FAST TEAM is a serialized novel published weekly on Substack—structured like a season of television, but written sentence by sentence for the page. It follows a highly trained DEA FAST team (Foreign-Deployed Advisory and Support Team,) operating in the grey spaces between law enforcement and warfare.
This is an ordered story. It’s built to be read from the beginning.
Begin at Chapter 1 read forward, and let the story build…
Renee and Max sit at one end of the conference table in the sterile DEA briefing room. Jack stands at the other end, holding a thick file. He slams it on the table—the sound echoes in the quiet space. He looks at them both, then focuses on Renee.
“An RPG on a public road? An unauthorized search? Are you fucking kidding me? Just who the hell do you think you are?”
“We just knocked on his door. He was the one who ran—”
“Can it, Monaco. You are on thin ice here.”
“Did we get anything useful?”
Jack tosses the file on the table in front of them. His expression is dark.
“Take a look.”
Renee opens the file. Her eyes scan the first page: passport, visa records, phone logs. She looks up.
“Has this been verified?”
“Of course its been verified”
Renee reads aloud, voice flat. “Says here, Bobby’s real name is Alexei Dudnik, son to Russian diplomat Isaak Dudnik. He’s been running around the States using a fake identity for years. We have traced calls on his phone to Yuri and to Vaclav. There are about a dozen other calls that we traced to a compound in Batumi. He has priors. He’s trying to avoid deportation for almost beating a man to death when he was nineteen.”
Max leans forward. “So we get to put him away—”
“NO! He has diplomatic immunity because of his father. Jesus!”
Jack heads toward the door.
“Get your team ready. We’re running a special patrol insertion and extraction at the compound in Batumi.”
Jack walks out of the conference room, and the door clicks shut behind him.
Silence returned, but it wasn’t empty now; it had the dense, humming quality of a generator spooling up. Renee and Max looked at each other again, and the look wasn’t the same as before.
Mission mode. Renee slides the file toward Max so they can split pages without overlap. Max uncaps a pen, the tip ticking once against the margin before it stills. She is already building the checklist in her head: notify the team; passports; med kit restock; comms; flight window. Max scans the call log again, eyes catching on the pattern of repeats in the ladder of numbers to Batumi. The sunbeam on the table has shifted; their shadows stretch long and line up with the pin on the map.
They don’t say anything more. They don’t need to. The work has already started.
A black Russian diplomatic vehicle with blacked-out windows rolls into an airplane hangar on a remote section of the airfield. Floodlights cast harsh shadows across the concrete floor. Inside the hangar, a small Russian plane waits, engines idling.
A Russian military police officer steps out of the front seat and opens the rear doors.
Bobby—Alexei Dudnik—steps out, still wearing damaged civilian clothes from the chase but moving with the confidence of someone untouchable now. He rushes up the jet stairs without looking back and disappears inside the aircraft.
The engines spool up. The plane taxis out into the darkness.
In the center of a darkened operations room, at a base of operations in central Europe, a three-dimensional holographic rendering of Earth hovers above the briefing table. The image rotates slowly, then zooms in rapidly—continent to country to city level. The city is labeled as BATUMI, GEORGIA.
A digital arrow points to a compound in the hillside overlooking the Black Sea. The hologram shows gates, a main house, and glowing heat signatures representing armed personnel on the ground inside the compound.
Jack stands at the head of the table. The FAST Team surrounds it, all wearing full combat gear—tactical vests, weapons slung, faces grim. This is the Team in full, pre-mission briefing mode.
“The intel from the Alexei Dudnik arrest has confirmed a target we’ve been watching for months.”
Jack spins the hologram with a gesture.
“Our objective today is to capture operatives of the syndicate in Batumi, Georgia. We are tracking election hacking financed through drug operations.”
He points to various locations on the 3D map, illustrating tactical positions.
“You will fly in low to the hills outside Batumi. This will be a flying suit jump to avoid radar. We have high confidence that they have Russian Government backing and equipment. Any questions?”
No one speaks. The silence is heavy, loaded with anticipation.
“Good luck.”
Inside the cargo bay of a V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft, red light bathes everything in crimson. The engines roar. Max stands near the open rear ramp, visor down on his helmet, obscuring his face like the rest of the jumpers. Wind screams past the opening.
He communicates through the headset built into his helmet.
“Team, final checks!”
Renee and the FAST Team stand ready to jump, spaced along the ramp. Their silk skydiving suits have extra webbing connecting arms to legs—wingsuit modifications that let them glide like flying squirrels, covering longer distances and moving through the air with precision.
They systematically pull off all identifying patches from their uniforms—unit insignias, flag patches, name tapes. Everything goes into a metal box secured to a shelf in the cargo hold. No traces. Deniable.
