Chapter Text
“Ghost, what’s your status?”
Sweat rolled down your temple, trickling the length of your neck before settling in the crook of your collar bone. The humidity was thick, suffocating. Like you could cut it with a knife and it would still cling to you. The jungle was alive with noise.
“‘Bout 20 meters out. There’s a good perch for you comin’ up on your right.”
“Copy.”
You continued to stalk through the foliage, thankful for the screaming cicadas that masked the sound of your movements through the dense growth of flora.
“Visual on the compound.” Soap’s voice came through your comms evenly.
“Count?”
“Three around the perimeter, two on the roof. Jag should be able to take them no problem.”
“Copy,” you spoke again.
You saw the perch Ghost was talking about. It was a wall of sorts, with vines reclaiming it. Some old vestige of humanity, forgotten to time. Huffing, you scaled the old stone. Laying supine, you slung your sniper rifle in front of you and peered through the scope. You could see the first target one on the roof, but the second was obscured by the dense jungle. The cicadas screamed on.
“No clear visual on the right target,” you spoke into the comms. “How do we want to do this?” You watched a mosquito buzz by and land on your arm. You slapped it, leaving a bloody splotch on your skin.
“Jag, take your shot on my mark. I’ll ‘andle the other one.” Below you, Simon waded further ahead; his camo blended into the underbrush.
“Copy. What about the perimeter?”
“Soap, you take right, I’ll take center. Jag do you have visuals on the left?”
“Affirm.”
“Alright then. Work you magic.”
You smiled. “Always do.”
Soap scoffed on the other side of the comms. “We know. Hear Ghost blabberin’ about it all the fecking time.”
“That’ll do, Sergeant.” Ghost barked.
It wasn’t necessarily true. Most of the time his blabbering was muffled into your skin, the wetness of your mouth or the delicious heat of you. They usually came out as low groans. Sharp hisses. You hadn’t really kept what was going on between you two a secret since your rejoining of the task force. But you also didn’t air it out in the open. And when you fucked, you tried to be quiet. Easier said than done when Simon was pressed to his hilt inside of you, kissing your neck and gripping your thighs like it was his latest mission. Maybe you two weren’t being as quiet as you thought.
“Right.” Simon’s basso voice brought your focus back. “On my count.”
The two men on the roof dropped quickly. The three on the ground followed. A smooth takedown. You slung the weight of your rifle behind you and scaled down the wall, landing with a soft thud. Some sweat splashed off you.
“Fucking drenched here.” You mumbled to yourself. Soap’s chuckle could be heard on the comms.
“On me, at the entrance.”
A few minutes later the three of you were crouched low next to the perimeter wall.
“Nice of you to finally join us, bonnie.”
You smiled at Soap. Ghost rolled his eyes.
“Jag, get up to the perimeter and guide us through. Soap, on me. The cunts will be well-armed inside the compound. Let’s keep things quiet and clean.” Soap and you nodded. “Right, let’s get up there.”
Soap shot a grapple to the perimeter wall.
“Ladies first,” he gestured, with his signature buoyant grin.
You clipped your pulley to the rope and ascended. The brief rush of air was a blessed respite from the heat. Hoisting yourself over the wall’s edge, you crouched down. Insects were already starting to buzz around the lifeless man on the floor. You tried not to get any of his blood on your boots as you stepped over him.
Ghost and Soap followed quietly behind. You pressed your body against the hot concrete.
“Christ alive, look at all that,” Johnny whispered next to you.
It was decent sized compound, hidden away in the Lacandon jungle. Stacks of crates littered the grounds, while armed men wandered about. Their radios blasted urbano music. In total, you counted 15 men out in the open, but who knows how many more were inside. Of course the target building was at the far side of the compound. It wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but it was doable. And, the blasting music paired with cacophony of tropical birds and insects made for perfect cover. Soap’s hand clapped your shoulder.
You nodded at him and Simon. “Good luck, boys.”
“Don’t need luck. We’ve got you, Jaguar,” Soap winked and then started to descend the rope on the interior.
Simon’s eyes lingered on you for a second too long. You held the gaze. Then he turned and followed Soap.
After silently taking down the first two men, Ghost and Soap moved quietly ahead.
“Walk us through, Jag,” Simon’s voice came over hushed and gravelly. Try as you might, it always sent heat between your legs when he rasped through the comms.
“One on your left, just around the crate. Use your knife.” Simon took him down with ease.
“Got another two crates ahead.” You maneuvered the two through the complex from you perch, watching them exact their deadly dance.
“Hold,” you spoke when the two came closer to the target building. A group of four men were lingering outside, chatting and smoking. “Coming up on four. Might be best to cause a distraction.”
“Can’t we just frag these guys,” Soap muttered to himself.
“How many left in the compound, Jag?” Simon asked.
“Two in the North East corner, and one at your eight o’clock. And the four ahead.”
You heard Simon let out a long sigh.
“Don’t know how many are inside though,” you reminded him.
“Thas what I’m worried about.”
“Your call, L.T.,” Johnny huffed. “They’re gonna hear some booms when I demo the door anyway.”
You could almost hear Simon thinking. You wiped the sweat that was beading at your brow with the back of your gloved hand. Finally he said, “Jag, take the other three. Soap’s got these four. Be prepared for a fight after.”
Your heartbeat sped up. You hated unknowns but that was part of your job. So all you could say in return was “Copy.”
Each kickback from your M82 was a tangible reminder of the death you so expertly dealt. The three men went down with ease, painting the sun-scorched earth in red. And when Soap’s grenade went off, you sucked in a deep breath and honed your focus as you picked off the swarm of men that rushed outside. Time had a funny way of moving while adrenaline coursed through your veins. It was simultaneously slow and fast. Like each bullet left your gun in slow-motion while you moved from target to target. Schrödinger’s Time.
There were a lot more people than you thought, but the steady breathing over the comms was reassuring that Soap and Ghost were handling themselves. Through your scope, you watched men’s heads swivel as they tried to spot you. But each tac from your rifle met them all the same.
“Take out that fucking RPG, Jag!” Simon shouted over the comms. It was jarring, Simon’s yelling amidst the gunfire and insects.
You pulled away from your scope to spot the target, but the compound was big. When you finally saw him, you lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. You’d hit your mark—watched him crumple. But his aim was already on you, and as his body fell a flash of orange emitted. You began to move but felt the explosion of the perimeter wall below you. And then everything was crumbling in an eruption of dust. You thought you heard Simon screaming into the comms, but all you could think about as you fell was: who the fuck carries a rocket launcher?