Christopher felt out of place after the president honored the Omega Team for the rescue of his daughter. It was not just the pomp and circumstance of being celebrated that made him uneasy, but the realization that his actions had been counter to the success of the mission, or so it felt. Jackson argued that the real hero was God, but Christopher struggled to give God credit for anything, especially in his career, which he felt was built on his talents alone. God came across to Christopher as erratic and unreliable in comparison to himself. Perhaps the days ahead would solidify a path toward his relationship with God, preferably without costing Christopher or someone close to him their lives.
“Listen, Christopher…sorry, man, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jackson felt bad for apparently shocking Christopher out of deep thought. “I need to apologize for being so critical. I have no room to judge your relationship with God.”
“I understand that you just want the best for me, and I am thrilled that you’re building a great relationship with God, so let’s just focus on that.” Christopher needed to make things right between the two of them. He was thankful Jackson had made the first move.
“That’s gracious of you, but I don’t want to be overbearing in my zeal over finding God.”
“Nah, I remember Erin having that same eagerness to see everyone around her be saved, too…” Christopher’s voice trailed off as thoughts of Erin flooded his mind. A moment later, he felt glad that Gabriella jumped into the conversation, saving him from breaking down among the numerous guests dotting the White House Rose Garden reception.
“So what did you guys think about President Rodgers’s official announcement on the disappearances?” Gabriella asked, eyes narrowing as she looked closely at both men.
“I think it was a lie. The rapture occurred, and we should be looking out for the Antichrist,” Jackson responded bluntly.
“Okay, so you’re just dismissing any logical scientific explanation instantly, Jackson?” Gabriella asked incredulously.
“No,” Jackson said. “I would accept a scientific explanation for what occurred, but there isn’t one that makes sense—unless natural evaporation due to overeating counts. There is also the fact that the Bible made a significant declaration thousands of years ago this very scenario would take place.”
“Christopher, please tell me that you don’t see God in the works, too,” Gabriella begged.
“I agree with Jackson that it’s hard to find another answer that fits. I don’t know what to believe besides what I see, which screams something supernatural. It seems to me that judgment is coming,” Christopher replied.
“I’ve heard that my whole life, and I refuse to accept that I am a bad person and now my judgment has arrived. There is a lot of buzz surrounding the EU president’s statement. Draven Cross has a brilliant mind and is a proven advocate for peace,” Gabriella explained.
“Yeah, that’s what worries me about old Mr. Cross. The Bible warns us that a man will appear to claim peace, but peace will be far from him. Anybody pushing peace as the answer to all the world’s problem right now, well, that man will be the Antichrist in my book,” Jackson asserted unequivocally.
“I don’t even have the words to respond to that, Jackson. Look, I need you guys to follow me to the Oval Office. President Rodgers wanted to discuss something with us,” Gabriella replied.
“What, right now? Why do I have the feeling we are about to head off for something else dangerous?” Jackson said, lacing his fingers together behind his head as they exited the room.
Laughing, Christopher ribbed, “I sometimes wonder how you got through basic training, much less special forces selection.”
“What? Is it too much to ask to have more than a day off before heading out to God only knows where?” Jackson countered, sounding decidedly aggrieved.
“Let’s go, you two babies. The president is waiting,” Gabriella called, walking off ahead of them to the Oval Office.
Christopher quirked an eyebrow at Jackson, almost laughing.
With a hearty laugh, Jackson said, “Do you think it was too much? Seems like the Antichrist bit sent her over the edge.” He was still chuckling under his breath as they followed Gabriella down the hallway.
President Rodgers looked like a middle-aged father about to explain the birds and the bees to his children as he sat in his office chair, which had been placed opposite the couch where Christopher, Jackson, and Gabriella all sat together.
“First, I can’t say thank you enough to each of you for your part in saving my daughter down there in Brazil. You have given me the chance to right the wrong of misleading her about God all these years. Thanks are inadequate for that gift, but it’s all this old man knows how to say,” President Rodgers told them humbly.
“No need to ever say thanks, sir,” Christopher replied. “We’re just doing our jobs.”
“I appreciate your humility, Major, and your relentless professionalism—because I need your expertise yet again. The rapture has opened Pandora’s box. We’ve got fewer people to deal with an increasing number of critical national-security issues, none more significant right now than stopping the proliferation of weapons-grade fissile material from Pakistan.”
