AN - Sorry for the delay getting this out, I've just been busy with life and work. The story is still alive and well. I was very excited to see we reached 20k views and almost 100 alerts. For a military/HP fanfiction, I am still blown away by the interest. Thanks for reading everyone!
The sweltering heat was difficult to get off of the mind. It wasn't just the hot, it was so humid too. A hundred degrees at 1800 hrs, and they were humping around the hills and mountains going from village to village. It was really difficult to remain hydrated when you sweat so much.
It didn't help that they were stuck trying to stay off of the beaten path. GPS made navigation no problem, but the beaten path was beaten for a reason...it was usually the simplest, easiest route. Captain Bradley Gordon and the rest of Reaper team, however, were not exactly welcomed guests of the Burundian Government. That left them doing their very best to steer clear of the local police and military.
There were seldom garrisons in the small villages visited by the Reaper operators, and those that had them were very small and very poorly disciplined. The Cankuzo Provence was the least populated region of Burundi, mostly small farming communities. There were not major strategic resources, and most of the governments political enemies were in the more populous regions. By necessity, that was where the majority of the country's military was as well.
Their task had been a grueling one. The United States had made great strides in cleaning up the gangs of various dark creatures throughout its borders while Reaper team was stationed in the UK. When Reaper made it back home, they were assigned to hunt down one Howard Eden. There was very little in the way of information on the man, but he was suspected of three separate, major incidents in the United States that had cost a total of 82 civilian lives. It was believed that he'd grown up between group homes and they had one picture of him. A tall man, about forty years old, with a smooth, bald head. He'd made it to number one on the most wanted list.
Reaper had tracked him to a small religious community in Kentucky, where the man was leading a cult of muggles as their god/prophet. The fight had been brief, but ultimately Eden had escaped. They tracked him across the boarder into Mexico, where another fight occurred, costing the lives of two operators from Phantom team. Again he eluded capture, that time on a boat.
One month ago, the boat resurfaced in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, spotted by a CIA analyst on a date. Reaper was sent immediately, and they'd tracked him into Burundi. It had been a long month, walking across hilly terrain.
The operators were not officially there, and instead had papers identifying them as nineteen year old private military contractors for Aurora Security Solutions. Aurora was an outfit owned, unofficially, by the US government, and Africa was no stranger to private contractors. Still, they avoided government agencies, who often did not appreciate the presence of privatized fighters in their country.
All of their efforts over the last month had led to their current location, huddled in a clump of trees and bushes a mile from one of the various unnamed farming communities in the area. The last intelligence they'd been able to obtain placed Eden in this area of Burundi. They'd gotten particularly good at bartering for information with the local villages and communities.
Burundi was extremely poor. Eighty percent of the population lived in poverty and their currency, the Franc, was about 1750 to 1 USD. They'd been provided with ten thousand dollars in bribing money, along with a supply of in-demand medications such as Praziquantel for schistosomiasis, which was a particular problem in Burundi, and TDAP vaccinations for children.
The combination had worked well so far, with Reaper coming into town and providing the vaccination and whatever doses of Praziquantel might be required right off hand. It helped put people at ease a bit, mercenary types were often bad news. On top of that, Brad didn't have it in his heart to not provide the treatments to anyone who needed it. After building up goodwill with the community, they'd offer money for information leading to Eden.
Unfortunately, the trail seemed to be going dry. The operators had been right on his tail, no further than a day behind him when they'd entered Burundi. Over the last five days and an exhaustive search of the surrounding villages, nothing had turned up. This last village was their only hope, if the villagers here didn't know anything then the trail was cold.
A rustle in the tree tops knocked Brad from his thoughts. He looked up and saw a small, brownish-red bird diving straight for them. He started to sit up before he realized he was looking at an owl. It landed on a branch next to Mike, offering its leg to him. Brad smiled, the scene was oddly comical. They were sitting in the scorching heat of the jungle and here was an owl. It just looked so out of place. Mike pulled a small wooden bowl from his pack, an ornately carved gift from one of the villagers in Tanzania. Mike filled it with water from his CamelBak and set it on the branch next to him, allowing the owl to rehydrate.
"How's she doing?" Brad asked after Mike had a chance to read the letter. There was only one person it could be from. His girlfriend, Hermione Granger, who he hadn't seen since the end of the school year at Hogwarts, when their deployment to the UK ended. There were no plans in the works to redeploy there, but that didn't stop the duo from staying in contact.
