Archer couldn't grasp being in a conference meeting with the man that had burned on his mind for years, the man who sent him on a downward spiral. A deceiver, the Devil sat across the table from Archer.
Caiaphas explained to BROKEN ARROW's overseers that he cut all ties from his government to infiltrate the Soviet Reunification Front. He also wanted to make clear he tried his best not to harm any Rainbow personnel during his cover.
"So what information do you got for us?" Ding asked while standing with his arms crossed.
"I have the verifiable location of the SRF Headquarters and the layout to this installation," Caiaphas said as Archer took out his pack of Marlboro Reds and lit it with his zippo lighter. The lighter was old and well used. It had the vintage logo of SEAL Team 6 painted on the side. The emblem faded a good amount since Archer was gifted it.
"There's no smoking in here." Michelle Hudson said to Archer with a grimace. Archer lit the cigarette and inhaled a long drag of smoke and held it in, holding eye contact with Hudson the entire time.
"I've got diplomatic immunity," Archer glared back, "Why do you go back to Langley, Hudson, don't you have a democracy to overthrow somewhere?"
"Asshole," Michelle whispered to herself. Then re-engaging in the meeting.
"Can we continue?" Harry asked, annoyed.
Caiaphas informed Rainbow that the SRF Headquarters was located on the private island of Cayo Herra in the Bahamas, bought by an unknown elite from the United States and given to the SRF. The SRF was rumored of having funding from America's elite pushing a similar agenda. It seemed like a crazy conspiracy theory to Archer, but his entire career was a conspiracy, so why the hell not?
The base was only detectable to spy satellites, being nonexistent on Google Maps and Apple Earth. It was confirmed by several analysts in the intelligence community that it was in the 87 percentile likelihood that it could be the base, and 34 percent likely the warhead was there, the only source being Caiaphas's knowledge. It was still a hot target, but the warhead being there was unlikely due to the distance from Lviv.
Ding relayed this information to President Jack Ryan and was able to form an emergency task force to respond to the Cayo Herra. The Navy's Fourth Fleet, US Marines, Team Rainbow, and CIA were to be assembled to eliminate the SRF leadership, apprehend the warhead, and finish this operation once and for all.
The mission was set to begin in two days and Caiaphas was made a temporary operator of the Studies and Observations Group.
***
The Den was a buzz since Caiaphas started working on BROKEN ARROW. Most of Rainbow's Alpha Platoon and some of Bravo were present when Archer walked in, a half-spent cigarette still between his lips. They started asking multiple questions, so Archer got everyone caught up. Once Archer finally explained everything and everyone went back to their business, Glaz approached him.
Archer's head started to split with pain when he exhaled a drag.
"Are you doing alright? You look a little pale." Glaz asked, a concerned look on his face.
Archer suddenly felt the need to sit down, but his legs buckled and he fell to the hardwood floor, the cigarette falling from his mouth. Archer let out a hair-raising yell. It felt like a jaguar clinching its powerful jaws down on his head. All he could see was a bright flashing light. It was the worst attack he had yet.
He relived the entire events of Operation Desert Rhino before he awoke to him laying on the Billard table and everyone standing around him. "What happened?" Archer asked, trying to remember anything that had happened that day.
"You had another attack. It was very violent, but we brought you back to our world." Gustave said rubbing his cheek wound.
"Shit. I'm sorry, guys. I really am." Archer said sitting up and rubbing his head and seeing his knuckles bruised.
"It's fine. We know it's hard to deal with you're condition, but we'd feel it would be a load off if you talked about it. Bottling something like that up for years isn't healthy," Eliza Cohen said wholeheartedly.
Archer scoffed and pondered the idea, looking around and seeing everyone wanted to know the full story. "I'm not here for a group therapy session."
"Goddammit, Archer. We're not going to let this happen again. What if you have another one of these spats in combat? This has to end. Look at you. You're a chain-smoking drunk with mental issues. You're not going to make it past thirty at this pace. I'm sorry, but it's the truth." Gustave snapped, along with everyone nodding reluctantly.