Christopher shot Jackson and Gabriella a side-eyed look at the president’s description of the disappearance of millions. Jackson met Christopher’s gaze, while Gabriella seemed unfazed by anything she had heard.
“What is it, guys?” President Rodgers queried. “You seem puzzled.”
“Well, sir. I just never would have guessed you would describe the event from a few days ago as the rapture. You being a politician and all, sir,” Jackson explained carefully.
Chuckling aloud and with a small smile, President Rodgers remarked, “Well, I am still saying it only in select company, but I feel more and more like I should make my real views on what happened public.”
“I hate to derail this meeting about that special material going missing in Pakistan, sir, but could you please tell me why you think it was the rapture?” Jackson said, flushing red.
“No, son, I don’t mind at all,” the president replied. “You see, it’s simple. I’ve already told Gabriella this, but it boils down to my wife Janet. She led a life dedicated to God. She lived with honor, dignity, and servanthood despite all of my failings. She always loved me with what she called the love of Christ. If we fought, Janet was the first to say sorry, always aiming to reconcile our relationship even though I was wrong. It would make me mad because it made me feel all the more guilty because she loved me when I was unworthy of her love. Janet told me that’s how God loves us. It apparently doesn’t matter how much we reject Him or disavow Him. He still loves us, so much so that He allowed His Son to be sacrificed for all of us.
“So, you see, now that I believe with all of my spirit and might that God loves me, it has become easy to see God’s impact on this world. I understand that God is doing exactly what He predicted in taking believers like Janet out of this world a few days ago, ahead of His justified judgment on a planet that for millennia has rejected His offer of reconciliation through Christ Jesus.”
Christopher was shocked to see both Jackson and Gabriella in tears. He had to admit, even if only to himself, that hearing the most powerful man in the world speak of God’s love in such personal terms stirred his own emotions powerfully. A part of Christopher intensely longed to have that type of relationship with God but feared the cost, namely, letting God off the hook for some painful events in his life.
“I apologize for being so emotional, but it is the most honest way I know to answer your question, Sergeant Major. And what I’ve said to you here this evening also affirms to me that I will need to, sooner rather than later, make my belief public,” President Rodgers said firmly. “However, we have a pressing matter regarding national security to deal with presently. Dr. Muhammad Jafari, director of the Pakistani Atomic Energy Commission, relayed a message through the International Atomic Energy Agency that an ISIS-sympathizing nuclear scientist named Adeel Zardari has stolen several nuclear pits. Our most recent intelligence report…” he handed each of them a manila folder, “…indicates that Zardari is likely heading to Tajikistan to meet up with interested buyers.”
“Have we been able to detect and trace the fissile materials with Zardari?” Gabriella asked.
“Yes, we have,” President Rodgers confirmed. “He’s has been in the village of Ishkashim, Afghanistan, for the past twelve hours. Human intelligence reports indicate he is supposed to link up with his buyers in Khorog, Tajikistan, in two days. Omega’s mission is to intercept Zardari in Afghanistan before his meeting with the buyers in a couple of days.”
“That’s not a lot of time, sir. We need to start making our way there in the next few hours if we are going to have a shot of intercepting him before he makes that drop,” Christopher said.
“You’re right, Major,” the president replied. “That’s why I have the latest and greatest military business jet waiting for your team at Andrews. The C-39XER was built for getting guys like you and stuffy execs somewhere in a hurry. With over 7,000 nautical miles of range and cruising just a smidge below supersonic, there are not many places I can’t get you boys in a hurry. It even has a galley and service crew for this trip, ensuring comfort for your team. Shoot, this thing makes me want to fly again.”
“You’re more than welcome to come with us, sir,” Christopher offered.
“I’m tempted, but I also know that you men can do things this old pilot never dreamed of doing. I’ll leave this to the professionals,” President Rodgers said regretfully, slapping a big hand across Christopher’s back. “Gabriella, we will bring the usual select cabinet members and members of Congress into the Situation Room tomorrow evening to watch the mission unfold. Let me know if you need anything from me,” he added in dismissal as he moved behind his desk.
“Yes, sir, I’ll finalize the details and let you know if we need any additional support,” Gabriella confirmed.
“I hope you boys don’t get stage fright,” President Rodgers said hopefully.
