New Beginnings, page 33
“Hooah!” everyone shouted.
“Lock and load, Alpha,” Judd said as he began walking. He stopped next to Tristan. “Good luck out there.”
“You, too,” she replied, holding her hand out. He shook it, then led his team out of the room. She headed out behind him with her team, and both aircrews came out behind them.
“Kick the tires and light the fires,” the lead pilot for the Night Stalkers said, high-fiving Courtney.
“Roger that!” she replied with a smile. Tristan was waiting outside the building when she exited. “Hey.”
“I know you don’t normally wear chicken plates,” she said, referring to armor. “But I’m asking you to do it today. None of us know how this is going to go.”
Courtney knocked on her flight vest, indicating they were in. Then, she smiled. “All good.”
Tristan smiled back before walking side by side with her out to the flightline.
*
Tristan stayed with her as she walked around the helo, doing her pre-flight checklist. Maguire was already inside, as was the rest of Bravo Team. She’d spent the last evening, Christmas Eve, penning letters to her mother, her son, and Courtney. Over the years, the letter to her mother had gotten easier. However, the letters to her son and Courtney nearly did her in. She knew losing her life could be part of the job. A few months ago, that thought didn’t bother her. Now, she had two lives depending on hers.
“Listen,” she said once they were around the back of the helo.
Courtney signed her checklist and stopped walking.
“If something happens—”
“Tristan, don’t.”
“Courtney, listen to me, please. My letters are under the pillow in my rack.”
Courtney shook her head but nodded in understanding. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too,” Tristan sighed, kissing her quickly.
They both took a deep breath and cleared their thoughts before climbing into the helo.
*
Courtney watched the instruments on the screens in front of her as she flew the helo over the mountain. It was a clear night with very little cloud coverage. Even with the halfmoon and sky littered with stars, it was still pitch-black outside. She glanced at the GPS, then switched the radio.
“Bravo One, we’re ten mikes from the drop point.”
“Roger that,” Tristan replied, quickly giving the signal for everyone to get ready.
When they reached their destination, Courtney lowered the helo down to forty feet from the ground. Both side doors slid open, and Bravo Team jumped out, three on each side, fast roping to the ground in seconds. Howie shut the doors as they lifted away.
“Eagle, Outlaw One. Package has been delivered,” Courtney radioed as she flew off. Please be safe.
“Copy. Proceed to the waiting zone.”
“Roger that,” she replied.
“Our waiting zone is thirty minutes away,” Maguire said.
“Yep.”
*
“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Tristan said as they began hiking through the woods towards the river. She led the team with Nigel beside her, navigating their route. Hoffman and Tucker walked behind them, each carrying one end of the folded rubber raft. Fowler and Perry were directly behind them, keeping cover from both sides and the rear.
Once they reached the inky waterline, they unfolded the raft. Two of them worked on getting it inflated, two put the paddles together, and two stood back-to-back, covering them in a 360-degree view.
“Eagle, Bravo One. Ducklings are Oscar Mike,” Tristan radioed once they were in the raft, quietly paddling across the river. Hoffman was in the front and Tucker was in the back, both with rifles on their shoulders, scanning the coastline through the scope while the rest of them paddled.
They pulled the raft from the water, sliding it up into the tall weeds, then placed their paddles inside and pulled their rifles to the shoulders. Using silent tactics with hand signals, Tristan led the group along the weeds and shadows of the shoreline. Everyone was crouched low, moving one behind the other. She quickly gave a signal for Perry and Tucker to break off, taking cover behind one of the parked vehicles. Then, she signaled for Fowler and Hoffman to move. They both slid down into the water and swam along the shoreline, then around the back of the sub where they attached explosives, before carefully moving over to the other side of the dock. They came out of the water in the small, wooded area they’d hid in when they were retrieving the drone.
She checked the time on her watch. 3:58. Anytime time now. The workers were all busy dollying crates outside and lining them up. Another, well-dressed man, held a clipboard and walked along the crates, before going back inside.
“Hostile approaching from the east,” Hoffman whispered.
“Charlie Mike. Drop him if you have to,” Tristan replied, telling him to continue the mission as she watched through her monocular. The man opened his pants and peed all over the bushes two feet away from Hoffman. Don’t breathe, kid.
Suddenly, the water broke, and the submarine appeared, slowly making its way to the dock. The hostile quickly put his junk away and rushed inside the open warehouse.
“Shark is on the surface,” Tristan said. “I count ten hostiles.”
“Copy ten,” Fowler replied.
“Bravo Four and Six, hold position,” she said, telling Tucker and Perry to remain where they were. Then, she waited for the sub to tie up and open the conning tower. Four men climbed out. After what looked like a brief conversation, led by the well-dressed man, the workers proceeded to roll the dollied crates onto the dock. She zoomed in as far as she could on her monocular when the well-dressed guy paused and looked around. Hello, son of a bitch. She looked directly at him, almost as if they were staring each other down. “I have a visual on Juan Ortega,” she radioed.
“Copy visual,” Fowler replied, meaning he knew it was him, too.
