Note: Chapter 14 of my "Freedom Day" story is referenced here. Feel free to check it out again to get the full picture, but I added just enough context for those who don't want to read through it.
Craig "Blackbeard" Jenson
…
*ringing noise*
Craig held the cellphone close to his ear, eagerly waiting for someone to pick up on the other end. He was greeted by a chirpy female, bringing a little smile to his masked face. The next second, it shifted to a curl of disappointment.
"Hi! You've reached the Jenson residence. We're not home right now, so please leave a message after the beep!"
*beep*
Rather than heed the instruction, he instead closed the device and tucked it away into his front pouch. He thought the guys back home wouldn't be out in this hour; he should've known better. It was a Sunday in Bellevue – they could be at the lake, the park, or seeing the movies. 'Better luck next time', he mentally said to himself. So much for imparting one last word with the ones he cherished on the eve of battle. At least he tried his best.
"Two minutes, lads.", the pilot announced, speaking in an English accent.
Craig looked at his wristwatch to clock it in, then nodded to the bloke with the flight helmet in reply. He then put up his right hand for the cabin to see, communicating with the rest of his team non-verbally. The loud chopping of the rotor blades made it difficult to talk like normal, and the airwaves had been reserved for incoming radio calls. Luckily, everyone else got his message well - it was time to put their game faces on. He could only imagine the looks behind their masks, all serious and composed, awaiting the red light to turn green and the rappelling line to be spooled out of the fuselage.
They had done this many times before, whether simulated or for real. None more so than the former Navy SEAL, who sat in the RAF helo's cabin with a stoic expression and a hand over his scoped SR-25, perhaps for the umpteenth time. Once again the famed 'Blackbeard' was out in sea, riding in the pitch blackness of night. No rain this time around, only the sounds of rough seas and the cloudy skies were masking his aircraft's advance. His teammates were a collection of pros not unlike those he'd served with in Afghanistan and elsewhere. Foreigners. His job was to lead them into a mission of high import where the chance of death was substantial. His opposition… didn't matter. At the end of the day, they're all bad guys who needed to be put down. Not just out of sense of what was right, but also because of the simple fact that they'd kill his people on sight if given the chance.
"Alpha-One this is Switchbo*static*, do you read?", the headset came to life with another female voice.
This time, though, his smile lasted longer. It was Meghan, radioing him all the way from England, hence the slight background interference.
"Check, Switchboard. Send it."
"Drones reported no movement at the top deck and the bridge… Thermals not giving us a twenty on combatants and civvies either…"
"Any good news?", he sighed.
"An RMN flottila's speeding your way, but they're ten mikes (minutes) out. Kaid recommends you maintain a holding pattern half a klick west of the 'X' to link-up for a combined insert, how copy?"
Craig scoffed at the message. He wanted to tell the blonde woman that he'd already considered that option less than half an hour ago. Too late to hang back now. The stakes were clear, and he and his team were about to go all-in. Besides, the plan was already set in stone; changing it now would only screw with everyone's prepping. Rules of engagement remained the same: shoot anyone with gun, cuff everybody else, sweep all decks for unwanted surprises.
It was nice to hear from Meghan again, though, so there was that.
"Negative, we got this.", he replied to her. "We delay any longer, the tangos will have more than enough time to rob the ship dry and scram."
"Your call, Alpha. Remember: go in quiet with drones; we don't know what's waiting for you down there. We also have assets at the Atlas Fort we can still commit, if you like."
"Thatcher's boys won't get here in time, Valk. Tell 'em we can take it from here, over."
"*sigh* Lima Charlie (Loud and clear). We'll keep eyes *static* from our end with the UAVs and-"
The abrupt pause caused some concern.
"Valk?"
"…"
"Switchboard, this is Alpha-One. Do you monitor?"
"Sorry about that. Gotta put you on hold, Craig; I've got the Moroccan Defense Minister on the horn. Priority message."
Great.
"Check. Get back to you in a minute."
