Chapter Text
“Wheels up in 5.”
Radio chatter. Boots on tarmac echoed across the busy airbase shrouded in darkness, providing something other than the constant yelling for Jasper to focus on. One step after another. Towards, of course, more strangers. Always more strangers. Honestly, he was starting to regret his choice in career. Maybe Jasper should have picked a less social job—it was one of the many lapses in judgement he was responsible for. Maybe stocking shelves would have been less… people oriented. But that wouldn’t have gotten him away.
He ripped his head out of the clouds as Price clapped him on the back, and he jolted stiffly. Right. Yes—his team. Jasper had almost forgotten how uncomfortable it was to have the attention on him. It nearly made him miss being a part of a bigger army. Well, no going back now. It would be dumb to—the pay was phenomenal.
Jasper noticed that Gaz was nowhere to be seen. Still stuck on base recovering from the day before, he assumed. Poor guy had been profoundly concussed. It had even been a wonder that they’d even found him awake. It was just Jasper and Price now. Price, and two others standing off to the side near an APC, talking. One of them was bloody tall and wore a freaky looking mask, the other a few inches shorter with a dumb mohawk. Seriously—a mohawk? Tango tried to not roll his eyes. Of all the haircuts, he’d decided on a mohawk. Oh well, each to their own.
“Meet Lieutenant Ghost and Sergeant Soap Mactavish,” Price announced, and Jasper became highly aware that the Captain’s hand was still on his back. The moment he realised, he pulled away as discreetly as possible as to not draw additional attention to himself.
The guy in the mask turned his head to stare at Jasper, and he stared back with a frown. He didn’t want to be the first to talk—he wasn’t that kind of person.
“Ah—” The man with the mohawk began, voice thick with a deep Scottish brogue. “Soap, nice tae meet ya’; welcome tae the 141, mate.” Soap stepped forward with a wide grin and held out his palm for a handshake, but Jasper stepped back automatically. The man seemed a bit too comfortable talking. His first impression of him was naive. Not stupid, but easy to manipulate. He reluctantly shook the sergeant’s hand, pulling away as quickly as possible the moment his hand was released. The masked man just stared Jasper down, and the latter stared right back— unblinking, unwavering. Tango crossed his arms and glanced away from the other man’s sharp gaze. At least he didn’t seem like he wanted to shake hands. Jasper just gave a small, tight nod and squared his jaw, waiting for the formalities to end.
“Call me Tango,” he huffed, almost like a warning—like he was daring anyone to call him otherwise.
The man who had his face obscured leant his hips against the car, staring at Jasper like he was judging him. “Ghost,” he grunted, not moving. He didn’t offer a handshake either, and definitely didn’t look happy to see Jasper at all. Well, the feeling was mutual. The guy seemed like an ass anyway.
— — — —
Loading into the plane, Jasper claimed the furthest seat from anyone else, fixing the tightness of one of the straps on his tac vest. He had to keep his hands busy, or else he’d just start biting at his nails. It was a bad habit, but it wasn’t inconveniencing himself enough to actually care about stopping it. Glancing over at ‘Ghost’ again—he would have scoffed, if not for his own callsign being equally as dumb. Tango. Honestly, it sounded cool enough to anyone else, but seriously, it was just as stupid as anyone else's. Somehow, someone had figured out Jasper was still a virgin, and spread it around like it was hot gossip. Big deal. Who cares if Jasper damn Bell doesn’t have the desire to hop into the bed of anything that moves? He didn’t have the time to, anyway. He was busy. However, word still got around, and people started calling him “Devil’s Tango” for the irony, which eventually just got shortened to just “Tango”. But Jasper didn’t really mind anyway. Anything was better than the name that held onto everything from his past. It had almost felt refreshing to be called something different, so he just… owned it now. Besides, it was better than some of the names he’d seen his teammates back home acquire.
Jasper sighed quietly and checked his watch. 5:46 am. ‘Bright and early’—sure was early alright, just not bright. It was still pitch black outside, the sun not showing any signs of rising soon. He’d tuned out most of the mission briefing, only really paying attention to the important bits. Names, places and what to do. Nothing else really mattered, anyway. It was always just an unnecessary amount of overexplaining. All Tango needed to know was that there was a suspected human trafficking ring disguised as a drug smuggling group. Both were still illegal, but one significantly more serious than the other. Go in, crash the party, save anyone trapped to be sold, drag out the supposed visiting ringleader, and put him behind bars. Piece of cake.
