They were in the lead Hercules, two more lined up behind them, full of Delta Operators ready to HALO drop on the north edge of the city.
Eric managed to requisition F-22 Raptors from Al Dhafra Air Base to shadow them. CH-46 Sea Knights from the USS Peleliu were last in line, ready to extract the teams when their mission was complete. Above it all flew a pair of MQ-9 Reaper UAV’s and an RQ-4 Global Hawk, all commandeered over the past 12 hours.
The VISOR beeped and he saw his teammates switch their masks from the onboard oxygen pre-breathing tanks to bottles strapped to their chests. He unhooked the line from his VISOR and inserted the quick-connect for his tank, and the smell changed from cool metallic to medicinal as his air transitioned to his own portable tank. The Loadmaster, a Tech Sergeant named Jackson, opened the top and lowered the bottom ramp, waving at them.
It’s time.
Stratello jumped first, leaping from the plane and plummeting to earth, quickly followed by Young, Redman, Taylor, and Mark. Deion turned to him and nodded before jumping.
The Loadmaster gave him a thumbs up and it was his turn to hurl himself down the plane’s deck, out the back, and into the night. The VISOR’s display blazed to life, turning the night into a fluorescent wash of color.
He could make out the rest of the team, far below, in tight formation. Dots in the VISOR lit up as Operators from the following planes followed suit.
There was a moment of clarity as he plummeted to the ground, a moment in which he wasn’t angry or afraid. He noted the position of their target, the placement of the dropping Operators, the position of the planes and helicopters and drones, relative to him, and the mission unfolded in his mind’s eye.
With clarity came a sadness, a bone tired exhaustion that tugged at him as surely as gravity, threatening to pull him under.
He heard Eric’s voice through coms. “John? We’re activating the Implant.”
He blinked as time sped back up. Liquid fire rushed through his veins, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. The exhaustion fell away and his mind refocused on the mission. The ground rushed to meet him as his body sang with strength. He was a giant among men, and even though he knew it was the drugs, he still felt invincible.
“Don’t forget your mission,” Eric said.
I couldn’t forget. Even if I wanted to.
Below, chutes popped open as the Operators reached the correct altitude. Unlike the rest of the Operators, his deployed automatically, the grinding of servos transferred down the lines as the cables pulled and retracted, guiding him to the ground.
The city of Ely stretched out to the south, a collection of houses and shacks built from stone, scrap wood, and corrugated metal. The city had a population of over twenty thousand, but it appeared poor and rundown in the VISOR’s night vision. He was already too low to make out the Gulf of Aden, two miles beyond the edge of the city.
He was coming in hard and fast, and he felt a twinge of pain when he struck the ground. The impact sent an electric shock through the prosthetic and he cursed to himself. The fresh wound on his right thigh started throbbing, even with the painkillers from the Implant.
There was a click and a pop as his parachute disconnected from his backpack. He swung his HK into place and scanned his surroundings. The VISOR indicated he was three hundred yards from their target, a squat stone building that glowed ghostly green in his night vision.
Satellite surveillance had shown a dhow, a small fishing ship, rendezvous with the MV Rising Star twenty miles from the coast. The dhow had returned to the beach, where a large wooden crate had been unloaded and carted to the northeastern part of the city. A drone overfly had detected unusually high traces of radiation.
Occam’s razor suggested the nuclear warhead was in that building.
He increased the magnification and activated the thermal overlay. Dozens of heat signatures bloomed to life.
He sighed. Satellite surveillance detected radiation in the building, but it hadn’t shown all the men guarding it.
“We have hostiles,” he said.
“Roger that,” Eric replied. “We’re picking up the VISOR’s feed. The others will be with you shortly.”
He turned and watched the last of the Operators land in the desert. The rest were collapsing their chutes and rallying near Redman, a hundred yards to his east.
The last man unhooked his parachute, and the Operators approached, guns raised. Counting his own team, there were now over thirty Operators on the ground, ready to engage the enemy. He waved them over and they quickly surrounded him.
Redman and Deion watched the building through their own NVG’s. “You have confirmation?” Deion asked.
“Radiation is centered in that building,” he said, pointing. It was nothing more than a stone box, fifteen feet high and thirty feet square. “Four heat signatures up top. They’re not moving. Another ten signatures inside.” He scanned the horizon. “No other signatures and no movement. They don’t know we’re here.”
Redman snorted. “Once we hit that building, the whole town is gonna know we’re here.”
Deion turned to the rest of the men and spoke softly. “Assume everyone in the building is Al-Qaeda. Once we attack, the Somalis will join the fight. We don’t expect them to put up much resistance. They’re fisherman, not terrorists.”
There was a crackling in their earpieces and John heard Eric’s voice. “Once more unto the breach.”
An Operator, a short black man that John didn’t recognize, spoke up in a gravelly voice. “Shit, is that Steeljaw?”
“Roger that, Ironman,” Eric said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Secure that package and watch your six.”
There was a snicker over coms, then Ironman said, “Don’t worry, Steeljaw, we’re used to doing your heavy lifting.”
John noticed several of the Operators glancing at him, trying to figure out who he was. He ignored them and lifted his HK. “I’ll be moving in five. Snipers, take your positions.”
Eight of the Operators peeled off from the group, four snipers and their spotters, taking cover and preparing for their shots, working their targeting computers. The rest broke into smaller groups and followed him as he approached the building.
When he was within fifty yards, he motioned for them to crouch down. “Snipers, are you ready?”
The four snipers answered with affirmatives.
In his VISOR, he saw the C130 quickly approaching the inbound Ch-46 Sea Knights. Soon the plane would bypass them, just in time to acquire the package, followed closely by the F-22’s.
“John,” Eric said. The com channel was opened just to him. “You’ll have three minutes before pickup.”
He calmed himself. “I’m in position.”
He knew Eric had everything timed down to the second. They only had once chance.
“Wait for it,” Eric said.
He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled calmly. “On your mark.”
A counter displayed on his VISOR, decrementing from ten. “Good luck, John.”
He nodded to himself as he watched the counter ticking down, then the counter hit zero and Eric spoke. “Mark.”
It was the moment he’d been waiting for. All the excitement and tension and the full effect of the Implant took hold. He raced across the hardscrabble rock, faster than a marathon sprinter. He approached the stone building, his feet practically floating over the loose rock. The other Operators followed as best they could, but his training and chemically enhanced musculature allowed him to easily outpace them.