Chapter 42

 FORTY-TWO

Trigger glanced out the window of the Longsword, despite their advanced preparations the day prior, the Marines were still unable to depart until early in the morning, costing them not only precious nighttime, but potentially the element of surprise. The sun’s glow cresting over the horizon in front of him gave the sky a rosy-pink color, making him sure that the dark blues of his Longsword and the muted greens and blacks of the Belkan’s CH-53 would stand out even more than normal.

 

There was little fanfare when Fick had approached the rest of Basilisk about what Colonel Mancuso had said. Trigger tried not to think on if it was a sense of comradery or just dedication to the mission that pushed their potentially mutinous actions. Trigger wasn’t sure what to expected, but the reaction from the team was muted at best. Some like Zhao and Morgen nodded, others like Kyle, Haver and Dennings cracked a smile or made a joke, but there were no outbursts of emotion. They were all professionals dedicated to their craft, diligently preparing until the Belkan’s had reported themselves ready for departure. Unlike other missions, Bandog had not been there to see them off, instead departing when David had arrived with Ben and Erwin in tow.

 

“Lancer, crossing point Claudia” Ben reported in his gravelly voice, the sounds of the foreign language were strained and awkward. Trigger hadn’t seen much of the man when he arrived at their compound late in the evening, but the few glances he had seen of Ben and his crew chief, both men had a familiar look. It was the same look Trigger had seen on the faces of both pilots at Fort Grays and his own friends at the LRSSG. It was a burning hatred and need to enact great violence against those who had wronged them. Trigger frowned; it was the same look he had worn plenty of times. I wonder if I would be the same if it had been Cossette? Trigger thought to himself.

 

 Trigger turned his attention towards the MFD in the cockpit. He could see the datalink between the CH-53 and his aircraft, as well as their positions on their route towards the target. He was about twenty miles ahead of the Helicopter and another fifteen from the target.

“Archer, crossing Miyako” Trigger reported over the radio glancing through the weapons stores page one last time. Rockets and guns, and not a pound for air-to-air. Look what’s become of me. Trigger chuckled shaking his head at the thought.

 

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life. It was a familiar voice to Trigger, one he had heard what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Bandog is Sunrise.”.

Trigger was taken off guard “Bandog, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Picked up an old AEW plane a few weeks back. Was gonna turn around and sell it but I think it’s put to better use right here helping you out Spare- I mean Archer- 15.” Bandog replied.

Trigger laughed ecstatically at the report. “What’s the plan then for you?”

“If nothing else I will be the C2 for this operation, Wish I could tie into some actual ISR units, but I can at least watch the skies and try to keep them clear.”

“What a good little guard dog” Trigger quipped.

“You know I could probably find another dark hole to stick you in Trigger. Places that make Zapland look like a Club Med in comparison.” Bandog shot back.  

“I hear Romny is wonderful this time of year.” Kyle interjected. “Sorosca too.” Haver added.

“Bandog, any indication they’ve seen us yet?” Fick asked, bringing everyone back to the mission at hand.

“Well, if they have, they’re being awfully quiet about it. No movement on our scopes and nothing heard over their unencrypted frequencies.” Bandog reported. “Are you sure they’re unencrypted?” Fick asked concerned.

“Positive, it was one of Park’s many complaints. But getting that equipment to work was too hard apparently for them, so they use cyphers instead. Amateurs.” Bandog replied.

“Well even amateurs can get lucky. Keep us posted.” Fick ordered.

“Regardless, Scope looks clean so I think we should leave it to Trigger to give them one hell of a wakeup call.” Bandog said.

Trigger flashed a predatory grin “gladly” he said, flipping the MASTER ARM switch to ARM. He was within five miles of the Mesa, squinting through the glare of the rising sun, he could make out the two hangars and long runway that bisected the outcrop.

“Archer 15, tally on the target.” Trigger reported.

“Archer 15, clear to engage.” Bandog replied.

 

Trigger pushed the power lever to the forward stop and nosed the Longsword over, using the toggles on his stick he selected the rocket pods, a CCIP reticle appeared onto his HUD. As he got within half a mile of the runway, he laughed as lights slowly illuminated, outlining the runway and taxiways of the airfield.

How thoughtful He thought to himself as he rested the rockets Pipper on top of the large 22 painted in white on the runway. Darting his eyes towards the end of the runway, he could see two aircraft sitting on the approach end that appeared to have not started their takeoff roll yet.

Not your lucky day. Trigger said resting his thumb on the pickle button, as the Pipper hit the captains bars, Trigger could see the afterburners ignite on one of the aircraft, followed a second later by his wingman.

 

He held the pickle button for a second, he could feel a slight jitter in the controls as half a dozen 2.75-inch rockets flew from the launchers. The total flight time of the rocket was less than a second as each impacted the ground, each individual 2-pound warhead exploding in a muted ball of fragmentation and debris from the runway. Trigger watched as the departing fighter’s pilot tried in vain to avoid the wall of destruction coming towards him, despite being spared the carnage of the initial explosion, the pilot was at the mercy of the rocks and shrapnel flying towards him.

 

Trigger banked the Longsword into a steep right turn to watch the lead fighter’s engines belch a fireball as its engine disintegrated, the wounded aircraft pitched up rapidly briefly becoming airborne, until it violently rolled onto its back and into the path of the second plane. The first planes fuel tanks had just begun to rupture as the trailing aircraft collided into the fuselage, sending a spalling ball of fire careening down the runway.  “Splash two” Trigger reported, easing off his turn and shifting his attention towards the rest of the airfield.

 

Lights were flickering on in some of the buildings of a compound south of the airfield as well as the two hangars seen on all the photos Bandog had provided. The glow of the sudden ambient light illuminating the ramp enough that he could make two larger cargo aircraft parked as well as the silhouettes of six smaller aircraft. He slewed the Longswords targeting pod to mark the vehicles and buildings he could see, each target appearing as a yellow square in his eyepiece.

“Archer, Lancer, status of LZ?” Ben called out.

Trigger slewed the pod towards the planned LZ for the CH-53, a stretch of apron space between the fuel tanks and hangars, He could make out small shapes darting back and forth as the airbases personnel we’re reacting to the sudden crash of two of their fighters.

“LZ is cherry.” Trigger reported, switching to his guns. Cutting the power, Trigger made a diving turn and lined up on the LZ.

He could hear a rapid staccato as stray rounds struck the metal fuselage of the Longsword. Continuing his dive under the onslaught of incoming fire, he squeezed the trigger. Fire belched from underneath his feet as the twin 50 caliber gatling guns painted a stream of tracer fire onto the LZ, each round exploding on impact with the ground killing those unlucky enough to be nearby. Trigger pulled back on the stick, and under the strain of the sudden onset of G’s fired off a handful of self-defense flares. Easing off the controls, he unloaded the aircraft and took up an orbit over the airfield.

“LZ is Ice.” Trigger reported.

“Lancer IP inbound” Ben replied.

“Continue” Trigger said.

 

Slewing the Targeting pod around, Trigger found two jets next to the fuel tanks near the end of the runway, switching to a white-hot camera, he could see vapors from the tail pipes of both aircraft.

 

“Archer 15, Engaging the fuel farm.” Trigger reported as he broke off his orbit. Cutting his turn in, he switched back to the rockets. Again, with a brief press of the pickle button and shudder from his wings, a dozen 70mm rockets raced from the Longsword and detonated against the tanks instantaneously rupturing the tanks and sending the fuel explosion outwards, consuming the two fighters and half a dozen personnel scattered around the jets into the raging inferno. As Trigger flew over the fireball, the plane shook violently from the sudden onset of turbulent air and the temperature inside the cockpit noticeably rose.

 

“What the hell was that?” Fick barked over the radio.

“We could see it on our scopes too, Trigger care to elaborate?” Bandog inquired.

Trigger chuckled softly to himself clearing his throat, “What can I shay? I have a bit of an exploshive pershonality” he replied, mimicking the accent of an actor he used to watch as a kid.

“Ever the joker, aren’t you Trigger.” Bandog said in admonishment.  “How many did you take out that time?”

Trigger shrugged in his harness “Hard to say, I think that’s two more machines down though.”

“Understood, get back to it.” Bandog ordered.

 

Trigger could now see a concerted effort from the ground. Flashes of small arms fire danced across the grounds of the airport.

 

Suddenly, a brilliant flash from the ground caught his attention, arcing up in front of him with an insidious red glow, then, it suddenly terminated with a black, comically puffy cloud. Immediately followed a second later by another cloud, this time far closer.

“Flak!” Trigger yelled over the radio, firewalling the Air Tractors throttle, and desperately trying to climb from their engagement zone, a tall order for a gun designed to shoot down high-altitude bombers nearly a century prior.

“Lancer holding off, anti-air is too heavy” one of the Belkans reported, Trigger didn’t pay close attention, nor did he care as he desperately weaved the lumbering aircraft through the anti-air fire, immediately missing the F-15 and its excess power and higher service ceiling than the Air Tractors suddenly middling 13,000 feet.

Running low on options and out of any better plans, Trigger took a deep breath and rolled the Longsword onto its back, pulling hard. He would only have a handful of seconds and one shot to see his plan through. Ducking and jinking, Trigger dived towards the airfield, all it took was for one lucky Flak shell to impact the plane and he would be nothing more than a memory.

 

His eyes darted back and forth, until he recognized the pattern of where the fire was originating.  One between the runway and apron, in front of the hangars, and another two on either side of the compound.

 

Taking a deep breath, Trigger rested the targeting reticle over the flak gun on the ramp and opened fire, dumping a dozen rockets over the location before switching targets to the Flak gun east of the compound and repeating his barrage of rocket fire. Pulling back on the stick, Trigger wasn’t sure if the groaning of protest was from himself or the airframe around him as he desperately fought to arrest the potentially suicidal decent. His vision was narrowing by the time the nose started to race towards the horizon and was nearly a pinprick as he broke wings level. He gasped as he let off the pressure and felt the blood rush back into his head. Off in the distance, he could hear someone shouting.

“brbghs passed out.” He heard one male voice say,

“Trigger, can you hear me?” the voice asked again.  

Trigger swallowed “Yeah, I’m back.”

“Good, Lancer reported that you bagged one gun, and the other is quiet so he’s inbound to drop off Basilisk. Get your head in the game.” Bandog scolded.

Turning back towards the Airfield, Trigger could see the hulking silhouette of the CH-53 as in lowered itself onto the ground.

Within a second, it was airborne again, Trigger watched as a stream of tracers flowed from its cargo bay into the ramp below.

“Lifting, with zero six pax.” Ben reported. Trigger watched as six distinct blue diamonds appeared in his eyepiece.

“Rider, Archer, checking in, what do you have for me.” Trigger called out.

***
Morgan checked his gear for a final time as the helicopter descended towards the airfield, there was flashes in the windows as tracer rounds flew past the massive helicopter. He had two packs of C-4 plastic explosive, eight magazines for his HK-416 rifle and another four reserve for his M17, as well as a spare 200 round belt of ammo for the Mk 46 light machine gun that Dennings was carrying. As the helicopter got lower, Morgan could see Zhao and Adams at the rear of the Helicopter, trying in vain to arm the MG-3 that was gifted to them by the Belkan crew.

