Chapter Three

Psyche-Out sat calmly inside the tent, listening to the reports streaming in tracking the convoy and status checks from the different teams, Sparks monitoring the stations as well. He and Sparks had been working together at NESTEGG since day one, making sure everything was fully operational. Still no word of a visual from SPYGLASS, he knew the teams had to be getting restless. He only hoped the waiting didn’t make them careless as well.

“JACKAL IN POSITION, SAY AGAIN, JACKAL IN POSITION.” Steeler called into the radio. Heavy Metal waited in the Mauler, and tried to swallow the thick lump that sat in his throat, seemingly choking him. The waiting was the worst part. Not knowing what was going to happen, how bad it was going to be. At least he’d have the Mauler this time, some sort of armor, of firepower. It wasn’t like Brazil, when they were out in the open. That was insane. He didn’t sign on for that, didn’t sign on for any of this. If it wasn’t for the hazard pay… plus the fact that it seemed to impress Amy so much… He smiled and relaxed a little. Amy. His girl for almost two years now. He finally got the nerve up to ask her to marry him when they had the 48 hour pass, visiting her in her shoebox apartment in the lower east side of Brooklyn. It wasn’t the best of neighborhoods, but it was nowhere near as bad as the section where he grew up. He promised her that when they got married, he’d take her away from the city to the suburbs. No more apartments, maybe a small house, a little yard… Long Island, Connecticut, even New Jersey. Somewhere close enough that she could still visit her parents, but far enough away from the noise and the crowds. He knew how miserable she was with Brooklyn life, how much she wanted out. That’s what kept him going. Still, as much as his heart beat for her, it raced with fear as he sat silently in the Mauler with McMillian, his driver. Waiting, wishing the fight would start, so it could be over.

“HUNTER, KILLER, GOOD TO GO.“ The lieutenant called into the radio. Was about fucking time, Fast Draw thought to himself as Falcon then turned his attention towards his men.
”Team HUNTER, form up on me.” The Lieutenant called with a wave, causing the numerous soldiers to gather around as he pulled out a series of photographs. Fast Draw tapped his foot against the sand in rapid succession as the El-tee pointed out where they’d be dropping in, right after the air strike. He called for Repeater and Long Arm to go first down the ropes and secure the area, causing Fast Draw to land a playful punch on the big man’s arm. Lucky bastard.
“Once the area is secure…” The lieutenant continued. “We’ll be splitting into two teams. Alpha Hunter will consist of Long Arm, Fast Draw, Wilke, Hopewell, Prata..” He rattled another series of six names, none of which he recognized. “Commanded by Leatherneck. Bravo Hunter will consist of Hardball, Grunt, Flash, Repeater, Haegar, Cowles, Owen..” five more names he didn’t recognize… “And myself. One last thing, boys, no survivors.” He reminded them. “Eliminate all hostiles. Understood?” Oh yeah, he understood. Hunter… hunt ‘em down, kill ‘em all. Fast Draw still twitched his foot, not out of nerves, but more out of anticipation as he and Repeater waited by the choppers. Satellite had made a visual. They were on ready alert. Soon as SPYGLASS confirmed, they’d be out, they‘d be in, the terrorists would go down.
“First in, Big Man!” he reminded Repeater. “First in, first kills. You get ‘em! Two shots, you hittin‘ them, them hittin‘ the ground! Then it‘s all about Alpha, all about Alpha Hunter.” The banter helped steady his nerves. Repeater never seemed to have that problem. He was like a statue, always had been, for as long as Fast Draw was teamed up with him, even as far back as the armory. Not that he could blame him. The blonde nurse with the great tits back in Hawaii explained what happened, in ‘Nam. How his unit was wiped out. Fast Draw didn’t want to think about that, think about his team, the Rogues, being wiped out. Even Ripcord. Yeah, it was fun getting under his skin sometimes, the boy had to learn to loosen up a bit was all, still, he hoped him and Zap were going to pull this off. Things tend to get hairy with all that demolitions shit. Not that he was worried, or going soft on them. Heavy Metal, Hotseat, he knew Pops would be okay, had a good head on his shoulders, he’d been around the block a few times, but Heavy Metal…. Boy seemed so green, it was like his set hadn’t even dropped yet. Then there was Covergirl. He let half a smile cross his face. At least his babe would be hanging back for this one, not up in the front lines. She should be okay, even without her 'white knight.' Still, he would have felt better if one of them were with her, just in case.
What was taking so long? Stupid convoy. His foot twitched a bit faster, now itching to get in there. He made eye contact again with Repeater, who simply nodded. Fuck! What was taking so goddamn long? He grabbed his rifle a little tighter. Fuck, just send us in… get the show on.


