Chapter 30

 

THIRTY

The old Chevy pickup shot dirt and gravel from its tires as it sped down the old logging road. Trigger uncomfortably held onto the door as the Lieutenant rounded a corner and sped towards a paved road.

 

After finding Fick earlier in the evening, Trigger was forced into showering and changing into ‘more suitable attire’ as the Lieutenant put it, forcing him into an ill-fitting flannel and jeans combination, as well as a pair of boots that unlike the rest of his cloths, fit him.

“Ya know, it’s good you didn’t keep up with your grooming standards while you were in that bed” Fick shouted over the sound of the wind rushing in through the open windows in the cab. “It’ll be easier to sell you to the locals as a deserter.” He continued.

“What do you mean deserter?” Trigger asked.

“The town we’re going to. No one there actually wants to be there; they just end up there. Plenty of deserters, thugs, and the like all congregating in one town.” Fick explained.

“Charming, This place got a name?”

“Depends on who you ask. On our maps from the ISAF days, it says Gioiello Verde, Eruseans called it Arbes Verts, locals call it Bep Dia Nguc. Don’t bother asking me what any of them mean because I’m not the linguistics expert.” Fick explained, jerking the truck onto the main road.

“So, what do you call it?” Trigger shouted.

Fick thought for a moment. “Dunno. Team before us dubbed it Roanapur, but that name never really stuck with us. Couldn’t ever figure out why they settled on that name. Guess it never actually came up.”

“Where we going exactly anyways?”

“Rest of the guys are at a bar with your Buddy. It’s a nice place, good atmosphere and cheap drinks. Most importantly its also one of the places we get most of our facts on the ground.” Fick elaborated.

 

Trigger nodded. HUMINT as the briefers generally referred to it, was the art of getting details that wouldn’t be strictly on paper or in a computer database. It was an old tactic that had garnered treasure troves of results. It was sources on the ground that allowed for the Usean liberation of San Salvacion. It had been HUMINT as well that had aided Trigger over Tyler Island to foil an Erusean Radical plan to arm the Arsenal Bird. While he personally never understood some of his Officer school classmates reasonings for tracking into the Intel field, he respected the results their work provided to the mission.

 

As Fick sped down the highway, he was fiddling with the dial on the old radio in the dashboard. Breaking the noise of static was stations playing Mariachi, a local folk music and occasionally older rock songs that Trigger could recognize the words to. Eventually, the younger officer settled on a station playing classical music and left it there as they entered the outskirts of the town.

 

Despite its vast wealth of resources, the Chopinburg region had long languished out of the eye of the States that administered it. Prior to the landfall of the Ulysses fragments the rule of law had only a loose grip on the region. The Establishment of Istas Fortress to the East of the region had been a step towards stabilization, however with the onslaught of the Erusean Military, any progress made had been lost with the ISAF retreat. Over fifteen years later and the lush jungle was still a hot bed for all sorts of illegal mining, deforestation and what was rumored to be weapons development, out from the watchful eye of any Government agency.

 

Fick pulled into a parking lot right as the streetlights were turning on.

 

It was a smaller brick building, the outside had once been painted a bright yellow, however the paint had long faded to a muted shade and had fallen off entirely in places exposing the brick and mortar below. Above the door, painted in faded red lettering read Rula Bula. The interior of the bar wasn’t in much better shape than the exterior Trigger noticed as he entered behind Fick. Tables that had looked mended time and again, splintered wood adorning some booths, the leather upholstery cracking and failing on many of the chairs. The walls were adorned with multiple battle flags, Some Trigger recognized like the Erusean, Bulgurdarestian, ISAF and North Point, while others were unfamiliar.

 

Awaiting them at the bar was Bandog, He waived Fick and Trigger over motioning for them to sit.

“I knew you’d make the right choice Trigger.” Bandog said as he took a sip from his drink.

“Well, its not like you gave me much of a choice.” Trigger said sardonically.

“You could have always walked away. But I felt I knew you well enough to know your not that much of a coward.” Bandog explained.

“What if I did?” Trigger asked.

Fick answered “Well, then we would have dumped your ass on a street corner in Axel Bay. From what Bandog explained to me, you’re a SERE grad, you should be able to figure out a chic city like that well enough.”

“oh… how comforting.” Trigger replied.

“You really look like you need a drink Trigger. Order what you want, its on me tonight.” Bandog invited.

“Uhh, no thanks. I don’t drink.” Trigger dismissed. “Your loss, he’s never offered to buy our drinks” Fick said, as he hailed down the bartender.

 

Trigger sighed “Exactly how much about me do these guys know? The guy I talked to last night knew my name, I was a Pilot and at least he seemed to know how I ended up at McKnight.” Trigger asked.

Fick once again interjected “Yeah exactly How exactly did you end up there? You were in pretty rough shape.”

Trigger looked over his shoulder. “It was five to one, I got four.” Trigger replied.

“An everyday Andy Tanner aren’t you?” Bandog said sarcastically. “Truthfully, I gave Morgan a bit more information than I gave the rest.” Bandog explained.

“Why was that?” Fick asked.

“He asked nicely.” Bandog replied bluntly.

 

Trigger held up both of his hands. “Hey, Focus!” He pointed at Fick. “What exactly, do you know about me? What has He shared?” Trigger asked, pointing a thumb at Bandog.

“Uhh, your callsign is Trigger, you’re a pilot, and you’re an Osean Major. That’s pretty much the end of what I know.” Fick answered.

“Well, that keeps it straight then. How much do they need to know exactly about me?” Trigger asked, turning to Bandog.

“Whatever you think is relevant really. But word to the wise, these guys have done enough work in the dark that they see everything, I’d suggest keeping your bullshit down to a minimum.” Bandog instructed.

“Noted.” Trigger said, taking a sip of water. “Where’s the rest of the Marines you said we’re going to be here?” Trigger asked.

Fick turned around on his stool and leaned his back to the bar. He pointed at a far booth where two men we’re sitting.

One man was older, Trigger’s guess was he was Asian, wearing a button up shirt and slacks. Across from him sat another man, a ginger in an Aloha shirt and jeans. “That’s Zhao, our Specialist for these kinds of places, and Kyle’s the one across from him.”

“I thought your branch loved their use of ranks.” Trigger quipped.

“Not here at least. Our cover is that we’re one of the freelance security outfits here. No ranks while out in the field.” Fick noted.

“So is Zhao and Kyle a code name or?”

Fick snorted. “I wish. Since we’re more direct than Espionage, we don’t get cool stuff like code names. Just guns and a pretty sizable budget to pay off the right people to let us use them.”

 

The Bar door swung open, the first man Trigger recognized instantly, Hernandez. Following behind him was a man with short, cropped hair wearing a polo shirt that wasn’t tucked in and tactical pants, and behind him was a younger blond man wearing sport coat and slacks with a buttoned-up shirt. The three seemed to be discussing something amongst themselves as they approached the bar.

Hernandez seeing Trigger grinned and shook his hand. “Hey, look who finally found their way out of the room! Yo Adams, wheres my 20 bucks!” he shouted as he shook Trigger’s hand. The younger blond man scowled, as he fished out his wallet. “I don’t get it, what?” Trigger asked confused.

Hernandez took the bill from the other man and started to explain “Well you see, After sunshine-“ the medic pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the silent third man who took a seat next to Fick “-Over there had a talk with you this morning. We all started a betting pool on how long you would hide in your room until you figured out the door was unlocked. I guess in our few weeks together I had the unfair advantage.”

“Yeah, you did! I was sure it would take a week!” yelled the blond man as he took a seat at the bar.

“Oh, Sorry to disappoint.” Trigger said sheepishly.

