Chapter Two

The high-pitched drone of the four engines of the C-141 was swiftly becoming maddening to Ripcord. He already didn't like the layout of this mission. He never was a big fan of the hurry-up-and-wait aspects of the Army. He would have preferred to just have been ordered directly to the target site. The longer you had to wait, the more time for doubt and worry to settle in. He tried to push the thoughts away as he focused in on the various actions he'd been performing over the course of the flight. All were merely double checks that he could've performed much later but the small actions helped to settle his restlessness. He kept his eyes trained on the single bullet that he slowly thumbed out of the magazine. As he closely inspected the bullet, he mentally reviewed the facts about it, nearly speaking his thoughts aloud. It was the twenty-sixth round in the second magazine he'd checked. 5.56mm NATO, .223 caliber, full metal jacketing, used in the Colt M-16A2 assault rifle in thirty round magazines. As he slowly pushed the round back into a separate, previously empty magazine his methodical cycle was broken as Covergirl, who'd remained uncharacteristically silent through the flight, spoke up.
"Heads up." She said simply in a voice that just had enough power to carry over the engines. Ripcord shot a quizzical look over at Covergirl, who only nodded towards the nose of the aircraft. The paratrooper swung his green eyes back towards the front of the Starlifter, catching sight of the approaching form a man who was also clad in desert scheme BDUs. As the soldier neared his position, Ripcord saw more details of the man's uniform, most noticeably two small tan patches on his collar, each with a single black bar stitched into it. First Lieutenant Falcone, U.S. Army. Qualified as senior parachutist, expert medic, and expert infantryman. Served in a special forces unit prior to this assignment. The corner of Ripcord's mouth raised slightly as his mind processed the facts as he finished 'reading' Falcon's uniform. Jesus, this guy can't be too experienced, he's spent nearly all of his career in schools. The Green Beret's casual stride came to stop near where Ripcord sat as Falcon slid into an open area of the web seating near the paratrooper. The officer gave a confident smile and extended a hand towards Ripcord.
"Ripcord?" He asked rhetorically "I'm Falcon." After Falcon finished his small greeting, Ripcord extended his own arm in return. As they shook hands, the paratrooper took note of the difference between their left arms. The officer's sleeve rolled up in perfect military fashion and bare hand seem the exact opposite of Ripcord's; the paratrooper opting for leaving his sleeves free and wearing his black leather utility gloves. Partially to prevent sunburn in the coming environment, but also to hide the layers of bandages that still coiled around his left arm.
"Pleasure, sir." Ripcord responded as he pulled his hand back, again focusing his actions on the inspection of his ammunition.
"I hear you've seen a lot of action in your time with the unit." Flacon said in an attempt to spark a conversation with the paratrooper.
"I guess you could say that sir." Ripcord spoke absentmindedly, his thoughts roaming somewhere between the forthcoming assault and avoidance of thinking of the forthcoming assault. "I go on whatever missions I get assigned to and I try to accomplish the goals of the mission as best I can. I've just been lucky so far sir." He offered, not taking his eyes of the individual rounds.
"Maybe," Falcon said in an almost musing tone. "But skill is factor too."
"Skill does count for something," The paratrooper responded as he slowly turned a bullet between his fingers, the plane's dim interior lights glinting off the brass casing while he examined it for imperfections. "But Murphy is a real bastard about showing up at all the wrong times, and when he throws a monkey wrench in the works, then it's only Lady Luck that has a good chance of saving your ass, Sir." As he finished with a slight shrug, he slowly slid the round into the spare magazine, stopping its point just short of the magazine's metal wall.
"That's a rather grim philosophy to have." Falcon responded in his same steady, optimistic tone.
"Well sir, war is a grim thing." Ripcord said flatly. The officer only offered a slow nod before he stood and took a few more steps, sliding back down beside Covergirl and introducing himself to her. At least that's what Ripcord thought he heard coming from the two. His mind was still elsewhere. The details of the environment around him seemed to blur as he focused all of his attention on the thin shells that he thumbed free of the magazines. At some point, twenty-nine rounds later, the edge of his vision caught the sight of Falcon passing by, finished with his introductions to everyone at the back of the aircraft. Much later, after Ripcord slid the final round home in the tenth magazine, he replaced all of the magazines in their original pouches, save the one he slapped into his rifle and the empty one that was replaced into his LC-2 ruck that was positioned between his feet. Once everything was back in place, he leaned his head back against the cool metal hull of the Starlifter, resisting the urge to glance at his watch. It would only make matters worse. Ripcord let out a small sigh as he ran a gloved hand through his close cropped red hair. It was gonna be a long flight.