“Bravo One, Eagle. You copy?” command radioed.
“Lima Charlie,” she replied.
“Do we have confirmation on Juan Ortega?”
“Affirmative,” she answered.
“Charlie Mike,” command radioed.
“Roger that,” she replied. “Bravo, we are a go for Hellraiser,” she said to her team. “On my command.” She watched the group load the first, then second crate into the sub, while eight more lay on the dock. She gave a quick hand signal to Nigel, then the two of them scurried past Perry and Tucker and flattened in the shadows against the building. “When Ortega comes back outside, toss smoke and light the assholes up. Fowler and Hoffman, you go inside. Nigel and I will go after Ortega and the sub. Perry and Tucker, you come in behind Fowler and Hoffman, but watch our six and yours. There will be at least two guys aboard the sub.”
“Roger,” everyone replied.
Tristan pulled two smoke grenades from her vest. As soon as Ortega walked out of the warehouse, seemingly checking the crates again, she flipped the switch and tossed them both at the back of the warehouse. Simultaneously, Fowler did the same as he and Hoffman rushed in. The pop, pop, pop, sound of their automatic rifles echoed.
“Sumergirnos! Sumergirnos!” Ortega began screaming, telling the sub to dive as he ran towards it.
Tristan rushed towards him as he pulled a handgun from the waistband of his pants. She dove into him, tackling him like a rugby player. They both went off the side of the dock just as he got a shot off, barely grazing the side of her Kevlar helmet. The two of them wrestled around in the water. The weight of her uniform and tactical vest was threatening to pull her under as she fought with him, trading blows, and pushing each other’s head under until she finally pinned him in a headlock and squeezed long enough to render him unconscious.
Nigel had run out to the sub firing his gun, but the vessel pulled away from the dock, taking part of the wooden structure with it, leaving him nowhere to go.
“Blow it!” Tucker yelled.
“Capt. Malloy is in the water!”
“Damnit,” he said, pulling out his infrared monocular to see if he could pick up her heat signature. “I don’t see her,” he said. The sub was about fifty yards from the shoreline and almost completely submerged. “We have to stop that sub. It’s going to get out of range!”
Tristan swam backwards, keeping Ortega’s head above water as the sub began going under. Gunfire continued inside the warehouse as Perry, Hoffman, and Fowler fought the hostiles. She finally felt the muddy bottom under her feet as she continued pulling him. Her radio started crackling. She looked out, unable to see the sub. “Blow the damn sub!” she yelled, but with her mic not working on the radio, no one heard her.
“Bravo One?” Nigel radioed, over and over, before finally saying, “Captain?”
“Blow it! Do it now! That’s an order!” Fowler radioed back as he fired off shots at the last hostile in the warehouse.
A second later, Tristan’s back slid against the shoreline as a loud boom sounded, followed by a huge splash of water. She sighed in relief and pulled Ortega up into the mud next to her. The popping noise of the gunfight ended, rendering everything silent. She took her earpiece out and shook it a bunch of times, then put it back in. “Eagle, Bravo One, do you copy?” she said, then repeated herself. Please work.
“Cap…uh, Bravo One!” Nigel yelled, hearing her.
“Bravo Three!” she exclaimed. “Call for the Outlaws, now! We have to get out of here!” She knew with her radio working intermittently, she couldn’t switch channels to call for the helo. If she did, she could lose all contact with her team.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Just make the call!”
“Outlaw One, Bravo Three. Do you copy?”
*
Courtney maintained a holding pattern twenty miles away, high in the sky. “I don’t like this,” she said.
“Me either,” Maguire muttered. “We can’t stay in enemy airspace for long, especially after they blow up that sub.”
“I know,” she sighed just as Nigel’s voice came over the radio. “Lima Charlie. Oscar Mike!” she replied, quickly turning the helo and heading as fast as she could towards the extraction zone, which was literally the road in front of the warehouse.
“We’re sure there are no power lines, right?” Maguire asked.
“Yes and no.”
“What?” he squeaked.
“There are, but presumably, not where we are going. We have no choice. Put your big girl pants on and keep a lookout, so I can set this bird on the ground.”
*
“Bravo One, you copy?” Fowler radioed, searching different channels until he found her.
“Lima Charlie,” she replied.
“All the hostiles are down. We’re setting the charges now.”
“Copy that.”
“Outlaws are inbound,” Nigel said. “Bravo One, what’s your location?”
Tristan looked around. “A hundred yards down river,” she said, then her eyes landed on Ortega. She quickly checked for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there.
“Are you alone?” Fowler asked.
“Negative.”
Fowler, Perry, and Nigel rushed to find her while Hoffman and Tucker finished.
“Holy shit,” Fowler said, finding her and Ortega on the muddy bank. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. He’s not so good though,” she replied, nodding towards Ortega.
Perry checked for a pulse, finding the same faint beat as Tristan. “He’s barely alive, Captain. How long was he under?”
“Not long. We fought hard until I was able to put him a choke hold. I may have held on too long, but he nearly drowned me. I kept his head above water all the way to shore though.”