“No, sir, we’ll be ready, and we won’t let you down,” Christopher promised this man who appeared to be carrying a large weight on his shoulders.
“Good hunting and I will be praying for you,” President Rodgers replied.
“Thanks, sir. Your prayers and support are greatly appreciated, more than you know,” Jackson said before closing the Oval Office door behind him.
The near-transonic C-39XER delivered on President Rodgers’s hype, and Christopher was grateful. The same trip flying in a “normal” airplane would have taken sixteen hours or more, but was completed in just over ten hours. Being back in Afghanistan brought back a flood of memories for Christopher as he gazed at the snow-covered Hindu Kush mountains surrounding Bagram.
As the aircraft taxied to a stop at Bagram Airfield, Christopher couldn’t help but think about the perils hidden behind the stark beauty of this land. Anxious not to miss a detail in planning the upcoming mission, he knew all too well that distractions in Afghanistan led to disastrous outcomes. It was almost ten years ago, during his last deployment as a conventional soldier in the 82nd Airborne Division, where Christopher saw soldiers in his company pay for the sins of their company commander. Little change had taken place here over the past decade, where the sounds of war had become routine. He hoped that Omega’s time in this beautiful but brutal land would be short.
A rush of cold air filled the plane and drew everyone’s attention to the now open main cabin door.
“Gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please. I am Senior Airman Montana, the flight ops manager here. We are shorthanded due to the disappearances, so you will need to unload your own gear and then follow me to Stone Guard where you will be lodging.”
“Huh, what’s going on? Somebody turn off that A/C!” a disoriented Jackson yelled.
“How can you sleep so soundly?” Christopher asked with a chuckle.
“Easy, because I know you’re not going to let me get any sleep anytime soon,” Jackson retorted.
As the Omega Team quickly pulled their gear off the plane in an attempt to escape the frigid early morning air, Christopher felt a tug on his thoughts. “It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man,” was the crystal-clear thought that entered his mind from the familiar and uncomfortable still, small voice of the Holy Spirit. He hadn’t heard from the Holy Spirit since the night of the French journalist mission. He said aloud, “What does that mean?”
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked, looking around. “Who are you talking to?”
“No one. I’m okay. I just thought I heard somebody say something,” Christopher responded.
“Hey, check it out,” Jackson said, directing Christopher’s attention toward a television screen where preparations were being made to broadcast the EU president’s address on the disappearances. “I wonder what this guy is going to say that’s different from everybody else.”
“Who knows? But we’ve got planning to do for tonight,” Christopher answered firmly. He tried to hide the worry on his face. If the Holy Spirit was reaching out to him ahead of this mission, what was awaiting them in Ishkashim?
Stone Guard was the nickname of the area on Bagram used by the special operations elements for staging their clandestine missions. The most important part of the supporting cast was the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, commonly known as the Nightstalkers, greeted Christopher upon his entrance as they awaited final guidance.
“Hello, sir. I am CW4 Mercer. I was ‘Angel 6,’ from the Brazil mission. It’s good to be working with you guys again, although I wish it were not so soon.”
“Yeah, great to see you again, Chief, and call me Christopher. I agree a few more days or even weeks of rest would have been awesome. Hey, let’s get down to planning, so we can wrap this thing up and head home.”
“Sure thing, Christopher, but before we start, let me introduce the lead pilot for the second bird for tonight. This is CW3 Watson, radio call sign Angel 64,” Angel 6 related quickly.
“Nice to meet you. Guys, this is my team’s sergeant major, Jackson Williams,” Christopher replied.
“Nice to meet you, fellas. I am hoping for a smooth flight tonight,” Jackson responded.
“We will do our best,” Angel 6 promised.
As the leaders of the Omega Team and the 160th SOAR sat around a conference table with a large map laid across it to hear the intelligence brief, Christopher was struck with a sense of uneasiness. The Holy Spirit continued speaking into his mind. “Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the LORD our God. Christopher, don’t trust in your plan; trust in God. There is always another way.”
“Christopher! Earth to Christopher, are you ready for the brief?” Jackson asked, clearly puzzled.