Archer gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes, thinking as hard as he could. "Someone get me a drink. I'm gonna need it for this," he said jumping off the pool table and pulling up a chair, as everyone got comfortable.
The operators always liked a good war story as they were often drunkenly told, but this one had everyone's attention.
Archer started the story with a swig of Irish whiskey from Mike.
Three Years Ago
The Seaman Charles Washington Hospital was named after a Navy Seabee killed in a suicide bombing during its construction. West was present during the attack, having received the radio call of an unauthorized civilian wandering the work site. West was on an adjacent rooftop with Lambert acting as his spotter.
The man briskly made his way to an integral support beam and took out a cell phone. Baggy clothing came standard in Northeast Africa, so an explosive vest was hard to confirm. Several Seabees watched the civilian standing there, they most likely had no idea what was about to happen.
"Permission to engage?" West asked, finger caressing the M21's trigger.
"Can you see a vest? Don't engage unless you see a vest. I'm not having you crucified back home for slotting some lost civvie." Lambert said looking down his spotter scope.
Several Egyptian UN Peacekeepers nearby guarding the construction site rushed to confront the man, with most of the Seabees scattering.
West knew something was odd when the man dropped to his knees and recited a prayer. That was odd. SURF rebels weren't a jihadist terror group. Boko Haram was operating in the neighboring country of Chad, so he could've been one of their secret cells in Sudan.
West had his crosshair placed directly on the man's heart. "Top?"
"Yeah, that's not good," Lambert said with uncertainty.
West spotted a Seabee turn a corner and confront the man. The Sailor was a tall, physically intimidating man. He began shouting commands at the kneeling man until he realized what he was doing. The Seabee tackled the man and screamed for the Peacekeepers to run.
As soon as the Seabee was on top of the civilian, a cloud of dust the size of the building and a deafening boom rang through the city.
Washington and two Egyptians lost their lives that day.
West felt that Washington's death was another on his conscious. If he trusted his gut, Washington's family would still have her son.
***
Several Months Later
The Charles Washington Hospital was ransacked as far as West could tell, but devoid of living people. Outside in the courtyard, several rebels celebrated their victory over the United States, it was a UN effort in Sudan, but they couldn't tell the difference. Morris was ordered to survey the crowd and report any wandering rebels to the hospital.
The rebels hadn't dealt with their deceased, having left a platoon-sized element of dead SURF rebels scattered around the hospital. They didn't have any respect for the dead. At least until the morning, when the women would probably tend to dead.
After advancing further they found several fight positions with dead operators occupying them. West knew most of them, it was some of Forge's SEALs. Their weapons were stolen, of course, but West noticed there were 9mm casings among their 5.56, meaning they had to resort to their sidearms. They fought valiantly, to their dying breath.
Disciple Team finished clearing the building and totaled the dead at 16, and the enemy at 63. Disciple Team knew almost every one of them, Morris especially knew his spotter, who lay dead on the rooftop.
Disciple Team regrouped at the ground floor when they heard Morris over the radio, "Disciple One, be advised, twenty-plus hostile foot mobiles inbound to your position from the courtyard. Estimating ten minutes 'til arrival."
West looked in the direction of the courtyard and keyed his mic, "Roger that. Keep your weapons tight until my order."
West formed a quick plan and told his men to move out. West, Besson, Cicero, and Kolinski moved to the courtyard and got into prone positions, and crawled to hide among the dead. The sand stuck to the sweat and blood they accumulated during the mission and aided their camouflage. They were undiscernible from the several deceased SURF rebels. After baking in the sun for hours, the smell wasn't pleasant.
West took his tomahawk from his belt sheath and prepared to use it up close for the first time. His heart rate increased as the heard the rebels get closer. Adrenaline filled his body, waiting for them to finally arrive.
The rebels were right on top of them when West shot up, swung his tomahawk into one of the rebels, and took him to the ground. The other took care of the first couple of rebels as Jansen opened up with his M249 Para. It cut down several rebels as they scrambled for cover. Morris also opened fire with his suppressed M110, picking off any rebels taking cover. West and the others pushed forward, Cicero taking out his shorty M870 and blasting away a rebel that rushed him with a bayonet on an SKS.
