Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters, dressing them up in MARPAT, and giving them some guns.

Unbeta'd, unedited.

July 5
Just outside the Deathstalker Terrorist Compound
Somewhere West-Central Somalia, Along the Ethiopian Border

"Jazz, do you copy?"

High up on the ridge, flat on his stomach and tucked behind an old dried-up log, Jasper swiveled his M110 to the left and stared through the long-range Leupold scope to the compound below. With a quick adjustment to the parallax and another correction for elevation, a triplet of soldiers came into focus as they lazily prowled the top of the western wall.

"Go ahead, Tinkerbell."

Static pulsed through his earpiece. "How's it look?"

Jasper watched as one of the patrols – a local by the looks of his mismatched fatigues and the ancient, banged up Kalashnikov – swung his rifle behind his back and pull out a pack of no-name cigarettes. As he lit up, a second soldier meandered past and over to the railing. The soldier shot a quick peep over the wall, before leaning against the rusted rail. He dug through his pouches, eventually producing a slim black flask. The third said something in a language Jasper couldn't read, but then the man laughed when the second's flask turned up empty.

"Three Tangoes west." The corporal made another adjustment, sharpening the focus until he could count their beard hairs. "Fuckers look bored."

"Roger that."

There was another pulse of static, and then he caught the lieutenant repeating the same check to the pair of Deltas, perched 1500 yards away on the opposite side of the compound. When the Marine peered through the lens of his rangefinder, searching for the team hidden in the rocky terrain, he almost missed the camouflaged barrel of that big Barrett, where it threaded between a set of boulders, aimed on the eastern gate below. As Quil replied to the lieutenant, a single gloved hand lifted from behind the rocks, flashing the corporal a series of coordinates.

Jasper responded in kind and glanced down and to his left, where the captain lay, twenty yards away behind another pile of rocks. "You catch that?"

Edward nodded and scanned the tops of the walls through his own set of optics, mentally tagging each patrol. Detecting no discernable shift in their rotations or numbers, he slid away from the outcropping, shifted into a low crouch, and then edged his way up the winding path, shielded by the jagged boulders and low, scraggily brush, until he reached the corporal's position. Once there, he belly-crawled up to the log.

Jasper scowled down at the compound. "Think they know we're comin'?"

"Unclear, but assume, yes." Rolling half-way to his back, Edward squinted up at the bright mid-day sun and then his eyes fell to his wrist.

34 hours.

That was how long they'd had her.

Edward's mouth flattened into a harsh, angry line. "They would have questioned her by now."

Jasper cursed and his forefinger inched toward his trigger. In his ear, he heard Jared spit back a tight response to Black. A second later he caught Rosalie chewing Emmett's head off. They were all like this, he realized – worried, pissed off, and ready to set off World War III. But they didn't come close to the man beside him.

"Captain?"

Rolling back over, Edward watched the triplet of soldiers on the western wall milling around like it was any other day. "Yeah."

Jasper's scowl deepened. "I don't like this shit."

"Which part?"

"All of it." He spat to the side. "Those fuckers having Doc in particular." The corporal risked a glance over to his commander, whose familiar hard, no-nonsense features had now settled into something that was somehow even harder, even colder, and Jasper was reminded once more exactly how the man had gained his callsign. "You goin' on your own."

One corner of Edward's mouth pulled up, but it didn't touch the rest of him. "Noted."

A few moments later, as they watched two more soldiers approach the original three, Jasper asked, "What's our latitude?"

Recalling their gunnery sergeant's same question two days before, that lopsided half-smile turned into something truly ruthless. "No change… full."

"That mean what I think it does?"

Edward eyed the younger man, taking in the subtle signs of anger and agitation – a sharp contrast to the Marine's typical placid lake. "When we go in later tonight, you lay it down like the fucking Grim Reaper."

Jasper's finger curled tighter against his trigger. "Yes, sir."

July 5
Underneath the Deathstalker Terrorist Compound
Somewhere West-Central Somalia, Along the Ethiopian Border

Somewhere underneath the topside warehouse, Bella hit the wall with a muffled thump.

"I told you." Staggering but still managing to keep her footing, she turned toward the open room and swiped at the trickling line of blood from the cut above her eye. Her whole face throbbed in time to her racing heartbeat. "I wasn't part of those conversations."

Fluid and deadly, Walker took a step toward her, grabbed her by her hair, and wrenched her head back. Glinting and alive, his eyes roamed her face, lighting on the smudges of darkening purple and black that littered her skin. "I like it when you lie."

Bella swallowed, and the movement made her wince. "I'm not lying."

Leaning in closer, the man's terrible smile just widened, and that sickening, ever-present stench of spearmint washed across her aching cheeks, threatening to make her lose what little food she'd managed to choke down that morning. Long fingers, rough and calloused, wound tighter through her hair, pulling on the roots, and then he yanked again, forcing her head back even further. Bella's eyes watered – from the sharp pain in her scalp or the harsh brightness of the overhead light, she didn't know. Towering above her, his gaze continued its slow, menacing circuit. His pupils dilated and his mouth went slack, morphing his expression into something that made Bella's blood freeze in her veins.

"Captain."

Before she could blink, Walker released her, shoving her back against the wall. A hard fist cracked across her cheekbone, this one launching her into the nearest filing cabinet.

Walker waved the newcomer off. "We're just… getting acquainted."