Fick once again interjected “Well Trigger, I see you’re already acquainted with Doc, this man here is Morgan, you two talked last night, and the man to his right is Adams.” Fick introduced.

The man with short, cropped hair, Morgan, gave a half hearted waive, and Adams, the blond man, nodded to Trigger.

 

Fick turned to Morgan. “Where’s Dennings and Haver?”

“Back at the Compound. Haver wanted to go over the details of the op tomorrow again in the shoot house.” Morgan relayed. Fick nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to Trigger. “We have two more guys but, Yeah, the full welcome party will have to wait.”

“I understand.” Trigger said unsure of his new acquaintances. He turned his attention back to Bandog.

 

“So, what’s step one in the hiring process for this job?” Trigger asked.

 

“You’ll need to be brought up to speed on basic combat indoc. I’ve seen your pistol quals and frankly I’m far from impressed. Given the circumstances I’ve given that a week, plus you have a few weeks of Physical training since you’ve been in bed this entire time. Once I figure out the airplane situation, we’ll get you read in on that, and then from there you go to work.” Bandog laid out.

 

“Seems simple enough…” Trigger’s voice trailed off. “The thing that bugs me is, Why are we out here anyways? What does Osea have to gain by being in this shithole?” Trigger asked.

 

“The Marines here help keep an equilibrium. Theres three main factions in this region. Yuke Mafia, Sapinish Cartel and the local crime lords. The Marines here do the dirty work that Osea can’t be seen doing to make sure one of these groups doesn’t get too out of hand.” Bandog explained.

“You can think of us as gardeners. When one stem gets too long, we prune it.” Fick elaborated.

 

“And I’m guessing with the movement of weapons, the Saipanish Cartel is getting too out of hand?” Trigger asked.

 

Fick snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

 

Trigger thought for a moment “What happens if you prune too much and get a power vacuum?” Trigger asked.

 

Fick shrugged. “Equilibrium will occur eventually. The Yukes have learned to not fuck with us so they will stay in their lane. Local crime lords may try something, but the Yukes will likely step in to keep the peace. With any luck another rival gang will be able to seamlessly fill that void, or if nothing else, those attempting to usurp the spot will be too preoccupied in killing each other that it won’t be our problem.”

 

“So Bandog, where do you fall into all of this?” Trigger inquired.

“Them detonating a bunch of WMD’s in my backyard and under my nose is a slap in my face. I can’t let an insult like that stand.” Bandog replied bluntly.

“I’ll drink to that!” Fick interjected, downing a shot.

 

The night slowly continued as Trigger was introduced to the other Osean Marines. The mood within the bar was light and jovial, despite the increasingly rough looking clientele that started to fill out the booths and tables.

 

Trigger watched a small fight between two patrons. From his observation, one man had spilled the others drink and after an exchange or words, it had escalated to fists being thrown. Despite the commotion of the two men fighting however, the rest of the bar took little notice, and it was only until the Barkeep had barked at the men to take it outside did anyone aside from Trigger look up from their glasses.

 

“Certainly, has an interesting atmosphere.” Trigger said to Bandog. “I wouldn’t have expected someone as adverse to fighting as you to hang out here.”

Bandog gave Trigger a sideways glance “What makes you think I’m against fighting?”

“Well for one, you were always out of even our longest radar ranges.” Trigger replied.

“One, that’s the job of an AWACS, two, you convicts couldn’t be trusted to not try to shoot me down and run. Hell, they weren’t even sure you wouldn’t have done that with McKinsey that last mission you and Count were on. Not that I would blame you, he wasn’t a cargo worth protecting.”

“Ok, True, but aren’t you concerned this place might get, you know? Out of hand?” Trigger asked.

“Look. You see those men out there?” Bandog said, waiving his finger across the dining area of the bar.

“They’re some of the scariest motherfuckers you have ever met, and most of them are from the three main powers in the area. This place is neutral territory, and they know it. Its generally only the stupid fucks that try to cause an actual problem. And even then Bao over there-“ Bandog pointed to the bartender “Keeps a loaded Colt Monitor underneath the bar for the few problems that arise. Twenty rounds of thirty-aught-six that can punch through just about any body armor on the market at five hundred rounds per minute. Trust me Trigger, this is one of the few ‘safe’ places in the city.”

 

 By Trigger’s guess, it was either extremely late or early in the morning when the crowds started thinning out. He sat around a table playing cards with Adams, Morgan, Fick and Bandog. The smoke from Morgan and Kyles cigarettes filled the air around the table.

 

Suddenly the doors flew open. Trigger swung around to see three men, one with an AK rifle, another with a handgun and the lead man carrying a knife.

“xuong dat chet tiet!”  shouted the point man of the group.

the few patrons that we’re inside paid little mind to the armed intruders and went back to their business.

“I Said, Get on the fucking ground!” Shouted the leader again, His compatriot with the rifle fired a burst into the ceiling.

Morgans eyes raised up from his cards annoyed. “How many.” He asked.

Fick, keeping his eyes on his cards replied swiftly “three, jackass with a rifle is in the corner, knife guy closing as about thirty feet, and another with a pistol but It doesn’t look like he knows what he’s doing and he has his back towards us.”

“Why do I have to do it again?” Morgan complained.

“Its your turn. I fold.” Kyle Replied, laying down his cards.

 

Morgan sighed, letting out a thick cloud of smoke, he gently put his cigarette down. Trigger watched as the scene played out in slow motion.

In one swift movement, Morgan got up from his chair, from the rear of his waist he pulled out a small handgun. Firing three shots in rapid succession the man with the AK crumpled to the floor. Blood sprayed the wall behind him.

 

The Knife man paused for a split second and started running towards Morgan.

 

Without flinching, Morgan turned and engaged the man, with two shots into the mans chest he fell to the floor gasping.

 

The Third man had finally turned around and started to raise his handgun. Another three shots sent the man crumpling to a heap, blood oozed from the wounds in his chest and forehead.

Morgan exhaled, dropped his spent magazine to the floor, reloaded with a fresh magazine, closed the side and retreated to cover by the doorway. The Knife man had begun to crawl, wheezing as his lungs filled with blood.

 

Within a second, a fourth man burst into the bar, Trigger couldn’t tell what he was carrying, but the man had shouted something briefly before he fired a spray of machinegun fire into the ceiling. Morgan raised his handgun and fired one round, hitting the fourth attacker in the back of the head, he fell forward dead instantly.

 

Morgan paused, took another breath, and disappeared outside of the bar.

 

Triggers ears were ringing. He thought he was no stranger to watching people get killed after the events of the previous few weeks. But seeing the surgical brutality unfold before him. Trigger was unsure. He felt a tapping on his shoulder, it was Bandog. “So, are you going to hold, raise, or fold?” He asked.

Trigger shook his head and turned his attention back to his cards. He could even focus on the hand he had. “Fold” he said in a trembling voice. The knife attacker started to moan in pain and pleaded when Morgan returned.

 

Morgan knelt down next to the dying man. “Ban la mot thang ngu chet tiet phai khong” He hissed to the man.

“Lam on guip toi!” the man pleaded, blood leaking from his mouth.

Morgan stood up with a look of disgust “Tu lo lay than.” He said, raising the handgun to the mans head and firing a single shot.

 

Trigger watched in horror as Morgan nonchalantly holstered the handgun and walked to the bar. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and slammed them on the bar.

“For the damages.” He shouted to the Bartender, who nodded in acknowledgement.

 

Morgan took his seat back at the table, picked up his cigarette and scowled when he looked at his hand.

 

“Fuck. I fold.” He said taking a drag from his cigarette.

 

Bandog smiled widely as he laid down his cards. Trigger could see a full set of cards in the same suit. A, K, Q, J, 10.

 

Seeing this the other Marines swore under their breath.

