Tales From The Mind of Thomas

In every military force stands those who are a cut above the rest. Ones who are lethality personified. Then there are the ones who are a cut above those. Elites of the elites. Special operations soldiers who are silent phantoms, executing the most perilous missions with unparalleled precision and skill.

Among these phantoms is Unit 3/98. One of the chosen few who had endured the grueling process of selection and training, emerging as the sole graduate of his class. This program, initiated years ago, had one singular purpose: to forge warriors capable of operating alone in the most hostile environments. These men undertake the most dangerous missions that require skills beyond those of normal infantrymen.

Unit 3/98, or “Three-NinetyEight,” was not merely trained but transformed. From the first day, candidates were pushed beyond the brink of human endurance. Throughout the training, they learned how to navigate hostile terrain, evade enemy forces, and survive relentless physical and psychological tests designed to wean out all but the most resilient. For every hundred who began, only a handful completed this journey. Each successful candidate was given a unique identifier, marking their passage through the crucible.

Unit 1/27 was the sole graduate of his class. He set the standard of what was expected. Units 2/08, 2/17, 2/71, and 2/80 all graduated from the second class, each a testament to the program’s escalating demands. Three-NinetyEight was the only graduate of his class. From the fourth class, Units 4/01 and 4/20 graduated, and from the fifth class, Units 5/12, 5/13, 5/79, and 5/90 made it through training.

These warriors operate within the shadows, unseen and unheard, though whispers from their enemies tell stories of encounters with a terrifyingly deadly force. The missions the Units conduct are unrecorded and unacknowledged—an unseen blade striking at the hearts of the enemy. Their existence is a tightly guarded secret, known only to a select few.

Three-NinetyEight lay back in his bunk, watching an old sitcom about a bar in Boston on his tablet—a show he had seen a thousand times.

“Unit 3/98, report for briefing. 20 minutes,” rang out over the speaker in the corner of his dorm. Three-NinetyEight paused the show, placing the tablet on the nightstand. Rising from the bunk, he stretched his body, awakening his muscles. He threw on his trousers and laced his boots.

As he stood, he wrapped his utility belt around his waist, holstered his .45 equipped with a red dot sight, a suppressor, and a laser sight on his hip, and secured his chest rig upon himself. Strapping his assault pack onto his back, he grabbed his custom rifle with a chrome-lined 18-inch barrel, sprayed in a camouflage pattern for optimal concealment. The rifle was equipped with a 1-4x variable zoom scope, a sound suppressor, a foregrip for enhanced control, and a mounted laser sight for pinpoint accuracy. The rifle’s ergonomic design and custom grip ensured stability and precision. With his weapon ready, he marched towards the briefing room.

The corridors echoed with his footsteps, his heels striking the ground with confidence. Unit 4/01 passed him in the hallway, nodding in acknowledgment but exchanging no words. Three-NinetyEight approached the threshold of the briefing room. With a firm grasp on the doorknob, he swung the door open.

The briefing room, bland with a few folding chairs, a projector, and a screen, smelled of stale coffee, was lit by buzzing fluorescent lights. As he entered, he was greeted by General Brooks. “Three-NinetyEight,” the General began, his voice commanding but calm. Colonel Vora, a pilot, and Lieutenant Topher, his co-pilot, also attended the briefing.

“Unfortunately, your task is going to be easy,” General Brooks stated with a slight smirk.

“Easy day then, Sir,” Three-NinetyEight chuckled.

General Brooks turned on the projector. “Your target is an airfield turned drug port used by a cartel. The majority of hostile targets will be undisciplined with minimal training. In the minority of enemy composition are suspected to be CLA Special Forces. Your main objective is to gather any information you can as to why the CLA is there. Secondary is to eliminate any and all hostiles located at the airfield, primarily the CLA. “

The General pointed to the south of the airfield. “The infiltration point will be south of the airfield; you will be placed four kilometers away from the target. From there, you will hike your way to the airfield. Prior ISR suggests no enemy patrols in that area. The dense fauna will provide you plenty of coverage to reach the airfield. Once you have completed your objectives, EXFIL will be anywhere you deem fit.”

“Understood, Sir.” Three-NinetyEight nodded in acknowledgement. “What is the composition of the forces at the airfield?”

“Thirty plus drug traffickers and up to ten CLA. Any more questions?” The General paused, Three-NinetyEight shook his head. “Very well. Once in the air, you will be radio silent until you clear the airfield.”

