A/N: Sorry team! Absolutely didn't intend to leave this untouched for so long! I'm re-editing the story to make it read better and life happened. Only just remembered I was doing this, so will add it to the pile of things to complete!
Enjoy!
1600 EDT - Virginia Naval Base - Bravo Crew Room
Trent entered the cage room, smiling at the photograph in his hand. His mother had handed it to him as he was getting ready to leave; literally running to his stepdad's car as he pulled up with the new print and snatching it off him so she could hand it to him.
Not that his mother would've let him leave without said photo; the woman would've practically hog tied him to a chair until it arrived. She'd done it to him once before, so he knew without a doubt she wouldn't hesitate to do it again.
Despite hating pictures of himself, this was one of the rare ones he was happy to have; a photo of him holding his new nephew – smiling down at the infant cradled carefully in his arms as the baby stared back at him.
Yet again, he hadn't been there for his sister when she brought her child into the world. In fact, it was now a running joke in the family; he'd always promise to be there when either of his two sisters were due to give birth, but with each of their kids – Elena's three and Tasha's two – he was spun up three days before they gave birth, and Elena's number four had been no different.
With the third pregnancy he hadn't made the promise to be there as he was convinced he was jinxing himself – but nope, he still got spun up and out popped Tasha's baby three days later. If anything, his sisters were supposedly grateful because the three days notice he inadvertently gave them meant they could plan their week around the birth accordingly.
His sisters were weirdos like that, but he loved them anyway.
He felt bad every time he was away, knowing one of his little sister's was in pain and he wasn't there like he should've been; after all, the rest of his family were at the hospital as support and he knew his absence was keenly noted by all – his mother forced to worry about two of her children, rather than one – but as was pointed out to him every time he got home and apologised for not being there, he was out there risking his life to make the world a better place; a world that meant they could enjoy the lives they had.
As much as he knew Elena and Tasha wanted their big brother there, they were also aware that his job could be unpredictable and unforgiving on a personal life.
Oh well. As was instinctual by now, as soon as they'd landed he'd jumped into his truck and driven the three hours or so to see his family; getting to cuddle his new nephew and play with his other nieces and nephews for a few hours before crashing in his old room. After a hearty home cooked breakfast and a catch up with his mother, he gave his stepdad a hand with pest control out in the back paddock before leaving for base again – or rather, he did the rabbit shooting while his stepdad sat in his lawn chair and watched; offering the odd pointer and scoring his shots when he actually paid attention.
The man had no issues with doing the job himself, but he told Trent each time that while he waged war on international terrorism for a job, he still needed to earn his salt on handling the domestic terrorism that was going on in the backyard.
In other words, his stepdad was also a weirdo. His mother was too, come to think of it, as she always gave them each a juice box and apple slices before shoving them out the door with an overly cheery 'have fun my brave hunters!' before cackling as she slammed the door behind them.
He froze, his hand halfway to the lock on his cage as he realised what that meant. Oh god, he was the only sane one in his family, wasn't he? And he was a SEAL for crying out loud, he did crazy shit all the time. Of course, the difference between him and the rest of his family of weirdos was that he was paid to do crazy shit. He didn't do crazy shit for the sake of it.
Mostly.
With a defeated sigh at the fact he was stuck with his family permanently – which meant he'd probably need to stage an intervention en masse at some point – he unlocked his cage and set his bag on a shelf.
Grabbing his roll of duct tape he ripped a piece off so he could stick the photo up with the rest of the family ones, then frowned when it covered his photo of him and Cerb. With a quick shuffle, all the photos were soon nicely arranged once again. Despite hating photos of himself, the ones he had were important to him and he wanted them all to be visible whenever he looked at them.
Picture arrangement sorted, he pulled out the tin of cookies his mum had made for him, helping himself to a white chocolate and raspberry one and moaning quietly as it melted in his mouth. Damn, but his crazy mother knew how to cook. Two additional cookies followed in quick succession before he set the tin aside – hidden at the back away from prying fingers – and pulled out a second container for his mother's adopted son and shaking his head fondly at the threat that echoed in his ears: "You make sure my boy gets his biscuits, Trent Sawyer. I'll be calling him to see if he liked them and if he says he has no idea what I'm talking about there'll be hell to pay. Mark my words!"
