It is darker than night in the safe house. Loud as hell though, the whine and bang of mortars exploding all around them as they sit in the midst of a civil war, waiting to start the next phase of the op.
The other five guys are sitting together on the floor, seemingly relaxed, quietly shooting the shit, telling macho stories, trash-talking each other. Yet they are all ready, surrounded by their go kits - checking and rechecking their flak armour, M4s, pistols, ammo, grenades.
Quinn sits by himself in the corner, covered in dust and memories. The safe house is nothing more than a concrete bunker, hidden amongst the ruins of Aleppo. And it's still the same yet everything around it, around him, has changed.
They had crossed the Syrian border in the dead of night, avoiding the busy rebel-controlled Bab al-Hawa border crossing by hiking across the more mountainous area to the south. Then they had scurried through the city in the same darkness, past the rubble that used to be the beautiful old al-Madina souk, past the ruins of the minaret of the Great Mosque, the destruction clear even at night.
All this for what, Quinn thinks. He's thankful he's been there before, seen the beauty of the old city before it was bombed into ruins.
For a moment he drops his mental guard, wonders if Carrie's been to Aleppo, if she'd feel the loss. As a rule he doesn't let himself think about her, has to be on point, sharp for the mission or he won't get out alive.
It helps to be off the grid, no one to report to, no comms at all. Already a ghost, he thinks. Or maybe just a shadow.
But Quinn can't stop moments like this, when she slips through, forces her way into his thoughts. When he forgets to tell himself this is the choice he made, that there's no going back. Not after how he ran.
An opportunity missed. And in their line of work there usually isn't a second chance.
So he sits and broods, remembers the beauty of the city, the hope of love - thinks of all that's been lost, disintegrated by the ongoing fighting. Wonders why he even gives a fuck anymore, after all he's seen, all he's done to perpetuate the cycle of death.
At least they're trying to do something about it, whether it helps in the long run or just becomes another fucking fiasco, another misstep in the war on terror.
The operation is to take out three high value ISIS targets, men close to the self-proclaimed caliph, al-Baghdadi. The intel gives them one night, one location. It's less than two hours until go time and Quinn is mentally preparing for the op, trying to ensure that he will be sharp. So he fucking lives through the night, hears the call of the muezzins at dawn.
So he still has a chance to make it home. A shot at seeing her again.
His mind is somewhere between regret and hope when he hears someone yell "incoming! No sulking about the girl, douchebag!", looks up to see a grenade flying at him.
Quinn says a mental fuck you but doesn't reply, just catches the canister, is about to throw it back when he hears the crackle of a radio call. He freezes and they all turn at the noise. They've been on radio silence since they left Turkey, were supposed to be dark until they self-extracted after the op is completed.
Rob picks up the radio and they hear Adal crisply telling them that the mission has changed, that the location is the same but only one target will be there. They are to apprehend the target and return with him to Turkey.
The group all look around at each other warily - it's never a good thing for things to change so close to go time. Yet they all know better than to question orders, or even ask why things have been altered.
"Copy," Rob says, affirms they understand the new objective.
"Back to radio silence," Adal states. "Don't fuck this up."
The radio goes dead and they all look around at each other, silently contemplating their new situation. Quinn wonders what brought about the new plans, knows they aren't getting the whole story. Thinks it's going to be a pain hiking a prisoner out of Syria, that it puts them all on a different level of danger.
But there's nothing to be done about it, he just has to suffer in silence with the rest of the team. It's the life they signed up for and he can't exactly quit now.
The group sits down, discuss the implications of the new orders, hash through new scenarios, new roles in the operation. Not a lot has changed but enough to rethink all their plans, make minor adaptations that may end up being the difference between life and death.
There's no joking around now, everyone has their game faces on. Quinn gears up, rechecks all his weapons. Looks around, thinks to himself that it's on. This is what he chose and he's not going to fuck it up. Dying in Syria is not an option.
#
The mission to grab the target goes as smoothly as possible, is so on point that Quinn gets a nervous feeling, like it's too easy. The intel is perfect, the guy is in the right place at the right time with only a small group of guards - all quickly taken out at close range with silenced weapons. Even their new prisoner doesn't struggle much when they grab him, gets up and goes with them when prodded with an assault rifle.
They head west through the city, hear intermittent mortar attacks between the rival factions still fighting it out but manage to make it to the outskirts of town before daybreak, seemingly without being noticed.
