32. Will
CHAPTER 32
WILL
“SET YOU FREE” - THE BLACK KEYS
8:16 AM SATURDAY
M y phone rings loudly, startling me awake. The special ringtone set for our commander lets me know I can’t ignore it. Briefly, dread washes over me, sending signals to my gut and brain that this is the call I’ve been preparing for.
“Davenport,” I answer succinctly, trying to mask the grogginess in my voice.
“It’s go time. Rally at strip seven. You have one hour.”
The line cuts off before I can ask any questions. Not that I would; I know better than to question the commander.
Jumping out of bed, I dial Smith while turning on the shower. I don’t have a ton of time, but it could be weeks before I get another shower and waking up under the cold spray now is paramount.
“Hey, man. Why are you waking me up?” Smith answers, his voice gruff and groggy after a night out.
“Rally at strip seven, one hour. See you there,” I say matter-of-factly and hang up.
There’s no need to stay on the line. He has to call Butler, and we all have to move quickly. We’ve never had to report this fast, and I hope like hell all of our phone chain practices will pay off.
Jumping in the shower, I perform the quickest wash and rinse of my life. I dry off, dress, and grab my bag, never glancing at the clock, just moving. I’m ready for this. I’ve practiced, prepared everything, and can easily make it in time.
Shit! Cam. She’s at work. I’ll never make it to say goodbye in person, but I have to tell her. I can’t leave without telling her she’s my life, my everything. Grabbing my stuff, I circle back to my room and snag my phone before heading to tell Amy.
Amy is half asleep, but she wakes up enough to wish me well, tell me she loves me, demand I come home in one piece, and ask to sleep in my bed while I’m gone. God, this girl! I give her a squeeze and kiss her forehead, promising everything she asked.
Sprinting to my Jeep, I sling my bag in the backseat and rev her up. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, my thumb is hovering over Cam’s number when the phone starts blaring the commander’s ringtone again.
“Yes, sir?”
“Davenport. We have a problem. Ruiz isn’t answering. The rest of the team is on their way. I need you to go get his ass and get him here. Now.”
Son of a bitch! Where could Ruiz be? He was at the party last night. He didn’t seem drunk, and he barely played any pong. Hitting send on his number, it rings once and goes to voicemail.
That asshole better be dying because he’s going to get us all in trouble. Now is not the time to be missing. Throwing it in gear, I speed off to his apartment calling his phone on an endless loop.
8:46 AM SATURDAY
It only takes banging on the door four times and kicking it twice for Ruiz to groggily answer. He cracks the door slightly, which I take to my advantage by throwing it open the rest of the way.
“Whoa, dude, where’s the fire?” He acts surprised to see me busting up in his apartment with no warning.
“We gotta go. Rally is in thirty, you dickwad. Way to answer your phone,” I huff at him.
“My phone never rang. I swear it. Oh shit—” I hear a woman call out from his bedroom to ask what’s going on. He looks like he might throw up.
“Seriously, dude?”
He sprints away from me and into the bedroom to tell Miss One Night Stand that it’s time to go. There’s some arguing about silencing his phone and then an icy breeze as she pushes past me, half-dressed and running out the door.
I shake my head. I am going to give him so much shit for this.
“We gotta burn tracks, bro,” I yell when he returns, dressed and ready to go.
9:06 AM SATURDAY
Somehow, we made it with ten minutes to spare. I haven’t had time to call Cam, and I’m praying she answers because they will take my phone soon.
We jump out of the Jeep, make sure the top is secured, and head toward the small briefing area to dump our bags and check in for equipment. A team of three airmen are standing behind a rickety table, ready to hand off equipment, give us our weapons, and pass out sleeping pills.
Based on the plane idling on the runway, it looks like we’re going grunt style, in the cargo hull on top of aid packages. No first-class tickets available where we’re headed.
“Sit down, we’re going to do this quick and dirty,” shouts Sergeant Montgomery.
As we sit, I glance at my watch. I’m running out of time. My phone will get stored until we get back, meaning they are going to take it any minute now. Montgomery is briefing the mission. We’re going into a heavily occupied, terrorist-run area to set up initial communications for a special operations Army unit. The plan is to fly into a base nearby and then travel via underground allied networks to our destination. If executed precisely, the mission should be completed in three weeks’ time.
I’ve been through this before. Three weeks means more like six, if we’re lucky. Could be worse, but traveling underground means we are depending on civilians to sneak us in. Shit could get hairy quickly.
Montgomery releases us to grab our equipment and any supplies needed, and to turn over our phones. Shit! I’m grabbing my stuff and reaching for my phone to dial Cam when Bri walks up.
“Bri? What are you doing here?”
“Hey! I was volunteering this morning at the spouses’ club and overheard that y’all were leaving. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I thought I’d feel better to see you all off.” She glances around, taking in who’s noticed her since she’s clearly not supposed to be here.
Reaching out, I pull her into a hug. I don’t know why, but I feel better knowing she came. She has seen us off on our other missions, so it just wouldn’t feel right without her being here today.
“Davenport, give me your phone. Bri, you’re not supposed to be here, but I’m going to turn in his phone and look the other way,” Montgomery says in his typical gruff voice, but there’s markedly soft lines around his eyes as though he is acknowledging how this must feel for her.
If it was anyone else, he’d be having a complete conniption over them being here. Either he still feels bad for her or he’s coming down with something. I’m relieved, regardless.
“Thanks, I’ll be quick,” she responds with a cautious smile.
“Hey, before you run off, I need a favor. I need your phone. I haven’t been able to say goodbye to Cam,” I plead.
She hands it over without question.
“Make it quick. I’m going to wish the others well and then you gotta go and I need to scoot before I get in trouble,” she whispers to me while looking around inconspicuously.
