What’s really cool is that Todd can contact us anytime directly through our NVS2, via earpiece or on-screen teleconference. Kane describes Todd’s job to be as our techno-geek guardian angel.

  The second thing we have in common is our backpacks. They all look like heavily worn North Face hiking packs but have a handy-dandy feature. Concealed inside of the Tactical Backpack’s main compartment is our weapons. Inside Nicole’s Tac-Pac, she carries her weapon of choice, a lightweight Ruger SR22 pistol, while I now carry a new Glock G41 .45 variant with the all-new Modular Optic System.

  The MOS gives the shooter an added bonus when aiming, using a large red-dot through a specially made reticle sight mounted on the rear of the slide.

  Red equals dead, I thought to myself, recalling the first time I laid eyes on it. Nicole and Kane gave me a sideways glance when choosing it. We had test fired about a dozen different weapons, and this is the one I liked the best. Plus, I’m an amateur when it comes to this crap, so I also chose it because it looked badass.

  And of course, as you would expect, Kane still hefts around his Mark XIX .50 A.E. Desert Eagle hand cannon, because, “Why the hell, not?” as he so eloquently put it when asked. Oh, and by the way…he carries two of them.

  From behind, our packs have a cross-section with the weapons and ammo on the bottom. The bottom left of my pack holds the ammo, while the bottom right holds my gun. Nicole’s Tac-Pac is flipped since she is left-handed and Kane carries an entirely different bundle since he holds “Chip and Dale” in the base of his. The gun’s nicknames are something we haven’t been able to get out of the big lug. He refuses to tell us why he named them that. One day I’ll get it out of him.

  The pack has storage for half a dozen spare magazines each as well. We carried three extra mags back under the Sahara, and with what we went through, Kane thought it best to double the load from now on and go with six.

  “You can never have overkill when it comes to ammunition,” he had said when I asked, and with the shit that went down in Algeria, I ultimately agreed.

  The backpack’s Quick-Draw pouch is a fun little feature too. The siding is basically a Velcro-sealed false wall that allows its wearer to reach around, behind their back and inside the bag. Just past the flap is your preferred weapon’s grip, so you can grab it and “draw” it out quickly, effectively acting as a hidden holster. The reverse side is the same for our secondary magazines.

  We also have a water reservoir, complete with a straw-like valve. It takes up the top half of the backpack, along with an outer pocket full of energy bars and other snacks.

  I’m not exactly sure how we got them into the park, but Kane assured me that the Tac-Pac’s “special” lining would prevent the contents from being detected by any type of x-ray device we may encounter along the way, like an airport’s x-ray machine at the check-in line, for one.

  “I’m not entirely sure how the tech works,” Kane said when explaining the upgrade to us a few weeks ago. He said that there was some sort of magnetic field produced by a hidden power source in our bags that blocks the something or other and blah, blah, blah. It’s all German to me.

  We continue forward following a group of real tourists listening in on their guide’s spiel. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us here this morning at Chichen Itza, home to the Temple of Warriors, the Sacred Cenote, the famous Ball Court, and of course El Castillo—the Castle—or as some of you know it, Kukulkan’s Pyramid. The word Kukulkan translates as ‘feathered serpent’ and…”

  I zone out as we step into a clearing, revealing the massive structure. It’s unbelievable when up close. I know a little about this particular temple from some research I did on my own a couple years back. The Castle’s construction, for one, is impressive for the sole fact that its four sides face exactly towards the four compass points (north, south, east, and west). It also has nine steps or platforms receding from the ground up, which gives its finished look to that of a standard geometric pyramid.

  The Mesoamerican step-pyramid has four central staircases that stretch from ground level, some ninety-one steps, to the temple platform at its peak. A “feathered serpent” runs along the sides of the northern staircase looking almost like a decorative handrail. It’s said that during the spring and autumn equinoxes, when the sun sets and shadows hit the stairs, a snake-like effect will slither its way down the steps.

