Collateral (Tier One #6)

Dnipropetrovsk International Airport

Dnipro, Ukraine

0955 Local Time

Dempsey had never seen Chunk’s face so serious before, but then he had never been with the officer after the loss of one of his SEALs. The handful of times when Chunk and his boys had augmented Ember on crazy, save-the-world missions, they had always pulled everyone out of the fire intact.

Not this time.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Dempsey said as they stood together on the tarmac.

Chunk clenched his jaw and nodded. “That’s the job, bro,” the SEAL said flatly.

A CASEVAC helo had picked up their badly wounded CIA evacuees at Brock’s farmhouse in Nikolske and flown them to a civilian hospital in Dnipro. The rest of the team had made the three-hour drive back to the airport in their battle-damaged SUVs, carrying their fallen brothers and sisters with them.

In a few minutes, the Super Hercules would arrive to take the rest of Chunk’s SEALs to MK Air Base for their hop back to the Ford. Saw, who had a piece of shrapnel embedded in the fleshy part of his thigh, probably should have gone on the CASEVAC—but the SEAL sniper insisted he could wait until he got to MK for the FRSS docs to look at it. The latest report from the hospital was that all critically wounded evacuees would survive—including Jonah Knight, the CIA annex lead. Brock and the other GRS shooter, along with their dead, would be going to MK with Chunk’s team. From there, it would be a long ride home . . . or to wherever it was that God and country meant to send them next.

What a goat rope, Dempsey thought with a heavy sigh.

He looked at Chunk, wishing he had something, anything, profound to say. He wanted to ask about Bart—to know the SEAL, because that would make it personal for him. He wanted it to be personal. He wanted to amplify the pain so that he could harness it later and turn it into combat fury. That’s how John Dempsey handled loss . . .

But now is not the time for such things, he decided.

Chunk finally pulled his eyes from the western horizon and turned. “Not a stellar success as a rescue mission, huh?” he said, real pain in his voice. “Won’t be teaching this one in SQT anytime soon.”

Dempsey clenched his jaw. “It was a trap, bro. Our evacuees were the bait . . . and Ember was the target.”

Chunk nodded.

“It could have been worse. We’re probably lucky we got out at all,” Dempsey said. “Reports are coming in of a massive explosion in Mariupol’s city center, with dozens of civilian casualties and a company of Russian peacekeepers dead. Details are scant, but whatever happened, it was enough to finally mobilize Russian armor and troops. They’ve already taken complete control of the city.”

“Damn,” Chunk said, shaking his head. “What about our little party? Has that been leaked to the press?”

“Not yet, and now that Mariupol is an all-out war zone, what happened with us will disappear . . . like bubbles in a wake behind a fast boat. If nobody’s talking about two Marine F-35s bombing Russian forces and shooting down Russian jets already, then they’re not going to.”

“Well, we got ’em out, I guess,” Chunk said, gazing west again. “Most of ’em, anyway . . . That’s what matters most, right? No man left behind.”

“No man left behind,” Dempsey echoed, but couldn’t help but wonder if it had occurred to the SEAL officer that, had Ember’s SAD not augmented Team Four’s mission, perhaps there would have been no ambush waiting for them. Heck, they might have faced no resistance at all . . .

And three wounded CIA officers would not be having surgery right now.

And there wouldn’t be three more stars on the wall at Langley.

And Chunk and his teammates would not be pounding tridents into the top of Bart’s casket in CONUS.

Then again, if Ember hadn’t been there, maybe the Russians would have hit Mariupol Maritime Logistics early and killed everyone before the cavalry arrived.

The drone of a twin-engine UC-12W Huron approaching from the southwest shook Dempsey from his rumination. “Here comes your ride,” he said.

“Yep,” Chunk said, pulling out a can of Kodiak snuff and packing it with a few practiced snaps of his wrist. “So, what’s next?”

Dempsey looked at Chunk. “Whadaya mean?”

Chunk raised an eyebrow. “Dude, I know you’re not done here in Ukraine. And I know you guys well enough to predict your Head Shed is already making plans to decapitate the outfit that ambushed us, tore up our CIA agents, and killed Bart. I’ve been down this road with you before . . . or do your spooky bosses erase your memory after every mission with one of those flashy pens?”

“Sometimes, I wish they could.” Dempsey chuckled and clapped Chunk on the shoulder. “But you’re right . . . we’re not done here.”

“So promise me.”

“Promise you what?”

Chunk didn’t answer, just balled up his fist and pounded it twice against his heart.

Dempsey understood. “When we find the head of this snake, we’ll lop it off . . . for Bart and everyone we’ve lost since we started dancing with these Russian bastards.” He glanced back at where Chunk’s SEALs and the GRS guys were organizing gear beside a row of body bags set to make the long trip back to CONUS. “There’s no one—and I mean no one, brother—we’d rather fight beside than you guys.”

“You know where to find me.” Chunk stuck out his hand.

Dempsey shook it, then pulled the SEAL officer in for a hug. “Godspeed, Chunk.”

“Hooyah, frogman,” the stout warrior said and left to join his guys. Minutes later, everyone and everything was loaded into the plane.

“Don’t fuck up our trucks,” Riker shouted with a grin from the airstair. “I’m guessing whoever gave ’em to us is gonna want ’em back in one piece.”

Dempsey looked over at the SUVs, two of which were riddled with bullet pockmarks on the bodies and stars on all the windows. “Then they’re already going to be pissed,” he hollered back. “But don’t worry, we’ll make sure to tell them which ones Team Four drove.”

Riker laughed and disappeared inside the cabin.

Chunk gave a two-finger salute and followed suit.

And then the Beechcraft was taxiing away.

Moments later, all that was left was the ghost vibration in his ears.

“Now what?” Munn said, stepping up beside him.

“Back to the Boeing, I guess,” Dempsey said. “Call me crazy, but I have a feeling our work’s not done here.”