Death Won't Part Us Today !

NOTE : Some dialogue is written in german, with the translation in brackets "()" underneath.

"So this is the dumbest thing we have ever done." Stan racked the bolt on his M4, checked the bolt and chamber, and made sure that the safety was ON. He was loaded down with the gear that a man needs to throw himself out of a perfectly good airplane.

"Well, there was that night you puked your guts out all over that stripper." Ron was doing the same, but he was carrying a M249, and at 6'2", was almost half a foot taller then his friend.

"That was your fault. Always talking about you ain't afraid. If you had been afraid, we would not have been out drinking. And this is stupider. Dumberer. Whatever. I hate you guys."

"Nobody has to come with me..." JD was standing at the door into the cockpit, checking the GPS strapped to his arm against the readings from the planes instruments.

"SHUT UP!" Was the response from the other four men in the plane. They stood up, checking each other, putting the final touches on the greasy make up smeared on their faces, doing the things warriors do before battle.

JD turned back to the cockpit, and the man smiled at him. "You guys be carefull out there. Call me when its time to go." It was time to go.

Walking to the back of the plane, he almost teared up. He could not believe the loyalty of these guys.

He reached the panel, and hit the ramp button, lowering it, air rushing into the body of the plane. They were not high enough up to require oxygen, but it was cold out there.

"STAND TO !"

The four other men lined up. Alex was first, followed by Stan, Ron, and Grady. Alex would follow JD, because they had been friends longer than they cared to remember. Grady would go last, because he was the best jumper amongst them. In reality, Alex probably was, but to the americans, his german training was suspect.

Four cargo pallets sat on the ramp, their drag chutes ready to deploy and deliever them to the world below. On the word, he would flip the switch, and follow them out.

JD hung onto the handles installed for just that purpose, until he heard the pilots voice. "GO !" A single smooth motion flipped the switch, and the pallets slipped out the back end, disappearing into the night. His body followed, as he threw himself out of the plane, instinctively assuming the freefall pose taught at Benning and Yuma, falling towards earth. Falling towards his wife. And all the motherfuckers he was going to kill to get her back.

It had been a odd journey for the last seventeen days. It had started at Quantico, VA, where JD was assigned as a Major to the Special Operations Training Group, USMC. He ran the Applications Platoon, a group of warriors that served as a sort of research pool for the Marines. They attended a wide variety of schools available to american and forgein militaries, and evaluated their training for the Marines. They used those skills in OpFor roles for MEU units about to float, doing their Special Operations Certification.

It was on one such exercise that the SOTG Inteligence Officer had found JD in his hide site, surveilling the 22nd MEU Command Post. That was fairly impressive, since they had burrowed underneath the foundation of a condemed house to remain out of sight. The look on the mans face told him that something was wrong, and the news he brought confirmed that.

JD's wife was MIA.

It was sort of a odd sensation, if one he had thought about often. His wife was a Naval Aviator, flying F/A-18D Fighter Jets off the USS Harry S. Truman, currently deployed somewhere in the Atlantic, or maybe even the Med by now. They were under silence for some reason or another.

"What happened." He had thrown surveillance to the wind, standing up to talk to the man. "I don't know. CIPERNET traffic says that she is down, listed MIA, with the onfloat SEAL Platoon standing to for SAR."

"Down, like down in the water down ?"

"No, apparently this was over land." The S2 waved away a approaching patrol from the 22nd, still acting in their role off defending a fictional country from insurgents.

"Ok..."

"The Man says you should head to Norfolk. He knows people up there, they can give you some answers we can't down here." The two Majors looked at each other, and JD knew his friend was uncomfortable with what was going down. Something was bothering him.