Technically, they were on an operation and that meant being incognito. No sending or receiving mail, things like that. They weren't checking emails, no phone calls or text messages, nothing like that. Owl mail was not, strictly speaking, prohibited during an operation, but that was more due to the operational planners not realizing that owl mail was even a thing. The fact of the matter was, once mail was sent, the owl was going to find its recipient. Owls, though they definitely existed in Africa, were largely considered harbingers of bad luck and were avoided by the locals. Brad didn't think the risk was particularly high if Mike got an owl here and there, and they remained operationally secure. Mike never said where he was or why he was there.
"She's good, man. Sounds like she convinced her parents to do some work on Sirius's mouth, get it fixed up. She's made it through two of the fourth year textbooks already." He chuckled, knowing how very Hermione it was to be reading textbooks during her summer. This was the second letter he'd gotten from her since they deployed to Africa.
"That's good, his teeth were kinda fucked up," Jason laughed. He was sitting on a small, fallen tree and working on cleaning his rifle. It was a not-so-glamorous fact of life that the equipment needed cleaning on a regular basis.
"That sounds like Hermione," Brad agreed. He'd known the girl throughout the last year, and if anyone was a studious person, it was her.
A thrumming drumbeat sounded in the distance. The locals used drums for a variety of different celebrations. While he wasn't familiar enough with the nuances of drumming to figure out what exactly the celebration was for, the fact that they were celebrating something was enough. That meant it wouldn't be a major interruption of their work in the farms, which they'd learned early on was not a way to win favor. They were a poor people largely, and work in the farms kept them fed. Interrupting that work to ask questions had not worked out when they'd first tried.
"Drums," Eric said, having the same thoughts as Brad. "Sounds like a good time to go make contact."
"Agreed. We leave in 10, get your shit packed," Brad said. Jason reassembled his rifle with practiced ease. He'd already finished cleaning the main spots anyway. Eric, who had taken extra training in combat medicine, pulled the TDAP shots and Praziquantel to the top of his kit for ease of access. He'd become the defacto "doc" for the op, considering he had more medical experience than any of them, though it wasn't by much.
Ten minutes later, the team was back out into the sunlight. In the shade, the heat was terrible but manageable. Step out into the sun and Brad figured that you might as well be standing on the surface of the sun. He had perpetual chafing in his armpits and groin and had to admit he looked forward to the end of this op.
They walked slowly and cautiously for the entire mile to the village. The likelihood of ambush was minimal, but carelessness gets one killed. Once they reached the edge of the village, they moved to the only set of bushes in the flat-lands and did a quick last-minute recon using their small drone. It was small enough to fit in the cargo pants pouch of any of the operators, was heavily encrypted to prevent someone else from making off with it, and could fly in a holding pattern for up to three hours. Not bad for a solar powered mini-drone.
There were no hostiles found anywhere, so they did the hardest part of these exercises, stowing their rifles on their backs. It was a simple thing that went a long way toward making them appear less threatening, and they could still quickly access their sidearms. This way, more often than not, someone would actually talk to them, however.
Dusk was rapidly approaching as they stood from behind the bushes and moved toward the village. The drums were still sounding and the locals were more interested in their celebration than the flat-lands around their village. Brad was past the outermost set of huts before he was finally noticed. A small cry of surprise and before long the drums were stopped, everyone standing and looking cautiously at the newcomers. Brad turned to face the closest of them, his arms before him in a non-threatening manner.
"Est-ce que tu parles français?" Brad asked. There were two primary local languages, French and Kirundi. So far, there were more villagers that spoke French and English than those that spoke Kirundi and English, and Brad found he had an easier time picking up French. He had a few basic phrases he could understand, and a small phrasebook that he could use to help interpret responses.
"Mzungu, what are you doing here?" the man asked in intelligible but broken English. Mzungu was a term for those of European descent, generally those with white skin. The speaker stood with his chest out, a challenge to let the newcomers know that problems weren't welcome.
"You speak English?" Brad was genuinely surprised. The last English speaker they'd come across was from a village near Cendajuru. It was a relief when the man cautiously nodded in the affirmative. Brad was...passable with his French, but it took a lot of looking things up and he was much more at home in his native English.
"You have not answered my question." The tall, darkly skinned man furrowed his brow, glancing back and forth between Brad's eyes and his sidearm.
