Hello, readers. I appreciate you taking time to read this story. I honestly want to give it my best. Criticism at any level is accepted but I will ensure that it's of the minimum and at least positive.
All names, characters and organizations used in this story are strictly fictional. Beware, however, that there's lots of violence and use of language which may not appeal to your interests. Romantic scenes are next to zero. Tactics and stuff like that, I tried to not go too deep both for security reasons and also not to overcomplicate things. I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have after any episode. The length of the story will be dictated by its reception and feedback. Thanks and welcome to Desperado.

***Prologue
The beautiful woman shuffled her papers before looking up at the screen. "Good evening, I'm Sandra Azikwe reporting from Bursted News headquarters in Abuja. It's eight o'clock, and these are the headlines…"
"…the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, through his media representative Mr. Felix Dame, has commended the law enforcement community for cleaning up and prioritizing the safety of citizens across the nation. He said this during a visit to the newly opened 89th Armoured Division in Niger state. The Chief of Army Staff Lieutenant General Fahad Babaji was in attendance, along with Army Council. They thanked the new regime for overhauling the security services and injecting the funds needed to move the armed forces forward. The Chief of Army Staff also said that measures were being taken to permanently terminate the northern insurgency.
"In other news, the Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria, Jacob Andrews said efforts are being made to bring down the current rate of the Dollar from 180 to 147. Details of that segment will be covered by my colleague in the studio, Kola Fayemi, after the break..."

***One***
Jungle training is one of the toughest --yet most exciting-- part of training. It's also the most important. If you can survive in a jungle, you can survive in a damn warzone.
That's what I kept telling myself as we tabbed single file through dense foliage and muddy ground. My luggage became heavier and my shoulders were screaming for a break, having to carry the weight of my belongings and my rifle. Hell, my whole body screamed for a break. Thankfully the tree cover didn't allow sunlight into the forest, minimizing our need for water.
I shook off the pain and upped my pace to keep up with the man ahead of me. Through experience I learned that keeping up with the pace of the man in front of you helps distract the mind from the muscle strains.
We had gotten up at first light, planned our route and were split into patrol teams. The objective: reach a certain point south of the map 13 klicks away. Five teams of four men, tired from being beasted in a deep forest in the middle of Congo, but minds as sharp as ever. That's why we're here anyway, to keep our training sharp and up to date.
And more importantly, as the trainer liked to say, to keep us 'angry and hungry for blood.'
Every 6 months the Nigerian Special Forces arranges a training package for 20 of it's soldiers, depending on their subunit; the W (Water) Troop goes to the SBS for naval courses, the M (Mechanized) Troop deals with the engineering aspects, P (Para) Troop with the Air Force. And then there's us, the L (Land) Troop, specialized in land navigation and combat. As has been the usual standard with special forces units across the world, every soldier in the Nigerian Special Forces has been trained in combat, first aid, demolitions, survival, etc. Then everyone chooses a specialty (medic, signals, engineer, or demolitions) and is assigned to a subunit.
The man in front --the point man-- raised an arm and we all took a knee, each man covering his assigned segment with his rifle. "We're close to the objective," he said in a low voice and thrust his hand forward. "Five hundred metres."
"Jesus," said the man in front of me. We called him Kante due to his resemblance to the footballer. "I don't think I'd make it past fifty metres."
"Movement," I said, keeping my eyes and weapon trained on the thick bunch of leaves in front of me. "Nine o'clock." From the corner of my eye I could see the rest adjusting their positions to cover me. We were not expecting any threats, but one can't be too careful.
Ten seconds passed.
"Come off it, guys," a voice said as the owner broke through the foliage, he was dressed similarly to us: military trousers, heavy bag, boots, and 2 inches thick beards. Added to that, his communications radio was strapped too. I recognized him as the signaller from the patrol unit behind us. "We have just been asked to break off training. Something has come up back at home soil and they want us in country as soon as."
The complaining atmosphere dissipated immediately and everyone's expression grew hard. For the remainder of the journey nothing was said. We got to the objective, cleaned up a bit, then waited for the extraction chopper.
After 3 weeks in the Congo Basin, we were finally going back home. Throughout the journey back, I kept wondering: what could have been so important?

hmm this should be a thrilling ride. waiting on read more

This is going to be a classic for sure. keep it up OP

Seat taken.

