Chapter 45

 FORTY-FIVE

Captain Norris could see from the cockpit of the MV-22 the devastation the Basilisk Marines had unleashed on the airfield. A large black plume of smoke hung over the air from a fire that had long since burned out of control. He could feel the momentum of the plane shift as the pilots slowly brought the nacelles up in their descent onto the airfield. The plane’s crew chief slid his hatch open to talk the pilots onto the ground as the rear gunner racked the bolt on her M2 machine gun.

“Lancer 1-4, taking some ground fire.” Norris heard over the radio.

“Lancer 1-3, Lifting, India Lima personnel inserted.” Another pilot noted, Norris took note of their use of the RAMROD on a shared Comm frequency.

The Osprey entered a hover nearby a crashed CH-53, the hurricane force winds of the Osprey’s proprotors mercilessly assaulted the ground and sent a wall of dust in all directions as the wheels touched down, the Berserker marines quickly disembarked allowing the Osprey to lift off again.

As Norris and his team made their way to the crash-site, he watched another Osprey depart. Unlike the light grey of his MV-22’s this Osprey had a white belly with a dark bluish-grey fuselage of a CV-22 from the Air Force’s special operation squadron, the Pararescuemen had arrived. His team made their way past the helicopter crash site to find the PJ’s had erected a bivouac in the open rear of a CV-22 that had landed just beyond the crash site on the runway, Norris and his team identified themselves to the Airman and he quickly took stock of the situation.

“Who’s in charge here?” Norris asked one of the Pararescuemen, an Air Force Technical Sergeant. “Lieutenant Kowalczyk, but him and a few of the Marines are off on a rescue operation right now.” The NCO replied.

“Well, are any of the Marines here?” Norris asked, annoyed.

The Sergeant pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the interior of the Osprey. Norris rolled his eyes and made his way into the cramped cargo hold; he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. Inside on one row of seats rested a filled body-bag, on top of another row of seats sat a Marine secured to a stretcher with a PJ attending to their injuries.  

“Report.” Norris ordered the Marine.

The Marine looked up to see the Officer and visibly stiffened. “Corporal Jeff Dennings, Saber but currently attached to this detachment.”

“Where’s Lieutenant Fick?” Norris interrogated

Dennings shrugged “Got CASEVAC’d with the civilians. I wasn’t as critical so they’re letting me wait here with the casualty.”

 

Norris paused at the information. Initially, Berserker had been sent to retrieve the Lieutenants team, thanks to their proximity to the AO, however as they arrived at the compound, the Old Man had instead re-routed their flight of Osprey’s deeper into the Jungle to support the team on an unauthorized operation they had disembarked on. Norris wasn’t clear on the details but the rapid change in mission plan made him want to ask questions personally of the officer in charge, and then hand him over to Oured for their own questions.

“With your el-tee down, who’s in charge?”

Dennings thought for a moment “Gunnery Sergeant Morgan sir. But he’s off trying to mount a rescue with some of the PJ’s so, I guess that just leaves me.”

Norris glanced back to the body bag. “Who didn’t make it?” he asked.

Dennings sighed heavily. “Sergeant Thomas Zhao, Assassin I believe. Ran off to buy the Helo crew some time but got overrun. Took out a bunch of them too though. He deserves a medal for what he pulled off.”

 

Norris nodded and walked back out into the sunlight; there he found his teams Gunnery Sergeant awaiting him. The NCO was busy lighting a large cigar when Norris approached.

“What’s the word Gunny?” Norris asked.

The Sergeant took a long puff of the cigar before replying. “Well, situation is about as good as we can expect. Second and third element secured the compound the south side, Fourth Element is clearing the Hangars at the moment, but it doesn’t look like many of the forces here survived the close air support attacks, and the few we’ve come across haven’t been forthcoming about surrendering. Fifth is just mopping up some resistance in the woods and trying to link-up with the rest of the Marines here, sounds like they’re going towards the crash-site further down into the jungle.”