Cicero looked over and saw that their Team Leader had taken off his helmet and slung his empty rifle to his back. West charged an insurgent who was taking cover and went full primal on the unsuspecting rebel. It was reminiscent of a Native American warrior, Cicero thought.
The gunfire ceased when Morris finished the last terrorist and he keyed his mic, "All clear. Wait, disregard last. There's more incoming. Thirty, no fifty plus hostiles inbound, fifteen mikes."
West let out heavy breaths as he stood over the lifeless terrorist. He recomposed himself when he noticed his men were staring at him in complete shock. "Alright, Disciple, fallback to the hospital. Disciple-5, regroup with us. I don't want you separated from us."
"Roger that, repositioning," Morris said over the radio.
As they looked around they saw the bodies were not SURF rebels. They were jihadist Boko Haram fighters. Disciple had faced them before.
They were invading the city, possibly the whole country.
Another firefight ensued and they fought hard, like cornered animals. As they looked at each other in the brief moments of peace, they looked less and less like soldiers. Less and less like humans. They were getting lost in the madness of warfare. Their faces were painted with the blood of the fallen and ash from extinguished embers. They became just as West said, the disturbed Angels of Death. Something deep inside them, that's deep inside us all, came out that night.
It changed them forever.
As the fighting dwindled West heard a loud rumbling down the street. It was a tank. West couldn't believe he was seeing an old Russian WW2 tank. It was sloppily rolling around the street outside, but they managed to ram one of the courtyard walls and destroy it. The tank fired a round into the east end of the hospital where luckily no one was present. They hadn't bothered to rotate the turret, or it was so old it wasn't able to.
West realized they didn't have any anti-tank munitions and they were running low on ammo. It was getting dire as the rebel tank loaded another round and fired, missing again.
West pondered getting Kolinski to call for air support, but before he could a Hellfire missile zipped down and stuck the tank, rendering it scrap metal. West could hear the beautiful thump of AH-64 Apache blades as two of them flew over them, opening fire on the rebel mob with their 30mm chain gun.
Kolinski's radio roared to life when he switched to the main battlenet. "Any station, any station. This is Hammerhead 1-3 reaching out to Task Force Haint operators in the blind. You have several hostiles swarming all over the city. You guys really kicked a hornet's nest down there." Estevez said over the comms.
"Hammerhead 1-3, is the jig up?" Kolinski asked Estevez.
"Affirmative, but brass isn't that pissed at you guys at the moment. You might wanna patch into Overlord's channel for a sitrep. 1-3 out."
Kolinski changed the channel to TF Haint command, "Disciple to Overlord. Disciple is back on net and combat effective. We have secured the hospital for the moment. Over."
"Roger, Disciple. We thought you guys were ghosts. Glad to hear you're back in the land of the living. Here's the sitrep: Boko Haram insurgents have attacked major cities all over Sudan. Currently, Army Rangers are inbound to recover any dead personnel from the hospital. We have been unable to raise Dagger 1 on the radio. You're the closest unit to their last known position. Rescue those hostages and get Forge's team's whereabouts before the whole city is overrun."
Forge and his SEALs were in trouble.
"Roger that, Overlord. We're Oscar Mike." West said, before ordering his men out of the hospital.
As they left, West glanced at the mounds of bodies they left in the courtyard. It looked Medieval. Azrael passed over the city that night.
***
As Disciple closed in on the dock, they linked up with some Army Rangers, who stared at them with terror. Their Multicam fatigues were torn as soaked in blood and sweat, and none of them wore their helmets. Some carried AKs and other rebel weapons, as they had run out of ammo.
"Who the hell is that?" Hardgrave said stepping out of the passenger side of the Humvee, "Hold your fire," he told the M240 gunner on the turret.
"Commander," West said approaching the battle-hardened Ranger. It took a moment for Hardgrave to realize what he was seeing.
