Chapter 1

CHAPTER I

FOUR GHOSTS

Part I — The Rumor

Night had fallen like a heavy shroud over the joint special operations center.

It was 02:17.

The perimeter lighting outside the barracks left long, pale lines on the rain-soaked concrete floor. The hangar doors were closed. The engines of the black diesel vehicles parked in the row had long since fallen silent, and the final warmth rising from their exhausts had blended into the night.

Inside, however, activity never entirely ceased.

In one corridor, a shift change was taking place; in another section, the night-shift personnel were finishing maintenance logs; down in the lower-level armory, the dry sound of metal parts touching one another could be heard. A few doors away, intelligence personnel sitting in front of screens were still working.

The silence of the night in military facilities bore no resemblance to civilian silence.

Here, even silence was on duty.

At one of the tables in the back of the break area, three soldiers sat.

On the table were half-finished coffees, a closed first-aid kit, two folders, and a few empty water bottles reminding them that there were still hours left before their shift ended.

Master Sergeant Gilden leaned back in his chair.

Across from him, Sergeant Keller looked up while stirring his coffee.

— Is that Amazon rumor true?

Gilden’s eyebrow arched slightly.

— Which Amazon?

— The A340. The four-person one.

Keller’s counterpart, Senior Corporal Varga, let out a short laugh.

— Not four people.

Keller looked at him.

— Then what?

Varga took a sip of his coffee.

— Four ghosts.

A brief silence settled over the table.

Gilden smiled.

— You too? Please, let’s not start with those fairy tales.

— I didn't start it. It started months ago.

Keller shook his head.

— Four ghosts... Pfft!

— That’s what they say.

— Who says?

Varga shrugged.

— Everyone.

— Who is everyone, man?

— That’s the point.

Gilden leaned forward slightly.

— Let me tell you who they are: Four operators. A joint task force. Put through special forces training. The rest is unknown.

Keller frowned.

— We already know that.

— No. We think we know that.

The smirk on Varga’s face grew slightly.

— We know four last names.

Keller tapped his fingers on the table.

— Volkov... Otherwise known as Sarıkız.

Gilden raised a finger.

— Sinclair... Otherwise known as Fire.

Varga added the second.

— Moretti... Otherwise known as Night.

Keller stated the third.

— Darkmoon... Otherwise known as Dull.

Gilden completed the fourth.

Then silence fell over the table once again.

Four names. Four last names. Four call signs.

That was all.

In the beginning, other details had been discussed as well—where they came from, which forces they were selected from, how many years they had served, who trained them...

Yet as months passed, the rumors had multiplied while the facts had dwindled.

And in the end, only four names remained.

Keller leaned back with a cynical expression.

— Look at those call signs. One can't help but think they're fairy tales.

Varga nodded.

— I know someone who claims to have served with them.

— Who?

This time, Varga set his coffee down before answering.

— Just someone who has worked with them, what does it matter to you what his name is?

Gilden immediately looked up.

— Really?

— Really.

— Who?

— Can't say.

Keller laughed.

— Then I suppose you don't know that friend of yours.

— I do.

— You don't know the guy's name.

— I do.

— But you're not telling?

— Yeah, I'm not telling.

Keller stared at him for a few seconds.

— You're a complete bastard.

Varga grinned.

— Thank you.

Gilden raised his coffee.

— So, what did that guy tell?

Varga didn't answer for a few seconds. He looked at the last sip inside his coffee, then set the cup down on the table.

— A lot.

Keller raised an eyebrow.

— For instance?

— For instance, one of A340’s first joint missions.

The smile on Gilden’s face vanished.

— Which one?

— Ash Trap.

Keller gave a faint whistle.

— Kandahar?

Varga nodded.

— Kandahar.

Gilden straightened up a bit in his chair.

— A340 wasn't on that mission.

— They weren't in the official records.

Silence descended upon the table once more.

Keller looked at Varga for a few seconds.

— Are you serious?

— I'm not. That's why I'm telling it.

— Varga...

— What?

— If you're going to tell stories like this, at least tell them well.

Varga grinned slightly.

— The good part is already this.

Gilden shook his head.

— Let's hear it.

Varga leaned back in his chair.

— That night, there was a joint task force. The target wasn't inside the building. The real issue was the security perimeter around the building. Communications had been cut, the local element had pulled back, and the team inside had been stranded for two hours.

