Locked & Loaded (Ricochet 1)

Chapter 1

ANOTHER ROUND exploded uncomfortably close to the jagged boulders that Rick “Ricochet” Brennan and the half of his Force Recon team had been using as cover while they did surveillance. Rick thought it was pure luck that he was the only one left behind the rock. The rest of his team was spread out to their designated areas along the perimeter of the enemy camp.

“Jesus, Rick. The RPG’s are getting closer.” His teammate crackled over the communication earpiece.

“Shut it, Savoy. They don’t know we’re here.” Rick growled as he belly crawled along the cold, hard ground until he could see around the edge of the rock outcropping. Using the government-grade thermal night vision scope of his rifle, he watched the scene below. “Looks like they’re just fucking around, launching RPG’s for fun. Fucking idiots.” Rick whispered so the enemy wouldn’t hear him, not flinching at the sharp gravel that was digging into his elbows. He had been trained to ignore discomfort, even torture, as part of his intense training.

“I see them.” Dashiell “Dash” Savoy, his radio operator, said over the earpiece that each team member wore. “God, they are fucking around. Shooting off RPG’s in the middle of the night just for hell of it! Stupid and careless.”

Rick continued his surveillance through the scope. “Better for us that they’re off their game. This will be easy with half of them not paying attention. Plus, the noise of the rockets will provide cover.” He laughed to himself. It was always easier to kill morons than intelligent, well-trained soldiers.

“What’s our next move, staff sergeant?” Bixby, Rick’s second in command asked. Rick ducked back behind the boulders, his breath puffing in front of him in the cold night air. Before he first joined the Marines, he never would have thought Iraq could be so fucking freezing. He damn well knew better now. He hated this hellhole.

Without missing a beat, Rick decided on a plan. “Everyone get in place. We’ll meet back at the drop point at,” he checked his watch, “zero-two thirty, assuming the mission is successful.”

“Got it, staff sergeant.”

“Alright. Get ready men. We’re up.” Rick gathered up his gear, checking his high-precision sniper rifle before packing the rest into his fifty-pound rucksack. The other men did the same with their weapons, efficiently and silently. The six members of the Force Recon team were well trained and used to working as a single unit after five years together and dozens of successful covert missions.

Using the thermal scope, Rick studied the enemy soldiers as they horsed around, shoving each other playfully while they loaded up another rocket-propelled grenade. He examined them, counting how many were visible. It was difficult with parts of the camp on fire from the rounds they launched, but doable.

Satisfied he got their numbers correct, Rick moved into position in his hide sight and checked in with his team.

“Ricochet, in.”

“Dash, in.”

“Austin, in.”

“Romo, in.”

“Stone, in.”