Abuja, Nigeria.
Time check: 22:00 hrs.
The pitch of the C130 Hercules' engine changed as the pilot engaged the landing gear. We all juddered when the aircraft hit the airfield's tarmac. A couple minutes later we were jogging across the airfield with our luggages, led by a green army guy in standard camo, towards what I guessed to be a briefing room.
I turned out to be right, as 5 minutes later we were seated on plastic chairs inside a bland room with no furnishings. Just some chairs and a wall mounted monitor.
A man strode in immediately. Early 50s, short and bulky, with sharp eyes. He was carrying a bunch of papers under his armpit with a rugged looking laptop in his other hand. Without any form of introductions he connected his laptop to the wall mounted screen then switched on the electronics.
"I am Major Gaddafi," his voice boomed. "And I'm in charge of this operation." He jutted out his chin as if daring any of us to challenge his authority.
Major Gaddafi was the CO of the 87th Nigerian Army Rangers Regiment, NARR-87, otherwise known as the Nigerian Army Special Forces. He had seen action in Iraq, Liberia, and Bosnia. On his day, he's tough as they come. A white electrical scarring on his left cheek is what he got to show for it. Gaddafi demanded the respect of the entire Nigerian Armed Forces; happens to get whatever he wants.
"Two days ago, an unknown number of gunmen ambushed some VIP personality Nigerians just some fifty k's south of the Ecuadorian city of Puerto Bolivar." A closed up map of the city appeared on the monitor over the CO's head, showing the aforementioned location. A yellow dot blinked 50 km south of Puerto Bolivar. The map moved to a corner of the screen and several snapshots of satellite imagines popped up. "Their last known position was in Zaruma. A reliable source on ground claimed to had seen them being transported to an abandoned warehouse in the city. The place is owned by a weapons contractor named…" The face of a man popped. Grey hair and stubble, his eyes were like buttons pressed into his dark face. "… Richard Ekweme. South African by birth, forty-five years old. Married with his family based back in South Africa. He supplies weapons to South American government but has been believed to have ties with the terrorist organisation ISIS since 2014. This, however, remains unknown."
"What's the plan, boss?" Michael said in his thick Southeastern accent. He was one of the oldest members of the team.
"Two teams: Bravo One and Kestrel Six will insert to Ecuador and track down the hostages. Kestrel Six will scout the routes the targets took then RV with Bravo One at Zaruma, who will locate and extract Richard Ekweme for questioning. Alpha teams Seven, Three and Five will be embedded with three different SBS teams operating on the shores under the guise of training around the Ecuadorian border and also be ready to provide support for the teams in country. They will also be the extraction teams."
"What do we know about the hostages?" I asked.
Pictures of two elderly looking people appeared. They were both light in complexion and had the look of people who lived a luxurious life. "Fahad Jika and Andrew Ishaka are our eyes and ears embedded in Ecuador. They were looking into the Richard Ekweme issue and had arranged a meeting with him at Zaruma before they went off the grid. The idea is that Richard found out about them and decided to have them kidnapped. They are high priority targets because of the intel they have. We don't want those to fall in the wrong hands."
"Terrain information?"
"Both Zaruma and Puerto Bolivar are at the borders of the country. Expect lots of greenery. Light precipitation will be expected in the early morning hours of tomorrow, local time."
"Extraction plans?" Sambo asked. He was a baby-faced soldier just 4 months younger than I was at 24.
"After accomplishing both missions the units will find their way to the nearest shores, where the extraction teams would be. Emergency RV points will be marked on your GPS devices."
"What about insertion?" Said Edward, a member of my unit. He was generally a loudmouth but a damned good soldier on his day.
"You will be airborne with the SBS teams," the CO explained. "Teams Bravo One and Kestrel Six will HALO in country then split up and begin the search."
The CO opened his papers and shared a sheet to each of the unit leaders. Michael was our unit's --Kestrel Six-- leader. They contained emergency RV points coordinates which we made sure to cram to memory and punch in to our GPS devices. Then everyone was given three photographs: two of the hostages and one for Richard Ekweme. The hostages Fahad Jika and Andrew Ishaka were codenamed 'Blue One' and 'Blue Two' respectively. Small adjustments were made, maps were revised and 30 minutes later we were good to go. Moods sour, minds sharp and guns cocked. The HALO-ing teams had the extra work of getting their freefall gear in order.
"Remember guys," Gaddafi said as we got prepared. "This is a deniable ops. That is, no furck ups. Or else we'll have the South Americans and Africans to answer to."
Two minutes later we were pounding across the airfield along with another 20 men from the Navy's SBS --baggage and all-- into the belly of the same Hercules C130 aircraft. The smell of aircraft fuel immediately hit the back of my throat as we neared the air beast. Two load masters busied themselves checking the engines of the plane and speaking into boom mikes connected to the comms systems. They spared us a glance and got on with their business.
We got settled down with the HALO-ing teams seated at the back of the plane as we would be the first to touch ground.
The Hercules' turbo engines suddenly burst to life and there was a loud jarring noise as the tailgate started to shut. The interior lighting was minimal, as expected of an SF flight. I took the boom mike sitting on my lap and connected myself to the aircraft's cockpit. The rest of the guys did the same.
A couple seconds later the pilot's posh voice filled my ears. "Gentlemen, get tucked in. Flight time from Nigeria to Ecuador is eleven hours. We expect good weather conditions till we reach the country."
I reclined in my sit, placed my helmet on my laps and closed my eyes. If anything, I needed the rest for where we were headed.