“Any captured in the compound?” Norris asked

“Yeah, about a dozen or so, they’re still checking them right now for ID and any weapons. Squad leaders want to know if they’re POW’s or not.”

Norris shook his head. “They’re not combatants, and besides FIS will want their pound of flesh from them, so we just hole up until they arrive. Our job is to secure the site until further orders.” Norris replied. Instead of a classic military raid that his men thrived in performing, they had stumbled into a quasi-police-action, better left to law enforcement or Coast Guard then the special forces.

 

The officer and Senior NCO coopted the Pararescuemen’s camp as their own staging area, receiving reports from the squads scattered across the mesa. The Marines had been on the Airfield for over an hour when the captives made their way through the trees escorted by his men. As the prisoners were cordoned off by the marines, Norris could see that the squad they were sent after had joined them.

 

The men looked visibly tired, covered in small injuries, blood and muck. Though Norris didn’t show it on his face, He was grateful to see the faces of Kyle, Haver and Hernandez amongst the survivors. The de facto leader walked up to greet Norris.

“Sir, Gunnery Sergeant Glenn Morgan reports as ordered.” The NCO rattled off at the position of attention.

Norris took a final drag from his cigarette before throwing the butt on the ground and stomping it out with his boot.

“At ease Gunnery Sergeant.” Norris ordered before continuing “Sergeant, mind telling me why you and your men are here?” Norris asked.

The NCO cocked his head “Orders to my understanding were to attack the airfield and deny the enemy of assets present.” The NCO replied tersely. “Any assets in particular you were set to destroy?” Norris asked. “Aircraft and potential arms equipment. We were able to achieve the first objective, and with out air support we damaged much of the facilities infrastructure.” The NCO reported. Norris smirked “must be nice to have Hornets on station to call in airstrikes, isn’t it?” Norris asked rhetorically

“No sir. Those aircraft didn’t arrive until after we lost ours. That’s what my marines and I were doing when your squad found us.” Morgan replied sharply.

“Elaborate.” Norris said.

Morgan took a sharp breath, “We came in with both helo and close air support. Our Helicopter and extraction were shot down, then we lost our air support shortly thereafter. We were able to secure the helicopter crash site, but took casualties-“ his voice trailing off slightly as he glanced towards the twisted wreckage of the CH-53 behind him. “-We didn’t get any distress beacons from our pilot after he was shot down, so we were going to locate the crash-site.” Morgan explained.

Norris nodded “I understand Sergeant. As of now you and your men are relieved, make sure they get checked out by the Corpsmen, and you will be airlifted out on the next hop. Please let my men know that there will be, a debriefing after this little FUBAR of a situation.” Norris said dismissing the Sergeant. Morgan didn’t move. “Sir if I may, we would like to assist in the rescue and recovery efforts of our downed pilot. He covered us for the past few months and would like to at least see this through for him.”

 

Norris glanced at the marine. While he had not personally worked with Morgan on many assignments, he was more than aware of the operator’s reputation. Questioning orders was not something he was prone to do.

“Not and option Sergeant. Those came from the Old Man himself.” Norris replied brusquely.

“But Sir I-“ Morgan began to protest before Norris held up his hand to cut him off.

“Gunnery Sergeant, this is not a democracy. I expect my senior enlisted personnel to follow my fucking orders.” Norris growled sharply.

Morgan exhaled sharply. “Aye aye sir.” He snapped before turning an about face and joining the rest of the squad.

 

Norris took a moment to compose himself before turning his attention to one of his NCO’s awaiting with a list of identification of the compound’s prisoners.

“Which one is Lisa Park?” Norris asked the sergeant.

***
Three Pararescuemen stalked their way silently through the dense foliage of the jungle. It had been by pure chance that one of their Osprey crews spotted the smoke, but their onboard cameras were still next to useless between the ambient heat of the jungle and dense canopy cover of the trees.

