Gator, p.1
Gator, page 1
GATOR
SEAL TEAM ALPHA
BOOK 19
ZOE DAWSON
Gator
Copyright © 2023 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 for her excellent help. As always, you guys are the best.
It isn’t enough to talk about peace. One must believe in it. And it isn’t enough to believe in it. One must work at it.
Eleanor Roosevelt
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
Master Chief 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 - Covert 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
Jae “Flash” Shaw
1
Somewhere in Syria – Two Years Ago
The shriek of an incoming missile sent Petty Officer Zephirin “Gator” LaBauve bolting toward the crumbling building. He ate up the ground, moving steadily with Petty officer Callen “Blitz” Berenger’s weight across his shoulders. He’d been running for so long with his teammate on his back, he was running out of juice.
That was when SEALs dug deeper.
The missile’s impact threw them forward demolishing half the street. Knocked to his knees, his pads absorbed most of the force. Debris hit them both, annoying Gator couldn’t protect his buddy and get him out of harm’s way.
The enemy was being stubborn bastards, and a trail of bullets danced behind him as he gained his feet, dragging his wounded teammate with him. Thirty feet, twenty…Gator fell behind the remnants of a wall, the husk of the building destroyed by mortars to keep them contained. It was working—but they couldn’t stay here.
He relaxed his shoulder, using the wall to bolster Blitz before sliding him to the ground. The morphine dampened the pain, but the wounds he’d hastily patched up weren’t going to hold much longer. The bullets had hit Blitz’s upper thigh and caught him just below the edge of his vest. Blitz needed urgent medical attention ASAP. He was bleeding again.
Pops of gunfire punched the ground, the wall, and Gator worked the problem on how to get their asses out of this goatfuck. The still air was thick with smoke and dust. Not one inch of real estate was safe. Anyone who had survived the initial attack had already fled the fighting, leaving the city deserted except for scatters of their relentless enemy.
“How are you doing, brother?”
“Peachy,” he replied. “Who the hell is after us?”
“I have no fucking idea. But don’t you love how the ‘political settlement’ is working so fucking well?”
Blitz coughed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, it’s working as intended.” He coughed again. “I would say they need to hurry up and find our assess and get us the hell out of here.”
“You can bet that Rock is actively looking for us. We missed our last two check-ins.”
Their LT, Adrian “Rock” Lane wouldn’t rest until they found them, including the rest of their team. Professor, Buck, D-Day, Zorro, and Bear. Dead or alive. Gator preferred it to be very much alive.
“You should leave me, brother. I’m just slowing you down. Just give me a weapon and hightail it to safety.”
Gator turned around and stared at Blitz. “What the fuck are you saying? You must be delirious, man. I’m not leaving you here. If we die, we die together.”
“Fuck that shit, Zeph.”
Gator turned around and grabbed Blitz’s vest and shook him. “No. Fucking. Way, Callen. Now shut the fuck up about it.”
He let go of Blitz and retconned the area, taking in the lay of the land and looking for solid cover.
They had maybe a half hour before the faction of fighters caught up with them, and they had transpo. He tried the radio again, but nothing came back but static. He checked his supplies, but as a seasoned warfighter, he knew exactly how many bullets he had. Not enough to keep the unknown group of fighters at bay for very long.
Fractured cinder blocks exploded above their heads in a shower of cloudy rocks. Pieces rained down on them as Gator covered his prone body. Blitz made a pained grunt, knowing his teammate had to be in excruciating pain, but as a SEAL, he wouldn’t show it. The unique smell of cordite thickened. Bullets chipped away at their cover, erratic, goading. Protecting Blitz, his weapon poised, his senses told him the fire came from the Southeast. He reserved his ammo for real targets.
A trail of bullets ripped across his position, the shudder reverberated as each strike jarred the wall, slicing near his boot. Fuck. Crossfire. It wouldn’t be long before their cover was compromised. He looked at Blitz, desperate to shield his brother from any more injury. As it was, he couldn’t tighten the tourniquet and risk Blitz losing his leg. Gator eyed the path behind them. Safety was less than two miles away. The closer he got to the border the odds of encountering allies increased. He shook his head…too exposed, too many bullets, iffy cover. They’d be lucky to make it to the edge of town.
