by J. B. Havens
“Get your shit; you have until this plane is re-fueled. Jones, I need maps of the area and best point of entry.” The men hustled off the plane and into the hangar. I followed, but veered left. There was something I needed to get out of my cabin.
Unlocking the door, I went right to my bookcase, reached up, and grabbed the machete. Sliding it into its sheath, I threaded it onto my belt and tied it to my thigh. I would get rid of this machete when the cartel was dead and buried. Briefly, I considered taking Phillips’s Sig, but decided to leave it where it was.
Jogging back to the hangar, I opened my locker and stripped down, I had no modesty in front of my men; the Army had taken care of that. Years of no privacy made it a non-issue anymore. Quickly changing into desert camo. I strapped on my vest and weapons.
“Desert gear, boys, and no shiny shit.” The sun would easily catch and reflect off of anything. We would get into place at night, and stay in cover throughout the day. We needed to blend in with the landscape around us.
Things were moving quickly, adrenaline was streaking through my veins, damping my palms. I relished the feeling. I grabbed my M-4 and attached the grenade launcher. If I had the opportunity, I was going to use it.
“Jones, you’re on today. Vega is your target; we’re your backup.” He nodded from his locker where he was quickly assembling his rifle. His tan ghillie suit was already laid out on the bench behind him.
Jordon was waiting next to the plane, his M-4 slung across his chest. Pierce, Flynn, and Rook joined him, tightening straps as they left the hangar.
“Time to go, boys,” I said, leading the way up the steps and onto the plane, pulling on my gloves as I went. The comforting weight of my rifle bumped against my chest as I walked.
“Flynn, stay back here in the cabin. We have a lot to go over before we get there.” I nodded to our captain as I passed him. Taking my seat, I watched the others settle in.
“Copy that,” Flynn said, as he took his seat next to Pierce.
I watched out my window as we took off and gained altitude. The sun was setting behind the mountains. We would land in Mexico in the middle of the night. Lucky for us, there was an airport not far from the town that was big enough so we wouldn’t attract too much attention.
****
Beatrice worked in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for soup. It would hold well or she could freeze it she needed to. When the team got back she wanted them to have a hot meal. She shuddered at the thought of the plastic packaged MREs they took with them. Her niece and those boys would be in for a treat when they got home. She didn’t allow the thought of any of them not returning to cross her mind. The radio was on low; Bittersweet Symphony had her softly singing along as she worked.
She turned toward the sound of the door slowly opening. Her nerves were jittery and a little on edge. Jackson was standing in the doorway, watching her at the counter. She set her knife down next to the potatoes she was nearly finished cubing and began to walk toward him.
“No, Beatrice, don’t stop on my account.” His gruff voice raised her awareness. The room felt smaller when he was in it, closer and more intimate.
“Are you hungry, Fisher?” She resumed what she was doing, pushing aside the potatoes and pulling a bag of carrots toward her.
“Look at me. I’m six-foot-six and I weigh somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred and seventy pounds; I’m always hungry.” And look at him she did. He was in excellent shape for an older man. There was nothing soft or lazy about him. His eyes were golden brown like French toast. She forced her mind back to the knife in her hand.
“I have looked at you, Fisher. I hope vegetable beef soup is okay?” Her knife thunked through the carrots, sending some rolling off the cutting board and onto the floor.
“What do you see when you look at me?” He was being bold, coming around to her side of the counter, and invading her personal space. Reaching around her body, he took the celery and began pulling stalks from the bunch before cleaning them and selecting another knife. Skillfully, he chopped it into evenly-sized pieces.
“I haven’t decided yet. You gave me a lot to think about last night.” She tried to ignore him, but he made it impossible. He scooted closer to her until he was brushing against her arm, impeding her movements. Just like last night…
“May I come in?” He took his hat off and held it in front of him.
“Would I be a lady if I let a man into my room?” She asked cheekily.
“Are you a lady?” He asked softly.
