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— The Numbers Game [Black Ops Novelization]: Chapter One - "Operation 40"

RATING: M | AO3 LINK | CHAPTER MASTERLIST

SYNOPSIS

During the Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961, CIA field officers Alex Mason, Frank Woods, Russell Adler, and Joseph Bowman were tasked with assassinating Castro as part of a team codenamed Operation 40. Instead, they found a body double and intelligence reports speaking of a mysterious Soviet operative trying to split off from the KGB. During their escape, Mason would sacrifice himself to ensure the others could get away, falling into the hands of rogue operatives reporting to the enigmatic man that would come to be codenamed 'Perseus'. Two years later, he manages escape from the Vorkuta prison camp and return to the States, only to be plagued with near constant migraines, seizures, hallucinations, blackouts, and numbers he can't stop hearing. As tensions rise in Vietnam and his life falls apart back home, Mason is assigned to a MACV-SOG team to track down KGB operatives and suspected collaborators of 'Perseus' aiding the Viet Cong. Unbeknownst to him, he's become Perseus' greatest weapon against his own country. And the key to saving it.

CATEGORIES: Gen, F/M (eventual)

WORD COUNT: 12.1k

WARNINGS

Canon-typical violence, explicit language, military inaccuracies/liberties, government inaccuracies, some historical inaccuracies/liberties, depictions of brainwashing and torture, depictions of warfare, and a healthy dose of canon non-compliance and original characters (however rest assured the author has played the CoD campaigns multiple times. An unhealthy amount, in fact. I know the lore before I break it or whatever the heck.)

CHAPTER SUMMARY

1961, Mason is assigned to the assassination team sent to assassinate Castro while the Bay of Pigs invasion kicks off on the other end of the country. They discover a body double in the place of the real Castro, and the operation goes downhill from there.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So, I apologize in advance for the Google Translate Spanish. It is probably nothing like actual Cuban Spanish, but I'm unfortunately not familiar enough with that particular dialect of Spanish or Spanish in general to change words up, but I did my best with what I had. I tried to find a translator online that would let me choose dialects, but if such a thing exists it evades me, so...I can't say I didn't try, but if you're a native speaker and it seems off I sincerely apologize. Additionally, none of the locations in the game make sense. The devs have a really bad habit of just making terrain up and the location they give made no sense for the area they portrayed, so I tried to change it to something at least slightly more plausible. But I am not especially familiar with Cuba outside of google maps and Wikipedia. Side note: I've adjusted some of the character ages, as you'll see here, because goodness their canon ages make them really freaking old and for my own peace of mind with my fanfic timeline I tweaked it a few years (with his canon birthdate Mason would have been around 46-47 when David was born around 1978-1979 and I just didn't like that.) Also, Adler canonically didn't join the Special Activities Division until 1966 but I decided it's more fun to have him be around from the start. Anyways. Mission chapter! I tried my best not to drag it on too long while still keeping it intense and interesting without just writing everything that happened in the game word for word, here's hoping I succeeded.

APRIL 17, 1961. Near Santa Marta, Cuba.

The weather in Cuba was a far cry from the dry cold of Alaska and the desert heat of San Diego. It was the most muggy, miserable place Alex ever set foot. To everyone else it was a tropical paradise, but to him it was hell on earth. The heat and humidity was probably a lot more tolerable if you were at the beach or had a pool to jump into…but while there was a beach party of sorts planned for later that morning, Alex wasn’t invited to it. Instead, he made his way through the streets of Cuba, following close to his teammates.

The curfew in place left the streets mostly deserted, and he and his teammates were unbothered as they briskly made their way to their rendezvous point with their contact, doing everything they could to stay out of sight and keep a low profile. However, judging from the few people peering out from windows and lurking in alleyways, the police were already onto them. None of that was about to stop them, though. They had a mission and they were going to complete it.

It was Alex’s first official operation since the CIA recruited him out of basic. His father had been damn near moved to tears when he’d asked the old man to sign off for him to enlist in the Marines, and from there he’d been shipped down to San Diego for his basic training and earned a reputation for being something of a sharpshooter…he had years of hunting elk and deer with his father to thank for that. Apparently he made enough of an impact for the CIA’s recruiters to notice him. To say his father was cagey about that was an understatement. He’d never been a man of many words, but he sent a stern letter Alex’s way after the CIA traveled out to Fairbanks to interview family, friends, other relatives, teachers…just about everyone in his life as part of his background check, and after that Alex didn’t see a single letter from the guy for two weeks. But by then he was already on his way to “The Farm” all the way in Virginia for his training.

So here he was…two months shy of his twenty-first birthday. He was young, inexperienced, and apparently a perfect addition to their motley crew. The other three weren’t that much older than him, after all—in fact Bowman was a few months younger than him—and they all had varying degrees of experience.

The veteran of the bunch and their team leader was Woods. He had a service record that started in the Korean War, and he’d been with the CIA for about seven years now. He was tall, built like a truck, had dark brown hair he almost never seemed to comb, and he completed the tough guy look with a beard and several tattoos. He was the one with all of the crazy ideas and he was just lucky he was crazy enough to pull them off. Loud-mouthed, foul-mouthed, and about as bold and in-your-face as a person could get…but he wasn’t the kind of guy to make friends easy. Preferred to go it on his own, but he somehow kept getting put in charge of this kind of stuff. Alex had no idea why Woods had adopted him as his new best friend not long after they met, but his best guess was their shared history with the Corps; the devil dog and his Semper Fi tattoos were the some of the first things Alex noticed about him…they must have hit it off from there. They’d been nearly inseparable since, and they weren’t that far apart in age; the record said Woods was thirty-one, but Woods himself told Alex that the record was bullshit. He’d ran away, lied about his age to join the military when the Korean War broke out, and the military didn’t bother checking twice. The CIA probably knew, but if they did, they didn’t care.

The next in line with age and experience was Russell Adler, even though he only had two years on Woods’ seven as far as military experience went. He was about what you’d expect from a Californian pretty boy. Light brown hair he kept meticulously combed, a soft sort of face that was always clean shaven (Alex had a sneaking suspicion he couldn’t grow peach fuzz if he tried), and a knack for trendy fashion. Not to mention his obsession with a pair of aviator sunglasses. Compared to the rest of them he looked like a catalogue model. He was charismatic, silver-tongued, good at making friends but even better at keeping his cards close to his chest…you never knew what he was thinking or planning. He was everything the CIA coveted, and basically the antithesis of Woods. He reminded Alex of an eagle; always puzzling everything out, weighing every single choice and action, waiting for the perfect moment to go in for the kill. And he must have been damn good at it, too, considering he hadn’t been a Green Beret long before the CIA recruited him to the Special Activities Division.

Last but not least there was Bowman. He and Alex had met during their training. He was a Southerner, apparently from some town an hour or so from Atlanta, but Alex couldn’t remember the name if he tried. He was ex-Navy, shorter and stockier than the rest of them, with dark skin and dark eyes. He didn’t talk much, but when he didit was pretty clear he was smart as a whip, not to mention one of the friendliest guys you would ever meet. He’d been an underwater demolitions expert in the Navy, but he didn’t talk a lot about his career before the CIA recruited him. But just like the rest of them, he must have done something impressive.

