“You ready to do this or plan on crouching in the mud whispering to me all night?” I said giving Tony a nod.
“And here I was thinking you weren’t paying attention again,” he grumbled as a dark beam stretched across his face and he visibly relaxed, realizing I was ready for business.
His attention quickly turned from me to a final systematic study of the short distance from our current concealed position on the corner wall of the church to the front door, which we figured to be the only entrance.
“Lucas and the LT should be in position by now in the overwatch,” Tony said peering over his left shoulder and squinting into the darkness. “Can’t see shit through the rain. NODs are useless. They should be right on our 9 o’clock — 50 meters back. Assuming they didn’t drown in the frigg’n mud or burst into flames getting there.”
Hoping the rain hadn’t turned my tactical radio into a canteen by now, I held down the transmit button clipped to my vest and murmured into the throat mic, “Luke — You set?”
Sergeant First Class Lucas and Lieutenant McCormick volunteered to be part of our hunting party. And by volunteer I mean outright demanded, to the point of veiled threats and blackmail, that they be included. I agreed on the strict condition they were on back up duty from an overwatch position. If things went south I didn’t want them in the direct line of fire on a rogue mission.
For professional soldiers the only thing worse than having your life abruptly ended was having your career abruptly ended. Exposure of their participation in an unsanctioned raid into ‘the Pole’ would have them in civilian clothes before the ink dried on their dishonorable discharge.
A quick cackle of radio static was followed by Sergeant Lucas as he replied, “Roger sir — We’re set. Got eyes on you and the Big Sarge. Clean line of sight to the OBJ. No movement observed — Anywhere.”
“Roger. We’re going in — 2 Minutes — Plan’s in effect. Radio silence. Robinson Out.”
Luke would pay for that ‘Big Sarge’ crack later, I thought to myself. His comment about not observing movement was Luke telling us that he and Mac shared our anxiety about the current state of affairs in ‘the Pole.’
Something here wasn’t right. We could all feel it.
“Roger sir. Good hunting. Radio silence.”
As agreed before we left, Tony and I would only break radio silence under two conditions.
One — the church was secured. Two — it had all gone to shit.
If by an unfortunate series of events, the second condition prevailed, Luke and Mac were to return to the QRF compound and call it in to command. They were not to come in after us under any circumstance. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t follow that order, but I was also pretty sure I’d be hard pressed to be pissed at them for it. We had the Ranger Creed to uphold after all. Fallen comrades were not left at the hands of the enemy — Ever.
“It’s go-time Big Sarge,” I said intently. “I blow the door and enter first. Cut the room in half. I go left. You go right. We should hit the vestibule first. Secondary door leads into the sanctuary. Clear the room. Restack. Same drill into the sanctuary.”
“Better plan,” Tony muttered giving me an irritated yet sarcastic glare. “You blow the door. I enter first. I go left. You go right. Do me a favor and try to keep up this time.”
As he reached down to adjust the tac light mounted to the barrel of his M4, he casually tossed in, “And sir, Call me Big Sarge again and I’ll open the goddamn door with your face.”
“Fair enough,” I replied realizing I wasn’t going to win that argument. “You enter first. I go right. That really is a better plan. What would I ever do without you?”
I was going to throw a ‘Big Sarge’ at the end but thought the better of it. Tony was built like a linebacker and had the tenacity of a cage fighter. Not the most jovial of characters. I tried to avoid making him upset when at all possible.
“Ok — Let’s do this,” I grumbled snapping into mission mode. “Shoot anybody that gets in our way. Grab Doc and the Padre. Slap high fives — Call it a day. You good?”
“Roger that,” he replied.
Sliding the selector switch to safe, I let the M4 tightly retract against my chest with the assault sling and reached back to trade it out for Bertha. Several ways to blow a door but I always preferred putting a twelve gauge slug between the doorknob and the frame, shattering any locking mechanism in the process. Aside from granting free access, it typically gave whoever was on the other side something to think about right before Tony and I flowed through and introduced ourselves.
“Where the hell are all the people?” I muttered under my breath, to no one in particular, as I made a final visual sweep of the surreal setting laid out before us.
Realizing that answer would have to wait, I pumped a round into the shotgun chamber and crept in front of the First Sergeant to start our advance to the doorway — then I heard it and stopped dead in my tracks, momentarily frozen.
A scream. A woman’s scream. Erin.
Fuck.
An eruption of rage coursed through me as I instantly locked eyes with Tony.
“On Three.”
With his face curled into an intense scowl, he nodded acknowledgement. Not giving a shit about concealing myself any longer, I boldly approached the door to the oldest church in the Balkans. Placing the muzzle of my shotgun squarely between the wooden frame and the doorknob, I waited the mere seconds it took for Tony to assume his assault position adjacent the threshold. Ready.
One — Two — Three.
Chapter 5
I could only describe it as a momentary suspense of time and space. A fluid consciousness of my surroundings that either propelled me into mental and physical overdrive, or conversely, reduced everyone else in close proximity to extreme slow motion. It was a sensation I’d experienced for most of my life when the fight reflex kicked in. All of my senses seemed to hyperextend to mind blowing proportions. Interestingly, since arriving in Bosnia it had increased one hundred fold, which I casually attributed to daily doses of being shot at. Seemed logical enough.
I had yet to determine the true reality of what was happening, but I had figured out one thing — it was my edge. It gave me the mere split-second advantage I needed. Having experienced it now more times than I could actively remember, I knew it was coming, and I was waiting for it. Counting on it.
