CHAPTER 12: MARTYR
April 9, 2008
5:26 AM
U.S. Embassy
Tripoli, Libya
Fouad was inside the power supply area. He was trying to radio a helicopter from Yemen to come evacuate him. Fouad felt he shouldn't though. The reason for this was because all of his men were killed, and he had failed his mission. He already let down Allah, and he did not want to die a dishonorable death from the sword of his superior. So instead, he would rather die another way. Suicide, hell no. But he didn't want to die a dishonorable man. He wanted to die at least a dishonorable martyr. Fouad decided not to radio the helicopter, but instead wait for enemy troops to move into the embassy once more, and have a gunfight with them, and hopefully die that way.
Fouad didn't have time to move out of the room, for a dark figure stepped up to him, and struck him in the face.
"Back from the dead." The man said.
"I thought I had killed you." Fouad said, wiping his mouth.
"Nope." The man kicked the man in the stomach. Fouad grunted once more, and attempted to pull out his Baretta. Sam saw the shiny metal glint, and kicked it away from the holster. Fouad grunted, and Sam put a boot on Fouad's neck, as he reached down to pick up the pistol.
"Where do you want the bullet? Head or chest?" Sam said with a hint of anger.
"I'd rather have it in my chest. I'll die faster, and I'll die a good martyr. So go ahead, the chest." Fouad said with a hint of religious proudness in his voice. Fisher didn't hesitate in firing a shot into Fouad's chest. The man uttered on last grunt, and his head sort of slumped over to the side. Sam knew ultimately Fouad won the real battle, becoming a martyr, but Sam won the ultimate Earthly battle, in which he rescued the hostages, defeated the terrorists, and eliminated the leader of Allah's Voice.
April 9 2008
NSA Temporary Base
Uganda
Lambert just got off the horn with Vasnir Opalev, and Lambert wanted him to swing a chopper by to pick Sam up. Opalev said that he couldn't get a chopper scrambled due to an intense sand storm, so Lambert had to put trust into Francis Coen to get the Osprey, and pick up Sam. The two pilots, Lt. Hamburg Wessly, and Coen were gearing up the radios, and readying up for take off.
In a few minutes, the Osprey was in the air, although flying at a lower altitude which it usually flew. The extraction was just to pick up Fisher. Nadia Florence, operations coordinator, was safe in the hands of the Russian military, and pretty soon, she will be reunited with her family at the United States.
"Alright, everything seems to be going as planned. Everything is checked, and we are fifteen miles from Tripoli." Hamburg said.
"Roger that." Coen said. The pilots flew for at least half an hour, not saying a word, and all the sound that was made was just the sound of the plane's engine droning.
"Here we go." Coen said as they saw the embassy from the cockpit's horizon. She decelerated, and turned the nose of the Osprey down a bit. She could see the embassy, but decided to land just a few hundred yards behind it. Sam could walk to the plane. When the Osprey was close enough, the pilots slowly landed the aircraft as it banked against the desert floor. Soon, it came to a screeching halt.
"Alright, we have successfully landed. Lets get our man out of there." Hamburg said.
In the meantime, Nadia Florence was getting her wounds treated by a young Russian female doctor. She took the time and energy in stitching up deep cuts, treating her swollen eye, and wiping the blood and grit from her face. The doctor spoke with compassion, and really cared for the girl, and respected her duty at which she served to the fullest extent. The girl kept asking for water, and she was very exhausted. Her speech was slow, and she was going in and out of consciousness. So the doctor just laid her down to rest on the hospital bed inside the small medical bay.
Fisher had to walk three hundred yards to the landed Osprey. With a fucked-up shoulder, and a tired body, he didn't feel like walking all that way, and felt he might collapse. The sun was rising up, and the dark sky was turning into a violet blue color. Fisher had realized that the whole mission was all night. All in one night. Fisher's missions in the past seemed to be much quicker than this. Fisher wasn't used to rescuing hostages. His missions were usually infiltrating enemy bases, and capturing or killing an important employee, or crazed political Waco. Fisher could see Coen and the other pilot, run to Fisher to his aid.
"Fish, you gonna be okay?" Coen asked.
"I'll be fine. Let's just get to the Osprey. I'm going to need some water, and something fresh to eat." Sam said.
