[Redacted]

[Redacted]

Northern Ecuador

[Redacted]

0030 hours

[For the sake of clarity, Mike is referred to as "Mikey."]

Chip POV

First of all, "zero dark thirty" is a thing, but not to the degree that Hollywood and civilians consider it to be. More often than not, what's said is "oh dark thirty," along with "oh dark stupid."

Because come on, who in tarnation wakes up that early? Or rather, who in their right mind would do so?

Also, it doesn't really refer to any specific time, just the middle of the night, when no normal person is awake. Only by chance was it 0030 at that moment.

Slang and griping aside, it was oh dark thirty, and we were deep in the jungle. Save for the chirping of crickets and a few other creatures, it was quiet. It invited a slew of memories, from camping as a boy to midnight hunting to working my way through SERE exercises. But this was no time for recounting memories. We had a job to do: a certain high-value target needed to be wiped off the face of the planet.

But first, let's start from the beginning.

We were attached to JSOC elements supporting SOUTHCOM's Joint Interagency Task Force South. The task force had provided intel on several human, drugs, and arms traffickers, which we successfully managed to kill or capture. However, during what was supposed to be our last raid before we went stateside, we discovered intel during SSE that pointed us towards the leader of a terror cell—the same one responsible for an attack on a US embassy in Peru and a consulate in Ecuador.

The information was relayed up the chain of command and after a few days of analysis and deliberation, the brass made a decision: the leader—Objective Goose—was to be eliminated.

Unfortunately, our mission was hindered before it even got to us. Rules of engagement dictated that we had to keep the op as quiet as possible, couldn't bring in a larger force, and were extremely limited in what kind of support assets (i.e., fire support) we could have. These rules were, of course, come up with by (for the most part) jackasses that couldn't tell you the difference between a carbine and a machine gun.

Hallelujah for idiot politicians, celebrities, journalists, academics, and all the blue check marks on Twitter.

Anyways, these orders were then passed down to Echo Troop of DEVGRU's Gold Squadron. After some discussion with the troop's commander and chief, a plan was made. Eight SEALs from Echo plus four CIA tag-alongs—namely myself, Jawa, Ben, and Mikey—would be inserted some distance from the target building, which was deep in the forest. We would patrol in and use the darkness to our advantage, setting up close to enemy positions. At the perfect time, we would utilize speed, surprise, and violence of action to storm the building, kill the high-value target, conduct SSE, and get out. Simple, right?

Wrong. Two hours before we left the Wasp—an amphibious assault ship assigned to the Navy's Fourth Fleet and our forward operating base—we had a new mission. On a separate raid, the rest of the SEALs from Echo had captured one of Goose's lieutenants, discovering the names and locations of several prisoners in the process. One of them was Frank Townley, a DIA officer that had gone MIA a week ago while tracking the terror cell.

And lo and behold, his location was the same safehouse where Goose was going to be.

When the troop commander informed us of this development, I felt my stomach churn. It was one thing to take down an HVT, but it was another to do so while trying to rescue a hostage. Hostage rescue is a dangerous mission because most useful assets—close air support, artillery fire, and general fire superiority—are often declared null and void, since the force conducting the op has to be mindful of the hostage's safety.

In other words, rather than facing an AK with a Hellfire, we have to face an AK with an AR. And to those saying it's not a fair fight otherwise... that's kind of the point, considering you want to complete the objective and get your men home safe.

Nonetheless, we bucked up and adjusted ourselves. Mikey and one of Echo's corpsmen brought along extra medical equipment to treat Townley as needed, while some of the other Echo guys traded their carbines for long guns and ghillie suits. While the troop chief assisted us with selecting equipment and overviewing tactics, the troop commander ended up getting the greenlight and assets for a more heavily armed extraction force: two Vipers, an Osprey, and a squad of Marines in the event that things got hairy.

Though, knowing our luck, we would definitely be needing them.

After altering the plan and briefing us on it, the troop commander greenlighted us to go. Alexander, Zoe, and Erica stayed with Echo's leadership to provide support from the Wasp's combat information center. After some good wishes from the three, we climbed up to the flight deck and boarded the Venoms, with six men per bird.

The flight took a little over an hour from the Wasp to the Ecuadorian jungle. As we touched down at the infil point, I could almost hear the military history fanatic in me: with the foliage and Huey-esque birds, all we needed were M60s and some "Fortunate Son" blaring out of the sky.

