. There are armed men below the outside window. There’s no way out.”
“Fight the fire, then. Grab what you can and beat out the flames.”
Everyone started moving, and Hemingway took off his sweatshirt, approaching the flames. He started to swing at them, smothering them as best he could, the heat intense. His classmates started to help, and they made progress. Several of the NWO who had made it through Hell Week were all subdued.
He heard more gunfire and then sirens. Shea had to be out there. She was coming for him. Mad Max and the instructors would be coming for them. No way were they going to let these bastards attack the BUD/S compound without a fight.
They just had to hold on.
Mad Max held onto Jugs’s collar as the SEALs entered the administration building, the smell of smoke acrid in the air. The base fire team was lining up on the grinder, but they couldn’t let them in until all the NWO students were neutralized. REACT stormed into the grinder as well on the heels of Mak, Kai and one of their colleagues. The NWO students had trashed the helmets and the bell, pulling it down and stomping on it. They were trying to humiliate the SEALs for what they had done to Easton and the original NWO Compound. He gritted his teeth, anger washing through him.