Aside from Avril, adopting Sampson was the best thing that happened to the trio in the Middle East. The unique mongrel possessed an uncanny ability to sniff out hidden Russians, cloaked or not. This sharp nose quickly became a lethal problem for the enemy. Desperate to neutralize the threat, a pair of rogue Russian operatives devised a trap to eliminate the troublesome mutt and anyone foolish enough to attempt a rescue. The moment the opportunity arose, they struck.
On patrol with only Sampson by his side, Jimmy ventured much farther than usual to check the outer perimeters. Having his faithful compadre along gave him the extra grit needed to push into uncharted territory. Jimmy chose his favorite electric jeep, staying low to the ground so Sampson had a clear view of the surrounding brush. He knew the drill: the moment Sampson caught the scent of Russian soldiers, the hair on the dog's neck would bristle, his muscles would lock, and a low, silent rumble would vibrate in his chest. And then, the hunt was on.
It was a game for both Jimmy and Sampson, even to the point that he did not cloak when he used ground units on patrol. It didn't seem logical to him since the tires caused a wake in the dirt, throwing dust high in the air wherever he drove; besides, Sampson didn't have the ability to cloak if Jimmy forgot the dog's cloaking dogsuit; which was often. And, a lot of the times, the dog would also pull off the head cap at the most inopportune moment and be just a head flying by in the wind riding a rather large shadow that did not match the head.
Realizing Sampson had caught the scent of an enemy, Jimmy killed the engine and slid out of the jeep. He scanned the area, lifted the dog to the dirt, and let him lead the way. Invisible or not, no Russian soldier could hide from the canine's nose. Standard protocol was simple: scout the area, count heads, and report back to base for a backup detachment if they were outnumbered. Taking on cloaked troops alone was suicide.
Moving stealthily from cover to cover, Jimmy and his four-legged partner crept toward a small clearing. Sitting by a camp stove was a heavyset Russian soldier—completely uncloaked—preparing a sparse meal. The man didn't even flinch when Jimmy emerged from the shadows in full sight, rifle raised. He simply looked Jimmy in the eye and slowly raised his hands.
Too easy, Jimmy thought. He turned to look for Sampson, but a sudden, deafening explosion ripped through the quiet.
Panic surging, Jimmy quickly zip-tied the prisoner to a piece of rebar jutting from an old foundation slab and sprinted back toward the ridge. He reached the clearing only to find his jeep transformed into a blackened, smoldering wreck.
"Sampson!" he whistled, the familiar sequence of notes sharp in the air. Nothing. He whistled again. Still nothing.
Heart hammering, Jimmy engaged his cloaking device and ran back to the prisoner. The clearing was empty. The stove, the food, and the soldier was gone—leaving behind only a pair of cleanly severed zip-ties. Stranded and blind he cloaked and melted into the shadows of the village outskirts, waiting for a search party that felt a lifetime away.
Scanning the area for any movement that didn't belong, he scoured the ground for a trace of his faithful companion. A growing dread tightening in his chest when he came up empty. He was miles past the boundaries he'd reported to the camp, but his own safety didn't matter—only Sampson did. He had to find his four-footed buddy before the rescue party arrived and forced him to leave. As the daylight bled away, panic set in. The only tracks he'd found so far were human, except for a few fresh pawprints that mirrored his own back where he last saw the dog. The dognappers must have used a trap; Sampson never would have let them carry him away without a fight.
Against his better judgment, Jimmy returned to the clearing where his furry friend had vanished. He edged around the perimeter, careful not to contaminate the scene with his own footprints. Adjusting the zoom on his glasses, he scanned the ground. If the abductors were still lurking nearby, any fresh tracks—or a shadow out of place—would give them away. After spotting a stout tree that offered a safe vantage point for the night, Jimmy climbed onto the branches, set his lenses to night-vision movement alert, and settled in to wait for backup.