The CIA had been hesitant to assign both of them to a team when they were still green and wet behind the ears, but their skills made up for their lack of experience. Somehow, even though this was their first time in another country, they managed to keep their shit together. Even with the amount of adrenaline and anticipation that had Alex itching and chomping at the bit. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t overwhelmed by the environment and the situation as a whole, but he couldn’t let it get the best of him. Not when all of their lives were on the line just going to meet their contact.

Around them, the streets were more or less deserted. Cars were parked outside buildings, and the odd dog could be heard barking or howling, but for the most part things were quiet. The sky was only just starting to turn a lighter shade of blue and only a few stars were visible…even fewer than there already were with the glow from the streetlights. It was completely different than what he was used to at home, in Fairbanks. Even on the outskirts of town you could still see twice as many stars as you could anywhere else. Moving to the DC area had given him whiplash, not just culturally but even environmentally. It was like an entirely different world. In fact, everywhere he’d gone lately had been like an entirely different planet. Cuba was lucky enough to shoot right up to the top of the list.

The four of them went completely unnoticed as they made their way through the streets, no one disturbing them.

Woods was the first one to break the silence as they turned down another mostly deserted street. “Not much of a vacation spot,” he said, barely above a whisper, his voice rough. “This place is dead as hell.”

“It’s five in the morning and there’s a curfew,” Adler responded flatly, glancing over at him. “No one in their right mind would risk getting caught out and about like this.”

“What does that make us, then?” Alex asked.

“Outta our damn minds, that’s what,” Bowman said, letting out a short, deep huff of a laugh.

“Well, if we pull this op off then I’m sure it’ll be a real tropical paradise,” Adler said, once again flatly, more focused on his job than jokes. “Are we getting close, Woods?”

“Yeah. Just across here,” Woods replied, glancing every direction before he nodded to a building across the street. The four moved to cross the road, but Woods stopped short and fixed his eyes on something down the street. “Shit.” All of them stopped and turned, confused, only to follow his stare to two armed figures a few doors down the street. They noticed they were being watched, and one moved towards their group before his companion stopped him. “Grade-A a-holes, nine o’clock. Looks like they’re makin’ the morning rounds…doesn’t give us a lotta time...”

“Then we’d better hurry,” Adler said, picking up his pace as he headed across the street. The rest of them fell in step behind him.

The little city they’d ended up in was where their contact had fled after being run off his property. They were on the outskirts of a small city along the coast, and ordinarily it was a kind enough town towards outsiders. Just not towards Americans. With the two countries at odds, travel was restricted. Americans were unwelcome, and that was assuming that they wanted to be there in the first place. And the only reason they were there was to assassinate Fidel Castro, which put them right at the top of the no-fly list.

Castro been getting too cozy with the Soviet Union, and the powers that be wanted him out. Alex grew up with Russia for a nextdoor neighbor, so the Cold War and the threat of an invasion was personal to him, and he was more than willing to cut off as many of their allies as they told him to. So if they wanted Castro dead, he did too.

Unfortunately, the police knew someone had been selling them out and helping the people collaborating with the CIA, and their contact, Carlos, had already told them that they were onto him. A curfew had been enforced, and unpredictable searches had started. Luckily for them, it seemed the cops had other suspects, so they’d have a few minutes before they started banging down Carlos’ door. At least, Alex hoped they did. He took one last look over his shoulder as they crossed the street to the bar, holding the door open for the others to go through while he made sure they were in the clear. Once he was sure they hadn’t been noticed yet he ducked in after the others.

Inside, he was immediately met with the stench of cigarette smoke and liquor. A ceiling fan slowly turned overhead, but it wasn’t doing a whole lot to fix the heat and humidity.

It was more crowded than he expected, too. A few guys sat huddled a table, playing poker, their cigars burning down to stubs, two of them completely passed out beside the other three. A woman in a red floral dress and cheap jewelry hung on one of the younger guys’ arms, seemingly pleading with him for something in a pouty, unserious manner, slurring out some words in Spanish. Her boyfriend grumbled dismissively and waved a hand. She huffed and pulled away, hopping to her feet and stomping over to the portable radio propped up on the windowsill beside their table, where she switched the channel and turned it up, prompting some complaints from the men. She ignored them. Alex didn’t know a lot of Spanish, but he guessed she must have been begging her boyfriend to dance, because she whisked the radio out of reach, set it on a vacant table by the door, and gave them a drunken smile before tossing a pointed look at the curious men she was with as she began to literally dance circles around the four of them as they walked in.

Adler shrugged her off when she brushed his arm, dead set on their operation. Like a dog set on a scent. She didn’t even give Woods or Alex a second look as they marched by, both giving her a once over. She was pretty. Short black hair, brown eyes, an okay figure…but they weren’t here to mingle with the locals. As she grabbed Bowman’s hand and pulled him towards her, apparently inviting him to dance even though neither he or Alex knew what he was saying, he awkwardly declined. “Uh…I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t,” he said with an awkward smile, delicately pulling his hand away from hers. She gave him a confused look. “I’ve got a girl back home.”

She said something in Spanish, but once he walked away her disappointment pretty much disappeared. With one last look after them, she went back to her solo dance routine.

Woods and Adler led the way to the bar, and the bartender had already tossed the rag he’d been using to wipe out some glasses over his shoulder, waiting for them with his arms braced on the bar. He gave them a tight lipped smile, glancing at the poker table behind them and then at the door as he shifted from one foot to the other. He looked nervous, polite…his hair was combed back, but he had a scruffy beard that made him look less put together. He locked eyes with Woods, greeting him in Spanish. Alex only knew enough basic Spanish to catch the first part. “Good morning,” he said, sounding tired. “Es un poco pronto para beber.”

“Necesitamos algo más fuerte que el café,” Woods responded in a gruff tone. It sounded legit to Alex, but one of the guys playing poker turned his head. He let out a sigh, leaning over the bar. “Nosotros estamos en un largo día.”

“Oh, sí. Sé todo sobre eso,” the bartender—who Alex assumed could only be Carlos—said with a chuckle as he reached under the bar. “¿Qué puedo conseguirte?”

“Lo mejor que tienes,” Woods said. He lowered his voice as he added in English, “How’s it goin,’ Carlos?”

“He visto días mejores,” Carlos replied.

“Heh. Ain’t we all?” Woods asked, though Alex guessed the question was rhetorical.

“Though I hardly want to jinx things, it could always be worse,” Carlos said, this time in English as smooth as his Spanish. He also kept his voice low. He nodded to Adler and Woods, glancing briefly at Alex and Bowman. “It’s been awhile, Woods. Adler. I was starting to think you’d been arrested.”

“Yeah, well, the police are gonna be here soon, so we ain’t gotta lot of time to catch up,” Woods said. All of them looked to the door as a siren wailed in the distance, no doubt an extra set of officers being called in. Perfect timing. He jerked his head over his shoulder. As he talked, he casually pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt, pulling one out and lighting it as he casually continued, “They’re making their way down the block.”

“Sí, sí. They’ve been increasing patrols recently,” Carlos said with a tired sigh and a nod of his head. “Though your presence here proves that their paranoia is not exactly…unfounded.”

“You get us what we need?” Adler asked, shaking his head and refusing a cigarette from Woods. He pulled out his own pack—a very expensive brand at that—and took the lighter Woods offered him, taking a drag and blowing it out slow.