 

“Damn and I thought Count was the con artist.” Trigger remarked.

Chapter 29

 

TWENTY-NINE

“Let the missile Kill you, or crash into the rocks. That much freedom I will give.” Colonel McKinsey Concluded the briefing, stepping back from his lectern and walking quickly out of the room. Trigger couldn’t help but have a snarl as the diminutive officer passed him. McKinsey was not only a hard ass towards the Spares, he was also one of the most inept officers Trigger had met in his albeit short military career. The man reminded Trigger of stories his father had told him, Certain Osean officers who during the Belkan war, cared more about earning medals than their troops. Many had found themselves fragged or relegated to desk jobs quickly after arriving on the front lines.

 

After the door was closed behind the Colonel, the Pilots stood up to formulate their plan. Trigger took point studying the topographic map.

“When’s step off?” Trigger asked one of the Guards. The slightly overweight soldier grunted shrugging.

“Well, aren’t you just helpful” Trigger said snidely.

“Eh give him a break, He probably hasn’t had chow in, I dunno, fifteen minutes?” Tabloid said, clasping Trigger’s shoulder as he passed by.

“Eh, who cares, at least they’re allowing us a chance to plan something this time.” Count replied.

“Like he said, We’re a valuable military asset. They actually think this lot is good for something. You know, other than dying.” Remarked Full band. Like Trigger, Full band was ex-Osean Military. An Intelligence officer who had been caught selling information to the wrong people.

 

Trigger brushed aside the comment, unlike previous missions, McKinsey had provided the penal unit with actual intelligence briefings on the terrain and potential enemy assets in the area, along with weather charts from the UMETSAT. His eyes darted over the cloud reports particularly. If McKinsey’s taunt were accurate, the clouds would at least provide them some reprieve from the dual guided Anti-air missiles.

“Looks like we’re close to scud running this one guys.” Trigger said, interrupting the bickering that had broken out between the pilots. “What do you mean?” Tabloid asked.

“Cloud tops at 4600’, hard deck is anywhere between five hundred to twelve hundred feet, gives us marginally three thousand feet to play with on insertion into the AO.” Trigger explained.

“Why not dive for the deck when we just get close by?” Asked one of the Spares pilots. Trigger dug through the packet of paper in front of him, picking out three copies of one document in particular and tossed them to the corners of the table. “Read it for yourself” Trigger instructed.

Full Band slumped forward on the table, leaning on his palms “It’s Erusea’s new Anti-air system. Command dubbed it the ‘Gremory’, I think the Eruseans had their own fancy name for it. Like Trigger said, its dual guidance, the Spy Satellites get the missile in the generalized area, and the Radar provides terminal guidance. They also have an effective range of about a hundred miles or so.” He explained.

“So why don’t they just use those all over the continent? Seems like its more effective than Stonehenge ever was.” Asked another Spare pilot.

Full Band shrugged. “Who knows, best guess is that its either too expensive, or too inaccurate for a full-scale air denial like that. Maybe a bit of both.”

Trigger smirked. “I though knowing things was your thing Full Band.”

Full Band “Hey, pay me enough, I can tell you what size of knickers that princess wears. But that still doesn’t change the fact I have no details on this.” Full Band said motioning towards the documents scattered across the table.

 

Trigger frowned. “I don’t quite like the idea of a fighter unit doing a Wild Weasels job.” He said slowly.

“Fucking deal with it.” Barked one of the Guards walking the perimeter of the briefing room. Trigger glared in annoyance at the interruption.

“Let alone, going in as a ten ship… Those valleys are probably crawling with triple A as well.” He noted, allowing the irritation to show in his voice.

Trigger started to formulate his idea. He clapped his hands. “Ok I got it.” He pointed at two of the newer pilots.

“Hex, Wally, you two take point, try to get them to load you up with as many Anti-ground missiles as we can load on your planes. Your both flying Rhinos so that should be somewhere in the ballpark of six Mavericks? How are you on the Targeting pods?” Trigger asked. “Better than average” replied Hex.
“Good” Trigger replied moving his attention Across the table, pointing to Count and Full Band.

“You two, your jets can handle the Wild Weasel task so you’re going to be on point for the anti-Radar mission” Trigger ordered.

“How?” Full Band asked incredulously.

“Both of your planes can carry four anti-radiation missiles, Full Band you have the HARM and Count the KH-31. Both literally designed for this kind of job.”

“Ok, and how do you play into all of this?” Count asked folding his arms.

“Simple. I’m going to be the distraction.” Trigger said bluntly.

“You are kidding, right?” Tabloid asked. “I know you wanted out of the Squadron, and granted, that’s one hell of a way to do it. But that’s suicide, even by your standards Trigger.” The Belkan asked exasperated.

“Look, the Eagle lightly loaded at max speed can outrun all of you, and certainly anything they throw up at me. No Offense but I’m the only one here who actually made it through fighter indoc-“

“Yeah, in a Viper maybe.” Full Band interrupted.

“-It doesn’t matter. I can push that plane harder than most of you can. It makes more sense for me to draw the fire for all of you.” Trigger concluded.

“Ok Fine, but where’s that leave the rest of us to do? I know math isn’t everyone’s strong suit but that still leaves myself and four other guys without a job.” Tabloid said.

“Fighter and ground sweep. Most of you have Superbugs so we are best off mixing it up between the groups. Tabloid can lead the fighter element with Hardball and Showboat. Gonzo is running Ground attack with Hex and Wally.” Trigger assigned.

“Sounds good.” Count said excitedly.

 

“What about all the motherhood?” Asked another pilot, Hardball, one of the many in the rotation of new faces that came into the Spare squadron constantly. Trigger was impressed the new pilot knew the term.

“Normal shit. We will load up on as many bags as we can carry to get there, and if we need to there’s Goldfein Air Base that’s friendly. I’ll let Bandog sort out the paperwork on that if needed.” Trigger explained.  “Anything else” Trigger asked.

“I’m good.” Tabloid stated, there was a murmur from the other pilots in agreement. Trigger smiled as he watched the pilots sort out their individual portions of the plan. Some of the senior pilots were advising the rookies on how to execute certain maneuvers in their jets, it all hit Trigger with a wave of nostalgia.

This is what is supposed to be like as a fighter pilot. He thought.

 

***

The mountain sides loomed in Trigger’s peripheral vision. The Spare’s flight into the AO had been largely uneventful. As they had expected it had been low lying clouds the entire way. As they approached the target, they had checked in with their AWACS, a caustic yet effective man with the callsign of Bandog. As far as Trigger and the Spare’s knew, he had been attached to the 444 Squadron as long as McKinsey had.

As they crossed into the mission area, Bandog broke radio silence.

“The enemy is watching from above, stay in or below the clouds to keep hidden. That means, no missiles, even you lot should understand that.” Bandog derided.

“Talk about an enclosed space.” Count remarked.

“Whats more enclosed than Solitary? Commence Operation.” Bandog Ordered.

Showtime Trigger thought as he waggled his wings. That had been the Spare’s predetermined signal to break off on their assigned tasks.

The mountain valley came to a fork ahead of the Spares.

“That’s your target radar, Destroy the AAA around it too.” Bandog advised.

Trigger watched as Hex’s team, Count, Full Band and Tabloid broke off of his formation.

Once the jets were clear, Trigger pulled back hard on the stick and slammed the Throttle forward into afterburner. The canopy was obscured for the briefest moment in a sheet of white as Trigger’s F-15 screamed through the cloud deck.

 

A serene blue sky was painted out before him. The snow-capped granite mountain faces peaked out of the clouds like islands.

 

The peace of the moment was shattered by the sounds of Trigger’s RWR Receiver. A quick staccato chipped in his ears as the radar sights simultaneously locked onto his jet.