"Go, go, go!" the crew chief shouted over the din of the machinery, prompting us to quickly disembark and set up a perimeter several yards from the bird. A glance towards the other Venom revealed that the other team had done the same. As soon as all men were on the ground, the Venoms lifted off, maneuvering to head back to the Wasp. We quickly moved for the trees for cover and concealment.

"Echo Actual, this is Echo 1-1. All boots on the deck. I pass Ostrich, say again, Ostrich... Roger that. 1-1 out," Senior Chief Myers murmured as he checked in with the CIC. "Okay, SIGINT says our objectives are still there. It's about five klicks with jungle shit everywhere, so watch yourself. Anyone not good to go? ... excellent. Spooks, don't embarrass us. Let's roll."

"Check," Chief Graham replied with a nod, motioning for his team—including Mikey and myself—to move. Graham was to lead the assault element with Mikey and I in tow, while Myers had Ben and Jawa to assist with comms and overwatch. Every operator was silent as we patrolled through the jungle, with the only noises coming from our movement, the point-men, and the overwatch element operators as they clipped off foliage and attached it to their ghillie suits.

Times like this made me thankful that a good bit of my childhood was in the woods, especially considering all the flora and critters out and about. Plus, despite being the biggest guy in the group, I didn't have too much extra trouble in navigating the dense jungle.

After a little more than an hour of patrolling (with two near encounters with snakes that we just barely noticed thanks to our night optical devices), we had finally made it to the target area. The assaulters provided security while the overwatch element moved to set themselves up.

It was a relatively large building in a small clearing surrounded by hills and dense foliage. I wondered why we couldn't have simply extracted directly from here, especially considering that a few Little Birds possibly could've made it in, but a glance up revealed that the canopy covered more of the clearing than we thought—making it far too dangerous, even for pilots as badass as the Nightstalkers. Besides, all available Nightstalkers in the AOR were helping the rest of Echo and some other JSOC elements for a different op, so it's not like they could've helped us here.

The overwatch element had split up into three teams: two were sniper teams, and the third was a gun team. The first sniper team, which consisted of Turner and Myers, watched the north side; the second sniper team, which consisted of Ben and Jawa, watched the west side; and the gun team, which consisted of Evans and Larson watched the east side, where most of the tangos and their vehicle were. With their MK11s and MK48—along with the NSR rifles the spotters and AG carried—they could lay down some serious lead on the bad guys.

Now, let's get back to the present. Myers quietly slid down the hill to us while Turner stayed on his rifle, maintaining overwatch.

"Okay fellas, listen up. We've got ten to thirteen enemy foot-mobiles, based on what we can count. Intel was right: they've got AKs and what appears to be two PKMs on the east second deck. Likely an RPG and some more small arms in there too. We've got a Reaper pushing to our pos, and the extraction force is standing by," Myers whispered.

"Check. ETA on the Reaper?" Graham asked.

"Around five mikes, but don't count on it being super helpful. Damn foliage means little to no ISR support. But we gotta go in now. On the north side, there's a fusebox that doesn't appear to be locked, right side of the door. Cut the power and go in."

"Roger that. On me," Graham ordered, prompting us to slowly move down the hill. Once we reached the bottom, we began advancing towards the building, moving slow and low to maintain stealth. The difficult part wasn't necessarily the movement itself, but being quiet and keeping our NSRs and PVS-31s out of the dirt and mud.

After an agonizingly slow crawl, we finally approached the treeline, maintaining concealment. The enemy hadn't noticed us, and had even moved away from our set point to another side of the building. We were preparing to move to the door when Myers' voice suddenly crackled in my ears.

"2-1, hold it!" he hissed frantically. The point-man—Caldwell—quickly pulled his left hand from his foregrip, forming a fist and an "L": a signal to stop and wait. It was a good thing he made the call when he did, as two guards moved towards the doors.

After a brief moment of silence, Myers spoke again.

"Echo 2, hold what you've got. Distraction inbound."

A variety of ridiculous thoughts ran through my head at the senior chief's words before I began hearing faint noises from the east side: rustling of leaves and branches. Some guards on that side began shouting in what sounded like Spanish, resulting in the north side gunmen muttering among themselves as they rushed over to the east side of the building. Surprisingly, after some sounds of cluttering in the building, even more gunmen charged out of the door, running towards the disturbance.

"1-1, this is 1-4. We've got sixteen guys where we're facing. A few seem spooked," the machine gunner reported.