Carlos nodded slowly, taking a breath as if steeling himself. Alex was no mind reader, but it looked like he was more than a little nervous about this whole thing. He didn’t exactly look like he had the stomach for revolution, but the people here were desperate for a change. A lot of them had been exiled, had their families imprisoned, had their lives become nothing but pawns to their government, and if they didn’t succeed here today then it could cost them their lives. Alex would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, too. But more than anything he was antsy. Itching for a fight. They’d all been training for this long enough.

The bartender produced a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, and he slid it out to Woods and Adler. “He’ll be here, at an old plantation,” he said, tapping his index finger on the paper. It was a crudely drawn map, with some hastily scribbled words in Spanish, with arrows and circles to mark routes, points of entry, and the like. He tapped the far end of the map. “Our attack on the airfield should distract them enough for you to get inside. Your point of entry will be here, ¿ves? He will likely be in one of these main rooms, upstairs…he’s turned this one into a conference room. Once you’ve succeeded, you’ll cut across the property, past the sugar cane, and head to the airfield.”

“What about our exfil?” Woods huffed out a breath of smoke.

“We will have transport waiting for you,” Carlos promised. “Just be there.”

“Thanks a ton, Carlos,” Woods said, putting on a smile. He pocketed the map, stamping out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray. “Te lo debemos.”

“Sí, sí.” Carlos waved a hand before wiping the sweat beading on his forehead. As he spoke, his eyes darted warily between the four of them. “I just hope you will be able to pull it off.”

“We will.” Adler pulled a handful of cash and coins from his pocket, sliding it to Carlos and nodding towards it. “Bit of a tip for you. We appreciate the help.” As Carlos pocketed the money and returned to his cleaning with a nervous smile, Adler checked his watch and huffed out a breath. Outside, sirens still faintly wailed in the distance. “Well, I imagine the cops’ll be here soon. We should head out.”

“Why the hurry? If they’re lookin’ for a fight then I wouldn’t wanna disappoint ‘em,” Woods said with a shrug. Then he reached over and clapped Alex so hard on his shoulder that he knocked him off balance. “Ready for your first real op?”

Although it felt like his stomach was twisting into knots and doing backflips for good measure, Alex was still able to manage a bit of a smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Both of you better get the butterflies out of your stomachs,” Adler said, glancing between Alex and Bowman. “If you get too wrapped up in the excitement and your nerves then you could let your guard down. It’s not like training. We don’t get do-overs.”

“Sheesh, Adler, a couple of years ago you were in the same spot they were,” Woods said with a huff, elbowing him. “Let ‘em have a moment, they’ll be fine.”

Bowman swallowed, looking more than a bit out of sorts. “I think I’m gonna be sick, actually…”

Adler stamped out his cigarette. “You can be sick after the operation. For now…”

Muffled voices outside drew their attention to the door, and Woods sighed, looking over his shoulder. “We’ve got company.”

The door swung open, and the men at the card game promptly got to their feet and hurried for the back door as four armed militia men stepped inside. The woman tried to follow her companions, but one of the soldiers seized her by her wrist. Mason, Woods, and Bowman started to move to help, but a look from Adler and a subtle shake of Carlos’ head told the three of them that it was better to keep to themselves. There was a brief exchange of Spanish shouting before the soldier shoved the woman away, her struggling leading her to stumble backwards and off balance. She hit the ground. Alex moved to help her up, but Adler and Bowman reached her first, helping her to her feet. She glanced at the soldiers and promptly ran for the back door. And their involvement drew the attention of the soldiers.

Alex watched them out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be focused on his hands. He tensed as he felt their eyes on him. “¡Oye!” one of them snapped. He was a short, stocky, and had a wide stance that reminded Alex of a bulldog. His voice was rough. “¿De dónde tú eres?”

“Fuck…” Alex muttered under his breath, looking away. He swallowed as the militia man repeated himself in English.

“I said ‘where are you from?’” The soldier took a few steps forward.

Two of the others closed in on Adler and Bowman, clearly not buying that any of them were anything but American. Woods kept his back to them, but he shifted his arm to the edge of the bar. Alex eyed him. So did Adler. “Be cool, Woods,” Alex said quietly. He already knew him well enough after the last year to know that he was reaching for his weapon holster. But whether it was for the gun or the knife, Alex didn’t know. The soldiers were circling like sharks, sizing them up, and Woods’ had a hairpin trigger temper. Taking a breath, Alex shifted, reaching for his own gun as the stocky militia soldier shouldered his way between his men. “Just wait.” Woods glanced at him, one eyebrow raised while the other furrowed. Alex nodded. “Trust me.”

“Hey!” The soldier’s voice boomed. “I’m talking to you!”

Alex let out an involuntary grunt as he was suddenly grabbed by the collar of his shirt and yanked forward. He clawed at the hand gripping his collar to get free, but as the man reached with his free hand, Woods grabbed his arm, yanked it to the countertop, and slammed his knife through his hand in a swift motion. For good measure, he grabbed the nearest beer bottle and slammed it into the soldier’s face, cutting his screaming short as he fell to the ground, his hand still held to the bar by Woods’ knife. Meanwhile, thanks to the struggle, Bowman had managed to grab the soldier nearest to him from behind and sliced neck with his own knife, while Adler and Alex grabbed their guns and shot the remaining two before they could react. In a second it was all over. Dead silence, aside from a dog barking outside. And at some point, Carlos had disappeared.

“Ho-ly shit,” Alex breathed out, feeling himself shiver. He let out a laugh, looking up at Woods. “Did we seriously just do that?”

“Welcome to the CIA, kid,” Woods said with a huff. He pulled his knife out of the first soldier’s hand, letting the body drop to the floor. He then motioned for Alex to hand him the gun, and when he did he shot the soldier through the head for good measure before he handed the weapon back to Alex. “We should get going. There’s no way no one heard those shots.”

“Where’s Carlos?” Bowman asked, glancing to the bar.

As if on a cue, Carlos emerged from the back room with a shotgun, tossing it to Woods. “Here. Some extra firepower, just in case,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Everything is ready. My men will take care of the bodies, and I will try to buy you some time to get away.”

“Sorry about the bar, Carlos,” Woods said with a grateful smile. “I’d pay you for the damages, but…”

“It’s not a problem,” Carlos said with a shake of his head. Dark circles under his eyes gave away just how tired he was, and if Alex had to guess, it wasn’t just physical fatigue weighing on him. He nodded towards the door. “If the operation is a success, then we can call it even.”

Woods grinned and looked between Alex and Carlos. Clearly, he liked the optimism. “Don’t worry, Carlos, it will be.”

“You should go now,” Carlos said. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can, then I’ll meet you at the airfield. Suerte, my friends.”

“Catch ya on the flip side, Carlos,” Woods said, already heading for the front door. Alex was already falling in step beside him, while Adler and Bowman hesitated. “C’mon, boys, let’s get going.”

“You don’t think we should go the back way?” Bowman asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Bowman’s right. We’ve drawn enough attention to ourselves,” Adler said. “Going through the front door isn’t usually the best option.”

