Free Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Awakening Aubrey (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Jack 'Em Up Book 7) by Shauna Allen Page B

he used to be one of theirs and they know what we’re up against.”
    “So, what are our orders currently?”
    “We’ll be assisting as needed, but we’re standing down for now. You aren’t to participate at all. I can’t have one of my soldiers getting in the middle of things, making stupid decisions, for personal reasons.”
    “Personal reasons?” My eyes flew to each man’s face, but they gave nothing away.
    Fletch finally took pity on me and yanked me aside. “You have to stand down, Cortez.”
    “What? Why?”
    “Aubrey’s inside.”
    My entire body went numb as I processed his words. “Aubrey? Wha . . . how?” I raked a hand over my head. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes. We’ve already reviewed the surveillance tapes and she was seen walking into the PX minutes after our gunman and nobody’s been out since. I called Blake and he confirmed he’d sent her to meet me to pick up some cash for a car part. She went inside before I could get there.”
    I blinked in disbelief.
    “I was running late to meet her. If I’d been there on time . . . fuck. I’m so sorry, man, but we will get her out of there. I swear.”
    Now I did sag against the wall, not sure what to think or say or do. All that circled my brain was that I might lose Aubrey and I hadn’t told her I loved her.
    I met Fletch’s steely gaze, then my Colonel’s. “I can’t stand down. I have to be there. I need to help. Please.”
    Col. Remington studied me one long moment. “Fine. But you’re not to overstep your training and get involved, do you hear me?”
    “Sir, yes, sir.” I stood and followed them outside to a waiting van.
    “Let me debrief the class and dismiss them for the day. Be right back,” Creed said before loping inside.
    Within five minutes, I was at a temporary command post fifty feet from the front doors of the PX, surrounded by my commander, my senior NCO, a sprinkling of other MPs, Asher Creed, Fletch, and his men. If there was ever a doubt in my mind that those guys were Special Ops, it was gone now. No need to confirm or deny. It was damn obvious in how they worked.
    Floorplans were rolled out, tactical gear was suited up, guns loaded, directives barked. It was all a well-oiled machine, but all I could focus on was that my girl was somewhere inside and I was helpless to do a damn thing.
    Tents protected us from the downpour of warm rain, but did little to stave off the whipping wind that felt exactly like the turmoil that was eating up my heart.
    I was left to man the radio the MPs were using to communicate, but we were on the periphery of this Op. I watched as they tried calling inside on landline phones and using a bullhorn, but nothing. Absolute radio silence from the inside. Everyone could be dead for all we knew. The reflective glass on the front made it nearly impossible to be certain what was inside or how many casualties, and I knew they were hesitant to go in blind.
    They finally got heat signals of a dozen hostages on the ground and the Tango walking the aisles. Someone was able to climb to the roof and sneak in a small camera to ascertain what kind of weaponry this guy had on him and if he’d laid any traps. The more they learned, the worse the situation got. Besides the SCAR MK 17 assault rifle he had over his shoulder, most likely loaded with armor piercing bullets, there was a stockpile of other deadly weapons in the back of the store: An M40A5 rifle with a flash hider and suppressor, a Saiga-12K Flechette rifle, gas masks, tripwire mines, grenades, two FN five-seveN pistols, an RPG launcher, and ammo out the ass. He’d come to play.
    Two hot, rainy hours later, nothing. No movement, no talking, nothing. They were able to get a name, Sgt. Brian Rhodes, and his psych history. He’d been medically discharged with severe PTSD after two tours in Iraq, and had been having violent hallucinations and paranoid delusions ever since. He was obviously off his meds and had escalated into a full-blown psychotic