"Well shit, boys. You've been through Hell by the looks of it." Hardgrave looked West up and down, noticing a bloody tomahawk on his belt. "We found Forge and his team, they were pinned pretty bad and fell back to the market. They to be medivaced."
"Damn, alright. What's the plan with you guys?" West asked, checking the ammunition in his newly acquired AKM.
"Well, we were gonna secure a cordon around the docks and let you D-Boys go in. How's that sound?"
"Excellent, sir," West grinned.
"Alright, we're waiting for some Cavalry armor to arrive first, just an extra precaution. You can ride with them." Hardgrave loaded back into the Hummer.
"Yeah, we spotted a T-34 believe it or not."
"These ain't no patsy rebel fuckers. These are grade-A Jihad a-holes."
It took a minute for three M1 Abrams' to arrive. Disciple piled onto the lead tank 'Tiger 2-1'. When the adrenaline dropped from West and the reality set in for him. He didn't feel any joy or remorse. He was just blank as he stared at the starry night.
West didn't realize he fell asleep until he woke up to Cicero shaking him. "Wake up, we're getting close."
West rubbed his eyes as the M1 Abrams still rumbled down the streets and gunshots grew quieter as they got closer to the docks.
When they reached the docks, West order his men off the tank and the Rangers took their cordon positions. Once Hardgrave gave the all-clear, Disciple dawned their NVGs and loaded their original rifles with mags they 'acquired' from Hardgrave's humvee.
Disciple moved down the shipping containers and checked every corner, but found no one. This was odd. Where was this force that pinned Forge and his SEALs down and forced them to fall back?
"Overlord, how close are we to the hostages?" West keyed his mic, as his team covered him.
"Disciple Actual, there is a heat blip 300 yards from your position, looks to be in a shipping container, maybe several, over." General Vega said, unsure.
"I got a bad feeling about this." Cicero scanned the dock cranes for snipers.
"Don't jinx us you wop," Besson said snarkily.
"Keep pestering, Frenchie. We'll see who wins the next sparring match." Cicero defensively.
"Stay frosty, guys," Kolinski said, putting a stop to the headbutting.
West sighed at his team's bickering, "On your toes. Let's move."
Disciple moved closer to the objective and still saw no hostiles. West spotted a chained-up shipping container door. "Overlord, I'm painting the door with IR. Is this the heat spike?"
"A-frim, Disciple. That's it. Use extreme caution."
"Alright, breacher up! Cutters!" West whispered as they stacked up on the shipping container door.
Cicero took out his bolt cutters and snapped off the chains, and then got back into place. He then took out his shorty M870, swung the door open and the whole team took positions as they could all have a shot inside. They lowered their rifles when they saw 40 or so American SOF operators, bound and on their knees.
They were all struggling to yell through the duct tape on their mouths. Kolinski moved in and ripped the tape off of one of the soldiers, "Bomb! Get back!"
Kolinski noticed several soldiers laying, like a football dogpile. Kolinski's eyes widened as he looked back at Disciple. As Disciple began to run away, the bomb detonated, engulfing Kolinski in a fireball and sending West and the others flying. The whole world went black.
***
Several Hours Later
The ride back to base was quiet and tear-filled. It was all for nothing and they lost one of their own. They couldn't save their friends. They were gone from this world, and Kolinski was added to that list. It was a disaster. Probably one of the worst in American military history in recent years.
They had lost a brother. A part of themselves was dead. The others in Disciple were too distraught to think of what to do, but West was different. He wanted blood.
West watched the C-5 Galaxy be loaded with 44 American flag-draped caskets as several more C-5s landed, chocked full of US Marines.
West eyes welled up every time he saw Old Glory on a casket. It was a brother or sister that had passed this life, leaving their loved ones for the protection of their homeland.
As West stood, staring into the cargo hold, General Vega's friend Domingo approached him. He looked into the cargo bay as well.
"You want to get back at the ones who did this?" Domingo turned to West, crossing his arms.
West locked eyes with Chavez, and his gaze told him everything.