"Nineteen minutes!" Talli shouted.
Damn it. The naval base had over three thousand active-duty personal, yet here Brandt and his team were, chasing down the bad guys. The upper brass was worried that this string of ammunitions thefts were inside jobs, hence why they had no military back up. And now, with less than twenty minutes to go before his wedding? Typical.
There was absolutely nothing Brandt could do to speed up the chase as the Charleston countryside rolled past. Thick grass blanketed the meadows hemmed in only by the weeping willows. It smelled green. Not that muted, dusty green of the rest of the world, but that bright, shiny green he'd only found in South Carolina. It smelled like home.
"Watch it!" Davidson snapped at Talli. "If you can't get a shot through the window, don't take it."
The team's "official" sniper bristled at the rebuke. However, Brandt backed their "unofficial" yet infinitely more talented sniper. Ever since Davidson had rejoined the team, Talli had been trying too hard. Which was not helping the man's accuracy one damned bit.
Honestly, Brandt doubted Talli had been targeting the train car itself. In truth, Brandt was pretty sure Talli had meant to hit the window. The man kept trying to take shots outside his range to keep up with Davidson. Which just wasn't going to happen.
Normally, Brandt would let it slide. He would let Talli find his footing. The problem was, right now, Talli's quest to prove himself could get them all blown up.
"Look, we've got no idea where they've stored the stolen ordnance," Brandt said, trying to use his sensitivity training. The upper brass was now also all for caring about feelings. Brandt was supposed to be careful not to deflate Talli's ego. He failed miserably. "It's the engineering window or nothing."
Talli's jaw clenched as he lowered his eye back to his scope. Brandt noticed, though, that Talli didn't fire. Good man.
Davidson took several more shots, all equally unsuccessful. Brandt squinted. Were they catching up? Had the other train car slowed? Or had they sped up?
Then Davidson's rifle snapped up. "Crap."
"What?"
"They're stopping," the private reported.
"Great!" Lopez whooped.
"No," Davidson said, shaking his head. "They're stopping because the tracks end up ahead."
Not even Lopez could find the silver lining in that. Not with their brakes shot. Gone. Done. Nonexistent.
Brandt turned to Levont. "Any luck?"
The tall black man shoved another log into the furnace as he indicated with his head to the antique control panel. "Maybe if we had Henry Ford to help..."
The lack of brakes had seemed like a nonissue when the chase began. How often did Lopez use them, anyway? Now, however? Now brakes kind of seemed important.
Lopez's smile returned. "You know what I say?" Brandt really didn't want to know. However, he had a wedding to get to in nineteen minutes, so he let Lopez continue. "I say throw on all the wood."
A retort was on Brandt's lips, but it stalled as he saw the long-term strategy of Lopez's plan. It wasn't just that Lopez wanted to set the world speed record for a steam engine and catch it all on film. It wasn't even to get to the enemy before they unloaded all of the ammunition they'd stolen. It was to ram this train into the other at the highest speed possible, detonating all of those live munitions.
It was a "if you can't beat them, join them" kind of plan. Better to have those dangerous explosives go up here where they could do minimal damage than where the terrorists planned to use them.
Brandt turned to Levont. Even though the man had only been with them a few months, he didn't need the order, as he grabbed a log in each hand, chucking them into the furnace.
As the train surged forward, Brandt had only one little problem to work out.
How the hell to get off the train before it exploded in all its fiery glory?
Minor detail.
Rebecca held her tongue as the Brandt women once again fussed all around her. Apparently, wedding preparation involved constantly readjusting every inch of her dress.
"Maybe," Brandt's youngest sister blurted, "maybe Vincent's had second thoughts."
Mrs. Brandt took a supposedly playful swing at her daughter, although when it connected, Holly grimaced. "Hush, child. Vincent is having no such thing." The older woman then turned her attention to Rebecca. "Don't you worry. Vincent will be here."
Rebecca was pretty darned sure that the woman said it more for her own sake than any bride's. The teenager couldn't help herself, though.
"But Vincent is never late for-"
"Holly!" Mrs. Brandt snapped, tugging her youngest away from Rebecca.
"Mom!" Holly complained as she was dragged off. "You ruffled my dress!"
As the two smoothed out the peach chiffon, Rebecca looked to Bunny, who pushed a tumble of red curls out of the way, arching an eyebrow.
"Never late?" the younger woman whispered. "How about, don't bother to make plans because he is probably on another continent?"