“You’re in plain view Spare 15, get below the clouds!” Bandog admonished.

Trigger ignored the comment. “Spare 15 hard spike. Defending” Trigger said calmly as he pulled the jet over to level, albeit inverted. The terrain below was breathtaking.

He could hear an audible groan from the AWACS. “Fine, get yourself killed then.” Bandog admonished.

“Magnum!” Count yelled over the radio. Seconds later Trigger watched a fireball atop one of the mountains.

“Would you look at that, Spare 8 actually did something by himself for once.” Bandog said bemused.

A whooping from Trigger’s aircraft indicated the Eruseans had finally fired upon him.

“Spare 15, Missile 11 o’clock off your nose, closing.” Bandog reported.

Trigger squinted until he could make out a glint, it was approaching impossibly fast. He rolled the jet to a 90-degree bank and started a turn; he knew he could not outrun the missile so he would have to do the next best thing and defeat it. Continuing his roll and pulling into a dive Trigger eyed his exit strategy, a long stretch of mountain valley that was just low enough to allow him to pull out of the dive. With the airspeed screaming past 500 knots, he knew that he only had mere seconds to pull off this stunt.

 

Not wanting to throw out the possibility, Trigger deployed a quick burst off Chaff and Flare, to his dismay, the missile kept on Target and corrected its trajectory to intercept him.

His Altitude tape read 7000 and fell rapidly. Within a heartbeat he was once again engulfed in white. In one quick motion he pulled the throttle back to idle, engaged his speed brake and pulled the jet’s nose towards the Horizon. The sudden onset of G-forces was a shock to his system as his vision tunneled to the fading color of his heads-up display. Fighting to not only maintain control of his jet, but to stay conscious, Trigger screamed at just over the treetops.  Slowly the blood returned to Trigger’s ears and he could hear again.

The RWR was silent.

“The missiles are guided by the satellite and radar, so if the radar facility is destroyed, the missiles should stop hitting their targets.” Bandog stated.

“You sure you can trust that intel?” Full Band asked.

“Who knows? Only one way to find out.” Bandog replied.

 

Trigger shook his head. At his old squadron, that stunt he pulled off would have garnered some attention, but for the Spares, stupid ideas seemed to be another day at the office.

 

Trigger once again pulled the jet above the cloud deck. Within moments the RWRs chittering buzzed in his ears.  On another mountaintop, Trigger watched an explosion, he glanced down to his Situational Awareness display to see it was likely Full Band’s kill.

“Radar Sight confirmed destroyed, however not all radar’s have been taken out and those satellites are still in operation.” Bandog reported.

“They sure aren’t making it easy for us.” Count griped.

“Dammit they’re making us do something – but just what?!” Tabloid exclaimed in frustration. Trigger noted the Belkans excitability when it came to missions, including an outburst during their fight with the pilot who killed Champ. “It’s a dangerous operation, but its better than running through a minefield blind I guess.” Tabloid exhaled, sounding calmer on the radio.

 

The RWR once again indicated a missile lock.

Without reporting, Trigger dived once again into the clouds.

“Your so naive Tabloid, what we’re doing is exactly like running through a minefield blind.” Full Band shot back.

“Radar sight silenced. Speaking of silence, if you got time to yap, you’re not doing your job.” Bandog reprimanded.

 

“Hey, I got in using a trick any amateur could think of. Picked up a bunch of intel too.” Full Band stated.

“There he goes, running his mouth.” Quipped one of the other Spare pilots.

“Full Band, that’s your second strike. There won’t be a third.” Bandog cautioned.

 

“Rifle!, Rifle!” Hex shouted .

 

“Spare 10, get below the clouds!” Bandog barked.

“Shit, Im locked up! Help!” Hex exclaimed.

 

There was a pause on the frequency.

 

“Spare 10 lost. Continue with the mission.” Bandog reported bluntly.

 

“Like I was saying, I got my hands on a password, and after some digging around I found a bunch of stuff.” Full Band continued.

“I’m not sure you understand what you’re saying Spare 6” Bandog warned.

“I’ll let you in on it when we’re home Bandog. In this war Intel is a life-or-death matter” Full band said jovially. Trigger was unsure if he was purposely pushing the AWACS’ buttons or was more preoccupied with his mission to care.

 

Trigger continued his portion of the mission, trolling around for the missiles.

 

Within minutes, Bandog spoke up again.

“All targets destroyed that should be the last of the radar sights we needed to destroy. That probably put a stop to their missiles’ terminal guidance capabilities as well. Someone fly above the clouds.” Bandog instructed.

“How about you do it?” Invited one of the Spare pilots towards the AWACS, “I like the sound of that” Full Band added, “He could do with the exercise” Taunted another Spare squadron member.

“Hey Trigger, You’ve been doing a pretty good job of that already.” Tabloid jested.

“Fine, you big babies.” Trigger said, gently climbing through the cloud deck.

“Spare 15 naked.” He reported.

 

Slowly the other Spare’s jets climbed above the clouds to relative safety.

Trigger expected an order to RTB as well as the other pilots. Unlike their missions of dogfight engagements, this one had been relatively straight forward. Trigger listened to the idle talk of the pilots until Bandog broke radio silence.

“Wait a minute, hold it!” Bandog ordered.

“What’s going on Bandog?” Tabloid inquired.

Trigger glanced down to see new contacts on his jets Radar display, Osean F-18’s. Weird. Trigger thought.

 

“This is the Osean Air Force 444 Squadron, State your affiliation” Bandog interrogated the interlopers.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Trigger watched his secondary radio, tuned to 243 MHz light up.

“Incoming allied fighters, respond on my Frequency, UHF Channel 14” Bandog instructed.

“The regular forces don’t want anything to do with the Penal base.” Count said confused.

Triggers RWR once again started beeping, alongside the UFC, he could see it was an Air-to-Air lock.

“What the hell?! I’m Spiked!” cried one pilot. “They have radar Lock!” Yelled another.

“But the IFF says they’re allies!” Count said shocked.

“Woah Time out, don’t tell me they’re barrier troops!” Full Band said accusingly.

 

Any questions the pilots had we’re squelched as Hardball’s jet exploded in a fireball.

“Osean fighters! Do not Engage! We are friendlies! Shit!” Bandog hissed.

“Someone’s on me! Is He an Enemy?” Full Band yelled.

“Defending!” Count yelled.

 

Trigger dived his jet for the clouds.

“These guys aren’t allies!” Bandog exclaimed, confusion and anger apparent in his voice.

“What was your first guess?” Hissed Trigger. “Are they spoofing our IFF?” Full Band asked.

“Wally’s Down!” Exclaimed a pilot. The radio frequency was chaos.

“Modern IFF connects to our strategic systems via satellites. It can’t be decoded!” Bandog said in disbelief.

“Yet here we are!” Trigger interjected.

 

“What about markings and craft type?” Tabloid asked. “Theres no time!” another pilot shot back.

“But you said information on the IFF is top secret, Theres no way they could make a fake!” Tabloid yelled.

“At this rate, no one is going to make it out alive, All Aircraft, get below the clouds and out of the enemy’s sight.” Bandog ordered.

“Then what?” Count yelled.

 

The voices on the radio were thinning out by the minute. Trigger watched on his display as more friendly targets vanished.

 

Suddenly, Tabloid spoke up again. “All aircraft, gather on me, I mean Trigger!” He ordered.

“What?” Count said astonished. Tabloid without missing a beat continued, “Bandog, can you register Trigger and the blips around him as friendlies?” Tabloid asked.

“What good is that?” Cried one of the remaining Spare pilots.

Trigger wasn’t sure where Tabloid was going with his idea, but just incase he started to turn on his Air-to-Air TACAN Transmitter.

