Chapter Twenty-Five

It wasn’t a moonless night. Even with night vision goggles down and stars hanging thick and bright, they still couldn’t see past the horizon. However, Brenden and his team knew their mark. They had studied this mountainous, rocky terrain and conducted enough simulations for months in preparation of this mission. So why did something seem off?

The mission was simple: capture the mastermind reengineering black market military grade weapons, sometimes improvising them as explosive devices and then distributing them to rebel forces in the east. Brenden looked over his shoulder. His team of six, plus an additional Black team had joined them to execute Operation Jackal’s Lair. He wondered if they had sensed the unsettling stillness like he did as they took one slow step at a time, closing in on the encampment.

Brenden gave the signal for them to move into an L-shape formation. He and his six broke to vertical position while the other seven-man Black team went to the bottom to provide cover. The updates piping into his ear from command monitoring their eyes in the sky affirmed that they were ready to move in.

Adrenaline pumped through Brenden’s veins, clashing with his pounding heart. Before he could give them the order, enemy machine guns blasted the air. Brenden and his team pressed forward, battling withering gunfire.

These bastards knew they were coming, but how? The element of surprise was gone, and now they were engaging with combatants loaded with heavy artillery in close quarters.

This was the reason they had to get inside. No rebel force goons should have access to AK-47s, RPGs, or belt-fed PKM machine guns. The architect behind distributing these weapons had to be taken down. The innocent people in these countries didn’t deserve the fear that came from guerilla warfare nor did American soldiers charged with helping restore peace.

“Fuck, Rod’s down.” Linc’s voice cracked through the radio. “Medevac dispatched.”

A bullet zipped past Brenden as he heard the sound of agony ricochet behind him. The resistance was fiercer than expected. He and his men took out a few enemy soldiers, but not enough. These rebels were ready for the Black Smoke and seemed intent on putting it out tonight. Months of planning and training, wasted.

Black 2131 had been compromised, again, and it was time to get out.

“Abort,” he said with all his authority, hearing the blades of the Black Hawk close in. “Get Rod to the bird. I’ll cover.”

A barrage of gunfire continued as Brenden and the team began retreating. He watched as the majority of enemy soldiers ran back into the camp, then glanced over his shoulder to see that Rod was being loaded onto the chopper in the distance. His attention then went up to the second story, where he saw a man lifting a rocket-propelled grenade.

It all made sense why so many across the line had sought cover and why the few who remained were now retreating. However, his brothers would not be any man’s sitting ducks.

“Cover me,” he called as he darted toward a sand hill on higher ground. He set his feet and took the shots. The rocket fell, as a sigh of relief escaped him, knowing his brothers could make it to safety.

Shots rang out, and then he saw two men running full speed toward them strapped in bombed vests. Brenden leveled a few shots and took off for the chopper. “Go…go…get off the X,” he panted, hurtling forward. His feet left the ground as heat engulfed him. He saw black, and the last thing he heard was his own whispered, “Paige.”