Chapter Four

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October 30, 2022
Las Almas, Mexico
Cartel Protection, Part One

Soap destroys the missile by direct orders from General Shepard. Donavan smokes out the rest of his cigarette as Soap and some acquired assistance from the marines take an hour or so to properly dismantle it, and then they're immediately given another mission to find and interrogate Hassan in Las Almas.

The team of marines sent in to help leave on a different helo and another team is dispatched to help by the name of the Shadow Company led by General Shepard's commander, Phillip Graves. Donavan had forgotten how far any military will go to cut through the red tape of country borders, but he remembers quickly that the United States happens to be the best at finding causes to be anywhere but their own homeland.

He starts for the helo that's going to take them to Mexico, relishing somewhat in the comfort of being in the air and the many hours he'll have to relax. His knees hurt, something about age catching up to him, and his armored pack has weighed on him all night. He's hungry, but he's used to it, and although his thirst is something that can never be satiated, he makes do with his scratchy throat.

Ghost finds his way to the back from the cockpit. He looks at Soap, who's sitting far on the opposite side of the helo's carrier pod to Donavan. "We're touching down in eight hours. I suggest you get some rest and replenish yourself and your gear."

"Aye," Soap says. "Water sounds nice."

It does, but accepting anything from them sounds like defeat.

"Behind the cockpit," Ghost says, and Soap nods, walking off to go find it.

Ghost leaves too, back to the cockpit no doubt with the pilots. Donavan licks his cracked lips and—

"Is this a bad time?"

He doesn't startle. He hasn't in a while when it comes to April's voice.

"Play the beep game with me if you can't respond." April says. "And sorry. Their radio sequencing is impressive. It took me a while to break through the walls and reach you."

He puts his comms on mute, and opts to switch his channels to use the static it produces at morse code.

Really late. Fuck you.

"Alright, asshole," April barks at him. "Be grateful I even breached them in the first place."

Missile. Hassan gone.

Bruising and Blood-thirsty, John MacTavishWhere stories live. Discover now