 “What other choice do we have?” Tabloid said bluntly.

 

There was a pause.

“Sure” Bandog said.

 

“Alright, All Aircraft, form up on Trigger, Nice and Tight.” Tabloid Ordered.

“I’m on TACAN 12Y, if you can’t find me on your SA display, tune me in there.” Trigger barked climbing his jet above the clouds.

Trigger looked at who was left. Tabloid, Count, Full Band, Showboat, Gonzo and himself.

 

“Bandog its on you.” Tabloid prompted the AWACS.

“Full Band, whats your location?” Bandog clarified. “The tail end!” Full Band reported.

“Understood.” Bandog said with a slight chuckle.

 

“I’ve sent new ID data; bandits are marked as bandits. Shoot them all down!” Bandog directed.

 “No way Im dying out here.” Said a determined Full Band.

“This is the Penal Unit. I decide when you die.” Bandog said forcefully.

Trigger engaged his AIM-9 Sidewinders. While the Eagle was never built for a close engagement, it was more than a respectable fighter in Trigger’s opinion. His eyes tracked the target before his jets Radar did. It was one of the F/A-18’s that had fired on him. Osean or not they would be treated all the same.

The familiar growl filled Trigger’s ears, as he closed the distance, the seeker found the heat signature from the jet and screamed.

“Spare 15 Fox Two!” Trigger shouted as he fired the missile. It tracked true to its target and detonated; the Hornet disintegrated instantly.  

The RWR started ticking again, “Shit Defending!” Trigger exclaimed. In his rear view mirror he could see another fireball.

“That should have cleaned him off of you Trigger.” Tabloid reported.

 

Trigger started looking for another target when Bandog spoke up again. “Projectile incoming!”

“Tell us what’s happening! Come on!” Full Band hissed.

“Goddammit not right now!” Bandog dismissed.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Count quipped.

“Air contact closing at high speed. Its too fast to be an aircraft!” Bandog reported.

“if its not that, what is it?” “What do we do?” “Whats going on?”

 

Trigger tried to tune out the jibber jabber as he moved to engage another Hornet, he clicked forward to his 20mm cannon and fired a burst. The rounds landed long, but peppered enough of the Hornets wing to send it spinning out of control into the mountain below.

 

Bandog began counting down. “3… 2… 1… Here it comes!” He shouted. A brilliant ball of blue light scalded his eyes.

There were yells of terror from the pilots. “My Aircraft is gonna break up!” cried Gonzo.

 

Bandog sighed “Incoming transmission from HQ, the weapon is codenamed ‘Helios’, it’s a long-range missile carried by Arsenal Birds.”

“Arsenal Birds?” Tabloid replied confused.

Trigger was familiar with what his former Group commander dubbed ‘Big baby Huey.’ They were a threat that Trigger witnessed firsthand.

“Sending over predicted impact zones. Its coming in hot!” Bandog announced.

“Damn you’re working quick today Bandog!” Count noted.

“Get too chatty and you will die.” Bandog rebuked before starting his countdown again.

Trigger watched as some of the Hornets vanished within the blue balls of fire.

 

“How can they fire like that when they’ve got allies in the airspace! Don’t they care about their pilots?” Tabloid said disgusted.

 

Trigger maneuvered to engage another Hornet that crossed his path.  Like the others, the Jet took no attempts of defensive maneuvers when fired upon.  Trigger watched his final Sidewinder leave its rail, and like a finger stretching from his jet, tracked onto its target and detonated.

 

“Spare 15, One to go.” Bandog Reported.

“Winchester” Trigger replied. “Don’t worry, I got it.” Count chimed in.

“Go get him!” Bandog said enthusiastically.

 

“One to go? Where is he?” Full Band said confused.

“Count!” Bandog said forcefully.

“Righto, This is it! Fox 2!” Count said.  

Trigger watched as Counts missile found its target. “All right! I got the last one!” Count said cheerfully.

“Dammit! God Dammit! Why is this-“ Full Band exclaimed before the transmission stopped.

 

It slowly dawned on Trigger as he watched a fiery wreckage plunge towards the clouds below.  

“What? Full Band!” Count said shocked. “What the hell?” “Full Bands down!” Cried the surviving members of Spare Squadron. “Friendly Fire?” “Didn’t we get all the bandits?” other members rationalized.

 

Tabloid’s voice rose above the rest. “Full Band got tagged as an enemy.” He said bluntly.

 

A stunned silence fell over the pilots.

 

“You did that on purpose Bandog!” Count said accusingly.

“Did what?” Bandog feigned innocence.

“Don’t play dumb! Full Band!” Count yelled.

“It was an accident. It got out of control. RTB” Bandog said coldly.  

The egress and flight back to Zapland was dead silent from the pilots.

***

A silent energy fell throughout the dining room. Trigger tried to puff up his chest, which thanks to his muscle atrophy, made him look pathetic in comparison to the laid-back man before him.

 

Bandog grinned “Really how you want to greet me after being away for so long? I thought we we’re friends Trigger.”

“Not sure what kind of friendship that was.” Trigger spat.

Bandog shrugged and took a seat at the table. He poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher and swished it around in the glass “Well if you want to keep snarling there like a kicked dog that’s fine with me. Tell me now, otherwise I have better things to do.” He said dismissively.

“Like what? I heard you were on the run from the Oseans!” Trigger said accusingly.

Bandog snorted “Yeah, some of the Oseans. Im a bit too valuable to others. Lieutenant, if you would, Me and Trigger here need some privacy.” Bandog said.

 

Fick nodded and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Bandog paused for a moment, making sure that the Marine had actually left “Now with that out of the way how about you take a seat. Please, watching you stand is making me tired.” Bandog motioned to the chair Trigger was sitting in earlier.

“What do you want?” Trigger interrogated.

Bandog shook his head dismissively. “You know, if you want to continue being a dick, I could pay them to drop your ass back off in that hangar we found you in. I didn’t even have to drop what I was doing, fly halfway across the continent to pick you up, but I’m nice like that. The least you can do is hear me out.” Bandog said pointing a finger at Trigger.

 

“Ok. Shoot.” Trigger said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

 

“Simply put, I have a job lined up for you. If you take the job, Your safety won’t be guaranteed, but it will keep you out of jail.”

“What kind of work?”

“Stuff you’re good at, Probably the only thing your good at really-“ Bandog remarked

“-Hey!” Trigger shouted defensively Bandog put up a hand to quiet him.

“Let me finish. I need a pilot. Someone who could trade between close air support and boring recon, with every which mission in between. I’ve been following your exploits as of late, so I know your at least crazy enough for it. Think you’d be interested?” Bandog said.

 

Trigger thought for a moment. “What’s the pay.”

“Right to the money? Ok not what I expected but sure. Let’s go with that. Room and board here with the Marines, plus any expenses and a few grand a month thrown into an untraceable bank account in Nordennavic.” Bandog explained.

“So whats the mission?”

“Pretty simple, I’ve been getting my hands on intel, and I think I have enough to get the bastards who sold the Erusean’s those bombs they used to kill our buddies. The Marine’s here have offered their services in waste disposal to take them out, but they need a pilot whose crazy enough to take on the task.” Bandog explained
“I thought Fick said they had killed the arms dealer who sold them though?” Trigger replied confused.

“Eh, he was relatively small time. Im talking about the big time. Usean sect of the Sapinish Cartel was the ones moving all those guns into Radical hands. I think a transgression like that should be handled in a more direct fashion than what a courtroom and jailer can provide. I’m hoping you would agree given the circumstances.” Bandog elaborated.

“Sounds illegal” Trigger said

“Only if you get caught.” Bandog grinned.

“Ok, This sounds well and good and all but what’s the catch?”