The newcomer's shoes rapped against the concrete behind them, loud and echoing in the empty room. "I told you," Aro snapped. "There will be none of that." As he studied the mess Walker had made of the woman's face, a vein beneath the mottled skin of his forehead twitched. He glared at the former captain. "And Dr. Swan is not a soldier. If you're not careful, you'll break her, and I need her coherent enough to go back to work once your…" He waved an elegant hand. "Conversation is over."

In her periphery, Bella watched that same congenial mask slip over the captain's features.

"Do not fuck this up, James."

"Oh, I won't," Walker purred. "She'll give me what I want soon enough."

Bella's heart pounded, beating against her sternum and shoving the blood through her veins so fast that it whined in her ears. Dizzy from it, she almost forgot about the arrays of equations and formulas swirling through her head and the long-range missiles two levels below – ones that the man was so incredibly close to having ready. Her back slid against the cabinet beside her as Walker advanced.

"I told you," she whispered, steeling her spine even as she cringed when he grabbed her wrists where the rubbed skin had finally stopped bleeding. "I don't know!"

Walker's lean, hard-muscled body crowded her into the corner between the cabinet and the wall. Smiling like the psycho he was, his hands slid over her left palm, almost gently, to her little finger. Tears leaked from Bella's eyes, dripping on the hand that held hers, as he slowly began to bend it back.

"When are your Marines attacking?"

"I don't kno–"

A loud, wrenching scream punched out of Bella's lungs as her joint abruptly shifted, dislocating with an audible snap. Looking down at the mangled knuckle and twisted finger, time slowed to a crawl. Her vision swam and vomit burned the back of her throat.

"Tell me, Doctor. Tell me when they're coming and I won't have to hurt you… too much," he said, softly enunciating each syllable.

Nearly hyperventilating by this point, the words came out by sheer repetition alone, without any conscious direction from her brain. "I don't know."

His grip moved to her ring finger.

"Tomorrow… it's tomorrow night!" Bella screamed, right as her ring finger wrenched out of place with sickening pop. Another sob burst out, and for a moment, the room spun in a dizzying array of flashing colors and sounds. Like when she'd woken up in that storage room, her surroundings fell away, and the terror cut by fiery pain threatened to make her lose her mind.

All that she could do was hope and pray to every god she could think of that her tears and screams would cover the lie.

And that when the captain came for her, he'd gut them alive.

July 5
Just outside the Deathstalker Terrorist Compound
Somewhere West-Central Somalia, Along the Ethiopian Border

It was an hour past dusk when Edward slipped behind a boulder at the edge of the wide, grassy kill zone that ringed the western wall. In a stripped-down, made for speed, version of full night battle dress – black, non-reflective Nomex flight suit, matching Kevlar and lighter armor, and high-powered four-tube NVGs – he was nothing more than a silent shadow in the dark.

Shouldering his carbine, Edward watched the green-on-green images of the men on the wall as they continued their ceaseless, wandering patrol. When the second soldier turned, he raised his fist and issued a silent order to Jasper, where he kneeled, twenty yards away and to his left. Without hesitating, low and quick, and with his M110 in the lead, Jasper creeped past a stand of brush, advancing to small, flat spot of dirt behind the low hanging branches of a half-dead tree.

As soon as he slid into place, the corporal flashed Edward a signal, and then Edward was on the move, slinking past the other man and forward another thirty yards to a stack of broken pallets, and then to the rusted-out skeleton of an old military vehicle. Thirty seconds later, Jasper dropped to a knee at the other end of the truck.

With a quick peek over to the other Marine, Edward tapped his throat mike once. "Tink, this is Ghost. We are in position," he whispered, simultaneously tracking one of the patrols up on the wall. "On your call."

"Copy that, Ghost," Alice whispered back. "Hold five. Get ready for fireworks."

Five minutes was both nothing and forever, and as each second ticked by, Edward's heart drummed a matching calm, steady rhythm, 180 degrees from the churn that strangled his gut every time he thought about the woman trapped inside.

As his grip tightened on his rifle – an involuntary reaction to the image of Bella's too-pretty face that now seemed to float in the back of his mind in a non-stop circuit – an oh-so-slight vibration buzzed in the pouch against his ribs. Without looking away from the wall, Edward pulled out the small, black sat phone, flicked it over to night-mode, and peeked down at single line of text:

It will piss me off immensely if you do not return in one piece.

There was a pause, and then another line of text appeared just below the first:

Your aunt is going to murder me.

Despite their position and the fist in his gut, a small smile played across Edward's lips, because the General wasn't lying. Esme would murder them both once she found out.

He tapped a quick response:

I know.

There was another break, this time longer, before the General sent one final message:

Don't you dare die, son.

"Alright, Jazz," Edward said as he pocketed the phone. "As soon as Tweedle Dee and Dum light off, I'll advance to the ladder."

Sliding to the left, the captain peered around the vehicle and measured the distance to their target – the low, flat-roofed, concrete-block munitions bunker with a tall extension ladder propped against the high compound wall. A single guard – another local, currently turned away and preoccupied by the movement along the upper wall – stood in a loose ready position on the bunker's roof.

"You take him out before I hit that roof. Cover me until I'm over the rail." Edward's thumb swiped at a bead of sweat beneath his lower lip, coming away black from the dark, tacky, full-face warpaint that made him look like death itself. "Once I'm up top, I'll clear the wall for you to ascend and take position."

