Chapter 39

39

After a short calisthenics warm-up, Lieutenant Drăguș organized the unit into six two-man squads. Juan and Linc were paired in the same unit. In addition to a superlative combat record, the Oregon’s intel unit had put subtle but significant “spotter” references in Juan’s service jacket hoping this would get him joined with Linc’s advanced sniper qualifications. The ruse worked.

Drăguș then led the teams to the armory, where they were handed their requested weapons.

Juan and Linc both put in for guns that were known to have been in the Afghani arsenals, hoping to make a Vendor connection. Linc was handed a Barrett .50-caliber sniper rifle and a 9mm Glock 17 like Plata’s.

Juan was handed weapons used by his fictional character, a member of Mexico’s Fuerzas Especiales. He was handed an H&K UMP chambered in 9mm along with a Glock 19. He was also given a tactical pack containing his preferred Leupold Mark 4 tactical spotting scope, a wind meter, ballistic calculator, and laser range finder.

Unable to snap any pictures, both Oregon crewmen knew to memorize the serial numbers on their respective weapons. They would later run them against the known serial numbers in the Afghani arsenals to see if the Vendor had access to other weapons sources. Under the circumstances, it was the best they could do.

Once everyone received and inspected their weapons, Plata marched Linc and Juan over to an improvised long-distance range, where a man-sized steel target was set up at one thousand yards. Drăguș took the other men over to a different gun range for practice.

Linc and Juan played their roles to a tee, pretending to try and assess each other’s skill sets, and familiarize themselves with each other’s equipment. After a few moments of these adjustments, they got down to business.

Linc set up the Barrett on its tripod and loaded the magazine with the giant .50-cal shells, while Juan deployed the range finder. “Nine hundred ninety-seven point eight yards,” he called out as he entered the data into the ballistic calculator. Linc called out the match grade bullet weight and speed printed on the box, and Juan entered those numbers as well.

Cabrillo then held up the advanced wind meter, which gave him wind speed, humidity, and temperature, and then loaded those numbers into the ballistic calculator. He handed the device over to Linc so he could set up his Horus TREMOR3 rifle scope properly while Juan pulled out his spotting scope. Both men inserted their ear protection and set their eyes to their respective eyepieces.

“Ready?” Juan asked.

“Ready,” Linc replied.

Linc slowed his breathing to near perfect stillness, dropping his heart rate to hibernating-bear levels, before he gently squeezed the trigger. The big rifle erupted with a deafening roar.

Just 1.17 seconds later, the heavy steel plate shuddered and rang as the armor-piercing bullet plowed through it.

“Hit,” Juan said calmly.

Linc racked the bolt, ejecting the spent shell, and loaded another. He fired again.

The steel rang like a church bell.

“Hit.”

Juan double-checked the wind speed. It had risen and shifted directions. He entered the new data into the ballistic calculator, but Linc hardly needed it.

Three more ringing hits.

Plata whistled. “I think you understated your service record, amigo. Those five hits all fit within the span of my hand. Incredible.”

“You need a new target,” Juan said. Linc had punched a giant hole in the center of the steel silhouette.

“You two will make a good team,” Plata said. “Secure your gear. It’s time for the next phase.”

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★Plata and Drăguș marched the mercenaries to the shoot house. The two commanders showed them an example of the range-standard “enemy” and “hostage” colored cardboard targets the unit would encounter. Each soldier was fitted with a comms headset and a GoPro camera. Plata held a portable video monitor that received live signals from the cameras so he could analyze and comment during the exercise.

It was decided to send the men in four at a time for the simulated hostage rescue.

“And just a reminder, gentlemen,” Plata said. “These are live-fire exercises. You lose points if you shoot each other.”

The men laughed at the gallows humor, but the point was made.

Plata blew a whistle and the first team raced into the building.

Over the next hour, all twelve men had run the course three times, their high skill sets on display. Only one hostage was accidentally shot in the first round and none in the other rounds. Linc was only allowed to use his pistol. At nearly thirty pounds and almost six feet long, the Barrett M107A1 sniper rifle was the antithesis of a close-quarters combat weapon. Despite the handicap of the smaller weapon, Linc achieved the third-highest number of total enemy kills.

“Well done, gentlemen,” Plata announced over a loudspeaker. “You all live up to your reputations. Now it’s time for the real thing.”

Plata and Drăguș marched the team through three miles of jungle until they reached the outskirts of the abandoned city-mine in the center of the island. They stood on one of its hard-packed streets. There was no glass in the windows, the cement was eroded and weather-pitted, boards were rotted, and the sheet metal rusted. Some of the buildings were several stories tall. Most were not. The eastern edge of the “city” ended in a long, fragmenting pier that reached out into a small harbor.

A shared uneasiness rattled the hardened mercenaries. The city looked like a postapocalyptic nightmare—an abandoned hive of human misery where even ghosts refused to live.

“Same drill, different location,” Drăguș said. “Only this time, you all work together.”

“Why this place?” the Russian asked.

“Our employer suggested these ruins are not unlike the urban area we will be working in. Besides, it’s more challenging than the shoot house. Yes?”

The Russian nodded. “Da.”

“Just to put you all on notice,” Plata said. “The two-man squad with the highest number of kills and lowest hostage deaths at the end of the training will receive a special reward.”

Drăguș pointed at Linc. “Davis? You and Mendoza find a sniper’s hide and take care of business.”

“Will do.” Linc glanced at Juan and the two men dashed into the tallest building across the crumbling street.

Plata blew a whistle and the ten other men raced away.