“THUNDER IN POSITION, SAY AGAIN, THUNDER IN POSITION.“ Long Range called into the radio. She cut the engine of the Wolverine beneath her after pulling into position, and thought back to the team’s parting. Ripcord had given her his usual “make it out in one piece Courtney” statement, reassuringly squeezing her forearm. She told him the same, flashing him another quick sign before he and Zap ran off. It still felt wrong to all be split up. Hotseat and Heavy Metal heading towards the MOBATs and the Maulers; Ripcord, Repeater, Zap, and Fast Draw heading for the choppers. She wanted the same for all of them; make it out in one piece. Thunder had flanked her on the left in the Slugger. She gave a quick glance over to him, and signed for him to cut the engine. They may still be there for hours, depending on the convoy. They’d let them know. He nodded in response, indicating he wanted to check the vehicle. She didn’t acknowledge his signs. She would have preferred to have Grand Slam and his Slugger near by. At least he’d been at A10. Thunder, she had no idea of how green he was, not taking the time to ask. It didn’t matter. There was no way she was going to baby-sit, not once the convoy showed up.
She gave one more thought about her team, seeing Ripcord’s warm green eyes before turning her attention back to the Wolverine, going through one last status check on the engines, tracks and platform. Everything seemed in order. She clenched and unclenched her fists, practicing flipping the missile covers up and down. Once again, she took the torn Cobra insignia from her rucksack, squeezing it in her palm. She didn’t really believe in luck, good or bad. Murphy was a different story, but the action was familiar, familiarity brought comfort.
She took a quick sip of water from her canteen, still conserving as much as possible, a habit she picked up back in Brazil when supplies were running short. No word yet on the number of trucks or types of vehicles. The convoy couldn’t reach the camp. It was carrying high-end weapons, that was all she knew, weapons that could be used against her team. They weren’t going to reach camp. No matter what, it wasn’t going to happen. THUNDER would hit first, probably the same time GOD would show up, the airstirke. It was going to get loud. She gave a half smirk just thinking about it. She twitched her one knee impatiently, clenching and unclenching fists, ready to start up, to go on the first signal. Minutes drifted into hours, still no word to move. “C’mon, C’mon, C’mon…” She whispered, focusing on the radio in front of her, waiting for the word. “Let’s make it loud, boys, let’s make it loud.”

"NESTEGG, this is SPYGLASS. We have a visual on the target. They are entering the ravine. Send in THUNDER, now."
“Hold up, hold up, hold up …” Was the next call over the radio from Long Range. “Tango Eight Four Tango Eight Four, hold position.” Eight Four, that was Thunder. Sure enough when she checked, he was getting ready to jump the gun, literally. They had to wait for word from NESTEGG. That was the worst part of being armor. More than once the relay time fucked up a strike in one way or the other. The eyes would call the shots, relay the info to command, command then relayed it to the armor boys. Precious seconds would be lost while the brass decided from their safe vantage point what to relay to the tankers. Covergirl kicked the engine of the Wolverine over, bringing up the platform’s pop up display at near the same time. She watched the pop up screen intently, beginning to see the moving targets. “C’mon, NESTEGG, call was made…. give the word, give the word, send us in.” She said impatiently.
“THUNDER this is NESTEGG. On SPYGLASS mark, say again, SPYGLASS mark.” She flipped the covers of the first four missiles to ready. All other sounds stopped. Had she noticed the approaching choppers it would have distracted her from the task at hand, stopping the convoy.
"THUNDER! THUNDER! Fire at grid square Echo-Charlie Eight-Six-Four-Five-Seven-Seven-Two-Three!"
"Confirmed SPYGLASS! Volley away!" She launched three of the twelve missiles, hearing nothing but the air being pierced by missile, leaving behind a slight screaming sound, succeeded as always by an explosion, this was no exception. Three missiles, two hits, lead convoy truck. Motherfuckers weren’t going anywhere.
"THUNDER! Repeat! Repeat! Repeat!" She flipped more of the covers back, depressing missiles four and five to the same grid. Another hit, and yet a bigger explosion heard in the distance. Things got loud.
“Holy Shit, did you see that?” From Grand Slam. She smirked, it was the first word’s she’d heard him say, even back at the armory, he was kind of shy, kept to himself. Long Range seemed to be kicking ass as well, calling in another hit.
Next up and closing fast were the two Ghoststrikers that screamed along low altitude, kicking up sand and debris in their wake. Things just got louder.
“SPYGLASS, Pull back, pull back!” From NESTEGG.
“THUNDER, I have HiSS APCs, I have HiSS APCs.” Shit! Not only were they losing their eyes, they now had the threat of incoming Vipers.
“VISUAL!” Came the last call from SPYGLASS before they pulled back. “VISUAL, Heat-Vipers, Again, HEAT Vipers.” FUCK! Even worse. They had AT missiles. She shot a worried glance horizon, pausing for a moment. GOD was still reporting releasing heat.
“Tango Eight Two, Eight Two, Repeat!” Eight two, that was her. She focused back on the Cobra Convoy, sending two more missiles screaming before heading closer towards the ravine for a better visual. The “Knock-Out” man had done a good job with the HiSSs, but the convoy was starting to disperse. “Tango Eight one, Eight one, falling back for reload. Eight three cover, Eight two, Eight four hold position.” Three missiles left, just three, would take a few minutes for Eight One to reload. Her next shot would take two of them. Dammit. She switched on her headset.
“Eight Three, Eight Three, backing up, they’re trying to swing around, rear of the convoy, again, target to the back of the convoy.”
“Grid?” Thunder called back from the radio.
“Fuck the grid! Use a visual!” He was hesitating. “No survivors, Eight Four,” She reminded him.
“Visual?” The call came from over the radio. Grand Slam. "Shell artillery, longer range. He moves in, he might as well volley blind, he’s not gonna hit nothing.” She liked him better when he was shy and silent, but he was right. Artillery was different than armor. She knew armor. Thunder knew his shit. He could hold his own. Still, it did her no good, without a pair of eyes, blind volleying is all he could do anyways. She waited until she caught the movement of Long Range’s Wolverine before firing her final missiles. One vehicle destroyed. One disabled. Fuck, just a disable. Time to reload.