"This is 1-6. All clear on the west and south sides," Ben added.

"1-1 copies all. Hold fire. Echo 2, all visible tangos are facing east. You're clear to the door," Myers reported.

"Roger, 1-1," Graham acknowledged. "2 moving to the door." After releasing the push-to-talk button, he motioned for us to advance. We stood, maintaining a crouching position as we quickly walked to the northern side of the building. Soon, we were stacked alongside the door, ready to breach. I was the third man, behind Caldwell and Graham, with the breacher, Mikey, and a sixth operator behind me holding rear security.

"2, are you set?" Andy asked.

"A-firm," Graham whispered.

"Solid copy. Door swings inward. Move."

"Ray, go."

At Graham's command, the fourth man in the stack crept forward, moving quickly to the other side of the door. Keeping his body out of the doorway, he slid his hand along the door frame, checking for any traps. Confirming that there were no traps, he nodded.

"Kill the lights."

Ray moved forward to the fuse box, quietly opened it, and gently pulled the master switch. Not even a second after he did so, Caldwell took his left hand and opened the door, moving to the near right corner and maintaining control of his slice of the room—some sort of makeshift barracks. Graham took the near left corner, I took the section of wall to the right of the doorway, and Mikey took the section to the left, with the sixth man staying outside with Ray to hold security. IR lasers from four PEQ-15s lit up the room as we stood ready to fire on any tangos.

After a brief moment, everyone deactivated their IR lasers except for Graham, who lassoed the door on the far side—that is, he drew a circle with his laser on the door. I took point, pushing open the door and moving down the hallway, the rest of the assaulters behind me.

While I don't scare easily, hallways make me nervous because they're fatal funnels—choke points that could be your greatest friend or your worst nightmare... perhaps even both if you're playing defense. A single grenade or a burst of machine gun fire could easily wipe us out. Forget cover, we didn't even have concealment.

We cleared one more room in the hallway—evidently another living space—before pressing onwards, reaching a staircase at the south side of the building. Before we could move upwards, I heard voices and steps; someone was coming down the stairs.

I moved my finger from the safe position outside the trigger guard, preparing to shoot, when suddenly, shouts and sounds of AKs could be heard from outside. Whoever was on the stairs began rushing back up, and the sounds of PKMs were added to the chaos.

"1-1, 1-3 has been made!"

"Echo 1, do not engage. Echo 2, get to second deck and neutralize those tangos!" Myers ordered.

"Roger that! Go!" Caldwell said, tapping my shoulder. I moved as quickly as I could up the stairs, keeping my NSR's muzzle pointed upwards. Right before I cleared the last step, an enemy charged into the hallway armed with an AK. I opened fire, putting two rounds in center mass and one in the head of the gunman, making him crumple to the floor.

"1, be advised, 2 is on second deck," Graham reported over the comm. "Direct your fire onto everything on the first deck."

"Roger. Echo 1 goin' hot," Myers replied.

At his command, more gunfire erupted from outside. The roar of Evans' MK48 could be heard along with the terrified screams of the tangos below. While I couldn't make out distinct sounds, I was certain that the snipers and spotters had joined in on the fun, making it rain 7.62 and 5.56.

I almost felt sorry for the enemy. Almost.

Yells came from the room just ahead to our right, forcing us to halt. Wasting no time, Caldwell pulled a flashbang from his belt, pulling the pin.

"Flash out!" he warned, tossing it past me into the room. Despite our ComTacs, we could still hear the loud "bang," as well as see part of the giant flash that was intensified by our NODs. Right after the flashbang went off, we rushed in the same way as downstairs, finding one guy with a PKM shooting out of a window and a second one preparing to fire an RPG-7. Both were in my slice, so I applied the Mozambique drill on both, their bodies subsequently dropping like flies.

"Clear!"

"All clear!"

"Check!" Graham replied, acknowledging the other assaulters' calls. "Echo 1, PKMs are down. I say again, PKMs are down. Any word on the package?"

"2-1, this is 1-4. We have a visual on something. Second deck, north side. Just got moved away from the window," Larson replied. "Move fast, boys. Tangos are wising up."

"Roger! On me!"

At Graham's order, we filed out of the room before advancing on the doorway at the end of the hallway, but he took point. We moved fast, with Graham all but kicking the door down, moving left. However, while his slice was clear, mine wasn't.