Writer's note: there are two major forms of air insertion (i.e entering an area of operation, AO) in military: the High Altitude High Opening (HAHO), which is not normally used because it leaves the soldiers exposed in the air for too long.
And then there's the High Altitude Low Opening (HALO) which is more commonly used.
Troops as well as supplies or even machinery can be deployed through air into the AO.

*****
Two
*****
Time check: 18:15 hrs (Ecuador local time).
The sun had set and it was just as dark outside as it was outside the C130.
We had been flying above cloud levels at 22,000 feet to minimise the sounds of the plane engines.
The pilot's voice came again: "We are approaching the target area. ETA: five minutes. Repeat, five minutes."
We're bang on schedule.
A load master appeared and raised five fingers at us. We waved back at him and hauled ourselves out of our seats. We double-checked our equipment, grabbed the oxygen masks connected to the plane. After a few lungfuls of pure oxygen, we strapped our bags around our legs and proceeded to walk awkwardly towards the rear of the plane in two rows. I hooked my freefall rig to the static line running along the body of the plane then crosschecked that my gun was well strapped to my body and there were no loose materials around my person.
The load master appeared again and shouted, "we are going dark in three…"
"Two," he raised two fingers.
"One…"
The pilot killed the lights and the darkness consumed me. I instinctively lowered my NV tubes and everything around me illuminated in a green haze. Brighter green straps of light appeared on the backs of my unit members' helmets which would have been invisible to the naked eyes. The red lights near the tailgate flickered on with the load master standing in the space between the two teams. With a loud rumble the tailgate slowly started to open as the heavy duty hydraulic systems engaged.
Thirty seconds after that the load master was yelling "Go! Go! Go!"
We dived in pairs. I ran towards the wide opening as fast as I could. In the periphery of my vision to the right I could see my jumping buddy running alongside me.
Then I dived.
Once free in the air, I adjusted my posture to make sure my arms and legs are spread and also kept a rigid core. The wind slapped against my face as I brought my left hand to check the altimeter strapped together with my watch. 21,000 feet. I could just about see the clouds below me and I braced myself to enter it. The first two pairs of jumpers ahead of me had already disappeared into the cloud.
After coming out of the clouds I was hit with the site of Puerto Bolivar. A wide expanse of trees spread below me. There was a small clearing just ahead of us to the west, that was our landing zone. The wind flapped wildly around my body as I reached terminal velocity.
At 5,000 feet I deployed my chute. I felt like someone yanked me backwards forcefully. I oriented my landing so that I'll land right into the small clearing I identified a while ago. Then I untangled my bag from my legs and let it dangle a couple metres below me, connected to my body by a lanyard. My eyes instinctively scanned the area through my NV tubes. If anyone was waiting to ambush the unit, this was their best chance as we were vulnerable in the air.
But there was nothing. The only movements I could make out were those of the swaying branches of the trees and our units' chutes.
The two pairs of jumpers had already packed their chutes by the time I landed, and were crouched down in the firing position. As soon as my feet touched the ground I quickly pulled in my own chute and stuffed it. Then I rose up and joined the defensive formation.
When all 8 members of the two teams touched down, two guys grabbed armfuls of our freefall gear and melted into the darkness to stash them where they wouldn't be found. They rejoined us a few minutes later and unit Bravo One moved ahead of us northwards, slipping into the thick greenery ahead. Their objective was to link up with a fixer to get transport to Zaruma.