Jasper gave his commander a tight nod. "You got it."

At two minutes to go time, Alice's voice whispered in their ears. "Wolf, this is Tinkerbell. Do you copy?"

A pulse of light static came through, followed by the man's soft baritone. "Copy that, Tinkerbell."

"Status?"

"Dee and Dum are itchin' and ready." The man muttered something to one of his operators. "Push Team 2, ready for signal."

"Roger that. Six-zero and go."

Motionless and silent in a way that few could ever achieve, Edward tracked the patrols as he counted down the remaining seconds. At five, his muscled coiled, he flipped his NVGs up to his Kevlar, and he muttered out a low, "And here we go."

Exactly sixty seconds from Alice's final transmission, a deafening boom! exploded in the black sky above the compound, sending out a shockwave that Edward felt even outside the walls. Blinding, white light flashed and strobed, igniting the dark and blinding anyone who didn't know it was coming. A split second later, two deep thumps echoed against the rock walls surrounding them. Another triplet of shots followed, punctuated by the loud scream of a man as his body flew off the top of one of the walls from the force of the heavy-caliber rounds.

Edward popped out from behind the vehicle, rifle still trained on their target wall, where the patrols up top frantically paced, blindly looking anywhere and everywhere for the source of the gunfire. Not wasting any time, he raced to the corner of the small building, where a heavy, cement barrel sat to catch the rain. Without bothering to check for the man on the roof, he slung his rifle around, pushed himself on top of the barrel, stretched for the roof line, and heaved himself up onto the flat roof. Panting out a harsh breath, Edward rolled into a defensive crouch, sidearm out and ready, just in time to see the roof patrol collapse five feet away, dead on the spot from a pair of oozing holes – one in the throat, another in the forehead.

"Fucking A, Jazz," Edward muttered into his throat mike, even as he advanced to the ladder.

A soft huff of a laugh answered back. "Wasn't exactly movin'. Think you scared the shit out of him. But then again, you tend to do that."

Already climbing, Edward shook his head.

In the distance, another shockwave punched the air, and white light flashed overhead. The loud, echoing rat-tat-tat! of a machine gun erupted from somewhere in the south part of the compound, and in his earpiece, he heard Emmett's voice yelling to Rosalie.

Almost at the top, a resounding crack! rang out above his head, and in his upper periphery, there was a flailing camouflage arm, the clatter of a rifle hitting concrete, and then a dark, shadowy body plunged past him to the roof below. In less than a second, Edward topped the rail.

"Go!" he yelled to Jasper, already taking aim at the two wide-eyed militants that spun toward him as soon as his boots hit the catwalk. Without a moment of hesitation, Edward side-stepped and fired off a pair of rounds, hitting both square in the chest, right above the armor, before either one could get off a shot. He crouched behind a ledge of concrete and looked down into the compound.

Dust and smoke billowed out across the ground, filling the low-lying areas inside the walls. At the southern entry, he caught a familiar shape as she darted between two of the long rows of offices and storage. Bullets strafed the cinderblock above her head, but Rosalie didn't flinch. Hitting the wall, she kneeled, spun the corner, and fired a volley of shots into a soldier in Flecktarn camo.

"That 203?" Alice said into her throat mike, grinning like a crazy woman when the man went down.

"Nah, but that fucker'll be dead soon enough," Rosalie growled as she fell back behind the wall.

"Trick, come in," she said. The gunnery sergeant glared at a dozen militants running back and forth, searching for the intruders. Shifting to the left, she simultaneously issued a set of silent hand signals back to Alice, where the lieutenant took cover against an olive drab gun truck across the way and sent out a barrage of coordinating commands to Emmett and Scooby. "What's your position?"

"Gimme a second." In her earpiece, she caught Black's eerily quiet staff sergeant make an angry, muffled, grunting sound. There was the thwack of bodies hitting and a loud shout in a local dialect, heard both in her radio and from somewhere to their left behind one of the long buildings. A sickening crunch followed, and then the Delta was right back. "Back side of the barracks. Making our way toward the west wall. Stupid motherfuckers are everywhere."

"Be advised, you got more coming."

"Roger that."

High up on the wall, Edward's rifle trained on another militant as he popped out from the nearest corner tower. The captain's first shot took him in the shoulder, knocking him back against the wall. The man scrambled for the door, for any hint of shelter. With a muttered curse, Edward fired again, this time hitting him straight in the heart. Mouth agape, the patrol slumped and slid down the wall, leaving behind twin, trailing tracks of glistening red.

A blink later, Jasper topped the rail. In unison, they looked over to the far eastern wall, just in time to see two more men fall as another set of rounds from Black's sniper team echoed amidst the chaos.

"Ghost, this is Wolf."

Edward's sharp gaze skipped down to the ground to the northwest corner of the barracks, where the trio of Deltas were now positioned. "Go ahead, Wolf."

Simultaneously signaling his giant of a staff sergeant to go right, Jacob stole a look up to the Marines. "We got you. Come on down."

Edward gave his corporal a quick once-over. "You good?"

"Fuck, yeah." Already positioning behind the inside ledge, the younger man grinned a row of blacked out teeth. Wasting no time, Jasper flipped out his rifle's bi-pod, situated his weapon, and reached into his vest for a stack of magazines. As he lowered his eye to the scope and made a dozen tiny, automatic adjustments, that grin turned a little savage. "Call me the Grim fuckin' Reaper."