“Catch? Pretty much you’re stuck here until the jobs done or you die. Whichever comes first.” Bandog started.

“Oh, that sounds just like the Penal Unit. Are you telling me McKinsey is behind this? Are we getting the gang back together?” Trigger quipped.

“Hardly. Now for the big catch. You, Trigger, will have to be a ghost. For all intents and purposes, you will have died on May 17^th in the attack. You can’t have any contact with your past life while on the job. If you had anyone close, they’re just going to have to deal with an empty pinewood box and a folded flag.” Bandog concluded.

The words dawned on Trigger. His first thought was of Cossette. Officially she had no relationship to Trigger other than a strictly professional one. He wondered how she’d even find out when he was presumed killed. His mind tried to paint a picture of how she would react but, for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to make the thought form. It seemed to unreal.

The only Next of Kin Trigger had would be his father. Trigger couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to his dad.

Was it since Zapland? Before that?

Trigger was unsure. He shook his head, choosing to not dwell on the subject for too long. It was a sore spot for him, one that Cossette even knew to avoid.

 

Trigger stayed silent for a few minutes as he mulled the offer in his mind. He was weary of Bandog, Not only was the man a criminal. Trigger had seen what happened when his pawns outlived their usefulness to him firsthand. Given his circumstances he was in no mood to be stabbed in the back again.

 

Bandog stood up. “I suggest you take a few hours to think this through. When your ready, Tell Fick and he’ll know where to find me.” Bandog instructed.

 

Trigger moved himself to the living room and sat on the sofa and thought. He had a lot of time to think and that bothered him for once. Between his capture, bedrest and now Bandog’s offer, he had an overabundance of time to think. The more he thought the more his mind wandered.

 

The sun crawled through the sky as the hours passed and Trigger replayed everything in his mind. He analyzed every detail and word he could remember. He could not help but feel like he was trying to read the fine print from a deal with the devil himself. It tortured him endlessly as the hours dragged on.

 

His thoughts ran back to Cossette. He wondered how she was doing. He hated that taking the offer might be giving up any chance he had of seeing her again. But if I can get the bastards that almost hurt her… The thought was crystalizing in his mind.

 

If I couldn’t protect you while I was with you.

 

At least I can try to protect you from here.

Trigger walked to the window and looked out west towards the setting Sun. High in the sky he could see a golden strand.

“I’m sorry, I hope you understand.” He whispered.

Trigger turned around and wiped a tear from his eye.

“Lieutenant! I need to speak to Bandog!” He shouted throughout the house.

Chapter 28

 

TWENTY-EIGHT

Trigger awoke to the chemical smells of antiseptic. He was still in a prickly daze from painkillers, and his senses felt dulled and delayed.

Where the hell am I? was his first thought.

 

As his vision slowly sharpened from a blur, He could see he was not in a hospital. The Room was small and reminded him of something closer to a hotel room, He lied in a bed, on the wall opposite him was a room leading into a bathroom, and a closet, along the wall to his right was a window, and to his left was a blank wall with a door, what Trigger figured was the exit.

It struck him that he had no memory of how he got here, nor where here was. He slowly took stock of his surroundings. His bed was surrounded by medical equipment he didn’t recognize, A heart rate monitor and an IV Bag.

His mouth was dry,

“Hebbo?” He rasped out.

Hearing nothing, he grasped around the bed for a call button. As he groped around clumsily, a dull pain radiated through his chest, gingerly Trigger pulled up the bedsheets. His body was covered in Bandages. Unsure if his bravery was motivated naturally, or by the painkillers, Trigger lifted the bandage closest to the pain, He could see what appeared to be a healing scar, as well as staples in his chest, one of which that had come loose and was now leaking blood.

Well shit. Probably nothing I can do about now. He mused.

His hand brushed, and with some effort he grasped onto what looked to him to be a large pill, looking it closer, he clouds see it was a short piece of PVC pipe, with a rounded off end, one with a long black wire coming out, and the other with a large red button. Trigger studied the contraption, It reminded him of the bomb-triggers that some of the Belkan Partisan’s used against Osea during the years following the war in 95’.

Well at least if I blow up, It, will be quick. Trigger thought, wincing his eyes shut as he pressed the button.

 

He waited. Nothing.

 

Relaxing, Trigger released the button.

After a few minutes, the door opened. Instead of a nurse in scrubs, it was a large Hispanic muscular man in a sand t-shirt and tactical pants.

He smiled at Trigger as he walked over to a desk in the far end of the room.

“Hey Look who finally decided to wake up.” He greeted.

“Hebbo” Trigger replied, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth painfully.

The man retreated into the bathroom and Trigger could hear the sounds of the tap running, he returned a moment later with a plastic cup and a straw, He handed the cup to Trigger, The cool water felt like ambrosia to the exhausted pilot.

“Thanks” Trigger said, handing the now empty cup back to the man. “Who are you?” Trigger asked.

“Petty Officer Hernandez, I’m your caretaker.” The man said identifying himself.

“Oh. Ok… So, your from Osea?” Trigger asked.

The man Shrugged and shined a light into Triggers eyes as he examined him.

“Its complicated and I’m not really at liberty to say.” Hernandez replied.

“So where am I?” “Someplace safe.” “That really narrows it down.”

Hernandez chuckled.

Trigger looked at him annoyed “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Anyplace bothering you today?” Hernandez dismissed the question.

Trigger nodded. “Yeah, I think I pulled a staple.” He explained, lifting the bandage.

 

“So you did. We can fix that no problem.” Hernandez stated, returning to the desk, and returning with the staple applicator. He pinched the wound closed “You’re going to feel a slight pressure” Hernandez explained as he stapled the wound closed and reapplied the bandage with a medical gel.

 

Trigger grunted in discomfort. “That was a bit more than a pinch.” He complained.

“Oh, get over it you big baby. After what you’ve been through. That little staple is nothing.” Hernandez chastised.

“Hey where do you get off saying that!” Trigger shouted.

Hernandez, unimpressed, shook his head. “Do you want a full campaign list or just the highlight reel? Or maybe just the past six months? I can provide either. Or do you want to see my board certifications or where I did my Residency?”

“So, you are a doctor? Just not a Corpsman?” Trigger asked.

“Well at least your brain appears to still be working. If you need anything else, just press that button. I’ll be back in a few to check up on you.” Hernandez replied. He left without another word and shut the door gently behind him. Trigger could hear a sharp click of the lock engaging on the door.

He was no stranger to a prison cell, and though the amenities here were nicer than Zapland, he felt no different than he did as a Spare.

Trigger sat in the room for what felt like an eternity until Hernandez returned with a plate of food.

“Here, you haven’t eaten in a while so take your time with this.” He instructed, sitting the plate down in front of Trigger. It was scrambled eggs, toast, yogurt and what Trigger figured was orange juice.

“What time is it anyways? I don’t even have a clock.” Trigger asked.

 

“Around 1745-ish. I just figured these things would not upset your stomach.” Hernandez explained.

“How long was I out?” Trigger asked, taking a plastic spork, and shoveling a portion of Eggs into his mouth.

“You’ve been here four weeks.”

Trigger coughed, choking on the powdered egg. “Jesus. What the fuck happened to me?” Trigger asked.

 

“Can’t say for certain. You had technically died twice on the table though is all I know. The surgeons know their trade though, so you should get almost full mobility once we get you rehabbed.” Hernandez Explained.

 

“Well, that’s good. Wait… I died?” Trigger asked.

“Yup. Now enough questions. Eat.” Hernandez instructed.

“Fine… Fine… Well can I at least find out what I missed out on?” Trigger asked.

“What do you want to know? Celebrity gossip? Because if you want, I heard Katy had a baby so that clears up all those rumors about Tom.” Hernandez said sarcastically shaking his head. “Its best if we just leave that stuff for after your out of the woods medically, OK? Come on, we need to get you moving here pretty soon.”