Their extraction route takes them through rebel-controlled territory, an opposition made up of many groups united against Assad's Syrian government. Though nominally allied with the United States there are no guarantees even with this group, no assurances they won't shoot first and ask questions later.
But everything is calm, almost eerily so. No shots fired all morning as they push northwest, towards the dead cities, towards their ultimate destination. It's not until the heat of the noonday sun is on them and they're looking for some shade in the ruins of Serjilla, that Quinn hears a whine in the sky, looks up just as a russian-built Syrian MiG fighter jet does a fly by.
They all look at each other and Quinn reads the controlled panic in their expressions, knows it matches his own. They had gone this direction to avoid any battles between the Syrian army and the opposition rebels. With no rebel bases and few groups of fighters in the area it was supposed to be a clean extraction route.
Yet now the fighter is coming back for another run. And suddenly there's signs of life elsewhere, two Technicals - pick up trucks with mounted heavy machine guns - driving towards them across the dusty terrain.
Quinn looks around at their options, knows they're good and fucked. Outnumbered and badly outgunned, with a bird in the sky trying to drop bombs on them. Wonders what the fuck could be going on, how they had been located.
He can see that the Technicals bear the ISIS flag, yet the MiG is clearly Syrian Army. Which can only mean the two enemies are collaborating. So it had likely been a set up all along, Syrian intelligence must have found out they were in the country, about to take out the ISIS guys. But instead of sitting on the info, just letting it happen they had obviously set up a deal.
Of course killing a bunch of Americans is the only way the two rival sides would ever come together, Quinn thinks to himself. He wonders what Assad's getting out of this, thinks the government must mean to use ISIS to help get rid of the opposition rebels first before turning on ISIS themselves.
Then he realizes it doesn't fucking matter how their position got exposed, that they're six guys against a fucking fighter jet and two mounted heavy machine guns, a small militia of guys. Thankfully he's with his team and they are on the same page, know exactly what their chances are, that there is no margin for error.
Quinn immediately runs for the high position, finds a narrow perch with some covering foliage on top of an old ruin about three stories up. It's a great sniping spot to take on the ground assault but extremely vulnerable from air attack. Without any better options though, Quinn makes the best of what he's got, climbs up and gets his weapon ready to cover his team on the ground.
He watches as the team splits into two, sees Rob pushing the prisoner ahead of him into a mostly solid stone building, sees someone setting up another sniper position. And for a moment the air is still despite the fighter jet somewhere overhead, the armed trucks squealing in. The calm before the storm, a moment out of time.
Of course she sneaks in again right then, the scenes still so fresh in his mind. Carrie, on the brink of decision in the ops room, about to kill a friend and an enemy. And then draped in blue and dark red, standing on his bomb. And again, dressed all in black, wrapped in his arms.
These are the last things he should be thinking about with missiles overhead, heavy guns below. Yet as a gust of hot dust blows by Quinn can't help but recall the searing heat of her intensity, taut on his every nerve.
He doesn't want to admit he misses her but it's a foregone conclusion, impossible to deny. And right now it's less than a minute til the fire starts to fly, with poor odds on him living out the day. So it may well be the last time he has to think about anything other than pure survival. And if it's the end then well, he's glad to have had one last mental moment of her, a second to remember love before death comes crashing down.
And then, with perfect timing, all hell breaks loose. The fighter jet comes in for another swoop while the heavy machine guns on the back of the trucks lay into the crumbling ruin that Rob is holed up in with the prisoner and one other team member.
Quinn takes a deep breath, picks off the man operating one of the heavy machine guns, shoots him square in the forehead. It's on, he thinks, knows his position is now compromised. So now the enemy knows he's up there and they seem to know where Rob is. Both can now expect to be bombed at by the plane overhead yet they have nowhere to run.
Quinn puts that thought to the back of his mind, knows he has to use his time to kill as many men on the ground as possible before an air attack takes him out. He breathes in as calmly as he can, shoots the man who's taken over the machine gun, another one on the truck bed as well.
The whine of the jet comes again, this time with the telltale whoosh of ordinance being dropped. A bomb hits just beside the building where Rob is holding the prisoner, crushes two walls, leaves a pile of seared rubble in its place.