“What’s the problem?” Morgan yelled as he walked over, having to brace himself against the side of the fuselage as the Helicopter made evasive maneuvers.

“Belkan Engineering my ass!” yelled Zhao “Fucking piece of shit is impossible to load!”  

Morgan shook his head and assisted his comrades, pulling the charging handle back allowing the top cover to open, from there the two Marines were able to reload the weapon with ease.

“Well, when you put it that way, Now I feel like an idiot.” Adams quipped.

“Alright, Belkans say we’re one minute out, hit the door.” Barked Fick over the radio.

Complying, Adams pressed the ramp button and the outside light flooded in, reflexively Morgan raised his hands to shield his eyes from what he thought at first was blinding sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was instead a raging inferno quickly consuming the foliage and buildings along one corner of the airfield. More tracer fire filled the air as sparks flew inside the cabin of the helicopter from stray bullets.

“30 seconds!” Fick shouted.

Zhao braced himself and aimed the machine gun, with rapid bursts, he returned fire. The rapid staccato of the MG-3 reminded Morgan more of a minigun than a design that predated it by almost two decades.

 

A flurry of dirt and debris was flung wide from the rotor wash of the CH-53 as it landed with a jolt onto the burning grounds of the airfield.

“GO! GO! GO!” Fick yelled as the ground team ran out the back of the helicopter. Morgan was the tip of the spear for the charge, raising his rifle he rested the red dot on a disoriented looking man, with a three-round burst the unknown person crumpled to the ground.

Morgan found a piece of cover and surveyed the area, glancing briefly to see the Helicopter lifting off again, a stream of tracers followed by a dull roar pouring from the open cargo bay. Glancing over his cover, Morgan found one of the targets only three hundred feet from him.

“Magus 1-4, Rider 1-3, Got a target in sight, 100 Meters west” Morgan called out.

“Understood Rider, 2-6 and 3-4, give Rider covering fire!” Fick ordered both Kyle and Haver in response.

Looking to his left and right, Morgan made the mad dash towards the aircraft, despite the chaos around him, he found no one defending the jets or even within sight. He paused to look over the aircraft, letting his rifle hang by its sling and pulling out one of his C-4 packs and tossing it back and forth in his hands.  

 

Morgan had never been a major fan of aircraft, but did have a knack for identifying them, the jet in front of him left him for a loss, however. Its general size and shape were close to an F-20, but everything about it looked wrong. Instead of sleek aerodynamic edges, every part of the aircraft was harsh jagged lines, looking more like a crude carving than an actual aircraft. He walked over to one of the engine inlets and prepped the C-4 charge, with a small effort, he threw the block of explosives as far back into the compartment as he could before stepping away from the jet.

“Magus, Rider, got one charge planted.” Morgan reported.

 

A loud roar rang out above him as Trigger opened fire on a target Morgan couldn’t see. As the high-pitched whine of Trigger’s engine faded, Morgan could hear Fick’s voice over the radio.

“Say again?”

“Saber, Berserker 1-8 and I are attacking the compound, continue planting explosives on those jets and proceed to the regroup point.” Fick ordered.

“Wilco.” Morgan replied taking off down the ramp towards another jet. Halfway through his run he could see a group of armed men making their way towards another one of the aircraft seemingly taking no notice of Morgan. Morgan dropped to his knee and eyeballed the range, about 150 meters, and squeezed the 416’s trigger.

 

The first rifle burst flew low, catching the first man just above the knee. Collapsing in a pool of blood, Morgan moved the dot a bit higher in front of the second man and fired. The rounds flew dead center in the mans chest sending him to the ground stunned. By now the rest of the group recognized they were under attack and froze momentarily. Resting the red dot above where he thought the sternum was on one of the attackers, he fired and then reengaged the target behind him. The fourth man keeled over, spasmodically pulling the trigger on his rifle. With the fifth man stunned, he proved was easy work for Morgan and was dispatched quickly with a final burst sending him reeling backwards.

 

Morgan stood up and began his run again, dropping the nearly spent magazine and trading it for a fresh one. As Morgan got closer to the second jet, he could see two men lightly armed men scurrying around it, the one closest to the cockpit had a bright white helmet on and a loosely fitting harness over what appeared to be dirty coveralls, Morgan raised his rifle and shot the man, his blood splattering across the cockpit of the jet, the second man, underneath the jet turned to face Morgan, he fumbled with something in his waistband as Morgan turned the 416 towards him and fired, killing the man. Scanning the area for more threats, he turned his attention back to the jet and pulled out his last pack of explosives.

 

The jet had large red foam inlet covers, REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT scrawled in large white lettering. Morgan let his rifle hang by the sling momentarily as he tore the cover out, tossing it aside.

A supersonic THWACK filled his ears as a bullet streaked over his head. Turning around behind him, he saw what was left of a man fall forward, the top of his head removed by the bullet.

“Thanks Rider 1-4” Morgan said over the radio net.

“You’re getting old 1-3.” Adams replied jokingly.

“Smartass” Morgan replied to himself shaking his head and tossing the last pack of explosives into the jet.

“Magus, Rider 1-4, last charge planted.” Morgan reported.

“Understood Magus, Regroup at my position. At the front of the compound.” Fick ordered.

 

Morgan looked, the direct route was almost a kilometer of open ground with very little cover, He would have to take a more circuitous route to evade any unwanted gunfire from the airbases remaining defenders.

***
The rockets exploded with muted balls of dirt and debris as the front gate of the compound was blown down.

What I wouldn’t give for a JDAM or laser guided bomb right about now. Trigger thought to himself as he passed over the compound. From what he could tell, the final ground for the Airbases forces was in a squat structure hidden within the foliage south of the airfield. Nestled between the dense trees and tall grass was a series of rapidly constructed concrete and metal buildings, designed as basic shelter from the elements and not a sustained attack from heavily armed aircraft.

“Archer 15 Off.” Trigger reported, climbing over the airfield again.

“Good hits Archer” Fick reported.

 

Trigger pulled up into a wheel around the airfield and quickly scrolled through his remaining stores. He had burned through two-thirds of his gunpod’s ammunition and had only a dozen rockets left between the launchers.

 

“Magus, Rider 1-3!” Morgan yelled over the radio.

“Go Rider” Fick replied.

“Regrouped with Berserker, and Saber, Enroute to your position but are pinned down, be advised, large enemy group, at least two dozen foot mobiles headed your way.” Morgan reported.

“Understood, Archer, can you assist Rider?” Fick asked.

Trigger looked around and found the blue diamonds representing Morgans position.

“Rider, are you able to mark targets?” Trigger asked.

“Standby!” Morgan yelled.

 

Trigger could see a flash and a burst of red smoke appear in the tree line ahead of the marines.

“One dozen foot mobiles at the base of the treeline, Target marked with red smoke, Friendlies 50 meters north of smoke.”

 

Within six hundred meters, any indirect fire was deemed “Danger close”, While Trigger was aware that leeway was often given to close-air-support assets, fifty meters was cutting it close, even for him.

“Rider, Archer copies, fallback 100 meters and report when ready.” Trigger ordered.

“Will report when ready.” Morgan replied.

As the marines fell back, Trigger pulled his plane into a large tear-drop entry to position himself for the attack, if he was right, he would be coming almost perpendicular to the enemies line.

 

“Archer, Rider, we have fallen back, foot mobiles are holding position between the orange smoke and 10 meters south.”

“Archer copies all, attack heading 090 to 270” Trigger replied, lowering the nose of the Longsword.

“Archer, IN with heading 270” Trigger reported as he approached the smoke.

“Archer 15, Cleared Hot” Morgan ordered.

Trigger pressed the pickle button and the last of his rockets flew from the pods, exploding along the tree line, the shock waves rippling across the treetops. “Archer 15 off” Trigger reported

“Archer, attack ineffective, we are still taking heavy fire from that position. Re-engage, I say again, re-engage!” Morgan yelled over the radio.

Trigger took another glance at the stores page on his MFD. 453 was displayed under the GUN tab, less than twelve seconds of sustained fire left for ammo.

 

As Trigger was about to report his ammo state, Bandog chimed back in.

“Archer 15, Lancer 1-2, Magus 1-4, Be advised. Large enemy air group inbound, appear to be Mi-8 Hips and Mi-24 Hinds, ETA eight minutes.”

 

“That’s hardly any time left at all, any chance you can stall them?” Fick asked.

Bandog paused “Doesn’t look like, no friendly air assets in the area, and even if there was, fat chance they’d help us out.”

“Well, it was worth a shot. But now what?” Adams quipped.

 “I’m thinking!” Bandog shot back.

“Either way, we can’t stick around here. Lancer, Come and pick up Berserker and I. Rider, break contact with the enemy and meet at point Ainz, we will evac you from there.” Fick ordered.

“We are still dead if the Hinds catch us.” Ben said flatly.

 

Trigger sighed “Bandog, bogey dope” Trigger requested.

“What? Fine, BRA zero-three-zero for eighteen at 3000, Hot.” Bandog replied confused.

Trigger pulled the Air Tractor to the given heading and firewalled the throttle, He figured at his current airspeed of 160 knots, he could close with them in a little over four minutes, just enough time to come up with a plan.

 

When Trigger was in the B-Course for F-16’s in Arixo, His instructors had made it clear that in no, undue circumstance, should he engage attack helicopters with anything less than an AIM-9 or other standoff weapon with the Look-down, shoot-down capabilities. Trying to engage Yuktobanian AH-64s or Erusean Mi-24s with guns only proved to be a death sentence.

 

Naturally, Trigger was planning on engaging the entire group of Helicopters alone with a nearly spent gun.

 

“Trigger, what do you think you’re doing?” Bandog asked incredulously.

“Well, we need to buy time, and this is how I can do it.”

“That’s suicide, and you know it.”

Trigger tilted his head momentarily. “Maybe for most pilots, but I’m not most pilots.” He said boastfully.

“Yeah, most pilots aren’t dumbasses trying to be all Guts and Glory. You’re point is?” Bandog shot back.

“Relax Guard-dog, its fine, I just have to spook them off is all; Piece of cake.” Trigger reassured him.

 

Trigger could see black specs on the horizon, just above the jungles canopy.

“Bandog, Bandits in sight, looks to be three Hinds and five Hips.”

 “Be careful, those flying tanks can still rip you to shreds” Bandog warned

“I know, I know, Archer 15 engaging.” Trigger replied, attempting to assuage the AWACS’ concerns.

Trigger could see tracers fly past the cockpit as he closed the distance, he rested the target reticle on the lead Hind and fired for two seconds, the impossibly short burst expended almost a quarter of his remaining ammo. As Trigger flew past the helicopter, he could see it buffeting under the impact, but quickly shrugging off the assault to re-engage Trigger. Trigger pulled the Air Tractor into a turning climb to evade the Hinds returning fire. As Trigger rolled back towards the attacking Helicopter, he was dismayed, and slightly insulted, to find the rest of the force had continued onwards despite his attack.

Before Trigger could say anything, Bandog called over the radio. “Archer, be advised, looks like the rest took off leaving you with just that thing, It was worth a shot but get back to the airfield where we can use you.” Bandog ordered.