***
Slowly over the following days, Trigger regained memories of what had happened. Most of it had been fuzzy, but he was certain that he had been captured, and tortured, and all by Osea. While he wasn’t sure Hernandez was related at all to his beatings, he was sure that what followed his stay in bed was a torture within itself.

From a sedentary month in the bed, his muscles had atrophied, and it was days before Trigger was able to walk with the aid of a walker in the tiny room.

 

“You’re going to feel a slight tugging,” Hernandez explained as he started pulling the staples from Trigger’s wounds. The pilot had been amazed, after a little over what he figured was a week, they had all largely closed up and all that remained was a pink, slightly puffy scar.

“Well at least I’ll have something to show for this mis-adventure -Youch!” Trigger said jokingly.

“You’re such a baby. Ok, that one might have been a bit more than a tug but whatever. Just stop squirming.”  Hernandez replied. “Besides Chicks did scars. So, you’ll have them lining up for you after we get these damn staples out.”

 

“Joy. hey babe, look at me, I don’t have a belly button anymore!” Trigger said sarcastically.

“Your belly button is still there… I think. You don’t need one anyways so its not like you’d really miss it. And done. That was the last one.” Hernandez said triumphantly, dropping the final staple into a tiny collection tray.

“Cool, so does that mean I get a day off from your exercises?” Trigger asked hopefully.

“Not by a long shot.”

“Shit” Trigger groaned.

***
Trigger sat in his bed late at night reading a book. One of the luxuries Hernandez had brought into the room with him was a stack of adventure novels. Trigger looked at the cover, a large elegant colonial style house, and the faint image of an F-35 in the background, in bold red lettering it read STONE BY STONE. Trigger had largely enjoyed the series, following a disgraced Osean fighter pilot as his ex-fiancé’s infidelity had pulled him into a deeply rooted conspiracy.

 

He missed Cossette.

 

Hobbling over to the window, he looked out over the dense darkness of the jungle.  Unfortunately, if his captors were correct, and he had been in a coma for a month, he could be almost anywhere on the planet, so he didn’t bother with minor details of which jungle he was in. He looked at the moonlight reflecting off the large leaves of the trees.

 

Anytime Trigger broached the subject of current events with Hernandez, the Corpsman shied away and would change the subject. It made Trigger furious, though he tried to not let it show.  I just need to know she’s alright. He prayed.

 

He thought back to the last time he had seen her. They had landed at an Osean Air Base, He had kissed her and then, he woke up to being beaten. It enraged him to think that Cossette might not only have suffered the same fate but had not been rescued like he had.

 

He pushed the thought out of his mind. That thought, and others was why he had taken up reading in his down time during recovery. Reading kept the pain away, reading kept his mind busy, reading kept him from missing her.

 

He hated himself.

 

For a final time that night, Trigger hobbled to the door as quietly as he could and tried the handle. It was stiff and would not move no matter how he jiggled it. Trigger had briefly entertained the idea of trying to Overpower Hernandez to escape, but even with the advantage of being upgraded to an aluminum cane for his walking support, he figured the more athletic sailor would easily overpower him.

 

Relenting, Trigger crawled his way back into bed and fell asleep.

 

***
“Wake up.” A voice ordered Trigger.

His eyes shot open. The room was dark, save for the dim glow of the moonlight outside. The first thing that struck Trigger was an acrid smell, that of a cigarette smoke. Slowly leaning up, Trigger could see the faint orange glow of a cigarette tip at the foot of his bed, and the dark silhouette of a man.

 

Feeling a sense of panic, Trigger reached by his bed for the call button.

 

“Try it. No one is gonna come for you. Its just you and me.” The voice taunted. The Cigarette tip brightened as the man took a drag.

 

“who are you?” Trigger asked apprehensively.

“Does it matter?” the man asked.

“You know, I’m really getting tired of people saying that to me. Yeah, it fucking does matter asshole.” Trigger shot back.

“Fine, you can think of me as the angel of fucking death, dumbass.” The voice replied.

“Spooky. Is that just a machismo thing or?”

“Shut the fuck up.” The voice ordered. Standing up

The man stood up and walked to Triggers bed side and pulled something from his hip.

Even in the dull moonlight, Trigger could see the imposingly large barrel of a 1911 aimed at his head.

“Now, Trigger, You listen here. I’m the only thing stopping that back wall behind you from being painted with your frontal lobe. The only way you avoid that is by answering my question truthfully. You fail at that, or give me an answer I don’t like? Boom.” The Man threatened.

Trigger gulped. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“We picked you up from McKnight Airbase. Why the fuck where you there?” The man began the interrogation.

Trigger took a breath. “That’s where I was directed to land.”

“Not an answer. Explain.”

“I was in an X-02 Strike Wyvern. I had made contact with an Osean AWACS, they told me to fly there.” Trigger pleaded.

“How did you get the Wyvern? That’s high up Erusean Tech, not something you just loan out.” The man pressed.

“I stole it. Figured the base was toast anyways so might as well, right?” Trigger replied. He felt the gun Barrel press into his forehead.

“That’s not the whole fuckin truth bud, and you know it. You were with someone. Who?” the man demanded.

Trigger winced. If he’s an Osean, He’s just liable to kill me if I tell the truth. If He’s not, He probably wont even believe me. “It’s going to sound stupid, but you need to believe me, ok?” Trigger asked of his interrogator.

“Who. Was. It.” The man asked again.

“Princess Rosa Cossette D’Elise of Erusea.” Trigger Replied.

“Now why the fuck, would an Osean Fighter jock like you be tied up with a chick like that?” The man asked.

“Its. Complicated.” Trigger sighed.

“Enlighten me. We have til the end of your life to explain.” The man ordered, pulling the pistol back slightly from Trigger’s head.

 

Trigger took a deep breath. “I was assigned as a Liaison to the Princess. Mostly just giving her a point of contact in the Osean military going forward. It wasn’t my choice; she pulled the strings to make it happen after we met in Selatapura.”

The handgun did not move from Trigger’s head. “Now that’s one hell of a first impression you left Trigger. Any idea why she did that.” The man asked.

 

Well what else do I have to lose, Either I tell the truth and he shoots me, or I lie, and he still shoots me.

“I don’t know.” Trigger lied.

 

“Trigger-“ The man said calmly “-What the fuck did I say would happen if I got an answer I didn’t like, or if you lied to me?”

“You’d shoot me?” Trigger replied dryly.

“Exactly, Clearly Doc did one thing right, so I’d hate to ruin his hard work at this point. So how about you, rephrase your answer for the class.” The Man instructed.  

 

“Fine. You want to know? You really want to know?” Trigger said, turning his gaze directly towards the interrogator. “The reason she had me attached to that assignment is because I was sleeping with her, OK? We were in what you could call a relationship.”

 

Trigger didn’t notice any change in the mans posture. He also noticed a lack of bullet holes in him.

 

“We’re you feeding her intel on our movements in the area?” the man asked.

“God no. I’m not stupid. Besides, I didn’t know any useful intel to give her, nor did she ever ask.” Trigger replied.

 

In the darkness, Trigger could see the man shake his head disappointed “You know, I’ve heard of honeypots where they would have Prostitutes, or attractive women in general act as spies to bed high ranking officers… but damn, screwing the leader of a foreign country as a uniformed officer? That’s definitely a new one.” The man said chuckling.

 

Trigger laughed dryly “What can I say, I’m a bit of a pioneer in that regard.”

 

The man relaxed and holstered the handgun. He turned around briefly and turned back. Trigger could see a glass vial in one hand, and a syringe in the other.

“What the hell is that?” Trigger asked.