Dropping his bag on his ammo crate, he headed for Brock's cage with the tin in hand. While Bravo might be his brothers, poor Brock had been adopted by the Sawyer clan not long after he started on the team.
Brock's second mission with them had ended in a fractured arm and a concussion for the canine handler. On their way to exfil he'd pushed Trent through the door of a collapsing building before being struck by large chunks of falling rubble, which in turn had Trent frog marching the concussed greenie to his truck once they landed Stateside.
Doc had concurred that Brock was in no state to be left by himself, which meant Trent had given the non-negotiable order that the greenie and his dog were going to stay with him for the next four days.
Unfortunately for Brock, and somewhat of an oversight on his part, it also meant that the canine handler had to meet the Sawyer clan because he'd had to race home to meet his new niece.
It had only taken a five-minute explanation and a woozy hello from Brock before all three Sawyer women latched onto the curly haired brunet and adopted him into the fold. Because Brock had been out of it, and Brock was Brock even when concussed, he'd rolled with the attention from three strangers with smiles and laughter whenever he was coherent enough to do so. Trent had constantly bounced between amused and exasperated with the female Sawyers, although exasperation had won more often than not – especially when he'd had to repeatedly pry his mother away from his little brother when he really should've been in bed.
After that weekend, Trent's family always made a point to invite their adopted son around when Trent came to visit during his leave; an offer Brock took up more often than not as he always got doted on, and Cerberus had his own little pack of children to keep him occupied.
When Brock been laid up in the hospital after the cluster fuck that was the Caracas mission, Trent had told his family about what happened; and as expected his parents threatened to drive down to check on everyone – an incident he barely managed to avoid by promising to bring Brock for a visit when he was feeling up to it.
In the end, he had to spring Brock from Clay's care the weekend after he'd been released to spare his best friend's sanity; Clay had turned into an overbearing smother hen, and with Jason, Ray, and Sonny hovering in the wings he'd been forced to use Full Metal and Vic as a distraction so he could execute a jailbreak. Which meant he ended up dragging his brother north to his parents house sooner than he probably should have.
The bollocking he'd received from Jason over the phone had been more than worth it when he saw Brock's grin when he realised where they were going.
As Brock wasn't there to give his tin to, he set it on the shelf inside his brother's cage – taking a quick photo and sending it to his mother with a 'delivered as requested' underneath.
Nodding to himself at a task well done he went to shut the cage door behind him when he paused and looked around. There was something out of place, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it might be. Scanning the cage, his eyes dragged over the contents slowly, double checking each item and his frown deepened when he realised what had caught his attention.
The door to the crew room swung open and the rest of Bravo spilled in; Sonny using his crutches to hobble in behind the rest of the team – which, why in the hell was he out of bed already? And was that a black eye? Jesus Christ, where the hell had that come from?! – While Clay said something that deliberately riled Sonny up.
What else was new?
The Texan looked around the room cautiously before relaxing when whatever he was expecting to see or happen, didn't. Odd, but not entirely alarming considering Sonny's stupidly long list of phobias.
"I'm telling you, Goldilocks – you ain't tried a true apple pie until you've had the one my Grandninny makes!"
"Well then, tell your Grandninny to make me a pie, limp-along. But this one was goooood!"
Seriously? They were bickering about apple pie? Trent rolled his eyes because of course they were. Sonny's life seemed to revolve around the Navy, strippers, booze, and food, so he really shouldn't have been surprised.
"Oh yeah, I'll just tell the woman whose been dead ten years to roll on outta her grave so she can teach you a lesson on apple pie delicacies. Lemme just get my phone and use the dial-a-reaper service for ya, one sec."
"Jesus Sonny, there's a religious man present," Clay scolded, smacking the Texan upside the head and dancing out of reach of both his striking hand and crutch. "Have some respect."
"Sonny's never had any respect before Clay," Ray replied drily from where he was ferreting around in his cage. "Doubt he'll start now on my account."
"Exactly!" Sonny agreed enthusiastically, before suddenly frowning. "Wait, what? Hey! You can't use mind tricks on me, I'm injured and drugged – that ain't a fair fight!"
"It's not like your brain functions properly anyway, hop-along. What difference do pain meds make?"
"It does too! You take that back!"
"What are you gunna do? Smack me with your crutch?"
