The Rookie
Chapter 2: Fucking New Guy
10:04:22
March 22nd 2014
Hereford, England
Lt David Mason
TF141
When General Shepherd gave that nod, I couldn't believe my luck. I've always strived to be the best, and now I finally am. The 141, the most elite soldiers on the planet, and I am one of them. Frank'll be proud. So would my dad, if he was still alive. That makes me even more proud, the fact I've finally gotten out of my dad's shadow. I'm not just Alex Mason's kid anymore. Not just following in my father's footsteps.
The General beckons for me to follow him. We walk out of the office into a corridor. From there I follow him into a large room, where several men are sitting on sofa's, playing some sort of sci-fi shooter.
Immediately, one of them snap's to attention. He barks the room to attention and salutes the General. So these are my new team-mates. The man who saluted is wearing sergeant stripes, and he steps over to greet us as General Shepherd returns the salute.
"General Shepherd sir, what's the occasion?" He asks, speaking with an Australian accent. The game has been paused, and all eyes are on me.
"Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant David Mason, the new recruit the SEALs sent us. He'll be joining us for the foreseeable future. Mason, this is Sergeant Gary Sanderson, but you'll call him Roach. He's the senior NCO in the 141, along with Sgt McKnight."
Shepherd says, clearly the latter Sgt is somewhere else, as no one responds. "Captain MacTavish and Lieutenant Riley are currently on a mission in Somalia, and you'll be introduced to them on their return. You'll be joint Executive Officer along with Riley, although he has seniority, understood?" I nod an answer. "I'm sure Sanderson can introduce you to the rest of the team. Carry on gentlemen."
He finishes his little speech. I salute him as he walks out, which he returns, before closing the door and leaving me with my new team.
"Have you seen action?" Sanderson asks me almost instantly.
"A little." I shrug. A British man sitting on the sofa speaks up.
"Define a little?" He asks.
"A year in the Stan, a month in Somalia and an op in Pakistan." He seems satisfied with my response. However the intense stare-off continues, until suddenly Sanderson grins.
"Don't worry mate, we're just messing with you." He hold's out his hand for me to shake. "Call me Roach, the Brit is Archer. I'll introduce you to the rest. Do you have a nickname?" I shake my head. He looks at me mischievously. "Don't worry; I'm sure the lad's will come up with one. FNG will do for now."
Great, so now I'm a Fucking New Guy. Perfect. I sit down next to a guy who I recognise from SEAL training.
"How's it going Mason? Heard you were in DEVGRU?" He grins, glad to see me after two years.
"I was, guess I wasn't good enough, so they sent me here." I reply, gaining a series of chuckles. A good sign that they're warming up to me. That was quicker than I thought.
"So if you were in DEVGRU, did you get to go on Neptune Spear?" Archer asks. Neptune Spear has gone down in history as a text-book recovery of a raid, seeing as one of the two Black Hawk helicopters we went in using crashed. We still completed the objectives well though.
"Yeah, I was." I reply simply. The other's eyes widen slightly, clearly looking surprised.
"Did you see it when, you know, he got it?" The ex-SEAL, Worm, sitting next to me asks. I smile to myself, having been ordered for my own safety to never directly reveal that I slotted him, and reply.
"Well, you could say I saw him get slotted, yes. But, please can we not talk about that now, if that's alright." The others nodded in agreement. No one particularly likes talking about op's, mainly because it's personal.
"So, FNG, you ever play Halo?" Another British-sounding guy asks me. His patch reads SBS, which explains the accent. To be honest, I don't really play much computer games; the most advanced console I've played is a N64.
"Err, not really." I reply awkwardly, the rest shaking their heads in mock shame.
"Well you will now mate." Roach says with a chuckle, handing me a controller and explaining the controls. I wonder how that mission the General was talking about is going.
13:56:12
March 22nd 2014
Bakarra Market, Mogadishu, Somalia
Cpt. John MacTavish
TF141
I've never been to Somalia before. Britain has no interests here, unlike the Yank's. This is why I'm here. Good job I like Africa.
The market is busy today, with all sorts of deals happening. On sale there's everything from apples and bananas to knock-off Chinese AK's. So it's a typical black market then. Westerners not welcome, it might as well signpost. That's why the car's windows are all tinted, so anyone outside can't see our faces, and it's also why in the back of the car is enough firepower to shoot our way out of the city if the mission goes to shit, as well as the Sig 229's we both have.
"You seen the target yet?" I ask Ghost, who is sitting in the driver's seat. He shakes his head. Our target is a skinny called Mahmood, a drugs dealer who's been dabbling in gun-running. But unfortunately, he chose to supply the Taliban in Afghanistan and Pakistan, which is why he's on Santa's naughty list this year.
We are looking to capture him for information on a missing Special Forces Marine who had been kidnapped in Pakistan yesterday. He's meant to oversee a drugs deal here, which is where we nab him, and whisk him off to Hereford, where Ghost can interrogate him.
To be honest, Ghost scares me. He's vicious, brutal, and can be somewhat uncontrollable. It's a lethal cocktail for the enemy, and could possibly be for the team as well. He's just not completely human anymore.
"Hang on, think I see him." He says calmly, his rough British accent all too obvious. Why did Shepherd send the two soldiers in the 141 with the heaviest accents on this op? It's sheer idiocy, for us as well for taking the mission.
"Yup, that's our guy." Ghost confirms Mahmood's presence, which draws my attention. Yes, with two burly guards behind him, armed with short barrelled AK's, is our target.
"Fuck Ghost, we didn't expect the guards." I curse. The plan won't change; we'll just slot the guards and hide the bodies, then kidnap Mahmood whilst he's taking a dump.
