So...this is the dumbest thing we have ever done. Ever...remember that time in Iraq...in Ferristown? This is way dumber then that." Stan racked the bolt on his M4, checked the bolt and chamber, and made sure that the safety was ON. He was loaded down with the gear that a man needs to throw himself out of a perfectly good airplane, and so looked a bit odd and hunched to the casual observer. Or would have, anyways, had there been any in the back of the small plane.
"Well, there was that night you puked your guts out all over that stripper, and we had to fight the entire security staff of Snowflakes. That was pretty stupid." Ron was doing the same, but he was carrying a M249 instead of the rifle so popular with everybody else, and at 6'2", was almost half a foot taller then his friend. So he was even more hunched, squatting down as if about to assume the three point stance that had made him an all state linebacker in high school.
"That was your fault. Always talking about you ain't afraid. If you had been afraid, we would not have been out drinking the night before finals. And this is stupider. Dumberer. Whatever. I hate you guys."
"Nobody has to come with me..." JD was standing at the door into the cockpit, checking the GPS strapped to his arm against the readings from the planes instruments. Underneath the grease and gear his face was serious and tired, despite the rest they had granted themselves over the last day. But he was restless, and they all knew what that meant.
"SHUT UP!" The response came as one from the four other men in the back of the plane, each shaking their head. There was now ay they would abandon him here, now. They were true to each other, the five fingers of death as one of them had called it, and this was their time. So instead they shuffled into position at the back of the plane, double checked each other, and stood ready for whatever waited outside in the cold night air. "Time to get medival on a m**********r," somebody said.
JD turned back to the cockpit, and the pilot smiled up at him from behind the night vision goggles he was using to fly the plane in black out conditions. They were straight and level now, perfect jumping conditions. "You guys be carefull out there. Call me when its time to come home." He gave a thumbs up, and JD returned the gesture, turning away. It was time to leave.
Walking to the back of the plane, he almost teared up as he moved past his friends, the emotion rushing through him. He could not believe the loyalty of these guys.
He reached the panel at the ramp and grabbed a hold of the overhead bar before slamming his fist into it, the hydraulic noise filling the space as air rushed into the body of the plane, slamming into them and tugging at their bodies. They were not high enough up to require oxygen, but it was cold out there.
"STAND TO !"
The four other men lined up. Alex was first, followed by Stan, Ron, and Grady. Alex would follow JD, because they had been friends longer than they cared to remember. Grady would go last, because he was the best jumper amongst them. In reality, Alex probably was, but to the americans, his german training was suspectk, and they would not admit it in polite conversation.
Four cargo pallets sat on the ramp, their drag chutes ready to deploy and deliever them to the world below. On the word, he would flip the switch, watch them slide out, and follow them into the darkness.
JD hung onto the handles installed for just that purpose, his eyes fixed on the light over the back hatch. It was red, glowing with the fury and anger he felt inside. He almost sense the switched, then it was green, releasing him, his voice somehow detached as he yelled over his shoulder, a single smooth motion flipping the switch to send the pallets out of the back end, his body following as if controlled by an outside power. With incredible force he threw himself out of the plane, instinctively assuming the freefall pose taught at Benning and Yuma, falling towards earth. Falling towards his wife. And all the m***********s he was going to kill to get her back.
. . . back then . . .
It had been a odd journey for the last seventeen days, starting at Camp Pendelton, California, home to the 1st Marine Division, and one of the marine corps Special Operations Training Groups. JD was part of the units evaluation cell, and had been out with the Marine Special Operations Company assigned to the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, observing them on urban patrolling as part of their work up training package.
So it was somewhat unusal when the SOTG Inteligence Officer had found JD in his hide site, surveilling the 22nd MEU Command Post. That was fairly impressive, since they had burrowed underneath the foundation of a condemed house to remain out of sight. The look on the mans face told him that something was wrong, and the news he brought confirmed that.
JD's wife was MIA.
It was sort of a odd sensation, if one he had thought about often. His wife was a Naval Aviator, flying F/A-18D Fighter Jets off the USS Harry S. Truman, currently deployed somewhere in the Atlantic, or maybe even the Med by now. They were under a communications silence for some reason or another.
