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Chapter One

It was dawn when the Canadian CH-146 Griffon lifted off from a forward operating base, dropped its nose, and accelerated east across a sweeping beach on the Australian east coast. Two identical choppers trailed it on either side. All three birds were tac-loaded, doors back, fast-rope frames fixed, and compartments packed with Alpha personality operators from four different countries.

Petty Officer Mike Saunders, a blue-eyed, chisel-jawed US Navy SEAL, sat alongside the aircraft’s loadmaster. Like the rest of his team, he wore combat fatigues under a heavily loaded plate carrier, his hands gloved, and a high-cut ballistic helmet strapped under his chin. He glanced sideways at his team leader, TJ Lines, a craggy veteran SEAL chief, and saw he was studying the tactical tablet attached to the front of his body armor, checking the mission details. Alongside him, a compact Latino, Petty Officer ‘Ernie’ Ernesto, was resting with his eyes closed, his carbine between his knees. The final member of their team, Petty Officer Rick Anderson, a hulking black SEAL, sat opposite Mike. The other four-man team on the aircraft was Canadian. Commanded by a burly, bearded warrant officer, they wore equipment that mirrored their allies’.

“Two minutes,” screamed the loadmaster over the roar of the engines and wind. He held up two gloved fingers.

Instinctively, Mike dropped his hand to his leg to check Axe’s harness and reassure the military working dog. His glove found no resistance, and his heart lurched. For a split second, he’d forgotten that his oppo was no longer with him. Axe, the SEAL team’s working dog, had retired and was home watching over his wife and son.

“Greenlight, greenlight, mission is a go,” TJ barked over their internal comms channel, snapping Mike out of his thoughts.

He unsnapped his retention strop and rose from his seat, grasping the frame bolted to the roof of the chopper. He positioned himself behind the rope coiled on the deck and eyeballed the loadmaster.

Moments later, a thumbs-up confirmed they were over the target. He kicked the rope clear, grasped it with both hands, stepped out under the rotor wash, wrapped his legs around it, and slid toward the deck of the merchant ship below.

Thirty feet of thick nylon rope slid through his hands, heating his gloves before he touched down with a thump. Moving from the rope, he unslung his weapon and positioned himself at the corner of a shipping container. Beneath his feet, the deck of the ship rolled gently as it churned through rough seas.

Moments later, the rest of his SEAL team was down and had joined him on the deck of the merchant ship. Fanning out, they established all-around security.

“Insertion point secure,” reported TJ over the radio, prompting the Canadians to fast-rope after them.

Their mission was to clear the merchant ship of enemy combatants and secure a possible dirty bomb. Mike’s team was tasked with securing the bridge and seizing control of the vessel. The Canadians and a follow-on force of Japanese and Australians would search the boat, find the device, and render it safe. All this was occurring under the watchful eye of snipers on one of the circling choppers.

“Mike, let’s get moving,” ordered TJ.

Usually, Axe would lead the team forward. His keen senses detected any threat long before Mike. But, without a dog on the team, it was back to the Mark 1 eyeball to provide their early warning.

Having landed at the bow, the teams had split the ship in half. Mike and his fellow SEALs were working down the right-hand side toward the bridge. The Canadians were clearing the left, moving toward the point that would give them access to the hull and allow the Aussies and Japanese to search for the device.

“Alpha Call Signs, this is Sierra One, zero hostiles identified on the port side of the target,” a sniper reported over the radio.

Mike took note of the call as he moved cautiously forward with Ernie off his right shoulder. They descended a short series of stairs onto the narrow walkway that led to the stern. As he stepped off the bottom rung, he caught movement in his peripheral vision. A paint projectile slapped the bulkhead inches from his face as he swiveled toward the threat and tapped the trigger of his carbine.

“Moving,” declared Ernie, pushing past Mike and taking a position against a ventilation stack. “Covering,” he added as he commenced firing.

TJ and Rick surged forward, adding their weapons to the mix as Mike moved past Ernie.

The gunman didn’t stand a chance. An AK clattered to the deck as the SEALs efficiently overran his position.

“Tango down. Single shooter armed with an AK,” reported TJ. “Continuing assault.”

“Close one, Mike,” said Ernie as they stepped off. “Axe wouldn’t have let him slip through.”

“Don’t I know it,” replied Mike.

Their progress along the rest of the ship was swift and unopposed. Mike paused at the hatch at the bottom of the superstructure as the team assembled. The door was open, and he’d seen at least one figure disappear inside.

“Alpha has reached the breach point,” reported TJ.

“Cleared to make entry,” came the reply.

TJ slapped Mike’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Five floors separated the deck from the bridge. On a ship that meant four steep flights of stairs that needed to be cleared. This was where Axe would have earned his keep. The fur missile was deadly in the enclosed environment and could disarm a terrorist in a split second. Without him, and despite the rest of the team, Mike felt exposed and alone.

Stepping inside, he aimed his weapon along a dimly lit corridor. He waited for Ernie to bump up alongside before heading up the stairs, his weapon held high to cover them. His heart pumped as he climbed. At each landing, he waited for the rest of the team before heading up another flight.

By the time they reached the bridge level, they still hadn’t encountered another hostile. Bravo team, the Canadians, had fought their way through multiple tangos to gain access to the hull.