Norfolk had been no help. His wife's plane was found, no body. The area she was in was home to a large actual, real-life, insurgency. In a third world shit hole no less, that was home to a regime that was just about as bad in the human-rights scoreboard as the rebels fighting them. There were no reps of the US Government in the country, or willing to go anywhere near it. Most NGO's had pulled out in the last two years, after several members had been killed in rebel and government clashes. And of course, the country was accussed of being a Al Queda harbor, but who was not these days. There was nothing of interest anywhere nearby, or any natural resources underneath it, so it was safe from US invasion. And that was the answer.

"Lt Commander Shilders appears to be held by the rebel faction. We are working on negotiations to assure her safe release, if that is not possible..."

He clicked off the TV. His wife had been gone for almost five days now, and there was nothing confirmed. He had friends in the various Inteligence services of this country, and they told him what they could, but that amounted to less then a page of actual information he could write out.

He looked around the room, his eyes traveling across the sleeping forms of Stan, Ron, and Grady. He had been friends with these guys since college, having been a sophomore when they arrived at Colorado University. Together with his wife, the five of them had spent many weekends climbing the mountains, hiking the valleys, and sliding down the slopes that make Colorado famous. All had been at his wedding, and they had all stayed in touch, sometimes serving in the same units. Like JD, they were all infantry officers, greatly influenced by Ron's father, a retired Marine Colonel, and Vietnam Era company commander. They had rushed to his side when they heard what had happened.

He leaned back, his mind flooding with the memories that a marriage provides. He had meet Kirsten in College, they had been freshman in NROTC together. If love at first is true, then they were a textbook example. They dated until senior year, when they got married over spring break, with almost the entire NROTC Unit in attendance. They had been married twelve years now, both making O4 as soon as they were eligble. Careers meant that they had served only a total of six years at the same duty station, but the flame of passion and love burned in both of them, and the time they did have together was that much more precious. They carried very little leave forward at the end of the year.

His house outside Quantico was only about 30 miles from the Pentagon, so it did not take him long to get there for his meeting. The man he came face to face with that morning did not bring good news, however, which he had anticipated by now. Things were not going well.

He looked at the man, his face not betraying his emotions. He had mastered that a long time ago, but then, most military professionals did.

"I'm sorry, but that is the word." General Soren was a old friend, from before he even was a Marine, but that mattered very little right now. "Negotiations are the tool, they do not want to get involved somewhere else, and send forces into another cauldron. You know that, you've served up there."

"Yes, I know." JD steeled himself for another minute, then left the office, heading down the Pentagon hallway, and down the stairs. He ended up in one of the cafeterias tucked away in the huge office building, grabbed a cup of tea, and sat in the back. He waited for seven minutes before he was joined by another close friend.

Sarah was another CU graduate. She had been in Stan's class, and Kirsten had at one point accussed JD of having a affair with her, which was not true. But they had all become friends before long. She had graduated college disgruntled with the Navy, and gone into her commissioned career angry. Time had changed that.

Now she worked with United States Inteligence Board, as liason to the Pentagon. If the US collected it, she knew about it. There were things that the President and SecDef were not cleared into, and she knew about them. A CD-R disc was handed over.

"Destroy it once you have taken the data off." She took a sip of his tea, and grimaced. She had thought it was light coffee.

"Ok...we have confirmed her location, and there are maps, pictures. I can tell you that at the earliest it will be two weeks before this is acted on."

"Can you monitor it for me ?" A plan was starting to form in his head. There was something he could do, if nobody else would.

"Yeah...you got a clean number ?" She exhaled, her eyes closing. It was a memory technique she used. Some things do not get written down.

He recited his sat-phone number, a number he had only used once in his life, stranded in the Rockys with his buddy Alex.

"Ok. Good luck." She grabbed his hand and smiled. It wasn't that they hadn't had sex out of lack of her desire. It was because he was insanely in love with his at-the-time girlfriend, and Semper Fidelis was something he believed in. "It'll work out."

"Alex."

"Ja ?"
(Yes)

"Fuenf tage. Toulon. Kannst du da sein ?"
(Five Days. Toulon. Can you be there?)