"What happened?" He had thrown surveillance to the wind, standing up to talk to the man. "I don't know. SIPERNET and GCCS-M traffic says that she is down, listed MIA, with the onfloat SEAL Platoon standing to for SAR."
"Down, like down in the water down ?" JD was brushing himself off now, but his voice was tense, almost angry, and his friend could tell.
"No, apparently this was over land." The S2 waved away a approaching patrol from the 22nd, still acting in their role off defending a fictional country from insurgents.
"Ok..."
"The boss said to tell you 'f**k this s**t,' and that you should head to Norfolk. He knows people up there, they can give you some answers we can't down here." The two Majors looked at each other, and JD knew his friend was uncomfortable with what was going down. Something was bothering him. But he said nothing, jogging instead to his car and heading for the airport.
The flight was way to long, taking him into Washington, DC. A friend picked him up, and they cruised in silence out to the waterfront, the souped up mustang making the run in no time. But it was in vain, nobody in Norfolk had been of any help. His wife's plane was found, no body. The area she was in was home to a large actual, real-life, insurgency. In a third world s**t hole no less, that was home to a regime that was just about as bad in the human-rights scoreboard as the rebels fighting them. There were no reps of the US Government in the country, or willing to go anywhere near it. Most NGO's had pulled out in the last two years, after several members had been killed in rebel and government clashes. And of course, the country was accussed of being a Al Queda harbor, but who was not these days? There was nothing of interest anywhere nearby, or any natural resources underneath it, so it was safe from US invasion. And that was the answer.
"We have no information at this time to indicate if Lieutenant Commander Winters is alive or dead. The crash site was searched by american forces at considerable risk to them, and nothing was recovered. We are now actively working with the local government to..." The spokeman droned on, but JD had already tuned him out, and finally just clicked off the TV. His wife had been gone for almost five days now, and there was nothing confirmed. He had friends in the various Inteligence services of this country, and they told him what they could, but that amounted to less then a page of actual information he could write out, analyze, and think about.
He looked around the room, his eyes traveling across the sleeping forms of Stan, Ron, and Grady. He had been friends with these guys since college, having been a sophomore when they arrived at Colorado University. Together with his wife, the five of them had spent many weekends climbing the mountains, hiking the valleys, and sliding down the slopes that make Colorado famous. All had been at his wedding, and they had all stayed in touch, sometimes serving in the same units. Like JD they were all infantry officers in the Marine Corps, greatly influenced by Ron's father, a retired Marine Colonel, and Vietnam Era company commander. They had rushed to his side when they heard what had happened.
He leaned back, his mind flooding with the memories that a marriage provides. He had meet Kirsten in College, they had been freshman in NROTC together. If love at first is true, then they were a textbook example. They dated until senior year, when they got married over spring break, with almost the entire NROTC Unit in attendance. They had been married twelve years now, both making O4 as soon as they were eligble. Careers meant that they had served only a total of six years at the same duty station, but the flame of passion and love burned in both of them, and the time they did have together was that much more precious. They carried very little leave forward at the end of the year.
His house outside Quantico was only about 30 miles from the Pentagon, so it did not take him long to get there for his meeting. The man he came face to face with that morning did not bring good news, however, which he had anticipated by now. Things were not going well, and that was the party line. But there was no way his face would betray those emotions, something he had mastered long ago, as most military professionals do. He had buried marines before, he could bury his own feelings just as well.
"I'm sorry, but that is the word." General Soren was a old friend from before the young Winters couple had ever held hands, from even before JD had earned the title of Marine, but that mattered very little right now. "Negotiations are the tool, they do not want to get involved somewhere else, and send forces into another cauldron. You know that, you've served up there." The man indicated the E ring of the Pentagon with his hand.
"Yes, I know." JD steeled himself for another minute, then left the office, heading down the Pentagon hallway, and down the stairs. He ended up in one of the cafeterias tucked away in the huge office building, grabbed a cup of tea, and sat in the back. He waited for seven minutes before he was joined by another close friend, but this time one not in uniform, and distinctly female.