Thanking her, I dial Cam’s number as quickly as possible. It rings five times and then goes to voicemail. Waiting for the recording to come on, I’m about to leave a message when Bri comes back and says it’s time to go. Hitting end reluctantly, I hand the phone back to her and pull her in for one more hug.
“Bri, she’s going to think I left without saying goodbye. I need to know that you will tell her. Tell her I love her and I never want to live without her. Make her believe I would have done anything to see her or talk to her one more time.”
“William, do not worry about it for a second more. I will take care of it. She will be waiting when you get back. She loves you too. Now go and be careful. Remember, level head on a swivel, come home in one piece.” She squeezes my arm one last time, repeating the words Thatch and I used to say to each other. It’s like I can hear his voice when she does it, and I say it back a knot in my throat: “Level head on a swivel, come home in one piece.”
With a final nod, I sprint toward the hull, gear covering me like some sort of goddamn pack mule. Ideally, we would have this shit already on the ground, but that’s not a luxury this time.
If you haven’t been in a cargo hold of a plane before, there’s very little it could be compared to. It’s similar to your grandma’s basement, if the basement was filled with Humvees, a plethora of guns, and aid rations.
Settling into my jump seat next to Smith, I carefully uncap the first of several bottles of water I plan to drink. We have to strap in for takeoff and landing—not that the hammock seat seemingly made of old seat belts or its measly straps are securing anything.
I toss back a sleeping pill while taking a long pull from the bottle. Pills like this one are standard-issue when boarding a plane like this. Everyone gets a few.
“You good, man?” Smith asks.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I didn’t say goodbye to her,” I reply, dropping my head into my hands.
“Why? How? What the hell is wrong with you?” Scolding me is his favorite pastime.
“I had to get Ruiz’s ass and time slipped away. I tried calling from Bri’s phone, but she didn’t answer.”
“Duuuudddeee! You gonna be able to keep your head in the game?” The engines are roaring now, we have to shout just to hear each other.
“Yeah. I’m straight...Bri will handle it.” I try my hardest to infuse confidence into my shaky reply.
Smith doesn’t say anything else, just grabs my shoulder and squeezes. There isn’t anything to say. We have a job to do, and I have to believe that Bri will make it right for me. The churning in my gut indicates it’s not that simple, but mistakes on jobs like this cost lives. I refuse to lose another brother, or myself, to these assholes.
Takeoff is smooth-ish. Riding in style like we are leaves a lot to be desired. Once we hit altitude, everyone unbuckles and finds a place to sprawl out. Twelve hours on an uncomfortable swinging seat is a nonstarter. Looking around, scoping the perfect spot, I grab my pack and shuffle as steadily as I can to a wooden crate that’s about a foot tall and long enough for me to sprawl out on. It’s placed up against the tire of a Humvee, making it the perfect place to prop my head. There’s nothing like a hard rubber tire for a pillow.
Sleeping on the floor helps to lessen the frigid air that coats the plane like a wet blanket. It’s not without risk; falling off during turbulence is a real possibility, but I can’t find it in me to care right now.
Rolling out my sleep mat and bag, I get comfortable enough to feel the sleeping pill take effect. Nodding off, visions of Cam looking devastated dance in my head. There’s no room to toss and turn, but tell that to my brain and stomach as they riot against my will to catch some much-needed rest.
5:24 AM SUNDAY
Metal peppers the side of the plane, pinging off the wings and echoing throughout the hold like small bells ringing in your ears. Mixing with the whoosh of the engines, it’s an indescribable sound.
The knowledge of what the metal is heightens my awareness. The pounding of my heartbeat quickens, and adrenaline fills my veins. We must be getting close, not that there’s a window to look out of and check. It’s normal to take on heat as you’re entering enemy territory, but it doesn’t make it any less intense.
Similar to how dramatic music plays in a suspenseful movie right before the killer appears, these sounds are foreboding. We aren’t welcome where we’re headed. My instincts are telling me this mission is not going to go well. I’m usually confident, calm, cool under pressure, but this feels off. Something isn’t right. Maybe it’s Cam and how I left things, or maybe it’s whatever we are about to face. Shivers rack my body. This is bad. Really bad.
Smith shoots me a look from across the plane, where he’s sprawled out on his bedroll. He’s lying under one of two overhead lights, which offers just enough brightness for me to make out what he’s trying to convey: He feels it too. I don’t need to talk to him to know he’s nervous. Subliminally, with one look and a nod, I tell Smith I get it, but also to fix his face so the others don’t catch on.
We are leaders on this team. We have a responsibility to keep it together. What I can’t figure out is why it all feels different this time. There isn’t anything special about this mission compared to the last. If anything, it’s too familiar, yet it seems to carry more weight than before. Maybe it’s Thatch. Knowing what he went through, being back here without him. Or maybe it’s that I have more to lose. Amy is counting on me, but Cam is everything. Not knowing if I’ll see her again...it’s unbearable.
The lights shut off, indicating we’re close. Next, it’s the engines. The pilots turn them to half power as we start a stealth descent. This is our cue to get back in our seats. We circle our destination slowly as we make our way back to our seats, carefully but quickly, securing our gear along the way.
The engines cut off and a silent darkness overtakes the plane. Now all I can hear are the sounds of small arms bullets clinking and clanking as the enemy fires upon us. The circling continues and suddenly stops. We are in a free-falling descent; based on the turbulence, it’s going to be a rough landing.
Everything is vibrating, shaking from the movement of air carrying us down. The men around me are vibrating too. Some with anticipation and some with angst, like caged animals. It’s a charged environment.
Our wheels touch down in a rough and bumpy impact with the makeshift runway. We made it. Now the work begins. I have one goal—survive.