"I'll shove it so far up your backside-"
"Trent," Jason nodded in greeting as he headed to his cage, ignoring the bickering pair as he walked past. "How's the family?"
"Good," he said absentmindedly, finishing his catalogue of what was missing, confirming said items were indeed gone and not just stored in the corner of Brock's cage somewhere before turning to face his boss. "Hey Jase, when did he leave?"
It was weird that Brock would leave without telling him. It wasn't just because Brock was his best friend and they normally knew what the other was up to on any given day, but the brunet had also been excited to see pictures of the newest member of the Sawyer clan. Brock was meant to go with him to meet the baby in person, but he and Cerberus had been exhausted after the last mission so Jason had ordered him home.
Because he couldn't go with him, they'd arranged to meet in the crew room when Trent returned so he could show him the photos of the baby – and they were meant to do that about now. Based on the missing gear, that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
Jason glanced over his shoulder as he shrugged out of his jacket and grabbed his cap. "When did who leave?"
"Brock," he said slowly, as though he were talking to a five year old. Then he winced when he realised that's exactly what he was doing, so changed his voice from Uncle-Trent to Bravo-Trent. "When did he leave?"
"Leave base? Last night like he was ordered too, same as the rest of us. He was back about midday though."
Unease settled in his gut. "When did Brock get spun-up?" He clarified, treading carefully as he realised what was going on. Evidently Brock had been called in for a mission with another team, which would usually be fine; but if any member of Bravo got spun up without Jason knowing about it? Hoo boy, there'd be hell to pay.
After last week's shit show, Trent had prayed they wouldn't have a repeat anytime soon, but apparently they were about to suffer through round two sooner than anyone would've liked. He braced subconsciously, because he knew the reaction wasn't going to be good.
The others froze. Trent stared at Jason's back. Jason slowly turned to Trent.
"What do you mean, spun-up?" Jason asked, his voice low and bordering on dangerous.
Shit. Just as he'd thought. "Brock and Cerb's go-bags are missing, as are Brock's weapons." Items that they'd put back once they'd landed before going their separate ways. He knew that, because he'd followed Brock from the room sans his bags yesterday afternoon.
Clay set his bag on the table and joined him at Brock's cage to look around. His brows furrowed as he saw what Trent had. Or rather, what he hadn't. "Trent's right boss," the blond said carefully, sharing a look with him before turning to Bravo 1. "His stuff's gone."
With a growl, Jason stormed over to the cage and shouldered them both out of the way to look for himself. Trent rolled his eyes but stayed quiet.
Picking bags up and tossing things around, Jason appeared to come to the same conclusion that the packs Brock usually took – that looked identical to the ones they all took, so why he had to move things to look for what should've been obvious Trent had no idea – weren't there. Pulling out his phone, Jason muttered curses under his breath as he pulled up Brock's number and hit dial, then speaker.
"Hi, you've reached Brock Rey-"
The voicemail was cut short as the call ended with a vicious stab of a finger. "BLACKBURN!" Jason roared as he stormed out of the room. The remainder of Bravo shared a look before running after him; Sonny hobbling to bring up the rear.
In the corridor Trent looked left, then right – another roar of Blackburn's name had him running to the left, the others on his heels, and they got there just in time for Jason to go charging into their CO's office.
"What the HELL Blackburn?!"
"Nice to see you too, Hayes," Eric sighed as he set down his coffee, eyes narrowing when the rest of Bravo filed in behind their MC. "Boys."
"How many times have we had this discussion?" Jason snarled, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning over it, as though trying to intimidate the man behind it. Trent smirked when Eric merely raised an eyebrow at him. Blackburn had stopped being fazed by Jason's tantrums years ago – not that anyone had the balls to point that out to him. "My men do NOT get assigned to another team without MY say-so. Why is that so hard for people to understand?!"
Blackburn frowned. "What are you…" he trailed off, eyes glazing over before he cursed and shoved out of his chair; elbowing whoever was in his path out of the way as he hurried from his office with a Bravo-stampede close behind.
Trent shared a look with Ray, saw the wince in the second's eyes. If this was Lindell's doing – as it undoubtedly was – there'd be absolute hell to pay.
When their new Commander had been sworn in, Jason had – despite disagreeing with several things the man did – remained respectful of the position he held and the decisions he made.
Until last week when it all went to shit, when Lindell reassigned Vic to Foxtrot without consulting any of them. Hell, he hadn't even told Blackburn where Bravo's rookie was going until Vic was already gone.