Fast Draw cracked his neck one more time, looking out the front of the Tomahawk chopper towards the Alpha Hunter shirt, Leatherneck, the sarge in charge. Can’t go wrong with a big marine, he figured. If anyone knew what they were doing, it was a big marine. The memories of his three fuck ups from the last mission played briefly in his mind. The static line jump especially, he wasn’t going to take the same chance with the fast rope. He knew it was serious, knew how dangerous even it could be. A fall from that height was deadly. Once he was on the ground, he knew he’d be fine, clean sweep, kill ‘em all, let Satan sort ‘em out. He took a final glance out the window, seeing the explosions off in the distance, nudging the soldier next to his left, Wilke, he thought he said his name was. He nodded towards the ground below, patting his weapon and giving the man a thumbs up. A close call between the chopper and an RPG wiped the grin off his face as he once again turned towards the serious task at hand. RPGs… the shit was hitting the fan, and worse... it was hitting the chopper.
Fast Draw clung to the webbing but was still thrown forwards, then back, knocking into the soldier sitting beside him. It was almost the same feeling he’d gotten when his Bronco was rear-ended, with one huge exception. That was on the ground. Their bird had been hit.
“Christ! Zero-One, Zero-One, RPG, we’re hit…” He heard the co-pilot say into the radio, followed by a second explosion which again rocked the back of the craft, filling the cabin with even more thick smoke. “Zero-One, Going down…. Tail rotor lost, rear main rotor damage….” The commotion in the back combined with the deafening warning sirens kept him from making out the rest of the transmission as the craft pitched backwards, descending into a slow spin.
“Heads down, heads down!” Leatherneck yelled out as they braced for impact. He had to briefly laugh to himself, a chuckle mostly brought on by nerves. The old put your head between your knees so you can kiss your ass goodbye joke. He felt the hull of the chopper begin to vibrate as a high-speed whining noise was heard. His stomach lurched into his throat as he strained to keep it together, keep himself from getting sick, a battle the soldier next to him quickly lost. His mind instantly flashed back to Hawaii, to trying to out drink Skyboy during a poker game. He’d woken up that night with this same feeling, dizzy and sick. Usually his room would spin a lot faster than the sinking helicopter though, he could almost count the slow rotations. He tried to ignore the sights and sounds, convince himself that’s all this was, a drunken haze. He wasn’t really in the back of a chopper about to crash. The room was spinning because he was drunk, not because of a lost tail rudder…He squinted his eyes tighter closed, the sudden impact with the ground wiping any doubt from his head about what was going on.

Fast Draw wasn’t quite sure how the chopper hit. He remembered being jerked towards the tail before being thrown forward then against the side of the hull as the craft finally came to a stop. Opening his eyes, he realized the craft was upright. Blood trickled from his lip where he’d bitten it, while another soldier he didn’t recognize was on top of him, the man’s shoulder digging into his chin. Helping the soldier off of him, Fast Draw saw that the similarly aged-man’s arm dangling at a strange angle, almost as if his elbow had bent the wrong way. Grimacing, he turned his head to the side, the view becoming even worse. Wilke’s eyes were open wide, his helmet nowhere in sight. Fast Draw could see the something poking at the skin towards the front of his neck, a flow of blood gurgling in the soldier’s throat, some pulsing from his mouth in reflex. He was just inches away, his head snapped violently enough to dislocate his spinal cord from the base of his skull. Fuck, that could’ve been him, easily. A chill ran through him as he finally lost his fight against getting sick, the combination of bile and blood running down his chin and staining his BDU’s.
“Holy shit, Wilke!” The soldier on him called out, pushing off of Fast Draw and grabbing his friend. Once disturbed, Wilkes lifeless head dropped to the side unceremoniously before swaying slightly back and forth. “Medic!” The soldier nearby cried frantically above the noise of the still blaring sirens. “Wilke’s Hurt!”
“Down.” Fast Draw corrected softly, aware the soldier would not be able to hear him. “He’s down, not hurt.” Trying to stand, he felt like his own spinal cord was being compressed together, the dull ache becoming a sharp pain as he was finally able to drag the man with the broken arm off the downed bird and away from the scene inside. All in all they’d lost three men in the crash including the bird’s co-pilot. Counting Hopewell, the soldier he’d helped, four were wounded, but he couldn’t worry about them now. Instead, he wiped his bloodied mouth with the back of his sleeve and readied his weapon. These motherfuckers were going down.

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