Quinn swears to himself, wonders if their team lead is still alive. Thinks there's a good chance Rob's fine, that he had ample time to find cover in the ruins for him and their 'guest'. And they were on the ground, hidden from an air attack. But Quinn's on top of a very tall ruin, with only a couple twigs of foliage between him and a thousand pound bomb.
He hears the bomber coming back around for another pass, knows there's a good chance this time he's the target but has nowhere to run, no way to get down to the ground before the jet gets there. He can only pray for the best as he tells himself to stay calm, keep shooting until he can't anymore.
So Quinn takes a breath, manages to hit another two men on the ground before he hears another bomb get dropped, even closer than the last.
The explosion engulfs his every sense, pressurized heat blinding and deafening him for a moment before the roar of the blast hits, everything is turned to dust, and suddenly he's weightless, falling, the stone underneath him crumbling away.
Quinn hits the rubble hard, immediately rolls out of the way as a huge piece of stone nearly crushes him from above. Manages to avoid the giant flying rock but takes the brunt of a dozen smaller shards piling on top of him, feels the impact of granite on his chest as it crushes him into the debris underneath.
It's quiet for a moment as the dust settles and for a second Quinn chokes on his breath, can't catch another one. Is on the verge of panic, pain and lack of air constricting his chest. Unsure where his weapon is, sure that enemy fighters are moving in as he lies there with his head ringing, his body battered.
But he's alive and can feel all his extremities. Even seems to have kept his M4 attached to him. All of which means he needs to get moving, find the rest of his team.
Quinn tries to push himself up to his knees, finds just enough space within the chunks of rock debris to see some light, a destination. The deep stabbing pain he feels when he breathes tells him there's something broken in his chest, ribs at least. And he knows better than to assess the rest, knows he needs to get as far on adrenaline as he can.
He finds just enough space to pull himself along on his arms, painfully snaking his way through patchy spaces in the pile of rubble until he's halfway out into the open, can see the chaos surrounding him.
There are bullets flying everywhere, another bomb falling from the sky. Quinn scans the scene, knows he needs to find another high position even if it means incurring more fire from the sky. Sees a possible location a few buildings away, tries to take a deep breath in before blowing his own cover.
Of course the pain in his chest explodes at the attempt and for a second he sees stars, hunches over to try and let it pass. But there's no time to be a pussy, his team is clearly in trouble and he may be their only hope. So Quinn grits his teeth and runs for it, firing as he stumbles across the dusty ruins, wondering why his body isn't responding as it should.
He takes return fire, heavy rounds that fly through crushed walls. But nothing hits him directly, just feels the pings of stone chips as he runs for the only building left standing.
Quinn ducks and rolls, knows it will fucking hurt even through the shock and adrenaline. Feels bullets fly by just above him, knows he has a very small time window before the plane comes back, drops another fucking bomb on him.
He scales the interior walls of the building one-armed, his left side mostly incapacitated from his ribs. Finds a spot on the edge when he gets to the top, wryly thinks to himself at least there's not as far to fall this time when the bomb hits.
He uses his new perch to scan the scene, sees one of his teammates lying in a slurry of blood-soaked dust and swears to himself. Down to five guys at most now, likely with other casualties. But Quinn doesn't have time to absorb the loss, is immediately distracted as he sees Rob pushing their prisoner behind a wall, watches as he fires at a group of men chasing him. Quinn gets on his assault rifle right away, uses his high ground to take out the entire group, manages to shoot them all down just as they are moving in to surround Rob.
He sees Rob look his way, give him a look of appreciation. But barely has the time to take in their small victory before the fucking MiG is back. And now Quinn knows he's the target, rolls desperately as the plane flies by, drops yet another bomb.
He has a split second to make the decision, knows he's likely to end up breaking something major, live out the end of his life in a heap of pain, a puddle of blood. But it's better than being obliterated by a bomb so Quinn takes a running leap, jumps from his high position and hopes the ground is softer than it looks.
He lands in a crouch that turns into a somersault with his forward momentum. And every part of his body is screaming now, but miraculously nothing seems to be broken. Well nothing except for the ribs, and those are a mere inconvenience.
Quinn pushes his body into motion, stumbles towards Rob's location even as he feels bullets fly above him. He's not sure how many of their guys are still alive but knows that none of them are going to survive long. Not with a MiG still in the air, two Technicals still on the ground.