They'd learned about it when they entered the crew room one morning and found Vic's cage empty. Confused, and more than a little furious, Jason had stormed down to Blackburn's office to demand answers - only to find Lindell in his office explaining that Bravo 7 had been reassigned indefinitely.
Unfortunately for Foxtrot, their Green Team recruit had been medically discharged due to an injury after their last spin-up; which just so happened to be right before their deployment. Suddenly a pack member short, it had been a scramble as to who would step in to replace him for the three-month stint overseas.
Lindell had pointed out – far too calmly in his opinion – that at the end of the day he had the final say on what happened with his squads. Apparently, his choice of SEALs that would fill that vacant slot had been either Brock – an experienced, dependable, and sharp operator who would contribute a fresh yet seasoned set of eyes to the team, or Vic - a new, impressionable operator with the foundations set in place, ready to be built upon. Eventually he'd chosen Vic, given that he was the newest and would get more out of the reassignment than Brock would. Plus, Foxtrot already had a canine handler, so it was an unnecessary double up.
Finding out how close they'd been to losing Brock had chilled Trent to the core. It was hard to imagine Bravo without the curly-haired brunet, yet he'd very nearly found himself having to do so. Thankfully said situation was avoided – but it was at Vic's expense.
Naturally, Jason had demanded to speak to Vic. Lindell had told him Vic had shipped out five hours prior with his new squad, but once he was back from deployment he'd talk to the young SEAL to see if he wanted to return to Bravo or stay with Foxtrot permanently.
Yeah. It hadn't gone down well.
With Brock now gone, Trent foresaw a fit of epic proportions in Bravo's near future if there was anything less than a perfectly valid reason for their brother's re-assignment.
When they got close to Lindell's office, Trent winced. Jason was already changing colour when his suspicions were confirmed about who was responsible.
Yeah, this would go reeeeeally well. Not.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Jason snarled, grabbing the attention of the desk-bound woman at her desk who stood to face the oncoming stampede.
"Sir, Captain Lindell is currently unavailable," Lindell's clerk told Blackburn, neatly stepping into his path and halting their progress. "You'll have to come back later."
"I need to speak with him immediately," Blackburn countered as he continued forward, only to come to a sudden stop when his path was blocked again.
"His orders were clear – he was not to be disturbed for the next three hours, so you'll need to come back later."
"Not good enough!" Jason snapped, barely restrained by Blackburn as he tried to push past. "We're talking to him. Now!"
"Stand down Jason," Eric ordered, looking to Ray and Clay to hold Bravo 1 back. They stepped up and grabbed him as silently instructed, but it was obvious they were just as pissed. "You bellowing like an injured bull isn't going to get you anywhere."
"It will if it gets you lot out of my hair," an irritable looking Lindell said from his doorway. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"
"Bravo 5 sir," Blackburn said after shoving Jason back with a pointed glare. "Master Chief Hayes believes Warfare Officer Reynolds has been spun up for a mission without his prior knowledge."
"Master Chief Hayes would be correct," Lindell replied. "I apologise I didn't notify you sooner that Reynolds and Kairos had been reassigned, but the mission was urgent."
"Two of my men?!" Jason exploded in disbelief, and even Trent looked at their Commander like he'd grown a second head. Had he seriously forgotten last week's confrontation already?! "You've gotta be shitting me!"
"May I remind you that both men are part of the United States Navy and will go wherever their Commanding Officer – that would be me by the way – sends them. Is that a problem?"
"Considering we were due to be spun up tomorrow for another mission? Yes sir, it's a problem," Jason snapped.
"That assignment has been handed to Charlie team as they completed their previous mission ahead of schedule. Agent Ellis has already briefed them and they're due to take off at 1700 hours tomorrow." Lindell checked his watch before scrubbing his eyes, and it was only then that Trent saw the exhaustion clinging to the man like a second skin. Something had happened, and it was serious enough that Lindell had been forced to pull men in from other teams to handle it as quickly as possible.
"Due to his skillset and recent training with the SAS, Kairos was automatically assigned to the mission before we'd even been fully apprised of the situation. But I assure you, you were meant to be informed before Reynolds got on the plane – unfortunately the situation kept evolving and I've been stuck in meetings with the DoD, CIA, and British Intelligence since last night. The plane lifted long before my last meeting finished, and this is the first time in twelve hours I've been away from a phone call."
