25. Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Warlock
This is only the second time I’ve been spun up since beginning my relationship with Tallahassee.
I’m worried about how she’s feeling with me gone, and I hate that she has to deal with it on her own, especially when she’s still recovering from being attacked.
I’ve never been in this position, and don’t know how to help her handle being in the dark when I can’t contact her to alleviate her fears.
Since they’re all single, I can’t ask my teammates for advice. None of us have ever been in this situation. I’m the first of us to leave someone behind.
I have to push my concerns about Tallahassee aside. I need to stay dialed in. I can’t afford to be distracted on a mission. My teammate’s lives depend on me staying focused on the job. But for the first time in my career, I’m eager to complete the mission and get back home to my woman.
I know the op is serious when we’re not briefed until we’re in the air, and when we are, it’s by the DoD.
None of us could have predicted what we were walking into.
Colombia is establishing a nuclear weapons program northeast of Cartagena, on the Venezuelan border.
The location is within striking distance of the United States.
Worse, intel indicates Russia is providing the financial backing, schematics, and personnel.
Our job is to dismantle the program by delivering a fatal blow and taking it out while it’s still in its infancy.
The stakes are high, and mistakes aren’t an option.
If we fail, the results could be catastrophic and lead to World War Three.
Under a moonless sky, we HAHO in.
“Alright, boys, it’s time to pay the bills. Let’s move,” I tell my team after we ditch our parachutes out of sight.
“Let’s get froggy,” Nitro mutters.
Prearranged by command, two trucks—each containing enough explosives to take out a small city—are ready and waiting for us. Following GPS coordinates, we move out to locate them.
Once we collect the trucks and arrive at the target location, we don’t waste time.
After taking out the roving guards, we drive into the bowels of the building and get to work unloading and setting the charges, one on each of the support pylons.
The blast will take down the building, burying any nuclear material under the rubble.
At least, that’s our plan.
After the explosives are in place, Pony links them together and sets the timer. He gives us enough leeway that we should be long gone when the building blows.
When the task is complete, we hightail it out.
Ricochet and I lead the way in the first truck, the rest of the team following behind us in the second.
As we race away from the building, we’re ambushed.
Our adversaries are smart, targeting and destroying our trucks.
We’re at their mercy, but worse, our exit plan is ruined before we get clear of the blast zone.
“Anybody hit!?” I call out, relieved when I get five negative responses.
The six of us scramble out, taking cover behind the demolished trucks, and with no other choice, we strike back.
It’s a coordinated attack, and based on the number of men and weapons, it’s well-funded.
The enemy is rolling heavy. They’ve set up at least two snipers.
There’s another man on a truck-mounted heavy gun, two more side-by-side with shoulder-held RPG launchers, and an unknown number with automatic rifles shooting at us from the ridgelines on either side of us.
And that’s only what I can see.
I turn to my men. “Get to work. The clock’s ticking, boys.”
“They’ve dialed in our location!” Hawk shouts.
“Well, you know what they say: you can’t see the show without a ticket,” Ricochet quips.
“Troops in contact!” I shout into my comms to command as we return fire.
They’ve trapped us in a channelized area. The enemy has an elevated position, guns firing at us from both the front and rear. We don’t have the head count to take them on. We’re outmanned, outgunned, and smack in the middle of the blast zone with the timer counting down.
We’re fucked.
“Go hands free,” I order. “Keep your mics open. Pony, cover us, then hold down the fort. Ricochet, on me.”
I lead the two of us to higher ground overlooking our teammates. They’re pinned down and taking heavy fire by a determined enemy with an arsenal. I keep us moving until I find the perfect overwatch position for Ricochet’s sniper rifle.
I turn to Ricochet. “Stay here and keep those bastards off the guys. Take out as many Tangos as you can.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’m taking the fight to them. I’m going to sneak around and get behind the assholes on this side of the ridge.”
“This is FUBAR in ten different ways!” Nitro yells over the gunfire.
I climb to the summit, running along a narrow path when I hear Hawk call out, “I’m running low on ammo!”
“Me too!” Doc responds.
“After our last goatfucked mission, I packed heavy this time,” Nitro announces. “I’ve got extra mags and frags in my go-to-hell bag.”
My relief that the big guy planned ahead and overpacked is instantaneous. We’re not out of the fight…yet.