I tried to fire, but the giant gunman was too close for my rifle. I knocked his AK out of his hands before pinning him against the wall, the two of us struggling over my NSR.

"MOVE IN, MOVE IN!" I barked, continuing to wrestle with the gunman as the rest of the assaulters rushed into the room. Finally, freeing my right hand, I drew my G17 from my holster and put three rounds in him, his lifeless body dropping to the ground.

"CLEAR!"

"Mikey, Drake, check that closet," Graham ordered, lassoing the door in the corner with his IR laser. Mikey and the sixth operator moved to it whilst the rest of the element controlled the remainder of the room and the corridor.

"Guys! We got Townley!" Mikey announced, opening a small closet where a bloody, limp body lay. Mikey knelt, gently pulling him out with Drake before checking his pulse. "He's still alive!"

"1-1, package is secured. Stand by for PID and status," Graham reported.

"Roger, you have the package," Myers acknowledged.

"Hey, Chief! Look at this guy!" I said, pointing at the dead body at my feet. "Look familiar?"

Graham came to me and knelt, raising his NODs and turning on the headlamp attached to his plate carrier. Opening the quarterback sleeve on his forearm, he examined the picture inside, comparing it with the dead enemy. Sure enough, it was our HVT.

"All stations, I pass Jackpot. Goose is cooked, I say again, Goose is cooked," Graham announced.

"Roger, Goose is cooked. Good work, 2. Status on the package?" Myers asked. While the SEALs talked, I took the opportunity to reload my NSR and G17.

"Crap! Echo 2, three tangos just went in the building!" Larson warned.

"Roger. Chip, Ray, go!"

"Check!" we replied, egressing from the room and moving for the staircase. As we arrived, I heard shouts and footsteps coming our way.

"Cover me!"

"Go!"

At Ray's acknowledgement, I let my NSR hang on its sling, taking an M67 fragmentation grenade from my belt and pulling the pin.

"Frag out," I quietly warned Ray, tossing it down the stairs, quickly stepping backwards, and bringing my NSR up. The gunmen screamed in panic, but it was too late, as the frag promptly exploded into a cloud of smoke and shrapnel.

For those expecting a fireball, I apologize. This ain't some cheesy movie from the 80s.

"On me!" I ordered, pressing forward. All three seemed to squirm a little, so we put an extra two rounds in each enemy, confirming their demise. Unfortunately, the body of one was blocking the stairs, so I moved him out of the way, allowing us to clear our egress route.

"2-1, this is 2-6. Three tangos down," I reported. "Building is clear."

"Roger that. 2-3, commence SSE. 2-6, provide assistance and security."

"Roger."

"1-1, this is 2-1. We have PID on the package. I say again, PID on package. 2-5's takin' care of him. Prelim says he'll pull through, over."

"Solid copy, 2-1," Myers replied. "Area is clear, all enemy foot-mobiles neutralized. Echo 1 will maintain overwatch. Button up the target and egress. Take the truck on the south side."

"Roger, 1-1. Move it, fellas."

Ray began checking the bodies while I scanned the building itself, looking for anything useful we could take back to the intel guys.

"Chip, got a cell phone!" Ray said after a couple of minutes. "Anything?"

"Map, photos. Everything else is clean. We should—"

Before I could finish, the phone in Ray's hand's buzzed. He raised his NODs to examine it, only for his face to shift to one of horror as he fumbled for his radio.

"Damn it! All stations, we got a phone that indicates there's an enemy QRF inbound!" Ray warned before we shoved the paraphernalia into the bag used for materials gathered from SSE.

"He's right," Myers confirmed. "ISR just picked up three aggressor victors approaching from the north—likely enemy QRF, three mikes out. Echo 2, you need to start your exfil now. We'll meet you at secondary extract."

"Roger that. Hey boys, we gotta roll!" Graham shouted. With a heightened sense of urgency, I dashed for the exit, Ray on my heels.

"Echo 2 comin' out, north door!" I warned before we exited the door, each of us kneeling by each side of the door and maintaining security. Shortly after, the rest of Echo 2 came out, with Mikey having slung Townley over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guys, Townley's pretty beaten up! He's alive, but we gotta get moving now!" Mikey urged.

"Mikey, Drake, stay with the package. Caldwell, you're on nav. Chip and Ray, cover our six!" Graham ordered as we ran for the pickup truck. Ray and I climbed into the truck bed, Graham leapt for the driver's seat, Caldwell took the passenger seat, and Mikey and Drake got themselves and Townley in the back seat.