Good evening, readers. In light of what's going on around the nation I'm going to pause this story. Because I can't find it within myself to write anything good about the Nigerian government anymore. Fiction is based on facts, but the facts are really messed up right now. I've seen special forces soldiers from South Africa all the way to the SAS, but none of them have had a history of shooting their own unarmed citizens.
Thanks for the support, guys.

*******
Three
*******
00:00 hrs.
Edward had taken photographs of the weapons while the rest of us dealt with moving the dead guards and Andrews into the warehouse. It was grim work, and by the time we were done my face and hands were a mess of blood, sweat and dirt.
I proceeded to the parked cars and luckily enough located three jerricans of petrol. Michael and Edward gave me a hand while Sam got on the line with our exfil team.
"We got a furcking problem," he said after a while. "Our exfil has been pulled out. We're to move to ERV Six to get airlifted."
"That's horseshite," Ed but back. "This is an in and out op; we're not even supposed to be here in the first place."
Sam gave him a dead look. "Not my orders."
"So Command are suddenly reachable, yeah? After we've been trying for hours. Now we're able to get in contact---"
I raised my hand. "Did you hear that?" I could have sworn I heard a twig snap in the treeline to my left.
I sunk to my knees. Engaged my NV. Through the corner of my eyes I saw the rest doing the same. In the green haze of my night vision I saw different flashes of movement in front of me. Someone was trying to be covert, but they were doing a bad work about it. I kept my gun trained on the tree where the movement came from.
Sam's voice was tense. "Two tangos to the south."
"Do you have a clear sight?" Michael asked.
"A-firm. Armed mutherfurckers."
A middle-aged head popped into my red dot sight, from behind the tree I was watching. "I have a clear shot, too."
"Ed, go left and I go right?" Sam said. I heard them adjusting their positions.
Three seconds passed.
"Take the shot."
Our weapons went off as one dull knock. The powerful lens of my sights showed the result of my shot as a hole the size of a lemon suddenly formed on my target's temple. Three different thuds was confirmation we were all on target.
Right at that moment, there came a burst of light. My retinas were burning by the time I realized that they were car headlights. Instinctively I pulled off the NV tubes and stayed my trigger finger to avoid any friendly fire.
Gunfire rented the air. They seemed to have come from all directions, filling my ears and disorienting me more. I heard shouts from my teammates to retreat but I was too confused to know where. My eyes still burned badly.
That was when I felt a crunching punch to my left side, near the hip. The pain travelled to my chest fast, and I immediately felt woozy.
An abrupt tiredness washed over me and I was thinking about hitting the ground when I felt a hard tug on the back of my collar, nearly choking me. Michael was in my ear shouting, "GET DOWN!" To my far left I heard Ed and Sam yelling at each other over the constant bark of different weaponry. Everything started feeling distant. My back touched the damp ground and the world was turning so fast I wanted to try sitting back up to stop the dizziness. But the pain on my side….
Goddammit!
I felt paralyzed. My body felt exhausted. Breathing had to be shallow because that's all I could afford; any deeper inhalation and I felt a rising pain to my side. It was as if my body was on power saving mode but I couldn't understand why. And my mind blurred, added with the dry taste in my mouth. It was hard work to try getting my lids to open. It felt as if they had been stitched shut. I tried to talk but all that came out was a groan.
All that effort became too draining on my body and I started feeling myself being pulled back into the ground again. I wanted to fight it, to sit up. To do anything. But it was a losing battle…
The next time I I woke up, I was hearing a loud 'chap-chap-chap' noise. The unmistakable sound of chopper blades. Sure enough, heavy air was blowing all around my face and body, dispelling the heat I had been feeling. There was shouting in the background but I couldn't make out the words being said. My eyelids still felt soldered in place. In general, I felt horrible.
My body was also shaking. Like I was being carried. Carried on a… On a… stretcher?