  Too bad we aren’t here during that, I’m sure it’d be cool to see, I think as we approach the structure.

  We continue our way around the temple complex and gather as much information as we can. We’ll collect everything through our video-sunglasses as we scan the entire park, searching every nook-and-cranny the site has to offer, documenting everything. We are then led to the ball court and then eventually the cenote, following our shepherd like good little lambs.

  * * *

  Two men and a woman watched from a distance, following along in another crowd, but paid it no attention. They were there to observe Boyd and his team. The trio was ordered not to make a move…yet.

  “Can’t we just take them now?” Asked one of the men.

  “Shut it, Murphy! We have our orders,” barked the woman.

  “But it would be so easy…” Murphy said eyes on the target, slowly reaching to the small of his back where his pistol was holstered.

  “You idiot! If you so much as touch your weapon, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself!” she replied with venom in her voice, still tracking her prey. “We have orders to observe and not interact—not until the rest of the team arrives. Is that clear?”

  “And when is that?” Murphy asked. “Tonight,” replied the woman.

  Sara Carter, known as Raven in her profession, was a zero-tolerance, no-nonsense type of person. That was the reason she was chosen to be a Unit Leader for Broadsword Inc., her employer. She was often asked to lead a team during BSI’s high-priority jobs—the only woman in the organization to do so. She never jumped the gun, and she never disobeyed an order. Raven was also the only non-ex-Special Forces member of Sword. She was that good. Plus, she was screwing the boss.

  Raven always smiled at the thought of manipulating those higher than her. But, if it came down to just her skills…she would still be in Sword. Just maybe not at her current position leading a strike team.

  Thank God Frost is a horny bastard, she thought.

  Raven again scowled at the dullard standing next to her. Being dumb and reckless had rarely worked out for her fellow mercenaries in the past. She had seen countless die just for underestimating the target. She wouldn’t make the same mistake, not when they had Captain Kane with them. She had been briefed thoroughly on who he was, remembering most of the information by heart.

  At the ripe age of eighteen, a tall and strong Jeremy Kane from B.F.E., Montana enlisted in the United States Army. He was a D student and had no family to speak of in the area.

  Raven didn’t know what happened to them, but that’s what the file supplied by Frost had said.

  Kane signed up for career officer training and obtained his Captain ranking in record time, being top of his class from day one. He specialized in heavy weapons and demolition.

  Boys will be boys, Raven thought. Big guns and even bigger explosions.

  When out on a covert assignment fighting the drug cartels in Colombia, Kane suffered a catastrophic injury, saving three of his men in the process—including one John Frost.

  G.I. Joe, Raven thought. A real American hero.

  7

  Colombia

  5 Years Earlier

  “Holy shit, Captain! We gotta move, now!”

  The nine men were under heavy fire as soon as they stepped foot into the abandoned schoolyard. They initially landed three miles south of the collection of rundown, dilapidated buildings so they could arrive silently, leaving a limited footprint behind. The school itself was actually their target, a cleverly disguised cocaine production plant.

  Captain Jeremy Kane, of the United States Army, led what was left of his twelve-man assault team out of the frying pan and deeper into the fire. The men from the 3rd Ranger Battalion sprinted through the main hall of the long-closed institution.

  They had come in low and quiet hoping not to arouse suspicion, but unfortunately, they came across a two-man patrol just outside the playground area. One of the hostiles got a shot off, alerting more men to their position.

  Kane had already lost three men, all near the jungle gym just outside the west entrance to the central building. A skillfully hidden claymore was set up in a bottleneck between the aforementioned jungle gym and the swing set. The first three men through didn’t make it. Of the nine remaining Rangers, four were also injured during the blast, but thankfully not too severely.

  Kane took four of the men and went north towards the cafeteria. His number two, a man named J.R. Brooks, took the remaining men east towards the gymnasium. If they timed the assault right, whatever was left of the facility’s security team would be kept busy with Kane’s “dummy” team. The real threat would actually come from the other group, a demolitions team.