“Ah, c’mon, where’s your sense of adventure? We don’t get to do this kinda shit every day,” Woods said, motioning for them to hurry up. Alex almost thought to point out that this kind of stuff was quite literally in their job description. He went on uninterrupted, though. He glanced out the barred windows, craning his neck to try and spot any nearby police vehicles. “Besides, they pissed me off. I’m lookin’ for a reason at this point…”

“I was right earlier,” Bowman said with a sigh, shaking his head as he looked up at the ceiling, likely praying to God that this didn’t go sideways anymore than it already had. “Outta our damn minds…” Adler looked at him and back at Woods, a blank expression on his face. Alex still noticed a slight tic in his jaw. “This’ll make for one hell of a report…”

“If we live to write it,” Alex said, only half-joking. He was willing to follow Woods’ lead, but the adrenaline rush from the fight was fading already and he was starting to feel sick to his stomach.

“Ye of so little fuckin’ faith,” Woods snorted. “I got us this far in one piece, didn’t I?”

Adler gave him a pointed look as Carlos armed himself with one of the dead soldier’s rifles. Bowman barely glanced his way.

Alex broke the brief second of silence, shrugging as he joined Woods on the opposite side of the door. “We don’t have much else to lose at this point,” he said. “Might as well go all in.”

Although they weren’t happy about it, neither one of them made any more arguments before they stacked up behind Woods. He smirked, letting out a rough chuckle. “All right…on me.”

As Woods turned the door handle and slipped out into the night, Alex made sure to follow close behind, handgun at the ready, Bowman right behind him, while Adler took up the rear. They filed back into the streets, everything a hazy blue as the sun started to rise. The distant wail of a siren had them all slipping into the nearest alleyway, hiding in the shadows until the car passed by, and a group of soldiers on foot marched by across the street. They waited for about a minute before Woods peered around the corner and motioned for them to follow. Alex wasn’t sure he was breathing properly as they made their way through the streets, weaving between parked cars and alleyways, dodging the odd patrol every step of the way. It wasn’t long before they turned down the alleyway where they’d left the car.

Unfortunately for them, the militia and police had found it first.

“Fuck me…” Woods muttered. Before any of them could spitball a plan, he took matters into his own hands. Pumping the shotgun, he marched towards the pair of soldiers and the police officers snooping around the car. “¡Oye! ¿Qué coño estás haciendo con mi coche?”

The group turned, one soldier readying his rifle. “Hey, hey, baja tu arma!”

Instead of actually shooting the guy, he caught him off guard by dropping the shotgun and marching straight up and punching him, then he shoved him back against the car with a thud and quickly wrestled the rifle out of his hands. Alex jumped into action without a second thought, pointing his pistol and firing at the soldier closest to Woods. Adler and Bowman rushed the other soldier and the two police officers. Woods finally got the rifle free and reached for his handgun, planting a shot in his head before he shoved the body off of the door. Bowman got one of the militia soldiers with his knife, and Adler made a few shots to the police officer’s chest with his pistol before he reached for the rifle he dropped.

The last of the officers looked about Alex and Bowman’s age. Upon realizing he didn’t have a weapon on him (what kind of a cop didn’t keep a weapon on him?), he started running down the opposite alley, starting to shout something in Spanish. Alex snagged one of the soldier’s weapons and readied the shot, but Adler beat him to the punch. There were four quick snaps like thunder, the sound of impact on the dirt, a grunt as one bullet his his leg, and a dull thump as the third and fourth shots landed along his spine and he fell forward without another sound. One of them must have gone through and hit something vital, because he didn’t get back up.

The radios the five Cubans had on them all crackled to life, various transmissions coming through. Woods grabbed one of them and turned up the volume before he chucked it down the alley, and shouting along the neighboring streets told them they had kicked a hornet’s nest. Woods threw a glance over his shoulder, then rounded on the car, pointing at Alex and Bowman. “Gear up, boys. We’re gonna have to fight our way outta here.”

With his way of doing things that much was obvious. Alex had to admit, it got his adrenaline going and his blood boiling. It was exciting…in a terrifying kind of way. They kicked the bodies out of the way, threw the extra weapons in the back seat after they all grabbed what they wanted from the trunk, and they practically leapt into the car. Alex climbed into the driver’s seat and cranked the car, just as a band of militia men reached the edge of the alley.

“Oh, shit,” Alex managed to mutter. Something about potentially adding more people to an already growing body count was enough to make him fumble a bit as he tried to figure out how to get out of this alley. “Uh…”

“Hit it, Mason!” Woods shouted, and it was enough to snap him out of his thoughts. “Go!”

The order and the abrupt gunfire snapped Alex to attention, and he swallowed down any hesitancy he had as he threw the car into reverse, glancing behind him as he slammed his foot on the gas. A few of the soldiers jumped out of the way. He spun the car around, crashing into some crates before he shifted to drive and once again slammed on the gas, yanking the wheel all the way around. He could hear the tires screech as the car lurched around and then forward, literally crashing past one of the police cruisers parked at the edge of the alley. He could hear muffled shouting outside of the car, but he wasn’t giving himself a chance to think anymore. As they zipped down the street, the officers and militia soldiers recovered from their confusion and shell shock enough to start shooting. Bullets were flying in either direction, but all Alex could do was duck and keep driving.

“Fucking goddammit!” Woods spat as he ducked as well.

“Going loud was your idea, Woods!” Adler reminded him over the sounds of gunfire and breaking glass.

The windshield and windows spider-webbed until they burst, sending shards of glass flying. Alex could only see Woods, who sunk low into his seat and kicked out the remainder of the windshield, taking the chance to fire back as the car swerved through the streets. Adler and Bowman worked together to knock the rear windshield out to cover their retreat. Alex straightened up in his seat, just in time to see a barricade that had been thrown up. Several cruisers, armed police and soldiers, and what looked like barbed wired fences…and they didn’t have anywhere to go but through it. Woods shouted over the gunfire, “Shit! Roadblock!”

“I see it!” Alex shouted back. “Heads down and strap in, this is gonna be bumpy!”

Although he felt like he was going to puke, he slammed his foot on the gas and gunned it towards the roadblock. Like a game of chicken, the men on foot held their ground until it was obvious he wasn’t going to stop, then a few of them dove out of the way at the last second. Most of them didn’t have a chance though. He crashed through the cars, the wood, and the men, flinching a bit as they rolled over the car and the other vehicles ignited in the crash. The fact their car hadn’t blown up yet was a miracle. Just as they made it through the first blockade, they crashed through another, and in the blink of an eye they were home free. Just like that. Their escape was over.

As Alex’s nerves dissipated, he broke out in a grin and let out a shaky laugh as he looked around the car. The other three stared at him, all shaken, but eventually they cracked. The car was filled with hysterical laughter, complete with a friendly shake from Woods as they all celebrated still being alive. Even if this was just step one in their mission, Alex figured they should go ahead and count their blessings. Laughing, cheering, and whooping filled the car as their car sputtered along, practically limping as they made the drive for the plantation.

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The car crapped out about ten miles from the compound, which meant they had to make the rest of the trip on foot.

They stocked up on ammunition, grenades, and cigarettes (in Adler and Woods’ case—“If shit goes south and we end up in front of a firing squad I wanna make sure I get my last smoke,” was what Woods had said to justify it) before setting off along the dirt road that would eventually lead them to the edge of the plantation. They were lucky they ditched their police escort not long after they slammed through that barricade, otherwise they’d be stuck trying to shake them off their trail the whole way, and at this point they couldn’t afford anymore hiccups.

