Prime (Chess Team Adventure, #0.5)

The compound glowed brightly over the hilltops, or at least appeared to when viewed through night-vision goggles. It had been visible even from the road where they had parked their rented vehicle, but Parker had nonetheless let his Garman GPS guide him rather than relying on the distant source of illumination. The most direct route to their goal—a straight line—would have required them to climb hills and traverse the valleys in between, where the forest cover was thickest and the uneven terrain in between could easily cause injuries that would jeopardize the mission. Instead, they had programmed a more circuitous route into the GPS, one that kept them mostly on the high ground, at the expense of adding a couple of miles to the cross-country trek. The compound was still about five hundred meters away, but according to the GPS, they had reached the last waypoint marker, the place where they were to rendezvous with the forward observer.

A strident hiss issued from the darkness. Parker and the others immediately brought their weapons up, scanning the area for the source of the noise, but even with their night-vision, there was nothing to see.

“Take it easy, Irish.” The voice was pitched just above a whisper, but Parker couldn’t fix its location. “We’re all on the same side. Safe your weapons, and I’ll come out.”

Parker breathed a sigh of relief. It had to be their contact, but he remained alert. “What’s the word?”

“Nighteyes.”

It was the callsign that King had assigned to their advanced scout. Parker thumbed the safety on his MP5 and lowered the weapon, nodding for the other men to do the same. As soon as they did, something rose from the ground just a few steps from where he stood. The figure was man-shaped, but camouflaged with dirt and tree branches, so he was nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. The only indication that there was a real person standing before him was a broad smile that glowed like a Cheshire Cat grin in the display of Parker’s night vision.

“Took you guys long enough,” the man said, extending a hand. “I’m Nighteyes, but please, just call me Shin.”

Parker accepted the handclasp, and after a quick round of introductions, unslung his field pack and passed it over. Shin opened the pack and began sorting through its contents—a radio, a bottle of water and a partially disassembled M21 sniper rifle.

“Now we’re talking,” Shin muttered as he fitted the parts of the weapon together. In the dark, he had work by feel alone, but his fingers knew exactly what to do, and in less than thirty seconds, he was performing a dry-fire functions check. When he was done, he slid a magazine into the well and advanced a round, after which, he turned back to Parker. “Okay, here’s the good news. There’s virtually no security. No patrols, no cameras or perimeter sensors… Hell, I don’t even think they have a night watchman.”

“And the bad news?”

Shin shrugged. “This place is remote, and the triads don’t exactly follow military procedures…but there should be some kind of security here. The fact that there isn’t any has me worried.”

“You don’t believe in luck?”

“I don’t trust it.”

“Words to live by.”

Shin clipped the radio to his belt and fixed the headset in place. He turned his head away and whispered into the lip mic. “This is Nighteyes. Radio check, over.”

Parker heard the man’s voice as clear as day in his own earpiece, followed immediately by King’s voice. “This is King. Good copy, Nighteyes. Irish, you there?”

“Right next to him,” Parker answered. “We’re about to move out. Should be romeo-tango-golf in five mikes.”

“Waiting on you, Irish. King out.”

Parker turned to the other men. “Dark, you’re with me. Race, you and Nighteyes head to OP-Two. Call in when you’re set. You heard the boss; the clock is ticking.”





TWENTY-THREE


Zelda felt like she’d been reborn.

King, in inviting her to join Delta—or rather, as it had been explained to her, a new elite team within Delta—had done something no man had ever done so quickly before: he had earned her respect. One of the reasons she had joined the Army in the first place, was to be part of something big, something important. She had been relentless in her pursuit of that goal. She had certainly earned this advancement, but it still felt good to finally, at long last, be appreciated for more than just her looks. Of course, she wasn’t about to let the rest of the men in the van know how pleased she was to be ‘one of the boys.’

That was only part of the reason for the elation she now felt. Mostly, what had her feeling so energized—so alive—was the fact that she was charging down an unfamiliar dirt road, bouncing over potholes and ruts at nearly forty miles an hour and barely slowing for the turns, all without headlights and in near total darkness. She was aided by night vision technology, but she was trusting more in her memory of the satellite photos the team’s new handler had provided.

It was a pure adrenaline rush, made all the sweeter by the fact that, for the first time since meeting him, Stan Tremblay had finally shut up. He actually looked like he was about to throw up, but maybe that was just a trick of the night vision.

She didn’t actually mind Tremblay. In truth, she had passed the point where his relentless sophomoric humor was irritating; it was, strangely, almost charming, and while he still seemed unable to look at her without cracking a shit-eating grin, she sensed that he, like King, was beginning to see her as a teammate and a fellow soldier, first. She got the same sense from the others, particularly Somers, the dark and brooding Ranger, who she was given to understand, was very much an outsider like herself.

“This is good,” King announced from the passenger seat. “Stop here.”