"We don't have a direct military presence in Syria. Taking a helicopter would be the worst option. Personally, I prefer high-altitude infiltration," Lei said.
"We're on the same page."
Jason's lips curved slightly as he confidently added, "Since Syria's airspace is a no-fly zone, we could parachute in. Let's go for a HAHO."
"Oh yeah, high altitude, high opening—my favorite," Sonny exclaimed with excitement.
Jumping from the freezing, oxygen-deprived air of ten thousand meters while carrying dozens of kilograms of gear triggers a massive adrenaline rush.
For thrill-seekers, the experience is exhilarating, almost euphoric.
But for those who fear such extremes, the reaction veers to the opposite extreme—potentially terrifying enough to cause immediate incontinence.
Sonny, without a doubt, belonged to the former category, someone who thrived on adrenaline-pumping, high-octane scenarios.
Lei stood and walked to the TV at the front of the room, pointing at the Middle Eastern map displayed on the screen. "We can jump from Iraqi airspace and glide into the target area under the cover of darkness."
Hearing this, Long Zhan recalled the scene from a TV drama.
"High-altitude parachuting across a national border and using a high-opening technique to extend glide distance—traveling tens of kilometers to the destination—is an ingenious method of infiltration."
Even though he had seen this tactic on TV, hearing it described in person left Long Zhan silently marveling.
This seemingly simple tactic, which appeared no different from regular parachuting, actually required advanced technology to precisely control direction and glide distance. Without it, even expert skydivers couldn't achieve such precision.
Long Zhan had trained extensively in HAHO (High Altitude, High Opening) techniques with the Navy SEALs and was even more proficient in HALO (High Altitude, Low Opening), but he had never executed a real HAHO mission.
The thought of undertaking such a mission filled him with a mix of nerves and excitement—20% apprehension, 80% thrill.
"Okay, we'll go with HAHO."
None of the Bravo Team members objected. Jason finalized the plan and added, "Now the question is—how do we get out?"
The U.S. only supported anti-government forces in Syria; unlike Iraq, they hadn't deployed troops directly.
This meant that once Bravo Team landed, they'd be operating deep within Syrian government-controlled territory. If their mission was exposed and they couldn't retreat in time, they would face the risk of encirclement and annihilation.
"How far is the target from the border?" Lei asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
"Eighteen kilometers," Mandy replied.
"Are there any rapid response units near the border?" Lei pressed further.
"There aren't any of our forces nearby, but the government has aided special forces collaborating with the Syrian Kurdish Freedom Fighters along the border," Diaz, in charge of logistics, answered instead of Mandy.
As a senior CIA intelligence officer, Mandy didn't have the authority to directly access or handle military-related operations.
"Good. Have them on standby. Once we're done, they can drive in to extract us," Jason said casually, finalizing the evacuation plan.
However, Commander Eric frowned.
"Mandy, if I recall correctly, didn't our satellite images previously show Russian forces in the border region?" Eric asked, his expression serious.
Mandy nodded, confirming the observation.
Eric continued gravely, "The Department of Defense would never approve any ground operation that risks direct conflict with Russian forces."
"So, you're saying…"
Long Zhan furrowed his brows and interjected, "To avoid clashing with Russian troops near the border, the Kurdish-affiliated special forces can't cross into Syria to extract us, meaning we'll have to figure out our own way out. Right?"
"Exactly," Eric confirmed.
Jason and Lei fell silent at this. One rested his head on his hand while the other stared at the TV screen, lost in thought.
"The Department of Defense is full of cowards—turtles who hide in their offices. They should try taking part in a real operation for once," Sonny grumbled, unable to resist voicing his frustration despite not having a better idea.
Brock and Trent, usually quieter by nature, sat silently without comment.
While Bravo Team could HAHO into Syria, there was no viable plan to fly out.
Figuring out a way to retreat was proving to be a major challenge.
Just as the room fell into an uneasy silence, Mandy spoke up, breaking the tension. "The CIA can arrange for local vehicles to support your extraction."
As a global intelligence agency, the CIA had informants planted worldwide. They could often accomplish what military forces could not by leveraging their covert operatives.
Jason's eyes lit up with hope. "How many vehicles can you provide?"
"Two or three," Mandy replied, then added, "I anticipated the extraction challenge, which is why we've kept the team size as compact as possible."
"With our current numbers, two or three vehicles will suffice," Lei agreed.
Jason turned to the group. "Anyone have any additional ideas or better suggestions?"
"Jason, don't look at me. You know I only care about what to do, not how to do it. That's your job," Sonny quipped nonchalantly.
"Let's stick with the plan," Trent said, lowering his legs from the table and preparing to adjourn the meeting.
Brock shrugged, indicating he had nothing to add.
When Jason finally turned to Long Zhan, the latter dropped a bombshell.
"Have you considered the possibility that there might be more than just six guards in the hospital? What if there are additional personnel? Do we have a contingency plan for dealing with them?"
Jason froze, realizing the gravity of the question. He turned to Mandy, who, in turn, looked at Lucien—the CIA's senior biochemical expert.