Sarah was another CU graduate. Another one of "his" freshmen, Kirsten had at one point accussed JD of having a affair with her, which was not true. But they had all become friends before long. She had graduated college disgruntled with the Navy, and gone into her commissioned career angry. Time had changed that, and now she worked with United States Inteligence Board, as liason to the Pentagon. If the US collected it, she knew about it. There were things that the President and SecDef were not cleared into, and she knew about them. Which was how she was able to pass the thumb drive to him undetected under the table.
"Destroy it once you have taken the data off." She took a sip of his tea, and grimaced. She had thought it was decaf coffee, but knew she should have known better. "Ok...we have confirmed her location, and there are maps, pictures. I can tell you that at the earliest it will be two weeks before this is acted on."
"Can you monitor it for me ?" A plan was starting to form in his head. There was something he could do, if nobody else would. "How come the delay?"
"Monitor? Jeez, you ask to much...but sure, you got a clean number ?" She exhaled, her eyes closing. It was a memory technique she used. Some things do not get written down. He recited his sat-phone number, a number he had only used once in his life, stranded in the Rockys with his buddy Alex. "Ok, got it. And as far as they delay goes...there are not enough assets available right now to mount a full on raid, not without moving things around that are needed elsewhere, you know how that works. She is not judged to be in immediate danger, and there is no need to risk regional conflirgation. So good luck." She grabbed his hand and smiled. Their lack of sexual contact was not due to a lack of desire on her part, but due to the burning passion that JD felt towards the woman that had now been taken from him. She had always known that, and had ever since wondered if she had been damanged by the association. Would anybody ever love her like that, she asked herself when she was out on a date with another vain officer-idiot. "It'll work out."
The phone rang, interrupting a very good, very wet dream, reaching deep into his concious, but finally the man reached up, slapping it into silence and flipping it open, bringing it to his ear. "Hallo?"
"Alex."
"Ja ?"
(Yes)
"Fuenf tage. Toulon. Kannst du da sein ?"
(Five Days. Toulon. Can you be there?)
"Kein problem. Die Frau ?" (No problem. The wife?) His voice conveyed the self confidence that made him famous in his own service, the Germany Army.
"Ja."
(Yes.)
"Ok, bis dann."
(Ok, until then.)
Getting all four of them to Toulon had been a small feat in logistics. They had traveled in pairs, from Charlotte's Douglas International Aiport and Bostons's Logan International Airport, flying into seperate cities, and traveling by either train or rental car from there. They had used a variety of techniques to ditch any possible surveillance, and now they were sure they had arrived at the train station decided upon for a meet clean.
They all knew Alex from the wedding, some had seen him since then. Greetings were exchanged, then they climbed into the van that the german had brought, and rode towards the small local airfield. They had places to be, and not much time to get there.
Mayumba was third world in the ways that most people picture it. The flight had been rough, but there was now way they had been traced or followed here, and that was all that mattered. A meeting had been arranged through cutouts, and JD found himself face to face with the man he had been looking for sine he had first formulated this plan. He was a twig of a black man, dressed in khaki shorts, sandals, and a black button up shirt, the huge bulge on his hip revealing a handgun of some sort. Airport security did not seem to be to serious a concern here, and so they sat in the lounge and talked. Lounge was actually a fairly generous term for the building, which would have been condemed anywhere in the western world, and reminded the others of a college party house.
The representative of the man known here as "the american" did alot of listening, asked some questions, and after a short conversation he took the group outside to a black surburban. It showed wear and tear, and had at least four bullet holes. The short drive across the tarmac showed that the suspension had seen better days, as well.
They had all been to the arab world and all over asia and africa, so the compound on the other side of the airport reminded them of that. A six foot mud wall with barbed wire on top surrounded three old airport hangars, as well as what looked like two garages, a maintenance shed, and a somewhat misplaced looking home.
"Kansas comes to Africa." In college, everybody had given Stan s**t for hating blacks. He was raised in Iowa, and had seen about three of them in real life before college, making him a easy target. It was not true, confirmed by the fact that he had been JD's best man.
They pulled into one of the garages, which on the inside was made up of metal cages, each of which was a small armory. In the middle, cubicle walls had been used to set up an office, which looked oddly out of place. Except of course, everybody at this office was strapping heat, even as they answered the phones as if this were the guns-r-us-telethon.