“Not today.” Opening the door wide, she stepped aside. Jackson brushed her arm as he walked past, making her skin break out in goosebumps.
“Why are you here, Fisher?” she asked him as he looked around her room. What he was looking at, she didn’t know. It was a basic room like the others; she didn’t have any personal effects to make it interesting.
“Beatrice, there is something special about you,” he blurted, turning to face her. The intensity of his expression caused Beatrice to catch her breath. “I see where Mic gets her attitude and strength.”
“Thank you, Fisher.”
He closed his eyes as she said his name. “I love how you say my name. I didn’t think I would ever enjoy hearing it again.”
He stepped closer to her, stopping just inches away. He raised a big hand, reaching for her face. His hand was so big, it covered her cheek from her temple to her jaw. He slid his thumb along the seam of her lips, brushing against her quickly.
“Fisher?” She said his name as a question. Her heart was racing and her breath felt stuck in her chest.
“I came here for two reasons. I wanted to tell you something and ask you a question.” He retreated a few steps, swallowing hard.
“Just ask; I don’t bite.” She fiddled with her sweater, suddenly nervous. Why was she nervous? She hardly knew him; he shouldn’t have the ability to tongue-tie her like this.
“First, let me say that I see where Mic gets both her beauty and her brass balls. I think if I made you leave now, I’d have a mutiny on my hands. You’ve won the men over with your cooking and your mothering. It’s something we have all lacked for a long time.” He cleared his throat, rubbing his hand over the top of his bald and shiny head.
“What did you want to ask me?” Her apprehension was reaching a new high. If he didn’t spit it out soon, she’d just throw him out and deal with it later.
“You’re a fine woman, both in mind and beauty. I don’t want you to leave either. I try to be honorable... but I’m getting old and don’t have the patience to screw around. Can I…” He paused, looking panicked.
“Fisher, please, just ask.” She laughed, trying to ease the tension gripping them both.
“Can I... c-court you? I’d like to get to know you better.” He rushed, stuttering over the words. His dark face was lined with worry.
“You look like you’re about to be sick.” She smacked a hand over her mouth, not believing what just popped out.
“I feel like it, yes. I haven’t asked a girl out in twenty-five years.” He kept crossing and uncrossing his arms.
“This is a surprise. I didn’t think you were allowed to have a partner, family, or anything of the sort.”
“Generally, no. But…since you’re staying and you’re not a solider under my command, I don’t see it being an issue.”
“Unless I say no.” She smiled inside, enjoying drawing this out. He may not have not asked a girl out in twenty-five years, but she hadn’t been asked out in nearly that long either. She wanted to enjoy this.
“Are you?” He gulped audibly. His face was a little pale even. “Saying no?”
“No,” she said simply.
“Okay then, I understand.” His face turned to stone and he moved to leave. Laughing she grabbed his arm, her hand looking so small against him.
“Fisher, wait. I wasn’t saying no. I was saying no, I’m not going to say no. Yes, you silly man. You can court me. Or ask me out or whatever. We’re too old to be boyfr
iend and girlfriend. How about we start at friends, then go from there?” She stared up at him, smiling at the relief on his face.
“Oh. Well then. I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay?” He didn’t wait for her response, just drew her close and pressed his lips to hers.
“Beatrice?” His voice drew her back to the present. He chuckled and took the knife from her, setting it down softly. His hands dwarfed her; it had been so long since a man made her feel so small and feminine. “Talk to me.” He made it an order.
“My husband passed away when Bea was in high school. Since then I have focused all of my attention on her, leaving no room for myself. Dating has never occurred to me and now here I am, facing you, a man who is so different from anyone I’ve ever known.” She put her forehead against his chest, breathing in the spicy scent of his cologne and a hint of cigar smoke. The softness of his shirt caressed her face. “I don’t know what to do with you. Or about you.”