Max inspects a large metal crate strapped near the ramp—a high-tech GPS device visible on top, small propellers mounted on the sides.
“All clear!”
The team pushes the crate out. It tumbles into the open sky. A parachute deploys immediately, and the propellers fire up, guiding the crate toward the designated drop zone in the mountains below.
One by one, the FAST Team jumps. They fall away from the helicopter, then spread their arms and legs. The fabric wings catch air. They bank and turn toward the crate parachuting down ahead of them.
Renee deploys her parachute as she approaches the hillside, dropping fast into a clearing surrounded by dense forest. She hits the ground, rolls, and collapses the chute. The rest of the team lands nearby in quick succession—practiced, efficient.
The GPS crate floats in and lands a few yards behind them with a muted thud. Josh moves to it immediately, pops the latches, and reveals a small arsenal inside—additional weapons, explosives, surveillance gear.
“We don’t have much time.”
“Grab and go!”
They rush to the case and arm themselves quickly, checking magazines, securing gear to tactical vests.
Max taps his watch. “In and out fifteen minutes, on my mark.”
They synchronize their watches.
“Three, two, one, mark!”
The timers start counting down.
They split into teams and advance toward the compound through the forest. The mission clock is running.
The FAST Team advances through the tree line toward the compound. Max takes up a sniper position on elevated ground, training his rifle on the perimeter guards below. Renee stays in a command position, slightly back from the front lines, observing through binoculars.
Josh moves along the compound wall with Gabriela covering his flank. He rigs shaped charges to breach points, working quickly and silently. Gabriela scans the area, weapon ready.
Ajay joins Renee and deploys a micro-drone—a small quadcopter that fits in the palm of his hand. He activates it with a controller, and the drone lifts silently into the air.
The camera feed shows guards at various posts around the perimeter. A van is parked in front of the main building. Two men load wooden crates into the back of the van. The operation looks routine, unhurried.
Suddenly, the drone feed flickers. Static. The image freezes, then cuts to black.
The drone falls from the sky, landing near the foot of one of the perimeter guards inside the compound.
Nothing happens for a moment. Then the guard notices something odd on the ground at his feet. He bends down, picks up the small device, and examines it.
Realization dawns. He pulls a whistle from his vest and blows it hard—three sharp blasts that echo across the compound.
The entire compound goes on alert. Men pour out of the main building, weapons raised, taking defensive positions.
Renee signals Josh immediately. “Breech the wall. Now!”
Josh hits the detonator. Explosions tear through the compound wall in two locations, opening massive gaps. Debris and dust billow outward.
Two guards on the perimeter wall start to respond, turning toward the breaches.
Back in his sniper porition, Max aims his scope. Two quick shots, suppressed. Both guards drop silently.
in the Compound exterior areas, the men loading crates by the van finish their work and secure the rear doors. A heavy machine gun emplacement suddenly erupts from a concealed position, laying down withering fire across multiple angles. The FAST Team dives for cover as rounds chew up the ground around them.
Renee keys her radio. “Mozart, do your thing!”
Max shifts his aim carefully, compensating for wind and distance. The machine gun nest is partially protected, with only small windows of opportunity.
“Almost have it.”
He exhales slowly. Squeezes.
The shot connects. The machine gunner slumps. The weapon goes silent.
“Got it.”
The van’s engine roars to life. It peels out, heading toward the compound’s rear exit at high speed, leaving a cloud of dust.
Renee keys her radio again. “Thundercloud, Mad Dog, secure a vehicle for pursuit.”
Ajay sprints toward a Mercedes Sprinter van parked near the main building. Gabriela lays down suppressive fire, rounds sparking off walls and forcing guards into cover.
Ajay yanks open the driver’s door and jumps in. The engine turns over immediately. Gabriela rushes to the passenger side and yanks Ajay out of the driver’s seat as she climbs in.
“You drive like my grandma. I got this.”
They slow slightly as they approach the blown-out compound entrance. Josh sprints from cover and dives through the open side door, rolling inside as Gabriela floors it.
The Sprinter tears off toward the hillside road.
** I think we break it here! - It will be too long for the email if we go all the way * *
The enemy van speeds down a winding mountain road, pulling away. Gunfire erupts periodically from the side windows, aimed back at the pursuing Mercedes.
Inside the van, the FAST Team assesses options at high speed. The road curves sharply ahead.
“We better not lose them!”
Ajay pulls a device from his pack—a tracker with a magnetic mount.
“We need to get close enough to put a tracker on them!”