Night fell, and Jimmy still hadn't returned from patrol. Lynn and Griff didn't need to debate their next move—the "no man left behind" pact they shared demanded action. After a quiet conversation with Merc, who would ensure the safety of the Essene tribes, the militia leaders packed their gear and slipped into the hallways. They knew no rescue party would join them; with the base operating on a skeleton crew, all available Israeli and Jordanian troops were anchored at the northern border, waiting for the Russian-Chinese invasion to strike. Only Merc and the twelve stone-faced Essene warriors remained to guard the families. Relieved that Avril had already deployed with her unit—sparing them from forcing Jimmy's sweetheart to stay behind—the two made a quiet, final line for the motor pool.
Driving from the underground base entrance, Lynn and Griff cloaked their vehicle. In the darkness shrouding the distant road, they raised the blades and took to the sky. For this night patrol, they slipped in their night-vision contacts. Mapping the route from Jimmy's earlier report, they searched the ground below, flying slowly from shadow to shadow to hide their presence. How far had he gone? The first destroyed village? The one after? They would have to search every settlement anywhere near his course. It was well past midnight when they finally spotted Jimmy's burned-out vehicle in an uncharted area off the patrol maps.
Griff felt a stab in his gut at the thought of losing his friend. That's right, he thought to himself, Jimmy was his friend. They may have had their differences, but he liked the son-of-a bitch and admired his gung ho attitude about everything. He was the ultimate 'yes man' when it came to volunteering for things that needed to be done. Had he volunteered one too many times now? It was evident when the two identified the familiar electric ground unit Jimmy liked to drive, blacked out by a blast that was a sure sign he was in serious trouble. It was definite that things went very wrong for their missing friend. As the two retreated from their invisible aircar and cloaked themselves, they set out to find him...or what was left of him. Everyone knew the Russians were taking no prisoners.
Late into the night, unnatural sounds jolted Jimmy to full attention. He sat up on the branch, eyes scanning the darkness for movement. Climbing down as noiselessly as possible, he crept toward the noise, avoiding loose dirt to mask his footprints, watching for shadows that didn't belong. He stopped near the suspected source—right beside the reminiscence of his own vehicle. Surely it was the rescue party, but he didn't dare drop his cloak.
Stepping forward, his shin bumped into a solid, invisible mass. He cautiously reached out, feeling across the cloaked hull until his fingers brushed against a hidden console. He keyed his security code into the keypad, and the passenger door hissed open. A wave of relief washed over him; it was an allied cargo transport. Once inside, the glow of the dashboard caught the screen of Lynn's iPad left on the console. It was his team. He reached across the seat and smashed the reverse beeper. The sharp, rhythmic blare shattered the night—a desperate beacon to bring his invisible saviors right to him.
Reaching the rubble where Jimmy had encountered the heavy-set Russian, Lynn and Griff paused to read the tracks. Both recognized Jimmy's footprints instantly, thanks to the distinctive tread of his fine Italian leather boots. Two other unfamiliar sets of prints marked the dirt, but the pair breathed a sigh of relief—Jimmy could easily overpower two ordinary soldiers. Strangely, there was no sign of a struggle, only a circle of paw prints that seemed erratic, likely left by Sampson. What had happened here? Before they could dwell on the mystery, the distant bleep of a vehicle reminded them that two enemy soldiers—and Jimmy—were still nearby. Griff quickly uncloaked and motioned for Lynn to flank one side of the clearing while he took the other. Reactivating his app, he moved parallel to her through the rubble. They melted into the sparse shade from fallen buildings, making their way back to where they had left their vehicle. Spotting Jimmy ahead, they finally stepped out of the shadows and revealed themselves visibly
"They took Sampson," Jimmy said, shaking his head in desperation the moment his team mates walked up. His fistbump greeting was only a half-hearted attempt. How was he going to get his friend back? He wanted that to be their next focus. "We need to go after them. They've taken Sampson."
"The only place we're going is back to base," said Griff firmly. Lynn nodded in agreement.