“Whatever you want. Something, nothing, it doesn’t matter. As long as you let me be around you and talk to you, I’m happy.” She risked a look at him. He was smiling down at her, his teeth very white and bright against his dark skin. She clasped his cheeks in her hands and pulled him down as she went up on her tip toes. He tasted different than last night—fresh and minty instead of like scotch and cigar.
“I have to go check in with Mic and the others.” He drew a small phone from his pocket, slipping it into her apron pocket when she didn’t immediately take it. “Press and hold number one and it will call me. Or use the intercom on the wall over there. I’ll be in the war room. Let me know when dinner is ready, baby.” He kissed her forehead and left the room. She watched him go, appreciating the view. At the same time, her confusion reached a new high.
“What am I going to do with that man?” She whispered to herself, going back to the carrots.
****
Sitting in the war room, Jackson dialed a number burned into his memory. He needed to update his handler.
“Hello?” He always answered on the first ring. His voice was thick with sleep, not that Jackson gave a shit.
“I have an update.” Jackson outlined what was happening. He had waited until Mic and the team were on their way before making this call so it would be too late to stop them.
“This complicates things. I have some calls to make.” He hung up on Jackson, sounding pissed off.
“Goodbye to you too, fucker,” Jackson said to the empty room. Propping his feet on the table, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Mic would have Jones call soon, he was sure of it. His thoughts drifted back to the kitchen and the woman in it. He couldn’t let her go now, no matter what happened in Mexico; Beatrice was here to stay. He knew he’d have to deal with Mic gently; she might not take his dating her aunt lightly.
For the first time since before Abu Ghraib, the prison in Afghanistan, Jackson let himself think of the future. Maybe there was some happiness in store for him after all.
Chapter 15
I spread maps and aerial photographs out on the table in front of us. The landscape was not conducive to cover. Cacti and small bushes were the dominate plants, with very few trees.
“Jones, you gonna be able to work with this?” I asked, pointing to the desert surrounding the poppy fields. The fields were breathtakingly beautiful if you ignored the fact that they produced opium, which was the main ingredient in some of the world’s most devastatingly addictive drugs.
“Mic, don’t insult me.”
“Okay then, I take that as a yes. Where do you want to be?” I wasn’t a sniper, so in a situation like this, it was best to just let him pick his spot.
“Here.” On the satellite photos, he pointed to a tiny ridge, more of a slope really, just above the fields. I’ll be able to see both points of entry and there isn’t much to block my line of sight.”
“Where do you want the rest of us?” Pierce asked.
I pointed to the dirt track that was their excuse for a road. “Armando says that Adolfo drives an armored Land Rover. We can’t just hit his vehicle. When they stop and he gets out, he’ll be vulnerable for a moment. That’s your cue, Jones.” He nodded his understanding. “I want the rest of us evenly spaced along the ridge with Jones and across the road on the opposite ridge. In the extremely unlikely event that Jones misses, I want us ready and able to provide cover for him and to complete the mission.”
“It’s a solid plan. Who’s going to be where?” Rook broke in.
“Jones, who’s your spotter?”
“Jordon? You game?” the sniper asked.
“Yeah. I got you, man.” It was the first words Jordon had spoken around me all day.
I nodded in agreement. “Fine. I’ll be on the flank with Pierce and Rook. Flynn, I want you with Jones and Jordon.” I looked at their faces. They were focused and solid. This was Steel, right here. Making plans on the fly and executing them flawlessly.
“Pierce, if we get set up in time, I want you to lay some charges, mines if you have them. Cover our asses in case they double back.”
“Already on it, Mic.” He was digging through his duffle, muttering to himself.
“We need a back-up plan. What if it all goes south and they escape?” Rook had a good point.
“In the event they escape, then we pursue. I’m not going back home until this fucker is planted. Got me?”
“Fucking A,” Flynn said. Jordon and Rook were silent.
“I get to blow stuff up; it’s been way too long.” Pierce was talking to the mine he held in his hands. He was like a junkie who’d gone too long without a fix.