Trigger hissed underneath his breath. The Hind had stopped and was seemingly squaring off against the Air Tractor.

 

“God dammit!” Trigger yelled in frustration as he broke off his attack turning back towards the Airfield.

***

The battle had once again turned, and not in the marine’s favor. Morgan, Haver, Dennings and Kyle were taking cover behind a C-123 Provider, the planes thin aluminum and steel fuselage not providing any real respite from the incoming fire that plagued them.

 

Morgan peeked out from behind the plane, He could see dozens of muzzle flashes getting closer to their position. Elsewhere, he could hear helicopters, and prayed that it was still only the Belkan’s and Trigger in their airspace.

 

Morgan looked to Haver and Kyle, “Any of you have any grenades left?” Haver shook his head quickly and Kyle opened a pouch on his vest, tossing the small grenade in his hand, he glanced around the corner a second time, and shook his head “What’s up Gunny?” Kyle asked. “My arms good, but not that good.” Morgan replied sadly tossing the unused explosive back to the Sergeant.

 

Morgan thought for a moment “Magus, Rider”

There was a pause as more bullets flew over the Marine’s heads. “Go Rider.” Ficks voice came out over the radio, gunfire being heard in the background.

“Magus, request we use the package now, My team is pinned down at Ainz, and the LZ is too hot for extraction.” Morgan requested.

 

Another pause.

 

“Rider, Take cover.” Fick ordered. Morgan complied, having his detachment get as low to the ground and behind anything they could.

“Detonating in 3, 2” Fick counted down, Morgan didn’t get a chance to hear the final number as multiple jets exploded on the ramp. The C-4’s detonation was massive, sending debris and fragmentation into the backs of their assailants and shredding the few unlucky enough to be near the jets when they had exploded. The resulting fireball from the jets fuel igniting consumed the airframes and had sent burning debris in all directions around it.

 

Momentarily, the incoming fire stopped, just in enough time for Dennings to throw a final belt of ammunition into his Mk-46, letting the bolt drop, he raked back and forth with the last of his ammo, picking off the dazed survivors.

“I’m out swit- Fuck!” Dennings yelled in pain clutching his thigh.

“You hit?” Kyle yelled, firing at the oncoming force.

“Yeah, right in the leg!” Dennings hissed through clenched teeth, Morgan rushed to the Marines side, blood was pouring from pant leg. Morgan grabbed his combat first aid kit and started assessing the wound. A jagged shard of metal protruded from just underneath the cloth.  Pulling out the tourniquet, Morgan tied it above the injury and tightened it down. Dennings yelled in pain as the blood flow to his leg ceased. “Doc, what’s your status?” Morgan called out over the radio.

 

“Enroute with Magus to the LZ, then we will pick you up.” Hernandez replied.  

“Understood, one casualty, applied tourniquet and he’s stable.” Morgan reported.

 

The CH-53 flew past the Marines position towards Fick and Hernandez. Morgan could hear supersonic cracks of bullets as Adams picked off stray hostiles, while periodically Zhao would fire bursts from his machine gun into the grouping forces.

 

Morgan could see the Helicopter get low to the ground then lurching violently.

“This is Lancer, taking fire!” Ben shouted, A large explosion blew the side of the helicopter out, sending it careening off.  Fire belched from its turbines as the Belkans desperately fought to wrestle the Helicopter into an autorotation, Morgan watched in shock as the tail rotor impacted the ground first, the massive helicopter lurched to the sides as its rotors were violently ripped off, going every direction, and the fuselage burst open in torn metal as the helicopter started to roll, sending a wall of dirt in the air, obscuring the resting sight.

 

“Shit!” yelled Haver.

“I’ve lost Lancer from Radar, Whats going on?!” Bandog shouted in astonishment.

Morgan gulped “Lancer is down, I repeat, Lancer is down.” He reported.   

“Say again?” Trigger asked dumbfounded.

Bandog exhaled sharply “Lancer is down.” He reiterated. “We need to focus; Those Hinds are still enroute.” Bandog explained pragmatically.

“Bandog’s right, Rider, Berserker and I will head to the Crash site and assess the situation, You get your men off this airfield.” Fick ordered.

“Break, Break, Break, this is Assassin.” Zhao’s weak voice was heard on the radio.

“Assassin! What’s your status?” Trigger yelled.

Zhao coughed “Been better, Pilots are wounded, or dead, I can’t tell, Adams is working on them.”

Morgan breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Understood, we’re enroute to your location now.” Fick said.

 

Morgan turned his attention to the orders at hand. The enemy was closing the distance, he had one wounded marine, and the rest of his men were dangerously low on ammo.

 

He needed another distraction.

“Archer, Rider, Marine force is held up west of the Cargo aircraft, need fire support direct east. How copy?” Morgan called out to Trigger. It wasn’t a standard Nine-line, but he figured the pilot was able to get the important details.

“Archer copies, Inbound now. ETA 1 mike.” Trigger reported.

 

***

Eight seconds. Eight seconds of ammo was all that remained until Trigger was next to useless.

As he approached the airfield, black puffy clouds erupted over it,

“Magus, Archer, any chance you can deal with that Flak?” Trigger asked.

“Unable, we have our own problems” Fick replied curtly.

 

Trigger turned the Air Tractor downwind, then started his one eighty roll to face the target.

“Rider, Archer, friendly positions?”

“Friendlies are directly behind the cargo planes, Hostiles, 100 meters beyond.” Morgan reported, talking Trigger onto the target.

“Understood.”

 

Trigger put the pipper over where he could see small arms fire and rested his finger on the sticks trigger. His plane buffeted violently as Flak exploded above him, showering the airframe in fragments.

 

“Archer your cleared-“ The Radio cut out as an explosion filled Trigger’s view. The front glass and canopy blew out, Lacerating Trigger and sending him back into his seat. The plane shook violently under the assault, it taking all of Trigger’s strength to keep the Air Tractor under control.

 

He squeezed the trigger.

 

An eight second burst of 50 caliber rounds poured into the enemy force. Trigger pulled back on the stick, He could feel an immense pressure as the controls started to fail, the nose anemically raising above the horizon and the turbine engine whining in protest.

 

Trigger coughed and could taste blood in his mouth.

“Archer 15, wounded bird.” He called.

 

Silence.

 

Another explosion sent the Air Tractor cartwheeling into the jungle below.

***

Bandog stared at his radar station dumbfounded.

“Archer 15… lost.” He said, the shock apparent enough in his voice to warrant a look from David.

 

His assistant said something, but Bandog didn’t hear it.

 

David shouted, but Bandog was stunned speechless.  David shook his head and started relaying information to the Marines.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Bandog came back to his senses.

“What did you say?” He said meekly.

 

David frowned. “Boss, the Hinds are now on top of them, I have more contacts that just showed up nearby and I can’t make heads or tails on what the hell is going on down there. I’m getting too much conflicting information.

Bandog shook his head and pulled up the tactical display, the Marines were scattered into three groups, lightly armed, outnumbered, wounded, and surrounded.

 

He sighed heavily, “Well, we can’t let them surrender so we do our jobs.”

David shot him a confused glance. “Care to elaborate boss?”

 

Bandog looked at his notes and punched in a frequency on the radio.

“You stay on them; I need to go make a call.” Bandog ordered David.

 

It was a gamble what he was going to do.

 

“This is AWACS Bandog calling Osean Usean Command on an Open Frequency.”

 

There was a pause. “Unknown AWACS calling, give your authentication code.” The voice on the other end replied.

Bandog thought for a moment. “This is AWACS Bandog, Authentication code Delta dash four five six dash three four five dash alpha. I have troops in contact and need immediate assistance.”

 

There was a pregnant pause. “Understood push Jaguar two.” The voice instructed.

Bandog quickly switched to that frequency.

“This is Bandog, I have a broken arrow situation, Coordinates to follow when ready.”

Chapter 41

 FORTY-ONE

Morgan listened to the monotonous beating of the Huey’s rotors as the helicopter rushed over the treetops. The flight had been silent the moment they had departed the bar’s shattered parking lot. The Helicopter’s crew was silent, as was Fick, Zhao and Trigger. The pilot looked almost shell shocked as the adrenaline had drained from his system. For once, the Marine couldn’t blame him, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He exhaled a cloud of smoke that was instantly dispersed by the rushing air inside the cabin. It hadn’t been his first firefight, and not even the closest he had come to dying but, for once Morgan did feel a twinge of dread thinking back on what had happened.

 

Every other engagement, he either had others he could rely on, or enough firepower and training to overcome the enemy. This time he had neither. Even with the Belkan’s assistance, whoever their attackers were had breached the bar and were seconds from killing the three of them. Morgan pulled his Dan Wesson Specialist 1911 from his holster and dropped the magazine. He frowned at the empty witness holes.

Was I down to only three rounds? He thought.

 
Fick looked up at the dulled yellow and red pentagon of the Yuktobanian Air Force painted underneath the helicopter as it flew away.

“Guess we’ll have to move again.” He lamented as the helicopter reduced to a black dot, before vanishing over the horizon.

 

The four trudged their way up to the front of the main house where they found Bandog. He looked tired, his cloths were dirty and disheveled, and A small mound of cigarette butts sat at his feet. He weakly stood up “Gentlemen, glad to see you made it.”

Fick nodded “Arrived just in time. Glad you were able to help out.”

“Not everyone was as lucky.” Trigger said slowly, before brushing past Bandog and into the house.

 

Bandog frowned. “I heard already about Lauren. They just landed in Axel and are working on her, but.” His voice trailed off.

“Has her husband been informed?” Zhao asked.

Bandog nodded, “David is escorting him and Erwin there now.” He turned to Lieutenant Fick

“I took the liberty of calling the Old Man ahead of time. He should be at your HQ awaiting your report.”

Fick “Do we know who did it?”

Bandog grimaced. “Yeah, it was members of the Cartel’s enforcement arm. Ex-professional military. We pissed them off all right, and they overnighted their goons to get back at us for it.” he shrugged “I got stupid, but luckily for us, this wasn’t an entire waste.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow “Explain.”

Bandog grinned “Thanks to those hard-drives you recovered, got my hands on all sorts of intel. Most of it was boring stuff; Drugs, gambling, and other ne’er-do-well things we don’t care about, but I can make a killing selling to the right governments. Buried deep in the details though was their base of operations in the region.”

 

Zhao scoffed “You’re kidding.” Bandog shook his head “Well, close. While my past life wasn’t intel, doesn’t mean I didn’t hang out with any SIGINT guys. The analogy they kept using was that of planning a wedding. You might not have seen the invite, but you don’t need to. You look at what venues are booked, what Bands have a gig, any orders of flowers. It takes a bit more time but there’s more than one way to find it out.”

Zhao nodded his head “So instead of blushing brides, we have powerful gangsters with fighter jets.”

Bandog snapped his fingers “Exactly.”

Fick cracked a smile “I should at least tell the Old Man our status, then we can get a plan thrown together on how to take these bastards out.”

