Vulcan's Fire

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The stalkers awaited the signal.

It came in the dappled gray light of 5:00 A.M. because delay was as much an enemy as the dedicated men inside the remote building.

Outside the five-room house, the assault leader gave a quick click-click of his tactical headset. The eleven members of his team recognized it as the preparatory signal. Receiving no response, he proceeded with his countdown.

“Ready… ready…”

A long three-second wait allowed anyone to delay the inevitable. No one did. The four men on perimeter guard saw nothing to interfere with the operation. Meanwhile, the two assault teams and the command element were tensed, leg muscles coiled to propel them from the shadows.

The team leader licked his lips. He had extensive experience but it was always like this: an eager dread. He glanced around. Only his radio operator returned his gaze; everyone else was focused on the objective. It looked good: they had probably achieved surprise, but surprise without violence was useless.

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