— — — —
By the time the plane touched down, the sun was far above the horizon and god it was hot. Sweltering, even. After following Price, Ghost and Soap off the plane and stepping onto the tarmac, Jasper felt like he was going to drown in a puddle of his own sweat with the way his clothes clung sickenly to his own body like a second, uncomfortable skin. He was very much anticipating the return back to base, where it was not disgustingly hot and the air was not grossly humid, and he was able to actually breathe. Well, now he had something to look forward to. Jasper hadn’t thought he’d begin missing the cold, wet climate of the UK so quickly, but alas, here he was. In the country of god knows where, in the state of buttfuck nowhere. He glanced to the side, where his teammates beside him, noting that they also did not look pleased about the circumstances of the weather. Even Soap’s chipper mood had dampened and withered away in the heat. It had been barely 3 minutes, and Jasper was already internally pleading for the skies to open up and piss down. That would be nice. Wishful thinking.
The streets they all stood before bordered on bustling and claustrophobic—people crammed into every spare piece of space left on the ground as they navigated between markets. It was going to be a nightmare to even attempt to find a suspect, let alone a hidden, underground trafficking ring.
“Alright boys. We do this quiet, and we do this clean. Keep noise to a minimum,” came Station Chief Laswell’s voice over comms. Jasper hadn’t truly met her yet, but she sounded like she meant business, and he didn’t plan on testing her.
Ghost, Soap, Price and Tango all confirmed their acknowledgement somewhat in unison—a variety of ‘yes ma’am’s and ‘copy’s. Jasper was actually kind of looking forward to this mission—it was a much more involved and active operation compared to the last. Jasper’s bread and butter.
There was a sort of restless buzzing in the air, aloft over their heads like a drone. Bugs. A fucking lot of bugs. Specks of black jittering erratically against an orange, dust tainted sky, taunting them all with their very irritating presence.
Price shifted beside Jasper, walking forward a few paces before gesturing for the rest of them to follow.
“Okay,” Price gruffed, “Keep an eye out for any suspects. Chances are we aren't going to be lucky enough to catch the ringleader, so look for anyone who looks like they're skulking around.”
Tango let out a low hum of recognition, falling into step beside Ghost and Soap. The image of the man leading the trafficking ring was seared into the back of his eyelids, even hours after he'd seen it. But Price was probably right—that guy was probably hiding safely in the shadows while he sent out others to do everything for him. But there was always a second in command. Always someone who was important, but not important enough to feel the need to watch his back. Second in commands were always complacent. Complacency made for an easy capture.
The squad earned their fair share of lingering eyes as they marched down the crowded street, but some just kept their heads down as if they were afraid that looking at them would mean arrest. Still, it was nice to not have to barge through crowds that didn't separate for their chosen route.
— — — —
Al-Mintaqa al-Ḥurra. That was what the trafficking ring was called. The Free Zone. If only it was that. Women and children had been disappearing for nearly a year, but the local police had struggled to do anything substantial. So now it was the 141’s turn to unfuck everything. They’d had harder deployments anyway—this was next to nothing, if the intel was accurate. If. Chances of that were slim though. Really, what were the chances that the intel was actually, decently accurate? Well, probably next to nothing, in all fairness.
“Soap, Tango, you see that guy?" Price grunted, beginning to lag back with Ghost. Tango and Soap continued to press forward, gaze drawn to a man dressed in all black—keffiyeh, shirt and pants, all of it black. “Follow him.”
“Copy.”
The man was behaving… strangely. Nonchalant to a point of suspicion—seeming to wander around aimlessly, but not too aimlessly to draw attention. But the man’s movements were too casual, too rehearsed. Almost the right amount of mediocrity to blend in. But really, he should have picked a different outfit. All black? Not only was it cliche, but it was the opposite of “blending in”. Who else would wear all black in an area that felt like it had reached a sweltering 50°C with ease, besides a shady guy who helped run a human trafficking ring?
It didn’t take long until the man threw the group a backward glance and took off. Jasper sighed. So it was going to be a chase.
Price gave a frustrated growl and watched their target attempt escaping. “Get that bastard,” he snapped, nodding at Soap and Tango. The pair gave chase, the crowd erupting into shocked gasps and worried looks. Soap was fast, but Tango was faster—lighter—and ended the pursuit quickly when he tackled their target to the ground.
The moment they both hit the concrete, a blow landed on Jasper’s jaw, and he slammed the man back into the ground. The target grappled for Tango’s neck, which he retaliated to with a fist to the man’s cheek. The skin reddened almost immediately after the hit, and Jasper copped another strike, only barely clipping the side of his nose. It connected square with the hollow beside his nose, the hit echoing in his skull as his eyes began to water.