“Oh, yeah, go ahead,” Christopher murmured, focusing on the intelligence officer and not the eyes of the men gazing at him from around the room.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Adeel Zardari remains in Ishkashim but will likely be leaving for Khorog, Tajikistan, in the predawn hours, based on recent reports from the Pakistani government. We continue to detect a low-level radiation signature, which we assess means the fissile material remains with Zardari. We also have uncorroborated human intelligence reports that state the local residents of Ishkashim were forced out of town, and Zardari is being protected by at least fifteen armed men. Lastly, for tactical level intelligence, we have reports that some of the men possess Russian Verba man-portable air-defense systems. We consider air insertion the fastest, but a high-risk option. I will be followed by Omega HQ.”
Christopher and the other men watched as Gabriella appeared before the group on a secure-video teleconferencing screen.
“Oh, here we go. Miss Sassy Pants herself,” Jackson teased.
“Shhh,” Christopher mouthed.
“Good morning, everyone. I don’t have much more to add to the tactical-level intel. We have seen no movement in or out of Ishkashim since the fleeing of villagers right after Zardari arrived about a day ago. We are providing radiation shielding cases…did they make it?” Gabriella asked the previous intelligence briefer, who acknowledged with a thumbs up. “Those cases will ensure safe transport of the fissile material back to the States, where Department of Energy officials will take possession upon your return.
“Finally, we will notify the Tajiks only if Zardari escapes into Tajikistan with the fissile materials. Dushanbe is in disarray in the wake of the disappearances, with some reports that the Tajikistan president was assassinated. President Rodgers feels that letting the Tajiks know about the mission too early could compromise your team. I agree after hearing about the advanced Russian antiaircraft systems being in the area. It would seem Zardari is well connected. Good hunting,” Gabriella concluded as the video screen went black.
“Angel 6, is the risk too great to fly us in tonight?” Christopher questioned.
“It’s a risk for sure. Those antiaircraft systems will challenge our avionics. The best hope is to get you guys on the ground before they even know what’s happening. That will mean a nap-of-the-earth flight for two straight hours. You guys up for that?”
“So much for a smooth flight, but we’re ready to rock and roll,” Jackson responded, knowing that the terrain-hugging flight would be rough, but also their best bet for avoiding detection on the way in.
Laughing, Angel 6 spoke again. “We need to finish up some flight planning and get some sleep, so we’re going to head out. We’ll be ready to take off at 0100 tonight. Let us know if the plan changes.”
“Thanks, we will,” Christopher replied. “But if you don’t hear anything, plan on us loading out for a 0100 takeoff.” Christopher watched as Angel 6 and his men left the conference room, still feeling hesitant. The still, quiet voice of the Holy Spirit had reiterated throughout the intelligence briefing the same message. “Christopher, don’t trust in your plan. Trust in God.” He felt trapped. It’s not like it’s my plan, he thought in frustration. It’s what the terrain and mission demand to get the job done. We have to fly in. What other choice do we have?
“Hey, bossman, I am not going to argue with you like I did in Brazil, but just hear me out. I think flying in is too big of a risk—though the 160th boys would never tell you that. I think if we start ground convoying out of here in the next few hours, we could get up to Ishkashim around 2300, get set, and hit the objective around 0100. Longer haul, but less risk,” Jackson asserted with confidence.
“I appreciate the solid recommendation, but there are many unknown risks of driving so far in such a small element. We don’t know the IED pattern between here and Ishkashim, and our signature will be known well before we get to Zardari. I like the flying approach for the speed and surprise. Those helicopters will get us through,” Christopher replied with a confidence he didn’t really feel.
Jackson’s faced showed his disagreement, but all he said was, “I hope you’re right, bossman. I hope you’re right.”
“It will be okay. Trust me. I believe in this plan. Gather the guys up here in the conference room. I want to go over the mission and then have everyone start a rest cycle.”
“You got it,” Jackson said, leaving Christopher alone in the conference room.
The Holy Spirit, who had been all but yelling throughout the intelligence briefing, was now silent.
“Nothing more to say, huh? I don’t get you, but I do understand me,” Christopher said quietly, openly questioning the Holy Spirit’s message.
As Jackson had the Omega Team settle in for the operation plan, Christopher’s bravado switched to desperation as thoughts of losing Rev in a mission flashed into his mind. He wished the Holy Spirit would say something to him, but he heard only silence in his mind.