“I hear the helo,” Nigel said. “We need to get moving. Where’s your rifle?”
Tristan looked out at the water.
Fowler helped Tristan to her feet and handed her his gun. Then, he ziptied Ortega’s hands together in front of him and threw him over his shoulder, carrying him as Nigel led the way and Perry brought up the rear. Tristan walked alongside him. The helo was landing as they made their way to the warehouse.
“Charges are set,” Hoffman said. “Whoa, Captain. What happened to you?”
“Ortega and I went for a swim,” she muttered.
*
“It’s going to be hard to do this without a vector call,” Courtney said.
“We look clear. No power lines in site,” Maguire said.
“Bravo One, are we clear to land?” she radioed. “If not, I’m going to need a vector. Over.”
“You’re clear straight down and up to three hundred yards to the south,” Tucker radioed back.
Courtney looked at Maguire, who simply shrugged, as she set the helo on the ground.
“Here they come. Looks like they’re carrying a body,” he said, trailing off.
Courtney began unbuckling her belts and he reached over, grabbing her wrist. “Stop! We don’t know who it is.”
“She hasn’t been on the radio at all,” she yelled, jerking away from him.
“Look!” he shouted. “She’s okay!”
Courtney lifted her eyes in time to see Tristan running with the rest of the team. Oh, thank god! She tightened her belts back down.
Howie swung the door open, and Fowler flopped Ortega on the floor. Tucker jumped in and helped pull him further inside and get him on the folding backboard as the rest of the crew climbed in.
“As soon as we are a hundred yards away, you hit it,” Tristan said, looking at Hoffman. He was carrying the trigger device for the explosives they’d planted all throughout the warehouse and on top of the crates along what was left of the dock.
Once Fowler got into his seat next to Tristan, she reached for his radio, since hers was stuck on their team channel. “It’s good to see you, Outlaw One,” she said. “Our friend here is circling the drain, so it would be great if we could get out of here yesterday.”
“Roger that. Good to hear your voice, Bravo One.”
Courtney quickly lifted the helo off the ground and zoomed away. Once they were on the opposite side of the river, Hoffman squeezed the trigger. The warehouse went up in a huge fireball that went way up into the air. The crates on the dock had also exploded, blowing the wooden structure to pieces.
Tristan handed Fowler his earpiece and put hers back into her ear. “You copy?” she said, looking at him. He gave her a thumbs up. “Did we manage to get any intel out?” she asked.
“Nothing from the sub, but we took every notebook and laptop we could find,” he said.
“Roger that.”
“Captain, I lost his pulse,” Perry said. “Starting CPR.”
Tristan got out of her jump seat and helped Perry try to revive Ortega, who lay lifeless on the floor of the helo.
Chapter 44
The helo landed softly on pad two. Maj. Irving and Lt. Col. Powers were standing in the hangar, as well as two base MP’s.
“We had to give him CPR in the air, but he’s breathing on his own and has a pulse,” Tristan said as they rushed up when the helo shut down. She jumped out, helping Fowler get Ortega out. Perry came out beside him, holding the IV bag for the line she’d put in his arm. They rushed him into the back of a van, then watched it drive away, heading towards the medical facility on the other side of the base.
“Everyone in the ready room in ten,” Lt. Col. Powers snapped.
Tristan turned around and he was gone. “That didn’t go so well,” she muttered to herself as her team went into the locker room to remove their tactical gear. Courtney’s aircrew followed, removing their flight gear.
“Captain, look at the side of your helmet,” Tucker said.
Tristan turned her Kevlar head gear to the side as she removed it from her head. A large scratch ran down it, clearly where a bullet had struck and scraped. Her eyes locked onto Courtney’s across from the room before she put the helmet on the shelf in her locker.
*
Lt. Col. Powers stood at the front of the room, pacing, and shaking his head. He paused and opened his mouth to speak, when the door swung open and Alpha entered, looking about as rough as Bravo.
“This morning’s operation turned into quite a cluster fuck,” he grumbled, smacking his hand on the podium. “Alpha, let’s start with you. How in the hell is Domingo Torres dead?”
All of Bravo Team and Courtney’s aircrew gasped.
Judd stood up at attention. “Sir, we believe Torres was driving the vehicle and had his driver, Armando, sitting in the passenger seat in his place as a decoy. If any sniper took a shot, they would be killing Armando as the passenger, not knowing Torres was really the driver. This is the only explanation we have.”
“Who took the shot?”
“The Colombian forces, sir. We ambushed the vehicle together, but they shot the driver in the head. The vehicle swerved and rolled over. We immediately ran over to assess the occupants and found them both dead. The driver matched the photo of Domingo Torres. He had a bullet hole through his forehead. The passenger matched the photo of Armando Huerta. We got him out and began life saving procedures, but he had already succumbed to the injuries of the crash.”
“Where is Domingo’s body?”
“The Colombian forces took both of them, sir.”
Lt. Col. Powers smacked the podium with his hand in frustration. “Bravo, please explain why you returned with Juan Ortega, soaking wet and unconscious.”
