Freedom Day

Prologue

"Men fight for liberty and win it with hard knocks. Their children, brought up easy, let it slip away again, poor fools. And their grandchildren are once more slaves..."

- D. H. Lawrence

...

"The Border", Somewhere in the Middle East
1105 hours (local)

...

Ethan Mallory had been awake for more than 24 hours. He was exhausted. If he closed his eyes long enough, he'd fall asleep kneeling with his Mk.14 EBR slung by his waist. But there was 30 minutes left on the timetable, according to his wristwatch. He peered out of the second-floor balcony, facing the Border Control's western exit, scanning for possible threats with his rifle. He estimated another hour of dull waiting before he could finally leave this place.

Grumbling aside, at least he was wearing something comfy for a change: a purple shirt, a pair of khakis, a shemagh around his neck, and his favorite running boots to keep his feet fresh. With the weather outside, he'd be sweating like a sinner in church if he donned his usual combat gear. And if it weren't for the chest rig, the holstered Glock, and the silenced marksman rifle in his hands, he'd easily pass off as another foreigner stuck in a hostile country.

Two more days, Ethan. Two more days...

After this mission, he would definitely fly back to DC, sort his papers, and take that job in the UK he'd put off for his current rotation. It was offered to him by a middle-aged black woman, probably a bigwig from the Pentagon, more than a month ago. A spot in a classified, multi-national program based out of somewhere in England, with a salary more than twice his current paygrade. It sounded dodgy, obviously. But with the alimony and his daughter's education to worry about, he made the most practical choice. It's the best he could do for Jen.

Briefly, he pondered about calling her one more time. Listen to her sweet voice, tell her he loves her, anything to reinvigorate himself. But he remembered that it was about 3:00 in the morning there in Long Island. A chat with Jenny would only rile her from a pleasant dream of some distant fantasyland. Or worse, her mom would be the one speaking on the other end, and they had already known how that exchange would end.

Ethan would have another chance for either. He just needed to survive this tour.

"Busker Two-Four, this is Blackjack One-Two.", he called into his earpiece. "We're at the rendezvous, second-floor security office, HVI is in custody. What's your status, over?"

A moment later, his radio buzzed with a woman's voice.

"Blackjack, this is Busker. We're still en route to the AO. We got reports of heavy fighting and RPGs at the capital, so we're circling to the mountains. ETA two-zero mikes, how copy?"

"Roger that Busker, we'll sit tight. Double-time it, will ya? Over and out."

With that, Ethan released the call button with a frown on his face. As if the day couldn't get any worse.

There were throngs of people massing to the border, lines of vehicles weaving through a long gridlock, and a mess of shouting and horn honking. The civil war between the loyalists and separatists had broken out a year ago, yet the exodus of civilians never stopped. Towering above the crowd were loudspeakers at the Border Control, shouting instructions in English and Arabic to keep some semblance of order. It was hard not to feel for them all, as much as the American preferred to mask his emotions, but there was nothing that he could do for them either.

His ten-man team was fortifying their position at the security office, using makeshift wooden barricades and metal grates as impromptu protection. One man overturned a desk to use as cover for his M249 by the window, pointed outwards, while another created a sniper's nest facing the southern valley. In the meantime, the office staff kept themselves busy informing all civilians to vacate the main building's premises. To make way for a 'high-profile emergency medical evacuation', as the cover story went. The loudspeakers outside also played a looping advisory.