Chapter 8
The cargo plane came into land twenty minutes over schedule so when Captain Whitmore left the airplane cockpit and entered the hangar Marc was waiting for her.
"Make sure she gets refuelled for the next run," Captain Lucille Whitmore called back to her co-pilots as she walked across the hangar, a wad of flight papers clenched in her hand.
Dressed in an olive green one-piece flight suit, her helmet tucked under her arm, Marc found himself staring when she finally turned around and clocked him stood there.
Her footsteps slowed for a moment, shocked to find him there, "Marc?"
"Hey Lucy," Marc smiled.
"Oh my God, what are you doing here?" She hurried over and clasped his shoulder, "It's so good to see you."
A few people passed them in the hangar so he wasn't quite ready to tell her exactly why he was there, so he nodded to the cargo plane behind her, "I thought you flew jets?"
"Ever since we left Afghanistan the military have been downgrading," Lucille shrugged and guided him towards a space in the corner where two sofas had been pushed up against the wall, acting as a sort of rest area, "I was taken off fighter jets and put onto aid missions. Anyway, what's up with you? I haven't seen you for years, not since Jules was . . ."
Lucille bit her lower lip as she remembered hearing the news about Marc's partner being caught in an explosion. Lucille and Julia had been friends of sorts.
"Yes, well, she's better now," Marc felt like he was lying as he said it, "In fact, we're married now." He held up his hand and showed her the ring on his finger.
"Congratulations," Lucille gave him a genuine smile when they fell into silence.
"Marc . . ." Lucille rested her elbows on her knees, "Why are you really here?"
Marc clenched his hands together, "I wouldn't ask you if I had any other choice, you know that right?"
Lucille stared at him, "You're starting to worry me now."
"I need a favour," Marc sighed, "I need you to give me and Julia a ride to Afghanistan."
Lucille sat there and blinked at him for a moment.
"Luce?" Marc frowned.
"You- You want me to . . . smuggle you into Afghanistan!?"
"Ssh!" Marc hissed, glancing around quickly to see that nobody had heard him.
"Do you realise how nuts that sounds? And how illegal?" Lucille snapped and Marc could feel her slipping away but he needed to get her on his side. Without her, their plan wouldn't even get off the ground.
"I told you that I wouldn't ask if I had a choice. We can't take the commercial flights and we can't- Lucille, it's a matter of life and death, just trust me on that."
"Are these military orders?"
Marc's face contorted a little, "In a sense?"
Lucille stared at him for a moment before she stormed to her feet with a resolute shake of her head, "No. I'm stopping this before it goes any further."
"Lucille, please!" Marc stood and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back.
"If I get caught doing this it means a court martial. I could be dishonourably discharged, do you realise that?" Lucille shouted, pulling her arm out of his grasp.
Marc reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo of Safia. Holding Lucille's hand open, Marc thrust the picture into it.
"That's why I'm doing this!" He exclaimed, pointing to the photograph, "She is the reason why I need you to do this for us."
Lucille swallowed around the lump in her throat and looked at the photograph, "Who is this?"
Marc took a deep breath, "Her name is Safia. Jules and I rescued her in Afghanistan and we learnt the other day that the orphanage she was at had been attacked. She and twenty five other children have been kidnapped."
Lucille reached up and rubbed a hand over her face, "Marc, I'm sorry, but I don't-"
"Come here, listen to me," Marc drew her back over to the sofas, away from anyone listening.
Lucille followed because she had never seen Marc so stressed.
"You can't tell anyone but one of the adults that were taken with the children is related to someone very highly ranked over here in the UK," Marc whispered.
"Then surely the intelligence services will be-"
"-They are but they've failed numerous times and we're running out of time. Luce, if these people find out who this person is related to over here . . ." Marc reached across and gripped her hands, "We need your help."
Marc could tell that she was on the edge of accepting. He needed to tread carefully.
"Lucille," Marc murmured, squeezing her hands softly, "Please."
Luce looked down at the photo still in her hand and she could tell that the girl looked terrified. If Marc and Jules had already saved her once, what must it have felt like to be taken once again?
She looked back over her shoulder at the cargo plane. She had joined the RAF to help people and fly fighter jets.
"Okay, I'll do it," Lucille handed him the photograph back.
"Thank you, Lu-"
"-Don't thank me yet," Lucille leaned forward, careful to keep her voice down, "I can't land in Afghanistan. You'll have to-" Lucille's feet tapped on the floor slightly and she looked away, reluctant to tell him.
"What? We'll have to what?"
Lucille looked him straight in the eye, "You'll have to parachute jump in."
"Parachute jump," Marc repeated, "Into Afghanistan?"
"We drop humanitarian aid from the sky and then come straight back here to land," Lucille explained, "We don't actually touch foreign ground on our missions."
"Captain Whitmore!" Someone shouted from behind them, "You coming or not?"
"I'll be there in a minute!" Lucille shouted back before turning around.
"I can get you close to the Afghan border but after that you're gonna have to jump," Lucille told him.
Marc nodded, "Okay, okay, we'll jump. When?"
"The next humanitarian flight in that region is tomorrow night. We depart at 19.00."
"Captain!?"
"Alright!" Lucille called back and got to her feet, "Marc, I can't delay the flight so you'll have to make sure you're here on time."
"Don't worry," Marc got to his feet and shook her hand, "We'll be here."
