Chapter 4 | Friends of War

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

She jumps. Her gloved hands grasp the edge of the searing hot metal. With a loud grunt, Lexi pulls herself up and out of the smoking helicopter. The Afghan sun beats down on her. Swinging her leg over, she balances her body on the edge of the Black Hawk and then finally drops to the other side. She hits the earth with a hard thud, rolling to the ground. Men begin to shout. She's been spotted.

Rapid gunfire spits out the ends of three AK-47 rifles at 600 rounds per minute. The insurgents charge in her direction, firing wildly. The projectiles clang against the Blackhawk. Some fly pass her, hitting the dirt. In a panic, Lexi flings herself in the opposite direction racing around the tail of the helicopter.

Once on the other side, she takes cover behind the aircraft and draws her weapon - the Army's standard issue Beretta M9. Lexi quickly racks the slide, loading a bullet into the chamber. Her hands shake. Her breathing hastens. She's accustom to fighting in the air. Not this close to the ground. Looking around herself, she evaluates her situation.

Behind her lies the destroyed chopper. To her right is the slope she ungracefully rode the aircraft down. To her left is a dried up creek bed about four feet wide and two feet deep. On the other side of the dirt filled creek lies a small hut. The ancient structure is roofless and the walls are partially collapsed.

The three men draw closer, determined to kill the American. Lexi puffs out a few rapid breaths. She rolls her shoulders, attempting to loosen the stiff muscles in her neck. She steadies her hands. She digs her boots into the dirt. She draws a deep breath.

Then finally, she leaps from cover.

---

Rome, Italy | 09:42 hours

Lexi inhales sharply as she's pulled from her slumber. Sweat clings to her face and pools under her back. She groans as she rolls over, throwing the heavy comforter off her body. Sitting up on the edge of the bed she leans forward, feeling the nausea swell in her belly.

"Oh, come on," she whispers. Lexi stands up and hastily moves to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Once her body relieves her stomach of whatever it can, she decides to take that moment to relieve her bladder as well. After washing her hands and brushing her teeth, she clicks off the light and opens the door to see Sam, still asleep in the large king-sized bed, looking as comfortable as he can be.

When she returned from her jog the night before, she and her husband talked for nearly an hour and a half, expressing themselves and venting their previously unspoken frustrations. It ended with an embrace and both of them apologizing, but neither of them giving in to the other's request. They finally decided to sleep and then talk through it in the morning.

She crawls back into bed, tucking her legs under the sheets and moving closer to him. He faces the balcony door, with his bare back toward her. Lexi gently runs her fingers along his shoulders, comparing her pale skin to his dark complexion. He doesn't move, so she persists. She's awake and doesn't want to be alone.

Sam draws in a long breath and lets out a sigh. "Good morning," he mumbles.

"Hey," she replies.

He twists around. As his eyes adjust to the morning light, he takes a moment to examine her face - to read her. His dreads are no longer tied together, but hang loosely across his pillow. "What's up?" he finally asks.

She takes her time, considering her thoughts carefully, as she ponders the long discussion from the night before.

"I don't know," she finally says.

"That's bullshit," Sam responds, calmly.

She lets out a faint laugh and then rolls onto her back. "I'm going," she finally says. Lexi braces for his reply, preparing for the unavoidable argument to ensue.

After a moment, he replies, "Then I'm going with you."

She furrows her eyebrows and looks at him. Her eyes dart back and forth, examining his expression.

"What?" she asks.

"I'm going with you," Sam repeats.

Lexi props herself up on her elbow and takes a good look at him. "You being serious?"

Sam chuckles. "Yeah, I mean, clearly I'm not gonna stop you. I mean, I could cuff you to the bed, but I'm sure you'd find a way to escape, anyway. So the next best thing would be... to go with you and make sure you stay out of trouble." He smiles at her.

"You sure about this?" Lexi asks.

"Yeah. I'm sure," Sam replies. "But under one condition," he adds, raising his forefinger.

"Shoot," Lexi responds, shrugging her shoulders. If Sam is going to go through with this, then she could at least attempt to accommodate his request.

"This is our last one," he says.

Lexi looks at him. He's serious. He has absolutely no desire to continue the dangerous path he, at one time, never wanted to leave.

She envisions them growing old together. Laughing, traveling, and enjoying their lives. Maybe Sam's right; maybe pushing their luck too far would one day put an abrupt end to their journey together. Is their love worth the risk?

"Deal," Lexi whispers. She smiles and he returns her expression.

The rest of the day is spent gathering information and coordinating with Jason via webcam. Lexi organizes transportation and logistics, while Sam locates the selected team members for the mission. The individuals chosen are among the Remingtons' most qualified and trustworthy team members.

