Page 9 of Wick
Not ignoring the fact that specific organizations funding this project are more focused on the criminal himself than the victims, I throw my arms across my chest. "The money means jack shit. Those women and children he's selling are the main reason I'm not backing out of this entirely. As long as I can get them out…"
Scott interrupts me mid-rant. "Nevertheless, you chose to take on this mission." His features soften a bit. Scott has been doing mercenary work for a long time. The missions he takes on don't always fall into the moral category, but he still has his reasons for doing them. With this one, though bigger heads have made it clear what their priorities are, we all know it is the future victims who really matter. I toss my only bag on top of the other gear being strapped down.
Pulling the cockpit door open, I climb in and get myself familiar with the feel and layout when Scott appears at my side. "Be careful. I know it's been a while since you've been in the field." Turning my body, I face him. "Keep our boys in line for me and bring those women home." He solidifies the reason I like being a part of his team.
"Yes, sir," I smile at him, before fastening the seatbelts across my chest, and he walks away.
"Listen up." Cowboy is the last to climb in. "I know this is last minute, but Scott just received this new intel moments ago himself. Landing coordinates have changed." He hands me a piece of paper. "There's been some new activity, so we'll be heading upriver by a few miles. Which means we have a long trek to reach our destination."
Once our new coordinates are logged, I slip my headgear on and turn on the headset. With preflight rituals out of the way, I start the engine, bringing the helicopter to life. I can't explain the feelings I get in the pit of my stomach, with every takeoff I make. Unless you've piloted an aircraft yourself, you couldn't understand the rush behind it. Lifting into the sky, I tune into the hum of the propellers whirling, and make a smooth turn to the south as I navigate us toward Mexico.
Silence falls upon the cabin—all of us in our own headspaces with our own thoughts. Mine happen to be all over the place this morning. I'm thinking about the women we are after and hope like hell they are still alive by the time we extract them. Then, I think about the dirtbags who took them in the first place, stealing their lives away from them. Each cell—each human trafficking ring has its own way of doing things. Anyone is a potential victim and a payday to them. They don't care if you're rich, poor, women, children. All they see is dollar signs. The highest bidder wins the prize. Sometimes, when they've kidnapped someone of wealthy origins, they ask for ransom. Unfortunately, those scenarios never end well. The family is so eager to meet the demands, and rightfully so that they act quickly without inside help. Like so many countless families, they are guaranteed never to see their loved ones again. Traffickers take the money, then sell the person anyway. Or worse—they kill them.
I've seen all the ugly sides to human life being bartered and sold like cattle. And I mean that in all literal sense. Some of the traffickers brand the bodies of their victims. We've rescued many lives in the years I've been doing these missions, and it never gets any easier. But it shouldn't. I don't ever want to become jaded in what I do—what we do. I never want it to become just another job. Their lives mean more to me than that.
Under the cloak of darkness, I fly just above the horizon where the veil of the dawn sky kisses the surface of the earth. "ETA twenty minutes, boys." I break the silence amongst us. The atmosphere changes with preparations. Adrenaline kicks into high gear the closer we get. Following the river, we close in on our drop point. "You see anything?" I ask Preacher, who is using an expensive ass piece of night vision equipment, with the ability and range to see all ground movement below us.
"Negative. You're clear to land." He confirms, and I make my descent.
"Nervous?" Cowboy's hand squeezes my shoulder.
I laugh. "Maybe just a little. It's been a minute since I've been a part of the ground team. I'm usually on standby for drop off and pick up. I sit with my aircraft. This time, we are taking a huge risk leaving her half-ass hidden." With precision, I set us down, just behind an old abandoned barn about thirty yards from the edge of the river nearby.
"We need you on this one, Tequila. Regardless of who we are supposed to take out on this mission, I plan to find those women he is holding. I'm going to need your help convincing them it's okay to trust us so we can get them out of here. With everything that can go wrong on this one, we can't afford to waste precious time," Cowboy explains.
Turning, I take off my gear. "Ready when you are," I tell him, then climb out of the cockpit. Standing at the tail end of the chopper, I peer into the darkness. The stars in the sky start to disappear as clouds begin to roll in from the south.
"We have six hours before the sun comes up and five miles to reach the backside of the compound. I don't give two shits what we've been instructed. Thor—Tequila, get the women out first. Preacher and I will search and take out Cortez and his men." He throws his pack on his back. "Agreed?"
"Agreed," me, Thor and Preacher say in unison.
"Turn all your devices off. It's radio silence from here," Cowboy orders as we trek along the tree line.
Almost an hour and a half in, mother nature decides to curse us by letting loose with a rainstorm. Cowboy suddenly throws his fist in the air, halting our steps. Motioning to take cover, we crouch down behind some of the trees, which are becoming less dense the closer we get to the compound. Pointing across the field in front of us in the direction we need to go; I strain my eyes to focus through the heavy rainfall. In the distance, I catch sight of what he sees—faint headlights.
Shit.
We huddle closer together. "Double back to the chopper. I don’t have a good feeling about this." Cowboy tells us, and we don't question him. Merging further into the tree line, we head back the way we came. With the rain coming down as hard as it is, we can't take the chance of waiting for whoever it is out or risking the possibility it just may be innocent civilians.
Suddenly gunfire breaks out, and bullets shred the bark on the trees around us. Dropping to the ground, we take cover behind a fallen tree nearby. Carefully peering around the log, I catch sight of three men advancing on us. "Three at 2'oclock, twenty yards out."
Nodding, the four of us ready ourselves. Aiming; we fire. "Targets down," I confirm, and we sprint through the trees again, knowing there are probably more of them not far behind. A break in the rain, allows us to move faster, and in another fifteen minutes, we breach the tree line and have the barn in our sights.
As we round the rundown barn, an uneasy feeling settles in my gut. I can't confirm why, but something doesn't feel right. A spray of bullets riddles the side of the barn as soon as we jump into the chopper, and I turn the engine over. My heart is racing as I wait for the propellers to gain the momentum needed to get her heavy ass in the air and fly us out of here.
"Fuck!" Preacher yells. "Go! Go! Go!" The side door opens and Cowboy along with Thor lean out and begin firing off shots. Finally, able to take flight, I maneuver the chopper off the ground; gaining altitude, but not before bullets pepper the side. "Shit, man. Where the fuck did, they come from?" Then suddenly, Preacher roars and stumbles back. "I'm hit." He continues to fire his weapon at the men still shooting at us down below.
My eyes scan what I can see of Preacher as I peer over my right shoulder, then spot blood beginning to soak his pant leg around his left calf.
"Cool your shit and sit the fuck down, Preacher," Cowboy orders, while we continue moving south along the river.
An explosive sound causes my ears to ring, and rattles the chopper, causing my dashboard to light up like a Christmas tree. Assessing everything, I realize my oil pressure, and fuel are dropping fast. "Buckle up, fellas." The engine begins to sputter, and the propeller motors falter.Shit. "What the hell was that?" I yell.
"Get us the hell out of here." Cowboy calls over his shoulder as he crouches down next to Preacher.
"I'm going to have to take us down. Once she loses power, we'll drop like a rock," I warn them. My hands gripping the throttle, I try to find a clearing big enough to land. And just my fucking luck, it starts to rain again, making the situation more complicated.
"You heard the pilot, soldiers. Brace for impact. Tuck your heads and clench those ass cheeks," Cowboy calls out.