With a sharp dip of his chin, Edward lifted his rifle and moved to the corner tower, dodging the sprawled-out men he'd taken out mere moments before. At the entry, in a smooth, lithe move he'd done a thousand times, he flipped his NVGs down, took a knee, and with his rifle in the lead, slid around the corner.

Drenched in a dozen shades of green, the stairwell was a dark, empty cylinder. Inside the thick walls of cinderblock and concrete, the cacophony of gunfire and stun grenades from the compound muted, just enough that he could hear the steady cadence of his own heart. When he sucked in a breath, the air tasted like dust, sweat, and the acrid bite of sulfur from the grenade smoke drifting in from the bottom.

At the edge of the landing, Edward leaned forward, peering over the concrete half-wall to the stairwell below.

Nothing.

Nothing, but the swirling motes of dust, neon green against the dark.

In his earpiece, he heard his lieutenant give Jasper a tight, rapid order. The corporal muttered a pissed off response, and then there was the sharp crack! of his high-powered rifle from the wall outside. Two more shots followed.

Eyes and rifle always moving, Edward descended to the first platform, and then the second, and then finally the third, which lead straight to an arched, open-door exit out to the compound yard. As he crept toward the frame, another explosion rocked the air.

"You're clear!" Black said into this throat mike, right as Edward slipped out of the exit, immediately dropping behind a heavy yellow forklift positioned nearby. He paused only for a second, just long enough to tag the position of the Delta team and an approaching group of camouflaged soldiers – each one, tall, pale, and sporting small matte-black modern arsenals. He tapped his mike, grabbing the other captain's attention, and then issued a battery of silent signals.

Across the way, Jacob nodded. With a quick motion to Jared and Paul, the three men fanned out behind a low, crumbled wall, twenty yards away, weapons aimed at the grouping of soldiers.

"And go!" Jacob yelled as the three Deltas simultaneously opened fire on the group.

Two went down instantly, and four more scattered, diving behind any cover they could find. Far better trained than any of the locals, the militants returned fire a beat later, pinning the Deltas down behind the wall. "Go, go, go!" Jacob ordered over the chaos, sending a hail of gunfire across the top of the wall. "We got these fuckers. Go get Doc."

Low and silent, Edward shot from his position behind the forklift, skirting the gun battle to target a small storage shed fifty yards to the north.

Mid-way, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. Picking up the barest hint of movement in his periphery, he twisted to his right, instantly pinpointing the rising soldier in the distance with a grenade in hand and already arching a throw toward the Deltas. Without a second of hesitation, still on the move, Edward fired. The bullet ripped across the yard, popping the man right through the temple in wide spray of blood and gore.

As the soldier went down in a wild pile of limbs, the grenade tumbled to the dirt. Before Edward could yell out a warning, it exploded in an ear-splitting concussion that shook the ground. Edward glanced past his rifle, just in time to catch the gruesome scene of body parts and concrete shrapnel flying through the air.

"Jesus Christ," Black muttered, even as he motioned Edward to keep moving. He spat out another low curse when he peered over their wall and saw the carnage. "I still don't owe you!"

On Jacob's left, splattered in sand, debris, and who knew what else, Paul scowled and bellowed over to his commander. "Fuck, you don't. You almost shit yourself." Pissed off and growling, the big man dropped the last militant – stunned and bleeding – in a blast of gunfire. "Ghost, I'm buyin' you a fuckin' beer."

Mid-stride, Edward's lips twitched. "Don't die and we'll call it even," he fired back, darting from cover to cover in a low, fast sprint toward the dark, massive warehouse and lab in the north.

July 5
Underneath the Deathstalker Terrorist Compound
Somewhere West-Central Somalia, Along the Ethiopian Border

Two levels below the surface, in the small, cramped office Walker had thrown her into once he'd finally finished his brutal questioning, Bella froze.

Her eyes, puffy and swollen, darted up to the ceiling, widening at the low, echoing booms! that shook the concrete and rained down a spray of dust and pebbles. Heart beating a thousand miles a minute, she licked her dry, cracked lips. Wincing at the throb in her jawline – her entire face, really – she muttered a soft, almost disbelieving, "Holy shit, he's here."

The hope she'd almost lost as Walker mangled her hand and beat her bloody surged, nearly taking her breath in its strength and swiftness.

Tucking her hand – wrapped and stabilized as best she could manage – against her stomach, Bella cleared the distance to the door in a handful of short, quick steps. Through the small square of metal-meshed security glass, she caught a glimpse of Spetsnaz, armed to the teeth, as he darted past and down the long corridor just outside. Another militant followed hot on his heels, and in the distance, she could hear men shouting in a dozen dialects.

"What do you mean…" Aronović was screaming, his voice absent any sign of its usual melody or lilt. "How many are there?"

Another answered him, crisp, calm, and unmistakable. "Two teams. One from the south has breached. Another is still outside the east gate. We'll take care of them…

"Are you certain?"

"They're skilled, but we have far greater numbers and defensive advantage. We knew they would come." He shouted an order to another soldier. "Aro, go with Victoria. These men will escort you down to the cavern. I'll follow shortly."

"Bring Dr. Swan when you come," Aro growled. Something crashed against a wall. "If you can manage it without fucking up."

"Go." Walker answered, clipped, cold, and savage. "I'll meet you shortly, but first, I have a Marine to kill."

