Airspace over the Atlantic
16 June, 1997, 0430 hours
The situation was not good. Zumba was losing plenty of blood. David and Eusebio were desperately trying to staunch the blood pouring from the wound on Zumba's abdomen.
"Fly faster! We must get Zumba to the hospital on Demarque as soon as possible! We're losing him!" Eusebio screamed at the pilot, Allen Johnson. The bandage that David had used to wrap the wound in was crimson red and Zumba's lips were pale.
"I'm trying my best! We're at maximum speed! The good news is that Demarque is about an hour away!" Allen was nervously sweating. He was extremely anxious. Zumba was one of his closest friends in the INDF and Allen was not ready to let him go that easily. He was angry that the helicopter could not go any faster.
True enough, Demarque was in sight about an hour later. Zumba was whisked into the emergency operating room, leaving Allen, David, and Eusebio questioning what went wrong during the mission.
"You shouldn't have let that b****** live!" Allen roared as he smashed his fist hard onto the wall. Eusebio remained silent, but he was steaming inside. He seriously regretted sparing that guard. "If I get my hands on that !@.^%#@, I will give him one of the worst deaths ever!" he snarled to himself.
Soon, the doctor came out shaking his head. Zumba had lost too much blood and had passed on. Allen, after hearing the news, glared at David and Eusebio before running off, tears streaking down his face. David simply walked off, leaving Eusebio with his fists clenched. Without Zumba, the files they had just retrieved hours earlier was useless. The files were simply the records of the recruiting office. Not really useful information. Zumba was the only one who knew of the AF's plans. What made it worse was that Zumba was Eusebio's favorite mentor who taught him the basics of computer hacking.
This ill-fated mission taught Eusebio to kill every target, not leaving any survivors behind. And that was his policy for more than 2 years.
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