First, they contact Dietrich Schmidt - a long time friend of the Remingtons. Raised near Frankfurt Germany, Dietrich enlisted in the army as soon as he turned 17 years old. He spent the next two decades traveling the world as a Combat Engineer. Dietrich arguably knows more about any kind of explosive known to man than most of his colleagues. On top of that, he's learned the details of just about every other weapon of practically any origin. This impressive resume led the Remingtons to seek him out as Dark Angel's dedicated Quartermaster. Dietrich oversees the purchase, storage, and use of every piece of equipment used by Dark Angel employees.

Once Dietrich agrees to the mission, they then reach out to Anatoly Petrov, who loudly boasts himself as the best sniper in the world. The Russian rifleman has competed and won dozens of shooting competitions around the globe. His competitors utilize all the gadgets they deem necessary, whereas Anatoly often shows up with a bare-bones rifle and a fifth of vodka, dominating his competition.

Anatoly always says, "A sober Russian is not to be trusted." This is a saying he truly lives by, fulfilling the stereotype.

After the team is selected and the logistics are organized, the Remingtons give Jason the green light to accept the job. A phony contract is submitted to Jason, who signs it on behalf of Dark Angel. The contract ambiguously requests security services from the CIA, leaving out the details of the mission objective. Once signed, five percent of the payment is disbursed to Dark Angel's account as an upfront fee.

"Okay, the contract has been signed and submitted," Jason says through the laptop's speakers.

"Awesome. Sounds good," replies Sam. He and Lexi fold their clothes and stuff them into their luggage, while the sun begins to set, outside the window. Sam moves to the laptop and leans over the keyboard. "Thanks for getting it all set up. We're gonna be heading to the airport in about thirty minutes. You get some sleep and we'll see you when we land."

"Yeah, sure thing," the exhausted Jason replies on the other end. "Okay, have a safe flight, you two!"

His image freezes, just before turning black. Sam exits a few applications and then powers down his computer. Once he closes the laptop, he pauses and glances around the room.

"What's up?" asks Lexi. She studies him as she folds a T-shirt.

He meets her gaze. "We're going to have a real vacation once we're done, right?" Sam asks.

Lexi smiles. "For sure," she replies.

"Promise?" Sam raises his eyebrows.

Lexi laughs. "Yeah, I promise."

---

Santo Domingo, Puerto Rico | 10:17 hours

The air is heavy and humid while Jason and the Remingtons wait for the rest of their entourage, outside the gates of the small private airstrip. The first to arrive is Dietrich. The tall German stands out on the Latin American island; his skin is pale and his hair nearly white. Dietrich's short mane is cut into a perfectly shaped faux hawk and his goatee is neatly manicured. Nearly fifty years old, Dietrich refuses to behave his age, sporting black gauges in his earlobes and a series of complex tattoos. His rolled up sleeves showcase the ink running down his arms, over the tops of his hands, and along his fingers. 

He exits the taxi and approaches the team, wearing a pair of expensive black Oakley sunglasses, a well fitted dark green button-down shirt, and blue designer jeans. Dietrich carries his bag over one shoulder and stretches out his arms from one side to another, preparing for an embrace. "Friends!" he hollers to the group, approaching at a casual pace.

"What up, D?" responds Sam, with a grin. He reaches out and the two men clasp their right hands together and embrace one another with their free arms. Dietrich stands about two inches taller than Sam, and is much leaner. 

Dietrich pulls away and offers a fist to Jason, who meets it with his own. "Good to see you, Jason." His accent is barely noticeable. He has spent years perfecting his English, working alongside hundreds of American and British citizens.

He then turns to Lexi. "And good to see you, as always, sweetheart."

"Hey, D," Lexi answers as she stands on her toes to hug him.

Divorced twice, Dietrich has concluded he's not a man to be domesticated. He lives his life from woman to woman, cigarette to cigarette, and bottle to bottle. Aside from his three children, born of different mothers, the Remingtons have become the closest thing to family. His own offspring refuse to see him as they clearly do not support his lifestyle. Always conflicted between the need to reconnect with his children and his disdain toward the women he created them with, Dietrich has put his negative energy into his work and spending every dollar on his riotous living.

"Where the hell is the Russian?" asks Dietrich, as he inserts a cigarette between his lips and ignites a lighter.

"He'll show up," says Jason, "eventually." The last part of the sentence is added with a hint of annoyance.

"In the meantime," says Sam, "why don't we do a final equipment check and get everything on board."

"Yeah, sounds good," says Jason. "I'll hang out here and wait for Anatoly. Don't want the guy getting lost and causing problems."

The rest of the group grabs the luggage and hauls it through the gate. The security is practically nonexistent and they've already paid the right people the right amount of cash to get them discrete access.

The three mercenaries make their way into the first open hanger where they are greeted by an enthusiastic Puerto Rican pilot. He's young and full of life. His black curly hair hangs over his collar and his face is clean-shaven. The pilot's loose button-down floral shirt drapes over a pair of khaki shorts. He appears ready for a vacation rather than a CIA sanctioned mission.

"Hola, amigos!" he exclaims.