 

Along their hike, the airmen had found scattered debris from the downed aircraft, marking each piece of debris’ coordinates for recovery efforts later if need be. After trudging through the jungle for three hours however, they came across the first major piece of debris.

 

It had been the empennage of the aircraft, but instead of the fighter jet they had expected, it looked almost civilian in nature, with utilitarian boxy edges instead of the aerodynamic curves that even the A-10 had. The remarkable thing that took the Airmen by surprise was the three paint lines that adorned each side of the tail.

 

“It’s the same plane from the news the other day.” Remarked Master Sergeant Piercecchi.

“Any chance it’s a copycat?” Senior Airman Wilkinson asked.

Lieutenant Kowalczyk shook his head “Not our place to ask. Let’s just go get this guy but be cautious. If he’s crazy enough to pull a stunt like that in Anchorhead, he might be a bit more difficult to rescue.” The Officer paused the team to mark the position on the tactical map, they were almost to the site of the smoke that the Osprey’s had seen.

 

Another half hour of marching later, they arrived at the GPS Waypoint ontop of a rocky outcropping overlooking a stream that snaked its way between the trees.

“Sir, are you sure this is it?” Piercecchi asked.

The Lieutenant nodded “Certain, should have been something here.” He replied confused.

“Who knows how the air currents work in this place, could have drifted?” Wilkinson offered.

“Yeah just keep an eye –“ the Lieutenant said before being hushed by his senior NCO. “You hear that?” Piercecchi asked.

 

The two other Pararescuemen paused and listened.

 

It was an electric warbling sound, extremely faint and possibly submerged.

The three men hastily started running towards the barely audible sound until they found it. Sunken halfway in the stream was a crushed and deformed metal box. Cautiously the three airman approached the crash-site

“Hello! Any one in there?” Kowalczyk asked, unholstering a pistol with his right hand, and balling his left hand in a fist above his head to signal for his subordinates to stop.

The three men waited a moment for a reply. Hearing nothing, they continued their approach.

“Don’t you dare be dead.” Wilkerson muttered underneath his breath as they got closer. It had been the cockpit of the aircraft, the rear portion showed both explosive marks as well as that of metal torn under immense stress.

 

“Ok, we’re coming to get you, just hang tight.” Kowalczyk announced, motioning for Piercecchi to approach the cockpit. Tensely the airman came to the door and pulled the emergency release lever. With some effort the NCO pried the door open and sighed.

 

“Its empty.” Piercecchi reported.

“What do you mean?” Kowalczyk asked.

“Pilots not here. Doesn’t look like he ejected or was thrown out either. Look.” Piercecchi said, More at ease, the two other Airmen approached the cockpit to see what the Senior NCO was referring to. The harnesses had been cut rather than torn, someone had beaten them to the crash.
***

it was a bitterly cold fall day in Onslow in northern Osea. It had been over a week since the Chopinburg operation, retroactively referred as Double Jeopardy by the various rear-echelon staff that had taken their time to debrief Morgan and the survivors. Officially, the raid had been apart of their mission in Usea, however, unofficially Morgan was made aware of potential court martials that would follow depending on the still unfolding political ramifications of their mission.

In the brief talk Morgan had with Colonel Mancuso, it was alluded that the Machado Cartel had taken notice of the Marines operations against their operation and had leveraged their various political connections within Osea to put an end to them. It was of great disdain to many politicians that Basilisk’s mission not only continued on the marine’s own accord, but also was thrust to front page news with not only their raid in Erusea, but their drawing in of IUN support assets in their Chopinburg raid.

 

Morgan, however, couldn’t have given less of a damn about any of that now as he shoved his hands into his slacks pockets. Tom Zhao’s funeral was quiet. Outside of his daughter and her family, the only other attendees to the service were the Osean Marine honor guard, a local priest, Morgan, and the rest of the Chopinburg team as well as a representative from the other Basilisk teams. Tom’s cremated cremains sat front and center next to an aged photograph of a much younger Staff Sergeant Zhao in his dress blue uniform.