***

Mancuso sat in his office uncomfortably. It was still mid-day in Oured, so his staff was still in the office working when his personal cellphone had gone off. It was the Broker who had been the one to tell him that something had happened to their Chopinburg team and possibly one of the singularities, but the details would follow later. He stared hard at the plastic phone sitting on his desk. His teams would routinely get themselves into trouble, it was par for the course, but rarely did missions go as sideways as the Chopinburg’s team had and let allowed to continue without a withdrawal and reevaluation of their mission.

 

He stared at the last report from the Lieutenant. While a vast majority of their body count had been combatants, their brazen raid had also been on the front pages of dozens of newspapers across the world. Every intelligence agency and crackpot conspiracy theorist had their own interpretation of what had transpired, very few made the connection to the Machados, and fewer had recognized it was a Professional military that had carried out the assault.

 

The Phone rang. Jack cleared his throat before answering.

“This is Colonel Mancuso Speaking.”

“Colonel Its Lieutenant Fick”

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. “What’s the word Lieutenant?”

“Nothing good. We are compromised, but don’t sure to what extent.”

Mancuso listened intently as Fick gave him a synopsis of the situation. A local asset, the Singularity and one of the Marines had been caught in an establishment by the Machados. A brief firefight ensued leaving around two dozen civilians dead and the local asset to the team critically wounded. It wasn’t until the rest of his Marines arrived with a cavalry force furnished by the Broker that they were able to secure the team.

Jack nodded as he jotted down notes. “Is that everything?” Jack asked.

“Bandog thinks he found the location of their base of operations out here. We’re going to get a plan together and will let you know what we will need sir.” Fick replied.

“Just get it done.” Mancuso ordered before hanging up.

 

Despite his external demeanor, he was relieved at the outcome. He only needed to glance at a report dated to July 6^th, over a year prior to see what could have potentially happened.

 

The phone rang again, Mancuso stood a big straighter in his seat before answering.

“Mancuso” he spoke.

 

“Jack, glad I caught you” The voice wasn’t that of the young Lieutenant, but instead that of Senator Angela Schmidt from North Osea, one of the few politicians he had to deal with on the Armed Services committee and fewer who was aware of Basilisk’s existence as more than an engineering battalion.

Jack bit his tongue for a moment, the taste of copper filled his mouth before he bared a grin “Senator Schmidt! It’s been a while, congratulations to your nephew on his engagement. They look like a lovely couple” Jack said going through the motions of the pleasantries. “Ah yes, Alex is set to bring Rosa to meet with the entire family in a few weeks. But of course, that’s not why I came to talk to you.” She continued.

 

The forced grin fell from Jack’s face. “Understood Senator. What can I do for you?”

“We both know what is going on.” She began.

***

Trigger had fallen asleep almost the second he had hit his bed. Everything that had happened over the past day left him drained.

 

Between the aching in his muscles, the hangover, and continuing ringing in his ears from gunfire, the pilot found it hard to focus on anything else. Somewhere in his mind he wondered how the Belkan pilot was. It was his stupid plan that had gotten her shot, and he now only had hope that their rescuers could get her to a hospital in time to save her life. What was taking up the forefront of his mind as he tried to sleep was an overwhelming feeling of separation from everything. Instead of anger, agony or grief.

 

He felt nothing.

 

It was the same feeling he had had dozens of times during the war. It was always “the Mission” that would occupy his mind, that was often kept in balance with his port of safe harbor. While in the 444, it was as simple as his regular life as an Inmate. The minutia of constant cell inspections, cell block lockdowns and solitary would distract him. When he had moved into the LRSSG, and especially during the darkest days of the war for him, it was his own squadron that had kept him grounded. And finally, at the end of all that, he had found happiness with a woman he truly loved.

 

He tried to visualize Cossette the last night they had together. The Party. Trigger had gone over that day in his mind countless times to understand everything that had happened. Details he had missed in their relationship. He thought about how she had looked that night. Blue dress, golden hair and.

 

and

 

nothing.

 

Despite her status, she was the most normal thing in his life. She was his anchor, his way to ‘Normal’. Now, she was gone, along with his last hopes of returning to his life before the war. He was a wanted man by his own country. He had been lied to by the same people who had sworn to help him, and due to his own selfish actions of self-pity, dozens were dead and someone he had tried to protect was clinging to life away from her family.

 

There was a quick banging at the door.

Groggily, Trigger opened it to see Adams.

“Yo, meeting downstairs in 5.” The Marine reported.

“For what?” Trigger said stifling a yawn.

“Sounds like we found the bastards, we need to plan a counter-attack.” He replied nonchalantly.

Sure, like we’re going to go pick up a gallon of milk at the store. For some people this would be the most important day of their lives, but for these guys, its Tuesday.

 

Changing his shirt, Trigger walked into the dining room to find a series of maps and other documents hastily scattered across the table and taped to a nearby wall. In the corner was a coffee maker, loudly preparing another pot. Trigger judged by the various refuse surrounding the appliance the Marines had been busy for some time. Bandog glanced up “Sleeping Beauty finally woke up I see.”

Trigger raised a middle finger tiredly but brushed off the comment. “What are we looking at?” he asked pushing his way to the table.

 

The largest map was a satellite image that had grids overlayed onto it. In low resolution he could see a long runway with a series of dilapidated hangars to one side; all situated on a mesa shelf jutting out of a dense jungle.

 

“Charming vacation pictures.” Trigger said as he pilfered a cup of coffee. “What are we looking at?”

“Depends what year and who you ask.” Bandog replied. “FCU called it Scion Aux Six some decades ago. Grunder then bought it and called it their Chopinburg facility, but then that all dried up when the Insurrection occurred. It languished for a few years after until Erusea swept through, but they didn’t use it. When ISAF Retook the base, they cleared off the runways and facilities but withdrew quickly thereafter. Now? We can call it our target. Bad guy central if you will.”

“So, we don’t actually have a name for it. Got it.” Trigger quipped back.

“Yeah, not at all. Most important thing though, like with everything out here, its no longer on a map.”

“So, a perfect place to hide your saying.” Morgan spoke up.

 

Trigger studied the image, something struck him about it.

The Marines and Bandog started to plan how to assault the compound. Unlike previous raids where they would march in, the plan was a more direct approach. The Marines would arrive via helicopter and break off into two teams. Zhao and Adams would stay in the Helicopter and provide fire support from above, while the second team of Morgan, Dennings, Fick, Hernandez, Haver and Kyle would be the ground unit; Trigger would once again be flying solo and providing close-air-support for the assault in the Longsword.

 

As Trigger explained his thoughts on what weapons to bring for the Longsword, something was still nagging at him about the compound.

 

He Paused.

“Hey, how long is this place anyways?” Trigger asked.

“About a mile or so, why?” Bandog asked befuddled.

 

Trigger snatched a piece of paper from Dennings and quickly scratched some numbers down.

“You said this was their main hideout, right?” Trigger asked.

“It’s possibly, but what are you getting at?” Bandog asked.

 

Trigger looked to Morgan “Guesstimate on how long a runway say, a C-130, would need to operate out of at a bare minimum?”

The marine thought for a moment. “Uhh, probably half a mile or so? Why?”

Trigger continued his writing until he threw the pencil down in satisfaction. “That runway is too long.”

 

There was a confused silence around the table as they stared at Trigger.

Fick folded his arms. “You want to run that by us again?”

 

Trigger nodded “That runway, by my napkin math here is over a mile long. If you were running a secret compound like this-“ Trigger paused and gestured around himself “-You wouldn’t operate a runway that long.”

 

Hernandez chuckled “Great, they like some extra wiggle room on takeoff. Is that really worth noting?”

Trigger shook his head “For the planes their operating, you wouldn’t need all that room, Hell the runway wouldn’t need to be more than dirt that didn’t have too many potholes or tree stumps. But let’s assume this isn’t like their other Podunk operations. Those fighters we’ve been running across? My guess is they’d need at least that long a runway to take off.”

 

Zhao leaned back, “So instead of being a drug operation, you think it’s a fighter base?” he asked incredulously.

 

Trigger shrugged “I’ve seen weirder things this past year.”

 

“Even then, what is the end game?” Kyle asked

Bandog shook his head “Who knows, but I think Trigger may be onto something. Theres a definite connection there. I’m willing to bet if there are answers, its going to be here.”  

Morgan cleared his throat “Speaking of answers. I think we are owed some, particularly me and Trigger.”

 

Trigger shifted uncomfortably in his seat; the air seemed to cool slightly as Bandog stood up straight.

 

Bandogs face contorted into a grimace “Right, I guess you are.” His voice had trailed off. He took a deep breath. “I screwed up.”

“No shit.” Morgan interjected. Bandog winced slightly before continuing.

 

“You all missed one target the other day. Lisa Park. Grew up in South Osea, Degrees in Software and Aeronautical Engineering, and worked with Northrop for a time. Last official record of her was back in 2004 working on a contract with the Kingdom of Sapin, but she disappeared on a hiking trip and was presumed dead.”

 

“Great, we pissed off a dead girl. I’ve seen the movies; I know how this end.” Adams interrupted trying to add a bit of levity. The sullen response from his colleagues and glare from Bandog made him sink back into his chair.

 

“As you can guess, Park wasn’t dead at all. I couldn’t figure out entirely what her job with the Cartel has been, but she rose through their ranks pretty damn quickly. And that’s where I screwed up. Those hard drives you captured the other day? Well, I missed that by going in, it opened a door to my system. She had hidden a trojan horse, probably to see what authorities had been trying to access Cartel files. Instead, she got my network and files instead.”

“What was on it?” Fick asked coldly.

“We were lucky. Just the aliases I had for Trigger, Morgan, and Kyle there and the previous documentation I already had on them. Nothing to point the finger at Osea but enough to compromise three of you.”

“Dick. Move.” Kyle said sharply.

“Yeah, I screwed up with that one.” Bandog sighed heavily.

“Yeah, and Lauren had to pay the price for it.” Trigger said, his voice rising in intensity.

Bandog nodded “It was an accident-”

Trigger slammed his fist on the table “Bullshit! You-“

 

Fick held up a hand cutting him off. “Enough! What happened, happened. We still have a mission to do.”

Morgan spoke up “Triggers right though, we are down a pilot.”

Fick leaned forward on the table “I was thinking about that. I think Berserker is still in theater, they were working with some Army units for aviation assets.”

 

“What about enemy air defense?” Trigger asked.

“Unknown. Scrounging through their recent records doesn’t look like they have any purchases like that. But the Eruseans abandoned a ton of old equipment during the last war so its not to say they couldn’t have reactivated some of it. As for now, assume if they do have any triple A, it will be of the MANPAD variety and nothing more.” Bandog reported.

 

“Any chance we can get a fighter sweep? Make sure those jets stay cornered?” Trigger pressed.

“That will have to come from the Old Man if we get it. The closest fighter units would be Selatapura, followed by Stonehenge.” Fick replied.

 

Trigger listened intently as the plan was finalized. The plan was far from fool proof, but the Marines with Bandogs intelligence had a plan and contingencies from the infil all the way through to exfil. The sun had just begun to set over the jungle.

 

The men sat around the table silently. “Is that it?” Adams spoke up.

Fick nodded. “I’ll have to run it past the Old Man, but I think this should be good enough. Trigger, take Haver and Kyle and get your plane ready. Everyone else, get the gear.” The Lieutenant ordered.