Brandt had clearly done a great job of protecting his family from his true occupation. They all thought he was regular army, stationed over in Germany. That worried them enough. If they knew what he really did? If they knew the danger he put himself in on a daily-no, hourly-basis?
They would not be nearly as worried about chiffon-that was for certain.
"I'm sure Vin's got a good reason," Kaydria said as she squeezed Rebecca's arm.
That was exactly what had Rebecca concerned. Not that Brandt had ditched her. That thought had never crossed her mind. He would take a bullet for her. Actually, he'd taken several for her, so worrying about his level of devotion was kind of a moot point.
No, she was worried he and his team had gotten themselves into the kind of trouble they couldn't get themselves out of.
The hot South Carolina air blasted Brandt in the face as he climbed up onto the roof of the train. Although, the blazing summer heat was nothing compared to the inferno inside of the engine car. Levont had stoked the fire so high that flames shot out of the furnace. That was their cue to leave.
The only "safe" location was on top of the train, which gave you an indication of exactly how insane their plan was. Lopez swore he had a backup contingency, but sometimes the corporal confused contingency with prayer. And there was no time to discuss the difference.
Levont looked over the side of the train to the ground speeding past. "If we throw ourselves off..."
Yeah, a broken back would probably be the best-case scenario. Right now, the only other option was to crash into the munitions car and die in a ball of flame. So there was that.
"Sarge!" Talli yelled, pointing to what appeared to be a fly on the horizon. The faster it zipped toward them, the larger it became. That was no fly. It was a helicopter.
"When the general said no base support," Brandt growled at Lopez, "he meant none." The whole reason Brandt's team had been pulled in was the concern that this heist was an inside job.
Lopez smiled, though. "I took it he meant this base, Sarge, not the other three in the area."
The corporal had a rebellious streak a mile wide, but damn, he was inventive in how he expressed it. The helicopter's nose was down, pushing the envelope on air speed.
Brandt glanced to the stopped train car ahead of them. Would the helicopter get to them in time? Could they clear the blast zone in time? Was Rebecca freaking out at the altar?
Unfortunately, the only question he could answer was the one about the helicopter.
"The helo's not going to make it." Talli sighed next to him as Davidson lay belly flat on the train's roof, taking shots at the fleeing terrorists. Apparently, the would-be thieves had realized their incredibly well-planned-out mission was a bust and ran for the hills. Literally.
At the least, the terrorists had abandoned the vans that contained all of the stolen ordnances. Enough live ammunition to blow a city block. Instead of trying to drive the van out of here, the terrorists fled on dirt bikes. The perfect vehicles for the countryside. Clearly, they hoped to melt into the thick forests surrounding the base.
That just wouldn't do.
Time to get even crazier than Lopez.
"Get up!" Brandt shouted to the men as the train hurled toward the explosive-laden train. He tugged Davidson up by the bulletproof vest but spoke to Lopez. "Tell the helo to drop the lines."
Lopez's brows furrowed, then arched up. "On it!"
Brandt counted off in his head as the helicopter streaked toward them, black rope pouring out the sides like dark spiderwebs. Maybe the helo couldn't get to them in time, but that didn't mean they couldn't get to it.
"On my mark!" Brandt yelled. He glanced over his shoulder as the details of the munitions car came into sharp relief. He could read the car number 429. Even Talli could hit the damn thing by now.
Davidson must have just gotten wind of Brandt's plan. "Okay, then. I guess we are doing this." The sniper slung his rifle over his shoulder, securing it.
Levont smiled. "They said your team was off the hook."
Good to know.
"Three," Brandt shouted.
Christ All Mighty, that car was coming up fast.
"Two."
Each of the men kneeled down, preparing for the burst of speed and height they were going to need.
"One!"
Brandt and the rest sprinted across the train's roof. His barely healed obliques screeched their protest to the plan, but he kept running. As Brandt hit the edge of the roof, he pushed off, launching himself into the air. For a brief moment, he worried Rebecca would get the call all families of the military feared they would get. He could even see her tear-stained cheeks. A wedding suddenly turned wake.
Then a rope smacked him in the face. He grabbed it, wrapping his wrist around it, letting it take his weight.
Not everyone else was so lucky. Davidson had the speed and the height-there just wasn't a rope in sight. Lashing out, Brandt snagged the edge of Davidson's vest. The force changed his trajectory enough to allow the sniper to grab the tail end of Brandt's rope. Unfortunately, the added weight knocked the helicopter off balance.