Spinning a dozen scenarios through her head, Bella leaned against the cool metal door and stared up at the ceiling. Another explosion went off, low and muffled by distance and the thick rock walls.

Aro yelled something else – something guttural and heavy on the consonants – and then there was the scuff of boots running down the corridor and past her door.

As soon as the corridor went silent, Bella rushed over to the desk. Almost frantic, she grabbed all the paperwork she could manage – equations, schematics, anything that might be useful. One-handed, she rolled the stack into a single, tight, wrist-thick cylinder and slapped a scavenged rubber-band around it to hold it together. After a blink of consideration, she yanked the leg of her pants up to her knee, tucked the cylinder inside against her calf, and then shoved her pants back down into the top of her boot.

Searching for anything else she might be able to carry, her eyes landed on the slim, modern laptop that housed the professor's models and notes.

Bella's lips spread as she slammed the machine on the concrete floor, cracking the case in a single blow. Slipping the hard drive into the cargo pocket at her knee, she muttered a low, angry, "Fuck you, Aro."

Not sure what to do, or when the captain would find her, or how they'd eventually get out, Bella sat on the edge of the beat-up wooden desk and trained her eyes on the metal door. A tremor skated down her spine, and she sucked in a slow, steady breath, trying her damnedest to rein in her galloping heart and trying even harder to ignore the angry throb in her hand that seemed to pulse in time to her heart.

Minutes later – or maybe more – there was the scratch of a nail against glass. Looking up to the window in the door, Bella's eyes shot wide, and as a now-familiar face appeared in the square of glass, recalled terror swept through her limbs.

Dark, probing, and borderline maniacal, those awful eyes of his stared back at her.

Walker grinned at her fear. "Sit tight, sweetheart. I'll be back for you soon."

July 5
Deathstalker Terrorist Compound Yard
Somewhere West-Central Somalia, Along the Ethiopian Border

Rosalie swore a blue streak.

"Trick was right," she yelled over the bullets biting into the wall above their heads. "These motherfuckers are everywhere."

Ten yards to the gunnery sergeant's right, quick as lightning, Emmett yanked another long, brass-filled belt out of his pack, fed it into the feed tray of his 240, and locked the latch. Aiming at crumbling Jersey wall thirty yards ahead, the staff sergeant fired a steady, sweeping barrage at the line of militants hunkered behind the concrete. Chunks of concrete and jagged shards of debris sprayed the yard. "Let's go, Dollface. Move, move, move!"

Cutting the man a hateful glare, she scrambled over to his position. "I'll show you move."

Despite their position and the raging battle all around them, Emmett grinned and sent the blonde a squawky kiss. Sweeping the wall in another torrent of fire, he laughed at her scowl, "Love you, too, baby."

Rosalie just rolled her eyes. "Whatever, asshole."

At the edge of their position, Rosalie peeked around the corner. Right as she caught the rapid-fire radio exchange between the lieutenant and the Israelis, outside and steadily advancing against the eastern gate, she picked up two more soldiers. "Tink, you got two Tangos heading your way."

"Fuck," Alice muttered as she shifted to the right side of the gun truck and located the soldiers creeping toward her. "Jazz, where are you?"

Static burst through her earpiece. "Tinkerbell, I got a fuckin' wall between me and them. I have no shot. I repeat, I have no shot." Jasper ground out a curse. "Get your ass out of there!"

"That's a negative," she said back, watching the two spread out. "No out."

Silent, ignoring the frantic chatter between the corporal and the gunny in her ear, Alice slid behind the tall front fender of the truck. Bending low, the lieutenant stole a glance beneath the undercarriage, watching as two pairs of boots split, coming at her from either side. Not waiting for their ambush, she duck-walked to the center of the vehicle, back to the metal door, and she lifted her carbine.

Not yet, she said to herself, watching the corners in her periphery.

Wait…

Wait for it…

At once, they sprang.

In a swift, fluid move, reminiscent of her commander, Alice leaped to the left and away from the truck, sidestepping a swinging arm and immediately sending a volley of shots into the soldier at the rear.

Not stopping to see if the first one went down, too close to fire again, she elbowed the second soldier right in the larynx, stunning him instantly. Choked and eyes boggling, he garbled out something in a language Alice didn't understand. She elbowed him again, this time in the nose, and then despite the extra fifty pounds he had over her, she grabbed him by the vest and flipped him over her hip.

"Oh, fuck you!" Alice yelled when he flailed, punching her in the ribs. Before he could react, she whipped out her sidearm and nailed him in the chest above the vest and again in the head, point blank. When he went limp, blood pouring out onto the dirt, the lieutenant slumped to the ground, and in her throat-mike, she panted out an angry, "Ghost, if you're listening, I hate your fucking job."

A blink later, Rosalie raced around the front fender, stopping in her tracks as she took in the diminutive pilot positioned on the ground, splattered by blood, and with two very dead soldiers on either side. One perfect brow arched, and the barest hint of a smile tugged at the gunny's lips. "Float like a fairy, eh?"

Still slumped, Alice panted out another breath and wiped the heavy sheen of sweat and wet off her face. "Yeah, yeah," she said, waving a hand. "Sting like a motherfucking hellfire missile."

"Jesus, don't get her started." The steady rat-tat-tat! of Emmett's rifle abruptly ceased, and the staff sergeant shot around the truck a moment later. Like the gunny, the man skidded to a halt. The big man glanced down and let out a low, approving whistle. "Niiiice, LT."