General Brooks turned off the projector and promptly exited the briefing room. Colonel Vora approached Three-NinetyEight. “You got everything you need?” Vora asked.

Three-NinetyEight nodded. “Topher, start warming up the bird,” Vora ordered. Lieutenant Topher exited the room at the Colonel’s order.

“How’s the LT?” Three-NinetyEight inquired.

“He’s alright,” Vora replied. “Eager. He’ll do just fine.”

Three-NinetyEight nodded to the Colonel before leaving the briefing room and made his way to the flight line. He strapped his headset, covering his ears with them. He took his helmet from his pack and secured it on top of his head.

Passing through the door of the hangar, he spotted the bird. A tiltrotor aircraft with a stealth profile, its propellers already spinning and kicking up dirt away from the aircraft. Colonel Vora passed by, securing the strap on his flight helmet’s chin. Vora embarked on the aircraft, going over his preflight checklist with Lieutenant Topher.

Three-NinetyEight went over his gear once more, ensuring he had everything he needed. His knife was secured to his chest, sidearm firmly holstered on his hip, magazines strapped to his rig, and his rifle loaded. Satisfied, he approached the aircraft, entering from the aft end where the ramp was lowered.

Inside, the crew chief, Sergeant Micklin, greeted Three-NinetyEight as he went over the aircraft systems. Three-NinetyEight strapped himself in near the ramp. Some kind of oil dripped onto his shoe. The pilots up front gave the crew chief a thumb-up, confirming they were ready to go.

Sergeant Micklin asked, “All set?”

“All set!” Three-NinetyEight responded over the whirling of the propellers.

Micklin shot a thumb-up back to the pilots as he raised the ramp. The outside light slowly grew smaller as the opening closed.

The aircraft promptly lifted off the ground, gaining altitude before the rotors tilted forward, pulling the aircraft through the air. Three-NinetyEight settled in for a long flight. The crew chief moved about the aircraft, checking systems and sensors. Keeping himself busy.

As the hours passed, they aircraft approached the landing zone. “ETA, three zero minutes to touchdown.” Colonel Vora voices crackled over the headset.

Three-NinetyEight closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself. He recalled the briefing, going over every detail in his mind. His breathing was calm, with long deep breaths. He opened his eyes, ready.

“Landing in one minute.” Vora’s voice crackled again.

Micklin signaled to Three-NinetyEight to get ready. Unit 3/98 unstrapped himself from his seat and approached the ramp. He went over his gear one last time. He was set. Three-NinetyEight nodded to the Sergeant.

“Two zero seconds.” Vora stated.

The ramp lowered at the command of Micklin, as rush of wind swept through the fuselage. The aircraft settled onto the firm ground. “Go go go!” Ordered the crew chief. Three-NinetyEight rushed out the aircraft into the heat and humidity. The aircraft took off again and exited the operation area. Three-NinetyEight started his hike to the airfield.

Marching through the dense jungle. The buzzing of flying insects penetrated the air. The humidity of the jungle quickly drew moisture from the bare skin of Three-NinetyEight. His brow beading with sweat, small streams flowing down his face. He kept a watchful eye out for any hostilities, from human targets or the wild beasts that roam the jungle.

The rough terrain and dense foliage didn’t impact Three-NinetyEight pace. Each sure-footed step kept him moving quickly through the vegetation. He quickly approached the edge of the airfield. Stopping at the tree line, concealed by the dense jungle, he observed the airfield. Some kind of music playing in the distance.

Pulling out a small drone, he flew the drone into the sky and scanned the area. Starting with the runway, he observed no targets patrolling. Moving to the northern hangars, he counted ten working on the single engine propeller planes located inside. Spotting the speakers blaring the music. He scanned the control tower, spotting three men in street clothes and one wearing the uniform of the CLA.

Moving away from the tower, he spotted five more drug traffickers conducting patrols around the hangars, tower and main building. At the southern hangars, Three-NinetyEight spotted four CLA fighters inside gathered around front of a pickup truck. They appeared to be going over something. He moved the drone to the entrance of the airfield. There he spots two standing guard. Three-NinetyEight then attempted to view inside the main building, but the windows did not give him any view inside. After his reconnaissance on the airfield, he was only able to spot over half of the drug traffickers and five of the CLA members. He assumed that the rest were inside the main building or would come out once the shooting started.