“I’ll go make some calls myself.” Bandog said excusing himself.

 

Kyle looked to Trigger “What are we loading.”

Trigger thought for a moment.

“Since we know they may jam up the systems, Dumb ordinance only. Gunpods and Rockets only.”

Haver raised an eyebrow “No Bombs?”

Trigger shook his head. “Odds are it will be close quarters, and I don’t want to eyeball it without the CCIP.”

“How courteous” Kyle quipped.

 

***

 

“Colonel, can you please repeat that?” Fick asked coldly into the phone.

“I’m sorry Nate, but it’s already done. The Chopinburg Mission is hereby complete. I’ve already detached Berserker to assist in your exfil from the AO.” Colonel Mancuso said matter of factly. “But Sir! We have actionable intel, And even if it isn’t true, we’re still the best team-“ Fick’s protests were cut off “Regardless lieutenant. Oured considers the mission objectives to be complete. Not only did you track those weapon shipments, but you were also able to take out those responsible for them. You and your men did good.” Mancuso explained.

Fick took a moment to compose himself. “I understand sir.” The line went dead.

 

Rapidly, the young Officer slammed his fist through the sheetrock wall next to him. “Son of a bitch!” He hissed in frustration. Morgan, who had been waiting at the doorway during the call, folded his arms.

“So that’s it?” the Sergeant asked.

“Yes.” Fick said, exhaling sharply. “Politicians in Oured decided our body count was too high and pulled the plug. Captain Norris is on the way to relieve us.”

“What about Trigger and the others?” Morgan asked pragmatically.

Fick shook his head. “The deal with the Broker is off. Technically we should take them both into custody for Berserker. From there, who knows.” The Lieutenant shrugged.

Morgan frowned. “But we’re not going to; Are we?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” Fick replied truthfully.

“Well either way we have to tell them.” Morgan replied.

 

Trigger made his way into the dining room to see Lieutenant Fick and Bandog both with grim looks.

“So, whats up?” Trigger asked.

Bandog glanced up to the lieutenant. “Do you want to tell him or shall I?” Bandog asked.

Fick shook his head. “Major, as of a few hours ago, our mission in Chopinburg, as well as our deal with you and the Broker have been scrubbed.”

Trigger felt a pit form in his stomach. “Whats that mean?”

Bandog sighed. “Frankly, we’ve been burned. The lieutenant here is just giving us a head start to run before he has to come and catch us.” Bandog interjected.

Trigger looked towards the young officer “Is that true? After everything we’ve done, everything I’ve done; You’re just going to turn us out like that?” he hissed.

Fick folded his arms nodding his head. “Believe me Major, I have no interest in doing that. This is just a courtesy since Berserker, the team coming to replace us, won’t have as many issues with taking you into custody.” The lieutenant explained.

“And what of that mission on the Cartel base?” Trigger asked.

“Scrubbed. Oured has taken a policy of ‘live and let live’ with the Cartel for years. They feel that with the recent body count, they’ve paid enough.” Fick explained.

“Bullshit! Those fuckers tried to kill me!” Trigger shouted, his face getting red with anger.

Fick held up his hands. “Look Major! If it were up to me, we’d be going right fucking now. But we don’t have a way in anymore, let alone all the risks involved of going against Oured on this.”

“Like?” Trigger interrogated

“B-52 carpet bombing. Won’t be the first time Osea has put down agents who stepped out of line that way.” Bandog interrupted. “How do you know that?” Fick asked pointedly. Bandog raised his hand to dismiss the question. “Lieutenant, I do thankyou but, I do have this as a counter point. We do have a way in. Not only do we have that CH-53 parked outside, we have a crew for it.” Bandog said.

“But how? Lauren got hit.” Trigger replied. “Or are you going to use those Yukes that flew us out here? Could we even trust them?” Fick added on.

Bandog shrugged “The Yukes are mercs but they’re loyal as long as the check clears. However, we have a group we can already trust. When I might have let it slip to Ben and Erwin about this plan of ours when I called for an update on Lauren. What can I say? Belkan’s love their revenge stories.”

Fick shook his head in disapproval “We can’t ask either of them to do that.”

Bandog tilted his head to the side “I don’t think you could stop them, even if you want to. They will be here within the hour.”

 

Trigger glanced to the lieutenant. “So, that solves one problem. What’s it going to be?” the pilot asked.

 

Fick shook his head. “I won’t order the men to do this. But I can bring it to their attention.”

Trigger grinned.

Chapter 40

 FORTY

“Define missing?” Fick growled

The Marines stood in the living room with the Belkans, Morgan, Fick and Zhao had just enough time to unclip their plate carriers and drop their rifles when Adams rushed to update them on the situation.

“I dunno, like he was there one second, storming off the next.” Adams replied.

“And no one went after him?” Morgan chimed in.

“No, thought he’d at least take a radio with him but.” Adams replied.

“What happened?” Fick interjected

Adams shrugged shaking his head “No clue, He just seemed pissed off and wanted to talk to Morgan. Then he stormed out”

Morgan could sense the sniper knew more than he let on, but decided it wasn’t enough to pursue.

“Stormed out. Great. Did he say where he was going?” Zhao interrupted.

Kyle and Adams shook their heads.

 

Morgan scratched the stubble on his chin and thought for a moment. “Did he have anything with him?” Morgan asked.

Adams thought for a moment. “Yeah, a crumpled piece of paper, looked to be a newspaper or something.”

 

Morgan hissed to himself “Shit, I know where he probably went.” He groaned.

 

Fick raised his eyebrow “Really? Care to enlighten us?”

Morgan shook his head “Frankly, not really important to the mission. Probably just letting off steam at Bula. I will go get him.” Morgan explained.

Lauren cleared her throat “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

“Why?” Morgan asked confused.

“Fellow Belkan and a Pilot. Unless you speak both those languages.” She shot back.

Morgan shrugged. “Fine. We will radio when we got him.”

 

“And what if he’s not there?” Fick interrogated

“Roanapur isn’t that big a city, shouldn’t take long for us to find him.” Lauren replied.

***

Trigger stared at the burning lighter for a moment. The flame dancing back and forth.

Was this all it was for? He asked himself. He felt a wave of emotions crashing upon him at once. Hate, despair, sadness, rage, depression. It all felt so raw to him.

 

He had his own fair share of kicks to the gut in his life. The Chaplain’s knock at his door, His court martial, loss of more wingmen than he could count. All those things seemed to pale in comparison to what he felt right now. Only one word seemed to stick out in his mind.

 

Betrayal.

 

Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, He sloppily unfolded it and held it to the lighter, within seconds the image on it burned away as Trigger threw the paper into the ash tray on the bar. With the smokey atmosphere in the run-down establishment, Trigger’s act of arson largely went unnoticed aside from the bartender.

“You’re going to regret that later.” Morgans voice said from behind him. “Bao really doesn’t approve of people lighting shit on fire here.” He said taking the empty seat next to him. Trigger couldn’t help but snarl slightly at the bald interloper. “Why the fuck should I care?” Trigger slurred.

 

Morgan leaned back and made a disgusted face, trying to fan the air away from his nose. “Whew, and I thought I could go on some serious benders.” He said sarcastically.

“Fuck you.” Trigger slurred, Morgan reached across Trigger and grabbed a bottle away from his grasp.

He read the label and chuckled “Of course, you would drink this shit.”

“That cocksucker, motherfucker, Jeremiah Weed” Trigger sang off key.

“Yeah, let’s make that the first and last time you sing, ok?” Morgan said.

“So, you want to tell me why you lit that picture you were carrying around all this time on fire or do I need to say it?” he continued.

“You knew?” Trigger mumbled, reaching for the empty glass of ice, he jingled the glass slightly towards the marine.

“Well aside from you telling me when we met, of course I noticed when you walked out with that magazine. Guys like you read Janes Air Force, not the celebrity pieces.”

“I swear it’s only for the articles.” Trigger said grinning, he shook the glass again with more force. Morgan stared at the empty glass and the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Lysol, Alcohol and Gasoline? I think you’ve had enough.” He spoke. Trigger snarled and set the glass down.

 

“Come on Trigger, I don’t have all day here. Either you can tell me when it’s just us two, or you can say it when everyone else shows up.” Morgan said pragmatically.

Trigger sighed heavily.

“Whats the point. You already know.”

Morgan took a long drag of the cigarette “Yeah, but its better for both of us if you tell me. Just so we are on the same page.”

“Fine.” Trigger hissed. “She fucking left me.” He spat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Morgan asked, knocking the excess ash into the tray.

“What the fuck do you think?” Trigger hissed.

“What I think? -“ Morgan took a drag off the cigarette “-I think you have been missing for going on Four, nearly five months now. I think your officially either dead or worse, and finally, I think your overreacting for someone who is still wanted in the event of worse. Especially running around alone, without your radio or handgun.” Morgan said pointedly.

 

Trigger mumbled and slouched forward. “How long did you know?” He asked.

 

Morgan sighed. “Official announcements came down through Intel about a week ago. It was my call, not the Lieutenants, to have it censored. Didn’t want it to affect your judgement on the mission.”

Trigger shot Morgan a glare “Really? What the fuck else have you been keeping from me?” he interrogated.

“Anything that might set you off. I read your evaluation as a pilot and looked at your history. Seemed a reasonable guess you might go off the rails if you found out what actually happened in the interim.”

 

“So this was to spare me? What gives you the right?” Trigger spat.

“I weighed your need to know with the lives of my men. It wasn’t for anything more than a need make sure our air support had his head in the game.” Morgan explained.

“You know, you can be a real piece of shit sometimes.” Trigger grumbled.

“Yeah, Shit happens. As it stands, I don’t really give half a damn about your feelings. If they get in the way of the mission, then I have no qualms about leaving you in that hangar we found you in. I’m sure those Soldiers wouldn’t mind having a second round with you.” Morgan paused and chuckled “Shit, I bet they would have loved to have a go at that little princess of yours. Not so much a white rose after that.”

 

“Fuck you.” Trigger spat as he swung around to deliver a wild haymaker. In one swift motion, Morgan grabbed Triggers fist in one hand, and with his other slammed Trigger’s face into the bar.

“Get the fuck over it.” Morgan hissed as Trigger recoiled from the blow, blood and snot flowed from his nose.  “Your little waifu fantasy went up in smoke, so what? Big fucking deal. My job has been to keep your fucking ass alive so you can keep my marines alive. That is all, Its not to keep some shit-stain officer who isn’t worth his rank happy. Got it?” he continued

“Oh yeah you wanna fucking go?!” Trigger yelled as he shot up, stumbling and swaying, trying to keep his balance, he brought his fists up into a defensive posture.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Really?” he asked incredulously.

“Come on you bitch!” Trigger yelled, garnering a look from the previously uninterested patrons.

“Trigger, you’re making a scene, sit down and clean yourself up. Save a little face why don’t you.” Morgan ordered.

“No, we’re doing this right here, right now!” Trigger yelled.

 

Before the situation could escalate, a short blond woman walked up, “Oh, a fight? Can I watch?” Lauren asked, distracting the two Oseans.