A lone shot, then another hit the ground, displacing rocks. It was some precision shooting, close but not too close to strike either of them, then a third shot thumped just off to their right. It dawned on him. Someone was trying to get his attention. He calculated the trajectory of the shooter, his gaze climbing. A three-story building lay about forty yards south. The lower outer walls were marred by fire, streaked with soot, and jagged, broken windows. The upper floor windows, empty dark squares, framed a blackened maw.
He searched the floor, moving right to get a layout of the building. Gunshots sprayed around him, pinning him, but he was able to peer through his binoculars for a better view of the upper floor. For a brief instant, he spied a gun barrel before it disappeared. A second later, a hand appeared, held up two fingers, then a fist, then pointed. This guy was speaking his language.
The helping hand repeated the message. Hold two minutes, then go.
He was wary it could be a trap. Yet the sniper had gotten his attention rather than kill them. So, he was going on faith and a little desperation here. The other guys out there were definitely trying to kill them.
A mortar round punctuated that last thought, the impact upending cars, debris, and toppling a precarious wall.
“Time to go, buddy,” Gator muttered as he quickly knelt beside Blitz, checking his wounds before hoisting him on his back and praying he wasn’t making a fatal decision for both of them. But he had no choice. They were trapped already, and it would be suicide to wait here to die.
As soon as they moved, the field turned into flying lead. Instantly, his friendly neighborhood sniper returned automatic fire to the north, covering him as he rushed out into the open, crossing the street in a quick dash, using walls battered by bombs for meager cover. Rubble slowed him down, but the building got closer with each step. His new pal covered their backs with constant cover fire, and he celebrated each downed shooter, one less fucker to put a bullet in them. Gator pushed on, the weight of Blitz’s body heavy against his back, but light on his heart. His destination in sight, precarious respite in the shelter of bricks and mortar.
Bullets peppered the ground, and his thighs pumped as he rounded the scorched threshold. He staggered into the shelter of darkness, keeping Blitz secured until he could drop to his knees and roll him off his back. He crawled to his head, gripped his vest, and dragged him from the opening. He scrambled back to the entrance to sight out the doorway enlarged by mortars. Smoke curled on the air, his sinuses and chest reacting to all the steady gunfire. The supersonic crack of bullets ripping downrange rolled closer.
Where was their dark angel?
His gaze darted over the area once more before he checked on Blitz, taking him deeper into the wreckage of a flower shop, a gaping hole in the ceiling open to three floors above. At least it was defendable. He dragged his teammate into a secluded corner, then examined his wounds. Blood saturated his pant leg, and although the patch held, Gator was worried about the blood loss. He checked the time on the tourniquet. He had thirty minutes before he’d have to release the pressure and allow blood to flow into his leg, walking a tightrope between saving his leg and letting him bleed out.
Blitz’s head lolled on his neck and his eyes opened. “Zeph.”
“How you doing, Cal? Enjoying your scenic tour of Syria?” He tamped down his concern. Worrying about Blitz bleeding to death wasn’t going to get them out of this. Gator had no intention of giving up until his last breath. He wouldn’t leave Blitz to die here alone.
Blitz tried to laugh but coughed. “I might be vacationed out,” he said, breathing in short gasps.
“Lightweight. We still have about two miles of countryside to check out, so buck up.”
Gator supported him so he could drink from his canteen, then made him comfortable overturning and dragging a beat-up counter to him for cover. He had a good view from his position with solid cover on three sides, but it was a matter of time before their pursuers discovered them. With his sidearm drawn, Armed, he scrounged for possible items, placing anything useful in the bag he’d stolen from the convoy’s medical supply. He’d been careful with Blitz’s supply of painkillers, holding his own in reserve for later if needed.
He went back to Blitz and knelt down, knowing his teammate had to be hurting bad. He used the next to last morphine capsule, injecting Blitz’s thigh in preparation to change out the dressings.
“He better be ready to travel.”
In a flash, Gator snatched his pistol and spun on his knees, aiming.