"We're here to trade, and looking for information, nothing more. What's your name?" Brad extended his hand further away from his sidearm. So far, he hadn't seen one rifle among the crowd that was rapidly forming around them.
"I am Nepo. Know this, we are not interested in leaving this land, mercenary." The man, Nepo, eyed the rest of Reaper team. They were clad in the typical mixture of tactical and comfortable that private military contractors were known for, and for exactly that reason. It wouldn't do for anyone to find out that active members of the United States military were operating in Burundi. Still, it made life difficult. Mercenaries weren't known for their philanthropic work and the locals were usually not happy to see them around.
"Nepo, it's good to meet you. I'm Brad. These are my friends, Jason, Mike and Eric." Brad gestured toward each as he named them. "We aren't here for threats or harm, my friend. We just want to do some trading and get a little information if you have it."
Nepo opened his mouth to respond, his expression softening but only slightly. He was cut off by a terrible, high pitched wail from a hut on the other side of the crowd. It was a sound of intense, true pain and it sent a shiver up Brad's spine even in the incredible heat. He reflexively brought his hand toward his sidearm. Nepo glanced back at the hut.
"She is in labor, has been for a while," Nepo answered the unasked question. Before he could elaborate further, a young man came running from the hut.
"Le bébé ne sortira pas, elle est coincée!" he shouted, running to the man standing in front of Brad. He only seemed to notice Brad after coming to a stop, then looked up, wide-eyed. Brad ran the mental translation. It was about the woman in the hut, something about being stuck.
"Everything okay?" Brad asked, knowing it wasn't. He was really asking if they wanted help, but knew better than to phrase it that way. No one wanted to be indebted to mercenaries.
"The baby is stuck," Nepo ran a hand over his bald head, a look of stress on his features.
"I'm guessing the nearest doctor is pretty far away?" Brad asked. There were seldom doctors in these small villages.
"She went in to labor unexpectedly," Nepo replied. "We sent for the doctor but it will be hours before he arrives."
"Eric, let's give a hand." Brad said, not taking his eyes off Nepo, even when Eric sighed. His experience was in combat medicine, not emergency childbirth. "I have a medic, we'd like to help if you'll let us."
"I-" Nepo cut short, weighing the options. She needed help, that much seemed clear. Owing anything to a mercenary was never good though. "We cannot pay you."
"We aren't looking for pay, we will do this freely." Brad hoped that they could use this to build some good will.
"She's in there," Nepo gestured toward the hut. Eric started for it and the rest of the team followed. Jason and Mike stayed outside to talk to the locals while Brad went in with Eric. He figured if he wrangled Eric into an emergency childbirth, he'd best help.
Inside the hut the woman was laying on a bed. There was a stack of towels and a couple buckets of water. She was spread eagled and gripping her husbands hand tightly, in obvious pain. The husband eyed them suspiciously until Nepo entered the tent and gave him a placating look.
"Whooo," Eric huffed, "Heeeeere we go." He set down his pack and took off the combat gloves, replacing them with black medical gloves. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a chair, setting it at the end of the bed. "Get the med kit," Eric directed Brad.
"Copy," Brad started into Eric's pack. In everything but medical matters, Brad was in charge. When it came to medicine, however, Eric was the one in charge and rank really didn't matter. It was a necessary power to prevent officers from overruling the medic and putting themselves in danger.
"Thanks," Eric said as Brad set the kit next to him. Eric popped his neck and wiggled his shoulders side to side, trying to prep himself. This was a bit outside his expertise. He cleared his throat and Brad elbowed him gently. Eric made no reply, but sat and took a look under the bedsheet covering her up to her knees.
"Hmm, shit," he said. "Looks like dystocia, kids shoulders are jammed and can't get through." Eric leaned back and closed his eyes, taking himself back to training. They'd not really covered this, but he'd read about it before. There was a maneuver he could do...what was the name…
He struggled to figure it out and she screamed loud again, pushing with the contraction. Fuck. The name didn't matter, he remembered. He just needed to get things open more...that's right!
"Nepo," Eric said, "I need you to tell her...we need to push her legs up to her abdomen, can you tell her?" Nepo rattled off in French and she nodded, a panicked yell came from her when she had another contraction, and she struggled to raise her legs a bit. Eric grabbed underneath her knees and pushed firmly, slowly up toward her chest.
