Fast Lane (SEAL Team Alpha Book 16)
Zoe Dawson
Fast Lane
SEAL Team Alpha
Zoe Dawson
Fast Lane
Copyright © 2021 by Karen Alarie
Cover Art © Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Squad Glossary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Glossary
About the Author
OTHER TITLES BY ZOE DAWSON
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my beta readers, reviewers and editor for helping with this book, especially Lisa Fournier and William Passmore for their excellent help. As always, you guys are the best.
When you’re a threat, you’re always a target.
Unknown
Squad Glossary
Ruckus’s Squad – Tier 2 Operators
Books 1-8
* * *
Lieutenant Ruckus “Bowie” Cooper
Ashe “Kid Chaos” Wilder
Wes “Cowboy” McGraw
Thorn “Tank” Hunt – MWDs: Echo and Bronte
Ocean “Blue” Beckett
Arlo “Scarecrow” Porter
Orion “Wicked” Cross
Jude “Hollywood” Lock
* * *
Fast Lane’s Squad
Books 9-16
* * *
Ryuu “Dragon” Shannon
Errol “Pitbull” Ballentine
Atticus “Hemingway” Sinclair
Max “Mad Max” Keegan – MWD: Juggernaut, (Jugs)
Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham
Neo “2-Stroke” Teller
Zach “Saint” Bartholomew
Lieutenant Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon
* * *
Rock’s Squad
Books 17-24
* * *
Lieutenant Adrian “Rock” Lane (Previous CO)
Milo “Professor” Prescott
Lieutenant Elias “Joker” Jackman (Current CO)
Zephirin “Gator” LaBauve
Callen “Blitz” Berenger
Andrew (Drew) “D-Day” Nolan
Mateo “Zorro” Martinez
Sam “Buck” Buckard
Dakota “Bear” Locklear – MWD: Flint
* * *
Iceman’s Squad – Tier 1 Operators
Books 1-8
* * *
Senior Petty Officer Christopher (Kit) “Iceman” Snow
Boyce “Preacher” Carmichael
Remington “GQ” Nash
Jayesh “Kodiak” Lyta
Archer “Hazard” Booth
Cooper (Skully) “Skull” Sullivan – MWD: Bonesaw (Bones)
Carter “Boomer” Findley
Kelly “Breakneck” Gatlin
* * *
Tex’s Squad - Tier 2 Operators
Books 1-8
* * *
Lieutenant Michael “Tex” Penn
Angelo “Bondo” Zane
Matthew “Easy” Hitchcock
Bale “Shark” Maddox
Shane “Twister” Reeves
Kade “Dagger” Hollis
Christian “Brawler” Beckett - MWD: Beast
To all the brave souls who had served the US as interpreters. This one is for you.
1
Biloxi National Cemetery, Biloxi, Mississippi
Night Stalker pilot, Warrant Officer 3rd class, Solace Mitchell stood in the shadow of a large oak tree just behind the mother, father, widow, and children of US Army Sergeant William B. Slater, her flight engineer for the MH-47 she flew. A Night Stalker had died not while serving on her aircraft, but as a result of an attack in Somalia at the Mogadishu Airport along with other Night Stalker, US Special Forces, and Somali personnel during a failed coup by Al-Shabab and select warlord allies against the Somali government.
She and CIA Officer Rose Sinema had been rescued by US Navy SEALs, namely the team her ex-husband Lieutenant Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon commanded. Rose had a severe concussion and had been medevacked out along with the recovered bodies, three teams of SEALs, including a Tier 1 contingent of four men, and the temporary commanding officer of the urgent mission. They had all been flown to Djibouti’s Camp Lemonnier, a United States Naval Expeditionary Base adjacent to the International Airport in Djibouti City. Will had been transported from Camp Lemonnier to Dover Air Force Base where the Air Force Mortuary Command prepared his body for burial. His immediate family had attended the dignified transfer service and then escorted him to Biloxi, his hometown.
The last time Solace had seen her ex-husband was when she boarded the medevac in Djibouti, but it was not the last time she’d thought of him. Ever since the encounter, she hadn’t been able to get Ford off her mind. The memories of him had all been good, even though she realized there were bad ones associated with their marriage.
It was an odd phenomenon.
One she couldn’t explain.
Maybe it was because she had unfinished business with him. A secret she’d never told him. One that had been both so devastating and painful she’d blocked it out, but seeing him again had brought back everything.
She pushed her own problems aside. She wasn’t here to think about Ford but to lay her crewmate to rest.
