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The whir of the helicopter drowned out almost every other sound around Caleb, even his own thoughts. It had been a welcome respite. An intricate web of tactical planning experienced stuffed the recesses of his mind for days gone by 24 hours, but it was time. No more planning. It had been another routine procedure; go in, pick up the criminals and get out. He recognized each move he was about to make, and every single step the seven men relaxing next to him would take. He was certain of it; it was his job. He was responsible for the basic safety and well-being of each man in his squad, and all together, for the success of the quest accessible. "5 minutes, Lieutenant," the man seated in the pilot chair hollered back to him, breaking up the monotonous whir. Every man around him straightened his spinal column and their muscles grew taught. It wasn't fear that experienced them at the ready, it was expectation; the same expectation that surged through his blood vessels. In four minutes and 39 a few moments, they'd be on the floor. In a quarter-hour and nine a few moments, they'd maintain position, a mile . 5 away from the landing zone. Within thirty minutes, their process would be complete: suspects apprehended, intel collected and building guaranteed. The two 2,000 kilograms of cocaine housed in the building wasn't his problem, only the men selling it and their list of customers. "Just get those bastards, Caleb," his S.O. experienced told him. "We'll clean up their mess later." Quite simply, another team would be deployed to round up the drugs once the area was guaranteed.
