SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops VI - Guantanamo Read Online Free

inside the cell through the tiny barred window in the heavy steel door.
    "You've seen them, the guards?"
    A snort. "Stupid bastards, they're sitting inside an open window, drinking tequila. They've got a whore with them too, a painted Jezebel, so their minds are not on their work. How many other guards are in the vicinity?"
    "I don't know about any others. Do you have any weapons?"
    "I had to ditch my assault rifle, but I still have my Sig and the knife. Here, you take the pistol. I won't need it to take these mothers."
    Ryder passed him the black-handled Sig Sauer P226. The barrel was fitted with an effective sound suppressor. The moment Nolan's fingers closed on the butt was the moment when he really believed they might survive to get out of this place.
    "What's your plan, John-Wesley?"
    From the first, Ryder had insisted on using the hyphenated name. His parents were deeply fundamentalist Christians and named him after the famous preacher, so Ryder took it seriously. Raised in Texas, the family moved to Montana following a disagreement with local fundamentalist Baptists, who they labeled, 'even closer to Satan than Catholics'.
    Ryder joined the Navy and graduated to the Seals, after a short spell in prison. He'd single-handedly beat five men to a pulp after they'd insulted his sister. During his prison term, he honed his skills with fists and a knife until they were uncanny. He then found his fighting abilities were valued in the Special Forces. Especially the knife. Men who knew him would sooner face Ryder with a gun in his hand than with his huge, razor-sharp combat knife. And he was damn good with the gun.
    "My plan? It's simple, I'm a pastor. I'll tell 'em the commandant asked me to say a few words before you die. They should go for it, but watch my back, and if something goes wrong, use the Sig."
    "Copy that. Ryder, thanks for turning up."
    "The Lord guided my steps, Boss. Praise to his name."
    "Yeah."
    Ryder disappeared. As soon as Nolan dropped down, he cursed. The girl, he'd meant to tell him to spare her life if possible. She was a whore, even worse, a whore who was entertaining the enemy. In Ryder's book, it made her doubly cursed.
    He explained to Will and Brad what Ryder was about to do.
    "You up to it, Will? We'll likely need to make a run for it when we get out."
    Bryce was still a mass of cuts and bruises.

    * * *

    The guards gave Will a savage beating when they first arrived at the jail. Afterward, when they brought him back to the cell, he was unconscious, his face a bloody pulp. One guard stood back, covering them with a scattergun. The other turnkey, armed with a huge revolver, stood inside the cell, sneering at their weakness.
    "Your black friend is a big man. We don't want a black monkey like him making trouble for the firing squad in the morning. A little softening up should keep him quiet."
    He'd laughed, a high-pitched giggle, and waited, daring them to try and rush him. The man was a scumbag, unshaven, dressed in a filthy 'wife-beater' vest and stained pants. His pistol belt sagged below his paunch, and even from eight feet, Nolan could smell the sour stench of stale alcohol. He'd fixed the turnkey with a hard gaze.
    "Mister, a warning for you."
    The Colombian looked puzzled. "A warning?"
    "Yeah. It'd take an M1 Abrams to soften up Will Bryce. If he gets the chance, he'll kill you first. And if he doesn't, I'll kill you myself."
    The man chuckled. "Very funny. Perhaps we should give you the treatment, make sure you don't make trouble in the morning."
    "You could try."
    The jailer scowled and eyed him for a few moments. Then he giggled as he left the cell.
    "I'll see you in the morning. I just decided to join your firing squad."

    * * *

    "Up to it?" Bryce eyed him with a puzzled expression on his battered face. "Damn right. Just one thing. Those two guards, they're mine."
    He thought about the two guards. They deserved to die, no question. Brutal sadists, they'd long forfeited the right to live;