He noted the positions of each target, mentally mapping out their routines and the layout of the airfield. He repositioned to gain a clear view of the tower. He took off his pack and set it in front of him, placing the rifle on top, he peered through his scope. He scanned over each target inside of the tower. Placing his crosshairs over each hostile. His breathing slowed and he readied himself. He flicked his rifle off safety, and slowing squeezed the trigger.

The rifle recoiled into his shoulder. The first bullet flew the air breaching the glass of the tower and pierced through the temple of the CLA soldier. A deep crimson sprayed from the entry wound. Quickly, he aimed at the three remaining. In rapid succession, he fired three more times. Each pull of the trigger resulted in a spilt-second execution, with minds splitting and bodies collapsing.

Three-NinetyEight maintained eyes on the tower. Watching for any movement inside. But the interior remained motionless apart from the blood that slowly trickled down the vertical surfaces. Three-NinetyEight scanned the rest of airfield, looking for any hostiles moving onto his position. The airfield, unaware, carried on with routine.

Three-NinetyEight moved around the airfield, keeping his concealment in the trees, he moved cautiously, each step deliberate to avoid detection. Approaching the entrance to the airfield, he utilized the drone again. Flying above the tree line, he scanned no movement around the two standing guard.

Recovering the drone, he slowly approached the entrance, hugging the wall of the airfield, the smell of fuel lingered in the air, he kept his sights trained on the targets. As he crept closer, he pulled out his knife, sneaking up behind the first, he quickly pierced the spine, causing the body to stiffen up. The body was slowly lowered to the guard. Three-NinetyEight approached the second. Tapping on the shoulder, the second man turned around confused. His eyes widened as a blade pierced behind the chin, through to the brain. Three-NinetyEight caught the body before it hit the floor.

He quickly hid the bodies and waited. Soon he heard footsteps approaching. A patrolling drug trafficker passed by the entrance, unaware of the fate that had befallen his comrades.  As he walked by, he felt a sharp pain slide across his neck. He felt a warmth rush down his to his chest. Losing consciousness quickly, he was dragged into a nook and hidden away.

Unit 3/98 sheathed his knife and brought up his rifle. He continued through the airfield, stalking the remaining patrolling. Keeping hidden, he waited as a lion stalking a gazelle. Quickly learning their patrol patterns, he bided his time, striking at the most opportune time. One by one they fell by his steel.

After the last patroller fell, Three-NinetyEight knew a gunfight was imminent. There was no going around that fact. He knew they would realize the men he eliminated had gone missing. He needed to set the tempo. He planned out he movements. Mapping his route. He made his way to the southern hangar. The four CLA still huddled around the pickup.

Raising his rifle, he went over each man with his crosshairs. His finger pressed against the trigger, slowly pulling it towards him. The suppressed shot rang out as the bullet flew the short distance, piercing the skull of his first target. The bullet passed through, flying into another target. Dropping two in one shot. He pushed his rifle to the right, squeezing the trigger, dropping a third. The fourth man looking down on the hood of the car, popped his head up hearing the shot and the bodies hitting the ground. He turned towards the shot. He was greeted by a round piercing his heart. His body dropped, making a thud as his head slammed against the ground.

Three-NinetyEight maneuvered to the northern hangar. Music still blaring from the speakers. Positioning himself with a clear view inside, he aimed his rifle. The ten men were still working inside the hangar. He quickly panned over each, plotting each shot. Breathing in, he readied his aim. With another pull of the trigger, he opened fire, dropping two in a split second. Transitioning to a third, who was standing on top of an aircraft, he put a round through his chest, knocking him to the ground. A fourth and fifth dropped soon after.

The remaining five, now alerted, sought cover. A sixth took a round through the neck, dropping him with a thud. A seventh attempted to assist his collapsed friend, only to be awarded with a round bursting through his eye. The eighth ran towards the main building but caught a round to his leading leg, causing his head to collide with the tarmac. The last two remained in the hangar, now fully aware of the deadly threat.

Three-NinetyEight adjusted his position slightly, waiting for the remaining two to slip up. The trapped maintainers attempted to shout for help, but their voices were drowned out by the music blasting from the speakers. The loud music covered the sound of his shots, providing him with an advantage.

One of the remaining men peeked out from behind a stack of crates, his eyes wide with fear. Three-NinetyEight took the opportunity, quickly squeezing the trigger and dropping him instantly.

The last man, now fully aware of his dire situation, attempted to break from his cover and flee. But the moment he revealed himself, he took a round through his ear.