 

“Oh, Nothing.” The man said, jabbing Trigger into his thigh with the syringe.

After a brief moment of extreme pain, Triggers world went black.

***

He woke up in the same room. His leg throbbed where he was jabbed, but aside from that he felt relatively normal. He patted himself down to verify he was still whole. Satisfied, he gently donned his cloths, consisting of grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt and socks, and set forth with one goal in his mind.

Escape.

He had entertained the idea briefly when dealing with Hernandez, but after last nights encounter, he was in no mood to find out if it was going to be a repeat occurrence.

Trigger pried at the edges of the windowsill in his room. It didn’t budge.

Trigger walked into the bathroom and searched the counter and cabinets. Save for his toothbrush, there was nothing he could use to escape.

Trigger continued searching his room for minutes, finding it devoid of most of the tools he had seen Hernandez with.  Well so much for that idea. He thought.

He looked at the door. From the sound it made when it opened and closed, it sounded like a heavier redwood door, likely sturdier than a normal interior door. Trigger briefly entertained using the bed as a battering ram, before dismissing the idea as foolish. He was only just capable of walking on his own, anything more than that would be unlikely.

 

Seeing no additional options, Trigger did his first tests of the door, the handle. As softly as he could, he tried turning the handle.

Click

The door’s latch opened. Trying to remain as quiet as he could, Trigger peered his head out the door.

It opened into a standard home hallway, lining the walls was other doors just like his, all of them, however we’re open.

 

Trigger grabbed his cane and tried to sneak as quietly as he could down the hallway, he poked his head into each room, seeing them lived in, but with no personal effects readily apparent. At the end of the hall was a staircase, leading into a large room. The walls made of lumber and stone, and through large pane glass windows along the side, a view of the surrounding jungle. From the layout of furniture, he deduced that it was a living room.  He scanned the room and saw on a coffee table, laid a rifle.

 

Bingo He grinned.

 

 He carefully went down the steps and rushed past the leather sofas to the rifle.

 

Trigger gingerly picked up the bolt action rifle and tossed it in his hands; Feeling the weight, studying the wood stock and sleek steel. Turning around he froze.

What he hadn’t looked at, was that underneath the staircase was a small kitchen and dining room. Sitting at the table was a man.

 

The man looked at Trigger and waived. “Nice one, right?” He asked, pointing to the rifle. He stood up and brushed off his pants. He was around Trigger’s age, white, slightly more muscular, and cleaner shaven, wearing a red polo shirt and black slacks. “Yeah, it’s a Remington 700, just one of the things that got left here when we picked up the place. It would probably be good for hunting if you really wanted to.” The man explained as he closed the distance. Getting within arms reach of Trigger he stopped and fished something from his pocket. “However, it generally works best if it has one of these installed.” He replied, holding up a small medal rod for Trigger to see.

The man gently pulled the rifle out of Trigger’s hands and held out his own hand to shake.

 

“Major, my name is Lieutenant Nathan Fick, let me be the first to welcome you.” The man introduced himself.

“Ok, so you’re the second military guy I’ve met, if not the third. Who are you people?” Trigger asked apprehensively, weighing the option in his mind if he could use the aluminum cane as a weapon.

The Lieutenant laughed “Of Course, I did tell Doc to try to keep the information to you at a minimum, but the Broker finally said otherwise. Do you mind taking a seat? I can tell you what I can, but the rest has to come from the man who arranged your escape.” The Lieutenant motioned to the dining room table.

“I feel a bit under dressed.” Trigger said.

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, just be glad you’re moving around at all. I saw what those Osean’s did to you.” Fick replied.

 

“So, you say that… What country are you guys anyways?” Trigger asked.

“Oh us? We’re all Osean Marine Corps. 5^th Corps of Engineers.”

“I was unaware the Marines even had that.” Trigger admitted.

“They don’t. You probably know us by the name Basilisk. You’ve worked with us twice in the past.”

 

Trigger wracked his brain. Why does that sound familiar. Pizza guys?

“Wait… where you guys at Cape Rainey?” Trigger asked.

Fick nodded. “Some of our team was. This particular unit is just one of many smaller ‘special tasks’ groups that do the jobs you don’t need an entire force to handle. Its actually rare you see a full-blown detachment make a move like that, but We we’re the closest in the area and command figured if we could do counter-terror well, an Airfield Seizure is probably within our capabilities.”

Trigger chuckled. “Small world.”

“That it is. The Second time was back in December over Chopinburg. Your LRSSG Actually saved this unit by providing air support.”

“The Hind? I always wondered what was happening with that. A lot of weird shit too happened.” Trigger explained.

“Yep. Partially the reason we’re out here.”

“So, that guy who visited me last night, Is he a Marine like you?” Trigger asked.

 

Fick grimaced “Yeah sorry about that-“ He started apologetically “-just understand you’re a bit of a unknown around here. He’s our general litmus test of character.”

“So I take it he told you what we discussed?” Trigger asked.

“Actually no. Nor did we ask. He just vouched for you and that was that.” Fick explained.

“Ok, fine, Next question, where the hell am I?” Trigger asked.

“You’re in Chopinburg, Usea at one of our safehouses. Just around sixty miles from Crater Lake.” Fick elaborated.

“Certainly, explains the jungle.”

***
Trigger took a drink of water and digested the information Fick had given him. Trigger had a mountain of questions for the Marine and Fick was the first person he had met that was more than willing to provide answers.

 

The Radicals chose to go out in a final blaze of glory the survivors had called ‘Operation Charon’. Armed with weapons likely supplied by a Saipanish Cartel, and with the mission of not only killing the Princess of Erusea, but as many Occupying Osean and Conservative Erusean forces as possible. The attacks had ended with nearly fifteen thousand Erusean casualties, the destruction of four bases, and nearly a thousand Osean service member casualties. Farbanti Airbase had been erased, and many Osean casualties were split between the Osean Army garrisoned in Farbanti, and north at Cape Rainy.  

It pained Trigger to think the soldiers he had rode with days prior might have been on the casualty list.

 He was relieved to hear Cossette had been ok. Aside from what the media had reported as ‘being shell shocked’, and general lack of information how she arrived to Dennis, she was unharmed and leading recovery efforts back in Farbanti and across Erusea.

 

Finally, the Information came to what was known about Trigger.

He was listed as one of the thousand Missing and dead Osean’s in the attack, however his apparent connections to Asher had marked him a suspect in the attack. Fick had hypothesized that perhaps news was spread by the radicals of Trigger’s involvement but aside from being wanted by the Osean Bureau of Investigations, there was no further details to provide.

 

“So why did you guys even come get me if you thought I was a traitor?” Trigger asked Fick, breaking the silence.

“Simply, we we’re hired to. We’ve been getting actionable intel from this information broker for the past couple months, He found us and asked us to break you out. As for the why? You’d have to talk to the Broker yourself.”

“So, you keep mentioning him, where the hell is this dude?” Trigger asked.

 

There was a knock on the door.

Fick grinned. “Just a bit behind on the time. Let me go let him in.”

 

Fick disappeared, and Trigger could hear what he figured was the front door opening. There was a hushed murmur of discussion before another person entered the dining room.

Trigger had seen this man before, and was very familiar with his voice

 

He was slightly taller than Trigger, by his guess anywhere from ten to fifteen years Trigger’s senior in age, His dark hair was starting to grey at the edges, and wrinkles started to form at the creases of his eyes. He wore a nice button up white shirt, and grey slacks, reminding Trigger more of a door-to-door missionary than the potential threat he was.

Fick entered the room behind the man.

“Major, let me have the pleasure of introducing you to-“ Trigger stood up and cut him off with a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry Lieutenant. I know who this man is. Hows it hanging, Bandog?”