"Let's go," she said as she climbed into the passenger's seat and leaned to open the driver's door. Griff slid in behind the wheel and opened the back hatch. Jimmy hesitated for only a moment before he climbed into the back cargo hold that was not made for his six foot length unless he laid on his back. It disturbed him to think that his friends may have come prepared for a body recovery.
"I want my dog back," Jimmy announced as Griff started the engine and then the rotor blades set themselves in place before they began to whirl. The vehicle remained invisible as they took off and headed back to the base. Rising into the night sky, he looked out the window of the hatch at the stars, wanting to plead with them to return for a search.
"No more about the dog," Lynn said, turning back to face Jimmy. "With any luck, he'll find his way back. We'll let the guards know to keep an eye out for him."
Arriving back at the base, Jimmy silently hauled his gear from the back of the vehicle and stalked back to their quarters, sulking the entire way. He was not about to leave Sampson at the mercy of those barbarians. He would devise a rescue plan—and implement it alone if he had to. Still, he wished Avril was there; she would know exactly what to do. The two of them were a dynamo team, capable of slipping in and out of enemy territory like ghosts.
As Jimmy and Griff entered their lodgings neither spoke, Lynn came in later and handed Jimmy a plate of food, he accepted it with a numb nod but barely touched a morsel as he sat at the table in the center of the room. Griff set two beers on the table and clasped his shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of the shared loss hanging heavily over his friend.
When Lynn and Griff retired for the remainder of the morning, Jimmy rose from the table and headed across the room. He sank onto his bed, exasperated, and let his upper body fall back heavily enough to make the metal frame squeak. He had hoped chugging the beer would bring some badly needed sleep. Instead, he lay staring into the darkness, listening to the night sounds. Lynn snored softly, rustling beneath her sheets. Jimmy smiled to himself when he heard nothing from Griff. He was the only person Jimmy had ever met who could actually sleep like a stone—his bed was just as neat getting up as it was when he lay down.
Jimmy's thoughts quickly drifted back to Sampson. Tomorrow morning's reconnaissance mission was off; he was going after his dog. It didn't matter what Lynn and Griff forbade—he was going to find their mascot, their friend, their teammate. Jimmy was bringing him home. No man left behind was their motto, and even though Sampson was a newcomer, he was vital to the team. He thought about Lynn's warnings as she stood over him before she retired for what sleep they could recover.
To Lynn, focus on the war had to be absolute. Every person on the squad needed to be ready for immediate deployment, fully attuned to their specific sector. Frontline intelligence wasn't just data; it was the fuel for their next tactical move, and distractions could cost them their contract. Operational shifts had to be tackled in real time, with the entire unit instantly adapting to the fallout. Lynn hammered this point home to their junior member.
But at what cost to the team? Jimmy watched his leader's face turn bright red as she spat out her warnings to him.
"Deplorable," he muttered into the darkness. His sleep was not solid as he tossed and turned until morning.
Later that morning, Jimmy was the first one up. Sleep had eluded him, his mind racing with what he would need for Sampson's rescue. Oddly enough, those thoughts kept drifting back to the t-shirt cannon Avril had given him for his birthday. She always found the coolest toys, spoiling him at every turn, and he had grown used to the surprises waiting for him whenever she returned to base. She was a keeper. He realized just how dramatically his life had changed since meeting her; he wasn't that isolated person anymore. He was part of a couple, part of something whole and vital. Stepping into the dining room, his reflections cut short when he noticed Dave, the pastry chef, and Yeshu, the dessert server, standing rigid as if they were waiting just for him.
"What's up guys?" he asked them, curiously.
"We have a few men who want to go out with you today," Dave said secretly when Jimmy walked up to them. Jimmy pulled a coffee cup from the neatly stacked and lined rows of cups as Dave continued to speak. "We have to get Sampson back before the Russians invade Jordan. He'll give us the luck we need to keep from getting captured."
