As the last two loaded inside, Thorn and Nio were wedged into the semi-darkness of the rear of the Suburban. Sitting with their backs against opposing sides, their legs were pressed against each other as Thorn checked the slide of the Glock Delaney had given him before departure.
In the strained silence of the car he could hear he wasn’t the sole person doing a final clearance, a series of weapon checks sounding out.
The ride took twenty minutes to complete, four Suburbans moving through the desolate late night roads in a convoy. By the time they arrived Thorn could feel sweat running beneath his Kevlar vest, could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
Across from him Nio wore a grim expression that appeared as if he might vomit at any moment. Several words of encouragement crossed Thorn’s mind, though he bit each one back, not wanting their cohorts to hear and deem Nio a liability.
Right now the best thing for both of them was to be as invisible as possible.
The fourth in line to arrive, by the time the rear was opened and Thorn stepped outside, breathing in the cool night air, the north and south teams were already on their way. Little more than black shadows dancing between the trees, the sounds of their equipment was the only way to demarcate they were there at all.
Joining with Delaney and his men, Thorn and Nio fell in with the groups destined for the front gate. Less than two minutes after watching the others disappear into the night they too departed, headed forward at a brisk jog.
In total they covered just under a half mile of ground, the trip taking right at five minutes. By the time they arrived, most of the men were bent at the waist, panting and sweating. Watching them a thought occurred to Thorn, his stomach tightening with the realization that despite their tactical appearance, most were little more than employees of Cardoza and Turner.
Again Thorn thought to say a few words to Nio, to offer him some instruction for once the front gates opened, but opted against it. Anything he offered now would seem like pandering, his own mind settling itself for combat. A product of preconditioning, his breathing evened out and his heart beat took on a steady pace, his nerves tingling with sensation.
For the last few years he had been able to replicate the feeling through football, but since that too was now gone it had been seven long months since the familiar jolt of adrenaline passed through his system. Without trying to fight it he let a smile cross his face, his body finding its natural equilibrium.
Casting aside the holster he’d been given, Thorn fed a live round into the chamber and watched as a pair of charges were placed on the wrought iron hinges of the front gate. Once they were in place, the man applying them jogged back to the group, many of the men turning their backs and covering their ears.
Opting only to close his eyes to protect his night vision, Thorn waited until he heard the small explosives go, the sound of metal ripping away finding his ears.
Like sprinters at the sound of the gun, the entire envoy of men rushed forward at once, spilling through the gate and across the front lawn. For a full fifteen seconds they operated in darkened silence before flood lights spread over the grounds, shrill sirens piercing the air.
A handful of angry Dobermans were the first to react from the house, hurtling themselves the length of the yard with teeth bared. They slammed into the encroaching attackers in an uneven line, launching themselves into the air. Some of the men made the mistake of trying to fight them head on, the enormous animals ripping into them, biting and clawing at every available bit of exposed flesh.
One at a time gunshots began to ring out, the occasional whine of an injured dog audible.
Behind the dogs came a torrent of guards, all dressed in black, handguns extended. Yellow flowers began to punctuate the night as muzzle flashes went off, gunfire exchanged on both sides.
The smell of smoke and gunpowder, the sound of men crying out, only seemed to heighten the primordial instincts within Thorn. Breaking away from the line of intruders, he raised his pace to double time, using the driveway as a path, rushing forward with his weapon raised.
As it stood, the full attention of everybody inside was fixated on the squads pouring onto the grounds. It would be several minutes before anybody thought to piece the invasion to the hostage held somewhere within.
Using that knowledge as fuel, Thorn set a course for the front of the house. To either side men scrambled over the fence and joined in the fray, flashes of gunfire illuminating the grounds like hundreds of oversized fireflies.
Following the ribbon of black asphalt through the front grass, Thorn sprinted for the house, abandoning any pretense of shooting and rushing forward. Only once did he slow his pace long enough to hoist up a shotgun from a fallen guard, trusting that the footsteps he heard behind him belonged to Nio.
Underfoot the ground changed from blacktop to marble, Thorn taking the stairs three at a time as he scaled the front steps and made his way to the door.
Chapter Fifty
Liberation Day - A Thorn Byrd Novel Page 51