The line closed soon after, prompting Craig to lean back on his seat with slightly higher spirits. While it wasn't a good sign that the bigwigs in Rabat were also pitching in, he was content with the fact that their comrades in Rabat and Hereford were still watching over them. Over him. If only such sentiment would also up the odds of survival for the men and women he was riding with. Truth be told, the Team had to scramble tonight since their intel was only about a few hours old. There was a chance that they would coming in woefully unprepared for the fight ahead.
With another sigh to calm his nerves, Craig peered out of the window and set his eyes on their destination, which was rapidly approaching thanks to the helicopter's haste. The sleek, black profile was unmistakable: a container ship fresh out of Sydney Harbor, staying the course of its usual shipping route across the Indian Ocean and over to Africa's west coast. It was supposed to arrive at Amsterdam later this week, hopefully with no fuss. That changed when the ship declared an SOS earlier tonight, reported that it was boarded by a group of heavily-armed men. Pirates, by the sounds of it. By some stroke of bad luck, the usual patrols from the Royal Moroccan Navy were preoccupied with other matters, so the call fell upon the elite Operators of Team Rainbow standing by in England.
Old news. Having spent considerable time with the Fifth Fleet, Craig was used to these kinds of last-minute calls, to these times where they had to pick up the slack for other people. Honestly, the Navy didn't hold a candle to the kind of crunch-time that Rainbow seemed to love. 'Overworked' and 'understaffed' could only begin to describe what the people in this outfit go through on a regular basis. Should one half of the world would be in a perpetual state of emergency, the other half would put its collective fingers in its ears. Tonight wasn't all different.
Well, except for one thing. There was something troubling the fabled 'Blackbeard' as of late. A veteran of ten years and counting, one of the SEALs' best and brightest, as well as their latest contribution to the global fight against terror. Tonight, it felt like he was out of his game. His last mission had nearly killed him. For the first time in God-knows-how-long he was feeling something he thought he had already overcome.
Fear.
"One minute.", the pilot announced again.
His teammates started checking their gear. Following suit, Craig cleared his rifle's action, ensured his mag was topped off, and checked that his ACOG was working and properly zeroed. Next, he pulled out a Ballistic Rifle Shield from his pack and snapped it onto his weapon. He figured that if the bad guys fired at him first, he would be grateful to have one of these panes of bulletproof glass to save his sorry butt. If only, since they had the bullet-carrying capacity of wet tissue paper in a paintball game. The mission in France a few months ago made that abundantly clear.
His heart skipped a beat when the memories flooded back. Courchevel, France: Rainbow sent a team to investigate a Chalet they suspected of being a terrorist safehouse. He and his team were rappelling, holding an angle on the second floor. He was looking into the interior, nothing more than fancy furniture and a dim room. Then, came a flash and a shot from out nowhere. It hit him center-mass, stopped only by a few inches of reinforced glass and another layer of ceramic armor on his chest rig. He could still feel the phantom pain of shards and shrapnel piercing his skin, missing his trauma plate by just a few centimeters. The bullet disintegrated into dozens of pieces, sending more projectiles to the unprotected spots of his chest. It happened so fast and so unexpectedly, Craig had to let go of his rappelling rope, causing him to unto a patch of snow. Whoever the shooter was, he had a good bead on him.
One slip. All it took was one slip and lapse in judgement, and he would've been dead twice over. It could happen again, tonight. The prospect had dawned on him since he set foot onto the helo. He didn't want his teammates to see his dread.
His father always said that fear was something people could never erase. It was a natural response, a fight-or-flight mechanism that a healthy human body was supposed to experience. Rather than stamp it out, people should instead learn how to control it. To keep it from impeding their movement, to use it to concentrate harder for the task at hand. Every SEAL had taken that lesson to heart very well. In Craig's case, he just wanted to be reminded of it again. A phone call to an old man or an elderly lady, anything to keep his resolve strong.
One more time…
He pulled out his cellphone again and tapped into the screen. He had one more minute. One more chance to make that call. One more opportunity to set his mind at ease.
*ringing noise*
"Hi! You've reached the Jenson residence! We're not home right now, so-"
*click*
Foiled a second time. It finally dawned on him that his efforts were futile.
