Central Afghanistan – Present Day

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Wait for the ding. Open the oven door to feel the wave of unbearable heat hit your face and dry your eyes. Now, keep the door open, letting the heat travel down the rest of your body. This was the daily reality and unforgiving kind of heat Theodore Ryan had endured the last seventy-two hours, lying flat on his stomach in the mountains of Afghanistan.           

Teddy was on the home stretch of a three-day recon assignment and had remained perfectly blended into the surrounding terrain. He gazed hard through the scope of a high-powered MK22 rifle. The dark circles around his eyes and aching in his back had formed from lying perfectly still. He hadn’t sacrificed focus for sleep or comfort. At this point, the only thing keeping him awake was the occasional bead of sweat running down the length of his spine, as it was unseasonably hot for November.

He wore no insignia to indicate what branch of the United States military he served under, or even a hint of his rank. Recruited in his earlier years at twenty-four, Teddy had been pulled from his Marine detachment and fostered into a new splinter division that was just getting itself off the ground. He was a talent behind a gun, yes, but it was his desire and willingness to blindly carry out what was asked of him for his country that afforded him this very elite position he’d held for well over a decade.

The country had never found itself lacking firepower and uniforms to handle the wars it continued to find itself in. Endless air raids, dropping countless bombs to create the grand fiery hellscapes seen on CNN, were also never in short supply. But while the parade held attention with the flashing lights and deafening booms, Teddy and the Division carried out their dirty deeds, only seen under a microscope in the crack of a sidewalk.

Teddy’s work specialized in smaller-scale operations that kept the sacred colors of the nation’s flag from getting in its own way, but primarily disposing of anybody under the impression they could work for Uncle Sam while digging through his pockets. Using the uniform as a platform to boost your own well-being, particularly with the enemy, was a fast lane to getting yourself on a list you didn’t want to be on.

The older Teddy had gotten, the more he’d grown set in his ways and enjoyed working alone, as most men do. But on rare occasion, an extra pair of hands was needed to ensure mission success. These assignments weren’t the kind with multiple attempts. The Division plucked only the top candidates from the clandestine corners of the military to be Teddy’s plus one. Naturally, he had no vote in the matter.

Unfortunately, these ready and willing soldiers were dead men walking and met their end after the work was complete. More often than not, they were killed in their homes by the hands of the Division they risked their life for. Teddy had made a habit of not getting close with any fresh face. They were destined to disappear. After all, the Division depended on secrecy, and these individuals couldn’t simply be let back into the world with the knowledge of a government-funded program killing its own people—good or evil.

While impressive, Teddy’s resumé of his long run within this hidden fold of the government had a cold fact to it: he’d had to kill more Americans than he had foreign terrorists or drug lords. But having accepted the reasons behind every life taken on home soil, it was definitely not something he would put in a portfolio. Teddy was long past concerning himself with the morality or politics of the umbrella he served under. Today, he was just a faint heartbeat on the side of a mountain, watching and waiting.

His nose had become blind to the smell of sweat and urine, as well as the three-day-old dead Afghan soldier at his side, covered by a camouflage ghillie weave. At the base of the mountain, Teddy watched the heat waves move across the desert sand. Beyond the waves, his sights were locked on the heavily guarded front gate of a U.S military outpost. Marines in full combat gear stood watch under the blistering sun.

Recalling his Semper Fi days, Teddy knew how itchy a Marine’s trigger finger could get. Especially on gate watch. You pray for something…anything to give you an excuse. With that knowledge, he was glad to be seven hundred yards away, hidden in the shade.

Shifting his scope to a cluster of tents inside the gates, Teddy spotted a person of interest, changing the mission from recon to elimination. His crosshairs moved to the name stitched on the Marine’s blouse—Crowley—a tall, blond-haired, baby-faced twenty-something-year-old. I’ve killed younger, Teddy thought to himself.

