“The lookout is yours.” Grif immediately offered. “Take as long as you need.”
“Thanks.” Axel glanced briefly at Castello, then shook his head and walked away.
***
Castello pinched his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and squeezed hard. This shit right here was why he sucked at relationships. He was a damn idiot to think he wanted one.Dumbass.He gave himself a second to lock everything down, shove it into the mental box he kept in his head, and lock it away. Right now, he had a job to do, and if he had any chance of making things right with Axel then it was one that he had to complete with a fucking happy ever after.
“This is a no fail mission.” Castello laid it out there. “Above all else we have to bring back Krystal, Mikey and the other kid alive.”
“Aye, Sir.” Zack immediately confirmed, his Navy response causing automatic insults and mutterings from the Deltas in the room. While the rivalry between the military branches may be obvious here in this war room as they planned their mission, once they were at go time, and they had spent four or five hours trekking across primitive jungle trails to get to the compound where they believed the hostages, or rather the prisoners, were
being held, all of that would disappear.
Castello wasn’t worried about Zack taking shit from the Deltas. He was tough as nails. He loved what he did. Castello firmly believed that if Zack could spend the rest of his life rescuing hostages and taking out the tangos of his world, he would. It was one of the many reasons he had recruited the man for his team. Branch didn’t matter shit when you were running toward the gunfire. Having someone who fought like a demon at your side did. What all the men in this room, right here, right now, shared was brotherhood. A camaraderie could not be replicated anyplace else in the world except among the men and women who served in Special Forces.
“Let’s get planning.”
“Yes, Boss.”
***
They had a plan, maps, coordinates, satellite images, all would carry heavily packed rucks and wear Kevlar vests and helmets. All the gear they would wear in the Middle East if they were going to engage in a direct-action mission. Ball caps with radio comms units, and light kits, would give them faster movement toward their target objective but meant they would have less equipment available should they need it.
Cartel country = shit-zone.Cas knew this to be true, and while their intel told them Krystal was taking refuge in a convent, all that meant was the nuns were also in danger. It did not mean El Mencho’s men didn’t know where she was. He didn’t dare plan for a quick snatch and grab mission.
Nope, harsh reality was he knew better than to hope for the best and planned for a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
Castello sat taping up most of the chem light, leaving the far end open so that he could use it like a pen light. If he needed it for a helicopter extraction, then he would pull the tape off or break a new one without tape. He glanced around the room where the guys were gearing up. All were armed to the teeth.
Castello adjusted the foam shoulder pads on his Sniper chest rack, a harness that held fifteen pockets worn around his chest and waist. He freaking loved that Rock had a better arsenal than he usually had access to.
The vest held a maximum load of ammo for his M-4 rifle, where he could easily reach it. Castello zipped the front of the chest rack, checking the fit. It needed to be right; tugging on the strap, he moved and adjusted it until the weight of ammo, Med gear, and all the other useful stuff he’d learned to carry
over the years, felt balanced. Civilians did a weird ‘new jeans squat’ to check the fit of a new pair of denims. Operators like him did the ‘chest rack shuffle’
if they didn’t want it “digging” in, and either restricting their movement or their shoulders going numb.
His guys knew they were probably going into a firefight, he could see it in the automatic movements of their hands, the way they whispered quietly to each other.
“You okay, Boss?” Sawyer handed Castello some extra ammo to stash in his tactical assault pack for him. Sawyer was the radio man. That meant a lot of space in his pack was taken up by communication gear, giving him less room for other mission-required items. Castello and other members of the team would carry the items Sawyer didn’t have room for in his pack.
“Yup.” Castello stashed the ammo and went back to focusing on their mission plan in his head, running through the stages.
“You’re not going to tell him we are leaving,” Sawyer raised his arm to look at the time stamp on his Garmin Foretrex 401 Waterproof GPS unit, “In about ten minutes, are you?”
“He’ll figure it out when the birds take off.”
“Dick move, Boss,” Sawyer was never afraid to tell Castello what he thought. He’d grown up with Hawk as his older brother, that pretty much cured him of any fear he may have had. “Just saying,” he tagged on to the end when Castello raised one eyebrow and scowled at him. Fear he may not have, but respect, that was one thing his momma had made sure he did have.
“Noted.” Castello was done, ready to roll. Around him zippers rasped as rucks were closed.
“Comms check.” Cade’s voice came over the communications device attached to his left shoulder. This is what he needed, he could not afford to think of who their hostage or prisoner was to Axel. Nope, today Krystal Shaw was a package. She was to be rescued along with her son and the other kid with her. As of yet, it was unknown if it was her kid or someone else’s.
Castello needed his focus, losing it meant mistakes. That could not happen.
“Five minutes.”
“Roger.” Cas thought that was Steele’s voice doing the countdown to go time. “Move to Landing Zone.”