He peered out of the window again. The cargo ship grew nearer and nearer, as the helicopter continued its flight path. Soon, the distance between them was a little more than a couple hundred feet. Craig could see clearly into the ship's windows; some were boarded up, some weren't. None of them had any occupants inside, save for the usual furniture and doodads one could expect from any vessel. It was as if the ship had been abandoned. He knew better. At this range, anyone looking out of deck of that ship would see them, clear as day. Fifty-fifty chance that a stream of gunfire would hammer their fuselage any minute. Tension in his blood bubbled, waiting in bated breath for the slightest sign of danger.
Time was running out. Soon, the helo would reach the insertion point. The red light inside the cabin would turn green, and the crew chief would throw out the assault line. Then would come the rapid descent into the decks and the synchronized movements of trained professionals, checking their corners. Guns raised and eyes aimed through scope reticles, waiting for the din of battle to bombard their senses. Craig knew these weren't healthy thoughts to ponder about. So, going against the wishes of a dear friend, he turned on his radio again and pressed into the call button a second time. He needed to put his mind at ease.
"Switchboard, this is Alpha."
"..."
"Switchboard, this is Alpha. Are you there?"
"Go Alpha.", Meghan replied. "We got *static* on your signal."
Craig took a deep breath. He normally wouldn't do something as selfish such as this. He lowered his voice, so as to not get his comrades' attention.
"...I couldn't reach my folks back home, Meg. Would you... uh..."
At that moment, the woman instantly knew what he was going on about.
"Good grief... Knock it off, man. That's bad luck."
"Consider it an I-O-U.", he humored her.
A few eyes turned to his direction, pondering why he was speaking in hushed tones. It was better that they didn't, lest his worries affect them as well.
It was shameful to admit that, at least tonight, he was not the soldier he was lauded. Ever since his brush with death, he was harboring doubts over his ability to fight and lead, which he covered with a veneer of bravado. Self-doubt was unbecoming of him, as the mind was quick to say. He was trying his best to overcome it. He would win, but first he needed to vent. And lucky for him, the woman on the radio understood him well enough.
A keeper.
"Just… Just keep your frogman on, brother.", Meghan continued. "You'll be fine."
"Heh. Check that."
'Brother' eh?
"30 seconds.", the pilot announced a final time, once again speaking in his posh accent. "Radio check. Go to secure channel."
The helicopter finally arrived to its destination: the bow of the cargo ship which was just large enough to accommodate the imminent rappel. As the Operators readied their guns, the cabin's crimson light turned into a bright viridian, signaling them to ready for the upcoming descent. Craig, being the nearest at the cabin door, aimed with his SR-25 to provide overwatch, ready to fire at any of the windows his crosshairs rested on. Whatever issues he had at the moment, they needed to take a backseat for now.
He could make that phone call later.
"Green light! Go! Go! Go!"
The nearest Operator beside him grabbed the assault line and prepared to rappel down. As soon as she did, however, Craig felt something hit his shield.
*crack*
A bullet had whizzed into it, marking it with a distinct pockmark. He was taken aback by the sudden shot. He didn't see where it came from. Was it through the upper decks? The lifting crane? The bridge on the other side? He processed these thoughts in a split-second, as any good soldier should. He had a reputation to his surprise, the fear was gone. At least for the time being. It had been replaced by something else: grit.
"Taking fire. Taking fire.", he calmly radioed into his headset. "Team, prep for hot insert!"
His comrades were slightly rattled by the errant gunshot. But the assault must push through. For all of their sakes, the team leader reinforced his nerves with untapped vigor. His heart was pounding. His legs were tense. The battle, long-delayed, had finally begun.
He was determined to see it through. For now, 'Blackbeard' was back.
…
Author's Comments/Notes: This chapter is long overdue, as I got several requests for Blackbeard when I was writing the first part of "Behind the Mask" back in 2016, but I never got around it. I think it's because I never played much Blackbeard to begin with; I seriously hated fighting against him when he was released during Dust Line (a shield with hundreds of HP? Screw that!). That said, I feel kinda bad to see how far he has fallen over the years, so I finally to put him here.
Coming up is Dokkaebi. :)