The Resilient Mate

The cold metal of the carrier floor vibrated beneath my boots, a familiar tremor that usually settled my nerves. Today, it amplified the buzzing anxiety that hummed beneath my skin. Across from me, Tom, the newest and youngest member of our team, clutched his rifle, knuckles white, his knees doing a nervous jig.

I nodded to Griff, who understood immediately. He rose, a comforting giant, and bent to whisper something to Tom, whose tense shoulders slowly relaxed. Another mission. Another dive into the chaos.

"Alright, listen up!" My voice, honed by years of command, cut through the quiet, bringing every man to attention. "This is not a stealth mission; we go in, we take out the rebels and free the captives. We’ve pin-pointed their location to a tent in the centre of the camp. We’ll drop down on the north buildings and fan out from there. Griff will lead the recovery team; if any support is needed Gunner and Jackson will reinforce. Once we have them, the ground team will cover Griff and his men."

"Insurgents are armed with AKM's, PBS & Dragons and Type 50; Cold War stuff," Griff added, his voice calm, steady.

The light above us flashed, signaling our drop point. I moved to the center, cables dropping from the ceiling. "Let’s hustle!" Each man clipped in, the metallic snick echoing. "Weapons check!"

"Check.""Check.""Check."

The rhythmic cocking of hammers filled the space, a symphony of readiness. The plane's rumble grew louder, a beast waiting to unleash us.

Then the floor dropped.