“Hey, Jackson,” John replied. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yep, just not long enough,” Jackson said through clenched teeth.
“Okay, glad to see that everyone knows each other—even if awkwardly. Christopher, could I speak with you alone for a moment, please?” Gabriella pointed to an empty corner of the lounge. “We just need to discuss a few final details about this mission.”
When they were out of earshot of the others, Gabriella began. “First, the president is convinced like you that the rapture has occurred. He has directed that Omega make no attempt to explore the crash site searching for survivors, in particular, the First Lady. He’s certain she is in Heaven. The other thing is, the president will observe the rescue operation from the Situation Room at the White House.”
“Thanks for the heads up, but what about the Second Lady?” Christopher questioned.
“We have satellite images of the crash site. If they are alive, they will be at the presidental ranch. If you establish a pattern of life of either leading lady or the president’s daughter, then the mission will proceed. In the absence of any executive target, the mission will be aborted and you will be brought home. The last thing we need is to look like we are supporting the wrong side of a military coup.”
An overworked flight manager stuck his head in the door of the lounge to loudly holler, “All the soldiers need to get on the plane now.”
“Well, that’s our cue. Don’t worry. We’ll bring everybody home,” Christopher assured Gabriella.
“Good luck.”
* * *
As the military business jet taxied to a stop at Presidente Juscelino Kubitschek International Airport in Brasilia, Christopher watched steam rising from the tarmac after a late-afternoon tropical deluge. The State Department already had SUVs waiting as the staircase was lowered and the sweltering humidity of the Brazilian spring invaded the jet.
“Welcome to Brazil. You must be Barrett,” a young bureaucrat said to Christopher.
“I’m guessing you’re the country liaison, whose name is…?” Christopher asked.
“Sorry, I am Nick Lacroix.”
“So, Nick, let’s get off this very public tarmac and back to the embassy for the rest of the pleasantries. You can update me on where we stand along the way. Jackson, ride with us.”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Nick replied. “I just was going to suggest we get moving.” Jackson asked, “So how bad was it for you guys? The disappearances, I mean.”
“We lost about ten people, the most important our deputy ambassador Charles Smith,” Nick answered. “He was a very kind man, and charitable. He never made those like me feel out of place.”
“What does that mean—‘those like you’?” Christopher queried.
“I mean my sexual orientation. I knew the deputy ambassador was a Christian. He always spoke of his faith and even invited me to attend the embassy church services. However, he was different than most Christians I’ve encountered,” Nick stated thoughtfully.
“How so?” Jackson asked.
“I never felt that he was judging me. He was honest about the fact that he believed my lifestyle was a ‘sin,’ but he expressed that in a way that was loving, if that makes sense. Mr. Smith always made it clear that Jesus hated the sin, not people. He said that if more Christians just loved people like Jesus did and met them where they were in life, it would be easier for people to see the sin in their lives and change, or something like that…” Nick trailed off.
Jackson was moved by Nick’s story of a Christian man leading by the example Christ had set, meeting sinners where they were in life. He spent the rest of the drive to the embassy setting up a plan with Christopher and Nick to recon the Granja Torto Ranch later that night.
* * *
“Hey, Jackson, come here for a minute,” Christopher called, pulling Jackson away from the other men prepping for the reconnaissance of the target location.
“What’s up?”
“Tell me the backstory on John Barnes. You gave him a decidedly chilly reception.”
“You noticed that,” Jackson responded.
“I’m sure everyone did. So what’s the story?”
“Long and bad. But to make the story short, I’ll just say that guy’s moral compass does not exist. I don’t trust him,” Jackson stated flatly.
“Should he even be here then?” Christopher asked.
“Hard times have come and we are short in men, but I plan to watch him. If he makes one wrong move, he’s got to go,” Jackson asserted unequivocally.
“Fair enough. I’ll take him and two other guys for the recon tonight.”
“What? Did you not just hear a word I said?” Jackson sounded shocked.
“Yeah, Jackson, I heard you. But I need to figure out what this guy—heck, all these new guys—are made of, so trust me.”
“Understood. You’re the boss, but make sure you listen to that still, small voice if it pops up this time.”
* * *
It was a perfect night for a recon—well, almost. The humidity made everything wet, including Christopher. Thankfully as his small team approached the presidental ranch, the Brazilians had the place lit up like Carnavale.
“Okay, listen up. Here’s the plan,” the major instructed as John Barnes and two other men knelt in front of him. “John, I want you two,” he ordered as he gestured to John and the team medic, “to move through the tree line toward the front of the complex near the tennis courts. When you get there, launch the drone and hover at fifty meters AGL. Try to identify the pattern of any roving patrols, guards, and quick ground-egress points. Keep radio traffic to a minimum. Only come up on the net in the event you make contact or to notify me of your return to the rally point here at the lake. You have an hour. I’ll head out with the sergeant to cover the rear of the ranch. We’ll try to identify the location of the executive target or targets and the number of hostiles guarding them. Are there any questions?”
“No, sir,” Barnes answered.
