Patriot X: Insurrection

By Seth Sjsotrom

Cities around the globe are on fire. Civil unrest becomes increasingly violent as anarchy and hate are propelled by an unknown agent. Patriot X and his team of rogue military operators are called upon to quell the violence, rescue innocents and learn who is fanning the destructive flames worldwide.

Handcuffed by politics and stymied to se

• Language: English
• Publisher: wolfprintMedia
• Release date: Feb 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737530015

Book preview

X

Patriot

Insurrection

Seth Sjostrom

wolfprintMedia

wolfprint, LLC

P.O. Box 801 Camas, WA, 98607

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2022 by Seth Sjostrom

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion of the book in any form whatsoever.

For information, contact wolfprintMedia, LLC.

Digital Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1-7375300-1-5

1. Chris Masters (Fictitious character)-Fiction. 2. Thriller- Fiction. 3. Patriot X Series-Fiction I. Title. Patriot X: Insurrection

First wolfprintMedia edition 2021

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For information regarding bulk purchases, please contact wolfprintMedia, LLC at [e-mail].

United States of America

Acknowledgments

For every man or woman who has served our country in the U.S. military and their families who pine for their safe return after every mission.

For all who stand for the greatest country in the world, with all her flaws striving for peace, liberty, freedom and justice for all.

God bless the U.S.A.

for Hayden

For Hayden

Insurrection

X

Patriot

X

One

G

unnery Sergeant James Grady enjoyed the freefall of nighttime HALO jumps. The high-altitude leap into the night sky provided surreal moments of peace as the earth rocketed into view. Up near 30,000 feet above the surface, there was no fighting. There was no anger. Just space. And peace.

Eyeing his altimeter, Grady’s 27,000-foot joy ride slammed to a halt as he pulled his chute. Carefully watching his vector, he wrestled the cords to direct his descent above the remote facility in northwestern Iran.

As he landed and collected his gear, the Gunnery Sergeant nodded to the rest of his team as they touched down, a few of them more graceful than the others. Staff Sergeant Dodson landed nearly as smooth as Grady, while Corporals Ramos and Zalinsky added drama to their arrivals. Ramos slipped on his heels causing his chute to drag him a dozen feet on his rump before settling down. Zalinksy nearly landed his, hitting with solid footing, only to stumble forward, his feet running in place as he tried to maintain composure before ultimately landing face-first in the sand.

Behind them, a young Marine dropped in smoothly, lighting on the earth like a bird, detaching from his chute before it had time to collapse to the ground itself.

Staff Sergeant Dobson admired the landing, Lance Corporal Diggs, please help Zalinsky and Ramos up. Remind them that a Raider lands on their feet.

Zalinsky was cross, "I did land on my feet. And then again and again. That should count for something."

Ignoring him, Dobson called into his mic, Command, this is one. Ghost is on the ground.

Copy that one. Satellite doesn’t show any surprises. Keep it stealthy and get out of there, Lieutenant Colonel Lippett called through the radio.

Dobson looked at the team as they gathered and stowed their gear. With a simple nod, they were off to their objective.

Marching through their landing site, a salt harvesting quarry west of Bonab provided sufficient cover under the blanket of darkness supplied by the dead of night. Approaching the plant, they surveilled their target–a nuclear research facility.

I thought the United Nations sent inspectors to this site, Lance Corporal Diggs said.

They did. The International Atomic Energy Agency has been here twice in the past year. Welcomed, paraded, left with a clean report, Dobson said.

Which clearly suggests there is more going on here than the inspectors are aware of, Ramos grumbled.

That’s what the intelligence community thinks and what we are here to verify, Staff Sergeant Dobson said.

Why didn’t the spooks come to do this job themselves? Seems more like their bag than sending a bunch of shooters. We’re better at door kicking than slinking around top-secret bases, Ramos asked.

Working team-based scenarios is more of our strong suit, Grady said.

That and we get paid do what the Corps and MARSOC tell us to do, Dobson said.

Looking at each team member, Grady added, Us being here is basically an act of war. Our team was tagged for this op because we can be quick and quiet. If we are caught, we aren’t Marines. We aren’t U.S. citizens.

Zalinsky swiped the empty Velcro on his shoulder where his American flag patch was typically affixed.

Quick and quiet, Dobson hissed. No interactions. If you see anything, call it in. If we need to beat feet, we’ll head back towards the quarry.