"Kein problem. Die Frau ?" His voice conveyed
(No problem. The wife?) the self confidence that made him famous in his own service, the Germany Army.

"Ja."
(Yes.)

"Ok, bis dann."
(Ok, until then.)

Getting all four of them to Toulon had been a small feat in logistics. They had traveled in pairs, from Charlotte's Douglas International Aiport and Bostons's Logan International Airport, flying into seperate cities, and traveling by either train or rental car from there. They had used a variety of techniques to ditch any possible surveillance, and now they were sure they had arrived at the train station decided upon for a meet clean.

They all knew Alex from the wedding, some had seen him since then. Greetings were exchanged, then they climbed into the van that the german had brought, and rode towards the small local airfield. They had places to be.

Mayumba was third world in the ways that most people picture it. The flight had been rough, but there was now way they had been traced or followed here, and that was all that mattered. A meeting had been arranged through cutouts, and JD found himself face to face with the man he had been looking for sine he had first formulated this plan. He was a twig of a black man, dressed in khaki shorts, sandals, and a black button up shirt, the huge bulge on his hip revealing a handgun of some sort. Airport security did not seem to be to serious a concern here, and so they sat in the lounge and talked. Lounge was actually a fairly generous term for the building, which would have been condemed anywhere in the western world, and reminded the others of a college party house.

The representative of the man known here as "the american" did alot of listening, asked some questions, and after a short conversation he took the group outside to a black surburban. It showed wear and tear, and had at least four bullet holes. The short drive across the tarmac showed that the suspension had seen better days, as well.

They had all been to Saudi and the Arab world, and the compound on the other side of the airport reminded them of that. A six foot mud wall with barbed wire on top surrounded three old airport hangars, as well as what looked like two garages, a maintenance shed, and a somewhat misplaced looking home.

"Kansas comes to Africa." In college, everybody had given Stan shit for hating blacks. He was raised in Iowa, and had seen about three of them in real life before college, making him a easy target. It was not true, confirmed by the fact that he had been JD's best man.

They pulled into one of the garages, which on the inside was made up of metal cages, each of which was a small armory. In the middle, cubicle walls had been used to set up an office, which looked oddly out of place. Except of course, everybody at this office was strapping heat.

"Welcome to my home." The man they had come to meet was a 6'6" mountain of a man, well over 250lbs, and balding. He was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt, khaki pants, and a full size 1911 strapped to his thigh. Black aviator glasses obscurred his eyes.

"Thank you." JD moved forward, while the others hung back, looking around at Guns 'R Us. They had already decided what they wanted.

"Walk with me." The two strolled through the building, towards the back door, also open. "From what I understand, you intend to take those four guys back there into the jungle ?"

"Yes." JD had told the mans rep in Morocco the basic outline of his plan, because he needed his support. He only had one shot at this, and it went through this man.

"You jump into the jungle, fight your way in, get your wife, fight your way out, are picked up or fly out, and then what ?"

"I don't know yet. But I know I'm going to get my wife back." JD squared up with the man, removing his own sunglasses. "Marriage is a one shot deal. There is only one bullet in that gun. So I have to do what I have to do." He looked back towards his friends.

"I've been blessed in life with men that are willing to follow me anywhere, that never ask, that just give out of total selflessness. I have also been blessed with the best wife ever. I have to go get her."

"So why would I help you?" The man removed his own sunglasses, casting a short glance at antoher man standing in the shadows behind the weapons cages. JD had noticed him to. And his AK.

Reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants, he pulled out a heavy envelope. It was not closed by the simple "lick-lock," but with a wax seal. A single star sat in the center of the seal, with the words "Knowledge is power" above, and "West" underneath. He handed it over, and waited.

The American opened the envelope, and pulled out seven folded pages of single spaced, type written paper. It took him almost twenty minutes to read it all, but when he turned back it was clear JD would get what he needed.

