Page 52 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Millie

Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan

2019

Thankfully, I’ve had almost no time to think about the way Mason and I left things at the bar. I had barely gotten back to my hotel room last night when I had a call from my counterpart in Afghanistan. He told me that the Air Force thought they’d found Haroun Hadzic’s house. They located a shack, half built into the mountain, in the area Petrovic described to me. One of our Afghan agents confirmed with the locals that the man living there is called Hadzic.

So, this morning, we’re already wheels up to Afghanistan to pay Haroun Hadzic a visit. After much deliberation, I finally convinced Culver I need to go with the team to interview Hadzic at his house. The intel suggests he’s incapacitated. The locals told our agent he is very sick, and he can no longer walk very well.

Mason, and really all of the team, does not want me on the mission, and I can understand why. But, I finally convinced Culver that Hadzic won’t make the trip up the mountain to the extraction helicopter even if he were being carried. To be honest, I don’t much want to go on the mission. I mean, I’m in good shape, and I can shoot a gun, but these guys are fighting machines, and I don’t want to get in their way. But Hadzic is the closest I have ever been to Sayid Custovic, and I’m not willing to risk him dying in transit back to the base.

The team is starting to gear up, so I head over to them to get ready, although I don’t really know what that means.

“Should I carry a gun?” I say as I approach them.

All the guys start laughing, shaking their heads.

“No,” Mason says firmly. “No.”

This is the first time he’s looked at me directly today, and he has absolutely none of the gentleness in his eyes that I saw last night.

“I know how to handle a gun. I’m a pretty decent shot.”

“You’re a good shot on the firing range, Millie. It’s different,” JJ says without looking up at me.

Mason looks at me to see if I’m going to drop it. The expression on my face must say no. He walks over to me staring at me intensely.

“Have you ever shot someone?”

No. I’ve never even pointed a gun at someone.

He reads my mind. “That’s why you don’t get a gun.”

“But, if something happens.”

He cuts me off. “You see this gun?” He gestures forcefully toward his pistol. “We all have them. If every one of us dies on this mission, and you’re still living, then you have my permission to take one of our guns and shoot the hell out of anyone and everyone you see, but while any of us are still living, you don’t touch a gun. You got that?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, looking for any of that humor I’ve become accustomed to seeing in his face. None of it is there.

“Don’t call me sir,” he says brusquely. “Mouse, get her in her vest and helmet.”

Mouse walks over and pulls me away. He fastens my vest around me and tightens the straps. I feel like a little kid being dressed for school. I grab my helmet and start to put it on. Mouse intercepts and starts securing for me.

“It’s important that you get the gear on the right way or it’s not going to do you any good. Let me do it for you. It takes a while to get a hang of this stuff.” Mouse is smiling sweetly, like he’s tying my ice skates for me before we head out for a day on the pond.

“I don’t get night-vision goggles?” I ask quietly, noticing that my helmet is the only one without them.

“It takes a while to figure out the goggles. You’ll be in between two of us. Just do what we do, go where we go. You’ll be fine.”

The pilot announces the landing. We buckle in. The minute the wheels hit the ground, the guys are up, heading toward the cargo door. I guess I’m supposed to do that, too. So, I head that way, struggling to keep my balance as the pilot brakes the plane hard. The guys are standing so easily, it looks like they’re just casually riding a wave into the beach. The cargo door opens. The guys start heading down the ramp. I feel someone pushing me from behind. It’s Bryce. He’s not looking at me. Just pushing me. I start running down the ramp to keep up with their monster strides.

The helicopter is there, blades turning, ready to take off. The guys start piling in. Someone lifts me up from behind and basically throws me to Hawk, who grabs my vest and pulls me through the guys until I’m sitting safely in the middle of the helicopter. The guys are sitting with their backs to me, legs dangling out the open doors with their guns at the ready. I feel like a little baby sitting in the middle of Redwood National Forest.

The helicopter lifts off and starts weaving its way through the mountains. I’m pretty strong for my size, but I’m having a problem just sitting upright when the pilot starts swerving through the passes. The guys are just sitting there, hanging half-way out of the helicopter, looking like they’re taking a Sunday drive. Well, if you wore full assault gear on a Sunday drive. The pilot does some crazy landing, and with the skids barely touching the ground, someone pulls me off. The guys are on full alert now. Everything’s quiet except the sound of the helicopter flying away in the background.

Mason comes over to me and gets down in my face. “You’re between Hawk and Mouse. Do exactly what they do. They stop. You stop. They squat down. You squat down. Don’t talk, and keep up.”

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