Trent heard the unspoken 'I was trying to catch a few hours sleep before you came charging in,' loud and clear. He had yet to decide if he felt bad about it, though.
It seemed Jason heard it too because he exhaled heavily but backed off. "I'm to be read in on the mission," he said instead, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't back down as far as Trent thought he should've – as in, he should've stopped throwing his weight around demanding answers, so he could just hear the repercussions Bravo would face for their leader's attitude – but if he wasn't so angry with Brock being reassigned himself, he might actually give a damn. "I want to know exactly what my men are walking into."
"You are aware I'm the one who gives the orders, correct?" Lindell asked wryly.
Jason nodded once. "Yes sir."
Amusement seemed to flick across the captain's face, but it was gone too quickly for Trent to be sure. "Good." Lindell shut the door behind him and led them to the Ops room. "I just wanted to be sure."
1630 EDT - Virginia Naval Base - Operations Room
"Jesus," Clay muttered, wide-eyed when Lindell finished talking. "Do the SAS really think they can stop this from happening?"
Trent couldn't help but agree. A terrorist attack on an airport that almost never stopped made it a prime target to make a statement and introduce yourself to the world. An attack on an airport already well known for being the site of the biggest aviation disaster in history? Tenerife would almost certainly never recover from a second blow, regardless of what caused the deaths.
"Based on the intel they believe that two specialised teams would have no problem handling the situation," Lindell replied, looking at a file Davis handed him. "As I'm sure you can now appreciate, due to the complexity of the situation Reynolds was brought in as this mission, without question, requires a dog. The SAS have their own, but we also needed one to ensure maximum coverage. Not only was he the only K-9 unit on hand, but aside from Delta's dog team Reynolds is the only one skilled enough for this type of mission. He was the only choice."
"Of course he was," Sonny grunted in agreement. "Damn kid holds the monopoly on handling a working dog."
"It's why he's with the best," Lindell conceded, and damn if that didn't knock Trent for six – Lindell almost never outright acknowledged Bravo's achievements. Evidently, he was more tired than he let on.
"How long until they touch down?" Blackburn asked, looking at the file. "Wait, they're landing at Madrid? Isn't that significantly out of the way?" A phone rang, and Trent spared Davis a quick glance as she went to answer it.
"Only by three hours. Neither the North nor South airport is designed to cater for a C-17; not to mention it's a dead giveaway for their arrival. They'll land at the airfield British Intelligence dictates and from there will take a private jet to the South airport to avoid detection. Then they'll drive over to the North airfield for infil," Lindell replied.
"Petty Officer Davis speaking," Davis greeted, stealing Trent's attention for a split second; but it was grabbed entirely when Lisa's back went ramrod straight in her telltale sign of trouble. Looking over her shoulder, her lips were pursed. "Sir, I have Commander MacTavish on the line – he says it's urgent."
Lindell set his file down and strode across the room, all of Bravo turning to watch the man as he took the call.
Trent knew that something had happened the moment the man froze. "One second MacTavish. Davis, get a video feed up."
As instructed, Davis pulled up a feed that appeared on the main screen at the head of the table; giving Bravo a view of a middle aged, well-built soldier on the other end. A man who was looking harried as people raced around behind him.
Trent's heart dropped.
"Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to Commander MacTavish; my equivalent in the British SAS. MacTavish, Bravo. Can you please repeat what you just told me to the rest of my team."
"We received a call from British Intelligence fifteen minutes ago." The man had a thick Scottish accent, and despite his worry Trent had to duck his head to hide his smile. Brock and Clay thought Scottish and Irish accents were hilarious and often used them whenever they were goofing off together. Sonny on the other hand hated them because he could never understand the pair when they used the accents on him. A quick glance showed Clay subtly perking up, whilst Sonny's eyes narrowed into his 'I'm-trying-to-understand-you face'.
Both brothers were so predictable.
"They've received word of a second airport attack; we're currently trying to verify the intel, but from what we're hearing it's pretty damn solid."
Oh shit.
He shared a look with Jason, saw the worry in his friend's eyes.
"Where's this attack taking place?" Jason asked evenly.
"Heathrow."
The room, although already quiet, went dead silent. Even the corporals on their computers stopped typing; looking up in alarm.