"How do you know him ?"

"Six degrees of seperation. He instructed my freshmen year at Colorado. We keep in touch. He was a speaker at my wedding."

"How is he ?" Old health did things to men.

"Not well. Probably will not live out the year. Age has done taken its toll. But his mind remains sharp as ever. He is working on another PhD." That would be the mans ninth.

"Take what you need. There is a facility about two hours from here similiar to what you seek, you can rehearse there. It will take about 36 hours to outfit a plane the way you need it. When do you want to move?"

JD considered for a minute. It had been twelve days since his wife had been seized. He had moved decsively in getting to this point, but he realized that the speed and momentum he had built would not help him here. Time to slow down, and do things right.

"96 hours. We need to rehearse, rest, and plan." They had started walking back towards the truck, and their body language told everybody that things were ok.

"Well, let's do the damn thing then."

The air rushed past him as he hung beneath the 'chute, but he finally had time to look around. Everybodies parachute had opened, and they were in position above him. He hung back, enjoying the ride.

The landing zone had apparently at one point been a soccer field, with the village square right next to it. But the area had been emptied of people by the rebels, and was deserted.

Everyone glided to the ground, snapped out of their parachutes, and grabbed their guns. This was the most dangerous time. They moved quickly through the night, finding the pallets, which had landed around the north goal. One had turned, and was smashed. But they had planned for that. Each pallet was loaded with the same gear, and they only needed three.

Quickly, the three remaining ATV's were readied, fuel bladders loaded, gear and equipment stowed, and weapons checked again. Go time.

Alex took the wheel of the lead Suzuki, with JD navigating. The others fell in, with Grady riding solo. He was the most experienced at these things, having been raised using them to ranch cattle.

They had a three hour drive, through the night, ahead of them. They had rehearsed it, but the terrain did not really match. It had not been nearly this dense and so, not nearly this dark.

The cell was dark, damp, and filthy. Right what she had expected when she envisioned this scenario. She had survived the trip to earth without a problem. Once there, she had moved quickly, evading several patrols, before making contact.

That was when they found her. The dinky 9mm issued to pilots did little, even with the "hot load" bullets that her husband had given her. Five of them died before she took an AK from one, and began to move again. But luck ran out, and she had a bullet hole in her shoulder to prove it.

At all times, a guard stood outside her cell, with orders to kill her if there was a rescue attempt. He was a diminutive figure, only seventeen, but the eyes of a killer. He had told her that he had been in this war for six years now. They had talked alot, and his anger was apparent. She did not doubt he would do his duty. The moon had finally freed itself from the clouds, and she looked out the bars towards the sky. She knew her shoulder was infected, but there was nothing she could do.

They had let her keep her flight suit, and other then her weapons, the personal items she carried. One of them was her wedding ring, which she twirled around her finger. Where was he now ?

Five men stood in the treeline, their eyes fixed on the compound ahead. It was what they had expected, and seen in the pictures.

Built by a man who had gotten his hands on a old soviet textbook, the "camp" had a observation tower with a big spotlight, four barracks perfectly covered and aligned, a radio shack, a prison block, an officer's quarter, headquarters building, armory, and motor pool. It was apparent that all this had been built at least ten years ago, and was now at full occupancy. The huge hole cut into the roof of one barracks revealed fuel tanks and a generator inside. The only things that seemed to be using power were the officer quarters, where lights were on, and the prison block, illuminated on the outside. Probably to prevent escape, they judged. Outside the front gate a small settlment had formed over time. There, another generator was chugging away, keeping the well going, as well as the lights that illuminated its own fuel farm.

JD listened to the voice on the other side of the sat-phone, his eyes closed as he checked what was being said against what they had anticipated.

"Ok. No big changes. Third barracks confirmed as empty. We do this right. Hard. Fast. Violent execution. Once we go, there is no stop. I can never express to you guys what this means. I'm naming my kids after all you fuckers."