By now, though, everyone was focused on the main operation. While they were trudging through the undergrowth, the CIA was launching their attack on a beach on the opposite side of the country…that attack was half of their cover. Once Carlos did his part, there would be enough chaos and confusion for their team to slip by unnoticed. They had a short window of time before Castro would no doubt be evacuated, which was why the timing had to be just right. It was also why hoofing it the rest of the way through the jungle wasn’t exactly an ideal situation. They’d be cutting it close, but something told Alex that Woods was all right with that.

After about twenty minutes they, they reached the top of a ridge overlooking the sugar plantation. The hill itself dipped down into a deep ditch with a rather abrupt drop, cut through by a rock studded creek, and on the other end of that was a shorter slope that rose to the edge of the wall that enclosed the property. Apparently the militia that had taken it over had already set up outposts on the exterior. They’d set up sandbags and crates, and left two guards posted, guarding a flimsy pair of zip lines that stretched across the ditch and into the courtyard.

Alex and Woods rushed them both before Bowman and Adler could jump into action. Alex cupped a hand over the mouth of one of them with his right arm, then he wrapped his left arm across his neck into a chokehold and wrestled him backwards, both of them hitting the ground with a thud that knocked the breath out of them, but Alex kept a stiff hold on the Cuban soldier. The man clawed uselessly at Alex’s arms, but the more he exerted himself trying to get free, the tighter Alex held onto him, and the harder it was for him to get any oxygen. He went limp and Alex exhaled before a quick jerking motion snapped the man’s neck. The dead weight settled on his chest and he harshly shoved the body away. Woods had similar success, only he’d bludgeoned his target from the back of the head before he’d seized it and twisted.

He pushed himself up from the dirt, swinging his gun back over his shoulder after it had been jostled out of place during the scuffle. He took a breath and dusted himself off, taking in their new surroundings. No doubt, they were in the right place.

From here they could see over the back corner of the property…most of the buildings were mills. But across this slope and up another, towards the center of the property, was a stately villa where Castro was nice and comfortable. From here it was hidden by trees. But Woods quickly pulled the crudely drawn map from his pocket and swung his own weapon out of the way, laying it out on the improvised desk the guards had apparently made from a busted crate.

“Okay, there’s the compound…we’re right here,” Woods said, tapping the farthest corner of the property on Carlos’ map. “And we need to get here. And the airfield is over here, where our ride out’ll be waiting.” He tapped each area before he folded it haphazardly and shoved it back into his pocket. He straightened up, rolling his shoulder and popping it with a satisfied grunt. “Piece of cake.”

“So what’s the plan?” Bowman asked as he stepped up beside him. “How are we gettin’ down there?”

Woods glanced at him, then stepped towards one of the zip lines. Adler, who had been peeking over the edge of the hill looked up as Woods stepped up to test the line, tugging on it while the metal groaned. He stepped back, surveying it. All of them stared at him with matching looks of disbelief. Alex tried to blink away his shock, but his poker face wasn’t that good yet. Woods seemed wholly unbothered by the precarious set up they had here. “I dunno…” he said, glancing around. “Think it’ll hold?”

No one answered right away, until Adler finished his inspection. “We’ll find out,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t see another way down, unless any of you want to break an ankle.”

“Y’know, these things were probably made to send supplies down, right?” Bowman said. “Not four grown-ass men.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” Alex said. “We’re just gonna have to make do.”

“That’s what they pay us for,” Woods said. He pulled a clip from his vest, nodding towards the line. “Get ready to hook up. Carlos and his men should be hittin’ the airfield any minute now. Mason, behind me. Bowman, Adler, you take the other one.” He stepped back up, towards the base of the line, filling them in on their plan as they went. “We’re gonna dive into that courtyard and use the chaos at the airfield for cover. We get in, we get to the villa, kill Castro, and we get out. Simple as that.”

“And any hiccups along the way?” Adler asked him as he lined up behind Bowman on the opposite zip line.

Woods opened his mouth to reply, but Alex answered for him. “Then we deal with it. Right?”

Woods looked at him, then back to Adler, jerking his head towards Alex. “What Mason said.”

Bowman stepped up, hooking his clip to the line. “This all seems excessive,” he muttered. “Y’sure we can’t just slide down on foot and…climb back up or somethin’?”

“We need to hit ‘em fast. That ain’t fast,” Woods replied.

Alex didn’t like the plan anymore than Bowman did. All of them were pushing 200 pounds, most of it muscle, and the lines didn’t look the sturdiest. But the ditch below was too steep and rocky for them to get down and back up, at least not easily. So hooking up and praying the line held was about the only thing they could do.

Before they could argue about it anymore, there was a distant explosion followed by the sound of soldiers shouting and birds scattering from the nearby trees. At almost the exact same time, a flare shot up into the sky, whizzing and crackling as it peaked and began to die out.

“There’s the signal,” Adler said, stepping forward as Bowman hopped onto the zip line’s anchor point. The faint sound of a siren filled the air. “They know they’ve got visitors.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t know about us,” Woods said. Then he let out a low chuckle. “Yet.”

Alex glanced over at Adler and Bowman and both of them just shook their heads. Woods was a hell of a soldier, but as far as strategy went…fast and loud was about the only thing you were going to get from him, as their bar fight and car chase had proven. He was just lucky they had the element of surprise on their hands. There were plenty of distractions, from the main invasion to this attack on the airfield, which meant they could go right in through the backdoor and Castro’s lackeys would be none the wiser. It wasn’t exactly a fool-proof plan, but it was good enough for them. It wasn’t like Alex could have come up with anything better.

Woods and Bowman pushed off the ridge first, Alex and Adler close behind them. It was a short trip, so fast that Alex didn’t even have time to look down and see just how bad the drop would actually be. The wire let out a metallic groan under the weight, but it was otherwise steady as the four of them made their descent into the courtyard below. The foliage and rocks around them zipped by in a gray-green blur in his peripheral vision and the four of them barely cleared the courtyard wall before they let go, having a split second to time their drop.

Alex let go of the clip he’d hooked to the wire, stumbling forward when he hit the dirt. Woods and Adler hit the ground running, colliding with two of the three guards that were lingering around the courtyard. They were speaking rapid fire into one of the radios strapped to their vests, likely trying to figure out what was going on, but with the sound of the wire and the thud of four men hitting the dirt they whirled around. Woods and Adler barreled into the two guards closest to them and tackled them into the dirt, while Bowman let go and knocked into the third guard’s chest feet-first.

In a few seconds all three guards were laying dead in the grass, blood spattered around them.

Alex straightened up, reaching for his gun. “Looks like we’re clear.”

“All right. Good,” Woods said. He straightened up, readying his own gun. “Keep it tight. We’ll clear out this building, get the lay of the land.”

Woods led the way, jogging up the steps of the loading dock and into the warehouse, Alex, Adler, and Bowman not far behind him. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what this place looked like when it wasn’t being forcefully occupied, but he imagined there were more crates with bags of sugar and less filled with guns, ammunition, and alcohol. Carlos claimed the mill itself was still operational—given that sugar was the backbone of Cuba’s economy—but this particular farm was primarily a front for the military, giving Castro somewhere to lay low whenever he needed. And boy, did he need it now.

