Dodger started to swear, and Saint surged forward, but Max grabbed onto his tack vest and held him back.
“Stay calm,” Fast Lane ordered. “I know. This is sacred ground to us, but we’re not going to lose anyone over a bell and helmets. They’re symbols, and symbols cannot be destroyed. Pull it together.” His teammates visibly reined themselves in. “Max, send in Jugs. Then follow on his heels and take those bastards out.”
He released Jugs and the dog took off. The SEALs started to move just as 2-Stroke said, “Front of the building is secure, two terrorists down inside and two outside. Dragon’s using his bolt cutters on the door. We can get some of them out a broken window outside though.”
“Do it!” Fast Lane said. “Pitbull, go help him.”
“Copy that, LT,” Pitbull said as he disappeared.
They had taken down three of the terrorists out on the grinder. “That leaves three more, LT,” Max said.
“Copy.”
Max could hear the growling and screaming before he came around the corner and saw that one of the terrorists was down. The dog was keeping his weapon neutralized, but another terrorist was taking a bead on Jugs. Max pulled off two shots and the guy went down. The third one started running, but Dodger was already on him, tackling him to the ground.
“Bolt cutters,” Fast Lane called as he headed for the chained door. Saint pulled his out and handed them to LT. He cut the chains on the door. They pried off the plywood and cut the ones on the inside and opened it.
“Everyone out!” he shouted into the room as they filed out the door.
Dodger stood there funneling people out of the room until Hemingway, supporting Cheezer, came out. “Mate! You had me worried.”
Hemingway grinned. “Aw, I’m touched.” He coughed as Dodger shouldered the burden on the other side of Cheezer, and they limped down the hall. As he passed, Max clapped his shoulder and Hemingway nodded.
“Wilson and his flunkies are inside. We secured them with our shoelaces.”
“The candidates?”
“Lane rallied us, and we almost got the fire out.”
“No. He’s asking if everyone is all right,” Fast Lane growled.
“Oh. Ha! Yeah, everyone is fine. We all made it.”
“Good work. You look like hell. Get some medical attention.”
“Hoo-yah,” Hemingway said, and Cheezer, half-conscious, mumbled the saying, “A SEAL is never out of the fight.”
“Hemingway!” Shea barreled toward him, and Max could see what the two of them probably wouldn’t acknowledge. Shea wrapped her arms around his neck as he gave over the full burden of Cheezer to Dodger. She supported him as the two of them disappeared down the hall.
“We’re going to draft that kid, right?” Max turned to look at Fast Lane.
He released a soft laugh. “Why don’t we see if he makes it through the rest of the way,” Fast Lane said with a twinkle in his eye.
He’ll make it. Max crouched down and rubbed Jugs’s ears. “Looks like we have ourselves a fucking new guy.”
Shea didn’t want to let him go, but when they got to the ambulance, she had to so he could get treatment. They gave him oxygen and checked him over. She waited patiently for him to be done as Mak, Kai and Griff marched the surviving NWO to waiting ambulances in cuffs. Wilson’s face was a mess and the other two had been wounded. Looked like Manning also survived and the third guy was Douglas Iverson. He’d DOR’d early, but like the others, he’d lost someone during 9/11. His uncle had been killed in the Pentagon. She was surprised to see someone with such a military influence in his family turning on the armed services.
Maybe it was an angle she could use during the interrogations.
Hemingway slipped off the back of the ambulance and came up to her. “Hi, babe. They wanted to admit me because I looked like hell, but I told them that I look like hell because I’d just been through Hell Week. I promised them I would sleep and drink plenty of fluids.”
“Are you going to stay here? I’ve got to go.”
“I understand. Yeah, Fast Lane’s team is going to patrol and watch over us. I might be asleep for a long time.”
“That’s okay. You deserve the rest. You’ve got to be back at it on Monday. We’ll talk when you wake up. Sleep well.”
She caught him at his nape and kissed him softly.
“I’ll take it from here, ma’am,” a deep voice interrupted them.
“This is Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham,” Hemingway said with a grin.
“At your service, ma’am,” he said with a British accent. “Rest assured we will protect the candidates with our lives.”
“Stop being so dramatic.”
“No,” she said, giving Hemingway a tender look. “I expect nothing less, Mr. Graham.”
“Call me Dodger, ma’am. I’ll take good care of him.” He slipped his shoulder under Hemingway’s arm and walked him toward the BUD/S barracks.
As soon as the prisoners were tended to, they were taken to the Woodshed. Shea arrived shortly after they did. Inside they had been separated into three different small rooms.
“Wilson is mine,” Shea said.
Mak caught her arm. “Take it easy. We know how you feel but kicking his ass won’t make him talk.”
“Might make me feel better,” Shea said.
“Oh, I like her,” Griff said.
“You go with her and try to keep her from hurting him too badly,” Mak said with a grin. “Behave.”
“If you insist,” Griff said.
As soon as she stepped in the door, Wilson’s normal scowl set firmly in place. His face was battered, several butterflies hastily applied on some of the gashes.
“The photographer lady. What the hell is this?”
“I’m not a photographer. I’m an NCIS agent, and I was undercover. We found your secret base and took out whoever was left. Your NWO rebellion is over.”
“You know nothing.”
She marched up to him. “I know this.” She leaned down and got into his face. “You chose to strike at them when they were at their lowest, most spent moment. You didn’t expect them to fight back but fight back they did. I know that you’re all cowards, and you’re going to prison for a very long time.”
“You were the one who saved them.”
She slammed her hand down on the table, and he jerked back. “Damn right I did. It didn’t occur to me why so many of your hardcore terrorist friends were DORing like wimps.” His scowl deepened. “Then it dawned on me. You needed your guys fresh when the trainees were barely holding on.”
“It would have worked. We would have killed them all, burned their compound just like you decimated ours, trashed their lame bell and helmets.”
She shoved the palm of her hand into his chest and then flipped the chair onto its back. The oof sound he made was more than satisfying.
“Whoa, wildcat,” Griff said, steering her to the seat across from Wilson.
“If it wasn’t for you catching on, there would have been no fucking graduating class!” he yelled. Griff helped him to stand and righted his chair, forcing him back into it as he tried to throw Griff off. “You better watch your back, bitch.”