The preparations had started the night before. Frank and his spotter, Ben, had been briefed on their assignment, a routine observation mission overlooking a neighborhood in Mogadishu. They were to monitor activity, document anything unusual, and relay their findings back to command.
Nothing particularly exciting.
He was still relatively new to the unit, though he'd already earned a reputation for being patient and dependable. He wasn't much for conversation during an assignment, preferring to focus on the work in front of him. Ben, on the other hand, seemed to have something to say about everything.
"Another day sightseeing in paradise," Ben said as they reviewed their equipment.
Frank looked over at him.
"You should've joined the Navy."
"Too much water."
"Air Force?"
"Afraid of heights."
Frank shook his head, smiling.
"Then I guess you're stuck with me."
"Could be worse."
They had developed an easy friendship over the months they'd worked together. Frank trusted the man, not only because of his experience but because he knew when to stop joking and get serious. They worked comfortably together, exchanging few words when the assignment required their full attention.
By the following morning, they were positioned on a rooftop overlooking a maze of narrow streets and weathered buildings.
The heat was relentless, even in the early morning hours.
Frank lay on the rough concrete, locked into position and ready for the long haul.
Through his scope, he watched the streets below.
Children wandered between buildings, sometimes disappearing into narrow alleyways. Men gathered in shaded doorways, talking and gesturing toward one another. An occasional vehicle rolled past, leaving a cloud of dust hanging in the air long after it had disappeared.
Most of it seemed ordinary. Ben made notes, occasionally passing along observations for Frank to verify.
Hours passed.
Their conversations became less frequent as the temperature climbed. Water grew warm in their containers, and the shade offered by a nearby wall slowly disappeared.
Frank glanced at his watch.
"How much longer?"
"Couple more hours, if we're lucky."
"If we're lucky?"
"Thought you'd appreciate a little optimism."
Frank smiled and returned his attention to the streets.
The neighborhood had grown quieter. Several of the men who'd occupied the shaded doorways earlier had disappeared. A few vehicles passed through at a faster pace than before. Frank noticed the change but didn't immediately attach any significance to it.
"Something's different," he said.
Ben lifted his binoculars.
"Where?"
"Just the street. Not as many people."
They watched for several more minutes. Nothing happened. Ben lowered the binoculars.
"Could be the heat."
"Could be."
Frank continued watching. A burst of static came over the radio, followed by a voice speaking too quickly for Frank to understand. His spotter reached for the handset, listening as another voice interrupted the first. The exchange became more urgent.
Frank took his eye away from the scope.
"What is it?"
Ben raised a hand, asking him to wait.
More static. Then a few words came through clearly. A helicopter was down.
Frank looked toward the distant skyline, searching for some indication of what had happened. Somewhere beyond the buildings, a dark column of smoke was beginning to rise.
Ben tried again to get clarification, but the radio was alive with overlapping voices. Reports came in fragments, each sounding more urgent than the last.
Their observation assignment was suddenly the least important thing happening in Mogadishu.
"What's going on?" Frank asked.
"Not sure yet."
Another transmission crackled through. Ben's expression changed.
"We've got to move."
Frank looked at him.
"Back to base?"
"That's the plan."
Frank began gathering his things, the familiar routine suddenly feeling unfamiliar. Ben was already on his feet, listening to another broken transmission. Then came the shouting from the street below.
Frank remembered rushing toward the rooftop exit, the heavy equipment pulling against his shoulders. Ben was ahead of him, yelling something he couldn't make out. They ran out into the street, their eyes scanning all around. The radio continued to crackle, and somewhere nearby came a sharp burst of gunfire. Bullets started to ricochet around them.
Frank glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were clear. Ben shouted something, and Frank turned toward him. Ben pointed to the Humvee heading toward them.
He remembered the sound of his boots against the dirt road. He remembered feeling the dry, uncomfortable air hanging around them. He remembered feeling the bullets buzzing around them. He tried to forget the blood spreading on Ben’s thigh.
No. Not now.
Frank closed his eyes and shifted his weight on the floor of the empty Chicago office building. His shoulders began to ache. He checked his watch. The target would be arriving soon.