As they rounded the corner they found a soldier hunched over a radio, talking back and forth. Alex didn’t have to understand Spanish to figure out from the urgency in the voices of him and his companions that they were talking about the attack on the airfield. Without a word, Woods crept ahead, pulling a garrote from his pocket before he lunged up and wrapped it around the soldier’s throat. He pulled it taut and with as much force as possible. The soldier thrashed in surprise, letting out a startled choking sound as he tried to kick himself free, instead only succeeding in sending the chair he’d been standing beside flying while he tried to dig the wire away. Eventually he went limp, and Woods released the wire, letting the soldier’s body hit the stone floor with a muted thud. While Woods fiddled with the volume and frequency knobs on the radio, Bowman and Adler posted up on either side of the door out and Alex shuffled to the other side of the table, peering out the window as a group of soldiers ran up the hill from a neighboring building.

“Perfect,” Woods said, cutting the radio off. “Sounds like they’re all focused on the airfield.”

“What’s the strategy?” Bowman said, glancing out the other window before he returned to his position by the door. “‘Cause that’s a lotta heat if we go loud.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll lay low and let ‘em pass,” Woods said, moving up to stand beside Adler on the other side of the door. Alex moved behind him. “The attack on the airfield already has alarm bells goin’ off, I don’t wanna spook ‘em even more and give Castro a chance to run.” They waited a few minutes for the shouting of the men to fade out, then he tapped Adler on the shoulder. “All right, let’s go.”

Adler opened the door, slowly and carefully, easing outside and keeping low. The rest of them fell in behind him. Once they were sure they were clear they moved across the dirt road, heading up the hill the soldiers had raced up. They kept to the side, along of the walls of the buildings until they came to a large shed where a handful of soldiers were gathered around a truck. Two stood on the truck handing out additional guns, three waited beside the truck, and two were headed for a steep set of concrete stairs.

They paused, out of sight on the edge of another warehouse, and each one of them picked a target. Alex picked the soldier at the top of the stairs, thinking back to his time hunting elk with his father in Alaska. People were a lot more unpredictable when it came to how they’d react to an attack compared to elk, but one principle still applied: the rest were going to scatter as soon as one of them went down. How they’d scatter was a different story, since they could either bolt to alert whoever was waiting up the hill at the main villa or rally and shoot back. Both meant bad news, but the latter was easier to deal with.

Alex led his target until he stopped walking, turning around to shout something at the soldier at the base of the stairs, then he aimed the crosshairs of his sight at the man’s chest, slowly resting the pad of his finger on the trigger. The soldier must have spotted him, and once again the memory of a dozen hunting trips settled in the back of Alex’s mind. He froze and locked eyes, realization setting in. The exact second he opened his mouth, Alex pulled the trigger, and the rest of the team followed suit. He heard the dull pop of four muted shots and the faint sound of the bullets zipping through the air towards their targets, and Alex, Woods, and Adler dropped the remaining three as they spun around to shoot back. The two on the truck leapt off, snatching up two of the weapons they were handing out, but by the time they hit the ground they were dead.

“All right, let’s go. Up the stairs,” Woods said without missing a beat, springing up and breaking into a jog.

As they raced for the stairs, the distant sound of rapid gunfire could be heard from the direction of the airfield.

“Sounds like Carlos is keeping busy,” Alex said through a pant as he followed Woods up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. It was a steep run for anyone.

“And with any luck that’ll keep Castro’s pals busy, too,” Woods said over his shoulder. Alex could tell from his tone and the pace he was keeping that he was chomping at the bit to get the mission done. “C’mon. We’ve got about five minutes before the Air Force starts their bombing run.”

They kept their pace up the stairs and past more buildings, some of which were deserted while others had unarmed civilians trying to keep their heads down and work in spite of the obvious attack happening down by the airfield. Alex suspected they usually had armed supervisors, but everyone seemed to have left their post to go and aid their allies against Carlos and his men. As they took a shortcut through one of the active mills, the workers sorting through some stage or another of processing the sugar from the looks of things, Woods shouted something at them in Spanish that had some diving out of the way and others running back the way their team had come from. Some of them went for other buildings, and whether they were going to find a soldier to alert or if they were running to pass the word along to their fellow workers in other areas didn’t seem to matter to Woods. And it didn’t matter to Alex, either. They didn’t ask to be there, they were just civilians doing their job, and it was better to give as many of them as possible a chance to run now that no one was forcing them to ignore the mess around them and keep working.

At the top of the hill was the two-story villa that had been taken up as the headquarters of the soldiers occupying at the plantation. Pale sandstone, topped with red, barreled tile roofing, wrapped around a courtyard and surrounded by wilting flower beds and thriving trees. Smoke rose up into the sky on the other side of the villa, drifting over the roof, marring what would have been a nice view in any other context. The side entrance was less attractive than the front and back entrances likely were, with a small driveway and several military trucks parked outside of it, but it was no less grand with a set of double doors atop another steep set of stairs and a long patio at the top. That was their point of entry.

They fell in single line and raced up the stairs. Woods wasted no time kicking in the door as soon as they reached the top, rifle at the ready. They were met by a large, empty kitchen and complete silence inside the house. Alex, Adler, and Bowman all crept inside after Woods, venturing further inside. Woods led the way out of the kitchen and into the hall, checking the corner to the right while Alex checked left. The wood in the hall groaned slightly as they stepped into the hall, feeling deafening in the quiet of the house. Faintly Alex could hear voices talking in Spanish, likely inside the house, and the dulled sound of the ongoing attack on the airfield.

When Woods finally spoke again his voice was barely above a whisper. “Adler, Bowman, search down here,” he said. “Mason and I’ll head upstairs. When you clear this side of the house, head across that courtyard. We’re gonna search this place room to room until we find Castro.”

“Copy that,” Adler said, quickly turning down the hall. “Bowman, let’s go.”

“We’ll see y’all on the other side, then.” Bowman followed Adler, lightly punching Alex on the shoulder as he passed him. “Stay frosty.”

“Yeah, you too,” Alex said with a nod. He gave him his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Good hunting.”

“All right, let’s get after it,” Woods said roughly. “Mason, on me.”

The two of them headed off in the opposite direction, reaching a dead end and yet another set of stairs. As quickly and quietly as possible they headed up stairs, walking shoulder-to-shoulder. Woods aimed down one side and Alex opposite of him as they reached the top, stepping out into the upstairs hallway. From there, they began to check each room, carefully opening each door. The odd soldier was promptly dropped before they could sound the alarm.

They were reaching the last set of doors when an explosion sounded nearby and the entire building shook, knocking Alex and Woods off balance. The overhead lights shook and swayed as another explosion hit.

“Shit,” Woods muttered.

“That’ll be the flyboys,” Adler’s hushed voice came over the radio attached to their vests. “Good thing we’re almost done down here.”

“Carlos should have the frequency they’re on. See if you can get in touch with him,” Woods muttered into the radio. “We’ll be done in five.” He shook his head, and to Alex he said, “We better get to him in time. CIA’s been tryin’ to nail Castro for years. He’s paranoid. But the lack of soldiers he’s got posted around this place…I dunno, does somethin’ feel off to you?”

“Do you think he’s gotten cocky?” Alex asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe…” Woods cut himself off, shaking his head. “Forget about it. War room’s just up ahead.”

There was another set of double doors, frantic shouting coming from the other side. Woods stopped outside, one hand rested on the door knob. “Stack up.”