"No one's getting captured," Jimmy interjected with a chuckle. What a superstitious bunch. "And what makes you think anyone's going to let you join me?"
"We're not going to ask," Yeshu said as he stepped up. "We've got to save Sampson. We need to get him before they eat him." Jimmy shook his head at Yeshu and tried not to show his agitation. He was already trying to keep that thought out of his head.
"How do you suppose we're going to get the lot of you out without being seen?" asked Jimmy, pulling the handle on the coffee urn and filling the cup.
"We were going to bribe the guards but they said they would sneak us out regardless. They want Sampson back as well," said Dave matter-of-factly. "We have a plan."
"Cool," Jimmy said with a quick grin. "Let's rescue our friend." A round of high-fives erupted just before Lynn and Griff came into the dining hall. Everyone stiffened and tried to look innocent, which only made them look more guilty.
"What's all that about?" Lynn asked suspiciously, walking up to Jimmy and then turning to Griff.
"Don't get yourselves worked up over a missing dog," Griff cautioned. Though he wanted Sampson back just as much as they did, he had to keep their expectations realistic. The Israeli commanders wouldn't hear of a rescue mission; they were entirely consumed by the impending invasion. Sampson's survival wasn't even an afterthought to them. "Besides," Griff added, "the consensus is that he was probably at someone's dinner table last night. Just to be safe, Lynn and I are taking the patrol today. We don't need you tempted to defy direct orders. Now, why don't you join us for breakfast?" Jimmy flinched. He and his crew had other plans, but he had to relent—otherwise, it would look like they were up to something.
Lynn cautioned Jimmy one more time before they headed out. The tall African American man joined them on the walk to the motorpool, tamping down his anxiety. He nodded along in agreement with everything they said, tracking them into the garage to help load the weapons and ammo. Once the heavy lifting was done, he waved goodbye as they steered the aircar onto the long driveway leading outside. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and hurried back toward the dining room. The men were waiting, and the rescue effort had to begin immediately.
Without losing a beat, the large group gathered weapons, ammo and supplies before marching down the hall, determined to complete a successful mission. After descending to the garage, they piled into a massive flying truck and drove slowly past the guard shack, waving with forced smiles.
In the security hub, two guards sat hunched over their monitors, tracking the base exits. A low buzz broke their routine—an alert from the upper ground cameras trained on the outer door. Security had deactivated the AI on those top-level feeds to stop the system from flagging the rescue party's departure. However, the physical sensor still triggered a quiet chime whenever someone approached the threshold from below. Both guards leaned in as a vehicle rolled past the lens of the upper cameras. In the front seat, Jimmy was at the wheel, a crowd of men and women packed into the back.
"Where are they going?" one guard, who had not been informed about the rogue mission, asked the other in Hebrew. He checked the board for scheduled departures and only found that Jimmy had been scheduled for patrol and then a note about Griffin and Marston taking the patrol.
"Since we've been told not to allow Jimmy Westphal off the premises," the other replied in their native tongue, "he seems to be leading a rescue party for the dog, and we're letting him." Both men laughed. Jimmy's antics were legendary around the base, and it surprised no one to see him exactly where he wasn't supposed to be.
"We're going to let him get the dog," the first one said blatantly. The other nodded in agreement and turned off the outside monitors and disabled all the alarms the airtruk would trigger ascending to the outside. Gossip, in the confined status of the base, ran rampant. Everyone knew what went on, even if they weren't about to admit it.
Landing where Sampson was last spotted, the rescue party divided into three tactical teams. While two groups moved to encircle the perimeter from opposite sides, the remaining crew held their position at the airtruk. The search was cut short by sudden violence. Ambushed on the east side, the rescuers dodged a hail of gunfire as bullets whizzed past. The two scattered wings immediately coalesced into a single unit, diving together behind a ridge of fallen debris. Their shadows had betrayed them. Pinned down, the entire team returned fire, aiming blindly at the distant muzzle flashes echoing through the debris.