Keller chimed in.

— How many?

— Eleven.

— Eleven people?

— Eleven.

— And A340?

— Outside.

Gilden frowned.

— Support?

Varga shook his head.

— No.

— Then?

The corner of Varga’s mouth curved upward.

— They went to get them.

Keller let out a short laugh.

— Four people went to get eleven people?

— Four people got eleven people out of there.

The laughter cut off.

Gilden looked at Varga for a few seconds.

— How?

— I don't know.

— If you don't know, how are you telling it?

— Because I know someone who spoke to one of the guys who came back.

— Ah, that famous friend of yours again.

— Exactly.

Keller shook his head.

— That friend of yours will soon be running all of NATO by himself.

— What the guy said isn't nonsense.

— So you believe it then?

Varga shrugged.

— Believing is one thing, hearing it is another.

Gilden tapped the table lightly with his fingers.

— Anyway, go on.

Varga lowered his head.

— Approaching the building was impossible. Most of the streets were blocked. Visibility was poor. Communications were erratic. The guys inside had started rationing ammunition. If outside support came, the opposing side's entire line would wake up.

Keller curled his lips.

— Classic cesspool.

— Exactly.

— Then?

— Sarıkız went in first.

Gilden’s gaze turned to Varga.

— Alone?

— No. But she was the first one in.

Keller nodded slightly.

— Heavy weapons, right?

Varga looked.

— How do you know?

— I don't. The call sign just evokes that kind of guy.

Varga laughed.

— There you go, you've fallen for the rumors yourself.

— Whatever, go on with the story.

— When they got inside, intense fire started from the opposing side. Sarıkız stabilized the position.

— Stabilized?

— Yeah.

— With four people?

— With four people.

Keller set his coffee down.

— Then?

— Then the guys inside started coming out.

Gilden:

— All of them?

— No, the first group was five people.

— The rest?

— The second group.

— What did A340 do?

A strange expression appeared on Varga’s face.

— While the second group was coming out, a vehicle blocked the road. Three people got stuck inside.

Keller:

— And?

— Movement was spotted on night vision.

— Who spotted it?

— Night.

Keller laughed.

— Night?

— Moretti.

— I know her call sign.

— That's what I'm saying.

Varga continued.

— Night found the positions of the three people left inside. Then the team shifted direction again.

Gilden tilted his head slightly.

— Is that it?

— No.

— Stop telling it in pieces, what happened?

— Someone got ready to fire a rocket at the building.

The faces of all three men at the table grew serious.

— And?

Varga took a short breath before answering.

— Dull saw it.

Keller frowned.

— From where?

— I don't know.

— What did she do?

— She fired.

— Is that all?

— That's all.

Gilden chuckled softly.

— You made it sound a bit too easy.

— Maybe, but the event itself wasn't easy.

Varga picked up his cup.

— After Dull hit the target, the team moved. The second group was extracted. The last three people were picked up as well.

Keller:

— Casualties?

— None.

— Wounded?

Varga paused for a moment.

— There were.

— Who?

— I don't know.

Keller narrowed his eyes.

— From A340?

— I don't know.

— How many?

— I told you, I don't know.

Keller leaned back, annoyed.

— You don't know anything at all.

Varga grinned.

— But you're still listening.

Gilden laughed involuntarily.

— He's right.

Keller shook his head.

— What about Fire?

Varga smiled even wider this time.

— Ah, that one I heard too.

— What did she do?

— She wouldn't shut up.

Keller burst out laughs.

— Are you serious?

— She talked the whole mission through.

— Enough to piss off the commander?

Gilden smiled.

Varga nodded.

— More than that.

Keller straightened up a bit in his chair.

— What did she say?

— She sang songs.

Keller frowned.

— Songs?

— Yeah.

Gilden smiled.

— Now I believe that.

Keller looked at him.

— Why?

— Because in a four-person team, there's always at least one lunatic. The unwritten, unchanging law of the military.

Varga laughed.

— According to the guy who told it, Sinclair’s jaw wasn’t just loose; it never closed at all. When contact started, she talked over the radio; when firing stopped, she talked; during movement, she talked... At one point, a single voice came over Sarıkız's channel.

Keller leaned forward with curiosity.

— What did she say?