 

The Honor guard performed the rifle salute, then presented a folded Osean flag to Tom’s daughter. Morgan found himself wondering if his daughter had even known the truth about her fathers work in the military. He wanted more than anything to tell her how, instead of the official story of him being killed in a construction accident in support of a fictional engineering battalion, he had bravely given his life to save the rest of his team.

 

He pushed the thought out of his mind. As much as he hated it, He knew the secrecy was for a good reason, as much to protect their estranged families as it was to protect the states secrets themselves.

 

The funeral ended unceremoniously as the urn was placed in the ground, a temporary marker over its burial site.

 

Zhao’s family walked past the Marines not saying a word, though Morgan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as his young granddaughter glared at him.

 

When the precession had stepped out of earshot, Dennings spoke up. “This is fucking bullshit.” He complained.

Adams nodded solemnly. “As much as he does deserve some recognition, we all knew when we signed up. Awards like that were never in the cards for us.” He said pragmatically

Dennings shook his head bitterly “I don’t give a damn about a purple heart; I just want her to know that her dad is a hero.” Dennings said jabbing the air.

“Just be glad the Old Man was able to get us this much.” Morgan replied, grabbing the handles of Denning’s wheelchair. The young Marine was expected to make a full recovery, but thanks to the shrapnel wound he had received in the raid, he was relegated to a wheelchair until he fully healed. His injuries paling in comparison to the others.

 

Lieutenant Fick was still in intensive care back in Usea, while the rocket attack had not directly killed him, he had multiple lesions open on his brain, dozens of fractured or broken bones, severe internal bleeding and damaged organs as well as losing his left leg and arm. The Doctors were not optimistic about the officer waking up again, let alone being able to live a normal life thanks to his injuries.

 

The Belkans had also taken a significant beating. Ben had the least grave injuries, only suffering a broken clavicle and humerus. His wife, Lauren, had only woken up from her coma in the ICU a day prior. Despite her gunshot wound though, the Old Man assured the Marines that she would make a full recovery.

 

Morgan and the Marines however were disappointed in the news of the crew chief Erwin. The young Belkan NCO had flat-lined en route to the hospital onboard the Osprey, and despite the pararescuemen’s best efforts, was unable to be revived, being pronounced dead when they had landed.

 

The three Marines made their way back to their rental car to find a man sitting on the hood of the car, idly toying with his cellphone. He glanced up to see the Marines and approached them.

“Cal right?” Morgan asked hesitantly.

The man nodded, pulling a sealed manilla envelope from under his arm. “Compliments of the boss man.” He said handing the folder off to Adams.

“Where is the Broker anyways? We haven’t been able to get in touch after the raid.” Morgan interrogated.

Cal shrugged. “Broker moves in mysterious ways. He just wanted you all to have this before you guys do anything else. Turns out that chick you captured in Chopinburg has just been a wonderful treasure trove of intel.” The former cop explained before turning away.

 

“Wait. Is there any info on Trigger?” Adams asked hesitantly causing Cal to pause in his tracks. He shook his head solemnly. “Boss Man hasn’t said anything about it if that’s what you’re wondering. We didn’t extract him so best we know; He is still MIA.” Cal explained, leaving before the Marines could ask any follow up questions.

 

Enroute back to their quarters at an Osean army fort nearby, Morgan opened the folder and started poking through the documents with Dennings as Adams drove.

 

Inside was details of bank accounts, Names, and addresses of people or entities that had dealings with the Machados. Some names had already been crossed off their list, but others would be far harder targets to hit.

 

At the bottom of the file was a small post-it note, in blocky handwriting was an address in Hollister, west Osea with a set of instructions.

“What’s that?” Dennings asked, noticing the small yellow piece of paper.

“How much leave do you all have?” Morgan asked.

“What do you mean?” Adams asked.

“Call the others, I think its time to go hunting.” Morgan replied.
***