Suddenly, a small figure emerged from one of the ruined buildings. It was Sampson—and a bomb was strapped to his torso.
"Hold your fire! Stop shooting!" someone screamed.
Panic rippled through the bunker of rubble. How the hell were they going to get him out of that contraption? One stray bullet and their lucky charm would go up in a blaze of glory.
To make matters worse, a second group of shadows materialized from the opposite flank, firing wildly. Hostile Russian soldiers had them pinned. Caught in a brutal crossfire, Jimmy's men returned fire on both sides of their shelter, sending the second group of Russian soldier shadows scrambling behind nearby buildings as a spray of lead splintered the surrounding trees. Even with high-tech cloaking devices, safety was an illusion in this war.
As the chaotic firefight dragged on, a desperate plan hatched in Jimmy's mind. He noticed Sampson had frozen right in the middle of no-man's-land, stuck between the allied safety pit and the invisible enemy.
Crawling across their tiny space, he rummaged frantically through his pack and pulled out his prized birthday present: a genuine, stadium-grade t-shirt cannon. Clenching his trusty Bowie knife between his teeth and pulling the cannon tight over one arm he prepared to jump the line and go after his pet. Hidden by his cloaking device, all except the plastic cannon was invisible, Jimmy sprinted toward the middle of the field.
Sensing his friend and comrade, Sampson picked up his presence and bounded forward. The dog barked happily, leaping into the air toward Jimmy—who could only pray with all his heart that the bomb wasn't touch sensitive.
As he ran, Jimmy, in one continuous motion picked up Sampson, which gave the dog the impression he was flying next to the t-shirt cannon. With his knife, he cut the strap to the bomb and slipped it into the cannon that also looked as if it were animated by itself. Firing in the direction of where Sampson seemed to have emerged. The bomb exploded as it impacted the upper part of the structure causing pieces of rock and plaster from the top portion of the wall to fly into the air and rain down noisily. Running back to where his team lay pinned down, Jimmy's arms cradling the canine, which looked quite awkward for the flying dog as bullets whizzed past. Jimmy jumped high over the barrier of rubble, landing on his rear beside Dave.
Wiggling free, Sampson barked and ran circles inside the barrier nipping at the tape attached to his hairs. While the rest of the squad showered the outer area with bullets, both Dave and Jimmy dropped their invisibility to chase the hysterical animal and cut the sticky residue from the dog's fur. Sampson yelped with every sharp tug of the tape.
"Where the fuck did you get that?" Dave asked as he watched Jimmy push the handy bomb thrower back into his pack after they pulled patches of skin and adhesive off the miserable animal. Picking up their rifles, they rejoined the volley of fire.
"It was a birthday present from my girlfriend," Jimmy grinned, snapping the rifle's loaded magazine into the magazine well. Ready to rock. He and the men took turns poking their heads above the rubble, sending desperate rounds at the soldiers pinning them down. With the squad split back-to-back and firing in both directions, Jimmy had a sudden, terrifying realization: if anyone died here, he'd have to explain why they left the base without authorization. At least the dog is safe, he consoled himself. The thought was instantly cut short by a heavy thud and a slight geyser of dirt that exploded right next to him.
"I do believe we're done for." Yeshu emerged into visibility from where the dust settled, glancing at the two other visible men. Before panic could take hold, they noticed the enemy fire was dropping off. Braving a look over their cover, they listened as the gunfire that had trapped them finally fell silent.
"Merc?" Jimmy called out relieved, it was just as he and Lynn had experienced during another operation where Merc and Griff appeared out of nowhere, "is that you?" When the gunshots ceased completely, the men hiding in the rubble all faded into view and began to pop their heads up. Merc walked out into the open, himself visible, tranquilizer rifle in hand. "Who's hairbrained idea was this?"
