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I sincerely hope these guys had the benefit of satellite intel pinpointing the location of warm bodies in this area. Aaron leans close to me and whispers, “I’ll watch the left. You take the right.”
He’d been thinking the same thing as me. “I just hope they’re leaving some of them alive.”
Avara turns sharply toward me, his long look skeptical and assessing. Too bad for him, these goggles cover enough of my face that he may as well be looking at a brick wall. “Our orders were to secure the room.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Sergeant. I’m just considering the feds who will have to mop this up.”
“Keep your considerations to yourself, Rent-a-cop.”
His venom actually makes me smile. I’ve long since gotten used to military personnel making assumptions about what my team does. Fortunately, guys like the sergeant are a dying breed. Most military have not only worked beside PMCs but have often been protected by them, as well.
Most people don’t know it, but in 2006, one of every four US bodies in Iraq was private military. While I wasn’t even in the service back then, I’ve since learned that PMCs saved a lot of asses, and plenty contractors died right alongside the servicemen and women sent to fight. That was a long time ago, however, and I don’t imagine this guy would be interested in a history lesson.
Aaron and I don’t bother responding to Avara, instead keeping silent watch as we wait for the signal to go. Secretly, I wonder if the sergeant would feel differently if he knew he was talking down to a couple of Marine Raiders.
The gunfire slows and eventually silences, and Avara gestures for us to follow as he stands out of his crouch. We quickly cover the distance to the target, with Aaron and I scanning the surrounding area for hidden players.
We make it to the mud brick building safely and watch the army guys pull out bodies. The fifteen-by-fifteen room is empty, save for a few shot-up tables and chairs. While those are moved away, I inspect the floor, looking for a hatch as the lights are set up.
Not seeing anything obvious, I wonder if the entire floor structure was constructed to hide the hiding place. I also hope that the intel on this location was good and that we haven’t just wasted a whole morning… and half a dozen lives. I flip up my NV goggles just before the lights are turned on, and I have to squint for a moment as my eyes adjust.
Coming to the same conclusion I did, the raid squad deconstructs the elevated portion of the floor until exposing a dug-out section of the earth below.
The opening is about ten feet in diameter and six feet deep below the structure’s foundation. Wooden posts have been driven into the ground in the crude basement to serve as a support system for the retrofitted floor.
Inside the hole sit several boxes of guns and ammo, but the biggest attention-getter is the pile of cash—US currency.
With my rifle up, I peer around the boxes to the whole of the basement, checking for hazards. Next to me, Avara mockingly says, “Time to earn your pay, Rent-a-cop,” before clapping me hard on the back.
The move catches me off-guard, and since I’m already leaned over, the hit sends me plunging into the hole. There’s no time or room to roll into the landing or even execute a break fall. My feet hit first, planting awkwardly against one of the stacks of boxes and pitching me forward.
My upper body slams into one of the wood crates, the corner hitting just below my chest plate and gouging upward. I roll off the box to the ground, still maintaining control of my weapon. Fighting to breathe through the pain, I remain sprawled on my back in the dirt for a long while.
Above me, Aaron roars just before slamming Avara against the wall with enough force to shake the entire building. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Aaron shoves off Avara, jumps into the hole, and takes the rifle from my hands. Then he grasps my arms to lift me off the ground. Aaron begins swiping at the dirt on my back, but I shrug him off. “I got it,” I tell him.
Aaron places his hand on my shoulder, but I avert my eyes, embarrassed that the stupid asshole grunt got the drop on me. “Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie.
“Then let’s get out of this hole.”
“Give me a minute.”
Sensing more going on than meets the eye, Aaron opts for a closer inspection of my condition, pausing at my middle. He notices that I’m standing slightly hunched over, and his whole body goes bow tight. “That son of a bitch.”
Aaron’s eyes are full of violence when he finally looks back at my face. “Leave it, Grim,” I whisper. “It won’t do any good.”
It’s a good thing that my uniform and armor are solid black. Otherwise, he’d see the blood I feel trickling down my belly, and there’d be no stopping him.
Aaron turns from me to glare at the asshole that pushed me down, but Avara isn’t even looking at us. His attention is on the opposite side of the room, where Colonel Heathman’s voice can be heard before he can be seen.
The mission’s commanding officer walks in and approaches the hole in the floor, whistling at the contents of the underground room.
“FinCEN has been notified. They’ll have a team here in six hours. I’ll have two men in here with you at all times, and the rest of my men will patrol the area outside.”
The colonel walks away then, leaving Aaron and me staring up at his men from the bottom of the hole. All but two of them follow Heathman out of the building, Avara and a man we haven’t met yet.