I'm desperate for Desperado update
Thanks buddy

******
Someone --or something-- pinched my right arm. Something cool started to run up my veins and warming up as it got to my shoulder.
My eyes opened and I looked down my body. My ops vest was in place and I felt the light covering of a helmet on my head. I was holding a rifle, standing in a scant dim room. The sounds of traffic outside filtered into the room and I looked at the curtained windows to see it was broad daylight.
A tap on my shoulder and I turned around to see Michael's face. There was a shallow cut on his left cheek on blood dribbled down it. He was also fully kitted up like I was. "He's down the hall," he said. "I'll cover you. You know what needs to be done."
It was a strange feeling. My body moved down the hall behind Michael. I felt for the pistol grip on my rifle as I hefted it up and made it comfortable on my shoulder, my eye levelled down the sights, switching to semi-auto as I did so. Little shards of glass crunched beneath my boots and my heart was beating fast. But I kept my eye down the long corridor, my gun moving with it.
It was a long but narrow corridor. Doors were littered on both sides. I moved to the first door on my right and tried the knob.
Locked.
I tried two more doors but they were all locked. The fourth on my left was slightly ajar. I moved slowly towards it and placed my foot in the small gap and pushed it open.
In the middle of the room stood a woman, dressed in a long red gown. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were red and wild. The exposed skin of her arms and face glistened in sweat. In her left hand was a small device, with a wire running down it. Without taking my weapon off her, I traced the wire to a small boy standing a couple of feet away from her. He wore what seemed to be an ops jacket but in the pockets were brown objects the size of bricks. He also held a small device in his hands.
I hesitated.
The woman let out a string of garbled words in a language I didn't understand.
"Show me your hands!" I yelled at her, refocussing my aim at her chest while she continued her tirade. In unison, she and the boy raised their devices up.
There was no hesitation this time. I pulled the trigger on her. The retort of my unsilenced rifle echoed in my ear and down the corridor. Her body arched forward as a small dark stain started to appear in the middle of her chest. The boy looked properly scared, his eyes saucers. I rushed towards the woman and snatched the device from her grip before she hit the floor, then made it safe. Then I turned to the little boy, let my gun hang on its lanyard, then pulled out my knife. I took the device from his hand and proceeded to kneel in front of him, trying to study the bunch of wires before my eyes.
I could hear footsteps pounding down the corridor by now.
My hands dug into the boy's suicide vest and felt around. Sweat dripped into my eyes and I blinked it off a few times.
The footsteps entered the room. It was Michael, and he sounded tense. "We need to go. They're coming."
"Give me a minute, I got my hands full here." My hand fell on a small plastic box with wires running through it. "Found it." I paused. In one of the pockets was a small plastic vial with wires poked at both ends.
A trip switch.
"You don't have a minute, mate. We need to go right now."
The boy looked into my eyes and I could tell he knew he was going to die. His eyes welled up and he whispered something in that same language the woman spoke.
Michael jerked me to my feet. That was when I heard the front door bang open and shouts coming from the main room. "Let me furcking go, he's just a kid." I wrestled with Mike. He pressed me up against the wall.
"Listen to me, Don! He's dead anyway!"
The voices were closer now. Too close.
A sudden movement behind Michael. The boy was picking up the detonator again.
"No!!!" I yelled. Dragging Michael along with myself towards the window on the left. The loud voices reached the room, but our bodies were already tumbling halfway out of the window.
And the bomb went off.
The explosion shook me to the core, momentarily deafening me. I was covered in layers of dust and debris rained down on me. I heard the building crumble somewhere around me as I screamed.