"Welcome to my home." The man they had come to meet was a 6'6" mountain of a man, well over three hundred pounds, and balding. He was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt, khaki pants, and a full size 1911 strapped to his thigh. Black aviator glasses obscurred his eyes.
"Thank you." JD moved forward, while the others hung back, looking around at Guns 'R Us. They had already decided what they wanted.
"Walk with me," their host said, incling his head towards the back of the building and stepping off slowly. The two strolled through the building, towards the back door, also open. "From what I understand, you intend to take those four guys back there into the jungle ?"
"Yes." JD had told the mans rep in Morocco the basic outline of his plan, because he needed his support. He only had one shot at this, and it went through this man.
"You jump into the jungle, fight your way in, get your wife, fight your way out, are picked up or fly out, and then what ?"
"I don't know yet. But I know I'm going to get my wife back." JD squared up with the man, removing his own sunglasses. "Marriage is a one shot deal. There is only one bullet in that gun. So I have to do what I have to do." He looked back towards his friends. "I've been blessed in life with men that are willing to follow me anywhere, that never ask, that just give out of total selflessness. I have also been blessed with the best wife ever. I have to go get her."
"So why would I help you?" The man removed his own sunglasses, casting a short glance at antoher man standing in the shadows behind the weapons cages. JD had noticed him to, as well as the rifle the man carried, but he did not come empty handed. Reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants, he pulled out a heavy envelope. It was not closed by the simple "lick-lock," but with a wax seal. A single star sat in the center of the seal, with the words "Knowledge is power" above, and "West" underneath. He handed it over, and waited.
The American opened the envelope, and pulled out seven folded pages of single spaced, type written paper. It took him almost twenty minutes to read it all, but when he turned back it was clear JD would get what he needed.
"How do you know him ?" The arms dealer was struggling to hold back tears, that much was clear.
"Six degrees of seperation. He instructed my freshmen year at Colorado. We keep in touch. He was a speaker at my wedding." JD shrugged, not wanting to play all his cards at once. The man was a mentor from old times, a man who had volunteered much needed information and contacts at great risk to himself to save Kirsten.
"How is he ?" Old health did things to men.
"Not well. Probably will not live out the year. Age has done taken its toll. But his mind remains sharp as ever. He is working on another PhD." That would be the mans ninth.
"Take what you need. There is a facility about two hours from here similiar to what you seek, you can rehearse there. It will take about 36 hours to outfit a plane the way you need it. When do you want to move?"
JD considered for a minute. It had been twelve days since his wife had been seized. He had moved decsively in getting to this point, but he realized that the speed and momentum he had built would not help him here. Time to slow down, and do things right. "96 hours. We need to rehearse, rest, and plan." They had started walking back towards the truck, and their body language told everybody that things were ok.
. . . now . . .
The air rushed past him as he hung beneath the chute, but he finally had time to look around. Everybodies parachute had opened, and they were in position above him, a textbook freefall line as he navigated towards their landing zone below, which at point had been a soccer field built by a well meaning relief organization. But the rebels had taken offense to that, and so had come in and slaughtered the village, burning much of it to the ground, poisoning the well, and driving everybody off. Terrible, but perfect for their needs.
They hit the ground like silent ninja's, snapping out of parachutes as they came down and bringing their guns up and into ready positions as they fanned out, moving to covered positions with ease and grace, sinking into the darkness and silence of the nearby jungle noises. This was the most dangerous time, but it was soon clear that nobody was around, and so JD signaled them up, and they moved to their pallets, finding them around the northern goal of the field. One had turned on impact and smashed itself, but they had planned for that. Each pallet was loaded with the same gear, and they only needed three to make it.
Quickly they unsnapped the cargo-nets, and readied the three All-Terrain-Vehicles they now had available. It took another several minutes to get all their gear and fuel stored properly, then they were ready and formed up, moving with urgency and speed now.
Alex mounted the lead ATV, with JD climbing on behind him, checking his GPS as he grabbed a hold of his friend. The others fell in behind them as they started to roll, with Grady bringing up the rear and riding solo. He was the most experienced at these things, having been raised using them to ranch cattle, and so would obscur their tracks.