“Motherfucker-” he snarled, reaching down to his holster and bringing his gun up quickly, pistol-whipping the other man in the side of the head. Knocked unconscious, his head fell back limply, and Jasper would have sighed with relief, if not for the sharp crack in the air and a breeze far too close to his body for comfort. Someone was shooting. Someones. Several men were firing, faces obscured just like the man beneath Tango’s knees, and he had no choice but to return fire or cop a bullet in a very undesirable spot—his flesh, of course.
He reached for his radio with his free hand, left hand clenching and squeezing the trigger of his pistol. Thank god for Soap, who was behind him, providing extremely helpful cover fire to prevent both of their untimely demises in a shit-hole of a country.
“Taking heavy fire here- where the fuck are you both?” Tango snarled into his radio, not sure if he was more frustrated at the dilemma he was stuck in, or the fact that his two superiors were nowhere to be seen. Not once did it cross his mind that he was in fact talking to his superiors, not a battle buddy. Well, if either Price of Ghost had a problem with his language, they could come and find Jasper where he was and see what the larger issue really was—language or getting shot at by 3 men? They could take their pick.
He made the most of a lull in the gunfire, restraining the target below him with handcuffs. Dragging him up, Jasper hauled the man away from the firing line with his free arm, also to save his own ass, shooting at a few of the hostile gunmen. Soap seemed to have it handled.
Finally, at last, Ghost and Price showed up, providing much needed aid to the fight. After a few moments, Price broke away and began covering Jasper’s six so the sergeant could take their new hostage to the waiting EVAC truck. If they couldn’t find the ringleader, they’d drag it out of the hostage. Tango wasn’t sure if this was counted as a warcrime, but quite frankly he didn’t care at all. Mainly because he was a confirmed associate in a human trafficking ring, but also because they weren’t going to kill him. Just… persuade. In a way.
Deafening bangs of gunfire and the smell of smoke strangled the already thick air, and Jasper shoved the man into the truck before climbing into the right. Ghost appeared to the left of the vehicle and sat beside the hostage, trapping him in so that he couldn't try to escape through the doors. Soap slid into the passenger seat and Price in the driver's, everybody highly aware of the gunshots that seemed to be missing the truck completely. Pretty bad aim, if he said so himself.
— — — —
The truck was jostled over every bump in the road, and Jasper once again resorted to fiddling with his gear. Loosening and readjusting straps, just to keep his hands busy. His jaw throbbed, and he was pretty sure there was a little dried blood below his nose. Nothing that wouldn't heal quickly.
“Bravo-6 to Watcher-1—we have not secured the target. However, we’ve detained someone who can help us find where he is. Heading to the safehouse now,” Price gruffed into his radio, glancing back to check on Ghost, Tango and the hostage.
Soap cleared his throat, hesitating for a moment before speaking.
“...So, Tango,” he began, smiling awkwardly and trying to warm the cold silence. “Nice tackle. Form could use some work, though,” Soap teased, likely prodding for some kind of interaction. Tango bristled and didn't bother responding, gaze travelling to lock on the passing scenery out the window.
Price stared at Tango through the rearview mirror, giving a faint approving smile.
“Did good, kid. Got the job done,” he praised softly. Tango's eyes met Price's briefly, but soon returned to the blurred surroundings. He wondered why everyone felt the need to talk to him all of a sudden—it was getting irritating.
A barely audible huff came from Ghost's direction, and Tango side-eyed him. What was his problem?
— — — —
The truck pulled up beside a safehouse, rotting and looking like a health inspector’s worst nightmare. But they didn’t plan on staying long. Just enough to find out where the big boss was without having to start pulling teeth. Although, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Gravel crunched beneath the tires and a rat scurried across the driveway, definitely a “just the tip of the iceberg” situation. Great. Not only was there undoubtedly several species of fungus thriving inside, but there was a rat infestation too.
Tango grasped the hostage’s elbow, opening the car door and dragging him out. He kept a firm grip on the man’s arms, holding him still despite his fruitless wriggling. Ghost, Soap and Price stepped outside shortly after, and Price nodded at Tango to signal for him to lead the way into the safehouse. He shoved the hostage forward, keeping him moving. Ghost cut in front of him without a word, walking inside first. Seriously, what was this guy’s problem?
The house was just about as awful on the inside as expected. No hidden surprises there—well, apart from the rats and various mould stains, of course. And it reeked too, like an amalgamation of dust, rat feces and rot. Tango shoved the man into an empty chair and Price threw him three lengths of rope. The hostage’s legs were tied to the legs of the chair, and his arms tied behind his back, sharp words uttered from his lips most definitely cursing the 141 for their actions.
If he could use that mouth for swearing, he could use it for answering questions.