"Holy shit," Sonny muttered, going pale as he processed the implications of such an attack. Trent knew the rest of them wouldn't be any better.
"As you can appreciate, an attack on an airport this size is going to be extremely difficult to contain, never mind handling the fallout if they're successful. We're rolling out all the SAS units we have on hand and redirecting the team who were on their way to assist Delta to deal with this. Unfortunately, it means we're no longer able to help your boys – they're on their own."
There were several curses at that. Tenerife could be successfully handled by two teams, but one? There would be casualties regardless of how quickly they moved. "Is there any chance the Heathrow chatter is a diversion?" Clay asked. "Designed to divide resources?"
"Even if it is, we have to treat it as an actual threat," MacTavish replied. It was clear he was as frustrated as the rest of them, but Trent couldn't blame the man for pulling his team. At the end of the day, Heathrow was too vital, not to mention massive, to leave to what-ifs. "If we don't respond, and it wasn't a hoax? The fallout is something I don't even want to think about. Your team will just have to do what they can, Lindell. I wish that wasn't the case, but my hands are tied."
Lindell looked at Jason and nodded before turning back to the screen. "Well, it's a good thing I have Bravo Team here; they'll roll out immediately to assist Delta."
"They're three hours behind your initial response team," MacTavish pointed out. "They won't get there in time."
"Well they better haul ass then," Lindell replied. Jason stood, the rest of Bravo following suit and they all headed for the door. "I'm going to continue briefing my team; I'll call you in twenty."
"Understood. Good luck gents."
"Same to you, Commander," Ray – who was now closest to the monitor - replied; Bravo nodding in agreement before the feed was cut.
Greyson followed Bravo to the crew room and watched the team grab their gear; his eyes narrowing when he realised everyone was gearing up. "Petty Officer Quinn, while I appreciate your desire to assist your teammates, your injury makes you a liability."
Predictably, the hot-headed Texan spun to look at him, affronted. "I can still-"
"You're sitting this one out, Quinn," he interrupted, cutting Bravo 3 off. "It's non-negotiable." And it wasn't. Regardless of Quinn's opinion on the matter, he wasn't going to put a medically compromised man in the line of fire – certainly not when it could get him or others killed. He looked at Hayes, already knowing that being two men short – three if you included Kairos – wasn't ideal.
Thankfully he already had a solution that he knew Bravo would be happy with. "I'll arrange for Alpha to come in and assist. The safety of all civilians and the success of the mission is paramount, and the new target shows this group is not above changing things up. The more men on this, the better." He refused to let the Navy suffer bad press for not putting as many people on the job as possible, and with Alpha currently in between missions they were the logical choice to bring on board.
He turned to leave and ignored Quinn pleading to his Master Chief. Hayes knew better than to contradict an order such as this; especially when doing so would jeopardise his team and the lives of every civilian at the airport.
"Sorry Son, he's right. As much as I'd like you there, you can't walk this off."
"At least let me come along, I might be able to do something to help! I'll drive a car! Anything!"
He frowned, and after a second sighed. While Quinn wouldn't be any good in the field, he couldn't deny that the man would provide the support team with an extra set of eyes that could, for all he knew, be the difference between pulling the mission off or failing it.
Turning, he gave Bravo 3 a hard stare; ignoring the half-defiant, half-wary look the man was giving him. "Delta will be wearing cameras on their helmets to assist us in identifying any attackers and bombs they may come across. You're permitted to go on the plane to assist with monitoring the feeds and relaying any relevant information to Alpha and Bravo. You are not to assist in any frontline work, is that clear? I will not put any of my operators at risk because you want to play hero."
"Understood sir," Quinn replied quickly, his face displaying a rare case of seriousness. "Thank you, sir."
He nodded. "I'm going to go call Alpha in; as soon as you're sorted I would suggest organising whatever you can of their gear – I'll tell them to call you if they have anything else to add. Petty Officer Davis will have an updated and in-depth briefing packet for you before you leave. Good luck gentlemen."
Leaving Bravo to get themselves ready, Greyson prayed that the plane would get Bravo and Alpha there in time to actually make a difference. He refused to lose three teams to these terrorists. As soon as he knew who they were, they were going to learn that you don't mess with innocent lives for the sake of publicity.
He'd make sure of it.