Morgan stepped back and waived a dismissive hand “Wouldn’t be much of a fight if he was sober, right now? Two hits at most, Me completely breaking his nose, and his ass hitting the floor.”

Lauren gave a pitiful look to Trigger “ooh, you’re having a bad day?”

“Girl problems” Morgan interjected.

“Interessant. Say Trigger do you want to tell me and Ben about it? I am a pretty good listener.” Lauren offered, trying to diffuse the situation.

Morgan clapped. “Sounds like a great Idea. I’ll be over there when you all are done having your little therapy session.” Morgan said point a thumb behind him toward an empty booth.

Lauren snatched a bar towel for Trigger to wipe the blood off his face and motioned towards the barstool. “How about you tell me about it.”  She directed.

“danke” Trigger said in a nasally voice taking the towel, 

“So? was ist los?” Lauren asked. What is wrong?

Before Trigger could answer an uninterested looking bartender came by to take the Belkan’s drink order. Waiting until the man left earshot, Trigger sighed.

“She left me.” Trigger said simply.

Lauren pursed her lips to the side “Tough break, who’s the lady who has stolen our fixed winged fools heart?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Trigger slurred

“Try me.” Lauren reiterated.

Trigger took a deep breath for a moment before sighing heavily. “Princess Rosa Cossette D’Elise.”

Lauren laughed “You’re right Trigger, I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true!” Trigger pleaded. Lauren held up her hand “Fine, a thousand pardons for laughing at that. For arguments sake let’s say I do believe you. Where did you and her meet?”

“Selatapura, I was on assignment.”

“Oh, let me guess. You were one of those aid workers, right? Worked in the refugee sector of ISEV? Betcha anything she fell for you there in that depressing pit, right?” Lauren interjected.

Trigger ignored the insult. “No, I was her Military Liaison, things… escalated.” Trigger explained.

“Bad breakup? I hear those royals can be so fickle when it comes to romance. What was it, not enough zeros to the family bank account?” Lauren asked.

Trigger shrugged. “Everything happened so quickly, Farbanti, the dance, I haven’t seen her since the attack that night.” He said bitterly. “Guess I hoped she’d wait for me.”

“And clearly she didn’t” Lauren said slowly. 

Trigger held up his empty glass “A Toast to Alex Schmidt and his new bride!” He shouted halfheartedly.

 

“Really going all in on that aren’t you?” Lauren asked.

“What can I say, I am dedicated to a flaw.” Trigger replied.

 

The two Pilots sat in silence in the bar for a few moments before Lauren spoke up again. “That’s not what it looks like if you ask me.” Lauren said, eyeing the empty glass in Trigger’s hand. “I’m not going to say you shouldn’t fight for her, but recognize the situation you’re in.” She said

Trigger glanced at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“It sucks but you need to think about what this girl needs in a relationship and if you could even provide it. Right now, your galivanting in one of the armpits of the world running close air support for guys who could fight and win a world war, all against people whose job description is rape, pillage, and murder. Are you really sure she would even want to be in a relationship with a partner who could never come home?” Lauren asked.

 

Trigger stared into his empty glass “I just want to talk to her one more time. See where it all went so wrong.” He said softly.

“And what would that do for you?” Lauren prodded

“I dunno, give me closure? I love her unconditionally. She’s the only reason I have been doing all of this.” Trigger said clenching his fist in frustration. He felt a reassuring pat on his back.

 

“I can’t tell you how to feel, But I can tell you one thing. Theres still people who are relying on you. You’re the one covering our ass on these missions and if this girl knew that she’d be proud.” Lauren reassured him.

Trigger smiled weakly. “So, you’re saying there’s a chance?” he slurred.

Lauren shook her head “Not at all; What I am saying however is you’re drunk, and we should probably get you back to bed so your hangover isn’t entirely hell tomorrow.” She joked dodging the question.

 

She got Morgans attention both positioning themselves to aid Trigger out of the building.

“Maybe a few more rounds?” Trigger protested.

“Nope, None for you.” Morgan replied grunting

“Ja, ja, immer mit der Ruhe” Trigger dismissed waiving his hand. Take it easy

He could hear a slight commotion as the two assisted him to his feet. Between the alcohol and the blow Morgan delivered, Trigger was uneasy on his feet, having to loop his arms around Morgan and Lauren for stabilization.

 

What happened next seemed to be unreal to Trigger. The sound of a glass shattering and an ear-splitting Pop

 

A silence hung in the air.

“GET DOWN!” Morgan Yelled as he pushed Lauren and Trigger to the floor. Trigger fell over the smaller Belkan and rolled to his side onto his back, just in time to see the front windows erupt in a shower of glass. The walls quickly started to deteriorate as hundreds of holes were punctured through them from gunfire.

 

Patrons unlucky enough to not hear Morgans warning were cut down instantly in the hail of rounds.

Glass bottles of alcohol behind the bar burst open as they became the backstop for the assault. The different liquids pooled at the base of the bar with the blood of the bartender killed in the opening volley. The once dimly illuminated room had been plunged into darkness as every light fixture and bulb had been destroyed.

 

It was chaos.

 

Trigger froze.

 

Unlike the last time he was in a gunfight, there was no clear plan or route of escape. Trigger looked around frantically, the rear exit of the bar seemed impossibly far away with the continuous onslaught.

 

His ears were ringing, He could see Morgan frantically rushing for cover. Trigger fumbled around to pick himself up, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. There was a tugging on the back of his shirt, slowly Trigger started to turn before a small arm was wrapped around his torso.

“wir müssen umziehen!” Lauren yelled as she dragged Trigger’s limp body across the bar towards cover.

Trigger shielded his eyes as a beer bottle exploded above him. After what felt to Trigger as an impossibly far distance, The two pilots found safety behind one of the bar’s booths. There, Trigger came back to his senses.

 

“Whats your status!” Morgan yelled from his cover, Trigger could see the Marine had produced his 1911 and had found refuge behind an overturned table, its concealment reducing by the second into splinters from the intense gunfire.

“We’re fine for now!” Lauren shouted.

 

Trigger weakly lifted his head up. “What are we going to do to get out of here?” he slurred.

His answer was met with gunfire as Morgan started to return fire. Trigger yelled in pain as he covered his ears. “Warn me before you do that you douche!” Trigger yelled.

 

“Belkan, Radio the compound; immediate exfil required, unknown force and makeup.” Morgan ordered.

Lauren nodded and pulled a radio from her pocket. “Scheisse!” she hissed. Trigger could a jagged plastic corner where the antenna connector formerly was attached, rendering the device deaf and mute. “Radios busted!” she reported, throwing the broken device away. “I guess we’re fucked?” She asked rhetorically, pulling a compact Walther handgun from holster in the small of her back.

 

Trigger surveyed the bar. Morgan had moved to a far Booth and had returned to firing out the front of the establishment. Dozens of patrons laid dead or dying, Trigger could see some had their own handguns but not firepower that would be immediately useful to the three in their current situation. Through the alcohol haze, Trigger thought about anything that might be helpful.

“Any chance one of you has a grenade?” Trigger joked.

Lauren shook her head. “Cover your ears!” she warned before squeezing off a few shots. The diminutive handgun replied with a rapid snap snap snap of gunfire.

 

Trigger thought back to what he knew of the bar, he had come by a dozen times before and something stuck out in his brain that he noticed.

It had been something Bandog had pointed out the first time he had come to the bar.

 

The pilot grinned and got in a crouching motion, by his math, the bar was less than fifteen feet away, All he would have to do is to run and get behind the bar to find a way to even the odds.

“Cover me!” Trigger shouted.

“What?” Lauren replied dumbfounded, before she could continue, Trigger started his run.

 

Within the second of his stepping off, he slipped and lost his footing. Tumbling out of control into the center of the bar room.

 

“Goddammit Trigger! What the fuck are you doing?” Morgan yelled.

 

Trigger blinked for a moment to regain his bearings. He seemed further away from his goal, but that didn’t bother him. Just gotta run straight ahead he thought to himself. Awkwardly, he rolled onto his front to scramble towards the bar.

 

As Trigger started to crawl on his hands and knees, he could hear Morgan and Lauren shouting to each other and to him. As he got closer to his objective, he could see Lauren rush out of her cover to intercept him.

“Trigger what the hell are you -” she froze momentarily, crumpling to the floor.

Trigger stopped in his tracks in horror. “What the fuck are you doing? Go help her!” Morgan ordered.

 

Trigger couldn’t move. His gaze glued to Laurens unmoving body, only briefly illuminated by the muzzle flashes from Morgan’s handgun.

 

He could hear more gunfire before Morgan ran to him and shoved him back behind cover. When the Marine was sure Trigger was safe, he rushed to the Belkans side and dragged her limp body to safety as well.

Trigger looked at her, she was unresponsive and looked unnaturally pale. A bright red pool leaked from her lower abdomen, Morgan leaned close to her head and nodded. Trigger could see him say something, but it didn’t register.

 

Lauren had risked her life, and possibly died, to save Trigger from a stupid plan. I wanted to save everyone, but I probably just got us all killed instead.

 

Morgan said something else, but it all came as noise to the pilot. Morgan sighed, then slapped Trigger across the face hard. Trigger could taste copper in his mouth, and he spit up a wad of blood.

“Keep pressure on her wound!” Morgan barked.

Trigger nodded. And placed his hands on the center of the red splotch of her shirt. After a moment, he could still feel blood oozing from between his fingers.

“She’s still bleeding! What do I do?!”

“Fucking lean on it? Do anything to keep her from bleeding out!” Morgan yelled as he fired a few more shots at the attackers. The marine shook his head. “Down to the last mag; Any chance she still has that piece on her?” he asked.

Trigger turned her over briefly before shaking his head. He then placed his knee over her wound and leaned forward to apply pressure. Lauren yelled in pain briefly before becoming unresponsive again.

 

Well, that’s something. Trigger thought.

 

“What the fuck were you thinking anyway?” Morgan hissed.

Trigger shook his head. “Dunno, figured if I could get the rifle behind the bar, might give us a chance.” He said somberly, looking down at his wounded friend. “didn’t think anyone else would have to die.” He said softly.

 

Morgan pursed his lips “If they breach the building, we’re done for anyways. Let’s just hope our buddies hear about the shooting and send the cavalry.”

“Like what are you thinking?” Trigger asked.

 

Morgan shrugged. “Marine expeditionary unit would be nice, maybe a Spooky or ten. But frankly anything would help right now.” He replied.

 

The Gunfire subsided after a moment.

 

An early silence filled the air as well as the stench of gunpowder, smoke, and death.

 

Beyond the ringing of his ears, Trigger could pick out another noise. It seemed out of place.

 

“This is it.” Morgan growled. Trigger looked over his shoulder as two shadows approached the shattered front door. Morgan lined up his pistol for a final stand.

 

The foreign sound was louder now. More distinct. Trigger tried to place it, but with the ringing of his ears and the sudden sobriety and hangover from the adrenaline, he was coming up empty on what it was.

 

“Do you hear that?” Trigger asked.

 

The door swung open as three armed men entered the bar, the bright lights on the sides of their assault rifles sent shadows across the room. Trigger could hear them speaking in hushed tones as they searched for survivors.

