Chapter 9: Welcome to the Real World
Mission: Operation RAVEN STRIKE
Objective: HVT Extraction — Mogadishu, Somalia
Time on Target: 0243 Hours
Zane Cross — now Ghost-9 — sat in the back of a Blackhawk slicing low over the Somali coast. Night vision goggles down, suppressed SCAR-L rifle strapped tight, and blood pressure steady like he was going out for a run.
Opposite him sat his new team:
Reaper-2: demolition expert, older, quiet.
Shade-7: communications, former CIA SAD.
Doc-6: medic, ice-cold, always chewing gum.
The team leader was Vandal-1, a legend even within Delta. Stone face. Gray beard. Rumored to have 200+ confirmed kills.
"Ghost," Vandal called, "you ready?"
Zane looked him dead in the eye. "Always."
Vandal smirked.
The Drop
The team fast-roped down into the outskirts of Mogadishu, where warlords ran the night and local police were either dead or bought.
Objective: Extract an American journalist being held by a pirate cell with terror ties.
Intel said: "Light resistance."
Zane knew better. Intel always lied.
They moved silently through alleys, rifles raised, boots muffled by dirt. Zane took rear security — but his eyes never stopped scanning roofs, windows, shadows.
The Compound
At 0241, they breached the outer gate with a quiet charge. Zane flowed in third.
Inside: two guards playing cards.
Tap. Tap.
Reaper and Zane cleared them without a word.
They found the journalist — duct-taped to a pipe, bruised, dehydrated, still alive.
Doc moved in. "She's stable."
Vandal keyed his comm. "Package secured. Moving to exfil."
Then the night exploded.
Ambush
Gunfire raked across the courtyard. Dozens of AK rounds lit up the night.
"Contact left! Two-story roof!"
"Sniper in the minaret!"
Zane dragged the hostage behind cover, swapped mags, and returned fire — calm, calculated.
He popped a tango in the chest, then two more trying to flank. Reaper launched a 40mm into a truck full of hostiles. Boom. Flames.
Shade's voice cracked over comms. "Exfil bird's delayed! Too hot!"
Vandal: "Change of plan. We go loud."
Zane Takes Lead
Vandal turned to him. "Ghost. Cut us a hole."
Zane didn't hesitate. He sprinted through gunfire to a side alley, dropped two guards with clean taps, and kicked in a back door to the adjacent complex.
Inside: stairs. Roof access.
He climbed, found the sniper's perch, and ended him with a blade to the throat.
Then — he saw it.
A second group of hostiles circling behind his team with RPGs.
Zane grabbed the sniper's Dragunov, dropped to prone, aimed through the scope—
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Three hostiles down. One round each. Before they even noticed they were spotted.
Extraction
The evac bird finally arrived — a Little Bird swooping low, blades chopping the heat.
Smoke. Screams. Shell casings.
Zane and Reaper carried the hostage. Shade laid down cover. Vandal pulled the pin on a frag and sent it sailing into the last wave of attackers.
BOOM.
They lifted off, bloodied and silent.
Back at Base
No congratulations. No handshake. Just a data report.
Zane sat outside the barracks, watching the sun rise.
Vandal walked up behind him.
"You disobeyed my order back there," he said.
Zane stayed silent.
"You were told to cover, not lead."
Zane finally replied. "If I hadn't, we'd be in body bags."
Vandal stared for a moment. Then tossed him a cold canteen.
"Good. Keep disobeying the right way."