Rescuing Emma (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Read online

  Rescuing Emma (Special Forces: Operation Alpha)

  Michele E Gwynn

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Books by Bestselling Author Michele E. Gwynn

  A note to readers

  More Special Forces: Operation Alpha World Books

  Books by Susan Stoker

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 ACES PRESS, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.

  Cover by JC Clarke,The Graphics Shed

  Editing: M.E. Gwynn

  Copyright © 2018 All Rights Reserved

  Special thanks to Lillian Maddocks-Cummings for participating in the contest on my Facebook fan page to name my hero.

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome to the Special Forces: Operation Alpha Fan-Fiction world!

  If you are new to this amazing world, in a nutshell the author wrote a story using one or more of my characters in it. Sometimes that character has a major role in the story, and other times they are only mentioned briefly. This is perfectly legal and allowable because they are going through Aces Press to publish the story.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I might have assisted with brainstorming and other ideas about which of my characters to use, I didn’t have any part in the process or writing or editing the story.

  I’m proud and excited that so many authors loved my characters enough that they wanted to write them into their own story. Thank you for supporting them, and me!

  READ ON!

  Xoxo

  Susan Stoker

  About the book

  It's Emma’s thirtieth birthday…and it might just be her last!

  A weekend in London leads to kidnapping after one hot night with a sexy Green Beret. For political journalist Emma Jane Lewis, Captain Nathan James Oliver, code name, Outlaw, represents exactly the kind of man she never wanted to date. Too stubborn, too muscled, and too much of an alpha male for her tastes. But his touch sends tingles throughout her entire body. His nearness makes her hot and bothered, and despite her better judgement, she wants him. It was one night. What could be the harm? When Nate meets Emma, the attraction is instant. Something about her pulls him in even though old ghosts haunt him still and his heart remains stuck in the past. But a one-night stand with the contrary Emma is something he can’t resist. When she goes missing, evidence points to Black Jihad, and its leader, Mohammed al-Waleed. Worse, Nate knows it’s his fault she’s been targeted. As Nate and his men search for clues, more is revealed about Emma that sends him reeling, feeling both angry and betrayed. Can Nate set aside their differences and come to terms with his past in time to save Emma from a brutal death at the hands of a dangerous terrorists? Find out.

  Buy this book now!

  Chapter 1

  Captain Nathan James Oliver gave the signal to halt, then dropped low. The five men at his back reacted fast, falling back against the crumbling stone wall of the tall building on their right. Each one maintained formation, guns aimed forward, all except for Hank ‘Hollywood’ Jimenez who brought up the rear. His job was to protect their ‘six’ and he took that job seriously.

  “What do you see, Outlaw?” Ghost whispered. He addressed his captain by his code name carefully peering over his leader’s shoulder. Ghost resembled his code name. An albino from birth, his blond hair, white skin, and pale eyes made Allen Williamson the target of bullies all his life back home in Washington state. He’d finally found the brotherhood every man needed when he joined the army. His sharp mind and quick thinking led to advancement, and his hard work led to special forces training. The Green Berets invited only the best of the best into the fold.

  Nate glanced back at his second-in-command. “Movement at ten o’clock, north side of the street, on the balcony.” He turned back, focusing his night-vision goggles on that spot.

  Ghost located the second-floor balcony and saw the barrel of a rifle extending just over the ledge. A potted plant sitting on the rail hid the gunman’s face, but the barrel moved slowly, steadily, right and then left. The guard was surveilling the street below, probably using an infrared scope on the weapon with which to see into the night.

  The street was narrow and cobbled, and stretched perpendicular to one of Prague’s main roads. It extended into a poor neighborhood of crowded pre-WWII buildings more in need of tearing down than repair. Their crumbling exteriors were beyond help and yet people still lived in them because they had nowhere else to go.

  Their Special Operations Group or SOG had been called in early yesterday morning. An American diplomat’s daughter had been kidnapped from an international school in London. The diplomat, Ambassador Robert Rand, had recently set forth new policy from the White House to tighten sanctions on Qatar for human rights violations. The violations came through a small terrorist group, Black Jihad, led by Mohammed al-Waleed, that kidnapped five French scientists with the CDC visiting the country to study an outbreak of meningitis in the region. Accusing the west of deliberately causing the outbreak in order to commit genocide on their people, negotiations broke down after Black Jihad beheaded the first scientist, a woman named Lorraine Bujois.