Max grabs it from Ajay. He attaches it to the end of his rifle like a grenade launcher attachment. He moves to the side door and smashes out the window with the butt of his weapon, glass exploding outward.
“Keep it steady, Mad Dog. I need a clean shot!”
“You got it!”
Gabriela closes the distance, expertly handling the Sprinter on the mountain switchbacks. Max takes aim out the shattered window, compensating for the vehicle’s movement.
He fires. The tracker device launches and magnetically clamps onto the side of the enemy van with a metallic thunk.
Immediately, machine gun fire erupts from the enemy van. Bullets riddle the side of the Mercedes. Gabriela swerves hard to avoid being hit, tires screaming.
“You have a signal, Thundercloud?”
Ajay looks down at his monitor. A clean blip appears on the screen, tracking perfectly.
“Got ‘em!”
“Pull back a bit.”
Gabriela eases off the gas slightly, letting the enemy van gain distance and move out of effective firing range.
Both vans barrel into the city at high speed. It’s midday—busy. A festival is underway in the town square. The streets are crowded with pedestrians, bikes weaving through traffic, cars double-parked. Merchants have set up stalls on the sidewalks. Music plays from loudspeakers.
The enemy van doesn’t slow. It nearly clips several pedestrians, bounces off parked cars along the narrow street, and crashes through a section of the marketplace. Debris flies everywhere—fruit stands explode, awnings collapse, people scatter and scream.
The FAST Team’s Sprinter follows at a more controlled pace, trying to minimize civilian casualties but keeping visual contact.
The enemy van suddenly turns down a side street, accelerating hard. It heads toward the edge of the city, away from the festival chaos.
Gabriela follows, engine roaring.
The enemy van approaches the side guard gate of a small municipal airport at the edge of Batumi. Without slowing, it crashes straight through the flimsy gate, sending the barrier flying.
The FAST Team’s Sprinter rushes through the broken security gate seconds later, following onto the tarmac access road.
Ahead on the runway, a cargo plane—rear loading ramp open—lumbers forward, beginning its takeoff roll.
The enemy van races toward it, closing the gap. As the plane accelerates, the van drives straight up the loading ramp and disappears inside.
The ramp door begins to close. The plane continues accelerating.
“Cut them off!”
“I got you, fuckers!”
Gabriela guns the engine, pushing the Sprinter to maximum speed. She races alongside the plane, neck and neck, trying to get in front before it reaches takeoff velocity.
The pilots in the cockpit glance out the window, seeing the FAST Team vehicle keeping pace.
The Sprinter almost reaches the nose of the plane. Then the aircraft rotates, nose lifting. The landing gear leaves the ground. The plane climbs into the sky.
Gabriela realizes they’re running out of runway fast.
“Shit! Hold on!”
She spins the wheel hard. The Sprinter goes into a controlled spin, tires smoking, and screeches to a halt just meters from the end of the tarmac.
The FAST Team jumps out, taking defensive positions around the vehicle, weapons up.
In the distance, several local police cars approach, sirens wailing, lights flashing.
“Call for AWACS to track that plane!”
Ajay keys his headset. “AWAC Alfa 773, this is Tango 4 Romeo. Bird is in flight with tracker.”
The team quickly strips off outer packs and gear, revealing evacuation harnesses underneath. They secure them in place with practiced efficiency.
A voice crackles over the radio. “Roger that, Tango 4 Romeo.”
The local police vehicles are getting closer—maybe thirty seconds out.
“Echo-774, this is Tango 4 Romeo, we need an immediate special patrol extraction at new coordinates, latitude 41.6069 and longitude 41.6134.”
Command responds immediately. “Roger! Prepare for SPIE lift evac.”
Josh pulls a special packet from his gear—a self-inflating balloon with an attached SPIE lift line. He yanks the cord. The balloon inflates rapidly and launches into the air, lifting a thick rope connector high above them.
“Roger...” Ajay looks to the team. “We gotta go! We’re about ninety seconds out for evac.”
Over the pilot’s shoulder through the cockpit window, the balloon and line are visible rising into the sky against the blue horizon.
The pilot speaks into his radio. “Tango 4 Romeo, we are on approach...”
The FAST Team members hook carabiners from their harnesses to D-rings on the SPIE rope. A second safety line attaches to a backup D-ring above the first. They double-check connections.
Gabriela looks at Josh, anxiety clear in her voice. “I hate this. Isn’t there another way?”
“Nothing new on game day.”
The team secures the final connections. Everyone’s clipped in, standing in a line along the rope.
The helicopter swoops in fast and low. A hook extends from the belly of the aircraft. It catches the attachment point on the balloon line with precision.
The helicopter immediately lifts vertically, pulling the line taut.