 

Trigger’s heartbeat pounded as he waited for the inevitable. The foreign sound got louder, then it was followed by more gunfire.

 

It originated outside the bar, and not from the attackers position. Trigger watched as the three intruders were also caught off guard by the noise.

That’s probably a good sign.

 

There was a frantic voice crackling over a radio one of the intruders had, cut off by a bright explosion.

The foreign noise was deafening now, a distinct chop chop chop chop.

Trigger glanced to Morgan hopefully “I think our horsemen are here.”

The marine cracked a slight grin, “I hope your right.”

 

Trigger couldn’t see what was happening outside, but from the noise, a third party had arrived.

 

The three intruders quickly ran outside and opened fire. The battle seemed intense as flashes could be seen through the shattered pieces of wall of the bar, and as quickly as it had all begun, the gunfire once again ceased.

 

There was shouting outside. One set of voices was in a language Trigger couldn’t quite understand and was spoken with a harsh and thick accent. The other set of voices were more familiar to his ears.

 

Trigger could see a group of shadows huddle next to the door.

“Bellerophon!” a voice shouted from the group.

 

Morgan chuckled. “Medusa” standing up and holstering his weapon. Quickly, almost a dozen armed men rushed into the bar, Trigger could see some were Osean despite face coverings, but others reminded him of the photos of the Yuktobanian soldiers from the last war.

“We got a casualty here! Get us a medic!” Morgan yelled pointing to Trigger and Lauren. Without a word of protest one of the Oseans rushed over to the wounded Belkan.

 

“Any idea when she was hit?” The Osean who Trigger guessed was Hernandez asked.

Trigger shook his head. “Few minutes to half an hour ago?”

 

The Corpsman gave Trigger a puzzled look before turning his attention back to the wounded woman. “I need some light over here.”

“Is she going to be, OK?” Trigger asked. Hernandez ignored the question and ushered him off the wounded woman. One of the other soldiers Trigger didn’t recognize brusquely shoved Trigger to the side to aid Hernandez.

 

“What’s your status?” Fick asked Morgan.

The marine shrugged “Trigger and I are miraculously unharmed. She-“ he pointed a thumb at Lauren “-unfortunately got caught in the crossfire.”

 

“How’d you know we were in trouble?” Trigger asked.

Fick nodded and helped Trigger up off the floor and guided him and Morgan out of the bar. “We were screwed. A lot of it goes over my head but the Broker will explain when we get back.”

 

The parking lot looked like a warzone, burned out vehicles littered the front entrance, and the mysterious soldiers were dragging dozens of dead bodies into a large pile. Above Trigger could see three UH-1 ‘Hueys’ hovering above the shattered bar. Trigger couldn’t help but notice a yellow and red pentagon painted brightly on the aircrafts belly.  

Chapter 39

 THIRTY-NINE

Palmer looked at the footage on his laptop. Aside from the lights of the city and the HUD, there was very little orientation apparent from the mostly dark greyscale image.

“Hey, you wanna see what a dumbass is capable of?” asked a tinny voice over the laptops speakers.

“Son of a bitch!” cried out another pilot over the radio as something shot past the screen for a fraction of a frame

There was a strained breathing heard as the picture shifted to a 90-degree angle. Parts of the HUD lagged as the F-2A turned to follow the target. He watched as the HUD’s symbology changed as the fighters Radar locked onto the small aircraft. “I got him locked!” the voice of the Pilot flying boomed over the speaker.

“Shit, I’m too close. Two’s breaking off!” the other pilot reported. Palmer watched as the wingman’s F-2A pulled away from the aircraft, a white box outlining the jet marked ‘FRIENDLY’. The pilot maneuvered his plane for the shot as the enemy’s aircraft flew over the Anchor Bay Bridge.

The HUDs Symbology changed briefly until a mechanical growl was heard before it quickly changed into a high-pitched squeal. “Yokai One-One, Fox Two!” the pilot yelled. Palmer watched the target aircraft fly towards the Anchorhead Tunnel before a bright explosion was seen.

“Yokai One-One, Splash one.” The pilot reported, pulling the F-2A up from its attack.

Hitting the space bar, Palmer paused the video and turned his attention to the pilot sitting across from him. He sighed and steepled his fingers. “Captain Polarski, I hope you understand why we just watched this.”

The pilot solemnly nodded. “Yes sir. I had my fangs out and broke numerous rules of engagement, put the people of Anchorhead Bay at risk.”

Palmer nodded his head to the side at consideration of what the pilot had to say before continuing. “Normally Captain, yes I would be on you for that. But today that isn’t the case.” Palmer opened his briefcase and shoved a newspaper to the Pilot. “That aircraft you engaged wasn’t shot down.” He said, stabbing a finger into the picture on the front page.

“That’s impossible.” Polarski replied astonished.

“Evidently not. But don’t feel bad, there’s only like, a dozen or so people in the world who would pull off a stunt like that.” Palmer explained.

“But I had him dead to rights. Shit!” Polarski said tossing the paper down.

“Captain, is there anything else you can remember that the tapes don’t show?” Palmer asked, changing the subject. “Anything at all? Something out of the corner of your eye, Bad feeling, Anything you can remember.”

 

The pilot thought for a moment before shaking his head in defeat, “Aside from the jamming we already saw, no.”

Palmer jotted down a note and shook his head. “Thank you, Captain. Your dismissed.”

The Pilot nodded and made his way to the door. As he exited, a young woman entered. Her blond hair was tied up into a ponytail, and her black polo had the crest of the OADF Office of Special Investigations embroidered onto the breast. “Here’s the documents you requested sir.” She said, handing him a folder. She had been a last-minute replacement from OSI’s Headquarters, Lieutenant Melissa McKay was fresh from the Academy and had been sent to Palmer for her training in the Field as an unsworn Agent. While she was a pale replacement for Palmer’s deceased former partner, Baxter, he did have to admit she was more than capable of doing the groundwork of gathering information and was easy on the eyes to boot.

 

Palmer flipped through the dossier McKay had collected. “And this is the records from Air Traffic Control?” he asked.

“Yes sir. Unfortunately, when the incident began, any transponder signal, or radio communications we’re jammed. From what we gathered from local Police, we can identify which of these radar returns was their helicopters, leaving the last one as the target aircraft.” She explained, pointing out individual markings on the picture. She rifled through the stack until she pulled out one screen. The Time stamp was after the air-to-air engagement had ended.

Palmer studied the image for a second, Unlike the previous pictures, each radar target now had information associated with it, save for one. “So that unknown is our tunnel pilot?”

McKay nodded “Indeed. They egressed north into Erusea. Former successionist territory to be exact.”

 

Palmer frowned. “I see. It would line up.” He muttered. “What do you mean?” McKay asked.

 

Sighing, Palmer dug though his briefcase, pulling out two sets of images. One had been a photocopy of an all-points bulletin for the Gracemeria Police Department, dating to the beginning of February, with the photos and names of five men involved in a home invasion and murder. The second was stills from the CCTV in the Aurora Nightclub that had been attacked earlier in the week. He shifted both documents to the Lieutenant. “You think they’re related?” She asked incredulously.

 

Palmer nodded pointing to two pictures on the APB. One was of an older Asian man with the name of Thomas Nagase, and a younger white man named Kelly Johnson. “Take a close look. These two were in Emmeria seven months ago. The woman they killed? She was a known commander in the Free Erusea movement a decade and a half back. Now fast forward, they just so happen to attack a Nightclub that just so happens to have affiliations with those who armed the new Free Erusea movement? Do you honestly believe in coincidences Lieutenant?” Palmer explained. Without waiting for a reply, he continued.

 

“What I think? These guys were the first wave of those attacks we saw back in May. The new Free Erusea guard was tying up the old loose ends by killing the Butcher of San Marco, and then killing the guys who sold them the weapons in their ploy to kill the Princess.”

“But what about Three Strikes?” McKay asked.

Palmer frowned. “You’ve read his record. He’s always been flagged considering his family history. It was no surprise he went to prison the first time for Harling. Then with him working alongside the Radicals in Farbanti? I’m not surprised they got him out. He’s still useful to them evidently.” Palmer explained.

“The only thing I can’t figure out is, what does that bastard have to gain by helping them?” he muttered.

 

“What do you mean?” McKay asked.

 

“AFOSI has been trying to track this defector down since he got onto the Intelligence stage. Theres all these seemingly random attacks across Usea that’s been cropping up these past few months. His fingerprints are on each of the documents we manage to intercept. He’s been doing something, but what exactly?” Palmer elaborated.

***

Bandog looked out over the office. To the casual observer, the rows of cubicles resembled almost any other soulless corporate environment. It was for this reason it provided the perfect cover for what he needed to have done.

 

David heaved the two garbage bags of computer parts onto the conference table.

“Hey! Be gentle!” Bandog admonished.

“Sorry” David said sheepishly, taking a step back.

 

Standing in the conference room with the two men stood the relatively short, ginger haired Amber Gilbo. She stared at the pile of computer parts unimpressed, pushing her glasses higher onto her nose.

“Lemme guess, another rush job?” She asked.

Bandog nodded. “You know it.”

She sighed. “Well, Given you’re a repeat customer, We can get all this cataloged and over to you in-“She paused for a moment “- Four days, give or take.”

“That would be fine.” Bandog replied politely.

“Standard fees apply. Plus, you’ll be picking up the overtime costs and everything else involved. Will you want the bill now or later?” Amber asked.

“You know I’m good for the funds. I’ll have the money in your account at the time-of-service completion.” Bandog replied.

 

She rested her hands on her hips. “Fine. I’ll have them start on this right away.” She said dismissing the two men, ushering them through the cubicle rows towards the sterile, stainless-steel doors of the elevator. Jabbing the call button, she quickly walked back to the conference room to delegate the work ahead for her staff.

 

Bandog chuckled at the sight when the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. A group of employees silently trudged their way past the two men, leaving them an empty elevator to ride to the lobby.  With the doors closing, the sounds of jazz muzak could be softly heard over the elevators speakers.

David cleared his throat. Shifting slightly, the closest Bandog ever saw to an uncomfortable reaction in the man.

“What is it?” Bandog asked.

“Well, I’ve been wondering. Why do you use these guys anyways?” He asked.

“Easy, when you look at a banks internal auditing staff, what are you expecting to see? Financial crime. Those interested would never suspect this forgotten department of the Bank of Centeral Usea to be involved in the trafficking of intelligence secrets.” Bandog explained.

“So how do you make sure that they won’t run their mouths off?” David asked.

“Simple, I just tell them that I would send you to deal with it. If you couldn’t tell, you freaked most of them out.” Bandog half-jokingly said.

“Charming. So that’s why its so hard to make friends now.” David said sarcastically.

“Whatever. You keep people in line, and I keep the lights on. That’s our lot in life.” Bandog said dismissively as the elevator came to a stop.

David pulled out and threw on a pair of sunglasses as he and Bandog exited the elevator into the Lobby of the Bank of Usea’s central office, the echo of their footsteps on the polished marble floors reverberating on the slate granite walls of the elaborately decorated and furnished room.

 

“So where to now boss?” he asked.

Bandog sighed “Airport. Need to run some tests on the Saab.”