Varga, without trying to imitate Volkov’s voice, delivered the words one by one:

— “Sinclair, keep the channel clear.”

— Then?

— The voice cut off.

A bewildered smirk appeared on Keller’s face.

— How did it cut off?

— The firing stopped.

Gilden burst out laughing.

— So she did have an off switch.

Varga laughed too.

— According to the guy, she didn't utter a single word for the next ten minutes.

— I'm starting to like Sarıkız.

— You haven't even seen her yet.

— That's why I like her. Once I get to know her, my opinion might change.

The laughter of the three lingered around the table for a short while. Then Keller picked up his cup and drank the rest of his coffee. He made a face.

— This got freezing cold, damn it.

— You've been walking around with it in your hand for twenty minutes.

— I'm providing emotional support to the coffee.

Just as Gilden was about to reply, a chair was pulled out from the neighboring table. One of the two night-shift personnel got up and walked away, while the other tucked his folder under his arm and headed for the door.

Keller followed them with his eyes. Then he turned back to Varga.

— If that's Ash Trap, I've heard worse.

Varga’s eyebrow raised.

— Where?

— In the mess hall.

Gilden laughed.

— Ah, the most reliable source of NATO intelligence.

— Don't joke around. Last week, two Rangers—two personnel from the 75th Ranger Regiment—were talking. At first, I didn't pay attention, then they said A340.

The smile on Varga’s face slowly faded.

— Which mission?

Keller set his cup down on the table.

— Operation Gothic Serpent.

This time Varga straightened up. Gilden’s gaze fixed on Keller’s face.

— Mogadishu.

Keller nodded.

— Six months ago.

The atmosphere at the table shifted. Ash Trap was a soldier's story; Mogadishu was a hell everyone knew.

Keller rested his elbows on the table.

— When the operation started, they thought it would be short. The target was in the city center. Choppers above, ground element below... The guys surrounded the target building, rounded up those to be captured. Then the entire city closed in on them.

Varga listened silently.

Keller continued.

— Toward the Bakara market, what you call a street isn't even wide enough for two vehicles to pass side by side. Concrete walls, narrow alleys, houses leaning against each other... On top of that, the roofs are full. The windows are full. Armed men keep pouring out from side streets. Who is a civilian, who is a militia, telling at a glance is a chore in itself. Then the RPGs started.

Gilden’s jaw tightened slightly. Keller paused for a moment.

— The first Black Hawk went down.

No one intervened.

— Followed by the second.

Varga spoke in a low voice:

— Two separate crash sites.

— Exactly. In an instant, the mission went from target capture to personnel extraction. The ground convoy tries to advance through the streets, but there are barricades; fire is coming from the buildings, fire is coming from the roofs... There are personnel around the helicopter wrecks, there are wounded. Armed groups from all over the city are flooding the crash sites. The firefight lasted for hours.

Gilden raised his head.

— Where was Amazon?

Keller’s gaze returned to him.

— In the second evacuation element.

Varga frowned.

— With four people?

— No. They were part of the multi-national force. But that's where the story starts.

Keller leaned forward a bit.

— Civilians were trapped at an intersection.

Gilden’s face grew serious.

— How many?

— I don't know that. But there were families, there were children. The crossfire had cut off the street from both sides. The extraction element couldn't advance, and the civilians couldn't cross the open area. Friendly elements on one side, militia fire on the other. Everyone is looking for cover.

Varga:

— Then?

Keller was silent for a few seconds.

— Darkmoon stepped out.

— Where?

— Into the line of fire.

The expression on Varga’s face froze.

— Don't talk nonsense.

— I said the exact same thing.

— Into the open area?

— Into the open area.

Gilden immediately intervened.

— Without orders?

— I don't know that. But what the Ranger telling the story said was this: Dull first looked at the civilians, then at the opposing side, then back at the civilians...

Keller placed his index finger on the table.

— And she walked.

Varga wasn't smiling anymore.

— Didn't she run?

— No.

— Didn't she duck?

— No.

Keller’s voice had lowered without him realizing it.

— The guy specifically talked about this. Bullets hitting the walls, pieces of concrete flying into the air, everyone shouting... There was nothing on Darkmoon’s face. She walked in front of the civilians as if she were walking toward a target line at a shooting range.

Gilden’s eyes narrowed.

