Chapter 8 - The New Team
Training for the new unit took place at a remote base in the mountains of Colorado. The air was thin, the weather harsh, the terrain rugged. It was designed to break people, to push them to their limits, to see who had what it took to be part of the best of the best.
There were twelve candidates in the training class. All of them were exceptional soldiers, each with their own unique skills—medics, engineers, intelligence officers, close-quarters combat experts. They’d all been hand-picked for the team, just like Olivia.
At first, the other candidates were skeptical of her. They’d heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. But stories were one thing. Seeing the real person was another. She was small, quiet, didn’t talk much. She didn’t look like the kind of soldier who could keep up with them in the harsh mountain environment, who could handle the grueling physical training, the long hours, the constant pressure.
They learned quickly not to underestimate her.
Olivia excelled at the marksmanship training, of course. No one could touch her when it came to long-range shooting. But she also surprised everyone with her physical endurance. She could run up the mountain trails faster than most of the men. She could carry a heavy pack for miles without complaining. She could stay awake for 36 hours straight during a training exercise and still make perfect decisions under pressure.
And when it came to close-quarters combat? She was deadly. She didn’t rely on brute strength. She relied on speed, precision, and a deep understanding of how people moved, how they thought, how they reacted when they were scared. She could take down a man twice her size before he even knew what hit him.
Slowly, the skepticism turned to respect. Then to friendship.
The team was led by a man named Captain Marcus Reed. He was a former Delta Force operator, tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar running down his left cheek. He was tough, demanding, and fair. He didn’t care who you were or what stories people told about you. All he cared about was whether you could do your job, whether you could be counted on when things got bad.
He took a liking to Olivia immediately.
“You’ve got good instincts, Carter,” he told her after a training exercise where she’d single-handedly taken down three “enemy” combatants and rescued a “hostage” without making a sound. “Most people rely on their training. You rely on your gut. That’s a rare skill. It’ll save your life one day. And the lives of the people on your team.”
Olivia nodded, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Thank you, sir.”
Reed smiled faintly. “Don’t thank me. Just keep doing what you’re doing. This team needs people like you.”
The first mission came three months after training ended.
It was a hostage rescue operation. A group of terrorists had taken three American aid workers hostage in a remote village in South America, holding them in an old compound on the edge of the jungle. The terrorists had demanded a huge ransom, and had threatened to kill the hostages if their demands weren’t met within 72 hours.
The team’s job was simple: infiltrate the compound, take down the terrorists, and rescue the hostages. No mistakes. No casualties.
They flew into the area on a stealth helicopter, landing in a clearing a few miles from the compound under cover of night. The jungle was dark, dense, the air thick with humidity and the sound of insects. The team moved quickly, silently, using night vision goggles to navigate through the trees.
Olivia was positioned on a small hill overlooking the compound, her sniper rifle shouldered. Her job was to provide overwatch, to take out any sentries, to cover the team as they moved in.
She looked through her scope, scanning the compound. She could see four sentries patrolling the perimeter, their rifles slung over their shoulders, their faces tired. She could see lights on in the main building, where the hostages were being held. She could see movement in the windows—terrorists walking back and forth, talking, laughing.
“Team in position,” Captain Reed said over the radio, his voice a low whisper. “Carter, take out the sentries on the west and north sides. On my mark.”
Olivia adjusted her scope, centering the crosshairs on the first sentry, a man standing near the west gate, smoking a cigarette. She breathed in, held it, and squeezed the trigger.
Crack.
The man dropped silently, the cigarette falling from his fingers.
“West sentry down,” Olivia said into her radio.
She shifted her aim to the north side, where another sentry was leaning against a wall, looking bored. She fired again.
“North sentry down.”
“Good work,” Reed said. “Moving in.”
The team moved through the compound gate like ghosts, taking down the remaining sentries with quick, silent shots to the chest. They reached the main building, stacked up against the wall, and waited for Reed’s signal.
“Breach,” Reed said.
One of the team members kicked the door open. The team stormed inside, flashbangs going off, filling the room with bright light and loud noise. The terrorists were caught completely off guard, stunned, confused. The team took them down in seconds, firing precise shots, no collateral damage.
Olivia watched through her scope, her finger hovering over the trigger, ready to fire if anyone tried to run, if anyone tried to hurt the hostages. But it was over almost as soon as it had started.
“Compound secure,” Reed said over the radio. “Hostages are safe. All terrorists down. No casualties on our side.”
Olivia let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She lowered her rifle, her shoulders relaxing slightly. It had gone perfectly. Exactly as planned.
The team loaded the hostages onto the helicopter, along with the bodies of the terrorists, and flew back to their base. The hostages were shaken, scared, but unharmed. They thanked the team over and over, crying, holding their hands, telling them they were heroes.
Olivia didn’t feel like a hero. She just felt like she’d done her job.
But as she sat on the helicopter, looking out the window at the dark jungle below, she felt something else. A sense of purpose. A sense that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
David Hale’s bracelet was cool against her wrist. She touched it with her fingers, a small, private gesture.
May you like
This was why she was here. This was what all the training, all the pain, all the loss had been leading up to.
She was making a difference.
