Bitter memories rushed through Jake’s mind, as the jet engines of the massive airplane roared into life. He remembered the last time he was in a similar situation.

“Déjà vu: another plane, another mission… the only thing that’s different is that we’re not hunting some crazy, middle-eastern bastard. We’re out to save our own. Even Allison’s here. Look at her, thinking she can make me forget about her lie. I’ve got some news for you, darling. You can’t. It’s not just the three years I spent in hell. I went through a lot of hurt, sure, but it’s not the main reason why we can’t be together again. You put your job before our relationship. I would have never done that; I would never do that.”

Jake strapped himself in and pulled a map and some blueprints out of a briefcase the General had given to him.

“Okay, Allie.” He started, as the plane began to taxi. “The compound is two stories tall. Our boys should be in the basement. It’s good that there are not many rooms to clear. I count five. I’m more worried about the power. Well, the power and the two guards outside. We have to rely on the boys on the ground; we can’t talk to them at 10,000 ft. There could be radio stutter. Any misunderstandings could be catastrophic.”

“Don’t worry,” she reassured, a smile of amusement on her face, as she patted him on the shoulder. “There won’t be. Our equipment’s a lot better than it used to be. We’ll hear each other like we’re in the next room. I also think we should make the jump at 5,000 feet or lower.”

“Why?” Jake got curious.

“That light pole is close to the compound. It won’t take more than a couple of minutes for them to kill the power and take out the guards. A parachute drop from 5,000 feet lasts about the same time. The rest of their comrades won’t even know they’re gone.” She explained.

“Good call,” He commented, staring down at the blueprint. “My platoon and I will jump first. Wait thirty seconds and jump. Our codename is Falcon. The platoon on the ground will be called ‘Birthday Boys’. ” He sensed her gaze was still fixed on him; Jake turned his head to the right and faced her. Allison’s toothy grin forced him to ask.

“What?”

“I’d almost forgotten how great you look in uniform.” She yelled, as the airplane engines roared down the runway.

“Go talk to the pilots as soon as we reach cruising altitude,” Jake ordered, unwilling to respond to her compliment. Her persistence annoyed him, but starting an argument with her was out of the question. An officer must inspire his men, not embarrass himself in front of them. So, Jake chose to announce their plan to the rest of the marines and then focus on the mission.

Nearly twenty hours later, the pilot’s voice was heard from the speakers:

“Captain Isaacs, it’s time.”

Jake pulled his radio out of its case, eager to see for himself if Allison had a point.

“Birthday boys, this is Falcon, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear;” relief flashed in his eyes upon hearing their quick reply.

“Blow the candles out,” he commanded.

“Copy that.”

As the powered hatch slid open, the powerful gusts of air re-energized the marines. The long flight to Iraq had exhausted them. Jake unstrapped himself and put his helmet on, on his way to the door.

“Alright boys and girls, this is it!” He cried, turning to his men. “Remember: those two guys depend on us. Good hunting!” Unlike every other time, he didn’t even glance at Allison. Instead, Jake took another short step towards the gaping opening and looked down. Just as he did, the few village lights went out.

“Last time, baby,” he said to himself, putting his hands either side of the access. Jake closed his eyes and pushed off. Spreading his arms and legs, he presented his chest to the ground and arched his head and back upward, as the rest of his fellow troops began to jump from the massive airplane. With his heart pounding in his chest, he plummeted to the ground, feeling the wind against his face growing stronger by the second. Soon, he could get a good personal visual of his landing site by using the night vision goggles mounted to his helmet. It was a large, wide roof. The figures of two men standing at the edge of the terrace grew larger, as he approached. They were pointing at the gate.