Ripcord took another swig from one of his two canteens at he stared down at the near featureless stretch of desert that raced by just a few hundred feet below the reverberating airframe of the UH-60. While the dry air and harsh sunlight of the Middle East wasn't anywhere near the oppressive and debilitating humidity that he'd encountered just two weeks ago in the jungles of Brazil, it was still something that he'd preferred not to deal with. He carefully shifted in the seat's harness, taking great care not to move his left shoulder as he placed the canteen back in its cover on his right hip. He shot another quick glance over at Covergirl, asleep in the seat next to him, her head slumped over onto his shoulder. A combination of the heat, long flight, and the slightly quaking hull of the Blackhawk caused her to drift off a short time after they dusted off from King Khalid. As Ripcord adverted his eyes from the sandy landscape, he first caught sight of Law as his view panned forward, the soldier in the rear-facing seat directly across from him. He noticed the stocky MP staring blankly at the metal deck of the chopper while he patted the side of his up-turned M-16's stock, keeping rhythm to something in his head. The paratrooper noticed as the fellow Joe's head panned up, causing Ripcord to offer a silent nod to the MP, wordlessly thanking him for his actions upon the return of 'Rogue Force' from Brazil. The paratrooper saw Law about to say something before he was cut off as the helicopter started to pitch upwards, the pilot beginning to slow the aircraft down. The move caused Ripcord's green eyes to swing out towards the ground below, just barely revealing a series of various tents covered in camouflage netting that littered a somewhat large area of the desert. So this was NESTEGG. Ripcord gently shrugged his shoulder, the action having the same effect as gunshot for Covergirl as she instantly jolted awake. The female tanker shot her suddenly alert eyes towards Ripcord, with a quizzical look on her face. In response he only offered a single nod towards the open cargo door of the helicopter as the pilot began to slowly descend down to a section of sand that was circled off with several green burning flares.


"Sir, the Blackhawks are arriving." A young looking MP said as he walked up to a man standing over a radioman in the equipment filled command tent.
"Excellent." Psyche Out responded with a nod of confirmation to the soldier. As the MP returned the nod and headed towards the exit of the ten, the officer reached just in front of him, tapping the shoulder of the soldier seated at the communications station. The radio man didn't avert his eyes, the only sign of recognition coming in the form of sliding one of the earpieces on his headset forward just enough to expose his ear.
"Get HQ on the horn and let them know that the troops have arrived Sparks." Psyche Out said before he turned and headed out of the tent. The MP held the heavy canvas flap open as Psyche Out left the air conditioned confines of tent and stepped out into the blazing mid-day sun of the Saudi Arabian desert, slipping his softcap over his blonde hair as he strode purposefully towards the camp's make-shift helipad. In the nearby distance he saw a Blackhawk in the final stages of descent while several more circled overhead. After long walk across the sizable camp, the officer finally reached a position close to the helipad. His blue eyes gazed out across the open expanse of the sand, catching sight of several figures approaching, any details were blurred by the heat waves radiating off of the ground and the sand grains being blown around by rotor wash of the UH-60. After a few moments of their trek, the group became more visible. Out of the eleven troops that had disembarked from the helicopter, his eyes were immediately drawn to seven of the individuals. They walked with a slow pace, moving forward in a tight abreast line. The group was made up of four soldiers and three crewmen, each bristling with their combat gear, looking as if they could deploy at the slightest notice will minimal preparation. As Psyche Out took in the details of the group, the Blackhawk lifted free of the ground just before it turned and pitched forward, zooming over the officer's position. So, these troops were to be his command.