One of the infants shoulders had been jammed behind the symphysis pubis, preventing the normal progression of delivery. Eric knew of two treatments, aside from performing a c-section. First you could hyperflex the legs toward the chest in order to shift things and maybe dislodge the shoulder. If that failed, the next step was to insert a hand into the vagina in order to manually attempt to dislodge the infant. This was, for obvious reasons, not something Eric wanted to do. Glancing down, he saw the crown of the baby's head as it was on its way out, and faster than he expected.
"Shit," he muttered, letting go of her legs and getting a hand underneath the baby's head, guiding it out. Well, it worked. The baby slid out and Eric gave it a once over. The skin was pink, and the baby started crying. Thankfully, the husband came to take over. He nodded in thanks as he pulled the baby from Eric's hands. Eric didn't fight it, glad to be done with his part. They could take over from here.
"Let's let them finish up, shall we?" Brad asked. It looked like they were done with the help. Eric and Nepo agreed and followed Brad out of the hut. Nepo nodded at the waiting crowd and they shouted in cheering, drums starting up from somewhere.
"Thank you," Nepo said, looking serious. "What information were you looking for?" Nepo, it seemed, had determined that they weren't hostile, but they still weren't exactly welcome.
"We have some other things we'd like to offer, some vaccinations and medications," Brad replied. Nepo squinted at him suspiciously. "As a thank you for talking to us."
"I see, and in return what do you ask?" Nepo still appeared guarded.
"For the medications, nothing. We are looking for this man," Brad pulled a copy of the only known picture of Howard Eden from his breast pouch. "He's dangerous, hurt a lot of people."
"I'm sorry," Nepo replied. "You're the first mzungu we have seen in months."
"I see," Brad replied with a tight smile. That wasn't the news they were hoping for. "Could we sit down and talk about it some more?" Nepo gestured toward a nearby hut and Brad followed him, his team staying with the celebrating villagers.
Brad showed Nepo his map of the villages in the area, and showed where they'd confirmed Howard Eden had been. Nepo confirmed there were no other villages in the area that he could have gone to. That was it, the trail cold. Nepo received word that the baby girl was healthy and that her mother was doing well. At that news, Nepo invited them to stay for the evening celebratory meal. The entire village would be participating. Brad agreed and thanked them, though he insisted on paying them generously for their hospitality. A few hundred dollars went a long way in the area.
While his team celebrated, Brad went to the edge of the village to call in his report. He was about twenty minutes late for his report, but it was unavoidable. They'd prefer to have the updated information he got during that time anyway.
"Kingpin, this is Reaper." Brad called in on the SatPhone, a satellite linked phone with heavy encryption.
"Good to hear from you, Reaper. What's the situation?" It was a female voice this time. While the callsign for their operational control didn't change, the operator of that callsign was different a lot of times. They were calling a Command and Control center in the continental United States, after all. The work was more flexible at home.
"Trail's cold, Kingpin. This was the last village in the area that might have info on where he went. Anything from the other sources?" Brad knew the CIA had assets in the area that were looking for him as well, along with satellites and signals intelligence.
"Nothing new, Captain. Stand-by one." The line went dead for a moment, and another voice was on the line when it opened again.
"Captain, do you have any other leads?" The man on the other end sounded a lot like Colonel Montgomery, though he couldn't be sure.
"Negative, we're dry here," Brad replied.
"Copy. How soon can you get to Canzuko?" That was the capital of the like-named province they were in. It was about a half day of walking to get there from their current position.
"Half a day, give or take a couple hours," Brad replied. "New intel?" Brad wondered how they'd maintain a low profile taking the guy out inside a city.
"Negative, I'm retasking you to an FID op. Get to Canzuko ASAP. There will be an asset, Jones, to meet you. He'll take your equipment and get you to Bujumbura International Airport. He'll have your plane number and tickets and you'll be briefed on the flight."
"Copy that," Brad said. FID or Foreign Internal Defense meant they would be operating as bodyguards inside a foreign country. It was an operation pulled often by other special forces teams, but TFA wasn't usually assigned things like that. They could do it, but it was a strange operation. "Reaper team, out."
He relayed their orders to the rest of the team. They decided to stay and eat, get some water and things before starting toward Canzuko. It was going to be a long walk, but at least it would be a bit cooler at night and they were going to want that energy and rest.