I’m hauling ass, quick but cautious, when a Tango bursts out of the brush in front of me.
I shoot him by reflex, only stopping long enough to take the dead man’s weapon in case I need the extra firepower.
Then I’m on the move again, this time up a steep, craggy hill along nothing but a narrow goat trail.
“Enemy snipers down,” Ricochet’s voice crackles through my earpiece.
It’s about time we got some good news.
When I make it to the top of the hill, there’s a group of five men—two with rocket launchers, the others with automatic rifles—raining hell on my brothers below.
All my senses are heightened, and time feels like it slows as I creep up behind them.
I’m the calm in the chaos. When I’m in position, I fire.
The first Tango never sees it coming. As soon as I drop that Tango, the others turn to fire at me.
I unleash a barrage of gunfire, taking them out one after another, killing them before they can kill me.
That’s when Pony comes through my comms. “We’re running low on ammo and still getting hammered down here!”
“We need to move! We can’t stay here much longer!” Nitro yells.
“Copy that,” I respond. “Two minutes.”
“Uh, not to be a buzzkill, boss, but we’ve only got twelve minutes to detonation,” Hawk needlessly reminds me.
“Plenty of time, boys.”
“Roger that,” Pony comes back.
I hope I’m not lying. But if I am, the six of us will never know. My mind briefly wanders to thoughts of Tallahassee. I haven’t had nearly enough time with her. But live or die, they’re planning to manufacture nuclear weapons in that building, making this mission bigger than any of us.
I relieve one of the Tangos of his rocket launcher, prying it out of his dead hands. Taking aim, I fire, destroying the truck-mounted gun and its operator.
Doc’s voice comes over my earpiece. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
I reload, this time firing on the opposite ridgeline. I continue to reload and fire, targeting the cluster of enemy combatants, until I’m out of fireworks.
I toss the rocket launcher aside. I’ve done enough damage that my team has the opportunity to move. The question now is whether or not we still have enough time to get clear of the blast wave.
“Focus up. All Bravo stations, move to the rally point,” I order. “Everyone move! Go! Go! Go!” I yell. “It’s time to get the fuck out of Dodge.”
With a combination of running and sliding, I barrel down the hillside.
“We commandeered a ride, courtesy of our hostile friends,” Pony boasts. “The carpool’s coming for you, boss.”
More good news. We might make it out of this after all.
“Good copy,” I reply, running full out, ignoring the heat and sweat pouring off me.
My team skids to a stop just as I reach the road, dust swirling from under the tires. “Get us the fuck out of here, Doc,” I bark, slamming the door after jumping in.
Doc stomps on the gas. The vehicle jerks forward, bumping and bouncing over the uneven terrain as we race to put distance between us and the bomb.
Less than a minute later, a massive explosion lights up the sky with a fireball that makes the ground quake so violently our vehicle jumps off the ground.
“Whoo-hoo! Who’s your daddy now, motherfuckers?” Ricochet whoops.
“Oh my god, dude, that’s all kinds of wrong,” Hawk complains. “Never, ever say that shit again, man.”
Nitro snorts his agreement.
Ricochet laughs. Doc, Pony, and I grin.
Thirty minutes later, we’re scrambling onto the exfil helo waiting to fly us back to our ride home.
After escaping certain death, our plane is a sight for sore eyes when it comes into view. As we walk onto it, I can finally breathe a sigh of relief.
“Damn, that op was a total dick dragger,” Ricochet huffs with an irritable sigh when we get on board.
“It was a bad hand from the start,” Hawk grumbles, shrugging off his pack and tossing it onto one of the benches lining the fuselage.
“Yeah, nothing like sweating our balls off in Colombia then being ambushed with a bomb under our feet,” Nitro grouses.
“Man, I thought our ticket was punched when we got trapped with that clock winding down,” Doc says with an annoyed shake of his head.
“The op was a win, and we’re going home with a full head count. That’s all that matters,” I remind them.
Pony grabs a couple of beers out of the cooler and hands me one. “Thanks for saving our asses, brother.”
My reply is quick, “Easy fucking day.”
“Easy fucking day,” my teammates repeat with smiles.
We clink our bottles together, and I take a long pull off my beer, thinking about how good it is to be alive and heading home to my girl.