Escape
South America, Brazil
September 5th, 2006
0400 hours
"This is Dove. The package is received and enroute home. I repeat, the package is received and enroute home." Her voice was like music over the comms. An angel with a southern twang.
The pilot pulled on the controls, the helicopter jumping into the early morning sky immediately. The trio of passengers who had just climbed on gripped the cabin walls for stability with one hand, while laying down suppressive fire against their pursuers. Outside, blasts of fire illuminated the jungle in rapid flashes. Telling the tale of bullets and shouts from a pursuing force that was angry that their prey was escaping.
Within seconds, the aircraft cleared the tall trees of the jungle, and sped with a diesel fueled fury east into the dark morning.
"Roger, Dove. Is the package damaged?" A robotic voice responded over the comms, barely heard over the thrashing wind, the shrieking of bullets, and the dull thuds of the projectiles impacting against the aircraft's hull.
The pilot risked a quick glance over her shoulder, barely catching a view of her passengers. One of them brought a finger to their ear just as the gunfire came to a halt.
"Operator Omen reporting. Clean." His voice was rough, gravelly. Made even more sinister by the comms, which certainly matched the callsign.
Like his counterparts, he wore jungle fatigues, complete with a rucksack. His right hand gripped an M4 tightly with the barrel still pointed outside. His face was obscured by black and green paint, and if it weren't for the white sclera of his brown eyes, they'd blend in with the camo.
"Patience, clean." A more slender male, though just as imposing. A Tac-50 was strapped along his back, while his hands cradled a MP5 submachine gun. His eyes were a bright green, made more apparent by the dark paint on his face.
"Heretic. Clean but unhappy." The tallest of the three, and a brute of a man. He shouldered the M16A2 and fired off a 40mm grenade from the secondary barrel at the shrinking LZ, his blue eyes full of fury. After a grunt, he spat out the door.
"Relax, Heretic. The mission isn't over yet. You'll get your chance for destruction soon enough." Omen slowly moved towards the back of the cabin, standing in front of the bench where he strapped his M4 to the wall before sitting down himself. "Strap in you two."
Patience was the first to do so, sitting to the right of Omen. Heretic lingered at the open door for a moment longer, and then finally threw a middle finger at the vanishing extraction point. Only then did he grab the sliding door and pulled it closed. Seeming to be satisfied then, the flanker quickly rushed to the back of the cabin and sat to Omen's left.
"Roger. Intel will comb over the details and prepare a second attempt. For now, return to base."
The flight remained quiet for a few minutes, a stark contrast to what it just was earlier. Omen kept his gaze trained forward, watching as the pilot guided the aircraft towards a massive wall of fog. As if made of nothing, the helicopter pierced the veil and kept going; a promise of a safe and hidden flight home.
And the aircraft rocked, and the alarms blared.