Rook, you’re with Zalinksy and Ramos. You’ll be our eyes and ears outside the facility, Grady said. Fewer bodies, fewer mistakes we can make.

Dobson looked at Grady.

Let’s do this, Grady nodded.

The pair sprinted from their area of cover. Taking the same precise steps they had rehearsed nearly a hundred times in their preparation, they followed a path provided by Intelligence flagging cameras throughout the facility up until the black zone.

An infrared laser played on a security camera from the overwatch team alerting one of the guards long enough for Grady and Dobson to slip through the outer perimeter. Getting into the facility itself was the riskiest part of their mission. There was no way around the multiple cameras and they would have to push past a heavily guarded entrance.

Instead, they clung to the shadows and made their way to the side of the building. The concrete block facade was windowless, regularly patrolled and blanketed with cameras, only a heavily fortified set of emergency exit doors provided any ingress.

Tossing a collapsible grappling hook high in the air, it arched beyond their view. With a tug, it fastened tight to the roof of the building above. Hand over hand, Grady made his way up the rope. His well-developed forearms and technique made easy work up the obstacle.

As Dobson made his ascent, a tug on the rope and a pointing finger from Grady above forced him to halt, teetering mid-span. A guard rounded the corner of the building, walking directly towards them and the grappling line.

Applying a hasty prusik, Dobson held on with one hand while silently unholstering his sidearm. Fitted with a silencer, he lined the guard up in his sight. Holding his breath, his aim followed the forehead of the guard until he was directly underneath. Selecting the darkest point of the wall held its advantage as the guard passed right by, not noticing the matte-black rope or the Marine operator halfway up the wall.

Dobson didn’t holster his weapon until the guard had completed his circuit and rounded the next corner. Slipping free from the prusik knot, the Staff Sergeant resumed his climb until he had joined Grady atop the roof.

Even there, they had to weave and dodge the dynamic cameras that patrolled the rooftop and the guard tower that oversaw the facility. Grady couldn’t see him, but he knew that the newest team member Lance Corporal Diggs had his scope trained on the guards in that very tower.

Operating a massive facility created a few large flaws and security gaps. The most human-sized gaps were the large air intakes for the HVAC system. Aware of their own risk point, the Iranian research center had installed heavy metal bars with magnetic and infrared sensors to detect any intrusion.

What Good Idea Fairy suggested sending kitted-out Raiders down a three-by-three duct? Grady cursed.

Same ones that thought we should do a spook’s job, Dobson muttered.

The only reason to send us is if they expected a shooter to shoot, Grady said.

Prepared for the task, Dobson and Grady set to work. Dobson capped the sensors with a light matrix, mimicking their counterparts while Grady wrapped tiny det cord strings around key bars. With a nod, Dobson readied himself as Grady detonated the cord, dropping the bars into Dobson’s waiting hands.

Gently setting the grate aside, they expanded the infrared frame so that they could slip through and into the HVAC port. Using the hook that they’d used to climb onto the roof, they used it to descend into the bowels of the facility. Following a detailed recreation of the facility and the most likely architecture of the HVAC system, they found a branch that did not fit the known layout of the complex.

Using this new detour, they followed it until they ran into the first mechanical stage of the system. Backtracking, they retreated to an intake vent. As Grady prepared to remove the grate, Dobson tapped his arm. With a finger, he showed that each bolt of the grate was wired with an alarm sensor.

Nodding, Grady pulled a loop of copper from his pocket and unwound a short portion. With a pair of clips, he extended the sensor wire enough where they could open the grate and slip through without tripping the alarm.

Well, that was the easy part, Dobson said as he and Grady slunk down behind a cabinet as facility personnel walked by.

Finding a pair of bunny suits, they slipped into them and grabbed a clipboard to blend in with the workers. They found themselves in a busy laboratory. Security guards sat in glassed offices on either side of the room. On the far wall, a massive bank of windows overlooked a centrifuge farm.

From their vantage, Grady and Dobson began canvassing the room, swinging tiny action cameras they’d fastened to the tops of their clipboards in opposing arcs. Their final task was to extract a reading of the uranium being used so that the analysts could determine whether this part of the research could be used for processing weapons grade material.

Dobson pointed to a worker heading their way. He moved from station to station, recording a series of values. Grady nodded. It was the exact information that they needed. The scientist was reviewing results from the centrifuges behind the thick glass. Having completed his circuit, the researcher made his exit from the room.