“Okay, move out.”
* * *
Christopher was uneasy given the gravity of the targets being held, but also due to the distrust Jackson held for John Barnes and his decision-making abilities. He hoped that he had not made a mistake in taking Barnes on this recon mission.
“Green 6, this is Green 3, mission complete,” came the call from Barnes on the radio.
Christopher checked his watch—the first thing that came to his mind was, Forty-five minutes. That was quick. He decided to dismiss his concern due to the small size of the complex. He had yet to identify any facility at the compound that held the executive targets. The team was running out of time, and it looked like the mission would need to be aborted.
“Look,” the communications sergeant whispered to Major Barrett.
Christopher used a night scope to zoom in on a female who looked like the president’s daughter based on the dossier pictures he had studied. Unfortunately he also saw a big problem. She was bracing herself on crutches, with what looked like a cast on one leg. It seemed like they were keeping her in the large villa near the pool. A cigar-smoking man stood speaking with her, likely the rogue Brazilian general.
Christopher signaled to the sergeant that their time was up. He had the confirmation required to proceed with the mission.As Christopher linked up with John Barnes, he asked, “That was a quick recon. Is everything covered?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Barnes assured him tersely.
“Okay, let’s head back and discuss what we saw with the rest of the team,” Christopher ordered.
* * *
“Welcome back. Good to see you still know how to execute a recon without being detected,” Jackson ribbed.
“Oh ye of little faith, I can recon with the best of them, and your friend John was solid,” Christopher assured him.
“That’s good to know on all counts,” Jackson replied.
Christopher called the team together, along with Nick and the embassy
intelligence officer, to finalize the plan for the following night. He quickly outlined his plan for the others. “Okay, after watching the drone footage, we should go with a ground assualt force for the extraction. The complex is surrounded by high-speed avenues of approach and is lightly defended, about ten men guarding the place, plus the target is on crutches. The president’s daughter was the only executive seen. The first and second ladies are presumed deceased.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You should have seen four times that number of hostiles. Over forty men were guarding that complex—which you’ve now confirmed holds the president’s daughter—yesterday afternoon. Take a look at these images,” the embassy intelligence officer said, pushing the images across the table to Christopher.
“I take it back,” Jackson stated. “You don’t know how to recon.”
“Whatever, Jackson. Barnes, tell me, did you see any other buildings that could possibly have housed the other hostiles?” Christopher asked pointedly.
“No,” Barnes replied firmly. “I saw no roving patrols and just a few guys milling about the complex.”
Christopher pored over the images again, torn about whether to conduct a ground assault or helicopter extraction. The team debated for another thirty minutes with Gabriella weighing in via phone.
“It seems to me that helicopter extraction will be the safer option. You could take the president’s daughter straight to the airport,” Gabriella suggested.
“Noted, but there’s an open field between the ranch and the helicopter pad, and remember, she can’t run or walk,” Christopher responded.
“Your call, but just make sure you look at all angles and consider all advice. We will be watching back here,” Gabriella reminded him.
“Okay, team, we are going with a ground assault. I think with the other hostiles unaccounted for, it will be better to get the target into secure transportation as quickly as possible, considering the mobility limitations. We’ll keep the helo in a holding pattern about five miles away. If needed, they can reach us in about fiveminutes,” Christopher said.
“Five minutes is a lifetime in a firefight,” Jackson cautioned.
“I get it, Jackson, but getting the president’s daughter into something secure is my biggest concern,” Christopher replied.
As the rest of the team left the conference room, Jackson lingered to talk with Christopher.
“Hey, listen, I will follow you anywhere, but the Spirit is telling me we should just use the helicopter. The fact that we don’t know the location of the other hostiles could put the president’s daughter at risk, not to mention us. There seem to be a lot of unknowns here,” Jackson concluded uneasily.
“Look, I get it. You’ve put your trust in God, and now you feel led by Him, but we are going with a ground extraction. I trust my instincts here, and I was on the recon, not you. Just help me out by executing the orders given instead of trying to get me to ‘trust the still, small voice.’ I refuse to have that distraction again.” Christopher’s tone indicated the discussion was over.
“Got it.” Jackson exited the room, his concerns not the least bit relieved.
* * *
Jackson sat in one of four Humvees on loan from the embassy security detachment that comprised the ground assualt force, sweating profusely. He listened to the radio and heard Christopher and the rescue element calling off checkpoints as they stalked through the woods to get closer to the target. Thankfully it was a starless night, making their approach easier; the guards seemed more willing to sleep than patrol. He couldn’t stop his left leg from bouncing in anticipation of the message that the package was received, signaling the assault force to storm the main gate.
“All hostile guards down, package received,” Christopher said into his radio transmitter.
Jackson heard only the sharp retort of gunfire on the radio and sirens as the ranch complex lit up like Paris at night. “Drive, now!” Jackson yelled at the soldier behind the wheel of his Humvee.