“Okay, guys, pretty straightforward mission,” Christopher began. “We will split into two six-man elements on two birds. I will lead the primary assault team and will be flying with Angel 6. Once over the target location in Ishkashim, my team will fast rope down onto the roof, capture Zardari, and secure the loose fissile materials. I don’t want to kill this guy, unless he puts us in that position, as he may have hidden the nuclear pits. If he did, we’d need him to lead us to them.
“Jackson will be leading team two and will fly with Angel 64. Your task will be to prevent Zardari from escaping across the border into Tajikistan. I want you to set up an ambush at the international border market on the northwest side of Ishkashim. There are only fifteen men assessed to be guarding this guy, but remember Brazil and be prepared for anything.
“Lastly, men, this could be a tough one, so I want you all to get some rest. Make sure you double up on your combat load of ammo and be ready to fight. We are going into a high-risk area for air defense so it will be a gut-turning nap-of-the-earth flight the whole way. We will have QRF support from the 101st Airborne, but they will delay an hour after our departure tonight and stage Zebak in case we need them.”
“How far is Zebak from us?” one of the soldiers asked.
Christopher hesitated to answer, but he could see the question reflected on the face of every Omega Team member. “It is a forty-five-minute flight once we call them.” He paused then added, “Okay, let’s gear up and do what we do best.” The men left the room, conversing among themselves, leaving him alone in the conference room. He was hoping for either some assurance about or condemnation of his plan from the Holy Spirit, but there was again nothing but silence in both the room and his mind.
Gabriella was exhausted both mentally and physically. The last few days were a blur of pain, elation, and more sadness. As she prepared the White House Situation Room with dossiers and executive summaries on the second Omega mission under her leadership, she felt an emptiness she could not comprehend. While Draven Cross’s speech was inspiring and plausible, his assertion that religion, and Christianity in particular, was at fault for the disappearances did not sit well with her. Gabriella agreed religion had been divisive at times throughout history, but people like her mother had found so much comfort and hope in Christianity. She felt no closer now to a resolution of the struggle between her analytical perspective on the world around her and the possibility that God existed than she had felt a few days ago.
“Ah, Gabriella, why am I not surprised to find you here first? I sometimes wonder if you sleep. I picture your apartment with a single folding chair under a lightbulb, a refrigerator filled with spoiled Chinese takeout, and an air mattress. I am close, right?” President Rodgers asked with a smile.
“You’ve got me pegged, sir,” Gabriella admitted. “The poster child for overachieving workaholics.”
“I am kidding, dear. I appreciate your determination. I assume you watched Cross’s speech today.”
“Yes, sir, I did. It was rousing but…” she hesitated.
“But it came across as a not-so-veiled attack on religion, or better said, on Christianity. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
“No, not exactly what I was going to say. I was going to say his speech leaves me confused about a lot of things, not the least of which is God.”
“God is easy to understand, Gabriella, once you allow yourself to see His presence all around you. I could have been the leader of the show-me-and-I-will-believe-it thought brand. It only took two minutes of being briefed on what the world was facing a few days ago for me to realize I just needed to see the world as it was, instead of how I wanted it to be.”
Gabriella was glad that the cabinet members and the congressmen began filling the Situation Room. She did not know how to fend off the president’s piercing indictments of the conflict between her reasoning and the growing tug to accept the reality that God exists.
“Okay, how close are we to wheels up?” President Rodgers questioned.
“Sir, the Omega Team should be wheels up from Bagram Airfield at any moment. I will put Major Barrett’s and Sergeant Major Williams’s locator beacons on the display screen here. This will allow us to track them in flight and once they’ve reached their respective objectives. We will have video from Major Barrett’s helmet cam once they’re in Ishkashim,” Gabriella reported.
“Godspeed to those men. I pray it goes smoothly tonight,” President Rodgers remarked, his voice full of emotion.
“I have the same hope, sir,” Gabriella agreed.
As Christopher watched Jackson and his team load up on their MH-47G Chinook helicopter, he wanted a message from God to confirm that everything was going to be all right tonight. He was looking for something that would give him the chance to trust. Unfortunately he heard nothing but the howling, cold wind and the chop of the Chinook blades in the Afghanistan night.
“Green 6, this is Angel 6, we’re clear to depart. Angel 64 has reported his team is loaded and ready,” came the digitized voice of Angel 6 into Christopher’s headset.
“Angel 6, this is Green 6, let’s roll,” Christopher said.
