Ben addressed the men, his voice not loud and still commanding.“This is a hostage rescue.One woman captive.We have an active shooter situation.Two armed Tangos that we know of.Could be more.Inside we’ll confront virtual simulations and other distractions.Even I don’t know what waits for us because Rio has designed this exercise to mimic a real-world mission.We locate the shooters, eliminate the threat, and grab our hostage.”
One by one, the men lined up at the door.
“Franklin,” Ben said, “you’re on point.”
Franklin nodded.
Beside Sarah, Stevens shifted in his seat.“See how they’re standing close together?”he whispered, rubbing his hands together.“That’s called stacking up.On Ben’s command, they’ll pour inside and clear each room.This is urban assault training at its best.Everything is computerized.Watch.”
She heard Ben give a muttered order to flip their night vision goggles down over their eyes, and the tactile team pushed inside.
Sarah glued her eyes to the screen and Simmons said, “Here we go.”
On the monitor, four white glowing and moving figures came into view.The first, given his size, must have been Franklin.He peeled off to the right and took a knee, the second went left and remained standing.The third and fourth quickly followed, their weapons covering their assigned firing sectors.Sarah could hear their booted feet on the hard packed dirt floor, heard Ben’s terse, “Clear.”
As though leaching through the air, their tension affected her.She felt their hyper alert attention and amped up energy.A compelling scene was about to unfold and she could not look away.Because she saw Ben go in last, she knew he was the fourth man.But she would have recognized him anyway by his smooth, efficient movements, his watchful demeanor, even by the unique set of his broad shoulders.She felt a strange connection to him, and it seemed as though she were in the shoot house, right beside him.Her breathing quickened.
The men kept moving.
In the next room, on the wall an image suddenly burst to life.A hologram of an armed jihadi.He wore a turban and was dressed in the traditionaldishdasha, an ankle-length Arab robe-like garment.He held a pointed rifle.The projection was lifelike, the man’s posture threatening.Sarah caught her breath.
Instantly, two of the squad fired and the image winked out.
Moving stealthily as a single unit, the men kept tightly together and rounded a corner.A new image popped up, this time of a woman holding a swaddled infant.Her mouth was formed into a surprised and frightened ‘O’.She wore western clothing—a floral dress and ballet flats.No shots were fired.“Clear,”Ben said.
They began to move on.
Abruptly, the young mother changed.She’d thrown off her baby’s blanket to reveal, instead of an infant, an AK-47 rifle.Her features transformed into a snarl of rage.She aimed her rifle at them.Sarah couldn’t believe how fast theinnocentbecame acombatant.
In a flash, Ben raised his weapon and fired.
She disappeared.
Thoroughly fascinated, Sarah watched Ben direct his men with careful authority and quiet skill.This was his turf, his comfort zone.A tingle ran up her spine.He was magnificent.He was both at ease in this environment ...and lethal.
She remembered him slamming the rude paparazzi into her truck, the same man now leading his team in a life-and-death mission.Yet in her mind she juxtaposed the rough warrior with the incredibly tender Ben who’d kissed her, held her with such care.He intrigued her, this man with many personality facets and yes, fighting skills.
In the next three minutes, the team climbed metal stairs, ‘killed’ a combatant on the landing, discovered a lifelike dummy, the hostage, and carried it back downstairs.
Nearing the bottom of the stairs, apparently seeing something amiss, Ben held up a closed fist, the universal signal to stop.All the men froze.
Franklin peered around the corner, apparently saw nothing, and gave a thumbs up.
Ben reached out and gave Franklin a shoulder squeeze, silently indicating they should move.
On the bottom floor, suddenly an unexpected threat loomed.Violently swinging down from the rafters, a dummy on a rope came hurtling at them.
“Whoa,” Stevens exclaimed beside Sarah.“Where’d that come from?”
Springing out of the way, Ben fired a short burst from his rifle and eliminated the final threat.Shells from his rifle popped onto the floor.
Sarah could swear she smelled gun smoke.
The exercise was over.With shouts of exhilaration, knuckle bumps and high fives, the team burst into the sunshine.
Sharing their excitement, Sarah leaped out of her chair, joined by Stevens and met them outside the hut.
Ben took off his helmet and congratulated his new men.“A fine performance,” he told them.“Well done.”