My heart raced and I felt my legs kicking, my body twisting. Somewhere far at the back of my mind registered light footfalls and a continuous beeping sound. But the bulk of my mind was scrambled. The background kept switching, like images flashing on a projector screen at high speed. A burning sensation rose from my abdomen, forcing me to take shallow breaths.
Eventually I felt cool hands grabbing different parts of my body followed by rushed speech. The coolness returned to my right arm and I felt my body relaxing, the burn in my abdomen slowly becoming a soothing itch.
My eyes fluttered open again. My head had a dull ache to it, as if I had been hit by a train a while ago. This time around I saw myself in a white environment. My head rested on a soft pillow, and as I looked down myself I saw that I was wearing a whitish robe. My penize felt uncomfortable. I could tell that I was wearing a catheter. My head turned to my right arm and I saw a tube running up a bag hanging on a metallic stand. Next to it near my head was a table with a small monitor on it, a bottle of water and a tray. Small metallic objects poked out of the tray, but I couldn't make them out. Strong antiseptic smell hit my nose, almost intensifying the headache I felt. Outside I could hear the hum of car engines and sounds of aircraft: the typical buzz of a military base. I immediately knew where I was: the NARR-87 HQ.
A door opened and someone entered. I raised my head but all I could see was a pink shirt. The headache forced me to close my eyes for a moment.
"How are you feeling, Mr…" a kittenish female voice rang in my ears.
"Just call me Don," I interrupted. "And I feel okay, apart from the light-headed feeling." The room suddenly felt too light and I had to squint to make out her features. Fair skin, tiny pouty lips, slightly big eyes. She couldn't be more than 5'3". Twenty three, maybe? Twenty-five? She stared at her notes while I continued to stare at her.
She finally looked up, dropped her notes somewhere and brought out a small flashlight from her pocket. She flashed them at my eyes, nodded to herself, then took her notes.
"How long have I been here?"
"Three weeks," she replied as she walked around my bed and checked out the drip. Then she picked up a pair of rubber gloves and knelt down near by bed.
"What?" I replied. "Three weeks?" When I heard no response I continued. "Why was I brought here in the face place?"
"What do you remember, Mr. Don?" Her voice came from near my bed. I could hear that she was emptying the contents of my urinary bag.
I closed my eyes, trying to recall what brought me hear. The headache came back but I started seeing flashes of light, lots of shouting and gunshots. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I remembered running through a thicket of trees under heavy gunfire. My heartbeat picked up the pace again. My breathing started to come fast. I opened my mouth to control myself.
"Try to relax, sir. You are safe," her voice said calmly.
My chest was heaving. I could feel my eyes rolling. I wanted to get up but the throbbing pain returned. The nurse's small hands were suddenly on my chest and she was speaking fast. I could vaguely make out her words, telling me to calm down. My legs started kicking again. The environment changed to a village near a river. I was dressed up in ops gear. The sun was on my right, I could see it setting from the corner of my eye.
In front of me, about 120 metres, were terrified looking old people and children. They were staggering towards me as I stood near a boat, beckoning at them to come over. Reports of gunshots filled the village behind them. Two gunmen suddenly appeared, opening up at the villagers. Anger surged through my veins and I kicked into action, swinging to the left to create an angle to fire from.
I was prepared to pull the trigger when everything went dark…
I regained consciousness but decided to keep my eyes closed for a while. I could sense that I wasn't alone in the room. The monitors continued their beeping.
