“Who is it?” called a high-pitched voice from inside.
This wasn’t a part of standard protocol, but the dark-skinned man was more than willing to play along. It helped to lessen the tension of the moment. “Domino’s Pizza.”
“Your delivery took more than thirty minutes. I expect a large refund.”
The American grabbed his crotch with both hands. “Open the door, lady. I’ve got your large refund, right here!”
The cargo door slid open, revealing a white soldier in full black camouflage. “Oooh,” he exclaimed in a feminine voice. “And what a big refund it is!”
Both men laughed as the black soldier climbed into the railcar.
“Any problems with your recon?” asked one of the soldiers inside.
“None, except for my damn gun.” He reached under his robe, removing the weapon that had been strapped to his leg. “I need to get a new leg holster or something. This thing cut off my circulation within ten minutes, and I’ve been limping ever since.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch!” teased a familiar voice from the back of the car. His view was obstructed by a large stack of crates, but he knew exactly who he was listening to. “You were bitching when I first trained you, and you’re still bitching now. Haven’t you grown up yet?”
A grin appeared on Lieutenant Shell’s face. He removed his cap as a sign of respect and looked for his former commander. “I’ll be damned! What are you doing here?”
“Listening to you bitch! I thought I taught you to be tougher than that. Complaining about a cramp? Pathetic! Take two Midols and get back to work.”
The two men hugged briefly, a touching reunion between MANIACs past and present.
“It’s great to see you, sir. It really is. But I have to admit, ya look like shit! What happened?”
With scabs all over his face and body, Payne glanced at his left arm, dangling lifelessly in its sling. “This is what happens when you reach your mid-thirties. Your body starts to fall apart.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Jones interjected, moving from his hiding place on the other side of the boxcar. “He got into a disagreement with an exotic dancer, and she kicked his ass. Breast to the face . . . breast to the face . . . high heel to the nuts . . . knockout!”
Shell laughed like a little kid as he rushed to D.J.’s side. It had been a long time since they’d spoken, and the smiles on their faces revealed their love and admiration for one another. It was the type of bond that developed when two people had been through hell together-the type of stuff that the MANIACs were known for.
“How are you doing, Rocky?”
“Pretty damn good,” Shell declared. He hadn’t heard his nickname since Payne and Jones had left the squad. “But I’d like the right to change my opinion. I mean, if you guys are here, then something big is about to go down. Right?”
He looked at Jones, then Payne. He noticed anxiety in both sets of eyes, something that was atypical for them.
“Damn,” he groaned. “How big are we talking about?”
“Pretty big,” Payne admitted. He tried to smile to lessen the tension, but his effort was less than successful. “And quite personal.”
The comment piqued Shell’s interest. “Personal? As in, off-the-books personal? As in, the-government- doesn’t-know-we’re-here-but-who-gives-a-rat’s-ass-about-them-anyway personal?”
Payne nodded, looking forward to Shell’s response.
“Halle-fucking-lujah! Military missions are always so boring. It’s about time we got the old gang back together and had some fun!”
Jones nodded in agreement but wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic. “You’re right, it’s been way too long. But I don’t know if
is the right word to describe this mission.”
“Oh, yeah?” Shell laughed, still not understanding the sensitive nature of the assignment. “Then what word would you use?”
Payne took a step forward, intensity returning to his face. It was a look that Shell had seen several times before. One that meant it was time for business. “The word I’d use is
”
Payne nodded. “And once I tell you why I called you here, you’ll understand why.”
“You called us here?” Shell asked, dumbfounded. “How did you pull that off? Nobody’s supposed to know where we are, yet you somehow managed to track us down? Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to see ya, but that doesn’t make much sense to me.”
Captain Juan Sanchez, the MANIACs current leader, cleared his throat. “It doesn’t have to make sense to you, as long as it makes sense to me.”
Shell sprang to attention. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Sanchez winked at Payne, his former team leader. “But since you’ll bitch the rest of the night if I don’t tell you, I’ll be a nice guy and let you in on the secret.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m all ears, sir.”
“As luck would have it, I stay in touch with Captain Payne on a regular basis, which is apparently more than you. He gave me a call and briefed me on his current situation. Soon after, I offered to give up our much-needed R amp; R in order to help. That is, of course, if it’s all right with you.”
“Once a MANIAC, always a MANIAC!” Shell shouted passionately.
“You’re damn right!” Sanchez growled. He quickly turned his attention from his second in command to the man he had served under for several years. “Captain Payne, at this time I would like to offer you control of the finest, fiercest fighting force ever to walk the face of this fucking planet. We are the MANIACs, and we will follow you and fight with you until death-their death-so help me, God!”
Payne nodded in appreciation.
It had taken a while, but he finally realized that everything would be all right.
THE
Qur’an, the spiritual text of Islam, required all Muslim adults to pray five times a day-at dawn (
), noon (
), midafternoon (
), sunset (
), and night (
)-to prove their unyielding faith and uncompromising devotion to Allah. Unfortunately, these sessions were not assigned to a specific hour, making prayer time a difficult thing to agree upon among modern-day Muslims. In order to rectify this problem, most Islamic communities utilized a muezzin to climb the minaret of the local mosque and announce the beginning of each prayer session. When his voice was heard, echoing loudly throughout the streets of the city, all Muslims were expected to stop what they were doing and drop to their knees in prayer.
These breaks were their holy time, moments of forgiveness and thanks. But in Payne’s mind, it was also their biggest weakness. It gave him five daily opportunities to catch the enemy with their guard down. Literally. And he planned to exploit it for all it was worth.
As nighttime crept over Nigeria, the MANIACs snuck along the outer perimeter of the eight-block Kotto Distribution Center, using the shadows as their cover while waiting for their signal to start the assault. Although Payne had showed them the advantages of this unconventional approach, the twelve soldiers didn’t like the lengthy exposure time that they would have in the field. They were used to invading, dominating, and leaving, but rarely waiting. But in this case, they agreed that the benefits of their master plan far outweighed the negatives. In fact, if