They had a three hour drive through the night ahead of them, something they had rehearsed, but the terrain did not really match, and all they had to go off were the GPS units. The jungle was thicker, and it was much darker, but none of that discouraged them as they pushed out, lights off, heading towards their friend.
The cell was dark, damp, and filthy. Right what she had expected when she envisioned this scenario during the infamous SERE, or survive-evade-resist-escape course. She had been the honor grad in her class, as she liked to point out to her husband, the first Winters to do so. That drove him mad. But it did not really help her current situation, having survived the trip to earth without narry a scratch, only to realize that her survival radio was useless, and that the ground was swarming with patrols. So she had moved, and moved fast, but they had been on to her, and were much more skilled at that whole jungle thing. The contact was inevitable, but she had been ready for it.
She had never been a fan of the 9mm bullet, and its performance during the gunfight had reenforced that notion. Even with the "hot load" bullets that her husband had given her she was outgunned. Still, five of them died in her hail of fire&movement, and then she was armed with the much more beefy AK, silently thanking JD for making sure she knew how to use one as she sprayed bullets towards another group of advancing rebels, forcing them back and buying herself more time and space. But luck ran out, and she had a bullet hole in her shoulder to prove it.
At all times, a guard stood outside her cell, with orders to kill her if there was a rescue attempt. She had heard one of the other rebels say it, sure he had used english to make a point. The boy was a diminutive figure, only fifteen, but the eyes of a killer. He had told her that he had been in this war for six years now. They had talked alot, and his anger was apparent. She did not doubt he would do his duty. Above and outside her only cell window the moon had finally freed itself from the clouds, and she looked out the bars towards the sky. She knew her shoulder was infected, but there was nothing she could do. They had let her keep her flight suit, and other then her weapons, the personal items she carried. One of them was her wedding ring, which she twirled around her finger. Where was he now ?
Five men stood in the treeline, their eyes fixed on the compound ahead. It was what they had expected, and seen in the pictures. Built by a man who had gotten his hands on a old soviet textbook, the "camp" had a observation tower with a big spotlight at one corner, four barracks perfectly covered and aligned, a radio shack, a prison block, an officer's quarter, headquarters building, armory, and motor pool all laid out nice and neat as if inspection was imminent. It was apparent that all this had been built at least ten years ago, and was nowehwere near full occupancy. The huge hole cut into the roof of one barracks revealed fuel tanks and a generator inside, which explained the light. The only things that seemed to be using power were the officer quarters, where lights were on, and the prison block, illuminated on the outside. Probably to prevent escape, they judged. Outside the front gate a small settlment had formed over time. There, another generator was chugging away, keeping the well going, as well as the lights that illuminated its own fuel farm. This place was important, the tacticians in them could sense that, why else invest all these resources?
JD listened to the voice on the other side of the sat-phone, his eyes closed as he checked what was being said against what they had anticipated, his mind churning, planning, adjusting until he closed it and nodded to his friends, assured now of what would happen as he spoke. "Ok. No big changes. Third barracks confirmed as empty. We do this right. Hard. Fast. Violent execution. Once we go, there is no stop. I can never express to you guys what this means. I'm naming my kids after all you fuckers."
JD looked left and right, a single tear creeping down his cheek. No matter what happened after this, he knew that he stood in the presence of giants. One would expect him to go after his wife. That his friends threw himself into the fray with him...he knew no words for it.
They moved off in silence, everything that needed saying said. Alex and JD going one way, the others another. The radios were now on, the guns had their safeties off, and killing was on their minds. They were all veterans of at multiple deployments in the Global War on Terror, and all had killed men, had hunted men. This was their game, and nobody was better at it. Four Marines and a German Special Forces Officer stalked through the night, rage in their hearts, ready to do what needed doing.
It took Grady twenty minutes to plant his charges, while Ron and Stan covered him from the tree line. Finally, he clicked the radio twice, sending out the signal that all was ready.
"Ok, dann machen wier halt mall was laerm." (Ok, so lets make some noise.) JD unfolded the aluminum rod, staking it into the ground. He took a hold of his send button, pressed it, and set things in motion, his voice swift and urgent. "Execute, execute, execute !"