It was a cloudy night with snow falling throughout the Panj River valley as the two Chinooks flew perilously close to the valley walls at breakneck speeds. Nap-of-the-earth flights always tested Christopher’s nerve for the job and his stomach’s ability to stay in its proper location. His hatred for the green look of everything through his night-vision optics was validated again tonight and didn’t help the sensations produced in his gut by the ground-hugging flight.
“Ten minutes to target,” Angel 6 reported, breaking the long silence that filled the Omega Team’s headsets.
“Green 6, this is Green 9. Is it too late for me to tell you I need to use the restroom?” came Jackson’s familiar voice.
The soldiers of Omega all laughed, grateful for Jackson’s levity in the situation, as the constant banking and maneuvering from the flight induced high levels of stress.
“Green 9, this is Green 6, just know if you poop on yourself, we will never forget it,” Christopher returned, laughing loudly into his headset.
“Five minutes,” Angel 6 said.
The smile on Christopher’s face quickly faded as he saw the bright flash of red against the pitch-black backdrop of the horizon and the streaking red tracer racing toward Jackson and the Omega members aboard Angel 64’s bird.
“We’ve been radar locked, inbound missile,” Angel 64 shouted frantically across the radio.
The explosion blinded Christopher temporarily as his night-vision optics reset to protect his eyes from the intense light. He felt the heat of the antimissile flares Angel 6 released to protect their helo from being targeted. He watched helplessly out the opened back ramp of his Chinook as Angel 64 fought to keep his helicopter from hitting the valley below.
“We’re hit. This is Angel 64. We are going down. I say again, we are going down.” Christopher heard Angel 64 calling out grid coordinates and then a loud crash.
“Go, go, go, get down there,” Angel 6 screamed at Christopher as they were now over the target location.
In mere seconds Christopher had fast roped the sixty feet down to the flat earthen rooftop as he looked up to see Angel 6 popping flares and lifting off into the void of the night. He didn’t have time to think of what happened to Jackson and the others as shots from the street below began ringing across the rooftop.
“Move,” Christopher shouted to the five other men on the roof with him. He switched on the thermal identifier mode on his night-vision optics and called out, “Thermals on,” over his radio to ensure everyone was in the proper setting.
As they made their way to the safety of a staircase leading to the main level below, Christopher’s augmented-reality eye-protection glasses provided a heads-up display of the radiation levels in the surrounding environment. The last thing they needed was to get overexposed and succumb to radiation poisoning. “Barnes, get the quick reaction force spun up and heading our way,” he ordered. “We’re going to need them.” He was fighting panic with all his might. He told himself over and over again, Focus on the task at hand. There is nothing you can do for Jackson but finish the mission.
“The quick reaction force is en route,” Barnes reported. “ETA forty-five minutes.”
“Okay, form up and let’s get this dirtbag for our teammates,” Christopher ordered.
As Christopher’s team started down the staircase to the main level, two men holding AK-47s appeared as bright silhouettes in his night-vision optics. Christopher’s point man called out “two targets down” over the radio as he watched the men fall to the ground. Two questions remained: Where was Zardari? And where were the nuclear materials? Christopher only hoped Zardari had not fled.
Entry to the main floor of the target house was blocked by a thin wooden door, but it seemed to be barricaded by something on the opposite side. Breaching the door was required.
“Breacher up. I want you to blow that door open, and we will clear the room.” Christopher directed the soldier who was moving past the stacked-up team on the stairwell toward the door.
“Roger,” the breaching soldier acknowledged.
“Two targets street side,” came a shout across the radio, followed by two suppressed M4 rifle shots from soldiers stacked along the wall with Christopher.
“Get us inside now!” Christopher shouted.
A loud crack and a flash of white light came from the bottom of the stairwell. Christopher and his team flowed through the expanded doorway like water pouring into a cup. As Christopher entered the room as the last man in the stack, he saw six armed men on the ground, having given their all in defense of Zardari.
“Form up, and let’s clear the ground floor,” Christopher directed, watching his trained team prepare to make their way down a short set of stairs to an open family room.
The quiet that filled the pitch-black house as Omega moved was broken only by a distant dog’s barking somewhere in the village. The family room was empty but had a small alcove across from the staircase. Christopher saw from his integrated thermal optics that the point man had identified a significant heat signature in the nook. Christopher signaled to clear the room, watching three soldiers creep toward the alcove entrance across a sizeable Persian rug.