"It was all of us," Jimmy answered, watching as Sampson greeted Merc with playful jumps on the back of his legs. Making the mercenary smile as his four legged friend danced excitedly to see him, demanding his attention. He gave a sympathetic glance at the patches of missing hair and pieces of tape still attached to his hide. He knelt on one knee and petted the animal lovingly.
Like he would ever shoot Sampson, Jimmy thought, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. Merc led the men to the unconscious soldiers and had them strip the prisoners of their gear. They confiscated weapons, watches, ammunition, and anything else that could aid an escape, stuffing the gear into a bag that Merc then tossed to Jimmy. While the rest of the crew retrieved the darts from the motionless bodies, Merc and two others emptied the remaining pockets, binding the prisoners together in a single, tight huddle.
"Let's see them escape from that." Jimmy chuckled with satisfaction, stepping back to admire their handiwork. Later, a retrieval team would collect the prisoners and transfer them to the prisoner camp in Jordan.
"Are you coming back with us?" Jimmy asked Merc.
"Not right now," answered Merc. "But I plan to return before too long. I just have to check out another area of concern. You're going to need to get back to the base. Maybe face some music. I'll see you guys there before dark. But you should know that Griff and Lynn got back and sent me out to find you. They're pretty pissed."
"We need to talk," Jimmy said, looking at Merc solemnly. "There's going to be a lot of changes and I'd like to have your input on some things."
"Yeah?" Merc chuckled with a humorous smile. He had never thought Jimmy would warm up to him so soon. "What about?"
"We can talk about that at the base," he answered. "Right now, I've got to get these men back to the base and, like you said, face the music."
"You're not kidding," Merc continued to chuckled. "You're in a lot of trouble."
"How...?" Jimmy began to inquire as to the degree of anger. But looked at the mercenary for a moment in silence before changing his mind. He took out his iPad and began to video the prisoners they had collected. He would treat it like a recon, it was his only hope of reprieve.
The group—minus Merc and two men left behind for prisoner transport—piled into their stashed airtruk. Hoots and cheers erupted as they celebrated Sampson's successful rescue. The happy hound barked right along with them, thrilled to be back among friends.
"You know," Dave said to Jimmy once they were airborne and heading for the base. "I don't remember you having a girl at your party, well, except Marston, but she's your boss."
"Avril and I had our own party afterwards," Jimmy grinned. "She may be the one."
"She's Israeli military, you're American militia, that's going to be one hell-of-a long distance relationship." Dave said as he sat back in his seat.
"When you find someone this special," said Jimmy, mostly to himself, "any sacrifice is worth it, even if it changes your life completely." For a while, Jimmy rode in silence, contemplating how his life had changed so drastically. He didn't even mind that he was about to be made mincemeat when he faced the militia leaders. Regardless, he was happy that he and all his comrades were arriving back at the base safely.
"You know this is probably going to be a severe reprimand for all of us," Dave said, putting a damper on the celebration for Jimmy, "especially for you. I doubt you're getting out of this one in one piece."
"I know," he muttered back.
"If you need me to help at your court-martial..." Dave tried to take the edge off of the conversation.
"I'm a civilian," Jimmy said with a sigh. "Civilians don't get court-martial, they get fired."
"Oh, wow," Dave said apologetically. "That's pretty drastic. You think they'll fire you for this?"
"Depends," he answered. "I'll gauge that when I see how mad Lynn is."
"The way she was talking to you about not leaving the base," Dave continued, "I'm guessing she's going to be furious."
"Yeah," Jimmy sighed, "I'm guessing that as well."
"You know, if you end up needing a job," Dave tried to sound happy with the idea that popped into his head. "My dad transports US citizens from the North Americas to Brazil. He's always looking for drivers with weapons experience."
"I'll keep that in mind," he answered half-heartedly. Even the singing and happy celebration in the back couldn't raise his spirits after the conversation with Dave. He loved his job, and partnership, he didn't want to lose it. He now wished he had taken things more seriously than he had done over the years.