mutation to take a break from this seventh level of hell, “was that Chief Richter single-handedly wiped out over a hundred men.”
Whoa.
The number was up to a hundred now.
If it kept growing at this rate, by the time Cosmo retired, the story would credit him with the destruction of an entire battalion.
Back when the number had reached a grand total of fifty, he’d thought it had overstretched the boundaries of believability. Yet it still continued to grow.
The wide-eyed new guys continued to believe him capable of damn near anything.
“I heard that he lost it,” Vlachic continued, “and—”
“He didn’t lose it, Chick,” Collins interrupted, disdain in his voice. “He doesn’t lose it. The man doesn’t even blink. You were just out there with him. Am I wrong? While you were inside that orphanage, how many of those al-Qaeda fucks did Charlie squad take out of the picture?”
“Seven,” the petty officer said.
“And how many did the chief personally send to their reward?”
“I don’t know,” Vlachic admitted. “At least four. Maybe five.” His laughter was disparaging. “I was too busy wetting my pants to notice exactly. And you’re right, sir—the chief was a robot.”
Yeah, Cosmo wished. If he truly were a robot, the looks of horror on those nuns’ faces wouldn’t still be haunting him. Damn, but he was going to carry that with him for a long, long time.
0514. Additional four terrorists removed from orphanage roof. Before alarm raised.
With all due respect, fuck you, Professor Harris. This was hard enough to write without having to find new ways to explain over and over again that if the guards had been allowed to make noise, an entire platoon would’ve come down on their heads, and a whole lot more people would’ve died.
As it was, the body count must’ve seemed outrageously high to the hostages. Cos hadn’t had time to do more than push the fallen guards aside. At least the sisters hadn’t had to step over them.
Yeah, great. What a guy.
0518. Extraction via Seahawk helo from roof.
0542. Out of hostile airspace.
And he was done. Christ. Writing this had taken longer than the actual op.
He saved and printed the report.
And then realized that if he left this office, he’d have to walk right past Vlachic and Collins, who were just getting into the details of The Story.
“So the chief walks through what used to be some kind of village square,” Collins was saying, “and it’s a bloodbath. Half the population of this town had been executed. Men, women . . . there were even dead babies, you know? Dozens of kids.”
“Jesus,” Vlachic breathed as Cosmo closed the laptop and put the report into Mikey’s in-basket. “I hadn’t heard that. It sounds like—”
“Bullshit exaggeration?” Collins asked. “Yes, it does, but detailed info about the casualties was in the written report, so . . . And Sam Starrett—you ever meet Lieutenant Starrett, Chick? Tall officer? From Texas? He’s gone from the Teams now, but—”
“Yeah, I know who you’re talking about,” Vlachic said. “I saw him a few times during BUD/S, out in the grinder, laughing at us.”
“Starrett was there at the village,” Collins said. “I heard he was, like, down on his hands and knees in the dust, retching. The carnage was that bad. And Chief Richter—although he wasn’t a chief then, you know—he’s just walking around, taking it all in. He doesn’t look upset, doesn’t look anything. You know Cosmo—he plays his cards close to the vest. He also never says much of anything unless he’s giving a direct order, but he’s standing there in that square, and he says kind of quietly—like, he’s not talking to anyone. He was just standing there by himself. But he says, ‘Whoever did this is going to fucking die.’ ”
Actually, what he’d said was “Whoever did this deserves to die.” Somewhere along the way, as The Story had been told again and again, someone had added the