"Let's go, let's go!" I shouted, pouding on the roof of the cabin. Graham hit the gas, and we sped away from the target building, eventually crashing through a chain-link fence.

Hanging on for dear life, I kept an eye on the road behind us, watching out for the enemy QRF. But after driving for a few minutes, I soon found out that it was not our element, but the other element that was in trouble.

"Echo 2, Echo 2, be advised, we just... OH F—" Myers called over the radio, the remainder of his words drowned out by gunfire and static.

"Say again, Echo 1! Echo 1, say again your last!" Drake shouted. The static and gunfire went on for another minute before Myers finally got his message through.

"Ec... i... los... Echo 2, this is 1! We just lost secondary extract! I say again, we just lost secondary extract! Moving to tertiary rally point, how copy, over?"

"Lima Charlie, 1. Echo 2 is moving to tertiary rally point!" Not even a second after Drake's reply, a pickup loaded with gunmen emerged from a side road behind us.

"Contact rear!" I shouted, Ray and I opening fire on the enemy vehicle. They fired back with AKs and pistols, forcing me to compact myself as much as possible. A few rounds missed me and hit the glass behind me, eliciting startled shouts from my teammates. A few moments later, we ran over a windshield filled with cracks—Caldwell had kicked out the windshield in order to maintain visibility. All the while, Graham pushed the pedal to the metal, making me silently pray that I wasn't thrown from the truck.

Because in Ben's own words, "physics is cruel."

Even with the IR laser assisting me, there was so much movement and so many muzzle flashes that it was difficult to get a lock on the truck. After expending perhaps an entire magazine, both the driver and passenger were killed, the pair of gunmen in the truck bed helpless as the vehicle swerved out of control.

"Enemy victor down!" I reported as I reloaded my NSR.

"Guys! One klick out!" Caldwell yelled from the cabin. We continued down the dirt road, when suddenly, a second truck finally caught up to us.

"You gotta be—CONTACT REAR!"

"How the hell did they catch up so quickly?!?"

At that moment, I wished I had an M60, M249, or any sort of machine gun. Suppressive fire would at least get them off our tail. But no, I was just firing one round at a time from an NSR, which was as effective as a rubber mallet against Superman.

"Rocket out, rocket out, rocket out!" Turner—the sniper—suddenly warned over the comm. Not even a full second later, a rocket whizzed past us, making contact with the enemy victor and blowing it to kingdom come.

Despite me nearly being blinded with my NODs on, the fireball was a beautiful sight.

"Hell yeah!" I laughed as the truck came to a halt. Right at the side of the road was Echo 1, including the source of the rocket: Myers with a spent M72 LAW he had brought along "just in case."

Myers, Evans, Larson, Jawa, and Turner crammed into the truck bed while Ben squeezed into the cabin. They had ditched some of their gear and pulled the hoods of their ghillie suits back, replacing them with helmets, NODs down and ready for action.

"Go, go, go!"

"Hey, Caldwell! Get us to primary LZ! We can still make it!" Turner yelled as Graham hit the gas.

"Got it!"

"Chip, let me get your rifle!" Jawa shouted over the roar of the engine, setting down his MK11. I gave him my NSR, letting him and the gun team take over rear security.

"Senior, what's the status on those birds?" I asked.

"I lost Prowler on the run, told 'em we're moving to primary LZ and we're probably gonna need CAS!" Myers replied.

"Contact rear—SHIT, TECHNICAL!" Larson warned as another enemy truck appeared around thirty yards behind us. This time, it had a DShK machine gun mounted to the truck bed—the Soviets' spin on the M2 .50-cal.

Freakin' commies.

Jawa and the gun team unleashed the might of their weapons, but the terrorist was protected by a shield attached to the DShK. He wasn't accurate, but sooner or later, something would hit us. Suddenly, I had an idea—a stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless.

"Ben, give me the forty mike-mike!" I shouted over the gunfire, pounding on the rear window of the cabin. Understanding what I meant, Ben was able to open the window and just barely pass the M79 grenade launcher and a pair of HEDP 40-mm rounds. "Hey, Graham! Put some distance between us!"

Somehow, Graham managed to accelerate the truck further, putting at least thirty yards between us and the enemy victor to our six, and that soon became forty. But luck was not on our side.

