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Entry 10: Viper, PFC Drum, Kevin (Hometown: Aberdeen, Scotland, UK)

Lesotho was not a bad gig. Basic intelligence gathering for the Intel Vipers headquartered in Maseru. My platoon sergeant, SFC Mayweather, was putting on some civilian clothing to blend in with the local population while my squad leader, SSG Joseph Baptiste, and the rest of our squad was putting on civilian attire more in line with tourists from France. Each of us had a French passport with cover names associated to a Cobra finance company from Clermont-Ferrand. Most of the time I hated these types of missions, but the local girls were easy on the eyes, and some were even easy to bed. Not that it mattered as other tourists, especially Americans, were easy to pick up.

Most of the intel we were gathering was for Cobra's finance market expansion. Tomax and Xamot, the creators of Extensive Enterprises and the Crimson Guard, were on the look out for new markets to exploit and most European countries didn't really care about many things that happened on the African continent. Since the firm we were representing was another shell for Extensive Enterprises, we were led to believe that the U.S. and the Joes had no interest in our dealings here.

Our venture was about to get shot to hell when I reported that I had visual confirmation of Joes Dee-Jay, Scoop and Hit & Run. Hit & Run was easy to spot. Tall, lanky, white dude that dressed and talked like an American from the Midwest. Scoop was painfully more obvious as he was an undercover agent in an American news agency that travelled the globe as a foreign news correspondent. Dee-Jay was a little harder to spot. He did blend in a little more with the local populace, but the giveaway was that he didn't catch on to all the local customs, courtesies, and garb.

One of the benefits of an organization like Cobra was that we had more personnel that we could train in various cultures, religions, and languages to help us achieve the anonymity we desired. The Joes top operators were spread pretty thin and when you have to jump from location to location you don't get the emersion required to blend into the operational environment.

We were ordered to continue our missions without any disturbances to our daily routines. Our platoon sergeant briefed us on the 'Why.' "Any deviation to our daily routines could tip off the Joes to our presence. We've had these set routines for nearly three months and there are no tippers that have come out that the Joes even know we're here." Said SFC Mayweather.

It was a nice warm Thursday in February when SFC Mayweather, SSG Baptiste, CPL Long, PFC Jean Francois, and I were at a local restaurant discussing a false business venture when Scoop grabbed a table next to ours. PFC Francois looked over at the red-haired man before returning to our conversation. After an hour of discussion Scoop turned around to our table and asked a seemingly innocuous question, "You gentlemen here on business?" SFC Mayweather, in English with a Lesotho accent, "What business is it of yours?" "Oh, I'm here covering a news story on international business ventures. I'm a foreign news correspondent ya see, and I was hoping that you gentlemen might want to do an interview, if you're here on business and you'd like the free press." He smiled. "Americains fouineurs. I do not know why you Americans think everything is your business. France has been doing business the world over for longer than your nation has been a nation." SSG Baptiste said in perfect French and English in a French accent. "No offense intended gentlemen. A simple no would have sufficed." Scoop replied as he stood and began to move away. "Prick." Said PFC Francois quietly. But it wasn't quiet enough and Scoop was still within earshot. SSG Baptiste glared at the PFC for breaking his cover and hoped it hadn't been noticed by the Joe. Scoop looked back at our table and had a little grin on his face. I caught it when the others hadn't. He overplayed his had as he muttered "Don't go slithering away, snakes."

I knew we had been made. I jumped up and drew a silenced Ruger Mark IV and shot Scoop between his eyes. "Run!" I barked at the rest of the men. They scattered, with SFC Mayweather running in the same direction I had. At that moment I knew we were fucked when about a dozen Greenshirts came running out of nearby buildings. The other Vipers drew similar Mark IVs and began firing at the Joes with the Joes returning fire with their improved SCAR-Ls. PFC Francois was shot in the back several times as he tried to flee. Serves him right, fucking prick. SSG Baptiste had disappeared down an alley and we lost sight of him. Most of the Greenshirts pursued me and SFC Mayweather. We took cover in a nearby hotel that catered to mostly American tourists and was about two kilometers from our fallback outpost, a Cobra hotel front that catered to mostly European tourists and Cobra personnel operating in Maseru.

We were making our way through the lobby and dining room into the kitchen when we heard the Greenshirts bursting into the hotel and start yelling orders at the guests of the hotel. One guest had started yelling at one of the Greenshirts in French, poor bastard, and was shot by another Greenshirt. Must've mistaken him for one of us. Not our problem, and if we made it out of this shit maybe Cobra PR could spin this to our advantage.

We continued to make our way towards our fallback outpost engaging the pursuing Greenshirts several times, killing seven of them. "Stop, you fucking mercs!" shouted a man down an alley as we were crossing. "Shit. It's Dee-Jay." SCF Mayweather said to me as a shot rang out from down the alley and hit my platoon sergeant in his right hip bone. I grabbed the SFC and pulled him over my shoulders and told him to lay down some covering fire as I carried him down the street towards the outpost. I felt him grab a magazine off my belt as he continued to shoot towards the alley where he had spotted Dee-Jay. A tall, lanky, sandy-blonde haired man stepped out in front of me from the alley I was about to cross, and he kicked me with an inside twisting kick to my left knee. I stumbled and dropped SFC Mayweather, nearly on his head. As Hit & Run loomed over me he asked, "Is your dirty snake ass ready to turn yourself in?" I didn't reply. I just turned over and began to crawl away from him. He let me crawl for about a minute before he grabbed my ankle and jerked me towards him, rolling me over onto my back. The grin he had just a minute ago faded as he realized that what he thought was a feeble attempt to escape was a distraction so that I could draw and reload my Ruger. "Sucks, doesn't it?" I smiled as I shot him, also between his eyes.

We were only a few hundred feet away from our outpost and I could hear Dee-Jay running up the street toward us. I ran as best I could to gather SFC Mayweather. I had turned back toward the outpost when I felt a searing pain rip though my abdomen at the same time I heard the gunshot. I thought we were about to get killed or captured. Fuck. Then gunfire from up the street railed over us. The detachment of Alley Vipers, that were kept as hotel security, came running towards us forcing Dee-Jay to retreat, unable to even recover his fallen brothers. The Alley Vipers picked us up and carried us back to the outpost without saying a word to either of us.

We spent the next four hours undergoing medical care and debriefing. A lean staff sergeant entered my room and introduced himself as SSG Green. He was the platoon sergeant for the Alley Viper detachment that had rescued us. "PFC Drum, those were some serious actions you just encountered. Here. This is a letter of recommendation for you to use to go to the Shock Viper Academy, if you wish to do so. It has already been signed by my company commander, CPT Highsmith." He then left the room without waiting for my reply. I met up with SFC Mayweather a few hours later, and to our surprise SSG Baptiste was also back at the outpost and had also undergone debriefing. We talked for a few hours before hitting the rack.

"PFC Drum, I mean, Kevin. You saved my life back there. I don't know how I can repay you for that. I mean two code named Joes and several Greenshirts on top of that. I mean, Fuck. That shit was almost a certain deathtrap. Fucking Francois man. Fuck. I owe you. I don't know how to repay this, but I will."

"Sergeant, it was my duty. I don't know that anyone would have done anything different." I replied.

"We're getting reassigned to different units, and you'll feel different someday. When that happens, hit me up."