“Do you need some alone time, dude?” Flynn asked, nudging a hunched over Pierce.
“Fuck you; you get the same way when you haven’t flown anything for a while, flyboy.” Pierce put the mine away and punched Flynn in the arm.
Flynn’s face turned bright red as his temper rose. “Fuck you, man, don’t freaking call me flyboy, dammit!”
“Knock it off; this isn’t the time for you two to fuck around,” Rook barked at them. His display of temper was surprising, reminding me we were taking him on a mission when he’d had less training with us than Jordon had gotten before Colombia. There was something about the man which had me thinking he was more than capable of handling just about any situation.
“Rook. Can it. It’s what they do.” I went back to the maps. The terrain sucked; we would have to drive in, cross country. Leave our vehicles in the desert and hike to the fields. We would be cutting it close; I wanted us in position well before dawn.
“When do we land?” We’d been in the air for maybe an hour.
“About six hours,” Flynn answered. “With our tailwind and this fast fucking jet, we’ll make decent time.”
“That’s going to be damn close. We’ve done all we can for now. Everyone try and rest. Eat something. We’ve got a hell of a day ahead of us.”
****
Flynn’s voice came over the intercom, startling me awake. “We’re on approach.”
I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, shocked I had been able to sleep at all. Grabbing a kit I had on board, I went into the bathroom and enjoyed the use of a flush toilet. Peeing outside was so much easier for a guy. I opened the small canvas bag and laid out my supplies on the tiny shelf.
It would be too hot for the tactical hoods in Mexico and we always took care to conceal our identities as best we could. Dipping my fingers into my pots of paint, I smeared diagonal streaks from my temple to my chin, layering the colors and blending them together. There was a ritual in this, same as warriors of old painting their bodies before battle, we readied ourselves for the conflict ahead. I blended the black, shades of brown, and green together, concealing my features.
I slipped an elastic headband on to hold my hair back from my face. Even with the helmet, it had a tendency to fall into my eyes. I kept blending and mixing, spreading the paint over my neck, even my ears. Slipping my ear-piece in, I left the bathroom. The men w
ere already well on their way. Rook held a small mirror up as he painted his face. He was whispering something under his breath; it sounded like a chant of some sort.
“You okay, Rook?” He looked at me, but never stopped the whispering-chant thing he was doing. I let him be; we all prepared for battle differently. Jordon was watching me as I paced, his eyes following my movements. Pierce was going over the maps again, still muttering to himself. Jones had painted his face and was watching Jordon watching me. He snapped his fingers in front of Jordon’s face, getting his attention.
“You ready for this?” Jones asked him.
“Copy that. I’m good. I’ve done this before, man,” Jordon said, as he sat next to Jones. They bent their heads together and whispered back and forth.
Flynn came back into the cabin, a bounce in his step. “Landing in a minute. Buckle up, boys and girls.” He plopped down in a seat, fastened his seatbelt and stared out the window.
“Thought you’d be in the cockpit, Flynn; it’s not like you to let someone else land a plane you’re on,” I pointed out.
“The captain has grown on me. He’s not going to crash.” Flynn went back to whistling and watching the ground get bigger.
“There should a Range Rover waiting for us, Mic,” Jones said as we touched down. The Mexican government knows we’re here and what we’re going to be doing. We won’t see them; they are letting us do the dirty work.”
“That’s kind of normal for us, Jones. Is there a problem I need to know about?” I asked. We didn’t have time for drama. It would be light in just over an hour. We wouldn’t have much leeway in the timetable to get into position.
“Nothing, it’s fine. They could take care of this easy enough on their own, it’s not as if they have a reputation to protect. He started gathering his gear as the jet came to a stop.
“Copy that.” There was no response that would help, we weren’t there for the Mexican government; and in fact, our own government didn’t want us there. “This is about us, protecting my aunt and taking these fuckers out. Politics doesn’t play into it this time.”