  Their mission was simple enough. Check for hostages, take out the facility, and then high-tail it back to the LZ. Kane’s team was after the hostages, but got pinned down halfway there and was forced around their original route.

  He checked around a corner and didn’t see anyone. They cautiously continued, passing what looked like offices and a teacher’s lounge.

  A door at the end of hall slammed open, followed by a barrage of gunfire, which erupted all around him. Kane dove backward, fully depressing the trigger on his M4, strafing the hallway. As soon as he hit the ground, he rolled right and ducked safely behind the corner he just came around. It was a miracle he wasn’t hit and killed.

  “You okay, Captain?” yelled one of the soldiers as he pulled Kane to his feet. The three other men had already taken up positions firing down the hall.

  Kane just nodded, scolding himself for not taking extra caution. “I’m fine. We need to move—go around them.” He signaled for his men to take the stairs behind them up to the second floor.

  Before he went, Kane removed two grenades from their respective Multi-Cam pouches and pulled the pins. He counted and threw each of the grenades to either side of the hallway and sprinted up the steps.

  The explosion in the tight confines of the hall was deafening, but it got the job done…for now. The firing near the offices ceased, meaning the combatants were either dead or had fled to regroup. Either way, it would give him and his team a few seconds respite. Those who needed to reload did, while the others covered them.

  “Captain?” asked the soldier from before.

  “The plan is the same, Dempsey. We need to get to the cafeteria and see if our intel on the hostages is accurate before Brooks blows the place.” Kane then led them quickly down the second-floor corridor, hoping they wouldn’t be delayed again.

  Boy, was he wrong.

  They made it halfway down the hall before a group of ten militants rounded the corner in front of them, cutting them off. Gunfire erupted instantly from the opposing force, but fortunately, Kane’s team was quicker.

  All five Rangers opened up with everything they had, firing a sustained burst into the assailants. They all went dry, unleashing a dizzying amount of lead down the tight confines. Just like in a low-budget action movie, all five men expelled their empty magazines at once, slamming new ones home as they moved.

  The end of the second-floor hallway was a crimson nightmare. Nothing stirred, except for the flowing blood from the fresh bullet wounds in the dead. The wall behind them was torn to pieces, showing daylight through it in some spots. A quick getaway if needed, Kane thought, strategizing a back door out. Punch through the wall with another grenade and jump down the ten or so feet to the overgrown grass below. Like landing on a pillow…in a blender.

  Kane moved ahead, peeking around the corner to his right and down the stairs, back towards the main hall of the first floor. Nothing. He sounded the all clear and moved.

  As soon as his boot hit the first blood-soaked stair, he slipped and fell on his ass, losing his M4. He unceremoniously slid down the concrete steps like a slip-n-slide from hell.

  Halfway down the twenty-foot staircase, two men stepped into view with looks of complete surprise on their faces. I guess they didn’t expect to see a Special Forces soldier sliding on his rear in a river of blood.

  Before they could get their Soviet-made Kalashnikovs up, Kane drew his M9 Beretta and put two holes in each of the men’s chests. He finished his stair-slide in true Kane fashion, continuing ass first into the adjacent wall. Thankfully there weren’t any more mercs waiting for him.

  “Damn, Captain. Nice moves!” Dempsey cheered helping him up again. He handed Kane his dropped M4 and immediately took up a defensive posture. Kane liked Dempsey, a light-hearted man, but a Ranger through-and-through.

  Kane grunted as he stood, “How many more men can they have?” It was a rhetorical question, one that was answered with more gunfire.

  This time, the volley came from farther back down the hall, near the door they originally came through.

  “Aw, shit. Run! Make for the lunch room and don’t stop until you smell the tacos!” Kane barked, running as fast as he could in his bulky armor.

  After the quick sprint, they arrived at the cafeteria, bursting through the metal doors, not having time for stealth. They entered guns up, finding only death. There were bodies everywhere, and from the looks of it, they’d been here a while.