As soon as he said it, Alex was up the climbing ladder, his G36 over the top, the night sight cutting through the dim light, and centering on the head of the leader of the single squad on guard duty outside the Headquarters. At that same moment, the fuel farm outside the gate exploded, sending parts of the generator into the air. In the noise, four people died before their squadmates noticed. By then JD was up his own ladder, firing into the guards with his M4. Nine died without a chance at fighting back.
Stan stood, illuminated by the fire from burning diesel, and fired a single 40mm round towards the tower. The high explosive round hit right below the big light, shattering it, and sending fragments into the three soldiers sharing cigarettes, ending any chance that they could employ their light to illuminate the attackers. The tower burned as the marines went into motion, battle joined.
Grady and Ron were firing towards the wiremesh gate, killing the four men on guard there, and rushing towards it, followed by their buddy. A quick blast from the shotgun that Grady carried on his back blew off the lock, and they were in, kicking at the gate to get inside, the M249 chewing up the guardshack as it was fired from the shoulder, spitting angry hornets out at an amazing rate. The three immediatly moved right and along the wall, knowing their mission was to cause mayhem and havoc, and create as much disturbance as possible.
Her guardian had fallen asleep, leaning against the wall opposite the steel bars. They all chewed Khat, a weed like substance that made sure that this time of night they were all groggy and down, coming off the drug they chewed at lunchtime, and the very dangerous high that came with it.
But the explosion outside jolted him, and her. She saw the confusion in his eyes, and did not wait. The rock in her hand flew true, striking him right above the left temple, and sending him back to the ground. Three more rocks aimed at the head followed, drawing blood. That made her feel better, and finally she realized why her instructors had told her to always sleep with a rock close at hand.
Alex went first, kicking in the door to the headquarters, and going right. JD went left, and both opened fire. Several officers and soldiers were asleep inside, but none would ever wake up. The two moved forward, down the hall, kicking doors as they went. Here and there more gunfire rang out as they perforated the bodies of those struggling to get out of bed, struggling to reach for weapons they would never grasp.
Stan stopped just outside the door to the barracks, firing another M203 grenade into the adjacent building. The generator exploded, sending sparks and burning fuel in every direction. The three moved inside, seeking more prey. Grady was already in position, firing his weapon in support as Ron moved into the main room of what they figured was the squad bay, throwing stun grenades and firing from the hip. All were sweating now, but they knew they were doing their part.
The main "office" of the headquarters had its own small generator, which they had banked on. Alex slid a C4 chunk between it and the fuel bladder, set the timer, and grinned as he watched his friend bash out the window and pull back from the bullets racing in. Both men popped back up, firing at men moving their way, killing them both. Alex covered as JD climbed outside, before following him and taking cover behind the jeep parked next to the officers quarters, firing towards motion by the motor pool as JD moved towards the communications shak. They linked up at the corner and rolled around, moving towadrs their next target as one. JD pulled out a Thermite grenade, chucking it in a smooth arc onto the roof. It ignited, melting down through the roof, setting the building on fire. The door opened from the inside, with the operators storming out in a frenzy. Two were on fire. All died in a hail of bullets.
They continued their trek along the wall, firing here and there towards the soldiers now moving about. Their radios told them that the barracks they knew to be occupied had been cleared. They suspected that the last one would hold soldiers playing hookie, but they ignored it for now. You had to make sacrifieces somewhere.
Instead, they had moved towards the armory, planted demo charges there, and killed the guards. The HQ and the armory both disappeared in fireballs that added to the heat and blaze spreading. By now the motorpool had caught fire, three trucks burning, and the fuel tanks out back exploding.
Kirsten was nervous by now. The fight had been raging for a while, and she knew that SOP called for a unit to race to the POW in situations like this. Where there more prisoners ? She was always moved out of her cell with a blindfold, so it could be ? Did they know about her ? She threw another rock at her guard, that made her feel better, as her mind clouded itself with another choice. What if this was not the rescue mission she was hoping for? What if this was just an attack on the camp by more rebels, or the government troops? What would she do?
Alex rushed past the door to the prison block, snapping in on the last barracks. He had killed two rebels trying to exit it, and figured more were coming. "Mach schnell ! Greif halt deine Frau, lass abhauen !" (Hurry up ! Grab your wife, lets get out of here !)