As he watched her leave, a small sense of relief washed over him before he stopped it. This was only a foothold into their mission, there was still too much that could go wrong.
Slipping Safia's photograph back into his pocket, Marc slipped out of the hangar and towards the jeep he had borrowed to drive around the base on.
As he did so only one question occupied his thoughts; where the hell was he going to get two parachutes from?
* * *
The key slid into the lock and turned.
"Jules?" Marc called as he stepped into the hallway and swung the door shut behind him, "Good news! I've got us a ride out tomorrow night."
"Marc?" Julia called from the kitchen.
Who else would it be?
"Yeah," He hung up his jacket, "Did you hear me? I've got us a plane ride out tomorrow."
As he headed through the doorway into the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of Jules's frame as she stood near the dining table, a pair of rucksacks and equipment laid out before her.
Her back was to him but he could see the way her shoulders were straight and tense when she slowly turned to look at him, her eyes wide with worry and her fingers were clenching the back of the chair.
As she did so, someone stepped out from the living room.
"Commander?" Marc exclaimed before he stood to attention and saluted.
Commander Strong waved off the formalities and Marcus relaxed only slightly.
"What are you doing here, Commander?" Marc asked, overly aware that he had just declared to the entire street that he and Jules were booked on a plane ride tomorrow evening.
"Technically, I'm not," Strong gave him a look, "And if anyone asks, that is what I shall tell them."
Marc looked across at Julia to see if she could make sense of this but she looked just as confused as he was.
Strong walked across to the dining table and picked up a few things that were laid out, waiting to be packed away. He lifted a torch first, followed by a water canteen and then a few packs of food.
"Planning a trip?" He looked back and forth between them, "It wouldn't be to Afghanistan, would it?"
The guilty looks that passed between them told the commander everything he needed to know.
"Good," Commander Strong breathed a sigh of relief, "I thought I was going to have to frogmarch you both to the tarmac myself before you got the hint. Give me a minute."
"I'm sor-" Julia started to speak when the commander walked past them and headed for the front door.
Marc took a step back in the kitchen so that he could see into the hallway where he saw the Commander open up the front door and lean out. Was he leaving?
Strong seemed to be motioning for someone to hurry up before he turned and headed back into the kitchen, leaving the front door open in his wake.
Marc had the urge to go and shut it when he noticed someone walking up the front steps, a large rucksack held out in front of them so that it blocked their face.
He turned slowly, his brows furrowing a little, when the rucksack was lowered and placed against the wall to reveal-
"Carlos!" Marcus exclaimed.
"Hey- Oi, watch it!" Carlos turned and swore at someone behind him who pushed him forward a few steps.
"Well, if you got out of the way sooner then I wouldn't hit you!" Twitch rolled his eyes as he laid his own rucksack down beside Carlos's, the same rucksack that must have just hit Ramirez in the back.
"Hey brother," Carlos tapped him on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway and headed for the fridge.
"I'll close the door then shall I!?" Twitch called after Carlos but their friend was already head deep into the refrigerator, looking for leftover food.
"Marc," Twitch gave him a friendly nod of his head as he stepped inside their small group.
"You didn't think I'd leave you to go on your own, did you?" Strong spoke as if it took a lot of coercing to bring them here.
Marc scoffed, "I don't suppose you could fit us up with four parachutes while you're at it, could you?"
"I'll see what I can do." Strong smiled.
"Parachutes?" Twitch squeaked, "We weren't quite sure what the commander was up to before but now-" Twitch frowned.
"-We're even more confused." Carlos added around a mouthful of chicken.
"I'll leave it to Marc and Julia to fill you both in, I'm supposed to be at a meeting in thirty minutes so I'll make this quick."
Strong opened his mouth to speak again when the sound of a vibrating phone filled the room and their commander removed a mobile phone from his breast pocket.
After glaring at the number which lit up his screen, Strong rejected the call and slipped the phone back inside his pocket.
"Now, remember what I told you all, no one can know that you are over there," Strong looked at Julia and Carlos as he said this, "and you most definitely cannot be caught," Strong looked at Marc and Twitch as he said that.
"Use this to contact me only in an emergency," Strong removed a satellite phone from his pocket along with a stack of photographs and papers, "That is all the information we have on the group that have done this so far as well as a few guesses s to where they're hiding out now."
"And this," He lifted up a piece of paper with a name and an address sprawled on the front, "is your contact. As soon as you land, find him first."
Strong laid them both onto the table behind him, beside everything else.
As Strong turned back, he looked at them all individually for a moment and the realisation began to sink in that this may be the last time that they were going to see their Commander.
It was a sobering moment that had the Commander reaching into the waistband of his trousers and removing a 9mm pistol.
Everyone stared at it for a moment. Carlos stopped eating and laid the bowl of chicken aside.
Strong walked across and held the pistol out to Marc as their C.O, "Your contact will fit you up with some weapons when you meet him, but until then keep hold of this."
Marc curled his fingers around the handle, "Thank you, sir."
"Thank you," Strong stepped back and held out his arm to shake Marc's hand.
Holding the gun in his left hand, Marc saluted the Commander.
There was a soft scuffle behind him and Strong turned to see everyone stood to attention, their right arms rigidly held up in a salute as they stared straight ahead.
Strong felt something claw at his throat as he said the only thing that he could think of before he turned and left, "Your country thanks you for your service."