"Mamba, this is Creeper -- you got a copy?" A muted whisper came through the static of Commander Robert Washington's earpiece.
Pressing the bud firmly into place, Washington raised the boom mic of his headset to his lips and spoke. "Copy Creeper, what is your status?"
"I'm in position." Captain Tony Matea responded, maintaining his covert tone. "I have a visual of the complex. There are two tangos posted at the east gate. Search lights are hot, but everything else looks locked up for the night."
"Any sign of Ali Sabra?"
"Negative. Intel believes he's barricaded in the barracks - at the center of the encampment. He knows we're coming for him."
"Copy that, Creeper." Washington rolled his eyes. "We're inbound and on schedule. Approximately T-minus fifteen minutes to the drop zone. We're gonna have to roll tight to the plan on this one. On my mark you'll take out the southern search light, then I'm gonna need you to neutralize those tangos at the gate."
"No problem, Commander."
"How's the wind on the ground?"
"Negligible. It won't be a factor."
"Well at least we've got that going for us. Hold fast, Creeper - I'll be in touch shortly."
"Copy that, Mamba. Creeper out."
"Okay, people." Washington stood from his seat and shouted above the roar of the engines to his team. "We're just a few minutes out now, it's game time. Creeper is in position on the ledge and says all looks quiet on the ground. That's gonna change real fast when he pops that search light. Intel believes our target knows we're coming, so expect the enemy to be prepared for us once we touch down. Sticking with the plan will be crucial here, men, so we're gonna go through it one more time for good measure, hooah?"
"Hooah!" His fellow SEALs responded en force.
"Alright," Washington continued. "The target is Ibrahim Ali Sabra. He and his insurgents have taken control of Echo Four, a former Taliban combat training installation. Ali Sabra has been fanning the flames on the ground lately and his faction has taken credit for the chemical assault on Delta base along with several ambushes on the outskirts of the hot zone. He's cost us a lot over the past two months, and as a former operative he simply knows too much to live. So, our objective is to make a martyr out of him - and to cut through as much of his army as we possibly can. I'm gonna pass his picture around again, I want every one of you to study it intently. This is The Devil so far as we're concerned, gentlemen. He cannot be allowed to survive our assault under any circumstances."
Washington handed a photo off to the soldier sitting nearest the jump door. Each officer took his turn looking over the man they had seen on wanted posters plastered seemingly everywhere there was an American military presence.
"I'm sure you're wondering why Uncle Sam is calling on us instead of sending our boy to Hell with a Predator; the truth is, we don't know what sort of ordinance Ali Sabra is sitting on in there. If you encounter any tanks, drums or devices you don't recognize - check your fire. As you know, we'll be approaching from the south. We'll be jumping from sixty-one thousand feet - a little higher than most of you are used to. Trust me, though, if we let the enemy hear the engines they'll light up the sky. You can't dodge bullets very well when you're dangling from your chute, so I'm sure you understand our caution. It's gonna be a long fall - it's very important that you control your descent and stay on target. They have the perimeter laced with mines, so if you touch down more than three hundred yards from the wall - you're essentially out of play. If you find yourself in that situation, you're gonna want to hit the sand and keep low. The Forty-Second Recon will be through with Blackhawks to extract us upon completion of our mission. They'll pick you up after the rest of the team is out, if you've managed to survive. With any luck, we'll all hit the ground undetected and in the strike zone. Does anyone have any questions about the insertion?"
The team looked back and forth between each other, their intensive training suppressing their fear as the moment to act approached. No one spoke, so Washington continued.
"Once we're staged up we'll press on along the southern wall. Creeper will clear the gate on the east side - that's where we'll go in. We'll fan out from there; Dice and Big Bird," he said, acknowledging two of the soldiers with his eyes. "You'll roll north and clear the first structure. Gator and Shank," he continued. "You're on the structure to the south. Dallas - you're with me. We'll put down a line of suppressing fire and push to the barracks, where we should find Ali Sabra. Creeper will pick off any tangos out in the open to clear us a path. If all goes as planned, we'll regroup on the western wall and wait for extraction, understood?"
"Yes sir!" They fired back in unison.
"Excellent. Remember - Ali Sabra has a thing for nerve gas. Get your mask on as soon as your on Terra Firma, and keep it that way until we're back in the sky. You know the stakes, gentlemen... our country is counting on us. Take no prisoners - shoot to kill."
"Hooah!"
Washington's disciplined lips broke a smile at the enthusiastic response of his unit. They had been to Hell and back together... seen things beyond comprehension and done things far beyond mention. Yet through it all; the blood, the terror, the fear, the horrors and inhumanities -- they were all still eager to step once more unto the breach for the love of their country. They were prepared to stare into the face of Death yet again, if only to say that they had answered the call. They were strong, they were proud and they were ready to walk upon the coals.