  8

  Colombia

  “Good God,” Dempsey said, turning pale.

  Kane saw the man stop in his tracks. “Dempsey… Dempsey!” he shouted, but the man didn’t react. He was dead to the world, not being able to take his eyes off the carnage that was the hostages.

  He grabbed the stunned man’s arm, shaking him awake. “Dempsey, you’re with me. Frost, take Manning and Navarro and barricade the damn door. Go!”

  Dempsey snapped out of whatever mental funk he was in and took up a defensive position to the left of Kane. They guarded the lifeless room from this end, while the other three men did what they could to keep the security force out.

  Kane keyed his tactical throat mic, “Brooks, you copy? Hostages are a no-go. Blow the factory ASAP and rendezvous at the LZ for extraction.”

  A long second of silence and then, “Copy that, Captain. Charges set. We’re on our way.”

  He turned to the others, “Okay gentlemen, let’s find another way out of this butcher shop, shall we?” With the steel doors successfully blocked they hurried through the mess of rotting corpses to the opposite side of the room, looking for a back door.

  They entered the cafeteria’s kitchen, making their way to the exit to the loading dock. Dempsey reached for the door first, grabbed the knob and threw it open, M4 at the ready. He was greeted with a burst of fire, killing him and wounding Frost.

  Frost got off a couple lucky shots, killing the hostile, before falling to the ground clutching his shoulder. Navarro rushed to the downed men, while Manning held position by the door, weapon up, finger on the trigger.

  “Dammit, sir,” Navarro cursed. “Dempsey is down, and Frost took a round to the shoulder and is bleeding heavily.”

  All Kane could do was just stare at Dempsey’s lifeless form. The man had been beside him since this shit started and now was gone.

  “Captain?” Navarro asked, looking up to him. Kane shook his head, clearing it some. “Do what you can for Frost’s wound. We’re leaving in thirty.” Kane stepped over to Dempsey’s body, never looking into his still eyes, and collected his extra magazines and dog tags. He knew men died doing this, but he really lamented not getting Dempsey home alive to his family.

  “Sir, the rear is clear,” Manning said kneeling near the door, weapon pointed through the opening. He was the old-dog of the team, and nothing seemed to bother him.

  “Frost?” Kane asked looking to the injured man.

  “Fine, Captain. Well, better than the alternative, Sir. We’ll worry about it when we’re in the air.”

  “Can you fight?” Kane asked.

  “M4 is a no-go, shoulder won’t hold the weight, but I’m not useless either,” Frost said, drawing his sidearm.

  Kane smiled, “Never said you were.”

  He and Frost knew each other from their earliest days in the army. They were the same age and became quick friends, having loads in common. They loved the same music and re-watched the same movies over and over together in their downtime.

  The biggest difference between the two men wasn’t their abilities. They were both on even playing ground in that respect. It was Frost’s temper and his occasional lack of respect for his superiors that held him back from advancing any further. It’s the reason why Frost worked for Kane, instead of him leading his own unit.

  The four men exited the kitchen, entering the outside loading dock area, ducking left and taking a ramp that descended the raised platform. Once on ground level, they hurried to the thickly wooded area directly behind the school.

  “Brooks, you clear?” Kane asked while on the move.

  “Yes, sir,” chirped a reply. “We’re fifty yards into the overgrowth waiting on your arrival.”

  Kane knew the others could hear the transmission and responded by double-timing it into the trees. Kane and Frost were the last ones in when the shit hit the fan.

  An explosion ripped through the air and sent both men flying into a tree. When Kane hit, he felt something crack in his back, instantly losing feeling in his legs.

  “Dammit!” He swore, trying to block out the pain.

  “Jeremy…”

  Kane looked to his left and saw Frost lying in a pool of blood, the left side of his face was burned and shredded. How the man was still alive and conscious was beyond him.

  “Stay back! Get…to cover!” Kane shouted back to the others, his voice cutting out. He leaned up against a tree, pointing his weapon back the way he came.