Bending his legs at the knee and with his chin tucked in, Jake grasped the parachute risers in an arm-bar, also protecting his face and throat with his elbows tucked in to the sides. Seconds before he landed, the one farther from him pointed up at him. His comrade attempted to flip around, but Jake effectively landed on him and the other guard. His big, heavy body knocked them both off balance. Their guns fell to the roof top, as they landed hard on their backs. The one closest to Jake got tangled in his parachute. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he reached out and covered the guard’s mouth with his hand, as he struggled to free himself. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder first and then reached down to pull his bayonet from its sheath. The middle-eastern man put his hands on either of Jake’s shoulders and tried to push him upwards, but to no avail. Jake stabbed the hostile in the chest once between his ribs, angling upwards. The young Captain pressed his knife in to the hilt and waited the few seconds while his victim became unable to speak or breathe as he drowned in his own blood. In the meantime, Sergeant Foster took out the other rebel more easily – he was able to slice through the carotid artery and half his victim’s windpipe. Jake pulled his knife out of the Iraqi, and cleaned it off on his victim’s uniform. Punching his hands into the parachute cloth that had been wrapped around him, he got free of it. He picked up his rifle and bounced up. His men had taken their positions at the edge of the roof and were waiting for his orders.

Jake simply nodded. He and the rest of his platoon bent their heads down, pointing their rifles down at the hostiles, thirty feet below. The crackling sound of their weapons tore the silence, as Allison’s platoon began to land in the yard. Four out of five Iraqis were brutally gunned down. One of them managed to shoot back at them, once. His bullet hit Sergeant Foster in the chest, before he was eliminated as well. Foster’s body was thrown backward, as his rifle slipped through his fingers. He landed hard and flat on his back, close to his Captain, moaning in pain.

“Fuck!” Jake spoke through gritted teeth, dropping to his knees beside him. “Are you ok?”

“It hit the vest…” Forster groaned. “Son of a bitch, it hurts.”

Allison’s platoon sprinted across the yard, as Jake heard fast, heavy footsteps on the stairs. His gaze shot up and to the left, just before a hostile kicked the terrace door open. Jake jumped up, gripping the handle of his rifle. His men opened fire upon the terrorist. He didn’t have the chance to fire a single shot. His body rolled down the stairs. Three more Iraqis emerged, but they all suffered the same fate.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Jake urged, feeling his adrenaline rushing through his veins. “There’s at least one more hostile.”

He and his fellow troops walked through the door and started climbing down the stairs, having to jump over the dead bodies of their enemies. As they reached the second floor however, a loud bang, followed by a piercing scream sent chills down Jake’s spine. He recognized that voice: it belonged to Allison. Having no time to waste, he started running down the stairs. A split second later, a powerful, rifle blast echoed back through the walls of the building. His men cleared the second floor and the first one as well. Jake jumped over the few steps, only to be greeted by a heartbreaking sight: Allison lying on her back, close and to the right of the staircase. A medic was beside her, tending to her wound. A dead Iraqi was lying on his right side down the hallway.

“She was the first to come down here,” Corporal Jones was quick to inform Jake. “She tried to shoot him, but the son of a bitch beat her to it.”

Jake looked down at Allison, his chest rising up and down. She had a large wound on her right leg, just above the knee. Her pants were soaked with blood.

“Why’s she losing so much blood?” Panic had settled in his voice.

“My best guess is that the bullet hit the femoral artery,” the medic replied. “I can stop the bleeding, but we need to get back to the plane ASAP.”

At that very moment, a loud, banging noise of someone hitting a door grabbed their attention. Almost immediately afterwards, two, male voices were heard:

“Hey! Hey! Get us out of here!”

“Boys, call for the evac.” He commanded. “Medic, take care of her.” Then, Jake sprinted across the hall. The door in question was at the end of it and to the right.

“Get back!” He cried, lifting his right leg. Jake kicked the door down. Rivers and Sanchez were in poor shape. Their clothes were filthy and badly ripped: they were beaten up; but they were alive. Closest to the door was Austen Rivers. Both of his eyes were bruised and he had big cuts on either cheek.

“Are you boys alright? Can you walk?” Jake asked.

“Jake Isaacs,” Austen uttered with a barely audible voice as he limped towards his old friend. Sanchez also rushed towards him. Within seconds, Jake was lost in a group hug, as the cheers of his troops resounded in the basement. Swelling with pride, he held them tight.

“Come on, you apes,” he said, flexing his muscles around them. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”