The man studied his tablet as he walked between the Marines. Grady struck the man from behind while Dobson liberated the tablet. Pushing him quickly out of view, Grady spied a trash can. They wasted no time in dumping the unconscious scientist. Dobson and Grady hoped they had sufficient time to make their retreat and slip out of the facility undetected.

Following their steps to entry, they found themselves back in the HVAC tubes, slipping out of their bunny suits.

Halo, this is One. Two and I have the target assets in hand and are making our way to exfil, Dobson whispered.

Copy that, One. Intel requests you beam the data from your position prior to exfil, Lippett informed the Marines.

Of course they do, Dobson spat.

The radio crackled, Say something, Staff Sergeant?

Just that I’m happy to comply. Data is being uploaded now, Dobson said as Grady plugged their cameras and the tablet they took into an Iridium satellite data device.

Copy that, we are seeing the feed now, Lippett said.

An emphatic Grady suddenly struck Dobson’s arm. Through the vent, they could see a man driving a small utility vehicle through the corridor. A pile of trash bags in a cart being pulled behind it.

Their time was likely just cut short. Once the trash was emptied, the entire facility would be on high alert and locked down.

Moving as quickly as they could through the HVAC system and scurrying to the roof, the alarms started ringing.

Raider Six, we’re blown, Dobson called into his radio.

One, I don’t have to tell you, you need to get out of there. We can’t send help. We’ll be on the other side of the border on the ready, Lippett said through their comms.

Halo, we’re in the wind. Hope to see you on the other side! Dobson said, already sliding down the rappel line. Grady was on his heels and the pair ignored the cameras as they made a beeline for the dark recesses of the terrain beyond the facility.

Shouts and the sounds of vehicles filled the night air as the sirens continued to sound.

One, this Five. The tower has no shot on you, you’re clear to extract. From those guards, at least, Diggs said.

Not the case on the ground. You’ve got three ATVs on your heels and a dozen on foot, Ramos reported.

Zalinsky placed his hand on Ramos’ arm, his head cocked to one side.

Rotors? Ramos asked.

Zalinsky nodded, They spun up fast.

I guess when you have a super-secret nuclear weapon facility you are hiding from the world, you have choppers on standby, Zalinksy remarked.

Do we engage? Diggs asked, his finger dancing along his trigger.

Negative, Marine. Not unless we are at zero option, Ramos said.

As Dobson and Grady made it to the team’s location, they had already slung their gear over their shoulders and were moving towards the salt mine. The sounds of engines rang closer and closer as the Raider team hit the rim of the quarry. Machinery and vehicles helped provide them some cover as headlights from the ground and the air began sweeping the mine.

It surprised them when the ATVs raced past in opposite directions around the rim of the quarry. Smart. Instead of gunning right at us with the ATVs, they raced up ahead to catch us while the foot patrol pushes us from the flank, Grady said.

Dobson studied the terrain and the scant buildings that the salt crews used for offices and mess halls. Not enough cover here. We need transpo and quick, the team leader said.

Dump truck over there, Zalinsky suggested.

Too slow, Dobson said, ducking as the helicopter beam slashed overhead.

Temporary fix. We take it, shooters in the back, head away from the vehicles ahead towards the men on foot until we find long term transportation, Grady said.

Dobson nodded, Don’t have to be fast when you’re strong. Risky, but it’s better than what I’ve got.

Zalinsky raced over to the truck and leaned under the dash as he fiddled with the wires to create a spark for the ignition.

The team had already piled in the steel bed when Dobson stood onto the running board of the passenger door.

Hold on, Staff Sergeant! Zalinksy called as he shoved the truck into gear, lurching it forward and swinging it around towards the nuclear facility.

Standing in the bed, using the cab roof as a rest for their Russian and Iranian made weapons, they targeted downrange.

The guards from the plant opened fire. As the big truck careened towards them, exposed in the open, the guards dove out of the way.

Diggs and Ramos swung their aim to the rear while Grady remained forward.

As shots lit up the back of the truck and ATV lights hit the horizon behind them, the team returned fire. The helicopter swept in an abrupt arc and screamed towards their position. Spinning, the chopper hovered just above the desert floor, its powerful light beaming directly at them.