“Allah!” was the shout of the man who ran out of the alcove. Several well-aimed shots dropped him to the ground before he could take another step or say another word.
“Okay, go white light, check the bodies for Zardari,” Christopher ordered. “The centigray levels are higher in this area, but safe for now. So quickly look for some semimetallic-looking spheres, which will likely be the nuclear material.” He accessed his comms and, hoping against hope for a reply, shouted, “Green 9, Green 9, do you hear me? Over. Jackson, answer me. Jackson, do you hear me?” The hush over the radio nearly broke Christopher’s psyche. Had his trust in his plan cost the lives of good men? He fell against a wall and slid to the floor, exhausted. In the last week, it seemed all he held dear had been stripped from him. Aloud he pleaded, “I need something, God. Please give me something to work with.”
“Gabriella, are you seeing any movement from Sergeant Major Jackson’s personal locator?” President Rodgers’s low-voiced question sounded very loud in the quiet of the White House Situation Room.
“No, sir… I don’t think…” Gabriella was overcome with emotion. The thought of losing Jackson and five other members of Omega was too much to comprehend.
The president’s fighter pilot training kicked in. “I understand your feelings, but we still have boys in the fight. What about Major Barrett? It seems they are exploiting the target location right now. How’s that going? What about the 101st quick reaction force? What is their ETA?” President Rodgers pushed Gabriella to refocus on what could be done. She said grimly, “Sorry, sir. The quick reaction force should be in Ishkashim in fifteen minutes. From the readings I am getting from Christopher’s sensors, the nuclear material is somewhere near them. I am picking up some movement with Jackson’s locator beacon. I just hope it’s not the enemy.”
“Okay, let’s prepare to get more assets in that area,” President Rodgers commanded. “Those boys have likely stirred up the hornet’s nest.”
Jackson’s face stung as he felt the warm flow of blood down his left cheek. It hurt to breathe, but other than a raging headache and likely having a hard time getting out of bed tomorrow, he was okay. He murmured, “Thank you, Jesus. I don’t know why You kept me alive, but I am grateful and will honor You.” He turned to the semi-crushed fuselage of the Chinook helicopter and shouted, “Hey, anybody still with me?”
“Sarge,” was the muffled cry from two other soldiers pinned by a fallen jump seat row.
“Hold on, boys. I’m coming,” Jackson replied. As he half stood, he cried out due to the pain in his right side. Broken ribs for sure, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He crawled over to the pinned-down soldiers and used the end of his rifle as leverage to lift the jump row off their legs. The pain from his efforts almost made him pass out. “You guys all right?” he asked through clenched teeth, his breathing labored.
“I think my left leg is broken,” his weapons sergeant replied.
“I feel dizzy, and my back hurts, but I’ll make it,” replied the other soldier.
“Good news, you’re both going to live. Bad news, we need to move away from this crash site and figure out how to get into the fight,” Jackson said.
One look toward the cockpit and Jackson knew without a doubt that Angel 64 and his copilot were gone. The right front side of the helicopter was half buried in the earth. Three of his other soldiers were missing from the aircraft, meaning they likely had been thrown from the open ramp during the rotation to the valley floor. It’s a miracle Angel 64 was able to gain enough control to pilot the machine into its current position instead of doing a complete nosedive.
“Green 6, this is Green 9, over.” Nothing. “Green 6, this is Green 9, over,” Jackson repeated into his radio handset. Silence persisted over the radio with every call he made to Christopher. “My comms are acting up. Well, let’s move down to the bottom of this.” He pointed to a creek bed below the crash site. “That way, if trouble shows up looking for us, we can at least be hidden and maybe get the jump on them.”
As Jackson limped along, helping his “able-bodied” soldier carry their weapons expert with a broken leg, the still, small voice came to him, saying, “A thousand may fall by your side and ten thousand at your right hand, but it shall not come near you.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Jackson responded. “I am grateful.”
“What’s that, Sarge?” the two soldiers asked in response to Jackson’s utterance.
“Nothing, boys. I am just glad we’re alive. We’re gonna make it. Trust me.”
