II
Rome, Italy
July, 2021 AD
McDougal led the way towards the elevator from which I had just arrived. Once inside, he pressed his thumb against a pad on the elevator panel, activating the car to descend rapidly into the bowels of the Vatican. The ride didn’t last long, and soon the doors opened to a long, white hallway, not the tunnels I had expected. We must have arrived on another subterranean level. The hallway was well lit and had the metallic sheen and sterility normally associated with some sort of military or medical complex.
New ones.
At the first door, McDougal again pressed his thumb against a pad and the door slid open. As I followed McDougal inside, I took in my surroundings in a glance, focusing briefly on as many details as I could. The immediate area consisted of a few benches, lockers, and doors to a shower facility. To my right was a complete weight room facility, equipped with cardiovascular machines and a boxing ring. To my left was a mess hall and recreation area. Directly ahead was a small arms firing range and obstacle course fit for training with weapons and gear.
I was impressed.
Most training facilities possessed all of the present amenities, but never in such a single, vast area, obviously specialized to serve two purposes. First, to conserve space as an underground facility would need to be as compact as possible. Second, to produce a more familial atmosphere where everyone present can interact with one another regardless of what they were doing. It was the perfect environment for assimilating a team of strangers who did not have the luxury of going through a rigorous and lengthy training process meant to build bonds of friendship and trust.
I spotted five figures scattered throughout the facility. The first two were easily found as they were prominently displayed sparring in the boxing ring. One man outweighed me by at least forty pounds and had a few inches on me as well, while the other man was short, built like Bruce Lee, ripped and wiry. A third man was using a bench press machine behind the boxing ring, but only his calves and feet were visible.
The fourth figure I noticed was a woman. She was facing away from me and all I could see was black hair, tied up in a short pony tail that didn’t quite reach the nape of her neck, and a lithe body covered by a tight tank top and BDU pants. She was at the other end of the facility, sitting at the long range rifle section of the shooting range, her eye buried in the lens of scope.
The final figure was sitting at the mess hall drinking a vanilla-looking smoothie, leaning back in a chair with his legs crossed atop the table, one of his boots lying on the ground next to his chair. His relaxed demeanor surprised me. Most soldiers, even when off duty, portrayed slightly more poise and discipline while on station, but what really shocked me was that I knew him, and his lackadaisical attitude immediately made sense.
“Well, well, well…” I called out cheerfully with a smile on my face. “If it isn’t the sexiest man this side of the Air Force. Johnny Santino.”
The man turned, nearly falling out of his chair in surprise.
“Jacob? Is that you? Damn, it’s been forever,” he said, pulling me into a friendly bear hug and lifting me off the ground. “How long has it been? A year? Since that op over North Korea?”
I rolled my eyes. He knew damn well it hadn’t been that long. “You mean the time when you and your little ninja buddies couldn’t make the extraction because your little tootsies got all cut up, and my SEALs had to come bail you out?” Santino must have been that member of Delta that had transferred earlier. He’d started his Special Forces career as a Green Beret, a clandestine team that specialized in tactical instruction. Back in Vietnam, they were so sneaky that many theorized they executed their missions barefoot, making them targets of both easy jibs and respect simultaneously. “I see you’re still putting your feet at risk,” I joked, pointing at his bootless foot after he finally put me down.
“I take it you two know each other,” McDougal said as he approached quietly.
“That’s correct, sir. Although, I am a bit surprised to see his pretty face here at all.”
Santino sneered at me. Born to an Italian family who called Hell’s Kitchen in New York City home, his childhood was filled with broken noses and shattered eye sockets, which left his face looking like a boxer with a poor KO record. During basic training he took some shrapnel from a grenade accident, leaving him with a rather nasty web of scars on the right side of his face. It wasn’t that bad, and it kind of gave him a dashing, heroic look that the ladies he found always seemed to enjoy.
“We’re both Catholic, Jacob. I guess they just wanted another Italian around here, and called me in first.”
“When I first heard they had recruited from Delta, I had my suspicion it was you, but I figured your patriotism would outweigh your faith. Guess I was wrong.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not sure how I feel about you thinking so much about me, Jake, kinda creepy, but it’ll be good to work together again. This time on a more permanent basis. And, hey,” he said pointing at the rank insignia on my uniform jacket that I was carrying in my arm, “you’ve been promoted. Looks like I’ll have to start saluting you from now on.”
Before removing his hand from my shoulder, he pinched at my Hawaiian shirt and pulled on it slightly. “Nice shirt,” he commented.
I smiled. “Thanks, and don’t worry about saluting, the only thing I care about is the bigger pension.”
His smile faltered and he cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger in thought. “I wonder why I wasn’t promoted when the President sent me off…”
“I hate to break up the reunion, but now would be a good time to clear up a few things,” McDougal interrupted, looking at me. “First of all, ‘Captain’ Santino is no longer a captain as you understand it, but a lieutenant once more.”
“Sir? He was demoted?”
“No, not demoted per se, but merely realigned into a new chain of command. In fact, you are now a lieutenant as well.”
Figures. I knew it would only last a few days before I was at the bottom of the food chain again, but at least my bank account would still reflect my old rank. I sighed, feigning disappointment with a lazy shrug while McDougal continued.
“We did not want to strip any member of the team of their rank, but we needed to consolidate our system, so as to avoid confusion. The chain of command is simple and you would most likely recognize it from your American Army. I’m team leader and highest ranking officer as a major. My second in command is a captain, and the rest of you are of equal rank as lieutenants. Any questions?”
“No, sir,” I responded. “Sounds straight forward to me.”
“Glad I was able to clear that up, mate. Now, would you like to meet the rest of your squad?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Follow me.”
Leaving Santino to finish his smoothie, we started towards the boxing ring when I heard the distinct crack, crack, crack of a high powered rifle firing in rapid succession. I glanced over at the young woman sitting at the shooting range as she summoned her paper target from far down range. Considering the amount of time it took for the target to reach her, I estimated that it began its journey from pretty far out. When the woman pulled off the target and held it to the light, I noticed a neat smiley face in perfect formation on the target’s head.
The woman was a fantastic shot, and the smug smile at the corner of her mouth indicated she knew it, and had an ego about it.
Figures.
Snipers always were hot heads.
Meanwhile, the two men in the ring continued to pound on one another with distinctively different styles. The bigger man, wearing blue trunks, was clearly a brawler who’d participated in one too many bar fights over the years. His lunges and long swings were meant to inflict major punishment, at the expense of finesse and
