The Former Marine

After the success of his mission in Colombia, Derek Rogan quickly became a key player in military and clandestine operations in Central and South America. With his newfound Spanish skills, he was frequently called upon for missions that involved infiltrating dangerous territories, negotiating with local allied forces, and direct combat against criminal organizations. His impeccable work in the Colombian operation opened the door to other missions in the region, and he was soon immersed in a new theater of operations.

The morning began with the buzz of helicopters overhead, preparing for another operation. Derek, now a veteran of infiltration missions in Latin America, adjusted his equipment as he prepared for a new mission. Beside him, Sam and Morales checked the ammunition and communications.

"So, who's the target this time?" Sam asked, not taking his eyes off the rifle he was cleaning.

"A cartel in Nicaragua," Morales replied, looking at the briefing in his hands. "They're controlling a major drug, weapons, and even human trafficking corridor. The local government has asked for support, and we're here to neutralize their operation."

Derek, who had been silently reviewing the map of the area, added,

"The group is extremely well armed. We'll be infiltrating through a rebel-held area, so we may get caught in crossfire before we reach the target."

Sam glanced at Derek.

"Just another day at the office, then."

"More or less," Derek replied with a smile.

The infiltration began under cover of night. They were aboard two Black Hawk helicopters, flying over the dense forests of Nicaragua. The lights inside the aircraft were off, and the only sound was the pilot's instructions and the steady whir of the rotor blades.

Derek scanned the terrain out the window, looking out at the sea of ​​trees below.

"The insertion site is remote," he commented to Sam, who was standing next to him. "They believe the cartel used the isolation to build their operation out of sight of the government."

Morales, who was on the other side of the cockpit, glanced at Derek. "This reminds me a lot of Colombia."

"With one big difference," Derek replied. "Here, we don't have the Colombian army covering our backs. It's just us."

"Good," Sam smiled. "Just the way I like it."

The helicopter began to slow as they approached the landing point. The team descended into the dense vegetation, adjusting their helmets and activating their night-vision goggles. Derek led the way, his steps precise as the unit moved silently through the jungle.

The objective was clear: neutralize the cartel, capture or eliminate its leaders, and dismantle the smuggling operations that were fueling the drug and arms trade in the region.

The trek to the compound took a few hours. In the silence of the forest, the team moved like shadows, avoiding any detection. When they finally reached the observation point, Derek activated his binoculars, scanning the compound below.

"Armed men on patrol," he whispered into the radio. "I see at least five moving around the perimeter."

Morales, who lay next to him, was also watching. "There are two more guarding the main entrance. It looks like the place is well fortified."

"We'll need to be quick and quiet," Derek said. "The objective is to get in, neutralize, and get out before they can call for backup."

"Understood," Sam radioed back. "Let's take this out."

The attack was quick and efficient. Derek's well-trained and equipped team neutralized the guards with surgical precision. Using silencers, they eliminated the patrols and approached the compound. Morales disabled the security system, allowing them to enter without alerting the rest of the men inside.

Inside the compound, the hallways were narrow, and the sound of heavy boots echoed off the tile. Derek led the team with his rifle pointed ahead, checking every corner before moving forward. They reached the heart of the operation—a large warehouse where drugs were being packaged and weapons were being prepared for shipment.

"Targets in sight," Derek whispered. "Count at least ten men inside."

"I can take the two on the left," Sam replied, already taking aim.

"I'll cover the entrance," Morales said, positioning himself to protect the rear.

"On my count," Derek began. "Three, two, one..."

The attack was relentless. The cartel men, caught off guard, barely had time to react. Derek and his team moved as a fluid unit, taking down the men with precision and efficiency. The firefight lasted less than five minutes, but by the time it was over, the warehouse floor was littered with bodies, and the remaining men who survived had been taken down.

"Compound cleared," Derek reported over the radio. "Objective accomplished."

Back at base camp, after a long trek through the jungle, Derek and his team collapsed into their makeshift chairs. The adrenaline from the operation was still coursing through their veins, but fatigue was beginning to set in.

"Another day, another cartel down," Morales said as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "I think I'm starting to like this job."

Derek chuckled. "You know this is never going to end, right? We take one down, and another one takes its place."

"Yeah," Morales agreed. "But at least we're doing our part."

"That's true," Derek said, looking up at the starry sky above. "There's a lot of work to be done in this area. And it looks like we're going to be around for a while."

"Do you think things will get better?" Sam asked, looking at Derek seriously.

Derek took a deep breath before answering. "Maybe. But it won't be quick, and it certainly won't be easy. Corruption, the power of the cartels, political instability... It's all working against us."

"But that won't stop us," Morales said with a confident smile.

"No, it won't," Derek agreed. "We're here to do the dirty work that others can't or won't do. And as long as we're here, we'll keep fighting."

Over the next few months, Derek and his team participated in several similar operations in both Central and South America. They worked alongside local forces in Mexico, dismantling drug trafficking rings; in Peru, helping to combat guerrillas who were funding their operations through cocaine trafficking; and even in Honduras, where they intercepted smuggled weapons destined for terrorist groups.

Each mission brought its own challenges, but for Derek, they were what kept him going. He knew the work he was doing was important—and while danger was ever present, he saw no other life for himself. His language skills and combat prowess made him a vital part of every mission, and he accepted the risk with determination.

"You seem to be adapting well to Latin America, Rogan," the captain commented during a debriefing.

"It's part of the job, sir," Derek replied. "We learn to adapt to the environment and the mission."

The captain smiled. "And you do it very well. Keep it up, Rogan. We still have a lot of work to do."

Derek nodded. He knew the missions were far from over, and that Central and South America would continue to be his battlefield for a long time to come. But for him, each operation was another opportunity to test his skills and make a difference even if it was just for a small moment.

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