JD kicked in the door, rushing into the hallway. It was one long corridor, with five cells on the right, the wall on the left. Concrete walls seperated the cells, with bars facing the hall. The first two cells held sickly looking men in fatigues, which he ignored as he moved forward, his muzzle sweeping the hallway, his heart pounding. At the end in the darkness, he spotted a man moving slowly, a weapon at his feet. A burst of gunfire later, he would never move again. He ran to the last cell, and looked his wife in the eyes.
"What took you so long ?"
"I had to get a sitter for the cats. Back away from the door." He attached a breaching charge to the lock and hinges, then moved away. There was a bang, then she was in his arms, tears streaming down their faces.
"SPAETER ! SPAETER ! WIR MUESSEN LOS !" (Later ! Later ! We have to go!)
Alex was firing his weapon almost constantly now, talking to the other team in broken english, while tossing grenades, and firing at what remained of the rebel force.
JD dropped his pack and pulled out the extra helmet and body armor he had carried into the camp, helping her into the gear. Pulling a syringe from his cargo pocket he injected her with the booster, his eye riveted on her shoulder wound, but not asking, knowing she would lie. But he had seen such wounds before, and knew what they meant.
"Bite my hand!" He held it up and she did as directed as he splashed the alcohol on it, rubbing it vigorously before releasing her. Finally he pulled the MP5K-PDW from his pack and handed it to her. "Laser, light, double magazine. Ready to go?"
"I love you so much."
"I love you to. Do as I say, follow my lead, and let's do the damn thing." He stood, and they moved toward the door as one, running now. She resisted the urge to hug Alex, but her smile told him how happy she was to see him.
JD keyed his radio, talking to the entire assault team. "OK, we have the cargo, say again, we have the cargo, everybody get to the door, go, go go!"
He heard the rapid stacatto of the M249 in response, sending angry .223 hornets downrange. Armed men were appearing at the gate, and Ron drove them back as everybody else ran through the burning compound, the team coming together at the back wall that JD and Alex had climbed to get inside, the charges that they had concealed there since detonated in the confusion, creating an exit for them to run through as they headed into the jungle.
They did not stop until they reached the rally point deep in the darkness, the moon poking through the tripple canopy, everybody gasping for breath as Kirsten ran from one to the next, hugging them each close, now unable to hold back her tears. Grady was hobbling, a bullet had punched a hole in his calf muscle but the Marine Corps Captain did not show any signs of discomfort, and they all knew that he would not now or ever.
The team stopped around the huge tree they had designated as rallying point earlier, and checked each other over. Grady was the most serious injured, next to Kirsten. Everybody was dinged up and bruised, but adrenaline took care of that. JD pulled up his wifes vest, and injected her with another immune system booster, before finally taking the time to kiss her properly. The others indulged them for almost two minutes.
"Ok, lets get you guys a room." Stan lead the way, with Kirsten and Grady in the middle, and Ron bringing up the rear. Alex took the right, JD the left. They moved quickly yet quietly through the jungle, coming to the ATV hide site they had prepared.
Quickly, they mounted back up. Ron would now drive Grady's ATV, with Stan taking Kirsten, and JD navigating from the lead vehicle with Alex driving. They raced off throught the darkness, with JD making the call on his sat-phone.
The trip took them almost five hours, and the sun was creeping up over the horizon. The long, straight, dirt road was apparently once used as an airstrip by the rebels to fly blood-diamonds out. Now a single small prop plane sat by an abandonded row of mud houses. A man with a rifle stood next to it, a disgustingly inviting cooler with the Bud Light logo on it serving as a footrest.
They moved the wounded aboard, planted democharges on the ATV's, then hustled through the door. The explosion rose behind them as they lifted into the air, cracking open bottles and cheering. JD turned to his friends, embracing them in a group hug. They all stunk of cordite, sweat, dirt, and grime. Cammie paint was smearing on their faces as he held them as tight as he could.
"You guys are the greatest. Drinks on me for the rest of your f*****g lives !"
They released them, and he moved to his wife's side. They held each other, wrapped up tight, without speaking a word. Other problems lay ahead, they knew. But this one lay behind them. Along with one burning rebel camp.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