Halo, this is One, we have the Iranian army bearing down on us. Request a new exfil plan, Dobson called into his radio.

Raider Six, you are out of bounds. We cannot send help across the border. Can you relocate?

Negative. We are completely boxed in, Dobson said.

I’m sorry, Raider Six. You need to E&E. Get to the border and you’ll have all the help you need, Lippett said, calling the evade and escape order into the radio.

We knew the mission, fellas, Dobson breathed.

We’ve got a bunch of Iranian soldiers who have been itching for a fight, Grady said. Their numbers will overwhelm us.

I’d feel a lot better with my own gear, Ramos grumbled. I have an idea none of us are going to like. Rook, can you hit their pilot?

Diggs rotated his aim from the back of the truck to the front. Dialing his sight, he said, Yeah.

Do it, Ramos said.

Diggs pulled the trigger. The helicopter listed left and right before settling down abruptly on the road in front of them. I still prefer my Barrett, but the Dragunov’s not half bad, the Lance Corporal said, studying the Russian-made sniper rifle.

Dobbs, time to go! Ramos said, leaping out of the truck past his team leader.

Zalinksy shot Dobson a look and received a nod, slamming the truck to a stop directly in front of the helicopter as the SUVs caught up to them.

Grady, Diggs, take them out, Dobson said.

Grady and Diggs knelt beside the chunky wheels of the dump truck and laid fire on the oncoming ATVs. Aiming just above the single headlights, they picked off the drivers as they closed in. One by one, the small vehicles lurched sideways, dumping their passengers. Eyes downrange, they kept the flank clear.

Ramos ran to the helicopter, yanking the pilot out and spilling him onto the ground.

I thought you failed flight school, Zalinsky sneered.

I did! Ramos grinned, his eyes wide.

I think I’ll walk, Zalinksy said.

Dobson stared down the scope of his assault rifle, Might want to rethink that. We have a fleet of vehicles closing in from town.

One, this is Halo. Satellite is picking up at least a dozen vehicles with an unknown number of combatants heading to your location, the radio crackled.

Copy that, Dobson said. Get in the chopper!

Zalinsky relented, sliding open the rear door and climbing inside as Ramos familiarized himself with the Russian made Ka-226 Hoodlum helicopter.

Let’s go, boys! Dobson waved Grady and Diggs over as he laid down cover fire from the advancing foot patrol.

The team collapsed forward, diving into the helicopter as it teetered off the ground under Ramos’ unsteady stick work. Once the rotors ratcheted up their RPMs, Ramos brought the helicopter up and released the tail rotor, moving them forward.

Small arms fire from below speckled the exterior of the helicopter as they put distance between themselves and the nuclear facility. Ramos kept the helicopter low, following the topography of the land at roughly 150 feet above the surface.

Anyone else want to try? Ramos called over his shoulder.

The word ‘try’ should never be used in conjunction with flying, Zalinsky said.

I’m with you, Z, Grady agreed.

Halo, this is One, Dobson called into his radio. We are in a helo heading for the Turkish border.

There was a noticeable delay before Lippett’s voice responded, Who’s flying?

Ramos, Dobson replied.

Didn’t he fail flight school? Lippett asked.

Affirmative. Dobson studied his handheld and leaned his head to the window, We are just crossing Urmia Lake, fifty clicks out.

Copy that, One, Lippett called. Uh, you are going to need to redirect course and put down.

Sir?

We have Iranian fighter jets scrambled. It looks like they are heading to patrol the Turkish border. If their birds see you…, Lippett shared.

I get it. We’ll swing north along the edge of the lake and see if we can’t find a window, Dobson said.

I advise you set down and go on foot, Staff Sergeant.

Dobson sighed and reviewed his map. Pointing to Ramos, he motioned to a location. Ramos nodded and swung the helicopter east and crisscrossed the lake in the other direction. Watching the fuel gauge, he pushed as far north as he could before moving over land north of Tabriz.

See, Ramos grinned as he looked over his shoulder at the team. I got this!

No sooner had the words left his lips than a rocket slammed into the helicopter, ripping through its tail. The disruption put the chopper immediately into a spin. Never mind… I don’t got this! Ramos yelled as he fought the controls.

Countering the rotation, he was able to slow the spin. Instruments flashed and screamed at him from the panel in front of the cockpit. Hold on!