"Hola. Como estas?" replies Lexi. The two of them converse briefly about the weather, in Spanish. Lexi studied the language through both high school and college. Aside from her formal lingual studies, she grew familiar with the dialect working alongside some of the hired hands on her father's ranch. Lexi learned certain phrases from these men her educators would have been fired for teaching her.

"Guys, this is Gabriel," Lexi says, introducing him to the group. She then gestures to each of the men, introducing their names to Gabriel. They shake hands and quickly greet one another.

"You guys excited, yeah?" asks Gabriel in his thick accent.

The three mercenaries stare at the pilot. Dietrich pinches his cigarette between his fingers and pulls it from his face. "You sure about this man?" he asks, Lexi. "Does he even know what we're doing here?"

She chuckles. "He's fine. Great pilot right, right?" she adds, asking Gabriel.

"Oh, the best!" he replies with a big smile across his face and both thumbs in the air. "I've flown hundreds of hours! Very much experience. In fact, I will get my license next week!"

"Wait-" starts Sam.

"I will help you with your bags," Gabriel adds, quickly grabbing at their equipment.

Sam turns to Lexi as Gabriel strolls off with a bag in each hand. "Did he just say he doesn't have his license yet?" he asks her.

"Yeah..." she watches Gabriel carry the luggage toward the small plane. This is a detail was somehow omitted by her contact. "I mean, but when you think about it, what difference does one week really make, right?" She turns and smiles at Sam. "Come one. Let's go." Lexi starts toward the plane with Sam and Dietrich trailing behind her.

"This is really the dude your guy found for us?" Sam asks, somewhat amused and slightly terrified.

"Oh, he's fine," she replies over her shoulder. "Didn't he just say he's the best?" Lexi smirks.

Dietrich shakes his head as he takes another drag. "If I die because of this man, I'm going to be very pissed off with you, Lexi."

The plane is a small, six-seat, single-propeller aircraft. As Lexi steps inside, she studies the cramped cabin. It seems to provided just enough for their needs. The two rear seats face forward and are smashed close together. Across from them are another set of two seats facing toward the rear. Squeezing between the front seats leads to the cockpit for the pilot and an extra passenger.

After opening the bags to examine their equipment, Sam and Dietrich shove most of the luggage into the small side compartment, from the outside of the plane, while Lexi and Gabriel review the flight plan.

"Look who I found," states Jason as he strolls into the hanger with Anatoly.

"Hey, hey, hey!" exclaims Anatoly, with his arms outstretched.

The Russian's long dark hair, mixed with silver strands, hangs over his shoulders. The unruly mop appears to have avoided shampoo for more than a week and his unkempt beard grows every which way. Anatoly's over-sized black T-shirt hangs loosely over his gray pants. His boots are untied and loosened and his belly bulges slightly. Compared to Dietrich the two appear to be complete opposites of one another, in just about every way.

"Anatoly, good to see you, man," says Sam, as he reaches out a hand.

"Oh, brother, it has been too long for handshake!" Anatoly proclaims, his Russian accent as thick as his beard. He dodges the formal greeting and wraps his arms around Sam, who returns the embrace, despite the hint of body odor.

The two men pull away. "I hear your mother is in hospital," Anatoly says. "How is she?"

"She was actually released just a few days ago," Sam replies.

"Good!" exclaims Anatoly. "That is good to hear. I hope she recovers well."

Anatoly moves to Dietrich, who quickly shoves something into the Russian's hand.

"What is this?" Anatoly questions as he examines the object.

"Deodorant," says Dietrich, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. "I brought a new stick just for you, my friend. You can even keep it."

The two men laugh. Anatoly has never been easily offended regarding his appearance, smell, vulgarity, or lifestyle. But no one should ever dare to challenge his aim or loyalty. Anatoly is very proud of his marksmanship and his bond to family and friends.

"Oh, I bring you gift too," he says. Anatoly swings the green rucksack off his shoulders and plops it on the ground. After rummaging through the contents, he pulls out a clear glass bottle and holds it like a prized trophy.

"Real Russian vodka. None of that German bullshit." He hands Dietrich the bottle.

Dietrich scoffs. "This shit better be good," he says.

"Best" Anatoly insists. "Always and only best."

The two men eye one another and then break into simultaneous laughter. "Good to see you, brother," says Dietrich, as he slaps his free hand on Anatoly's shoulder.

"And you also, brother," replies Anatoly as he returns the gesture.

"If y'all are done smoochin', I think we're ready to go," says Lexi.

"Lexi!" exclaims Anatoly, as if he just noticed her standing by the plane.

"Come on, Anatoly. Let's get this show on the road," she says, waving him toward the plane. After moving the aircraft out of the hanger, each person climbs aboard and buckles into their seat, while Lexi and Gabriel review the preflight checks. Everything proceeds smoothly and the group is in the air, on their blissful eight-hundred-mile journey to Caracas, Venezuela.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net