Benghazi, Libya (The Past)
As the sun dipped below the Mediterranean horizon, dusk cloaked the landscape, casting long shadows along the shore and into the battered, war-torn city of Benghazi, Libya. The scene was dotted with shattered, skeletal buildings. The dilapidated structures appeared like tombstones scattered across the graveyard of a once-thriving town. The sharp smell of smoke and debris lingered constantly in the air. If Hell were composed of cityscapes rather than the traditional imagery of religion, this is what it would look like.
Even with traffic flowing along the main roads, people collectively tried to avoid the hidden routes that led to ruined war zones, and the remaining functional homes that were scattered around kept their activities secret.
A glimmer of hope had recently begun to emerge as the U.S. successfully expelled the remaining invading forces, freeing much of the city from years of incursions and civil wars. The U.S. President ordered the withdrawal of all military assets, leaving the final cleanup to a few specialized units.
One such unit, specially trained for the most demanding and essential missions, was led by Sergeant Kevin Collins, code-named Angel.
On the roof of one of the housing units across from their target, he lay on his stomach next to his sister Chatterbug, waiting. When the last rays of sunlight dipped into the sea, he signaled for the mission to begin.
Through his night vision goggles, the world took on an eerie green glow as he watched Panther maneuver down the side street near their target structure, executing exactly what he'd outlined during yesterday's briefing.
"Panther, your task is to scout all structures around our target, making sure they've received the proper warnings or evacuations. Place GloTape on each door—horizontal if empty, vertical if occupied—and we'll plan our moves accordingly."
She was quick and concise, clearing the perimeter in under forty-five minutes. Thanks to Tag's advance team, all but two structures had been cleared. The two with civilians inside were told to shelter in their safest rooms.
"She's done," Chatterbug whispered beside him. "Rendezvousing with Shrapnel now."
Panther crept into the alley where Shrapnel had been hiding and tapped him on the shoulder. Nodding, he quietly maneuvered to the first door with her following. He was carrying out the plan Angel had marked on Tag's map: "Shrapnel, I want you to place your specialized F-bombs here, and here. Intel says that most of the terrorists are likely to be in this room. The explosions will split them down two hallways, dividing them for Brute and me."
Shrapnel pulled some F-Bombs from his satchel—homemade devices similar to cherry bombs but loaded with four removable explosive cartridges. When he first introduced them to the team, they asked why he called them F-Bombs.
He winked: "'Cause every time one goes off, someone screams, 'What the fuck?'"
He taped one to each door hinge and flipped the arming switch. With a nod, he followed Panther to the other door and repeated the process.
"Distractions set," Chatterbug reported.
Through a nearby window, covered by a camouflaged drape, Snapshot observed through his rifle scope as the four sentries on the target roof moved in precise patterns, following his briefed assignment: "On the roof, there will be four sentries. Panther will have led Shrapnel under the cover of darkness along the walls, so they will be fine unless one of the sentries goes off-path and peeks over the side. If that happens, take him out."
The sentries never strayed from their routines. "No deviation," he whispered into his mic.
"No deviation," Chatterbug repeated.
Angel nodded, satisfied. It was time for the final phase he'd planned: "Once the explosives are set, Brute and I will move into this position and radio Chatterbug. She will relay to Snapshot and Shrapnel to start phase two."
With a tap on his sister's shoulder signaling he was leaving, he turned and crawled toward the roof entrance. Slipping inside, he went down the steps to where Brute waited.
"We've got the go-ahead." Moving quickly as Brute fell in behind him, Angel led the way to the building's exit on the other side of their target. He tapped his com. "Chatterbug, come in. Over."
"I read you. Over."
"Signal them in forty-five seconds to begin. Radio silence from this point until we clear the structure. Over."
"Roger. Be safe, brother. Over and out."
With a hand signal to Brute, they navigated along the target building's wall toward the corner, then turned left until they could see the main entrance.
Both men silently recalled their briefing from the day before: "Brute, once we're inside, Panther and Shrapnel will start laying down cover fire from the two blown doors, pinning down anyone trying to escape. It's been confirmed that it's all terrorists inside. This is a full-sweep mission."
"We haven't done one of those in a long time," Brute questioned. "Why does Tag want this done?"
"It's the last confirmed active cell, and he wants to send a clear message that we won't show mercy on these monsters. I don't blame him. We lost too many innocents in these incursions. Full sweep."
"Full sweep," Brute had echoed, orders received.
Angel activated his night vision goggles and switched to infrared mode, then told Brute to do the same. He grabbed four smoke bombs and two gas masks from his satchel, giving half to his partner. Checking his watch, he counted down the final seconds.