The FAST Team is yanked into the air, dangling beneath the helicopter like ornaments on a string. They swing clear of obstructions as the helicopter climbs rapidly, carrying them away.
Below, local police vehicles screech to a halt around the abandoned Sprinter van. Officers pour out, weapons drawn, but there’s nothing to shoot at. The FAST Team is already hundreds of feet in the air, disappearing toward the coastline.
The flashing lights shrink into the distance as the helicopter banks out over the Black Sea.
The FAST Team sits in metal chairs bolted to the deck of the aircraft carrier’s mission briefing room. The mood is sour. They’re still in tactical gear, faces showing exhaustion and frustration.
Renee and Jack stand at the front near a projection screen showing the compound in Batumi—now just satellite imagery and thermal scans.
“That was bigger than drugs.”
“How the hell did those guys have that kind of stand-by plane at the airport?”
“They scrambled my drone with a geofence. That is top-level, encrypted technology. Military grade shit.”
Jack steps forward, taking control. “The plane moved into Russian airspace.”
“How is that possible? Did they fly under Russian radar levels? Did we lose them?”
“We’re waiting for the GPS tracker to be detected. We can only get so close with AWACS before they scramble MiGs.”
Gabriela stands abruptly, bouncing with pent-up energy. “What’s really going on here?”
“Yeah, that should’ve been a point on our board.”
Jack raises a hand, settling the room. “We have AWACS units off the coast doing regular surveillance. Let’s see what the monitoring gives us. In the meantime, hit your racks. We will fly back to HQ at 0600.”
They file out of the mission room, shoulders slumped, leaving Renee and Jack alone.
A cargo plane cruises at 32, 000 feet through a clear sky, peaceful and unremarkable, a blazing red horizon above and fluffy clouds below.
Then a fighter jet screams out of nowhere and slides up next to the cockpit, close enough to see the pilot’s helmet.
Inside the cargo plane’s cockpit, two pilots exchange glances. The radio crackles to life.
“Charlie Alpha Heavy, you are to stay on my wing and land at Peterson Air Force Base. Comply.”
The pilot signals to the co-pilot with a nod. The co-pilot unbuckles and heads toward the back of the plane.
The fighter pilot’s voice comes again, sharper. “Charlie Alpha, this is your last—”
“We will comply.”
The pilot sets the autopilot and arms a device mounted to the instrument panel. A light shifts from red to green.
In the cargo bay, the co-pilot moves quickly. He opens the cargo bay door and the wind screams into the interior. He prepares to release a large crate from the cargo netting, freeing the straps.
Both pilots cling to the sides of the crate, holding tight to the cargo netting as it slides toward the open door. The crate tips and falls free, tumbling into open air.
The fighter jet stays with the cargo plane, unaware the pilots have abandoned it.
Inside the fighter jet cockpit, a blip appears on the radar. The pilot looks over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of the deployed parachute in the distance.
“They dropped something from their cargo hold. I’m relaying the coordinates now.”
He turns his attention back to the cargo plane. He watches it make a steep bank and veer off course, ignoring commands.
“Charlie Alpha, you are deviating from course. We will fire if you do not—”
The cargo plane explodes in midair. A massive fireball blooms against the blue sky.
Below, the two pilots jump clear from the crate’s cargo netting. They free-fall, the crate’s parachute deployed above them. Moments later, they deploy their own parachutes, drifting down toward wooded terrain.
Jack hustles through the door into the FAST Team operations center—a nerve center of video walls and communication stations, each manned by operators wearing headsets. Ajay is already at a station, coordinating.
Jack takes his position in the elevated command area at the rear, overlooking the entire floor.
“Something dropped?”
“Yankee Foxtrot, repeat that last transmission.”
The fighter pilot’s voice comes through the speakers. “Aircraft exploded, repeat, exploded. Three chutes deployed.”
“Do we have a fixed position?”
“I’m getting the coordinates transmitted into the system right now. Coming on screen.”
A digital map appears on the main display, zooming in rapidly. It highlights an area over what appears to be a national park—heavy forest, remote.
Jack grabs a radio handset. “Yankee Foxtrot, maintain a surveillance perimeter of four miles. Let us know if any retrieval aircraft are spotted in the vicinity.”
“Roger that, Alfa Base.”
Jack turns to Ajay. “It’s about an hour out. Thundercloud, scramble the team.”
Ajay makes the call.
…to be continued in Chapter 9…
“FAST TEAM” is Written by Brian S. Kalata and Rick Shaughnessy. Based on the screenplay by Brian S. Kalata & Eric Hooge and the teleplay by Brian S. Kalata & Rick Shaughnessy. Copyright 2026
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