Christopher pulled himself off the ground, knowing Jackson would want him to soldier on. He may have been physically standing, but mentally he was sucking his thumb in the corner, analyzing the actions that led to the disaster tonight. Why can’t I trust God? Why do I associate the pain of my childhood so closely with God? I cost Jackson and those men their lives tonight. Then in an effort to pull himself back into the current situation, he mentally shouted at himself, Enough!
“Hey, I think we’ve identified Zardari. He was the guy running at us from the little nook. We’re searching for the nuke stuff now,” Barnes reported.
“Okay, let me know if you get something. Any word on the quick reaction force?” Christopher replied.
“ETA is fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks. Let’s find those nuclear pits and then head over to the crash site. We should be able to navigate there using the coordinates from Jackson’s personal locator. We will have the quick reaction force meet us there and help with recovering the fallen members of our team to take home.”
“Sounds good,” Barnes said before leaving Christopher to continue the search for the nuclear pits.
Jackson was glad he had decided to move away from the crash site because, like moths drawn to a flame, he watched a “jingle truck” with at least three heat signatures in the back heading their way. He had helped the weapons sergeant put in two claymore mines at the top of the bank that led to their position. If trouble wanted a piece of him tonight, it was going to get all it could handle and then some.
“Okay, guys, we’re gonna hunker down and wait,” he directed. “If we see people up top, I will pop off the claymores, and you boys light up anything that comes down that hill or gives you a clean shot, got it?”
“Roger, Sarge,” the Omega soldiers replied.
Jackson prayed for strength and courage to fight bravely to the end, if necessary, as he heard the truck come to a halt and saw the glow of flashlights and heard men speaking as they searched through the wreckage. He felt a chill as he watched a white light heading for the creek bank and heard voices growing louder. He didn’t hesitate to set off the two claymores when he saw two faces staring down at him and his men. The claymores cracked off, followed by brief screams before silence invaded the valley once again.
“Hey, Smith,” Jackson told his teammate with two working legs, “let’s get up this hill and make sure nothing’s waiting for us.”
Jackson “ran” up the hill—which someone watching would have said looked more like a duck waddling than a man running—ready to bring justice to anybody waiting for him. What he found was destruction and relief, knowing he and his soldiers were at least temporarily safe. Now he needed to let the rest of Omega know their location and situation. He put out the call again. “Green 6, this is Green 9, over.” Christopher was outside of the target house, heading for a chicken coop from where the most energetic radiation signature was emanating, when his radio crackled with a familiar voice.
“Green 6, this is Green 9, over.” The weak but undeniable voice of Jackson Williams rang in Christopher’s ears, and his knees almost buckled in relief.
“Jackson, I hear you. How are you?” Christopher asked.
“Well, that sucked, and I don’t need to go to the bathroom anymore,” Jackson responded.
With a grin, the major replied, “Hang tight, you old dog. We’re about to pick up the nuke pits then head your way.”
“Green 6 or any green element, this is Bandit 6, commander of the quick reaction force, we’re five minutes out. Please provide coordinates to the LZ.”
“Bandit 6, this is Green 9, coordinates to follow,” Jackson responded.
“We’re loading the pits into containers now. We’ll see you guys soon,” Christopher promised.
“Just make sure you leave trouble over there,” Jackson commented. “I’ve had enough for one day.”
President Rodgers had long abandoned sitting as he watched the Omega Team once again accomplish the impossible. However, the cost was steep to prevent the spread of nuclear weapons. Two great pilots and three special ops soldiers had paid the ultimate sacrifice in service to their nation and the world tonight—a sacrifice that billions of people would never even know about.
“Gabriella, I’ll be at Dover when those men are flown home. I want you to know that the Omega Group has yet again gone above and beyond the call of duty,” President Rodgers commended.
“Thanks, sir, I am…it’s been a long day, sir. I’m heading to my apartment—or the place that holds my air mattress, according to you—to get some sleep,” Gabriella said.
“Well earned, and again, great job,” President Rodgers replied.
Gabriella left the White House in the soft glow of a late fall sunset, knowing that her team was well into the early hours of the next day and on their way home. While she was glad that Jackson had survived and the loose nuclear material had been recovered, she realized that the chaos of the last few days seemed to be the new normal. She wrestled with herself, thinking that perhaps her suffering was at her own hands, arrogance in her own intelligence, missing the fact that God never wanted her to go through any of this. She found herself wishing desperately for some tangible evidence that God was real, that the new world around her was part of some plan.