"Guess we'll just kill the guards whilst he's taking a crap?" Ghost's on the same brainwave that I'm on.
"Aye, bastards won't know what hit them." I reply, cocking my Sig and screwing on a suppressor. I tuck the pistol into a concealed holster, alongside two spare 9mm magazines. In the back of the car are two M4 CQBR's, kitted out with EoTech sights, M203 grenade launchers and flashlights.
"Lep, can you see the target?" I ask over comms. Lep is short for Leprechaun, the nickname for Sgt Andrew McKnight; one of the 141's founding members alongside me, Ghost and Roach. I first met him in Northern Ireland, in the Para's. We've served together ever since. He's providing sniper cover with a MK12 SPR, a customized M16 that's been turned into a mid-range sniper rifle.
"Yeah, I see him. They're big guys behind him for skinnies eh?" Lep asked. He's right; the two guards behind Mahmood are very big.
"Probably hired guns, nothing to worry about." I reply, "Just keep eyes on, and cover us if it goes to shit."
"Aye aye Captain." Lep confirms.
The deal seems to go down without instance. The supplier seems to be of Middle-Eastern descent, indicating that he's Taliban, selling the heroin they make from poppies in Afghanistan. But we aren't here for him. He hands the drugs over, and Mahmood swaps it for a wad of US $50 notes. They shake hands and part ways.
Me and Ghost have been observing Mahmood's activities for some time now. After a deal, he always takes a dump in a narrow alley. This is where we grab him. I cover my face with a cloth head-scarf, and step out the car. I'm wearing a bulletproof vest underneath my civilian clothes, so I do have some protection for when the bullets are flying.
Ghost is still wearing that bloody balaclava, although he's covered most of it with a scarf like I have. We follow the target through Mogadishu's streets. The temperature here is certainly the opposite of back home in the highlands. One of the guards stands at either end of the alley, keeping watch whilst Mahmood pulls his trousers down.I nod covertly to Ghost, who takes position behind one of the guards. I pull out my Sig and advance on the guard in front of me.
I pretend to trip on thin air, and stumble into him. When we collide I press the suppressed pistol into his side and double tap him in the belly. He sinks to the ground with a grunt. I see Ghost at the alley's other end, pulling a knife out of the guard's chest and wiping it on his trousers.
We advance on the target, who is blissfully unaware of the two western soldiers advancing on him. He finishes his shit, pulls up his pants and turns around. He sees me and his eyes widen. Ghost comes up behind him and holds the knife to his throat.
"You make a noise or move and I'm going to cut you open like a fucking pig, understand?" He growls into the man's ear.
"J-j-just don't h-hurt me." Mahmood whimpers, terrified of Ghost. So would I, if he did that to me.
"I said shut up you prick!" Said British man barks, silencing the Somali drug's dealer.
"Lep, this is 'Tavish. We've got the package and are moving to the extract now. We'll meet you there, alright?" I tell Lep over the radio.
"Copy that Soap, I'll cover you until you reach the car then bug out. See you soon." Lep reply's quickly.
"Don't call me that Lep." I jokingly snap at him. I can almost hear his laughter over the radio. Soap's a nickname I chose to keep to myself a long time ago, but unfortunately, Lep was on the team with me, Price and Gaz. Their names send a pang of grief through me, which I quickly push out, focusing on the mission instead. Ghost hands me the target, who I garb roughly, pressing the Sig into his back.
"You do anything I don't like, I shoot, understood?" He nods quickly. "Move." I growl, twisting his arm behind his back. I frog march him along the streets, going back the way we came. This sort of stuff happens every day in Somalia's capitol, and people turn a blind eye to it. I open the car boot and dump Mahmood inside, before slamming the lid shut. I get in the drivers seat and start the engine.
Ghost grabs one of the M4's out of the back, loads and cocks it, just in case we run into trouble along the way. We don't, thankfully, although every person totting an AK or RPG made me more and more nervous. I drive along the road for three miles, so we are in the desert where no one can see us.
Waiting there, his sniper rifle disassembled and in a backpack, is Lep. He'd driven to the evac site using a beat up old Harley-Davidson. I open the door, taking off my head-scarf as I do so, and grab the other M4 out of the back. I make it ready and jog over to Lep. He grins, and nods a greeting. He's armed with an MP5K, with an Aimpoint sight and suppressor.
"Glad to see you made it okay. I radioed the chopper; it should be here in two minutes." He says cheerfully, letting his Irish accent out. Unlike me, Lep has the ability to change the way he sounds, something I envy.
"Good," Ghost says from behind us, appearing out of nowhere like his nickname, "The sooner we can get out of this shithole the better." He says bitterly. The two minutes pass by quickly.
Sure enough, a Sea King helicopter lands, spraying sand everywhere. Ghost grabs Mahmood from the car's boot and yanks him out. Holding the M4 on him all the way, he frog-marches the drugs dealer into the chopper. Me and Lep soon follow. As the ramp closes shut and we are plunged into the eerie red lights of a helicopter's inside, the mission comes to a close. Another successful mission for the Task Force 141.
AN: Well, chapter 2 done, sorry about the long update span, had school work and other stuff. So Mason is now introduced to the 141, and Soap, Ghost and Lep completed their mission without a hitch. This will change in later chapters, as the 141 face a familiar face who will strike at who they hold dear. Hope you enjoyed this long chapter, and please review, as I can't get better unless you tell me what I'm doing wrong. Next chapter: Mason's first operation with the 141, and boy will it be a good one.
Bradykins out.