  The immediate global outrage sparked public outcry for swift retaliation, but the response by the French president, at least publicly, was subdued. The truth was the negotiations were just a stall tactic until French Special Forces, coordinating with American and British Intelligence, could pin down the location of the hostages and run a rescue operation. They had help from an insider, a Qatarian asset released from jail a year ago. His release came with strings. French authorities coerced Jamal Almasi into collaborating. He was nineteen years old and had been forced into joining Black Jihad under threat of death to his family. The French government used that information against Almasi while simultaneously implying it was also a possible way out—if he worked for them. They allowed his younger sister to enter France under a student visa and enrolled her in university. With his little sister under the eyes of French Intelligence and his mother and father still stuck inside an impoverished village far from the more modern city of Doha, he was caught between a literal rock and a hard place, forced to comply, and terrified the Black Jihadis would discover his betrayal. His fear made him cautious, and his caution paid off in information passed on to French Intelligence.

  Nate’s SOG had been part of that mission slipping into Qatar with the reluctant cooperation of the Qatari government who buckled under threat of severe sanctions to include ending economic aid. The remai
ning four scientists were found, bound and gagged, inside a sewage tank on the training ground of Black Jihad’s compound located thirty-seven kilometers northwest of the coastal city of Doha. They weren’t expecting the cavalry, a mistake on their part, and a brief, fatal firefight ensued. In the end, sixteen under-armed over-confident terrorists met their maker, and except for one gunshot wound in the leg of one of their French counterparts, the good guys and the remaining hostages all made it out alive. As close quarter battles went, it was a rousing success.

  They’d no sooner spent a week back on base before Black Jihad, learning from their own miscalculations, and angry at the betrayal of Qatar who they suspected aided the western allies against them, struck once again, this time kidnapping a high-profile target, the seven-year-old daughter of an American ambassador. Since Nate’s group was familiar with how and where the Black Jihadis operated, they were sent back in, this time following their trail to Prague in the Czech Republic—information provided by the informant, Jamal Almasi. They managed to stay on the heels of the kidnappers, and now they were hunkered down against a wall, in the middle of the night, in an impoverished neighborhood inside Eastern Europe.

  “I only see one weapon, but there’s sure to be more guards on the first floor,” Ghost offered, staring hard at the three-story apartment building.

  “They’ve most certainly fortified themselves this time.” Nate glanced back. “Skyscraper, take the rear of the building. Check for ways in.”

  Marcus Dubose, an engineer from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, kept his 6’6” frame low. His ebony skin blended into the night offering him natural camouflage on top of his long-sleeved black jacket, camo pants, and black knit skull cap.

  “Roger that,” he answered, moving fast in the shadows and slipping around the back of the crumbling brick wall.

  “Eastwood,” Nate addressed his weapons specialist, Harold Tyler. They usually called him ‘Dirty Harry’, but in combat, it was too much of a mouthful, so his code name had been shortened to Eastwood. “Get into position and find out how many are inside and what kind of weapons we’re looking at.”

  Eastwood nodded, immediately pulling out his thermal imaging binoculars, and hanging them around his neck. He moved past Outlaw and Ghost, sinking low and using the cars parked along the street in front of him as cover.

  Behind Nate, Hollywood and Doc, aka Jason Gordon, waited.

  “If they’ve harmed that little girl, I’m going to send those bastards straight to hell with my bare hands,” Nate muttered.

  “And we’ll help you,” Hollywood added.

  Doc grunted. “Let’s hope I don’t have to turn my back on the Hippocratic oath.” He heard Hollywood snort. “Shut up, Hollywood. I know I never actually took the Hippocratic oath. I’m being facetious. Look it up.”

  Nate swallowed hard, his teeth grinding with tension. Penelope Rand was inside, scared to death, in the hands of vicious murderers. He’d seen this scenario played out too many times, but this was the first time for him that it involved a child. Knowing the worst in men, seeing the cruelty, the brutality, the sheer psychopathy they could inflict on humans had him feeling anxious and he didn’t like it. He knew what it was like to lose a child and he’d be damned if he’d let it happen to anyone else if he could help it.

  Nate had always been the calm one, the patient one, but he knew every moment that passed was one in which that child would never be able to recover. The sooner they got her out of there, the better. His hand strayed to the black canvas bagged clipped to his belt. Inside was a small fuzzy pink teddy bear. Ambassador Rand insisted that Captain Oliver take it with him to give to Penelope when he found her. Their conversation replayed in his mind.

  “It’s her favorite bear. His name is Grover. I gave it to her when she was three and she’s slept with him every night since. Give it to her so she knows her daddy sent you. Please!” The desperation in the man’s eyes and the fear on his wife’s face wrenched his heart. Promising to bring her home, Nate took the teddy bear.

  “Six, come in.” Skyscraper’s voice came over their earpieces.

  “Six here, come back.” Nate replied, acknowledging the code. In every operating unit, the commanding officer was referred to over the radio as ‘six.’

  “There are two back doors. One is locked from the inside. It’s located on the far north end. The second is south, near you, and propped open. I found one gunman at that location. He’s neutralized.”

