D-Day cracked his neck and slung his shotgun behind him. He went for the breaching charge.

"Sounds like a winner, winner, chicken dinner."

He pulled the charge from a pouch on his vest. Gray and not much bigger than a smart phone. Not his biggest charge in his bag of tricks, but enough to rock the hinges off the door and knock the banger inside out of commission. He pulled the back sticker off and applied it to the door flush with the doorknob. A childhood of blowing up mailboxes with cherry bombs prepared him for the work. Moreso, it was in his blood. He came from a long line of Appalachian crackers working the coal mines. The Danzig family knew how to handle explosives.

He primed the charge for a five second delay and stepped to the rear of the group, his shotgun back in his hands.

"Fire in the hole..."