Chapter 1144: A Suicide Mission? (Patreon)

“OK, got it. Thank Reid for me.”

Now that radio silence had been lifted, Jack quickly received the intelligence analysis from their walking encyclopedia.
It was a detail he hadn't even noticed when watching the original movie, but now that it was brought up, it made perfect sense.

As a battle-hardened general with a stellar record and years of frontline experience, General Hammer clearly wasn't some desk jockey who couldn’t even control his own troops.

So the scene near the end of the original film, where his men turned on him, had always felt a bit abrupt to Jack.

But now, it seemed either he had missed some narrative setup back then—or this world had automatically filled in the plot hole for him.

Thinking about it, if Hammer’s forces had all been top-tier elite soldiers, that earlier failed assault wouldn’t have ended so weakly.

The SEALs were conducting an infiltration mission with extremely limited ammo. In fact, everyone in the squad except for Mason and Gusbey had shared the burden of carrying extra 5.56 NATO rounds to feed Sonny’s machine gun.

Meanwhile, Hammer’s team had landed with two helicopters—one of them an MH-53 Pave Low with a massive 16-ton payload capacity.

With hours left before dawn, they could’ve simply surrounded the hospital and worn down the SEALs' ammo reserves. Instead, they withdrew the moment casualties occurred.

But if nearly half of Hammer’s team were just mercenaries after a paycheck, it explained everything.

Those hired guns may have followed orders in combat, but based on Reid’s research, their willpower and tactical capabilities were far from elite.

“This might be the weak point we need,” Jason mused. “So if we launch a decapitation strike and take out Hammer—or his loyalists—the rest may not be a threat anymore.”

“Not necessarily,” Jack said, frowning. “The FBI checked Hammer’s finances. Most of his income went to families of fallen soldiers. There haven’t been any major transactions in the past two years.”

“So those mercenaries probably haven’t received any advance payment. If they realize they’re not getting paid, what do you think they’ll do?”

Jason immediately understood. “A good commander doesn’t fear a failed operation. When the situation becomes untenable, pulling out to limit losses is the smart move.

If this was military extortion—like some of our stunts in the South Ceris Sea—then he should be planning a retreat right about now.”

Jack picked up from there. “But those unpaid mercenaries won’t agree to that. They might force Hammer to see it through—like that Japanese captain who tried to start a war between two nations.”

That thought sparked something. In the movie, Hammer did launch one missile—deliberately targeting the ocean to stage a scare.

That happened after the 40-hour deadline, and based on his dialogue with subordinates, it was clear he had no intention of harming civilians.

But the plot had gone completely off-script now. There was no guarantee a missile launched today would harmlessly splash into the sea.

Jack didn’t yet know that Hammer’s loyal troops were mostly dead and that morale was collapsing.
But as long as the enemy held two operational VX missiles and 81 hostages in the prison building, their mission was far from over.

Jason unrolled a satellite map of Alcatraz on the dusty surgical table, deep lines creasing his brow.

Mason had said there was no tunnel to the northern lighthouse. The prison complex, perched on the island’s central high ground, now stood as an impassable fortress separating the hospital and the lighthouse.

With sheer cliffs on the prison’s east and west sides, the only way from south to north was straight through that elevated building.

And just like that, the tables turned—it was now the SEALs’ side feeling the pressure.

Everyone stared at the map, troubled. Even though it was night, the enemy only needed two night-vision spotters in the tower to oversee the entire battlefield.

After all, a sniper had already been firing from the rooftop. That meant as soon as they left the hospital, they’d be exposed—unless…

“Unless we wait until dawn, and attack during the morning fog,” said Ray Perry.

San Francisco’s famous fog formed when warm ocean water met cold air. Nearly half the year, fog drifted in from the sea toward the city.

“But it’s summer,” Jason reminded them. “This is the season with the least fog.”

“Let’s wait and see. Things could still change,” Jack said.

He glanced at Dr. Gusbey, who was carefully removing the last few green “grapes”—the VX payloads. Since they had successfully repelled the attack, command had adjusted their priorities: get the VX out first.

A direct assault would almost certainly incur casualties. Who could say the enemy only had one MG and a sniper rifle?

Besides the 2 remaining missiles and 81 hostages, there was still an MH-60R Seahawk helicopter armed with Hellfire missiles.

Even the MH-53 transport could mount defensive weaponry.

In movies, helicopters often existed just to be shot down. But in real life, people called them "low-flying tanks" for a reason.

Heavily armored choppers could shrug off heavy machine-gun fire—and even 23mm autocannon shells. On an exposed island like this, even SEALs might have to crawl back underground if those beasts took to the air.

Even with a Barrett, Jack wouldn’t stand a chance. A helicopter wasn’t a fixed or slow target. And he had no interest in finding out what 23mm rounds or Hellfire missiles did to human flesh.