The landing zone wasn’t supposed to be hot, but they wouldn’t take any chances, knowing what was supposed to be and what was were two different things. Each of them strode purposefully as they’d exited the Blackhawk, visually assessing the area. She noticed out of the corner of her eye how the teams were already beginning to form up, NESTEGG, SPYGLASS, HUNTER, KILLER, THUNDER. Once again she diverted her eyes from the men that were to make up THUNDER to focus on her real team, as they walked straight through the center of camp, taking note of the layout.
“Dios Mio.” Zap said, to break the silence. “I thought the humidity was bad. Dry heat sucks too.”
“High and hard.” Heavy Metal added, taking a drink from one of his canteens. Her eyes immediately shot towards Ripcord, still wearing his sleeves free, covering his arm. She didn’t know what was making him more self-conscious, the scar itself, or just the fact that he’d been wounded to begin with.
She smiled as they met up with Law, who’d just jogged over to meet with his new team, NESTEGG, her smile fading as another young looking Lieutenant exited the tent he had been standing near. She drew a sharp breath as she saw Law’s right arm start to raise, most likely due to force of habit. Ripcord had been closest to him, and grabbed the M.P.’s arm before he could finish popping up the salute.
“We’re in a combat zone.” She heard Ripcord remind him, as he visually checked the surrounding areas. Law nodded, as did Psyche Out, before Ripcord fell back in line with the rest of the team. She’d nearly made the same mistake herself back at A10, near saluting Steeler who’d reminded her with a wink that she may as well draw a big target on his back. No need to advertise to the enemy who was in charge.

They’d found a spot, as usual, off to themselves, using one of the large tents as shade. Hotseat motioned in a circle with two fingers, causing them to form a tight circle around him as they sat or knelt down on the sand. "Okay people..." He began, once again making her smile. He probably still didn't know all of their names. "I want to get this out of the way now, because we all know once the shit hits the fan, there won’t be time for anything but reaction. In case I don't get to say it, remember caution is key over here. I know we're just off a furlough, don't let that make you lose your edge." He took another moment to glance at each of the team members individually before standing, adding "Eyes open. We best check in with our squads." He didn’t have to add it, they just knew. They’d meet back when they could. She watched as they broke off, Hotseat and Heavy Metal heading one way, Ripcord, Zap, Fast Draw and Repeater the other. It just felt strange to be breaking off, to watch all of them leave. Ripcord took a quick look back, offering a wink and a thumbs up, to which she responded with a sign she hoped he could interpret. It almost looked like the “hang loose” sign they’d picked up in Hawaii, a closed fist with extended thumb and pinky, but her sign had the index finger extended as well. She flashed it quick, feeling better herself for having said it. He smiled in return before turning and jogging to catch up with his three teammates.

The young tanker approached just as she’d turned to leave herself, both teams disappearing from her sight.. "Covergirl, right?" He asked. He wore an army branch tape, and the subdued rank of a sergeant, but still, she knew already, the man was a total FNG. She kept her eyes forward, as she continued walking, him falling in step next to her. "Name's Breckinridge.... well, Thunder. We're on the THUNDER team together, kind of easy to remember the name, you know?" He kidded, with a grin. She still kept her eyes forward, nodding a greeting to him. She detected a Kentucky accent from the man, having recognized it well from her time at Knox. "Met the others on the jet, Grand Slam, Paden, White, Berard" He continued to rattle off names, oblivious to the fact she wasn't paying attention. "And the shirt, Long Range. They call him the Knockout Man, supposed to be the best there is.” She rolled her eyes at his words… 'supposed to be.' England was supposed to be a simple assignment, Brazil, a basic recon. She didn’t take stock in anything that was 'supposed to be.' “You're on the Wolverine, right?" He paused for a second, still not getting any response. "Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself. Top’s been itchin’ to get the team together, think he has everyone else.” She could see about a dozen figures, all in jumpsuits, congregating around the two sluggers and two Wolverines. Her eyes brightened when she saw the two platforms, the hot sun scorching down on the drab steel. Good old Wolverines.