As the ground assault force raced toward the main entrance to the ranch, Jackson saw a large cargo truck carrying at least twenty Brazilian soldiers barreling across the road toward the main gate. “Ram that truck!” Jackson ordered. He watched the eyes of the cargo truck driver grow large with fright in the ultrabright headlamp beams right before the monstrous collision. The heavy combat vehicle cut through the cargo truck like a hot knife through butter, throwing out the troops in the back like spaghetti spilling from a bag.
The three Humvees behind Jackson instinctively fired their weapons at the overturned cargo truck, before turning toward the Brazilian presidental ranch to continue the mission.
“Are you all right?” Jackson quickly tossed the question toward his driver, his eyes scanning ahead.
“Yeah, Sarge, I’m okay,” the driver replied. “But I think the Humvee snapped its front axle.”
“Throw a thermite grenade on it, and let’s get into this fight,” Jackson ordered. He and the driver abandoned the now-useless Humvee and headed toward the villa on foot after the detonation. At least it won’t fall into enemy hands, he thought ruefully as he watched the Humvee explode in flames.
* * *
“Anybody hit?” Christopher questioned, still reeling from the gunfight he found himself in.
“No, we’re good,” Barnes and the others replied.
Christopher quickly switched to the MH-47G Chinook helicopter’s radio frequency. “Angel 6, this is Green 6, request immediate air extraction. The LZ will be hot and marked by a green laser.”
“Green 6, this is Angel 6. We are inbound, ETA five minutes.”
“Barnes, get the drone up. We need eyes for egress and a hostile count—and where is that ground assault force?” Christopher wondered aloud.
John Barnes pulled a small drone from his assault pack and initiated its flight sequence; the drone brought up a high-resolution picture on Christopher’s wrist monitor, showing his team pinned down by fifteen Brazilian soldiers advancing toward the main villa as well as Jackson’s ground assault team heading toward them.
“Green 9, this is Green 6, we have fifteen hostiles advancing on our position. We are going to lay down some smoke and move toward the air extraction point. Cover us and ground convoy back to the airport,” Christopher ordered as he slung his rifle over his back and picked up the president’s daughter in his arms. His small element immediately began making their way toward the helipad outside the presidental ranch under a hail of gunfire.
“Understood, we will cover your egress,” Jackson responded as he ran to the villa.
The soldiers in the other three Humvees were monitoring the radio traffic, and Jackson heard them open fire on the unsuspecting Brazilian hostiles. He caught up to the three Humvees and instructed the team to throw thermite grenades into the lavish main villa of the presidental ranch, which started a raging fire.
“Load up,” Jackson ordered. “We are heading to the air extraction point. They may need our help.”
* * *
President Rodgers stood tensely in the White House Situation Room, watching Omega Team attempt to rescue his daughter from a deranged Brazilian general. He was grateful he couldn’t hear what was going on, but as a former fighter pilot he knew from what he could see through Christopher’s helmet cam video that the team was fighting against some terrible odds.
“Sir, the helicopter is being moved for air extraction, the team has your daughter, and the Brazilian presidental ranch is being reported on fire with additional Brazilian military units en route,” Gabriella relayed as she received intelligence updates from the Pentagon.
“How did that gunfight start? Everything was going so smoothly,” President Rodgers questioned.
“I don’t know, sir, but Omega will get your daughter home safely,” Gabriella assured him.
“I pray they all get home safely, Gabriella,” President Rodgers murmured.
Gabriella just hoped that Chris had made the right decisions and had not been distracted as th
e fact that this mission appeared to be on the edge of failure seemed to indicate.
* * *
Christopher, the president’s daughter being carried unceremoniously in his arms, and his element had just arrived at the helipad outside of the Brazilian presidental ranch when he saw what looked like three military cargo trucks heading toward them.
“Angel 6, this is Green 6, what’s your ETA?” he asked urgently.
“Green 6, this is Angel 6, ETA one minute,” the MH-47 pilot responded.
“Barnes, start marking the helipad with the laser,” Christopher ordered. “Get down and stay down,” he instructed as he pushed the president’s daughter to the ground. His arms and legs were burning from carrying the svelte young woman, but he didn’t have time to focus on his pain. He rallied the other men behind a berm to prepare to defend against the looming assault from the separatist Brazilian military. “Green 9, this is Green 6, we have three trucks of hostiles coming our way, I need you to cover us, over.” Christopher waited for his radio to crackle with acknowledgment from Jackson. Instead he watched as three Humvees broke out of the citrus grove surrounding the presidential ranch, stopping the advance of the cargo trucks with fiery streaks of lead streaking from the miniguns atop the Humvees.
“Green 6, this Green 9, I got you covered. I’ll see you folks at the airport,” Jackson acknowledged, finally.
The whirl of dust and wind from the MH-47 landing drowned out any attempt Christopher made to thank Jackson over the radio.
“We need to go,” Barnes yelled, urging Christopher to board the chopper.
As they lifted off, Christopher looked across the highway as Jackson and his team sped away from the overturned cargo trucks and the flaming Brazilian presidental ranch, grateful that Omega had overcome his mistakes tonight.
Rapture Advent of the Last Days Page 10