"Then let's do it," Ding told them. The team filed out, wearing their ninja suits. "Your leg, George, how is it?" Loiselle asked Tomlinson.
"We'll just have to see, I guess. But my hands are okay," the sergeant said, holding his MP-10 up.
"Bien. " Loiselle nodded. The two were semi permanently paired together, and worked well as a mini-team, almost to the point that one of them could read the other's mind in the field, and both had the gift for moving unseen. That was difficult to teach instinctive hunters just knew it somehow, and the good ones practiced it incessantly.
Two minutes later, they were on the outside of the shooting house. Connolly set the Primacord around the door. This aspect of training kept the base carpenters pretty busy, Chavez thought. It took only thirty seconds before Connolly backed off, waving his hand, thumb up, to indicate he'd connected the wires to the detonator box.
"Team-2, this is Lead," they all heard over their radio earpieces. "Stand-to and stand by. Paddy, three… two… one… MARK!"
Clark, as usual, jumped when the ka-BOOM! sounded. A former demolitions expert himself, he knew that Connolly was his superior, with an almost magical touch for the stuff, but he knew also that no demo expert in the world ever used too little on a job. The door flew across the room and slammed into the far wall, fast enough to cause injury to anyone it hit, though probably not fatally. John covered his ears with his hands and shut his eyes because next through was a flashbang that attacked his ears and eyes like an exploding sun. He had the timing down perfectly, as he opened back up to see the shooters come in.
Tomlinson ignored the protests from his leg, and followed Loiselle in with his weapon up. That's when the first surprise hit the shooters; this exercise was to be a tricky one. No hostages and no bad guys on the left. Both men went to the far wall, turning right to cover that side.
Chavez and Price were already in, scanning their area of responsibility, and also seeing nothing. Then Vega and McTyler had the same experience on the right side of the room. The mission was not going as briefed, as sometimes happened.
Chavez saw there were no bad guys or hostages in view, and that there was but one door, open, into another room. "Paddy, flash-bangs, now!" he ordered over his radio, while Clark watched from the corner wearing his white observer's shirt and body armor. Connolly had come through behind Vega and McTyler, two flashbangs in his hands. One, then another, sailed through the door, and again the building shook. Chavez and Price took the lead this time. Alistair Stanley was in there in his white don't-shoot-at-me garb while Clark stayed in the front room. The latter heard the suppressed chatter of the weapons, followed by shouts of "Clear!" "Clear!" "Clear!"
On entering the shooting room, John saw all the targets perforated in the heads, as before. Ding and Eddie were with the hostages, covering them with their armored bodies, weapons trained on the cardboard targets, which in real life would be on the floor and bleeding explosively from their shattered skulls.
"Excellent," Stanley pronounced. "Good improvisation. You, Tomlinson, you were slow, but your shooting was bloody perfect. You, too, Vega."
"Okay, people, let's head over to the office to see the instant replay," John told them, heading outside and still shaking his head to clear his ears from the insult of the flash-bangs. He'd have to get ear protectors and goggles if he did much more of this, lest his hearing be permanently damaged - even though he felt it his duty to experience the real thing to be able to appreciate how everything worked. He grabbed Stanley on the walk over.
"Fast enough, Al?"
"Yes." Stanley nodded. "The flash-bangs give us, oh, three to five seconds of incapacitation, and another fifteen or so of subnormal performance. Chavez adapted well. The hostages would all have survived, probably. John, our lads are right on the crest of the wave. They cannot get any better. Tomlinson, bad leg and all, didn't lose more than half a step, if that much, and our little Frenchman moves like a bloody mongoose. Even Vega, big as he is, isn't the least bit oafish. John, these lads are as good as any team I've ever seen."
"I agree, but-"
"But still so much is in the hands of our adversaries. Yes, I know, but God help the bastards when we come for them."
