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“No problems,” said Jenny.

“Yeah, tell us where you need us and what to do,” added Ali.

As she took them through her setup, Mike, Rick, and TJ went over their gear. They checked their comms, vests, weapons and Axe’s battle harness.

“You taking the old dog into the fight?” asked Rick.

“Bro, TJ can hear you,” said Mike.

Their team leader’s eyes narrowed. “Very funny, just remember who, once again, has had to get out of bed at some ungodly hour to clean up your mess.”

“That’s why you’re the top dog, not the old dog,” said Mike.

A yell from the hangar door interrupted the conversation. Two figures laden with gear bags stood in the opening.

“Guys, over here,” yelled TJ. “This is the rest of our team,” he said to Mike and Rick.

As the pair approached, Mike recognized the Canadian operator he’d rescued off the coast of Australia. “Gar, I thought you’d retired,” he said, grasping the man’s hand.

“Well, retired in that I’m not with the JTF anymore. But I keep my hand in. Gentlemen, I want to introduce you to Bianca. She’s also former JTF.”

Blonde, muscular, with stern features, the woman oozed lethality. She looked as if she’d stepped straight from the pages of a spy thriller. She placed her gear on the hangar floor; a pack and a black weapon sleeve.

“Welcome to the team,” said TJ. “We’re going to need your skills on this one.”

“Not a problem,” she replied in a heavy French-Canadian accent. “When Gar called me up and told me what had happened, there was no way I could sit it out.” She knelt, waited for Axe to approach, then stroked his ears. “We’re going to get your lady and babies back, big guy.”

Axe licked her face, almost in appreciation of her commitment.

“OK,” said TJ. “Mike and Rick are on point for this one. Gar and I will run as the second pair with Bianca in overwatch from the chopper. Deb will run the Op, with support from the girls here. She’s going to give us an intel briefing once we’ve sorted our kit.”

“Sounds good,” said Gar.

“What are you running?” Rick asked Bianca.

She unzipped her gun case. “Seekins Precision SP10 in 7.62. This thing is a rail gun. Shoots half-inch MOA all day long.”

“You mind?” Rick asked.

“Go for it.”

He hefted the heavy weapon from the case and tucked it into his shoulder. “Nice. So how long were you in the JTF?”

“Five years on team,” replied Bianca.

“Always a sniper?” He returned the rifle.

“No, everyone starts as an assaulter. You get to specialize after you’ve spent some time on the teams. How about you?”

“Similar story, although I’m a corpsman. Been on team for seven years.”

“OK,” interrupted TJ. “Let’s get this briefing underway. Mike, can you grab the aircrew?”

The team gathered around Deb’s command post, where the girls had set up a collapsible digital screen. On it was an image of a small, rusty freighter, the Ocean Dancer. “People,” Deb stated. “This is our target. She’s a Panama-flagged bulk freighter of thirty thousand tons with a crew of ten to fifteen. We know there are at least five potential hostiles onboard armed with submachine guns, possibly North Koreans.” She nodded to Maria, and the image on screen changed to a navigational map. “She’s currently located forty miles due west of our location, steaming at twelve knots. Agency reporting indicates she is likely to be part of the Iranian shadow fleet that they use for smuggling operations. She has previously been linked to the transfer of weapons from South America to Russia. Her previous port of call was Santiago, Cuba. Her cargo is reported to be sugar. Any questions?”

One of the pilots threw a gloved hand in the air. “Deb, how sure are you that these commies don’t have a MANPAD or two?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got zero operational intelligence on this job. We do know they’ve got submachine guns. I personally don’t think they’d bother to bring anything heavier to pick up a handful of dogs.”