The helicopter lost to gravity as the retarded rotors were unable to hold it aloft. The skids slammed into the crowd, lurching its occupants from their seats, slamming them against the roof before crashing them back down again in a jumble of gear and body parts.

X

Two

C

hris Masters cast his line out into the surf. Feeling the tug, he spun the reel until it was taut before letting it play out a bit. He continued the back-and-forth game of reel and swim until he felt the fight start to give out. Seizing the opportunity, he reeled in what he hoped to be his dinner that evening.

Closing in on the breakwater, Chris saw a new friend of his leap through the swells and make a beeline for his catch. Not again, Ira! Chris cursed as he yanked the line, hoping to dissuade the theft.

The Irrawaddy dolphin was too fast and too precise in its attack, gracefully gliding through water and intercepting Chris’ prize. Chris’ shoulders slumped, Alright, just because you’re endangered doesn’t mean I need to feed you.

Chris watched as Ira played with his catch before filling his belly. Ira seemed to look back at the beach with a smile on his face. The former Gunnery Sergeant just laughed. He had made several such friends in his time living along the Burma-Thai border. Along with Ira the dolphin, he frequented the reefs and lagoons with resident whale sharks and dugongs when he spearfished.

Chris stared out at the water as Ira began acting unusual. He leapt into the air, diving deep only to come jetting back out of the water. To Chris’ surprise, the dolphin knocked a small tuna high in the air, the stunned fish left floating on the surface of the water. Ira had circled for another run when he slowed and softly tossed the fish a few yards in Chris’ direction.

"Are you feeding me now?" Chris was shocked.

Chris and the dolphin watched each other for a few moments before Ira dipped under the water and swam away.

Alright. That’s a new one, Chris said to himself. Taking a few quick steps, he launched himself into the surf and swam out to collect the dead fish.

Swimming back to the beach, Chris shook his head, still amazed with the gift nature had provided him. He joked about making new friends, but it seemed it wasn’t a joke after all.

Carrying the fish towards his tidy camp, set just within the tree line and all but invisible from the water, Chris set the tuna down on his cutting board and stoked his beach oven, a pile of hot rocks to which he would add banana leaf-wrapped protein.

A glint out on the horizon caught his eye. As the dark speck grew closer, Chris’ keen eyes were quick to see it as a boat. With a sigh, he also saw it was making a beeline towards his location. With a rub of his chin, he cast a forlorn look at his fish and walked out towards the beach.

Unshaven, hair tossed with salt and sand, his shirt unbuttoned, still drying from the retrieval of his prize tuna and in a pair of shorts that he had worn for a couple of days straight, he was sure to be sight for his visitors.

Standing on the sand, he watched as the boat came closer, the massive engines pulled to idle as it ran out of water. A large, mahogany-skinned man gave the boat pilot a nod and hopped into the waist-deep water. With a few lengthy strides, the man marched up on to the beach, directly towards Chris. Taking off his sunglasses, he looked Chris in the eye and offered a grin, Gunny.

Jonas, Chris nodded.

Sorry to break up your vacation, but the team needs you, the stoic man said. Jonas scanned the lush trees beyond the beach. You were even easier to find this time.

A little less concerned about the feds or military police chatting me up in Burma, Chris said.

An excellent choice, Jonas nodded. He continued to survey the area. "Nice camp. A work-out station and… is that a shooting range? Impressive. A little Swiss Family Robinson for my tastes, but impressive. I’m glad you are keeping your skills honed."

I was about to cook up some fish. A beautiful tuna a… friend gave me, Chris suggested.

Jonas shook his head, Afraid we won’t be staying.

Chris caught the emphasis on ‘we’, What’s going on?

I know you wanted some time. I hope you made the most of it. We need you, Jonas said. "I suppose you haven’t found a way to keep up with the news in your Gilligan’s Island set up?"

Just what the clouds tell me, Chris admitted. Knowing his time in Burma was at an end, he started to stuff his essential items into a bag. Reaching into a cooler, he held up a beer and offered it to Jonas.

Jonas waved him off and frowned at the cooler.

Chris shrugged, My little resort might be primitive, but it’s not uncivilized.

We got word on a team inside the no-go zone, Jonas said.

Iran or North Korea? Chris asked, removing the magazine from his rifle and inspecting the chamber.

Iran. Inspecting a hidden nuclear facility, Jonas said.

Who’s in there? Chris asked.

Raider Six.