  Hollywood grinned. “My man,” he whispered.

  Nate nodded to himself. “Good work, Sky. Eastwood, what’re the numbers?” He addressed his man now hidden behind a parked car across the street from the apartment building.

  “One family in the eastern, first floor flat. A male, a female, and two children in a back room, all prone. Probably sleeping. Two males with rifles walking the hallway of the first floor as well. A third near the back, southwest door is down, unmoving. Thanks, Sky. Second floor, no families, but four guards with what appear to be Kalashnikovs, and one at the balcony. There’s a small room in the middle flat, streetside, where one of the four guards is sitting. There’s a child on the floor next to him, unmoving. Third floor is vacant except for the rats, and there is one shooter on the roof, southwest corner, appears to be…sleeping? His hands have slipped from the weapon and he’s not moving. Deep, even breathing. Amateur,” he added.

  “Okay,” Nate calculated quickly, and gave the orders. “Eastwood, be our eyes.”

  “Copy that,” he said.

  Nate addressed Ghost, Doc, and Hollywood. “You three follow me. We’ll meet up with Sky at the southern back door. Stay tight.” He moved, staying low, and keeping on the blind side of the second-floor sniper.

  When they reached their destination, Skyscraper was waiting for them.

  “You lead,” he told Skyscraper. “We’ll take out the two guards on the first floor, and then proceed to the second floor. Eastwood, where are they now?” Nate asked over the com link.

  “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are leaning up against the north hall wall having a smoke. If you come in low, you can take them out before they even see you round the corner.”

  Nate nodded and reached forward to grip Skyscraper’s shoulder once. The man moved forward, quickly stepping over the prone body of the guard he’d taken down earlier. A long gash across his throat showed clearly the man never had a chance to raise the alarm.

  Ghost, Doc, and Hollywood followed in the stack. Once inside, the close quarter battle would intensify becoming far more dangerous. Each man needed to stay sharp.

  Skyscraper arrived at the corner that turned into the main hallway and stopped. Nate halted behind him. He could smell the burning tobacco mixed with the stale scents of mold and decay. Voices, low and speaking in Arabic reached their ears.

  With a nod to his captain, Skyscraper double-checked the silencer on his Glock 9-millimeter. In order to make it through to the second floor undetected, he would need to drop the two hall guards quietly.

  Skyscraper eased down and cautiously peeked his head around the corner. The muted lighting from the pre-WWII wall sconces cast shadows down the narrow hall. The building’s age was to their advantage. He took aim and fired.

  Four short bursts found their targets before the guards could raise their weapons. The first went sliding down the wall mid-drag, his hand-rolled cigarette falling from his lips and landing on the old carpet at his feet. The second guard, who was leaning on the wall, tried to rise to a full stand and aim his weapon when two bullets slammed into his body; one in the forehead, the second in his chest. He dropped to his knees and fell forward onto the burning butt snuffing out the ember.

  “Targets neutralized,” said Skyscraper. He rose to his feet, waiting for the hand signal on his shoulder.

  Nate reached forward, squeezing once. The men at his back did the same. The stack moved into the hall, down past the dead terrorists, to the staircase. “Eastwood, what’s the second-floor situation?” Nate released his com swi
tch and waited for feedback in his earpiece.

  “Movement. One of the hall guards is moving to the stairwell.”

  “Shit,” Doc whispered.

  “He’s going up,” Eastwood continued.

  “Keep me updated,” Nate said before touching Skyscraper’s shoulder.

  They ascended the old wooden stairs, exercising care and stepping into each other’s footsteps to avoid the creaks and groans of the worn treads. The door on the second-floor landing stood ajar, a brick holding it open.

  “There’s a fire escape to the right and two gunmen to the left; one facing south and the other coming towards your location. The third is still in the flat to your left and the fourth is making his way to the roof. He’s going to find Rip Van Terrorist any moment now. You need to hurry,” Eastwood urged.

  “Copy that.” Nate turned to Ghost. “Sky gets the first guard, I’ll drop the south-facing target, and you and Doc take the guard inside the flat. Hollywood, you keep an eye on this stairwell. We may need to fight our way out.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied. Ghost and Doc nodded.

  “3…2…1…move!” On Nate’s mark, the unit sprang into action, executing the plan.

  A tall, bearded terrorist wearing an army-green jacket and a red checkered keffiyeh on his head stopped cold as they emerged from the stairwell. He just managed to get out a short-string of words before Skyscraper put two bullets in his head. The second gunman behind him turned. Nate stepped around Skyscraper firing off three quick shots from his own Glock. The silencer muted the sounds of the bullets but couldn’t stop the thunk of a body falling to the floor.