Sergeant Crowley had been discovered by an insurgent the Division had planted in Central Afghanistan months prior. The insurgent’s task was to frequently speak with the locals and gather the names and faces of American uniforms they’d seen at odd hours. It wasn’t a hard trail to follow—married men need a release, and there were plenty of brothels within walking distance of American outposts. By the end of the short investigation, the Division concluded after Sergeant Crowley’s sixth visit to the same brothel that he’d had a brief run-in with a terrorist organization. Soldiers tend to forget bad people need good company, too.

There was no finding what information Crowley had sold them in exchange for keeping his life, but it was enough to send Teddy to put an end to it. Judging by the pale shade of his skin, it could be gathered Sergeant Crowley was just a pencil-pusher. Also, the Sergeant’s lack of body armor in this part of the world, where almost everyone is trying to kill you, was a good indication of how green he was. Not that Teddy judged. Now, it wouldn’t have to be a headshot.

Teddy turned to the lifeless Afghan soldier beside him. “You going to call the wind for me or just lie there?” He cracked a smirk before putting his eyes back down range. Teddy hit the transmit button on his radio.

“Overlord, Overlord…this is Jackal 1 actual.”

“Go ahead, Jackal 1,” a Division staffer replied.

“Eyes on HVT. Please advise,” Teddy continued. He followed Crowley through his scope as he moved from one tent to the next inside the outpost.

“Jackal 1, you’re clear to engage,” the staffer said, giving Teddy the green light.

Teddy shifted his sights back to the front gate. Unfortunately, this next leg of the mission was now in the hands of someone else. Teddy hated that. A Humvee sat parked just outside the front gate. Reluctant, Teddy hit the transmit button on his radio.

“Alright, Legs. You’re up,” Teddy said, muffling a sigh.

“Was afraid of that. Where is he?” a timid voice responded.

Moving his crosshairs back to the cluster of tents inside the gates, Teddy saw the Sergeant had linked up with a handful of other Marines, shooting the shit in a semi-circle, out in the wide open.

“Southeast corner, tent village. You’ll have to separate him from the goon squad,” Teddy instructed.

“Anything you can do about that?”

“Not really. I start cracking off shots with witnesses, we’re tits up. Just feed him what we went over and he’ll break off.”

Teddy watched the rear passenger door of the Humvee open. Stepping out of the vehicle, a freshly buzzed haircut in a Marine uniform stood under the harsh sun. He squinted, glancing back toward the mountain where Teddy lay hidden.

“Well, you look the part,” Teddy said, watching his helping colleague adjust his uniform before shutting the door of the Humvee. His hands shook nervously at his sides. “Take a breath, dry your hands. He’s going to shake one,” Teddy added.

He followed Teddy’s order and wiped his sweaty palms on his uniform. Approaching the gate, another handful of Marines made their way inside.

“Mix in with this bunch. “Keep your eyes forward,” Teddy instructed.

“When this over, you’re going to have tell everyone to stop calling me Legs.”

“Don’t remember that being part of the deal,” Teddy said, knowing full well there was no real reason for the nickname, other than getting under his skin, except that he had chicken legs. Legs mixed in with the handful of Marines moving toward the front gate. The armed guards paid no mind, giving only a friendly nod to their brothers in uniform entering the gate. The outpost was small enough that every swinging dick knew each other’s middle name and had likely lost money in a card game to every dog tag at least once.

“See? Nothing to it,” Teddy said, keeping a close eye on Legs at the back of the group. The Marines breezed through the front gate and continued on a straight path. “Take a right after the next structure. You’ll run right into him.”

Legs branched off from the rest of the Marines and headed toward their target in the southeast corner of the outpost. Moving between structures at a steady pace, Legs stopped. His nerves had taken ahold of him, locking him up. He leaned back against a structure and took a breath.

“You hit a blind spot. Can you see him?” Teddy asked, trying to find Legs in his scope. Peeking around the corner of the structure, Legs spotted Sergeant Crowley, surrounded by other Marines. He ducked back out of sight.