“On you,” Alex said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

A second later Woods kicked the door open and the two of them burst through the doorway, catching the group of officers inside off guard. They were all packing up papers from the looks of things, no doubt planning to make a quick escape, but at the disturbance they all spun to face the doors, startled by the intrusion for just a second before they reached for their sidearms. Alex took aim and shot one, Woods another, and a third soldier dove for a rifle sitting in one of the plush chairs by the fireplace. Alex was faster. He reached for the gun, his fingers barely brushing the strap before a bullet struck the man through the head and his body hit the ground with a thump.

Quickly the two of them closed in and checked the bodies. None of them were Castro.

“One room left,” Woods said, voice low. He reached for the radio on his vest, tilting his head towards it. “Adler, Bowman. War room’s empty. We’re moving on.”

“Nothing on our end either. We’re moving across the courtyard now,” came Adler’s response.

The sound of something in the other room drew both Alex and Woods’ attention to the last set of doors and they exchanged a look before quietly closing on the door. Woods quickly said. “We’ve got movement inside. Stand by.” He took point again, pausing outside the door. Something hit the ground and it sounded like there were voices. “This is it, Mason…you ready to make history?”

“Damn straight,” Alex said, feeling his heart rate pick up. “Let’s do it.”

The two made entry into the room, the door swinging open to reveal Castro arguing with a woman, a suitcase between them. As soon as the door opened, Castro grabbed a pistol from his holster with one hand and used his free arm to wrap it around the woman’s neck, dragging her in front of them. Unfortunately for him, Alex was a good shot. The crosshairs were in line with his head, and Alex pulled the trigger. The bullet zipped through the air before Castro had a chance to take the shot, hitting the mark right between his eyes. He fell backwards, limp body pulling the woman to the floor with him.

She screamed, the shrill sound something between a shout of disgust and fear and one of rage. Blood spattered onto her, staining the short, white sundress she was wearing and she seemed momentarily in a state of shock. She recovered quickly though, scrambling for something under the bed. The next thing they knew she had pulled a gun from under the bed, staggering to her feet and screaming something at them as she spun around.

“Hey, woah, woah!” Alex held out a hand, trying to de-escalate. “We’re not here to hurt you!”

“Drop the gun!” Woods raised his own rifle, taking a step forward. “Drop the—fuck…sue…¡Suelta el arma!”

The woman took a step back, frantically looking between the two of them. She muttered something, then gritted her teeth and pulled the trigger, popping off a few rapid fire shots before her gun jammed. Alex ducked and rolled, but Woods was too slow to react. Fortunately, it only grazed him. He didn’t wince until he noticed the fast growing red line through the torn sleeve. Before she could take aim and fire again, Alex had already straightened up and fired his own set of shots, one of which struck her neck. A few seconds later she dropped to the floor beside Castro’s body, leaving Alex to stare at them both, feeling like there was a knot in his throat.

“Son of a bitch!” Woods spat. He gestured with his weapon towards the bodies. “He uses her as a human shield and she still protects him?!”

Alex got to his feet, feeling his knees buckle as he stood, hands a little shaky as he dropped his gun to his side. “They…did say Castro’s supporters were fanatical in their devotion to him. I didn’t think they were that crazy, though,” he said, but he could barely process the words coming out of his own mouth. He shook it off, turning back to Woods. “Are you good?”

“I’ll be fine, it just burns like hell,” Woods said through gritted teeth. He brushed it off though, turning back towards the war room. “Confirm the kill. I’m going to see if there’s any papers in here worth taking, then we’re getting the hell out of dodge.”

Alex nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he said, approaching their bodies. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to be looking for, but he let his gun hang at his side as he knelt beside them both. It looked like Castro. And he was sure they were both dead. But as he got a closer look, through the blood, something looked off about the beard. It looked like it was peeling off his face, close to the edge of his sideburns. He furrowed his brow, reaching out and tugging at the edge of it. It separated with some resistance, the heat and the blood likely helping it along. “Shit.” His shell-shock from the woman’s death came to an abrupt halt, replaced instead by frustration. He slammed his fist against the wooden footboard before he called out, “Woods, we’ve got a problem.”

“We might have more than one,” Woods called back. “What’ve you got?”

“It’s not Castro,” Alex replied.

“The hell d’ya mean it’s not Castro?” Woods asked.

“It’s a body double,” Alex said, getting to his feet. He marched towards Woods, blood spattered fake beard in his hands. He held it up for Woods to see before dropping it to the ground, not keen on holding it for much longer. He reached for his own radio. “Adler, Bowman, did you find anything?”

“Not a damn thing,” Bowman replied, voice crackling through the speaker. “We heard gunfire coming from your side, though. Y’all okay?”

“We just shot a fucking decoy,” Alex replied, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. “Castro isn’t here.”

Adler started to say something, but another pair of explosions went off and the building shook again, cutting him off. All Alex heard was the two of them swearing over the radio before the sound of the explosion drowned them out like static. Once things settled, Adler said, “Well, the Air Force can’t circle around anymore and Carlos’ men are outnumbered down by the airfield. If we plan on getting out of here alive we need to go now.”

“We’re on our way,” Alex said. He grabbed his rifle again, turning to where Woods was still shuffling through papers. “Woods.”

“Yeah, yeah, just gimme a second,” Woods said. “None of this crap makes any sense. This name keeps repeating, seems like it’s some kind of a codename. ‘Perseus.’” He handed one of the papers to Alex, but he could only read the bits that weren’t in Spanish, giving it a once-over. “Who the fuck is Persues?”

“Could it be a weapon?” Alex asked him.

“Nah, it sounds like a person,” Woods said. Another explosion rocked the villa. He snatched the paper back, shoving it into his pocket as he swung his own rifle back around. “Forget it, we’ll worry about that later. C’mon.”

Alex took off sprinting after Woods, the two of them cutting back through the bedroom and onto the balcony that went across to the other side. He kicked the door in and the two of them exited to find a chunk of the house missing and the exposed wood rapidly going up in flames. Bowman charged out of one of the rooms, locked in a fight with a Cuban soldier, slamming the man against the railing before he threw him over it. Adler was further down the hall, stabbing a knife through another soldier’s neck before he shot him for good measure.

Without a word, the four of them took off for what remained of the stairs, jumping over burning debris and vaulting over the ruins of the wall. As they sprinted across the property they stumbled through some of the craters left behind, weaving between mangled vehicles that from the looks of things hadn’t even been occupied. Meanwhile they could see smoke rising from the airfield, just beyond the sugarcane fields. They kept running, through the archway at the end of the road, until Alex’s lungs were burning and he was certain the only thing keeping him upright at this point was adrenaline.

The four stumbled into the fields, trying to cut a path of least resistance and to keep clear of the roads. Eventually they cleared the fields, coming to a steep drop behind the airfield. Down below were a row of hangars, some of them no longer recognizable. Overhead, the air force’s B-26 Marauders flew by overhead for one final pass, dropping the last of their payload on the remains of the farm behind them. Even on the opposite end of the field they could feel the impact. As quickly as they came they disappeared, climbing into the clouds overhead, the buzz of the propellers drowned out by the chaos below.

“All right, we need to get down there fast,” Woods said. “Hook up.”