— Then?

— The radio turned on.

Keller paused for a few seconds.

— Sarıkız didn't order her to pull back.

Varga:

— What did she say?

— Nothing.

— Sinclair?

— She didn't say anything at first either.

— Moretti?

Keller shook his head.

— Neither did she.

Gilden’s eyebrows furrowed.

— So all three of them stayed silent?

— For a few seconds.

Keller laced his fingers at the edge of the table.

— Then Dull’s voice came.

No one was moving at the table anymore. Keller spoke the words slowly.

— “In vita unum. In morte unum.”

Varga’s eyebrows furrowed.

— What does that mean?

Gilden answered:

— “One in life. One in death.”

Silence fell. This time nobody made a joke. Keller continued:

— First Sarıkız answered with the exact same words: “In vita unum. In morte unum.” A second later, Night. Then Fire. All four said the exact same thing.

Varga parted his lips but didn't speak. Keller leaned back in his chair.

— Then all three of them walked out of cover.

Gilden’s face changed.

— All three of them?

— All three of them.

— To Darkmoon's side?

— Exactly.

Keller nodded.

— That’s right where the guy in the mess hall stopped. Then he said: “Up until that moment, I thought I’d seen four good operators.”

Varga:

— Then?

— “After that, I saw only one thing,” he said.

— What was it?

Keller looked at the table.

— The soul of Amazon.

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. The rain outside had grown slightly heavier. Keller continued:

— Sarıkız took fire superiority. Fire returned fire from a different angle. Night gathered the wounded and civilians. And Dull never left the front of that line. That's how they carried the civilians back piece by piece. Then the extraction element moved again.

Gilden:

— Casualties?

Keller shook his head.

— None in Amazon.

— Civilians?

— All of them got out.

Varga let out a deep breath.

— Fuck...

Gilden looked at him but didn't correct him. This time the word had hit the mark. Keller nodded slightly.

— It's not over. When they reached the crash site, they didn't go back either. They carried the wounded, they pulled men out from other units. Moretti never left the side of a wounded man. Sarıkız stayed behind the retreating group. There were even some who said Fire was still chirping at someone over the radio in between.

Varga laughed involuntarily.

— You can't be serious.

— I swear I'm not making it up.

Gilden shook his head.

— Dull?

Keller’s smile vanished.

— She came out last.

Silence again.

— Of course, I don't know how much of the story is true and how much grew over six months. But I heard the exact same thing at two different tables. The guys said the names differently, told the details differently...

He tapped the table four times with his finger.

— But both told that part the exact same way: When one stepped into the line of fire, the other three didn't stay behind.

Varga slowly nodded.

— “One in life. One in death.”

— Exactly.

Gilden didn't speak for a long time. Finally, he leaned back in his chair.

— When a person hears stories like this, they call it nonsense.

Keller looked at him.

— Did you believe it too?

— No.

A small smile appeared on Gilden’s lips.

— But tomorrow I'm going to check for myself.

Varga raised an eyebrow.

— Check what?

Gilden looked first at Varga, then at Keller.

— How they loaded all these stories onto the backs of four people, that's what.

Keller laughed.

— I'm curious about Sarıkız.

Varga:

— I'm curious about Dull.

Gilden:

— I'm not curious about any of them.

Both of them looked at him at the same time. Gilden lifted his cup.

— Because tomorrow they're coming here. Their rooms are prepared down the other end of the corridor.

The smirk on Keller’s face slowly grew.

— Is Amazon actually coming here?

— Around 09:00 in the morning.

Varga paused for a moment.

— All four of them?

Gilden nodded.

— All four of them.

Keller leaned back. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then laughed silently.

— Good.

— What's good?

— For six months, people have been telling these stories. Some call them "four ghosts," some call them "lunatics," some accept them as a fairy tale, some call them "one of NATO's best teams"...

He set his cup down on the table.

— Tomorrow they're going to walk through that door.

The corner of Varga’s mouth lifted.

— I still think they're overhyped.

Gilden looked at him.

— Could be.

Then he looked at the door on the dark side of the corridor, the one with just "A340" written on it.

— But you can make up fairy tales about half of Mogadishu, Varga.

After a brief silence, he added:

— Not about the courage of four people walking together into the line of fire.

Outside, the rain continued.

A340’s room was still empty.