June 30th, 9:55 p.m. (local time); somewhere in the foothills of the mountains in Nigeria
“Team one in position—over.”
“Copy that. Team two—report—over.”
“Team two is in position—over.”
“Copy that. Team three, what’s your status—over?”
“Team three—thirty seconds to ready—over.”
Hidden high above the compound below, Sergeant Aaron Hardy moved his legs and body as much as he could. He had been in the prone position for the last seventeen hours and his muscles were cramping. In two days, he would celebrate his thirtieth birthday. At this moment, however, his body felt much older.
Hardy had enlisted in the United States Marine Corps as soon as he graduated from high school. He spent the first four years of his career serving overseas, primarily in Iraq before becoming a member of the Second Marine Special Operations Battalion, headquartered at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. For the next five years, he was involved in numerous direct-action, special reconnaissance and counter-terrorism missions, until Colonel Franklin Ludlum asked him to command a team of his own to conduct top-secret missions all over the world.
Lately, Hardy had been considering a new line of work. During the last five years, his body had been under an extreme amount of stress and it did not recover as quickly as it once did. He was still in great physical shape, but he knew if he maintained this break-neck speed, his body would fail much quicker. He still wanted to be part of the special operations community, just in a little less intense setting that did not require so much reconnaissance. The countless hours spent waiting for the action were making him grow restless and sometimes took a greater toll on his body than the gunfights. He wanted to see more action and he wanted more control over it. He wanted to take the fight to the enemy instead of waiting for the enemy to dictate the terms.
Hardy peered through his binoculars and scanned the compound. The main building was located in the center and was dark and quiet. Two sentries guarded the main gate and appeared tired and bored, eager to be relieved of their duties. The two buildings that served as living quarters for the soldiers were located fifty meters to the rear of the main building and were only ten meters apart from each other. Both were alive with activity. The men inside were raucous, engaged in a card game. Music blasted from one of the buildings. 80’s punk rock, Hardy thought, twisting the binoculars and glancing at his watch. He raised the binoculars to his eyes. His earpiece crackled.
“Squad leader, this is team three. We are in position, awaiting your orders—over.”
“Copy that.” Hardy slowly swung the binoculars to the right. “All teams standby—over.”
Hardy checked his watch three times in the next few minutes. This was exactly what was making him grow restless—the waiting. His team was in place ready to carry out their tasks, but everything hinged on the target.
The voice of team leader one filled the airwaves. “Inbound vehicles eight hundred meters out and closing fast.”
Finally. Hardy caught sight of the approaching headlights to his left. He watched two SUV’s speed toward the compound and come to a stop outside the main gate. The lead vehicle slid forward, when the tires locked. The guards opened the gate and waved them through. Once at the main building, the second SUV’s occupants jumped out and took defensive positions around the first SUV. Four men, dressed in black suits, white shirts and black ties, armed with AK-47 rifles stood guard, their heads rotating left and right, searching for security threats. The driver and the front passenger of the first SUV, similarly dressed, hurried inside the main building. After a few moments, they re-emerged and stood on either side of the front door, looking all around the immediate area. The one to the left raised his wrist to his mouth. The left-rear door of the first SUV opened and another man carrying a rifle came around to the right-rear passenger door and opened it. Two feet swung around and landed on the ground. The man inside lunged his upper body forward, giving him the momentum needed to get out of the vehicle. The man, a Nigerian warlord, was the most powerful drug dealer in the country. He stood six-feet, two inches tall and weighed at least three hundred pounds. His alias was simply, The Nigerian.
Using his middle finger, Hardy spun the wheel on the binoculars, zooming in on the man’s face. He needed visual confirmation to proceed with the mission. The man had his back to Hardy, examining his surroundings. He watched the man button his suit coat and take a few steps toward the main building before stopping. “Show me your face,” Hardy said under his breath. When the man continued his gait, he turned his head to the right and Hardy had positive identification. “All teams, this is squad leader. We are a go. I repeat—all teams, we are a go on my command—over.”
“Copy that,” replied all three team leaders.
Hardy dropped his binoculars, wrapped his right hand around the stock of the M40A5 sniper rifle in front of him and shouldered the weapon. He closed his left eye and acquired the two guards at the main gate through the rifle’s scope. Swinging the rifle to the right, he placed The Nigerian in his crosshairs. When the man was two steps away from the front door of the building, Hardy gave his teams the ‘GO’ command.
In less than five seconds, all the men with rifles from both SUV’s were on the ground, shot by Hardy’s teammates. After giving the ‘GO’ command, Hardy had the two guards in his sights and eased back his weapon’s trigger. He heard two muffled ‘pops’ from his rifle and confirmed they were both down, the 7.62x51mm NATO bullets hitting their targets.
“This is team leader one. All tangos are down. I repeat—all tangos are down—over.”
Seconds later, Hardy heard two massive explosions. Both of the buildings to the rear of the main building blew apart. One huge fireball rose from the remains and lit up the night sky. In the distance, Hardy heard small arms fire before his earpiece came alive.
“This is team leader two. All tangos have been neutralized—over.”
Hardy held his breath, waiting for team three’s situation report. Team three had the most delicate part of the mission. Their orders were to secure The Nigerian. They were to engage him only if he returned fire. Even then, they were to shoot to incapacitate him. Unable to wait any longer, Hardy called for a situation report.
“Team three, I need a sitrep—over.” All he heard was silence. Sporadic weapon’s fire came from the main building. His team members were shouting. It sounded like a struggle was taking place inside. The commotion stopped as soon as it had begun. Silence ensued. Hardy repeated his command. “What’s your sitrep, team three?” There was no response. “Team two, advance on the main building—I repeat—team two—”
“Squad leader, this is team leader three—”
Hardy squinted through the binoculars. “Team two, stand down and await further orders. Go ahead, team three.”
Team leader three: “We have your birthday present…all wrapped up and ready for delivery—over.”
Hardy sighed. “Copy that, team three. All teams rendezvous for evac.” Hardy paused before letting a grin form on his face. “Good work, gentlemen. Let’s go home.”
Thirty minutes later, with all of his men safely aboard two Bell UH-1Y Venom (Super Huey) helicopters, Hardy felt the tension leave his shoulders. His head fell back and he let out a slow, long breath of relief. He had brought his team to the completion of another mission without any casualties. In twelve hours, everyone would be stateside, enjoying some much needed rest and relaxation. He shut his eyes. A good day.