“Yes. I…I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You’re nervous. So am I. Sweating all over the trigger up here. It’s your first time, but I’ve got you,” Teddy replied calmly.

“It’s just…he’s…”

 “An American. Yes,” Teddy interrupted. “But you know what he’s done, and will continue doing, if we let him go.”

“This doesn’t feel right,” Legs said, still frozen in a blind spot between structures. Teddy’s tone flipped into a sterner gear. “Now’s not the time. Separate him. I’ll do the rest.”

Moving his scope back to the target, Teddy grew impatient. 

Fucking rules of engagement, he thought to himself. A beautiful open shot that couldn’t be taken. Instead, the last seventy-two hours of lying in his own filth now relied on a newbie the Division deemed worthy to tag along.

With his back still pressed against the wall of the structure, Legs remained in a blind spot from Teddy. “You sell information to the enemy for profit, this is what happens. If we don’t do this, it could put every uniform down there at risk,” Teddy said, attempting to unfreeze his man on the ground. “Kill one, maybe save a thousand.”

There was a long silence over the radio. “Okay,” Legs said, after taking a deep breath. Teddy regained sight on Legs as he rounded the corner toward the target. Teddy exhaled in relief. Wiping the sweat off his hands one last time, Legs moved through the group of Marines to speak with Sergeant Crowley. Conversation ceased as every uniform shifted attention to Legs.

“Excuse me, sir. You have a call waiting. It’s your wife,” Legs announced, holding eye contact with the Sergeant.

“I don’t think so, Corporal. She doesn’t have the direct line to me here,” Crowley responded.

Legs hesitated, as the group of Marines waited for him to piss off or spit out an explanation.  Teddy fed him lines through an earpiece. “Linda Crowley,” Teddy whispered through the radio.

“Linda Crowley. That’s her, isn’t it?” Legs asked, mirroring Teddy’s words. Waiting for a response, Legs kept his cool in the semi-circle of Marines while he continued to repeat what Teddy fed him through the radio. “I can disconnect the call if she’s mistaken, sir.”

Assuming it was urgent, Sergeant Crowley followed Legs away from the Marines toward a communications tent in the far corner of the outpost. Teddy followed them both through his crosshairs. He adjusted his grip, stretching his fingers wide before firming them back around the handle of his rifle. Once inside the communications tent, Sergeant Crowley pointed to one of the many phones on a table next to an array of stacked radio equipment.

“Which line?” Crowley asked.

“The second one, sir.”

Crowley picked up the phone, in a hurry to speak with his wife. Teddy came over the earpiece once more to finish their mission clean and smooth. “Alright, break off. Exit the gate slowly and bug out back to me. I’ve got him from here.”

Legs turned to leave the tent and give the Sergeant his privacy. “Corporal?” Crowley said, stopping Legs from leaving the tent. “Thank you.” He placed a firm hand on Legs, while holding the phone to his ear. Turning out of the tent, Legs kept a calm pace, weaving back toward the front gate.

“Linda?” the Sergeant asked into the phone. No reply. “Hello?” Again, only silence.

Pfft! A red mist exploded from Crowley’s chest, followed by the hiss and crack of Teddy’s shot from seven hundred yards out. The tent wall and radio equipment were painted red with the Sergeant’s blood. He dropped dead to the dirt, pulling the phone down with him. Teddy exhaled and engaged the safety on his rifle before finally standing for the first time in three days.

“Overlord, Overlord…Jackal 1 actual. HVT is down. We’re bugging out. See you in twelve hours,” Teddy said as he watched Legs exit the front gate of the outpost.

After he’d quickly packed up his MK22 rifle, Teddy pulled the camo ghillie weave off the dead Afghan soldier, revealing an AK47 in the firing position. He took a long swig of water from his canteen and headed up the steep mountain away from the Marine outpost for the long extract ride back state-side.