Page 61 of The Art of Dying

“Outstanding. Any questions?” Trex asked.

Everyone kept their eyes on him, but no one said a word. We’d studied the intel packet, we knew what to do, and if something came up, Trex had plans D through Z so we could all go home.

“Stay frosty, we’ve been hunting Kushayb a long time. We’ve got one chance. We keep this quiet, we’ll be in’n out; like we were never there,” Trex said. “Oorah.”

“Oorah!”

Once we were topside, it didn’t take long to find the troller and put in. The west side of the Nile wasn’t just choppy; we had to row due north to stay on our trajectory, bumping rocks and fighting to wipe dirty river water from our goggles while white knuckling the oars to keep them from slipping away. The troller skidded onto the next beach, and we tugged it up before moving ahead to the entry point, regrouping before we snuck inside the warehouse Kushayb thought he was hiding.

“Let’s roll,” Trex said, using his hand to signal.

We slowly pressed forward into the compound, under the protection of Mother Africa’s dark skies. Aside from the river and occasional dogs barking in the distance, there were no sounds other than our muffled footsteps over grass and gravel.

Harbinger took point, and we crept closer to the warehouse, a perfect rectangle three stories high.

“Access point forty-five feet,” Trex said through the comms.

I scanned the landscape through my NVG before entering, hunched over and weapon ready.

Sloan snipped a chain, and we entered, the torches attached to our rifles highlighting small areas of the floors and walls one movement at a time. That it looked empty was deceiving. We suspected Kushayb would be lightly guarded, but they were at least one floor above.

After taking another brief pause to regroup and plan the route, Trex signaled with his hands for us to split and put a hand on Harbinger, giving him the green light to head upstairs. We had the disadvantage, but we’d completed ops under far worse circumstances.

“Martinez, Abrams, maintain comms,” Trex whispered.

“Copy,” Martinez said into my earpiece.

“Good copy,” Abrams said.

We breached the top of the stairs, and as we finished clearing that level, Abrams’s team went ahead. Before Harbinger put his boot on the first step to the third level, gunshots sounded off in quick succession.

Martinez’s voice came over my earpiece. “Contact! Contact third level!”

“Move!” Trex growled, climbing past Harbinger. My boots stomped up the steel steps, staying right behind them. Flashes from gunfire created shadows on the concrete walls overhead.

“What do we got?” Trex said to the tail end of Abrams’s team.

“Heavy contact, sir!”

Trex touched his earpiece. “Kepner, put a fireteam together and move to the post position.”

“Copy that, Captain,” Kepner said.

“Watch your back!” Trex said.

A small group advanced, breaching the entry point, rushing but methodically checking corners.

A soldier dropped, then another, blood spattering up the threshold of the six-foot opening to the third level. We held our backs to the wall.

“Beckner’s hit!” someone called out.

“Move! Move! Move!” Trex yelled, leading us forward.

The gunfire was relentless, flashes surrounding us. Another man fell.

“Hold!” Trex commanded.

“Hold, Goddammit!” I echoed.

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