"Dammit! Malfunction!" Evans cursed. With no time to try and fix the problem, he switched to his sidearm and fired, keeping his MK48's muzzle pointed at the enemy truck..

"Get down, Evans!" Ray warned before letting off a few rounds of 5.56 over Evans' ducked head. "Chip, I hope you got a plan!"

"Okay, okay!" I shouted, having a little difficulty loading the M79 with the chaos and night vision. Finally, I had the launcher loaded and pointed at the enemy.

"C'mon, c'mon..." I muttered as I tried to line up the target in my sights. "Everyone down! Grenade out!"

With a "thunk," the projectile went spinning out of the launcher, following a slight arch before miraculously making contact with the truck. An explosion—mostly smoke—engulfed the gunner and the DShK. To finish it off, Evans rectified his machine gun and fired off a burst that shredded the driver and passenger, making the truck veer into a tree by the road.

"Hey, it's blockin' the road! That'll hold 'em for a bit!" Evans guffawed as he reloaded his MK48. I laughed with him, patting his shoulder.

"Cut the chatter, boys. Enemy QRF may be destroyed, but we'll celebrate when we egress from the AO," Myers ordered.

"Check!" we replied in unison.

"Two klicks out!" Caldwell yelled from the cabin.

"Jawa, give me the NSR!" I said, giving him his MK11 and passing the M79 to Myers. After a few more minutes of fancy maneuvering (that nearly threw us out of the truck bed), we had arrived at a clearing—the primary LZ.

"Prowler, Prowler, this is Echo. Be advised, we are at primary LZ. I have thirteen packs: twelve Echos, one package. Package is a CAT Alpha. What is your status?" Myers asked on the command net. While he communicated with the extraction force, the rest of us looked around the clearing. I saw another entrance to the clearing about a hundred and fifty yards away to our right.

"Hey, anyone else hearing that?" Drake called. I didn't hear it at first, but it soon became clear.

"Damn! Guys, the Reaper just picked up a second enemy QRF comin' in from the northeast, one mike out! Prowler's ETA is seven!"

"Senior, four trucks, around three hundred yards out!" I warned, seeing the QRF swerve around the corner and enter our view.

"Everyone dismount! Mikey, Drake, secure the package! Chip, Evans, Ben, Turner, establish overwatch on that hill and wait for my go! Everyone else, on me!"

"Chip, Ben, nutsacks!" Larson called before I could run for the hill, pulling two soft mags for the MK48 off his person and tossing one to each of us. While we booked it for the hill, Mikey and Drake carried Townley towards the trees to shield him from further gunfire while Jawa and the rest of the SEALs took up positions behind the truck's engine block, wheels, and any other cover they could find. When the enemy entered the clearing, we would hit their right sides hard.

As soon as the enemy trucks entered the clearing, the team by the pickup opened fire at the enemy trucks: two SUVs, a technical, and a small dump truck, carrying at least fifty enemy fighters in total.

The operators below us had successfully taken down close to a dozen gunmen, but the ones still standing were getting smart, hiding behind their vehicles. Even worse, despite one of them having already killed the technical gunner, another one jumped up onto the DShK and was training it on them. Suddenly, the DShK and its gunner were engulfed in a small explosion, thanks to an HEDP round from Myers with the M79.

"Pirate Gun never fails," Evans chuckled, while I nodded assent.

"Overwatch, you're clear to engage!" Myers urged.

"Goin' hot," I replied, my adrenaline spiking, as the four of us opened fire at the enemy below us. Within a few moments, we had eliminated a half dozen enemy fighters.

As the firefight progressed, we slowly whittled down the enemy force, but the gunmen were nothing if not persistent. They had a vast supply of weaponry, including RPGs. The only reason we never got a rocket fired at us was the precise fires of Jawa and Turner, who were targeting the RPG carriers. Myers also launched another HEDP round, taking down a few more terrorists.

But then the gunmen wised up, training a few PKMs on our position, forcing us to stay down or get shot.

"1-1, where are those birds?" I asked. "Overwatch pinned down!"

"They're six mikes out! Hold what you got!" Myers replied. "Stay down—"

The rest of his call was drowned out by a pained yell from Evans, who had been shot in the right shoulder while engaging the enemy force.

"I gotcha, frogman!" I shouted, pulling him down behind the ridgeline of the hill. Of course, I couldn't do much else due to the protocol of no medicine in a gunfight, but Evans couldn't do much either—at least, not beyond applying pressure—since a GSW in the shoulder can't be helped by a tourniquet. "Stay down, Evans!"