As she pushed herself off the ground, Alice cut the man a glare that would have sent anyone else running and screaming. "Let's move, dummy."

Meanwhile, positioned 500 yards northwest of his team, at the far end of the barracks, Edward slid behind a steel storage locker. Silent and absolutely still, he blended into the darker shadows as he eyed the teams of soldiers running across the yard from building to building, regrouping and organizing as the shock of their initial attack wore off.

Overhead and along the walls, a line of high-lumen floodlights flickered to life, casting the yard a shade of brilliant white. Chasing the shrinking shadows, Edward sank lower, and with a low, "Damn it," he ripped off his NVGs.

More careful now – slowly and without making a whisper of sound – Edward waited for the closest group to pass and then creeped from the bin to a head-high stack of crates, each one stamped in red and black. Pulling out a slim round mirror, he extended the handle and inched it around the corner, where he could see both the lab and the massive warehouse.

"Where are you, Bella… which one are you in?" he whispered to himself, watching as a new team – all seasoned pros by their gait and demeanor – emerged from the lab. A moment later, a single soldier followed, this one pale, with a short-trimmed beard, and rocking that familiar M203 grenade launcher and modified Steyr.

"Tinkerbell, Wolf," he said softly. "They're organizing quickly. You're going to need to move fast. Tell Eli to take that gate and get his ass in here ASAP."

Just as Alice started to reply, El'azar chuffed in his ear, barked out an order to one of his soldiers, and then said. "We're taking heavy fire from a machine gunner on the wall, but setting explosives as we speak."

A single shot echoed across the compound. A pair of deeper thumps from the opposite side followed hot on its heels. There was a sharp scream of pain and then a long break in the gunfire in the background.

"Ah," El'azar went on, and Edward could hear the commander's pitiless smile. "Kol HaKavod, gentlemen."

Edward shook his head. "Tink, I'm position." Reaching into his chest pocket, he plucked out another magazine. Slowly, muffling the telltale click-clack when he chambered the first round, he added, "Be aware, just saw Mr. 203 out and about. I suspect there'll be a few more not-so-friendly faces soon enough."

"Copy that."

"Ru'ach refaim," El'azar cut in, this time lower, absent the ever-present fatalistic amusement Edward knew so well. "Walker is… formidable. He's one of a handful that you could call an equal."

"I know, Eli," Edward replied. His jaw flexed and rolled, and inside his glove, his fist squeezed, scraping against the rough suede lining. "Doesn't matter. I have to find her and try to get her out of here."

"Be careful then." The major spat out another rapid-fire series of commands. "LeTov, uLeChayim, uLeShalom."

Without another word, Edward turned back toward the massive warehouse and then to the low flat-roof laboratory building in the east. Tucking the mirror away, he belly-crawled up to the opposite edge of the crates to map out the options.

Just when he started to move, Edward froze. A tickle of awareness – that telltale invisible brush across his nerves that he'd learned never to ignore – rushed through his limbs, right as another soldier stepped out of the laboratory and into a pale wedge of white light.

Stringy, dirty blond hair, tied at the nape.

Hawkbill nose and jagged scar.

Hard, lean, and muscled in a way that only came from a lifetime at war.

The unmistakable comportment of an apex predator prowling the high plains.

Beneath the floodlight and half hidden by a wide vertical concrete column, Walker paused, just inside the laboratory's outer perimeter, where he could monitor the teams of soldiers scattering across the yard. Always watchful, fists balled and on his hips, his gaze lapped the compound, taking in the billowing smoke from the south and the flashing strobes behind the distant buildings. A sneer curled his lip, and he growled a low, angry order to one of the nearby soldiers in European fatigues.

"You idiots," Edward watched the former captain mouth. His arm flew in a wide, angry, haphazard wave. "This is nothing but a show. There are no more than twenty of them. Twenty. They're nothing. Organize your men and take them out!" When the other man nodded, muttering something Edward couldn't see, Walker's eyes narrowed. "I don't give a fuck what you think. Bring me heads or I'll take yours."

As the soldier scurried off, white-faced and eyes wide, another exited the lab, this one cool and collected, his pace little more than a meandering stroll. Bone-pale, with a battle-hardened stance, and decked-out with an urban warfare MP7A1 rifle slung across his chest, Jasper's Mr. Spetsnaz stopped just to the right of his commander and eyed the tops of the compound walls.

Edward's forefinger inched toward his trigger, recalling all too well their scientist's frantic dash through the alleys of Mogadishu. Hot on its heels, the image of her squaring off with Walker in that godforsaken hood came unbidden. The thought of him dragging her through the desert, hurting her in all the ways that Edward knew he could do… that nearly stole his sanity. Edward's grip tightened on his rifle. His heartrate kicked up in time, thrumming in his ears. The white light bathing the yard tinted red.

Forcing himself to still, clawing for every bit of self-control he had, Edward shoved back the ice-cold need for violence and retribution that exploded through his veins. Instead, sucking in a slow, deep breath, he watched the two men, both half-hidden, drift in and out of his line of fire, and through the magnification of his scope, he followed their lips, waiting for the slip that he knew would come.

A minute passed like that before Spetsnaz finally shifted his rifle to motion back inside the lab.

"Make sure Aro's not done something stupid. You know how that fool gets," Walker commanded as his dark eyes made another lap of the compound, lighting on every dip and shadow. He chuckled. "Check on the woman, too."