“Dr. Gusbey, how much longer?” Jack asked as dawn tinged the horizon.

Most SEALs were inside the morgue helping, while a few guarded the perimeter. Gusbey was drenched in sweat, looking one breath away from collapse.

Two large crates now stood in the room. Each VX missile held 50 glass beads—linked in chains of ten. With 12 missiles, they had to handle 600 beads.

It was tedious, but not especially heavy.

They were packed into sponge-lined slots like eggs, then loaded onto drones.

These drones weren’t a spur-of-the-moment idea. Flying low and skimming the sea at night, they were almost impossible to detect.

Even if one got shot down on the way back, VX wouldn’t aerosolize in water. The ocean would dilute it quickly and render it harmless.

The drones also delivered two man-portable Stinger launchers—just in case they did face those choppers.

“Looks like luck isn’t on our side,” Jason said, watching the drones disappear over the water.

The sun was rising—and still no fog. Today’s temperatures on land and sea were too similar; no temperature gradient, no fog.

“Then we rely on skill.” Jack racked the SR25, chambering a round.

“We go at first light. Everyone goes in. We’ll leave the old man and the doc here, alright?”

Jason glanced at Mason snoring in the corner and nodded. His “all in” order included Jack—but not Mason or Gusbey.

Jack knew Jason was worried about leaving Mason alone with the frail doctor, but he didn’t care.

“My orders were to get his cooperation. He’s done that. No matter what happens next, he’s a hero who helped save hundreds of thousands of lives.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.

He knew Mason was an FBI secret prisoner but wasn’t interested. If Mason were a terrorist, maybe Jason would care. But judging by Jack’s attitude, that wasn’t the case.

And when forced to choose between Jack and the Bureau, Jason would pick Jack every time. They’d been through too much together.

“Not our problem anyway,” Jason muttered.

Jack glanced at Mason, still pretending to snore, and smirked. It was obviously fake—he hadn’t made a sound earlier when they were talking.

Just as Jason began briefing the team, a piercing siren wailed across the island, followed by General Hammer’s voice.

“Task force—whether SEALs or DEVGRU—you’re holding my property. Namely, those 12 missiles.

I admit you did well. But you should remember this: I still have 81 hostages and 2 ready-to-launch warheads.”

Of course. It was bound to happen. Jack looked toward the loudspeaker mounted in the corner. The island had a full PA system.

A panicked male voice followed: “My name is Larry Henderson. I have three children—they’re pointing a gun at my head!”

Then Hammer’s voice returned.

“You have ten minutes to consider. After that, I’ll execute one hostage every minute until you reveal yourselves.”

“Help me! Please, I’m begging you—” The man broke down sobbing.

“Oh come on, they’re really doing this?” Sonny shouted angrily.

Even the usually silent “Full Metal” Scott Carter let out a snort. “They really think this’ll make us surrender?”

Jack and Jason exchanged looks—and smiled.

Over the past few hours before dawn, they had anticipated this scenario and discussed countless options with command.

If the enemy stayed holed up in the prison, they’d be forced to launch a frontal assault. But now, hearing this broadcast, Jack actually relaxed—and began removing his gear.

“What are you doing?” Gusbey, feeling better after rehydrating, had a guess—but still couldn’t believe it.

“Going to talk to our dear General Hammer. Convince him to give up his ridiculous plan.” Jack smiled.

“Bullshit! That’s suicide!” Now even the SEALs looked stunned.

“Relax. The BAU profiled him—he’s not the type to shoot first. I should be able to buy some time.”

“Time for what?” Clay immediately picked up on the hidden meaning.

“To infiltrate the lighthouse,” Jason answered. “Jack and I talked. Instead of storming the prison, we hit the lighthouse.

He distracts them. We approach underwater, then scale the sea-facing cliff.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

Jack spread his hands. “Don’t worry. What I’m doing isn’t any riskier than what you guys are about to do. I’m just the negotiator. That’s my specialty, right?”

Too bad none of them had been in the Pentagon meeting—where Jack himself had declared that sending in a negotiator was as good as sending someone to die.

No one could argue back now. Jason clapped to get their attention.

“Gusbey and Mr. Mason will return through the tunnel. Just lock the iron gate and you’re safe.

Everyone else—get your climbing gear. Bravo 4 and Bravo 5 carry the ropes.”

Jason wasn’t unconcerned about Jack—he’d just seen Jack take him down in a blink.
If an old SEAL like him couldn’t react in time, a general who hadn’t fought in a decade stood no chance.

“I’m going with you.”
The gruff voice came from the corner. Mason stood tall and proud, tossing the Noveske N4 back to Gusbey.

Gusbey looked from Jack to Mason, totally lost.

Jack gave the Brit a confused look—he’d arranged for them to escape via tunnel. The dive suits and oxygen tanks were still there.

Why the hell was Mason volunteering now?