Several hundred civilians and military members had filled the First Baptist Church of Biloxi to say goodbye to their fallen hometown hero. His flag-draped coffin had been in front of the church. Behind it was a poster-sized collage of pictures of the soldier and his family in happier times.
They had all left the church after the moving ceremony, the second one she’d attended. She’d been present at a memorial service held on base at Fort Campbell, the home of the 2nd Battalion, 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment.
The first round of the twenty-one-gun salute made her jump, followed by two more synchronized rounds. Will’s two sons, five-year-old Nathan hung onto his mother’s hands and three-year-old Joshua sat on her lap. A bugler played “Taps” in farewell while the flag from the casket was folded and presented to Will’s wife, Tiffany Slater.
Solace was here to see Gretchen. As Will had lain dying in the brush in Somalia, she’d promised to talk to his mom. She fiddled with one of the brass buttons on her uniform as guilt consumed her. By the grace of God, she had been spared death—twice—by such a close margin, she shivered at the thought of it.
But death was a part of her job and something she didn’t dwell on. She was an elite pilot skilled in night-vision and infrared devices, excelling in navigating through enemy territory at high-speed, very low “nap-of-the-earth” flying in the worse conditions, usually at short notice. They specialized in delivering special operations forces safely into some of the most dangerous places in the
world, whether in an enemy’s backyard or a high-altitude mountain hideout.
One of their mottos, “Death waits in the dark!” was indicative of the types of missions they flew and the kind of danger that chased after them.
Once the internment was over, Solace moved away from the tree in a direct path toward Gretchen. “Ma’am,” she said as she approached. “I’m Warrant Officer Solace Mitchell. I flew with your son Will.”
The woman smiled, her eyes moist and glassy from grief. She nodded. “Thank you for attending his funeral.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am, but I’m here for a different reason.”
“What reason is that?” Her husband took her arm, his comfort clear as he stepped closer to his wife.
“I was with him right before he died.” Solace swallowed hard, working fiercely to keep her tears at bay, but it was no use. The memory of Will’s death ripped her up all over again. Tears slipped free.
“Go on, hon, tell us. It’s all right,” Gretchen said graciously, squeezing her arm.
“He wanted me to tell you that he fought well. He wanted you to know.”
Gretchen closed her eyes, sobbing softly. The pain of losing her son must be unbearable. He had been one of Solace’s crew, and she found it agonizing.
“I have no doubt that he did, but I thank you for attending and delivering his last message. That he was thinking of his family touches us all.”
Solace slipped a hand over her abdomen, thinking that she could have had that kind of a family, but it had all gone to hell when she’d lost Ford. Her decision to become a SOAR pilot wasn’t what put her life on hold. It was her inability to move on after Ford. She wasn’t sure if that was by accident or design.
After she delivered her message, she felt an enormous relief. His mother had invited her to a reception, but she couldn’t go. Mingling with his family and friends would be too much. Looking at those little boys Will wouldn’t see grow up was beyond her capability. Besides, she only had so much time to get back to base in Kentucky.
As she walked into the hotel, she removed her maroon beret, the cover for her dress uniform. Up in the room, she packed up the formal dress and donned her civilian clothes, then checked out.
She was catching a commercial flight back, flying out of Gulfport-Biloxi International Airport. She was allowed to board the plane first out of respect to active duty and veteran service members. A few noticed the Army insignia on her carry-on garment bag and thanked her for her service.
Once on the ground at the Nashville International Airport, she picked up her car and drove home. Inside her apartment, she finally let herself cry, remembering that terrible day, Will’s death, and the way her ex-husband had held her after he’d saved her from bandits.
The next day, her eyes red, puffy, and bloodshot, she got word her regiment was deploying. She welcomed the distraction of going somewhere else.
She put cold compresses on her eyes, packed her gear, and reported on time.
She had to put Somalia behind her. It was over, both with Will and with Ford.
Naval Base Coronado, Coronado, California, Two Months Later
Milo “Professor” Prescott walked the beach at Coronado, his heart heavy, and impotent anger making him want to hit something. The holidays had been uneventful. His professor parents had been traveling.
His LT, Adrian “Rock” Lane was down for the count. He wouldn’t be leading their team anywhere. Rock’s family had been t-boned in a horrific car accident that had killed his wife, Danielle, and his two daughters, Emily and Caitlin, two months ago. They were grounded until they were assigned a new CO.
Professor was already predisposed to disliking anyone who tried to replace Rock. No one could fill his shoes, not ever. He had gotten his nickname during their BUD/S class, providing amazing leadership to everyone. He never quit, and Professor knew, even after this tragedy, Rock wouldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Not his CO.