JD looked left and right, a single tear creeping down his cheek. No matter what happened after this, he knew that he stood in the presence of giants. One would expect him to go after his wife. That his friends threw himself into the fray with him...he knew no words for it.

They moved off, Alex and JD going one way, the others another. The radios were now on, the guns had their safeties off, and killing was on their minds. They were all veterans of at least one combat deployment, and knew what it took to wipe out another human being. Four Marines and a German Special Forces Officer stalked through the night, rage in their hearts, ready to do what needed doing.

It took Grady twenty minutes to plant his charges, while Ron and Stan covered him from the tree line. Finally, he clicked the radio twice, sending out the signal that all was ready.

"Ok, dann machen wier halt mall was laerm."
(Ok, so lets make some noise.)
JD unfolded the aluminum rod, staking it into the ground. He took a hold of his send button, pressed it, and set things in motion.

"Execute, execute, execute !" As soon as he said it, Alex was up the climbing ladder, his G36 over the top, the night sight cutting through the dim light, and centering on the head of the leader of the single squad on guard duty outside the Headquarters. At that same moment, the fuel farm outside the gate exploded, sending parts of the generator into the air. In the noise, four people died before their squadmates noticed. By then JD was up his own ladder, firing into the guards with his M4. Nine died without a chance at fighting back.

Stan stood, illuminated by the fire from burning diesel, and fired a single 40mm round towards the tower. The high explosive round hit right below the big light, shattering it, and sending fragments into the three soldiers sharing cigarettes.

Grady and Ron were firing towards the wiremesh gate, killing the four soldiers on guard there, and rushing towards it, followed by their buddy. A quick blast from the shotgun that Grady carried on his back blew off the lock. They pushed it open, while the M249 chewed up the guardshack.

The three immediatly moved right, along the wall towards the door into the first barracks.

Her guardian had fallen asleep, leaning against the wall opposite the steel bars. They all chewed Khat, a weed like substance that made sure that this time of night they were all groggy and down, coming off the drug they chewed at lunchtime.

But the explosion outside jolted him, and her. She saw the confusion in his eyes, and did not wait. The rock in her hand flew true, striking him right above the left temple, and sending him back to the ground. Three more rocks aimed at the head followed, drawing blood.

Alex went first, kicking in the door to the headquarters, and going right. JD went left, and both opened fire. Several officers and soldiers were asleep inside, but none would ever wake up. The two moved forward, down the hall, kicking doors as they went. Here and there, single shoots were fired into the heads and bodies of men struggling out of bed, groping for guns.

Stan stopped just outside the door to the barracks, firing another M203 grenade into the adjacent building. The generator exploded, sending sparks and burning fuel in every direction. The three moved inside, seeking more prey.

The main "office" of the headquarters had its own small generator, which they had banked on. Alex slid a C4 chunk between it and the fuel bladder, set the timer, and grinned.

JD bashed out the window, fired at two soldiers outside, and covered Alex as he climbed into the night. The german rolled behind the jeep parked next to the Officers quarters, firing downrange as JD emerged. The two moved behind the building, coming up on the radio shack. JD pulled out a Thermite grenade, chucking it in a smooth arc onto the roof. It ignited, melting down through the roof, setting the building on fire. The door opened from the inside, with the operators storming out in a frenzy. Two were on fire. All died in a hail of bullets.

They continued their trek along the wall, firing here and there towards the soldiers now moving about. Their radios told them that the barracks they knew to be occupied had been cleared. They suspected that the last one would hold soldiers playing hookie, but they ignored it for now. You had to make sacrifieces somewhere.

Instead, they had moved towards the armory, planted demo charges there, and killed the guards. The HQ and the armory both disappeared in fireballs that added to the heat and blaze spreading. By now the motorpool had caught fire, three trucks burning, and the fuel tanks out back exploding.

