Montana SEAL (Brotherhood Protectors #1)
by Elle James
1
“Montana, take point,” Big Bird said. “You’ll need to move in fast, once I take out the guard.”
Hank Patterson, aka Montana, adjusted his night vision goggles, gripped his M4A1 rifle with the SOP Mod upgrade and rose from his concealed position on the edge of the Iraqi village. U.S. Army intelligence guys had it from a trusted source that an influential leader of the ISIS movement had set up shop in the former home of the now dead Sheik Ghazi Sattar, a paramount chief of the Rishawi tribe. The once palatial estate had taken mortar fire from the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria—or ISIS—rebels. The sheik and his fighters had succumbed to the overpowering forces and died in battle.
In the process, ISIS had gained a stronghold in the village and captured an aid worker the U.S. government wanted returned. When ISIS offered the aid worker in exchange for captured members of their organization, the current administration held to its stand that it didn’t negotiate with terrorists.
That’s where the Navy SEALs came in. Under the cover of night, armed with limited intel and specialized sound-suppressed weapons, SEAL Team 10 was to infiltrate the compound, kill the leader, Abu Sayyaf, and liberate the aid worker, who happened to be the Secretary of Defense’s niece.
Piece of cake, Montana assured himself. This was what he lived for. Or at least he’d been telling himself that for the past year. He was coming up to the anniversary of his enlistment, and he had to decide whether to get out of the military or re-up. Reenlistment meant more wear and tear on his body and more chances of being shot, blown up or bored out of his mind. When they were called to duty, the missions were intense, yet the downtime gave him too much time to think.
Besides, he wasn’t getting any younger. If he didn’t leave active duty, he’d end up training SEALs, rather than conducting missions. That would give him even more time to think about what could have been back in his home state.
How many years had it been since he’d visited home? Eight? Ten? Hell, it had been eleven years since he’d been back to Montana for any length of time. One, maybe two days, tops, and he was ready to leave again.
He could remember that defining night like it was yesterday. He’d just broken up with Sadie. He was hurting and wondering if they were insane to give up the best thing that had ever happened to them. Then he and his father had a big blow out. His father called him a lazy, good-for-nothing son and told him to get to work or get out.
Looking back, breaking up with Sadie had been the best thing, all the way around. She’d gone on to become a Hollywood mega-star, and Montana had gotten the hell away from his father, joined the Navy and become a member of an elite force. Life had turned out pretty good for them both.
So why did he still think about home…and Sadie? Hell, he knew why. Every time his reenlistment came up, he started thinking about home. Most of his friends from high school were married and had children. He’d always wanted kids, but SEALs made crummy parents and spouses. They were gone most of the time, sometimes without a way to contact loved ones back home.
“Be ready.” Lieutenant Mike lay next to Montana. “Big Bird, hold your fire until I give the cue.”
“Roger,” Big Bird responded.
New to the team, Lt. Mike wasn’t new to being a SEAL. With four years and ten deployments under his belt, he was a seasoned warrior, although his recent marriage seemed to have slowed him down. He wasn’t as quick to leap into a bad situation. And if rumor had it right, his wife was expecting their first child.
“Let’s do it,” Lt. Mike said.
The muted thump of Big Bird’s rifle discharging was Montana’s signal to take off.
The ISIS guard who had been pacing the top of a roof slumped forward and fell to the ground with a soft whomp.
Montana held his breath, straining his ears for the shout of alarm that didn’t come. With the sentry eliminated, Montana had a clear path to the wall. He took off running, hunkered low, his weapon ready, his gaze scanning the top of the wall, searching for the tell-tale green heat signature of a warm body through his night vision goggles.
Swede and Stingray were right behind him.
His skin crawled and his gut clenched. Something didn’t feel right. But the mission had to move forward. They had an enemy target to acquire and a woman to rescue before they could go home to Virginia.
Montana knelt at the base of the wall, slung his rifle over his arm, cupped his hands and bent low.
Swede ran up to him, stepped into his cupped hands and launched himself into the air. He hooked his arms over the top, dragged himself over and dropped to the ground below.
Stingray came next, then Nacho, Irish and Lt. Mike.
Big Bird would remain on top of a nearby building and be their eyes and ears for anyone approaching the compound. He’d also provide cover fire for them as they exited with the aid worker.
Lieutenant Mike paused at the top of the wall and reached a hand down to Montana, pulling him up and over.
Swede and Nacho had already moved forward to the main building, one side of which was caved in, like an open wound. The remaining walls bore pockmarks from bullets and shrapnel. The huge wooden door still stood, closed and strangely unguarded.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Swede whispered into Montana’s headset.
“Stay the course,” Lt. Mike responded.