“Alright Boss. Still don’t know why you needed to buy that thing anyways.” David remarked as they exited the building.

Bandog shrugged. “What can I say? Old habits die hard.” He replied.

***

Knocker walked into the air groups briefing room.

“Room, Tench-hut!” barked one of the pilots from the rear of the room.

“At ease.” Knocker replied dismissively waiving his coffee mug as the pilots returned to their seats. Knocker took his position at the head of the room behind a podium, awaiting him was a clipboard of papers that he flipped through. He took a sip of coffee as he read.

“This everyone Hades?” Knocker asked.

“Yes Sir.” The young Lieutenant replied.

“Ok who’s not here?” Knocker asked, not taking his eye off the roster.

“Just Athlete, but flight doc has him grounded for food poisoning.” Reported IRIS. Knocker smirked “How exactly do you get food poisoning in the second cushiest assignment in the military?” he asked rhetorically.

 

Knocker quickly went through the opening of his briefing checklist. The Mission was the same and had never changed since the first day they arrived to Selatapura five months prior. Mage and Golems entire job was to provide airborne security for the Space Elevator, a job once exclusively held by the Arsenal Birds until Osea’s shield had been turned against them.

 

The only change in the mission came with the one-year anniversary of the failed rescue of former President Harling. Knocker had just returned to the cockpit when, for some cruel joke, he was tapped to fly in the memorial formation. It disgusted him to even be assigned back to the sight of where his career had been destroyed by one idiot who thought he was hot shit. Seeing that same idiots face in Selatapura, when so many other better pilots survived had set Knocker over the edge. It was because of Trigger he had to be hard on the new pilots. Knocker had firsthand knowledge of how much damage a nugget could do without supervision.

 

Knocker snapped out of his trance as the airman from the bases weather group finished his potion of the briefing. Knocker returned to the stage. “Alright ladies and gents, terminal NOTAMS for the area are all the same. We are to continue enforcing the restricted area around the space elevator, Flight commanders can individually brief your routes later. Be advised, just got a new warning from Intel to all units in western Usea. Sounds like something is cooking in Erusea and they want us all on our A Game.”

 

One of the pilots raised their hand, It was IRIS. “Any indication what it might be?” she asked.

Knocker shrugged. “Didn’t say, my guess is to read the tabloids though. Sounds like it was political in nature, instead of another military uprising.” He replied.

 

“Moving on, the airport-“ Knocker continued his briefing. After what felt to the pilots like an eternity, the briefing concluded and the airmen were released to their duties for the day; Funneling out of the wooden shack that stood as their briefing building, making their way to their individual aircraft or back towards the hangars to prepare for their flights. As Knocker exited, he was hit with the hot summer air. While Selatapura was generally held at a comfortable temperature due to the sea, today it was unbearable.

“Jesus these flight suits don’t breathe for shit.” He muttered to himself.

Walking back towards his office, he could hear running from behind him.

“Ah, IRIS, something you need?” he asked cordially.

The young F-16 pilot nodded, taking only a second to catch her breath. “Yes Captain. I was wondering if there’s any news on us getting a chance at the training air space?” she asked.

 

Knocker frowned as he motioned her to follow him. “Sorry kid, every time it gets submitted, someone from higher up knocks it down.” He replied truthfully. What he didn’t add was his own suspicions on why. There was a rumor going around between the squadrons on strange events occurring over Chopinburg. Knocker prayed that they would remain rumors and that his pilots wouldn’t have to get involved. He had lost enough friends for a lifetime.

 

IRIS sighed, dejected. “I see Captain, thank you for trying though.”

“Don’t sweat it kid. You all have at least enough experience to survive combat. That’s all I, or anyone else can ask of you.” Knocker reminded her.

He watched the young officer crack a smile at the remark. It reminded him of another nugget he had trained and lost to the war.

 

One more folded flag and condolence letter. His mood soured at the thought. No more bullshit. No more folded flags or condolence letters. Not for these kids.

***

Colonel Mancuso read the report sent from Lieutenant Fick. His Cigar burned bright as smoke filled his office.

Major Stanton coughed slightly; lungs irritated from the acrid smell.

“Major. Am I reading that number correctly?” Mancuso asked.

“Yes sir. Three dozen noncritical injuries to civilians and local law enforcement. Another half a dozen civilians and law enforcement killed. Six dozen likely hostiles dead sir. Four in the target location, and then another two on the extraction, plus the pilots of those jets who engaged the Air Asset.” Stanton reported.

 

Mancuso took a puff from the cigar. “And they eliminated the target?”

“All but one sir. One of Troy’s subordinates was not in attendance. The team is currently gathering intelligence and should be executing on it shortly.” Stanton replied.

 

Mancuso chewed on the edge of the cigar. “what’s this operations body count so far?” he asked.

“Are we including the figures from the May attack?”

“Just direct action please.”

“North of two hundred.” Staton replied.

“My god.” Mancuso muttered. “So much for Plan 114 staying under the radar. Any indication that OIA has connected the dots?”

“Unknown since most of their targets are not ones that they keep their eyes on. Only reason this came to their attention was due to the massive movement of Cartel assets.” Stanton explained.

“I see. What is the word on the street?”

Stanton shrugged. “The only crime family that has the resources to pull this level of coordinated attack is the Yukes. They were one of the first to say it wasn’t them either. Which narrows it down to more official units like us to take the blame.”

“Has anyone linked it to Osea yet?”

Stanton shrugged. “Our contacts at the OIA are looking into it. Theres about half a dozen Yuke units that could pull it off. Emmeria has their Archangel unit. As well, not all the rats went down with the ship with the Free Erusea movement. Chasing down those leads might buy us just enough time for them to finish the job.”

***

Adams sat at the table in the compounds living room, working the slide on a M200 rifle that he had ordered. It was a specialized weapon, instead of the standard .408 Cheyenne Tactical round it had been chambered in, Adams and the other Basilisk Snipers had a run of the rifle’s chambered for 338 Lapua Magnum to simplify their logistics. While the round performance was comparable, it did also mean that the rifle tended to be frustrating with its availability of spare parts when things did break. As he gently adjusted the stock, he was startled to hear the slamming of a door and a rush of footsteps down the hallway. Seconds later Trigger appeared at the top of the staircase

 

“Where’s the fire?” Adams asked jokingly.

Trigger shot him a glare “Where the hell is Morgan?” he growled

Adams was taken aback “Not here – what’s up buddy?”

“I need to talk to that son of a bitch” Trigger replied, Adams could hear a blind rage in his voice.

 

Standing up, he closed the distance as Trigger made his way down the stairs “Come on, take a seat and we will talk this out.” Adams offered pointing to the couch.

“No, I need to talk to Morgan now!” Trigger repeated forcefully. Adams could see the pilot had something crumpled in his hand.

“Hey what do you have there?” Adams blurted out, reaching for the paper, in one quick motion Trigger forced the Marine to the side, stunning Adams momentarily, before storming out the front door.

“What the fuck?” Adams hissed to himself confused as he picked himself up. Trigger normally wasn’t violent, and Curt, like most of the marines in the team, had written Trigger off in a hand-to-hand fight.

 

Adams ran out the front door to see a cloud of dirt rolling its way down the main road. Desperately he looked around the main yard of the compound and found Kyle.

“Hey! what the hell was that?” Kyle shouted, as he ran over to Adams.

Adams shrugged and ran his hand through his hair astonished “No clue, he just snapped.”

“Well, he just stole our fucking truck.” Kyle noted. “You gotta be-“ Adams voice trailed off “Well we have to definitely tell the el-tee when he gets back. Probably should warn Morgan too, Trigger wanted to talk to him pretty badly.”

***

True to her word, Amber had the files delivered to Bandog’s secure server within four days. He didn’t mind her steep multi-million-dollar price tag. While the money helped keep her and her staff quiet, it also paled in comparison to how much he would make selling it to interested intelligence agencies around the world, not to include other law enforcement, and even rival gangs looking for an edge against the Machados.

 

“What do we have here?” Bandog muttered as he started to scroll through some of the documents Amber had highlighted for him on his tablet.

 

He chuckled as he read through the pages. It was obvious that Troy kept meticulous records of the Machado’s as leverage. Likely hoping that if the authorities apprehended him, he could be played off as a simple cog in the much larger machine of the organization, instead of an integral member. There was months’ worth of communications between Troy and the lower echelons of the organization, quotas, reports. If it hadn’t been for the added context of drugs, guns and violence, the reports could have easily been mistaken for belonging to any one of a hundred regular corporations.

Kicking his feet up on the coffee table, he finally found the files he was searching for.

“Alright Miss Park, let’s see who we’re dealing with.” Bandog said as he took a sip of coffee.

 

As he read, his blood start to cool. Frantically he opened other documents he had collected on the Machados. Searching to see if his theory had been correct.

 

In horror, he dropped his mug and the tablet.

“David!” he bellowed in a trembling voice.

“What is it boss?” David replied, running from the other room.

“I fucked up. We need to go. Now.” Bandog said as he picked up the tablet and punched in a command.

“How bad?” David asked.

“You still have the kitchen gun?” Bandog asked, motioning toward the counter.

“Of course.” David replied incredulous at the question.

“Grab it, leave your phone and tablets here.” Bandog ordered.

David nodded and quickly rushed over to the closet, he pulled out two plate carriers and chucked one to Bandog. “Probably better if we bring these too.” David quipped as he tore the sink cabinets door open, He leaned to the back of the cabinet and retrieved the rectangular P90 submachine gun.

Bandog clipping on the vest, reached under the coffee table, and pulled out his own handgun.

“Ok Boss, I’m ready to go.” David replied, cycling the charging handle to the snub-nosed bullpup.

Bandog checked the chamber of his own handgun, a Jericho 941, and nodded towards the door

“What about Amber and her team? Shouldn’t we warn them?” David said approaching the door cautiously.

Bandog shook his head “It’s probably too late to be any help anyways.” He said grimly “Lets go, Theres probably enough time to warn the Marines and Belkans.”

“And if there isn’t?” David asked.

Bandog sighed. “Then I guess I have a favor to cash in.”

***

Guzman sat alone unnoticed in the cab of his pickup truck as he monitored the exterior of his target

building from the parking lot. Over the past four days, he had become very familiar with the sight of the

bar. The yellow paint on the exterior of the bar had long since faded and was chipping, exposing the

brick that laid underneath. The sign that hung above the door was not faring any better, the wood had

long since begun to rot and warp in the brutal humidity of Chopinburg.

 

The sun had just set over the region when a lone pickup truck pulled into the crowded parking lot of the bar. He watched as the lone occupant turned off the engine and climbed out of the vehicle; From his stance it was obvious that he was military, likely one of the dime a dozen deserters that Gioiello Verde looking for mercenary work. He pulled out the picture he was given. The grainy photo was from a CCTV Camera from a gas station. He held the photo up as he watched the man make his way into the bar. Guzman had seen enough.  He pulled out his flip phone and hit speed dial. The phone rang twice before the line opened.

 

“Soy yo, dile a la hermanita que está aquí.” he said quickly. Its me, tell Little Sister he’s here.

There was a pause

 

“ve con Dios.” Before the line went dead.