At least in training, if the op went FUBAR, no one would die. That was sort of the whole point.

Chris reached the shoreline. He could see the dark outlines of NPS campground signs on the beach. He chose a spot to the east, where trees abutted the water, and slipped from the lake directly into the cover of the forest.

Raindrops dotted the lake surface, the patter growing more rapid in the moments it took for his teammates to follow him into the woods. They’d barely beaten the predicted storm.

The thick forest camouflage wet suit kept him warm, but they’d be here for days, so they’d take turns changing in one of the campground shelters while the other three acted as guards.

Chris had wanted to parachute onto the meadow above the lodge and skip the hassle of swimming, but the sadists in charge had wanted the frigid swim to be part of their ordeal.

What the hell is Rivera preparing us for?

Grimly, it occurred to him that he’d managed to forget Pam for several minutes. Nothing like freezing his balls to change his perspective.

Jonas, Huang, and Phelps followed him into the woods like silent shadows. They located a pit toilet and took turns changing. Huang and Phelps used the break to touch up the dark greasepaint on their faces, to hide their pale skin. Jonas and Chris were both Black with skin on the darker end of the spectrum and didn’t bother with face paint.

As he waited for his turn, icy raindrops pelted him and wind whipped through the branches of the trees. The storm was coming, but he cursed the wind and rain only in his mind. Why would anyone attempt a hostage rescue in these conditions? This training was full of obstacles for obstacles’ sake. He couldn’t imagine a good enough reason to infiltrate an enemy stronghold in such piss-poor conditions. The odds of failure were too high.

Once he was changed and dry—but still fricking cold—he tucked away his wet suit in his pack, then tapped his earpiece to check in with the other Fire Teams’ progress.

The receiver didn’t make a sound.

He clicked the mic button and hailed the other teams again. Nothing.

“Shit,” he said softly to his team. “Signal jammer.”

Huang pulled out a cell phone and checked the screen. “Cell’s out too.”

Chris pulled their Fire Team’s only satellite phone from his pack. It too couldn’t get a signal. Could be due to forest and cloud cover, but he didn’t think so.

Jonas cursed and tapped his mic button. “Looks like we’ve found the first hurdle.”