He sat down in the sand, remembering how much of it he had on his body during BUD/S. The hard-ass instructors coined the phrase “sugar cookie,” because that’s what the candidates looked like after a roll in the sand. He stared out at the gray ocean remembering their most dangerous BUD/S rotation—night rock portage. It was in the shadow of the Hotel del Coronado’s white sand beach. Rock had been in charge of that boat ride, and it had been crazy.
They were all freezing, the waves had been ferocious, but not as brutal as the jagged rocks. He had never worked so hard in his life, the paddling alone sapping whatever strength the cold hadn’t taken.
When they hit the rocks, the waves had almost taken them down, but his teammate, Atticus “Hemingway” Sinclair had secured the bowline, and Rock’s orders had been perfect. Even with a crewmember down in the surf, they managed to rock portage the boat out of that killing, frigid surf to pass the rotation.
What he remembered most were the friendships he’d made that would last a lifetime. He and Rock had gone to the same team, Hemingway to another, the other members of that small crew scattered between the East and West Coasts. But he would never forget the bonds they had forged in teamwork and sweat.
“Going down memory lane?”
Professor turned and watched as his friend and fellow SEAL Hemingway came out of the shadows. Hemingway had filled out since his BUD/S days. There was a stillness in Hemingway now, a kind of guarded coolness, a kind of caution. He’d lost his innocence, seen too much on the battlefield, just like Professor. Not disillusioned, just tempered.
“How did you know I would be here?” Professor asked, fist-bumping his BUD/S swim buddy as Hemingway sat down next to him on the sand.
“Guess. I come here sometimes when I feel stressed.” He looked out to sea, and Professor was wondering if he was thinking about that night. “Rock will pull through. He’ll operate again.”
Bracing his torso on his hands, he leaned back. “Not with my team,” Professor said softly.
“No, but he will be back. He’s too tough to stay down long.”
Experiencing a hot, searing rush, Professor clenched his jaw. The tears that flooded his eyes were hidden in the dark, and he was glad for it. There was no overt weakness in the teams, yet his voice gave him away, but Hemingway would never judge. “It shreds me to know that he will wake up to find his family gone. He never got a chance to say goodbye or even bury them, Atti.”
Hemingway reached out in shared camaraderie and squeezed Professor’s shoulder. “I know. It’s tough, but he has us. He will always have the teams. Hoo-yah!”
Professor nodded, meeting Hemingway’s gaze, managing a tight smile. “Hoo-yah!” He folded his legs crosswise and said, “How’s Shea and married life?”
Hemingway shrugged. “Can’t complain. She’s doing her NCIS thing, and I’m waiting for the next deployment. We juggle but manage. It’s hard being apart.”
Professor gave him a slow, off-center smile. “At least you’re getting some. Us single guys have to trawl for love.”
A lopsided smile appeared. “Yeah, you poor sap. I’m sure women avoid you like the plague.”
Professor exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I repel the chicks by the busloads.”
Hemingway laughed. “Well, if you want, Shea is making roast chicken and veggies. You’re welcome to eat with us.”
“Taking pity on a buddy?”
Hemingway stared back at him, a touch of cynicism hovering around his mouth. There was a hardness, a maturity there that almost made Professor sad. Operating downrange had left its mark on both of them. Rock’s accident only added to that solemness. “Something like that.”
Professor held Hemingway’s gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I’m not a basket case,” he murmured.
Hemingway made no response. Professor should probably push it. He didn’t want charity or pity. Maybe it was for the better. Tonight wasn’t a good night to get into a heavy-duty discussion. There were too many old ghosts sitting in the shadows, and he didn’t want anything to trigger them into takin
g shape.
He had enough memories to keep it real.
“Roast chicken and veggies, huh?”
“She works hard at cooking,” Hemingway said. “Has gotten my pancake recipe down to a T.”
Professor rose, almost able to see the seven-man crew crash against the rocks and fight to get the raft and everyone up over the rocks to safety. His chest swelled with pride and comfort.
Hemingway was right. Rock would always have them…the teams…the brotherhood. They would never let any of them down. He followed Hemingway up the beach and was glad for the company.
Before they had taken a few dozen steps, their phones chimed. “Hmm,” Professor said, my team is grounded because of Rock.”
“Looks like you’re going to be heading out with us. We’re a man down with 2-Stroke out for personal reasons.”
They headed straight for the briefing room on base, Hemmingway shooting Shea an all-too-familiar text saying he may not make dinner, or breakfast for that matter. Once inside, Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper, their new CO, told them they were about to spin up. They had only a few hours to get their act together before reporting for deployment. Everyone was assembled around the table.
“Where we going?” Fast Lane asked.