"Take the Pig! Light 'em up!" he barked. Nodding, I took the MK48 and got into a prone position, firing at the enemy QRF with 5-7 round bursts. They were still behind cover, but they had the good sense to stay down. A few left themselves exposed, firing on our position, but a few well-placed bursts was enough to knock 'em to the ground.

"Reloading!" I warned as I moved back behind the hill, grabbing the nutsack I stored in my dump pouch. Just so we're clear, reloading a machine gun is hard. Call of Duty doesn't really do it justice. I stayed down for some time whilst trying to reload quickly, with my teammates by the pickup continuing to lay down fire on the enemy.

"Last mag! Where the hell are those birds?!?"

Suddenly, I began to hear a faint whirring noise in the air, despite all the gunfire: helicopter rotor blades. The Marines were finally on station.

"Guys, Prowler is inbound! Make sure your strobes are on!" Graham warned over the net, referring to the IR strobes on our helmets that marked our position.

"You're good, man!"

"Strobe's on!"

Each operator checked himself and the one beside him before confirming to Myers that every man had his strobe on.

"1-6, call it in!" Myers ordered Ben—who was a qualified JFO, capable of directing air, land, and sea-based fire support.

"Roger! Prowler 4-1, this is Echo 1-6! Fire mission! ... Friendly positions are marked by IR strobes! Fire for effect on enemy infantry and vehicles one hundred meters, fifty degrees! Targets are marked with infrared laser! Danger close, how copy? ... Roger, you are cleared hot on enemy targets!" Ben called, pulling out a special laser to mark the target. "Get down, danger close fires incoming!"

Not even five seconds after his warning, several "whooshes" could be heard amid the chaos as a Viper swooped in above the trees, unleashing a salvo of rockets on the enemy position, with his wingman doing the same. The carnage was, in a morbid way, astounding as the enemy force realized they no longer had the upper hand.

Panicked shouting came from the gunmen, but it was too late. Moments later, gunfire lit up the night sky as the Vipers carried out a gun-run with their 20-mm rotary cannons at Ben's direction, causing a truck to go up in flames.

BRRRRRRT.

"Get some, Marines..." I murmured, grinning at the Marines' excellent execution of CAS. I know I'm biased, but it's like the saying goes: "there is no better friend, no worse enemy, than a US Marine."

Finally, a few tangos had enough and decided to run, mounting up in the technical and driving off. Unfortunately for the gunmen, Jawa already had eyes on them.

"1-6, four squirters are bugging out in a pickup truck, moving northeast," he warned, shining his IR laser on the truck.

"Roger! Prowler, Prowler, Echo 1-6! Great guns! Direct your fire on squirters in the pickup truck egressing from LZ, moving northeast!" Ben called over the command net. One Viper proceeded to fly after the escaping truck while the other kept hitting the entrenched enemy forces.

After perhaps fifteen seconds of hammering the enemy force, Ben called for the bird to cease fire, as the enemy had been completely wiped out. The second Viper, meanwhile, had radioed that the retreating enemy had been destroyed, and were returning to the LZ.

"... roger that, Lifter 3-1," Ben replied over the CAS net before switching back to Echo's net. "All Echo stations, Lifter's flaring for landing! Everyone rally at the pickup! Let's get the hell outta here!

"Amen to that!" Evans groaned as I pulled him to his feet, supporting him with my right arm and carrying the MK48 with my left. We ran to the pickup where the rest of the operators—Townley in tow—had regrouped.

The Vipers maintained armed overwatch over the LZ while an Osprey—Lifter 3-1, I presumed—arrived over the clearing, tilting its rotors and landing in the flat area that somehow remained untouched by any vehicles or explosions. As the wheels touched down and the blades kicked up grass and dust everywhere, approximately a dozen Marines scrambled out past the ramp gunner and knelt to form a wide perimeter around the MV-22.

"COME ON! LET'S GO!" Myers shouted over the noise of the Osprey's rotors. Everyone bolted for the bird as the Marines from the extraction force watched our backs. As soon as we were in our seats, our rescuers came back one by one before everyone was accounted for.

"WE'RE GOOD, WE'RE GOOD!" one Marine shouted as he sat. "GET US TO THE WASP!"

