Defender(41)

"The army's finally bringing some mortars down on the rebel headquarters," Fredericks yelled.

"This just gets better and better," Garrett said to no one in particular. Down by the dockyards, less than two kilometres away, local government troops had somehow reorganised and unleashed a mortar fire mission upon the rebel stronghold in the centre of the capital.

"Mike, I bet you'd rather be living the life of a ranger up in the Yukon or somewhere right now. You're always on about it. Am I right?" Garrett asked, throwing some much-needed levity at Fredericks, spread eagled on the rooftop as they were, sheltering for their lives. "Writing out infringements for campers not following the rules, helping bears out of traps."

Another barrage hammered the rebels.

"Maybe I would," Fredericks lied, knowing he wasn't quite ready for that yet. Or was he?

"Bollocks, me ol' mate," Garrett jibed.

"I've been offered a security consulting job in Vancouver, you know. Corporate gig. Even being a ranger sounds pretty damn good to me right now," grimaced Fredericks, "no amount of money is worth this."

"Ah, but we don't do it for the money. We're just too bloody stupid to do anything else," Garrett laughed as explosions continued to cascade around their hotel.

"You're right there. You're older than me, so you should know better," Fredericks grinned. "But I'm catching up, in case you hadn't noticed, and am getting far too old for this shit." Checking through the binoculars again, Fredericks silently chastised himself, for the thousandth time, for the boyish spirit of adventure, which, at the age of 41, he had yet to outgrow. 'One of these days you' re going to get yourself killed'. He could still hear his wife's words echoing from that day just a year ago when, standing half-in/half-out of their front door, kit bag and backpack at his feet, waiting for a cab, she had finally told him she wouldn't be there when he got back. Maybe Marie was right. Maybe it was time to grow up. Fredericks still missed her, badly. Perhaps, if he made it through this one and committed to staying home, she might reconsider. Looking out over Cullentown, the situation was worsening. Home was just another distant memory. "We're running out of time," Fredericks said coolly.

"We need to get our people out of this hotel and down to the extraction point now," replied Garrett.

"OK, Ad. I'll stay here and you go on ahead, as planned. Take a couple of lads from your crew and set up a reception point by the helipad where the Marines are getting established at the beach. I'll get things sorted here and will start sending people down to you within the next 30 minutes. Alright?"

"You got it," Garrett replied without hesitation. He was glad of the activity, glad to be finally moving out. They knew what had to be done. It had been planned for weeks. "What about Morgan?"

"He'll be fine," said Fredericks. "I'll wait for him here. You get young Martinez to organise a couple of Land Rovers to ferry the sick, lame and lazy down to the beach. The rest'll have to go on foot. I won't send anyone off to you without an armed escort. We've got 67 in all, including kids, to be evacuated, and more coming in with Alex on the chopper. So, Martinez'll have to keep things moving pretty slick."

"Do you think he can handle it?" asked Garrett, concerned about the newest member of the team, the 26 year-old communications wizard they called 'Boy'. He was inexperienced with the intricacies of evacuation ops. "I haven't got time to stick a set of trainer-wheels on him."

The mortar attack against the rebels continued. Piercing explosions punctuated their planning. The two remained fl.at on their bellies as they spoke. "He'll have to handle it," Fredericks yelled over the explosions. "Let's check the manifests downstairs. Once you've spoken with the Marines at the beach, contact me on VHF and let me know when their choppers will be ready to start flying people out to the ship."

"Great. I'll send one of the boys back up here with a radio to keep an eye on things and let us know how much time we have before these bastards are all over us."

With a final glance across Cullentown, Garrett and Fredericks headed for the stairs.

Garrett had already been there, done that. He'd fought the IRA, the Argies, and the Taliban. This time, he knew that he and the boys had their work cut out for them. It may have started out as routine, but from here on in it could go pear-shaped - a potential bloodbath all the way back to the boat. He could feel it in his bones. Maybe Fredericks was right. Maybe they were both getting too old for this shit.

No, he thought. Old Freddo was just getting soft.

"Make sure your guys have plenty of ammo, Ad. They're going to need it," Fredericks yelled down to Garrett as he followed him downstairs from the roof. "We don't want any bastard getting killed because they were stupid enough to run out."