Phantom Squad
Page 9
Chapter 9
Brent remembered passing a small abandoned cave about one hundred yards back from the stream. There was no way he was going to continue to move forward into uncharted territory with the rains, so he doubled back and made his way to the cave.
Four hours later, the rains stopped. By then it was late afternoon and even though the sun had begun its descent, the temperature had not. The thermostat on Brent’s watch read ninety one degrees and the increased moisture from all the rain increased the humidity to ninety nine percent. Together, they formed the equivalent of one hundred and eleven degrees. As much as he didn’t want to delay, he knew he had no choice but to wait until late at night or early morning before making his way back toward the field.
As darkness engulfed the mountain, a new text alert range out.
The chance of landslides has escalated with the new rains. Movement will be slow and treacherous. Like any other mission, this doesn’t change the objective or the extraction point. Just a note of caution.
Brent smiled and watched the screen for further messages. Within minutes, both Jefferson and Fitzpatrick both sent affirmative texts in response.
That wasn’t just a warning, Brent thought, it was also a way of pinpointing our locations. Seven’s going to have to try harder than that if he wants to beat me at his own game.
Brent woke up at o-four hundred hours on the dot. Years of military training had given him a sixth sense of sorts. He could wake up at a designated time without the aid of an alarm. A talent that had served him well during his Special Forces missions.
He tied the handkerchief around his face and started his descent once again. The added rain made the trek a bit slower and more hazardous. By the time he reached the outskirts of the field, his eyes were watering from the odor. Brent pulled out the ear plugs and shoved one in each nostril as deep as he could. The tears began to subside.
Three hours later, Brent was on his hands and knees dry heaving on the other side of the skunk grass field. If it hadn’t been for the improvised nose plugs and the moss filled bandana he never would have made it.
As a cold sweat poured from his brow, he thought of Seven’s warning.
If you cross the field, you will suffer stomach cramping so bad you will pull out your flair gun and . . .
Brent wiped his mouth with his sleeve. I think I might have chosen the quick relief and put the barrel of the pistol in my mouth.
An hour later, hydrated and fed, Brent continued with the mission. By his estimate, he had a day at the most before he reached the base of the mountain and the extraction point.