At the man's last command, Edward's muscles tensed as that need to strike reared its violent head once more. His chest expanded against the slim plates inside his stripped-down vest, sucking in another breath of acrid air. His lips moved, whispering an oh-so-quiet, "Come on, show me where she is…"

"Yes, sir," Spetsnaz answered back, and immediately spun back toward the lab.

Impatience licked across Edward's spine as Walker paced in and out of his line of sight, always moving, always watching the shadows and corners. Seconds later, somewhere in the distance, a heavy machine gun lit off, answered by another. Voices, indecipherable from the echo, rang out, and the former captain's harsh features transformed into a fierce scowl. With a single glance over his shoulder, he stalked across the yard toward the south end of the compound, disappearing from Edward's view.

For a brief second, Edward warred with himself, wanting – no, needing – to take Walker out.

Stalking Walker would take time, he knew.

And time was something Bella might not have.

But at least he now knew she was alive.

Something warm and foreign – a kind of stomach-stealing relief he didn't know was possible – threaded through the violence, instantly grounding him back to his mission. His muscles uncoiled and his heartbeat slowed.

Rising behind the crates, Edward tapped his throat-mike, "Jazz, Tweedle Dee, come in."

Jasper's response was immediate. "Go ahead, Ghost."

"Walker's moving south somewhere behind 203." Already on the move, Edward darted from behind the crates to a nearby stack of cinderblocks twenty yards away, and then he sprinted to a pile of metal scrap just outside the laboratory perimeter. "If you see him, do not hesitate. You terminate that motherfucker with extreme prejudice."

"Yes, sir."

Scanning the yard, hidden in the shadows, Edward held, just long enough for a trio of lagging locals to pass. Once they turned the corner and disappeared behind one of the larger storage sheds, he creeped forward and ducked behind a wide, pitted concrete pillar.

Fifty yards, he judged, eying the trampled ground still illuminated in pale white light. Fifty yards of wide-open space was all that separated him from that building. Scanning to the left, the right, and then up to the walls, he stole one last deep breath before launching himself out of the shadows.

As fast as his boots would carry him, Edward raced across the open space to the front of the lab. About the time he hit the half-way mark, in the dead center of the too-lit space, a loud squawk of warning hit his earpiece.

A split second later, the Israelis' C-4 detonated at the eastern wall, sending out a deafening boom! that shocked the entire compound and toppled the gate and adjacent rock. By his second step, the pressure wave hit, blasting Edward with a wave of heated air.

"Goddamn, Eli," Edward muttered into his mike. "How much did you use?"

"Mah Yesh?" El'azar howled. "Tinkerbell wanted fireworks. Ask and receive!"

Edward's boot hit the cement walkway surrounding the building a moment later. Back to the wall, eyes and rifle always moving, he slinked toward the heavy metal door and paused, listening for any hint of movement from within.

Nothing.

Nothing, but the onslaught of gunfire and yelling in the south.

Slowly – ever so slowly – Edward turned the handle, pulling the door open just a sliver, just wide enough to peer inside the bright, almost blinding white and black modern laboratory.

Already prepared for what he'd see, Edward quickly scanned the sprawling space. Like the underground lab out in the middle of the desert, there were rows and rows of black-topped benches. To the right, banks of stainless-steel hoods hummed. Boxy, beige machines – ones with names only Bella knew – were everywhere, topping the benches and cabinets, along with modern, slim-line workstations. And just like that godforsaken lab, this one had its own glassed-in isolation chamber, complete with a mocked-up warhead in the center.

But unlike that underground lab, this one was empty.

Low and tight to the wall, Edward slipped inside, rifle in the lead and searching for any hint of movement. He cleared the first row of benches, the second, and then the third, meeting nothing but eerie silence, broken only by the hum of the machines and the resounding battle outside.

At the fourth row, something shimmered in Edward's periphery. Instantly spinning, the laser line of his rifle found a ball of bright white fabric cowering against one of the steel cabinets. Knees pulled tight against his chest and with his head buried in his arms, a middle-aged balding man shook in absolute terror.

Eyes never ceasing their non-stop circuit of the room, Edward stepped between the benches and squatted directly in front of the man. Reaching out with one gloved hand, he gave the man in the lab coat a gentle shake. "English?"

The man's head popped up, and taking in the captain's weapons and warpaint, he blanched. His breath rasped, and bloodshot and rimmed red, the man's blue-eyed gaze bored into Edward's. He licked his lips and swallowed, and then in a broken, shaky whisper, he replied, "Some."

Edward looked over the bench behind him toward the door. Softly, he asked, "Are you a prisoner here? Did they take you?"

The man nodded frantically. "Oui, les soldats m'ont kidnappé… they took me… from my university… in Palaiseau." He swallowed again. "I am an engineering professor there."

"Are there others like you here?"

The man looked left and then right as his fingers clawed the starched fabric of his lab coat. "Oui, there are three others here." Wetness pooled along his lower eyelids. "He makes us work on weapons."

Grim, Edward followed the man's glassy gaze toward the back of the lab, where a long corridor led off into the dark. "A woman would have just arrived. Dark hair. American. Maybe wearing clothes like a soldier."

With another frantic nod, the man whispered, "Dr. Swan, she is here."

Edward stilled. "Do you know where they're keeping her?"

"Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

Still trembling, the man pointed toward the long corridor. "Dr. Swan is down… below, but I don't know where." His fingers spasmed, and Edward saw that they'd all been broken, left to mend on their own, mangled and misshapen. Two were cut off at the knuckle, each blackened from cauterization. Edward swore under his breath.

Noting the captain's focus, the man gave him a small, sad smile. "You must go down the hallway, all the way at the end. There is a door… it has a finger code. That is where there are stairs."

Edward swore again, this time for an entirely different reason. "Okay," he said. "My team is coming behind me. For now, you need to hide, but not in here. Somewhere behind metal." Taking in the other man's trembling frame, he asked even softer. "Can you do that?"

The man dipped his chin. "Oui."

"Okay, hide and then we'll get you out of here."

Not making a sound, sparing the man a final look as he crawled toward the opposite side of the lab, aiming for what appeared to be some kind of narrow storage closet, Edward rose from the behind the bench. The room was still eerily silent, devoid of any of the occupants that Black's team had caught on camera.

He passed by another row of benches, and then two more, before finally slipping into a long, narrow passageway that looked like it had been cut straight out of the limestone and supported with thick, iron beams and aggregate filler. Dim, soft lights ran down its length, wired in through cylindrical aluminum conduit. When another explosion went off, this one a little closer, the lights flickered.

Edward moved quickly down the corridor, stopping only to check the random empty rooms and passages that connected through periodic breaks in the walls.

Still nothing.

Still no one.

Almost at the end, no more than thirty feet from the door, Edward picked up the soft brush of fabric coming from one of the perpendicular passageways. He halted and immediately ducked into the nearest empty room. Plastering himself against the wall, out of sight and hidden in the shadows, Edward listened and waited.

A moment later, there was another brush of fabric and then the familiar rattle of metal against Kevlar.

Edward's focus sharpened. Watching the sliver of the corridor that he could see from his position inside the room, he slowly, carefully, unclipped his rifle from its sling and silently propped it against the wall. In a swift, fluid move, he unsheathed his ka-bar and crept forward.

A flash of fracture-pattern camouflage went by, heading toward that same door at the end of the hall. And in that brief flash, as he caught the shape of the man's short barrel MP7 and battle-hardened gait, Edward had all the confirmation that he needed.

As soon as Spetsnaz cleared the door, Edward slipped out behind him.

Silently, pacing his steps with his target's, Edward trailed the man by no more than ten feet. Nearly at the door, already swinging his weapon underneath his armpit so he could maneuver the scanner and lock, Spetsnaz stopped.

As if in slow motion, the man's wide, straight shoulders straightened as his senses finally registered the silent, anomalous presence at his back. He started to spin, but Edward was on him before he could get halfway around.

In a lightning-fast move, Edward slid one arm over the soldier's shoulder and underneath his throat. He yanked up, jerking Spetsnaz onto his toes, right as a gloved fist slammed into the man's kidney, just beneath the line of his armor. Stunned from the force and the constriction on his windpipe, Spetsnaz's knees buckled. Dropping his weapon, an elbow flew back into Edward's armor, but the captain didn't flinch.

His free arm came up, ka-bar tight in his fist.

As the man opened his mouth to scream, Edward jammed the knife into his mouth, razor-sharp, serrated blade facing in, stopping just shy of splitting him wide open.

Blood pooled at the corners of Spetsnaz's mouth, running down his chin and dripping onto his armor and the floor. He froze, stock-still, his light eyes boggled to the side, attempting to see his attacker, and then he made a low, keening sound. His teeth clacked against the metal. Edward rammed the blade in even deeper.

"Now be quiet and open the door," Edward whispered in his ear, his voice soft and deathly cold. "Or I'll turn you into the Joker."

.

.

.

Notes:

Hebrew (transliterated):

Kol HaKavod: All respect. Good job.

LeTov, uLeChayim, uLeShalom: For Good, and for Life, and for Shalom, which can take on many meanings, all good: wholeness, peace, security, tranquility, completeness, safety, well-being, etc

Ru'ach refaim: recall ru'ach means 'spirit' (soul) and refaim means 'fallen ones'. Combined, they kind of mean 'ghost'.

Mah Yesh: What's the problem?

French:

Oui, les soldats m'ont kidnappé: Yes, the soldiers kidnapped me

Glossary:

C-4: is a handy-dandy variety of the plastic explosive family known as Composition C, which uses RDX as its explosive agent. RDX is an organic compound, chemically classified as a nitroamine alongside HMX, which is a more energetic explosive than TNT. C-4 is composed of explosives, plastic binder, plasticizer to make it malleable, and usually a marker. Its texture is similar to modelling clay, and it can be molded into any desired shape. It's very stable and insensitive to most physical shocks. It can't be detonated by a gunshot or by dropping it onto a hard surface, nor does it explode when set on fire. Detonation can only be initiated by a shockwave, such as when a detonator inserted into it is fired. When detonated, C-4 rapidly decomposes to release nitrogen, water and carbon oxides as well as other gases. The detonation proceeds at an explosive velocity of 8,092 m/s (26,550 ft/s).

Jersey wall: these are those concrete half-walls that you see on the highway dividing lanes.

LT: short for lieutenant

Palaiseau: suburb of Paris and home of the École Polytechnique, one of the most prestigious and selective grandes écoles in France. It is a French public institution of higher education and research. The school is a constituent member of the Polytechnic Institute of Paris.