With sharp senses, Angel caught the faint sound of a grunt on the roof as the first sentry fell to Snapshot.
The sound drew the attention of the other three sentries, but before they could react, duplicate explosions erupted from opposite sides as Shrapnel's F-bombs detonated. In the chaos, the remaining sentries joined their fallen comrade.
With masks on, Angel gave the signal, and they raced across the street toward the target door. Reaching it, he stepped aside as Brute put his full weight into a shoulder strike, slamming into the front door and ripping it off its hinges.
As planned, Brute collapsed with the door, hitting the floor as Angel stepped in from the side. He threw his first smoke bomb, which exploded and released a thick white cloud into the air. Brute threw his to the left, doubling the coverage. The smoke drifted through the rooms, creating a ghostly haze that blurred everything beyond a few feet.
Angel detected two heat signatures through his goggles, along with the sound of soldiers coughing from the ambush. The shock slowed their reaction, allowing him to take them out with precise shots.
Back on his feet, Brute took down three men coming from the mid-right hallway while Angel eliminated others from another corridor. The thick smoke confused the terrorists, who seemed to pour from the walls in large numbers.
While Brute provided suppressing fire, Angel flicked his second bomb toward the back where their targets were stored. They dropped to their stomachs and took aim.
The haze caused the terrorists to panic and fire blindly, showing that most had never received proper military training. Angel and Brute efficiently took out each man one by one, dropping them like targets in a carnival game. After sixty seconds with no new contacts, he signaled to move down the hall. Brute peered inside each door and confirmed there were no stragglers.
Satisfied they'd cleared the structure up to the back room door, Angel called for an update. "Chatterbug, report. Over."
"Snapshot says no one ran from the structure. Panther and Shrapnel have the exits covered; no movement inside. Over"
"Roger. We're at the back room door. Over and out."
Angel recalled the final part of his briefing: "Now, when we reach the door, chances are there will be a last group of terrorists in the room with the ordnance. Some of it is highly volatile. We'll go in firing high and fast with the last smoke bomb. It's a small room, so the smoke will fill up fast. Trust your instincts and fire until I say otherwise. I'll call out the number to indicate how many we're up against, and zero once I see the last one fall."
"Got it," Brute had nodded.
Brute leaned against the wall next to the door, signaling he was ready. Angel prepared the smoke bomb, nodded, and Brute kicked the door open. He threw the bomb inside, counted to three, and they rushed in.
Inside, Angel saw nearly twenty figures in military fatigues scattered throughout the space. The six at the front held assault rifles.
"TWENTY!"
Both dropped to their left knees, raised their weapons, and fired quickly. The loud crack of gunfire filled the room, drowning out everything else. Angel saw the first six collapse instantly, without raising their guns or giving any commands or signs of distress. A sharp pang jabbed the back of his mind, sensing something was off, but he had his orders to clear the room.
The other figures in the room started panicking, appearing more eager to run than to fight, quickly dropping under the firepower of the two Rangers.
In seconds, the last body dropped with a quiet thud, and all movement stilled.
"ZERO!" Angel released his trigger.
Aside from debris settling after the firefight, the room fell into dead silence. Brute and Angel stayed perfectly still, listening for movement from any wounded soldiers. When no one moved, Angel made the call.
"All targets down. Clear the room until the smoke dissipates. We can check ordnance once we have visual."
Both men backed out, sweeping their weapons across the room. Exiting through the archway, Brute closed the door and followed Angel down the hallway, checking the bodies of everyone they had taken out.
At the exit, Angel pulled off his gas mask and radioed his sister for an update. "Positions? Over."
"Shrapnel and Panther are sweeping outer rooms. Seems like you got them all. Snapshot will rendezvous with me shortly. Over."
"Copy. Brute and I are getting some air. By the time they reach the ordnance room, the smoke will be cleared. Over."
"I'll radio when they get there. Call in the trucks? Over."
"Not yet. I want the room secured first. Over."
"Affirmative. Take a break, bro. Over."
"Roger. Over and out."
Leaning against the wall, Angel sighed. "That went smoother than expected."
"Good to have a radio girl coordinating efforts rather than trying to keep tabs in the field. Why didn't we have one before? Can we keep her?"
Setting his gun down, Angel clicked his tongue, pondering. "The way Snapshot was eyeing her, I don't know if that's a good idea."
Brute chuckled.
"Truth is, I was worried she'd be a distraction for me."
"'Cause she's your sister?"
"Yeah. I'm surprised by Tag's move, calling her in at the last minute, and after all these years." Rubbing the back of his neck, Angel had to admit he was impressed. "But she did her part perfectly."
"She's definitely a Collins." Brute's smile faded. "Though it was strange—those last terrorists didn't try to defend themselves. And I swear to God I thought I saw some of their shapes change size, like shrinking or some shit."