With the immediate area cleared, Three-NinetyEight scanned the airfield once more to ensure no additional targets had emerged. The loud music continued to play, masking the sounds of his operation. He knew there were still hostiles in the main building, so he moved cautiously, using the noise to his advantage as he approached his next objective.

Three-NinetyEight observed the building. Noting each egress point. He planned his assault. He weighed his options. Breach the main entrance, move room to room clearing an unknown layout? Or draw them out?

Drawing them outside seemed the better option. He could use the element of surprise and his familiarity with the exterior terrain to his advantage. He scanned the area for anything he could use to create a distraction, settling on a nearby fuel drum.

He quietly moved to the fuel drum to the southern hangar, checking his surroundings to ensure he was not seen. He placed a small charge on the drum, setting a timer to detonate in a few minutes. He then repositioned himself with a clear line of sight to the main entrance and egress points, ready to take out any hostiles who emerged.

The timer ticked down, igniting the charge. The explosion set the southern hangar ablaze. Immediately the remaining hostiles rushed outside. He counted them as they rushed to the burning structure. The remaining twelve drug traffickers and five CLA members attempted to put out the fires. Panic setting inside themselves.

Three-NinetyEight opened fire. Dropping each of them with precision. In a moment only, their numbers dropped rapidly. They soon realized that they are under attack. They attempted to break for cover, but they were too exposed. Unit 3/98 picked them off one by one. He left one CLA soldier alive, putting a round in his leg.

Three-NinetyEight approached the remaining hostile, his rifle raised. The last of the CLA attempted to draw his pistol, but a shot connected with his arm, causing the pistol to drop to the ground. With a swift swing, Three-NinetyEight floored the enemy. He quickly bound the man and attended to his wounds, stopping any bleeding.

 

He dragged the man and secured him to a post, ensuring he couldn’t escape.

Now, Three-NinetyEight needed to search for intel on why the CLA were at the airfield and gather any other information he could find about who the buyers were and where the drugs were coming from and going.

He moved cautiously into the main building, his rifle at the ready. The interior was a mixture of papers, equipment, and hastily abandoned belongings. He began his search methodically, starting with the offices. He rifled through desks, cabinets, and drawers, looking for anything that could provide insight.

In one of the offices, he found a map pinned to the wall, marked with various locations and routes. Beside it, a ledger detailed transactions and shipments. He snapped photos of everything with his tactical camera, ensuring he could analyze them later.

Moving to another room, he discovered a stack of documents that listed names, dates, and amounts. It was a clear record of the cartel’s dealings. Among the papers, he found references to the CLA, suggesting a deeper connection between the two groups.

He continued his search, finding a laptop on a desk. He powered it on, surprised there were no security measures. “Guess these guys know nothing about OPSEC,” he whispered to himself. The files on the laptop provided a trove of information: emails, transaction records, and correspondence between the cartel and various buyers. He made a backup on a flash drive before sliding the laptop into his pack.

Satisfied with his search, he left the building. He proceeded to go through the airfield, planting charges on any shipments of narcotics. Each charge was set with precision, ensuring maximum destruction.

Finally, he made his way back to the CLA soldier. The man looked at him with a mix of fear and defiance. Three-NinetyEight approached, his expression unreadable.

“Ready to go for a ride?” Three-NinetyEight asked. The man’s face contorted in confusion.

“Falcon, this is Unit 3/98. Airfield secured. One Delta Papa. Requesting EXFIL on runway.” he transmitted through his headset.

The response came swiftly. “Copy that. EXFIL en route. ETA ten minutes. Hold your position.”

Three-NinetyEight secured the CLA soldier more tightly to ensure he wouldn’t escape during the extraction. He then took a defensive position nearby, keeping a close watch on the surroundings. The minutes ticked by slowly, each second filled with the distant sounds of the jungle and the occasional crackling of the fires still burning in the hangars.

Soon, the distinct hum of the approaching tiltrotor aircraft broke through the ambient noise. The aircraft descended onto the runway, its rotors kicking up dust and debris. Three-NinetyEight guided the CLA soldier toward the aircraft, maintaining a firm grip on his arm.

As the ramp lowered, Three-NinetyEight and his captive boarded swiftly. The crew chief helped secure the CLA soldier strapping him in uncomfortably tight. Three-NinetyEight sat across from his captive. The tiltrotor aircraft lifted off returning to base, leaving the smoldering airfield behind. Three-NinetyEight detonated the charges, the airfield erupting in a fireball. He smiled as he watched the airfield lit up like a Christmas tree on the Fourth of July.