Kirsten was nervous by now. The fight had been raging for a while, and she knew that SOP called for a unit to race to the POW in situations like this. Where there more prisoners ? She was always moved out of her cell with a blindfold, so it could be ? Did they know about her ? She threw another rock at her guard, that made her feel better.

Alex rushed past the door to the prison block, snapping in on the last barracks. He had killed two rebels trying to exit it, and figured more were coming.

"Mach schnell ! Greif halt deine Frau, lass abhauen !"
(Hurry up ! Grab your wife, lets get out of here !)

JD kicked in the door, rushing into the hallway. It was one long corridor, with seven cells on the right, the wall on the left. Concrete walls seperated the cells, with bars facing the hall. The first two cells held sickly looking men in fatigues, he rushed past them.

At the end in the darkness, he spotted a man moving slowly, a weapon at his feet. A burst of gunfire later, he would never move again. He ran to the last cell, and looked his wife in the eyes.

"What took you so long ?"

"I had to get a sitter for the cats. Back away from the door." He attached a breaching charge to the lock and hinges, then moved away. There was a bang, then she was in his arms, tears streaming down their faces.

"SPAETER ! SPAETER ! WIR MUESSEN LOS !"
(Later ! Later ! We have to go!)
Alex was firing his weapon almost constantly now, talking to the other team in broken english, while tossing grenades, and firing at what remained of the rebel force.

He dropped his Alice Pack, pulling out a extra helmet, bullet proof vest, and a MP5K. "Put this on, hurry." He helped her into the gear, spotting the wound in her shoulder. He did not ask if she was ok, knowing the answer she would give, and the truth. He had seen such wounds before, he knew what it meant.

Reaching into his cargo pocket, he handed her a Capri BigPouch, and watched the radiant smile on her face. She sucked it dry, grabbed the gun, and they ran to meet Alex.

JD keyed his radio, talking to the entire assault team. "OK, we have the cargo ! Move to the exit point !"

He heard the rapid stacatto of the M29, sending angry .223 hornets downrange. Armed men were appearing at the gate, and Ron drove them back.

The six came together at the backwall, where Alex had planted charges before coming over. He blew them now, opening a gap for them to exit out of.

Grady was hobbling, a bullet had punched a hole in his calf muscle but the Marine Corps Captain would not stop. They leapfrogged backwards, firing towards the camp until they reached the treeline.

The team stopped around the huge tree they had designated as rallying point earlier, and checked each other over. Grady was the most serious injured, next to Kirsten. Everybody was dinged up and bruised, but adrenaline took care of that. JD pulled up his wifes vest, and injected her with a immune system booster, before finally taking the time to kiss her properly. The others indulged them for almost two minutes.

"Ok, lets get you guys a room." Stan lead the way, with Kirsten and Grady in the middle, and Ron bringing up the rear. Alex took the right, JD the left. They moved quickly yet quietly through the jungle, coming to the ATV hide site they had prepared.

Quickly, they mounted back up. Ron would now drive Grady's ATV, with Stan taking Kirsten, and JD navigating from the lead vehicle with Alex driving. They raced off throught the darkness, with JD making the call on his sat-phone.

The trip took them almost five hours, and the sun was creeping up over the horizon. The long, straight, dirt road was apparently once used as an airstrip by the rebels to fly blood-diamonds out. Now a single small prop plane sat by an abandonded row of mud houses. A man with a rifle stood next to it.

They moved the wounded aboard, planted democharges on the ATV's, then hustled through the door. The explosion rose behind them as they lifted into the air.

JD turned to his friends, embracing them in a group hug. They all stunk of cordite, sweat, dirt, and grime. Cammie paint was smearing on their faces, as he held them as tight as he could.

"You guys are the greatest. Drinks on me for the rest of your fucking lives !"

They released them, and he moved to his wife's side. They held each other, wrapped up tight, without speaking a word. Other problems lay ahead, they knew. But this one lay behind them. Along with one burning rebel camp.