"You're letting the heat get to you." Angel shook his head, though the remark reignited his own frustration.
He'd witnessed something similar but had dismissed it as a side effect of the thick smoke of the grenades. But Brute's comment and his own imagination sharing similar details had him starting to have serious doubts about the situation. Slowly, both men looked at each other, the euphoria of the successful mission fading away, replaced by dread.
Clicking his radio, Angel called for an update, "Chatterbug. Team's position? Over."
"Hold. They're radioing now." Short pause. When she returned, her voice shook. "Oh, my God."
"Sis?"
"Get in there. Now!" she commanded.
Brute looked at Angel and cursed, "Fuck!"
"Come on!" Angel grabbed his gun and ran inside.
Swiftly, they sprinted down the hall, hopping over bodies, until they reached the ordnance room door. Shrapnel was on his knees, head bowed, shoulders shaking.
Panther spun around, her eyes wild with rage and filled with tears, and bellowed, "HOW DID TAG NOT KNOW? HOW!?"
Without answering her, Angel swallowed, stepped into the room, and cried out in despair. If Brute hadn't caught him, he would have fallen.
The twenty terrorists who lay dead among boxes of weapons and gold bars were children.
Children between eight and fifteen—fourteen boys and six girls—lay in pools of blood, their bodies riddled with bullet holes. The metallic smell of blood mixed with cordite filled the air. The six oldest boys had rifles zip-tied to their hands so they couldn't have dropped them. The scene was a massacre that Angel and his team had executed with precision.
Brute knelt beside one of the closer boys and gently closed his eyes. Standing, he turned in disgust. "How the fuck did Tag not know? These were prisoners. Children! We never would have come in like this!"
"He knew." Angel's voice filled with rage. "He had to." He pointed to the gold bars. "And it wasn't weapons or contraband that he was after."
"We were set up," Panther growled.
"It's why Cassie was called in. Tag knew I'd worry about her safety and that I'd be too focused on completing the mission to notice discrepancies." The realization hit him like a physical blow to his midsection. "That bastard used my sister against me."
"Angel?" Chatterbug's voice echoed in his ear.
Brute knelt beside a girl sprawled over grain bags, closing her eyes, too. "You can't blame yourself, Angel! This is all on Tag!"
"Yet we can't prove it." Angel's stomach twisted. Stumbling into the hallway, he doubled over and vomited.
"Why didn't any of them scream?" Brute's question echoed from the room.
"Angel? Kevin?" Chatterbug's quiet voice came through his headset.
Still, Angel didn't respond, so Brute tapped his headset to make the call. "Get on the horn to command HQ. Tell them the mission's complete. Over."
"Brute!" Panther hissed. "Show some fucking respect."
"I am! We send the all-clear and get EMTs here for the kids! Standing here won't help."
"And T-Tag brings in h-his t-trucks for the s-spoils," Shrapnel stuttered through tears.
Panther knelt to pat his back. "Shrapnel?"
"I-I've n-never seen d-dead kids b-before."
Wiping bile from his mouth, Angel stood up and waved his hand disissively over the room. "Let them collect their shit. The munitions can't stay here for anyone else." He drew his eyes over his team. His friends. Focusing on Panther, he ordered, "Panther, take Shrapnel outside to get some air, and as soon as air support arrives, I want him taken for evaluation."
"Sir?"
"Just do it." He snapped harsher than he should have.
"Kevin?" Again, Chatterbug's soft voice settled in his earpiece. Again, he ignored her.
He turned to address Brute, "I want you here by the door. Try to get the names of everyone who comes to take the ordinance away. No doubt some of them are working with Tag." He paused, took a deep breath, and announced, "You're in charge, now, my friend."
"Wait? What?" Brute blinked, "Why?"
"Because," Angel started toward the exit, "I have a Colonel to report to."
"Angel!" Brute grabbed his shoulder. "You can't confront him without proof. You'll risk court-martial."
"It won't matter." Pushing away Brute's hand, he snapped, "I quit."
Panther and Shrapnel barely made it down the hall, stopping and spinning around in surprise. Brute stared at Angel in stunned silence as he disappeared around the corner. None of the team could believe what they had just heard, but none dared try to stop him.
"Kevin!" Chatterbug spoke louder, with clear frustration in her voice from being ignored.
Finally acknowledging her, he sighed, "Don't bother, sis. I've made up my mind."
"I know." Her voice turned resolute: "I'm coming with you. I quit, too!"
Angel could hear Snapshot gasp in the background, and his lips turned up in a sad smile. Twelve years ago, Cassie left home without him. This time, they would leave together.