Finally he manages to crawl behind the same wall he saw Rob push the prisoner behind, watches as Rob shoots down whoever is firing at him.
"We're two men down. You alright?" Rob shouts as Quinn shimmies up to him, falls into a heap at the effort.
"Can't fucking breathe but that's about it," Quinn replies with a wheezy gasp. "We're fucking dead in the wind man. We need air support."
Rob gives him a hard look, shakes his head.
"No can do, pretty boy," he states grimly. "No comms, no backup. You know the deal."
Quinn feels the panic start to rise in his chest, thinks this is it then, that even if they take out every man on the ground the fucking MiG will kill them all, it was just a matter of time.
"There are fucking American F-22s a half an hour out!" Quinn states angrily. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Rob fires back. "Take your fucking panties off. You know this is a no-fly zone for any US planes and we aren't exactly supposed to be here, remember. This is what you fucking signed on for."
Quinn grits his teeth, knows that Rob is right, that black ops meant no support, no bail outs if everything goes to shit. And he had always thought he was ready to go out at anytime, that he was a dead man walking from the moment he signed back on to the group.
But now that the moment is imminent he realizes he's giving his life for something he no longer believes in, that he's made the wrong choice for the last time.
"So we're all dead then. There's no way we make it through this terrain with a bird hunting us from above. Not even if we leave our cargo behind," Quinn fires back, still thinks there has to be a way.
Rob gives him a glare, a look of disdain.
"Two years off and you become a fucking crybaby," he grunts. "You forgot the rules? We die, we die. It's how this shit works."
Quinn takes a breath, looks up to see if death is flying directly overhead yet. Thankfully he can't even hear the MiG but knows it won't be long until it's back. And from the sounds of it, the trucks are moving in on their location too.
"I'm not dying for this shit," Quinn mutters, looks around as if he will suddenly see a way out of their situation. But knows this is as bad a spot as they've ever been in, that it will take a miracle for any of them to get out alive.
Rob gives him the look of disgust again.
"What you think anyone cares we're here? You know they're not going to fucking send anything anyways," he states flatly. "We do what we can, take out what we can along the way."
Quinn lays his head back, feels weak, nauseous. Pain is starting to creep into his body again now that he's had a few minutes to let the adrenaline subside but broken ribs and shrapnel wounds are the least of his concerns at the moment.
He knows Rob is right on every level, that this is what they signed on for, that Adal wouldn't compromise the situation by sending in air support even if he knew where they were. That no one in the CIA or at the Pentagon would allow such obvious support to a supposedly non-existent black ops group deep in enemy terrain.
But to die on the ground in Syria, for something he no longer gives a fuck about. It's total bullshit - yet Quinn has to admit it's a fitting end, what he deserves.
So he sits, steels himself for a pitched battle, their last stand. And of course Carrie slips back into his mind right then, invades his thoughts as he waits for death.
He thinks how she's going to be pissed off at him for dying in Syria on a mean nothing mission. After all his fucking talk of getting out, his increasingly desperate attempts to drag himself away from the endless cycle of death. All that shit he went through in Islamabad, all because he couldn't let her go - was somehow sure that, by saving her, he would end up saving himself too.
And he had done the impossible, pulled her back from the edge of a black hole. And then she had done the same, stopped him from giving it all up to exact some revenge. Two fucking miracles really.
But then, when it was all on the line, he ran. Because he thought she'd say no, because he was scared she'd say yes. Because he thought he had a duty to the group.
But now when it comes down to it he can't think of anything more pathetic than dying for a job that has already taken his very soul. Would give anything to make the choice again, would fucking fly to Missouri whether she wanted him there or not, would stay and wait, convince her of his need.
Quinn looks around, sees the Technicals pulling into position, trying to surround them for the final assault. And maybe he's getting soft but he knows a no win scenario when he sees one.
He exchanges a knowing look with Rob and they silently acknowledge what's to come. They hear the fighter jet coming back and understand that they have only a few minutes before they have to make desperate run.
One more moment before it all comes raining down on them, one last chance to say a silent goodbye. Quinn pictures Carrie getting his letter, wonders if she will even read it, if she will give a shit by then. He thinks she was probably done with him as soon as he took off. Which was fair enough considering he left without a word, never even gave her a chance.
Bye Carrie, he thinks as whine of the MiG gets louder and the heavy machine guns start firing on their position.
I'm sorry. I really fucked it up this time.