Trident Force Read Online Free Page A

still far from seamless. No matter what the press releases said, people still had friends and enemies, self-interests, ambitions and agendas.
    Suddenly all hell broke loose on the hummock. The volume and rate of gunfire exploded, its crack, crack, crack mixed with loud shouting. Then Mike could hear the pop of dye grenades.
    â€œThat’s it,” he shouted, standing as he did. “It’s now or never, so let’s hit it!”
    Without waiting for a reply Mike charged forward, as best he could, keeping his graying crew-cut hair below the top of the grass except when he popped up to fire. To his right, Jerry—big, tough but far from young—was doing the same, beginning to pant as his feet sank deep into the mud every few steps. To his left, tall, willowy Alex was gliding over the mud, her long, dark hair made up into a tight bun, as she tried to dance and weave between the stands of stiff, thick grass that Jerry was attempting to bulldoze.
    Shortly before they reached the hummock, Mike realized the defenders seemed to have stopped firing. Fifty squishy, slippery paces later he and his team broke into the open and then charged up onto the slightly raised hummock. They came upon the sort of scene that Mike truly hated.
    One of the defenders, a big, red-haired guy, was lying on his back. Leaning over him, forcing the barrel of his rifle into the redhead’s neck was Jack Kudloe. The SEAL was screaming, “I killed you, you son of a bitch. I killed you,” over and over again, his face red with uncontrolled fury. The redhead kept trying to protest that he had only been hit in the leg. Ted and two of the defenders, both of whose mud-caked greens were highlighted by dye from the grenades, were trying to pull Kudloe off his victim. So far with little success.
    Fury flashed through Mike’s icy blue eyes only to immediately morph into cold calculation. He’d seen it too many times before. Wind a man up too tight, suggest that he was allowed to play by special rules, and you were asking for trouble. No matter how intense their training, many men—under the proper circumstances—lost sight of the objective and, in the process, lost all self-control. And any man who lost control was of no more use to an organization like the Trident Force than would be a mad dog.
    The missions assigned to Chambers’s group went far beyond the straightforward sabotage and assassination that characterized so many black ops. They tended to be delicate, complex and infinitely frustrating. Chambers was as interested in self-control, flexibility, brains and a minimum of couth as he was in killing skills. A little sea time was also a big plus.
    What irritated him the most at the moment was that he’d personally selected Kudloe not two weeks before to replace a man who’d been badly injured and put on the retired list. Now he discovered that his handpicked replacement suffered from uncontrollable bloodlust. Well, damn it, he’d made a mistake.
    â€œGet the hell off that man, Kudloe,” bellowed Chambers.
    The enraged SEAL paid no attention whatsoever.
    Chambers walked around to Kudloe’s head, stooped down and jammed the barrel of his M-16 under the SEAL’s armpit. He then lifted and pushed on the stock, using the weapon as a lever to pry the attacker off his victim. Kudloe grunted and turned toward him, rage still in his eyes.
    â€œGet off that man immediately!” repeated Chambers.
    Kudloe leaned back, taking the pressure off the rifle. “Oh, shit!” he mumbled. Fortunately for him, he didn’t add “fuck you.” Even more fortunately, real knives were not permitted on the firing ranges.
    His eyes still pale with anger, Mike glanced to his side at Alex, who was standing with her rifle under her arm. She was shaking her head to herself and looking at Kudloe with an expression of distaste. She understood how things had to be done if the Trident Force was to achieve