At his order, the Osprey lifted off, the gunner at the ramp remaining vigilant with his M240. Yet, I was only half-relieved, for we were still in enemy airspace. Looking to my left, I saw Townley being strapped to a litter. He appeared to regain some consciousness as Mikey, Drake, and a corpsman were treating him.

"Frank! It wasn't for nothing!" Ray shouted next to Mikey, holding up the cell phone we recovered. Frank only nodded tiredly as the medics stabilized him. Satisfied, Mikey moved to Evans, who was being tended to by Larson.

"Roger, Actual!" Myers shouted over the command net next to me. "I have thirteen packs! Twelve Echos, one package! We have one CAT Alpha, one CAT Bravo! We need stretchers!"

I looked across the aisle at Turner, who simply nodded my way as if to say, "good work." I responded in kind.

Some time later, we finally arrived back at the Wasp, where Erica, Zoe, and Alexander were waiting, having provided support from the TOC. We had to provide AARs, but mercifully, Zoe and Alexander made sure we were spared of anything beyond a basic oral one (i.e., one of Erica's ridiculously long and detailed debriefings).

"You guys did amazing. Go get some rest," Alexander said as he patted my shoulder.

"We'll handle the stuff you gathered from your little SSE. Now get outta here!" Zoe ordered, pointing towards the hatch. Chuckling, we all went below deck, visiting our quarters and the armory to stow our gear away. Immediately after, Mikey rushed to the sick bay to check on Evans and Townley, who were being taken care of by the corpsmen on the ship.

"Hey, boys. That was some solid work out there. Chip, good job working by the seat of your pants," Myers said, eliciting similar congratulations from the rest of the SEALs.

"Not bad for a few spooks, huh?" Ben joked.

"Don't push it, bud. You're still Company men."

"Roger that, Senior," I replied, the two of us exchanging a fist-bump. "Now, who's hungry?"

"Of course your first thought after a firefight is food," Ben mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, how do you think he got this big?" Jawa replied as he gestured towards me, making the rest of us laugh the rest of the way to the mess deck.

Evans and Townley would turn out fine, and the operation was deemed a success. Moreover, according to Echo's commander, the South American terrorist cell was crippled that night, and there was nothing left to do but mop up.

We were proud of what we did that night, but I knew deep down that those who are dedicated to their cause will never truly cease to exist. However, we could only hope that, by terminating the evil of the present, we would strike fear into the evil of the future, and deter them from such a path.

But that's a story for another time...

Truth be told, this short story has been in the works since December of 2021, but due to other commitments, I've been putting it off and practically rewriting it every time I've looked at it—including today. Since I'm finally publishing it now, I want to explain my motivations.

This is CDR Richard "Demo Dick" Marcinko, the founder of SEAL Team 6 and Naval Security Coordination Team OP-06D (AKA Red Cell).

This is COL Charles Alvin "Chargin' Charlie" Beckwith, the founder of 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta (AKA Delta Force) and, by his recommendation, the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment and the Joint Special Operations Command.

Both men are not only special operations legends, but US military legends as a whole. They built up units based on unconventional strategies and tactics, taking some of America's finest warriors and pushing them even further. They may have passed on, but we see the effects of their work today in the Naval Special Warfare Development Group and the Army's Combat Applications Group—or whatever they're called, considering that the units' names are constantly changing—both of which are made up of some of the greatest warfighters on the planet. As such, this story was originally dedicated to these two legends.

But while these men's names will be long remembered in history, there are many others' whose names will be lost to the mists of time.

Memorial Day is a day in which we remember those that have died while serving in the US military. It is a day of mourning for those men and women that sacrificed everything in the line of duty.

From the thirteen service members lost in the Kabul airport attack...

To the men lost in the shootdown of Extortion 17...

To the soldiers that died in the defense of COP Keating...

MSG Gary Gordon...

SFC Randy Shugart...

MSgt John Chapman...

PO1 Neil Roberts...

SCPO Shannon Kent...

PO2 Michael Monsoor...

PO1 Glen Doherty...

SCPO Tyrone Woods...

GySgt Scott Koppenhafer...

MSG Joshua Wheeler...

SCPO William Owens...

1LT Ashley White-Stumpf...

SGT Pilla...

And many others. Too many to count.

Everyone will die, but nobody truly dies until they're forgotten. Let the warriors and their stories be remembered, for it is their valor and sacrifice that deserves to be known by generations to come.

Peace to the fallen.