Page 45 of Legacy's Destiny

The team moved in formation, staying low as they navigated the treacherous terrain. Rain-soaked mud pits and gnarled roots were everywhere, but Deacon expertly guided them around the worst obstacles. The oppressive humidity clung to their skin, and the faint smell of sulfur lingered in the air from the earlier firefight.

“Almost there,” Deacon said, glancing at his GPS. “Click, where’s that chopper?”

“Four minutes out,” Click responded.

Deacon held up a fist, halting the team as they neared the clearing where the helicopter was scheduled to land. He scanned the area, his eyes narrowing. “What’s up?” Ranger asked quietly from behind him.

“The shadow over there by the rock outcropping,” Deacon murmured, pointing with his rifle. “It wasn’t there the first time I looked.”

The team’s eyes shifted to the rock formation, weapons raised. “I see him. Fucker,” Bandit swore, his voice low.

Echo touched Deacon’s shoulder and motioned to his left. “There,” she whispered. He shifted his gaze and saw what she had—a figure crouched among the brush. A quick scan revealed another hostile ten yards down.

“Three,” Deacon muttered under his breath. “Probably more.”

They’d be shredded if they tried to board the helicopter now. Even the chopper itself would be a sitting duck.

“Yo, D. Where the hell are you, and what the fuck happened to the mountain?” Ronan’s voice broke through the comms, a godsend.

“We’re on the south side of the landing zone. Bogies on the north side,” Deacon reported, his tone grim. “Don’t bring that chopper out here; you’ll be a lead balloon.”

“Oh, you of little faith.” Ronan laughed. “Hit it, man!”

“What are you?—”

The deafening roar of a helicopter split the air as it skimmed the canopy, its skids brushing the tops of the trees. The unmistakable whine of the M61 20mm rotary cannon engaged, and the jungle on the north side of the clearing was torn apart in a hail of gunfire. Trees exploded, and the underbrush was reduced to splinters as the helicopter strafed the area. The chopper then pulled up sharply, out of range of any retaliatory fire.

A second helicopter followed, cutting low over the canopy. “Ronan, on your six!” Deacon shouted, spotting the cartel’s helicopter giving chase.

“Copy,” Ronan replied, his voice calm despite the chaos.

“Cap! Incoming. To the south. I see three,” Ace’s warning came through, cutting into Deacon’s focus.

“Down!” Deacon hissed, grabbing Echo’s arm and dropping with her to the ground. She crawled behind a small stack of rocks, cradling her .45 as she lay prone. Deacon moved left, his team fanning out and taking up firing positions.

The high-pitched whine of the mini cannon faded into the background as gunfire erupted. The hostiles had learned from their earlier mistake, advancing in a staggered pattern rather than a straight line. The firefight was brutal. Deacon rolled right, narrowly avoiding a bullet that struck the mud where he’d just been.

Above them, the cartel’s helicopter spun out of control, smoke billowing from its tail. “Fuck! Move!” Deacon shouted, his voice cutting through the gunfire.

The damaged aircraft spiraled downward, heading straight for their position. Echo rolled and sprinted to the right, firing as she moved. Deacon covered her, his rifle snapping off precise shots. He dropped one hostile who had taken a knee thirty meters away. The man would never fire another shot.

The helicopter clipped the canopy, tearing through the jungle like a machete before slamming into the ground. The explosion was deafening, a fireball consuming everything in its path as debris and flames rained down.

“Get out in the field!” Ronan’s voice came through the comms as his chopper circled back, hovering over the far side of the clearing. “I’m going to clear out that side of the jungle.”

Deacon grabbed Echo, and the team sprinted into the open. “Clear!” he shouted as soon as everyone was exposed. The high-pitched scream of the rotary cannon firing two thousand to six thousand rounds per minute was music to his ears as it decimated what remained of the cartel’s forces.

The whine of the helicopter’s machine gun suddenly stopped, replaced by the low thrum of its blades as it hovered, gunners scanning for any signs of hostile forces. The team crouchedlow, weapons ready, breaths controlled. Finally, the helicopter lowered, and Deacon gave the signal.

His team moved in sync, crouching low as they sprinted through the undergrowth toward the aircraft. Echo’s hand was firmly in his, her grip steady, but her pace faltered as they reached the open field. Deacon didn’t hesitate. When she stumbled, he not-so-graciously boosted her into the helicopter. She twisted around, frowning at him, her lips moving in words he couldn’t hear over the roar of the rotors.

Deacon climbed in after her, securing the door behind him, and pulled her onto his lap to make room. She spun around, her eyes narrowing. Even without hearing her, he knew she wasn’t thrilled about the “booty boost.” He winked at her, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She rolled her eyes, but a small smirk betrayed her amusement as she leaned back against him.

Once they were secured, Wraith passed out headsets, the bulky devices muffling the thunderous roar of the helicopter. Almost immediately, Click’s familiar voice crackled over the helicopter’s comms. “I’ve got you on satellite, finally. No further aircraft in the area. You’re clear back to South Vietnam.”

The pilot confirmed the information. His tone clipped and professional. “All six accounted for,” he added.

Click chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I saw their heat signatures. I didn’t figure one of the hostiles would sneak on board. Cap, Alpha wants you to call as soon as you’re in a private location—and before you talk to the CIA.”

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