Page 53 of The Soldier

He’s clearly pissed with Miller, and so am I. But what’s done is done and as soldiers we have to pivot when things don’t go to plan.

I still have a target breathing.

I need to get down on the ground to find my target. I can’t just head home and be all like, sorry, he ran away. That’s not how these things work.

My job is to get this mission done and then return. Not beforehand.

Hopefully not in a body bag.

Unfortunately, I don’t have backup and Delta Force has completed their mission. I’m unsure what support I have now. I’m not an enlisted US soldier so unless their instructions were to remain with me until the job is done, I might be on my own.

The gunfire slows down and we hear vehicles starting up.

Shit.

“I’ve got to move.” I scramble to my feet and just as I’m about to take off, Rodriques pulls me down. Which isn’t an easy thing to do. I have about twenty pounds on the guy.

On most guys.

But then again, he might have a higher percentage of muscle than me being on active duty. I’ll leave that part out of my report.

“Tell me this fucker is dying for national security reasons.”

“Try global.” I grind out.

It takes him less than five seconds to make a decision. Then with a couple of basic hand and arm signals to his team, I know he’s pivoting.

And I’ll have backup.

“New mission.” Rodriques orders then his eyes land on me. “We need an identity.”

I make my own fast decision. If the uranium gets into the hands of Iran, then the world is fucked. Nobody should have nuclear weapons. It’s a dead man’s war.

It’s a species eliminator.

Put in the hands of proven and historical radical evil such as those in positions of power in Iran, it would be the end game.

For all of us.

Right now, I’m the one man on the planet who has been empowered to stop it. So, fuck security clearance, I need the help of these Tier One operators. This is what they do.

Why they haven’t is above my pay grade.

I rip out my phone and swipe, showing him the photo.

Rodriques studies it for two seconds, nods, then hands it to Lieutenants Forte and Mickelson.

“Yeah, I saw him,” Forte says.

“Let’s go. Taylor, you keep Lieutenant Miller with you and sober him up. Radio in for a retrieval in twenty-four hours if we aren’t back.”

Fuck me. This was supposed to be an in-and-out job. That drunk asshole fucked this up for all of us. We’re lucky no one got a bullet, and no missile launchers have been set off.

Yet.

“He doesn’t deserve to be here,” Miller grumbles, and it’s becoming clearer just how intoxicated he is.

How did we not notice? Then again he’s probably been sipping away for hours, and dehydration tipped him over the edge.

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