"You're the finest of your breed, SEALs." He praised them. "If I don't see you on the other side of this operation, I'll see you down the line -- when we're together again in paradise. Make your final preparations - go weapons hot."
"Commander," a voice called from the cockpit. "You might want to come take a look at this."
Washington took another look at his team as they counted their rounds. Dice, Gator, Shank, Dallas and Big Bird. He had grown to love each of them, and looked upon them as his brothers. The odds of the six of them leaving this theater together, though, were slim; that much was clear.
As he looked at their faces he wondered which among them would perish this night. Perhaps it would be him... perhaps even all of them. The reaper gives no indication of his intentions in the realm of war, but for whomever the bell would toll the next morning, the head of Ibrahim Ali Sabra would pay the fare across the river Styx.
"What've you got?" The proud Commander asked as he stepped to the front of the aircraft.
"See for yourself," the pilot responded, pointing off into the abyss before them.
The black was ruptured in the distance by a ribbon of blinding light. Washington had to shield his eyes from it at first glance. It seemed to emanate from beyond the stratosphere - stretching down into the clouds over Kabul.
"What the hell is it?" He asked, looking upon the anomaly through parted fingers held at arm's length.
"Beats the shit out of us," the man responded, looking at his co-pilot who seemed to concur. "It doesn't register on the radar, nor any of the other instruments for that matter."
"It just appeared out of nowhere," the second man added. "At first it looked like a pillar of fire falling from -- well, I don't know where the hell it was falling from. It was like napalm... a waterfall of flame."
"Was it some kind of missile?" Washington inquired.
"No, something like that would've shown up on the board."
"And there was nothing?"
"Well, just the thing with the compass." The man pointed to one of the digital gauges on his console, a simulated needle spinning wildly in all directions. "Could be a malfunction - wouldn't be the first time it took a dump on us. I've never seen it do anything like this, though."
"One problem," the co-pilot added. "It's directly in our flight path... by the look of it, it's right over the drop zone as a matter of fact. The strange thing is it's expanding faster than we're moving towards it. It's size doesn't seem to be static. It sh
ould be engulfing the encampment at this point."
"Shit." Washington snapped, once again raising his mic to his lips. "Creeper, this is Mamba - you copy?"
"Ten, Mamba." Matea called back, his transmission seeming more garbled than when they had spoken several minutes ago. "Are you Earthbound?"
"Negative, Creeper." The Commander responded, the ribbon growing closer. "We've got something strange up here - what's the situation on the ground?"
"Unchanged," came the response. "What's going on?"
"We're approaching the drop zone, Commander." The pilot said.
"We have a bogey in range of the compound that seems to break through the cloud cover - a beam of light in the sky. You don't see anything out of the ordinary down there?"
The pillar continued to grow closer and wider in the distance as he waited for a reply.
"Negative, Commander." The signal degraded further, white noise muscling in and threatening to overtake Matea's words all together. "Wait - - I've got movement in the compound." He said, his voice becoming excited. "I think they've spotted - - " The transmission broke off into static momentarily, Creeper breaking through only sporadically as he shouted. "sustained fire - - - enemy rpg - - - just hovering there - - - My God, Robert, I - - - -"
"Creeper, come back!" Washington called. "Creeper! Do you copy?"
"I don't know if - - - Jesus Christ, I - - - "
Through the noise and frantic cries of Washington's sniper, the men heard the unmistakable pop-pop of rounds being fired off.
"Creeper! Creeper!" Washington shouted now, the light nearly consuming the windshield. "God dam it, Tony, report!"
"Ten seconds to the drop zone, Commander!"
Pop-pop-pop... static... pop-pop... static... screaming... pop-pa-pop-pop-pop...
"Tony?! What's your status?! Damn it man, what the fuck is going on down there?!"
"Do you want to scrub the mission, Commander?" The pilot asked.
"NO!" Washington bit back. "Open the hatch! Masks on, men! Weapons ready!"
"But sir, if we don't bank now we'll fly right into the --"
"Open the fucking hatch NOW!"
"Aye sir!" The pilot quickly donned his oxygen mask and smashed a button with his fist, the jump door at the rear of the plane firing open and sucking the air from the cabin immediately.
"GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Washington ordered, charging headlong towards oblivion. The sky behind them was lit up as bright as day. Still, his soldiers didn't question his command as they filed out of the transport.
The Commander blessed himself with the sign of the cross as he ran, mouthing a prayer for himself and his men as he leaped, committing his body to the sky.
Chapter 5
Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ Page 4