Quickly, the four of them set anchor points into the ground, preparing to fast-rope down the slope. They were lucky they were all wearing gloves. One by one they grabbed onto the ropes and dropped down, more using the rope to keep themselves steady as they ran down the slope. Woods, Bowman, and Adler hit the dirt first, dropping their ropes and racing towards the nearest hangar. Alex was just a second behind when he felt the tension on the rope vanish, and suddenly there was nothing keeping him upright. He stumbled, twisting his leg as he landed. He felt something pop in his knee, heard a loud crunch, and he hit the dirt and slid.

“Shit!” He heard Woods curse behind him. A second later he hauled him to his feet. “The fuck just happened, Mason?”

“The anchor came undone,” Alex said, trying to apply his weight and stand normally. “Twisted my leg when I hit the dirt…” He’d done enough sports and had enough accidents to roughly figure out what happened. “I think I tore my damn ACL.”

“You good to walk?” Adler asked him from where he was braced against the hangar door, peering out at the chaos unfolding nearby.

“I’m gonna have to be,” Alex said. Red-hot pain started in his knee, shooting through the rest of his leg as he forced himself into an awkward jog. He didn’t have a choice. Thankfully, the pain was still dull. “Let’s go.”

Although they gave him skeptical, concerned looks, none of them argued. The four of them resumed their run across the airfield, dodging grenades and bullets in every direction, trying to head for the hangar where Carlos’ plane was supposed to waiting for them. Every step threatened to send him into the dirt, but Alex knew if he stopped moving then he was dead. For a while he was able to keep pace with them, but just as they were past the halfway mark to the hangar he started to slow, more dragging the leg than putting pressure on it. A grenade went off behind him, debris scattering over him while the shockwave sent him to the dirt. His entire body ached and his ears were ringing as he landed on his knees, struggling to push himself upright again. Woods and Adler raced back and pulled him back to his feet, hurriedly throwing his arms over their necks to carry him the rest of the way.

They reached the hangar where Carlos stood with a gun, waving them over. “Hurry!” he shouted, and it sounded like his voice was hoarse. “You have to leave, now!”

They sprinted across the hangar, ducking under the propellers of the plane. Bowman jumped in first, followed by Carlos, then Adler, then Woods, who turned back around to help Alex climb into the open door. The plane started to taxi out of the hangar before his feet were even off the ground.

He sucked in sharp, deep breaths, trying to fight off the pain as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Gimme a gun,” he said, and Bowman grabbed a heavy machine gun from the precious few crates of weapons and ammunition that was likely part of a shipment for the Cuban military. But it was theirs now.

He braced himself against the door, bullets pinging off the metal body of the aircraft as they exited the hangar, and he started shooting at anything that moved. They were practically surrounded by now, most of Carlos’ forces either dead or retreating. The plane bumped and jostled over the now partially totaled taxiway, turning onto the runway as more vehicles started to close in. Alex kept shooting, aiming at soldiers, vehicles, even the watchtower as they passed by it.

Then Carlos’ voice came over the chaos. “Woods! There’s vehicles blocking the runway!” he said, voice straining over the gunfire and the sound of the engine. “There is not enough room for takeoff!”

Alex heard what sounded like Woods’ fist slamming into the nearest cabin wall, then he spotted a ZPU sitting off to the side of the runway. An idea hit him. “I’ll deal with it!” he shouted back, tossing the machine gun to the side.

“Mason?!” Woods shouted back. “The fuck are you doing?!”

He wasn’t really thinking. All he knew was that there was a problem and he found a solution. If the rest of them got out okay then he didn’t care. He jumped from the plane, his good leg taking the brunt of the impact as he fell to his knees. Pushing himself back up again he ran as best he could until he reached the ZPU, bracing himself against it for just a second as his injured knee buckled. He was sweating bullets, his ears were ringing, his muscles were aching, and his knee was throbbing so hard all he could see was a white haze with every step. He pulled himself into the seat, spinning the anti-aircraft gun around and aiming for the vehicles closing in at the edge of the runway.

He figured out the mechanics pretty quick, only having a few seconds, and he just started firing, bringing the gun around until he’d cleared the line. Then he released the gun, relaxing in the seat as he reached for his radio. “Runway’s clear.”

“Mason, goddamn you!” Woods’ already rough shout was made worse by the interference over the radio. “I oughta fucking throttle you!”

“Didn’t see another choice, Woods. This is what I signed up for,” Alex panted out. He would have been lying if he said dying wasn’t a terrifying thought. But if giving his friends a fighting chance and serving his country was the way he went out then that was good enough for him. He swallowed his fears, forcing himself to his feet as the plane lifted off the runway. “I’ll be fine, just go! Get out of here!”

That was all he remembered before someone grabbed him from behind and he was slammed into the ground, staring up at the sky, the breath knocked out of him. He had only a second to try and reach for his knife before the butt of a rifle was slammed into his face and everything went dark.

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When Alex finally came to he was overwhelmed by the unmistakable sound of a busy harbor. He slowly opened his eyes, his leg and now his head throbbing. He tried to move, but his hands were bound and rope burned his wrists as he tried to maneuver them. A second later, nausea and dizziness overwhelmed him as he was once again grabbed from behind, pulled up to his knees. He let his head hang, unable to move through the pain and the overwhelming nausea…the sunlight hitting him full force didn’t help it any, and he gritted his teeth as fingers dug into his scalp and yanked his head upright.

He was met by the sight of a large boat, adorned with a Russian name. His Russian was rusty, but he could get a rough idea of what it was. Rusalka. Two men stared down at him, both in boots and cargo pants. They circled him like vultures, beady eyes locked with his. The shorter, stockier of the two—with slicked back hair and square, stout features—broke out in a sneer. “So…you’re the one they sent,” he asked, each word spoken through a thick, decidedly Russian accent. His hulking, buzz-cut companion stood with his face in a scowl and his arms crossed, not saying a word. “You barely look old enough to hold a gun.”

“You…you’re a long way from home,” Alex managed to retort, not about to dignify them with another response.

“So are you, Amerikanskiy,” the man responded, his expression faltering. Dark, beady eyes flicked up to whoever was holding Alex up for him.

“The President says he is yours to do with as you wish. He said to consider him a gift,” the voice of the man holding him upright—likely an MP sent as a messenger—joined the conversation. Alex couldn’t move his head back to get a look at him, but he wasn’t anyone important. “In honor of our countries’ new relationship.” His voice took on a new tone as he added, “Just see to it that he suffers for his crimes.”

“Oh, I will see to that personally,” the Russian man said, stalking closer to Alex. “He will know suffering beyond his darkest fears.” His tone shifted to an almost sinister one as he crouched down to Alex’s level, leaning in close. “I have plans for you, Amerkanskiy.”

Somehow, Alex found the strength to fight back. He struggled, tearing his head free from the Cuban soldier, lunging forward to headbutt the Russian. He heard a dull pop as he collided with the Russian’s nose and the man shot upright. He knew it was pointless, but if he went down, he wasn’t going down easy. Not without a fight. It wasn’t how he was raised. His captor spat out a string of curses in Russian, wiping blood from his nose as he glared down at Alex.

As the bigger of the two Russians—the scowling one—stepped forward, giant hand clenched in a fist, the stockier one held a hand out to stop him. He reached for his own handgun, and the next thing Alex felt was searing pain as the pistol slammed into his face.

#morning reblog #call of duty #black ops #call of duty black ops #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod black ops #alex mason #frank woods #russell adler #joseph bowman

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