The Traiteur's Ring by Jeffrey Wilson Page A

bunch of teenagers led by a small group of washed-up tribal militia. These guys were top-of-the-food-chain and would have real security. His team had learned a few times in Iraq that the religious zealots protecting the serpent’s head would fight to the death and had no problem dying if it meant they could take a few of the Great Satan Infidels with them. He had seen Mujahedeen surround themselves with suicide bombers who wore explosive vests twenty four hours a day. He really needed to get iced and try to focus.
    Ben ran through the timeline and plan for the breach of their building again. He felt his mind drift back to the villagers and sighed.
    I just wish I knew they were alright. I need to know my little girl is safe.
    Send them a heart message if you must.
    Ben felt struck, not by the sound of the elder’s voice in his head (he almost expected it), but by the fact that he knew exactly what that meant. He closed his eyes and reached his mind out. For a moment, he felt a little like he floated up in the air inside the helicopter, and he could almost feel his words as they swirled around him and drifted out the door. Ben opened his eyes and for a moment saw a cloud of tiny bluish fireflies bouncing beside him, just outside the door of the helicopter. Then the lights, his heart message he knew, spread out and away from them and dove down towards the jungle below.
    I am here, Jewel. I am here, and I am thinking of you. I want for you to be safe.
    He had no idea when he had decided her name was Jewel, but it fit perfectly – his little Jewel from the jungle. He felt the band around his heart again. Another feeling filled his head like hot water and spread out over his body. He didn’t hear it – he actually felt it inside of him.
    I’m home, father. I am safe in our home until you come for me.
    Ben gasped at the sensation of the words as they rattled around inside his head and chest. He had no time to absorb it, however.
    “Five minutes,” the voice in his headset cut out Clapton’s instrumental blues, and Ben leaned out the doorway. In the distance, he thought he might see a small glow but he couldn’t be sure. He snapped his NVG’s back into place, but saw nothing new. Around him he could feel the stir as his teammates checked their gear and weapons one last time. Ben felt around his own kit for grenades and magazines and checked his pistol in proper place on his right thigh. Then, he pulled his rifle from its combat position on his chest to a point just below his right armpit. Last, he slipped a finger into the small pouch with his iPod and clicked it off. He was ready.
    The plan called for an offset fly-by by half the force to mask the hover of the two breacher team helos as they fast roped into the jungle a kilometer from the target. Those helos would similarly cover the insertion of the rangers just at the perimeter on the side of the village farthest from the three target buildings. Helicopter activity might be concerning but was common enough to hopefully not be alarming to the targets. Ben watched the grey-green images of his fellow SEALs as they got into position for the insertion. Chris would be the rope master and sat now with his feet against a large green bag which contained the thick, coiled rope for his side of the helicopter while Jackson from Charlie platoon sat in the same position on the other side. 
    “Two minutes.”
    Ben flexed and relaxed the muscles in his upper body and then pulled a second pair of leather gloves over his combat gloves to protect his hands as he slid down the large rope. He would be second out behind Reed and then Lash, Auger, and finally Chris would follow. Five other SEALs from Charlie would simultaneously fast rope down from the other side of the bird. The entire insertion would take only a few seconds.
    “One minute.”
    Ben reached across himself and unhooked his safety lanyard from the metal cleat beside the door. He folded the lanyard one-handed and tucked it