Davidson, though, flung himself like a monkey in a tree, casting himself off Brandt's rope and grabbing a free line.
The chopper righted itself, zipping away as the engine car hit the munitions train. A fireball Michael Bay would have been proud of exploded high into the sky, the heat blast hurling them all forward. The three vans were engulfed in flame yet they didn't blow. Weird. They should have been filled with explosives.
Lopez whooped, waving the camera. "Got it! In HD color, baby!"
Before he could figure out what that meant, Levont swung closer. "They were right. Off. The. Hook."
Brandt frowned. "You think we're done?"
"Hell, no!" Lopez shouted as Brandt gave the helicopter the signal to give chase to the dirt bikes.
Davidson felt his lips-well, at least his good lip-pull up into a fierce smile. His bad arm hurt like hell and his fingers were cramped around the rope, but he'd never felt so alive as the hot air pushed him back as the helicopter accelerated.
Who wouldn't want to hang out of a helicopter chasing after terrorists? God truly was gracious giving him such a second chance. His first military tour had been shrouded in lies. Lies he'd convinced himself were necessary. In the end, though, he couldn't serve the cult that raised him and his country at the same time.
And his country had suffered for it. Worse, Rebecca had suffered for it. Brandt had suffered the most.
Not this time. The man clinging to a rope going a hundred miles an hour was the real Davidson. Free of the Knot, he could truly be committed to his cause. To make up for every death he'd caused while under cover. And there had been many. Too many.
He pushed aside the sight of that jet in France. While he hadn't pulled the trigger, those deaths were on his shoulders as surely as the terrorist who launched the RPG. God would decide his punishment for wandering from His way.
In this life, Davidson could do only one thing to make amends. And that was to take out the bad guys.
Luckily, it looked like there was six of them right ahead trying to outrace a helicopter. Given that he was the lowest on the ropes, Davidson's feet skimmed the tall, bright grass, so he had the opportunity to be at bike level. The guy on the motorcycle genuinely looked surprised when Davidson flung himself from the rope and knocked into him. An elbow to the jaw and the guy was off the bike.
It took both hands on the handlebars to stabilize the motorcycle before it pitched over. However, Davidison didn't take the bike much farther. He'd just preferred to stop the bike on his own rather than plowing into the ground.
Instead, Davidson braked hard as he slung his rifle off his shoulder. The other bikes were so close it was almost too easy. Like target practice. After the day they'd had? Davidson would take it. His first shot took out the back tire of the nearest motorcycle. It tilted over into the high grass. The next shot hit the third biker in the back. Not checking to see what happened to that bike, Davidson aimed at the fourth and hit the gas tank. His next shot set it on fire. Before he set up the shot, the fifth terrorist stopped his bike, his hands high up in the air.
Davidson looked up to Brandt, still on his rope. His question for the sergeant clear. Take the shot or not?
Brandt shook his head. The guy had surrendered. He was a sleazy terrorist, but he'd given himself up. Sirens sounded from across the field as naval MPs finally caught up with the action.
Given that Davidson had single-handedly taken down the terrorist cell, Brandt gave the private a nod toward the rope. Normally, Brandt would have felt slightly cheated that someone else had had all the action, but with his wedding sixteen minutes away? Today he could have laid a lip-lock on Davidson.
Feeling competent that the slew of MPs heading their way could take care of the cleanup, Brandt gave the signal for the chopper to pull them up.
As their lines zipped upward toward the helicopter, Brandt glanced to the inferno that used to be a train car. All those explosives had been meant for elementary school children visiting the Smithsonian Museum on a field trip. It felt pretty damned good to see that hailstorm of pain and anguish burning benignly in a meadow.
However, today wouldn't be a complete win, not if he missed his own nuptials.
Shrugging off the help of one of the airmen in the helo, Brandt climbed onto the deck of the chopper. Of course, Lopez went forward to the pilot's seat. And of course, the air force pilot refused to give him the stick. Normally, Brandt would have sided with the guy who brought the helicopter to the party. However, today wasn't normal.
"Lopez will be flying," Brandt added.
"Sir, this is an air force vehicle," the pilot shot back. "And no one but a-"
Davidson pulled out a piece of paper from his flak jacket and handed it to the copilot. The man quickly scanned it. When he looked up, he seemed confused. "It is a letter of suspension of posse comitatus for the team."
The pilot's eyes narrowed. They all knew what that meant.
"That's right," Lopez said, waving his hand at the pilot. "And it is signed by the president of the United States, so get out of the chair already."