“And this must be Covergirl." Long Range stated, as the two soldiers walked up. She nodded, taking stock of the team. Grand Slam she'd seen around before. He was at A10. Drake, Paden, she'd seen them around the motor pool. Other than that, the faces were new. "Vehicle assignments are as follows, Grand Slam, Thunder, you're on the Sluggers. Covergirl and I, Wolverines. Paden, White, mechanics. Reloaders will be..." His voice trailed off. She'd heard the important part. Wolverine. She zoned back in, taking notes when he briefed them on how he wanted the grids to be broken down, and on a few different scenarios about the incoming convoy itself. The briefing itself took approximately an hour, her spending another two hours checking and rechecking the Wolverine, going over some of the desert modifications with Paden first, before performing the standard vehicle pre-check on her own. She finished with a simple 'me and you, buddy' to the craft, tapping the top of the walkway before climbing down. Now it was back to waiting. She ignored the 'for this assignment, THUNDER is your team' comment Long Range had made when she'd referred to the Rogues as her team, still choosing to wait with them over the armor boys. He was wrong. THUNDER was her assignment, not her team. She’d work with them, follow the new top, cover any of them that needed it, do her part, and hoped they’d do theirs. Then, if no one blew it, they could all go home, find out the mission never took place, and she could go back to being Rogue Force. After the assignment, she knew THUNDER team would disperse, they wouldn’t hang out, wouldn’t grab a few beers and talk about the old days, at best they’d maybe give a quick nod if they passed in the hallway. That wasn't a team.

The waiting game was the worst, several soldiers using the time to play some Frisbee or touch football. She smiled, thinking back to the Navy boys on the beach in Hawaii. Zap had brought a deck of cards, that helped pass a little of the time as the day stretched into night. Out of force of habit, they slept in shifts, two of them awake at all times, changing off at two-hour intervals. A second day passed, uneventful as the first... Thunder, the Green Wonder, as Fast Draw coined him stopped by a few times, once with Grand Slam. Grand Slam was quiet, kept to himself, plus he’d been through A10, which sort of made him okay. Still not a Rogue, but better than the Fucking New Guy. He may have had a lot of time in the service, but not much of it was spent in the field. Nightfall started bringing on more feelings of caged tiger syndrome from the team. She wondered if that’s why the top brass would drop teams in early… make them wait, wanting something, anything to happen, just to have something to do, or just to get things over with. She pictured some general somewhere high up knowing exactly where the convoy was, when it would strike, and then deciding to send everyone over days in advance. Realistically, she knew that wasn’t the case, the convoy would get there when it got there, but it was just easier to blame something tangible.

It was almost daylight as she finished her shift of alertness for Rogue Force. Almost time for the sun to come up. She reveled in the last few minutes of the cool darkness, not looking forward to another day of the blistering sun. Zap was right. Dry heat sucked too. In Brazil, the humidity clung to you, filling your lungs with moist air that almost made you feel like you were drowning. In Saudi, the hot air sucked the moisture right out of them, making you feel like they’d shatter if you took too deep a breath in. She thought back to the perfect median which was Hawaii, warm but breezy, neither hot nor humid, just perfect. Her thoughts were interrupted by the call from one of the soldiers near the center of the camp, Satellite had just confirmed a visual on the approaching convoy.

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