A silhouette stood at the ravaged entry. Fuck. He hadn’t detected a thing.
Raising his hands, he inclined his head. “I come in peace.” His face obscured by dark scarves over a dull gray military jacket like the smoke-filled air, he didn’t move a muscle. The only skin exposed was his eyes. Around his waist, he sported a well-maintained utility belt like the sniper rifle slung on his shoulder. He held the weapon across his body, ready to sight and fire. Yet, he stood casually, without fear.
“I could have easily killed you both.”
The sniper, Gator realized with a kick to the balls, was a woman.
She entered, moving with cat-like grace, stepping over piles of debris. Her rifle looked all too familiar.
“Yes, like me, it’s American,” she said, noticing where his gaze landed. He relaxed his arms, holstering his pistol. She stood a couple feet away, staring down at Blitz. “How is he doing?” She unwrapped her head covering, and a plaited tail of golden blonde hair draped over one shoulder. She met his gaze. Beneath arched brows, whiskey-colored eyes stared back at him. Sometimes miracles came in tough, but beautiful packages.
“Putain de bordel de merde!” She was younger than him.
“Holy fucking shit, indeed,” she said. “But the usual response.” She gestured at Blitz. “Can he travel?”
“Goddamned right I can travel. Hoo-fucking-yah!”
A slight smile slipped across her face. “I should have known you were SEALs. No one else is crazy enough to voluntarily operate out of this area.” She inclined her head toward Blitz. “We need to go.”
“Not just yet. Hold him steady while I take care of his wounds.” She nodded as looked over her shoulder. “Let’s get this done. We don’t have much time.”
Succinct and to the point. He wasn’t fooled by the quiet, broken by intermittent gunfire. They were still out there and after all three of them now. It would be too dangerous to dally. He gestured to Blitz, and she unbuckled her utility belt and got behind him, her arms wrapping his upper chest as Gator removed his bandage. Even drugged, Blitz arched with silent agony. Blood oozed from the hole.
She eased from Blitz enough to unclip her canteen, offering it.
He cleaned his hands and the wound, working against the cold. With his hands on the new bandage, he shook so much he couldn’t find the edge to peel off the backing.
He set the bandage down, sanding his hands, blowing on them. She quickly grasped them both, wrapping her scarf around them, then brought his fists to her lips. She blew hotly against the fabric, and Gator felt the warmth engulf his chilly skin. She rubbed and breathed, her gaze flashing up. He felt struck, her soulful eyes concealing so much.
“How’s that?”
He nodded, undid the scarf. “You are full of surprises.”
“You should see me out there,” she gestured with her head.
“I have. Impressive.” The carnage left in her wake told the lethal story. She smiled in response to his compliment. “We better get this done, cher.” The sweetheart endearment came out sounding more like sha.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around Blitz again. She kept her gloves on and though she was dressed warmly, she was squared away. No loose material to impede her ability to use the collapsible rifle by her knee with a bullet conveniently chambered.
“You’re Company.” CIA. Probably attached to NATO.
She was a pro. She gave nothing away, her face impassive.
“Tell me that tiny bit of a French accent is Cajun.”
She wasn’t going to reveal a thing. “Born and bred in Bayou Country. Laissez les bon temps rouler,” which was pronounced lay-say le bon tom roo-lay.
“Dodging bullets is your way of letting the good times roll, huh? Yeah, pal, this isn’t Fat Tuesday or New Orleans, unfortunately.”
He shrugged. Then he focused on Blitz’s wounds. Redressing the two bullet holes, which made Blitz go white and his jaw muscles tighten. Blitz was in no condition to travel, but there wasn’t a choice. There was no way he was leaving his teammate to die in the frigid hell of this urban jungle.
“I’m sure you guys are a bit tired of being used for target practice.”
She had been shadowing them for miles. He thought there was someone else out there. “So, we owe our lives to you.”
Her blank expression didn’t change a fraction.
“Thank you for covering our asses.” He slipped the bandage over the still seeping wound at Blitz’s waist. “I’m Gator. This is Blitz.” He held out his hand. She bit off her glove and shook. Her skin was warm, her palm smooth and dry.