They used a Raider team for that? Chris frowned.

Jonas waved his glasses out in front of him, They figured it might get hairy and it did. They’re in the wind with the entire Iranian army chasing after them with no help on the way.

Chris stood up, bags slung over his shoulders, It is now. Let’s go.

X

Three

T

he Boeing C17 Globemaster served as the tactical headquarters for Chris and the paramilitary group that had become known as X Team. The moniker Patriot X became a phenomenon ignited by the media giving the name to Chris after he subdued a terrorist from a sovereign embassy. The same terrorist that killed Chris’ wife and daughter.

With no time to waste, the team assembled and used the large plane as their briefing room and gear station.

Cole Porter was the first to greet Chris. The cheery elite sniper held his hand out for Chris to shake but drew him into a hearty hug, Good to see you, Gunny!

Good to see you too, Porter.

With a firm hand clamped on Chris’ shoulder, Porter looked him in the eye, I’m sorry about your team. We’ll get them to safety.

Chris nodded, They’re tough, but it sounds like they’re in an unwinnable fight.

It’s no wonder the spooks dished that mission off, Cara, the team’s pilot said, greeting Chris.

If Raider Six is anything like their former Gunnery Sergeant, I’d put my money on them, Aban Kinza, a former Iraqi special operative the team called Gazi, Arabic for Muslim Warrior, said.

Chris accepted Kinza’s solid handshake.

When the team parted, Drake Fallon leaned against the table, his arms crossed over his chest. The former Australian Defence Force commando eyed Chris, Wasn’t sure you’d be back in our ranks.

My team… my former team is in trouble. No way I’d sit this one out, Chris said emphatically.

I’m sure you’ll be of some use, Fallon said. Spinning to face the table, he leaned his hands against it. We don’t have a lot of time. Every second we are in the air, the Iranian Guard is closing in on the American Marines. The second we land, we need to be engaged.

The monitors suspended in the center of the table flashed reports of civil unrest percolating in the U.S., France and the U.K. Jonas flipped a switch, changing the screens to satellite images of Iran.

Here’s what we know of Raider Six’ mission and movement since their op went FUBAR They landed discretely here, in this operational salt mine. Moving south, they surveilled the known nuclear research facility west of Bonab. After a successful retrieval of evidence, their mission was blown. Extricating themselves with a stolen helicopter…, Jonas shared.

Frickin’ Ramos… sheesh! Chris exclaimed.

They moved ricky-tick to the Turkish border. Unfortunately, so did Iranian fighter jets. Last known contact, Raider Six moved north. Their helo was shot down on a line taking them to the Azerbaijani border northeast of Tabriz, Jonas concluded.

How do we know there are survivors? Fallon asked.

They declared their mayday call. Approximately twenty minutes later, there were a series of pings before they went dark, Jonas said.

They could have been captured, too injured to move, any number of scenarios, Fallon objected.

Jonas looked across the table, The pings were in a series of intervals, roughly ten minutes apart, continuing their line towards the border. That’s where we look to intercept them, along that line.

How do you know this stuff? Black ops like this are eyes only, top clearance, Chris frowned.

We didn’t, Jonas admitted. Until a little bird dropped us a note on Raider Six’s situation. They thought we could help. No one outside of the team’s direct command knows they are there.

Chris nodded, I’ve been on a couple of those ops. We were told if we didn’t make it, our deaths would be reported as ‘training incidents’. Even to our families.

Helluva way to go out, Porter said.

Well, if they are there, let’s bring them home. I don’t like it when helicopter crashes are blamed for all your failed missions, Cara smirked.

There is a heavy enemy presence. The Iranian military is in full mobilization, fanning out along the western and northern borders, concentrating here along Iraq, Turkey and Azerbaijan. There is major concern this incident can spark a war, Jonas said.

Fallon leaned over the map, Based on our last known of Six’s location, we’ll insert here and begin our recon along this path.

It will be difficult to comb from the air. With the fighter jets deployed, I might be able to get away with infil, but hanging out would be a death sentence, Cara said.

We’ll slice a path and get out quick, which won’t be easy. The path will close as soon as it’s opened, risking our team to be penned in right alongside Raider Six, Fallon shared. With a finger, he drew two lines, They’ll be making a beeline to Turkmenistan here or Azerbaijan here.

Chris studied the map, "No, they won’t. That is where the Iranian army will be