My eyes opened, taking a moment to adjust to the lights.
The nurse was standing there, a worried look on her angelic face. I resisted the temptation of reaching up and brushing her face with my palms.
"He wakes up," a familiar voice called out. It was a voice I heard recently, constantly. But I just couldn't make it out.
Michael appeared in front of me. He was wearing camo trousers with a brown tee-shirt. He looked much fresher than I felt. He had cut his hair low again and got rid of the beards. His eyes were sharp and focused. As he came closer I noticed the bandage on his arm.
The memories started coming back. The last op, the dead bodies. Everything. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "What happened?"
Michael glanced at the nurse, who seemed to have taken the hint. She made her excuses and left. My eyes followed the soft swaying of her hips as she reached the door. I thought I saw the flash of a smile on her face.
Michael clearing his voice brought me back to the moment. "We had incoming from all directions. You got shot as we retreated to the northern side of the building, but managed to make it to cover before you lost consciousness." He swallowed. "Sambo wasn't so lucky. He caught one to the neck. Ed dragged him towards the warehouse…" Michael's voice drifted off. He had the thousand yard stare on his face and he looked to have aged a hundred years right there. "Something went off. I carried you a bit further to the treeline, expecting Ed to be right behind me. But he wasn't there."
I touched my face. My hand felt the three inches thick beard around my jawline. It felt a little itchy as I watched Mike and let him gather his thoughts.
"The warehouse went up in a ball of flames with Ed and Sam in it. We were pinned down, and I had a call to make: try to rescue Ed or take advantage of the fire and retreat with you. I took the latter option and ran deep into the bushes." He gestured at his bandaged arm. "I tripped over and got fractured. I can never shoot a rifle again, mate." He sniffed and looked away.
We were silent for a while, everyone lost in his own thoughts. I started seeing dead children in my mind. Along with Sam and Ed's mangled corpses. I blinked heavily. Furck.
"Anyway," Mike continued. He had regained his voice. "Team Bravo were able to get solid intel from Richard Ekweme. The weapons belonged to him, paid for by a certain 'Mayor' character. Turns out the DSS' man we were supposed to rescue was a double agent working for the unknown terrorist." His eyes pierced mine. "Kestrel Six has been disbanded. Word has it that you will be moved to a new unit arranged to hunt down those bastards." He gave me a knowing look. I nodded grimly.
The door opened at that moment. Major Gaddafi stepped in carrying a manilla file under his armpit, gave Michael a nod, then stared hard at me. He wore standard camo as usual. I can't remember ever seeing him in civvys.
"It's good to see you are going to be OK, man." Michael pursed his lips. I nodded in reply. "I'll check up on you later." He turned to the door and left, closing the door silently behind him.
When the CO finally spoke up, there was an edge to his voice. "Kestrel Six has been disbanded." The hard stare continued, as if trying to read a reaction from me. "You are to be moved to your new unit with immediate effect and report to your new officer in charge. And briefed, of course." He dropped the manilla file on my laps. "Those are your NARR release papers, also effective immediately."
I looked up from the file in astonishment. I could feel my skin turn clammy. Wasn't I too young for retirement? Or was something wrong? I tried to say something but my throat was dried up.
"You will be briefed in full once you are out of here," Major Gaddafi continued, as if he didn't register the shock on my face. "From now on you are officially not a NARR soldier. In essence, we don't know you anymore."
I felt my jaw squaring, my insides turning to ice. An idea was starting to form in my head. I nodded curtly at the CO.