As my index finger exerted pressure on the shotgun trigger, I felt myself slip into the welcoming state of calmative awareness. Almost instantly, my senses ignited and extended into the vestibule. I could hear the rapid thumping of three distinct heartbeats. They were afraid. I could smell the fear exuding from their bodies. They were not soldiers but prepared to defend the entrance to the church with their lives. Prepared to sacrifice themselves. One bad guy on the left and two on the right. Not sure how I knew it but I did.
Tony’s eyes shifted from me to the breach as his momentum began to slowly carry him forward. I felt every millimeter of movement as the trigger deliberately moved backward until it abruptly stopped. Click.
With a stiff jolt, Bertha recoiled into my right shoulder as the deafening blast released an almost visible shockwave into the surrounding air. I could feel the shotgun slug as it raced down the length of the barrel and smashed into the door, sending an explosion of meticulously polished wood and disfigured metal shards into the waiting vestibule.
I watched as Tony lowered his right shoulder into the door, causing it to swing open, as he simultaneously flowed into the room, raising his rifle to a reflexive firing position just below his chin. He activated his tac light and broke to the left. The signature ‘crack crack’ of a two round burst radiated from his M4, accompanied by the momentary muzzle flash as the rounds exited the rifle. The fatal groan followed by a distinct thud confirmed his shots hit their target. I faintly heard Tony’s voice signal, “Enemy Down.”
Before the second round exited Tony’s rifle I was moving through the breach directly on his heels. Clearin
g the threshold and breaking right, I squeezed the muzzle grip on the shotgun to activate my tac light. I easily picked up the first target right where I was expecting him, crouched behind an ornate desk, at my four o’clock. With eyes burdened of fear and indecision, he clumsily raised his weapon. As his finger approached the trigger, my shotgun barked and the first slug hit home obliterating his right shoulder, causing his arm to fall limp with an unnatural motion. His rifle tumbled to the church floor. As the shotgun barked a second time, he sagged to the floor to join his discarded weapon. Lifeless.
“Enemy Down,” I grunted.
Within a fraction of a second, my head snapped left as I resumed scanning the remainder of my quadrant. My eyes instantly locked onto the second target to my one o’clock, huddled adjacent the closed double doors that presumably lead into the sanctuary. Clearly as untrained as his buddy, taking up floor space at my feet, he raised his weapon in my direction. He looked beaten. His face was worn. His hands were shaking. He didn’t want to shoot me. Without hesitation or remorse I swiftly put two successive slugs into his chest, lifting him clear off his feet and slamming him into the rear wall of the vestibule. Gradually slumping down the wall leaving a telltale, red smear behind, he finally came to a halt on the floor, five feet from his partner.
“Enemy Down. I’m Clear.”
“Room Clear,” Tony announced. “Three down. They didn’t even get a shot off.”
Placing his M4 on safe while kicking the weapons away from each of the dead bad guys, he said, “All their weapons are still on safe. And I think this guy pissed himself. What the hell?”
“Worry about that later. We need to move. Same drill into the sanctuary. Restack.”
Without the need for further words, Tony and I instinctively moved to the rear wall of the vestibule, to the right of the sanctuary doors, and reformed our stack. We didn’t have much time to spare now that we’d made our presence known. Every bad guy in the rest of the church knew we were here and would be gunning for us. We needed to move. Now.
Taking a knee, I ejected the six round magazine from the shotgun and slammed home a fresh one. Taking a quick moment to assess our next move, I focused the beam of my tac light on the sanctuary doorway. The double doors were easily eight feet tall and appeared to be solid as hell. Mahogany. Maybe a dark oak. Hard to tell. Carefully carved into each panel were several symbols, which I faintly recognized for a reason that I couldn’t quite place. It appeared they were placed there somewhat recently, as they clearly stood out from the polished finish.
As I contemplated that for a second, my eyes made a somewhat more disturbing discovery. The doors seemed to be bound together by a heavy chain secured by an oversized padlock. They were locked from the outside.
“Why would the sanctuary doors be chained from the outside?” I asked looking over my left shoulder to get Tony’s attention as I held a beam of light directly on the locked chain. “The guards — Here to keep people out — or something in?”
Pointing the shotgun muzzle to the floor, I trained the light on Bad Guy Number Three lying dead by our feet. Despite being covered in blood with a large hole where his chest used to be, he was dressed in full-on hospital scrubs, complete with sterile covers on his shoes. Panning the tac light across the room on the other two bodies, I found the same obscurity. Confirming what I sensed earlier, I said, “These guys aren’t soldiers. They’re fucking doctors — or nurses. What the hell?”
“I have no —” Tony started to speak and stopped mid-sentence as we both picked up on the sounds permeating from the sanctuary. It was faint but undeniable and growing steadily louder. A bone chilling cacophony of high pitch crying, groaning, and whimpering. It sounded almost animal in nature. The sound of concentrated suffering. Women suffering. Several women.
“What in the fuck is that?” He asked in a subdued tone as his face went absolutely blank.
“Sounds like our goddamned invitation,” I replied with clenched teeth. “Help me check these assholes for a key.”
After a hasty search of the dead bad guys turned up empty, I barked, “So if these jokers don’t have a key, how in the hell were they supposed to open the frigg’n door?”
With the clamor of torment and misery continuing to amplify from within the sanctuary, I was clearly losing patience. Reaching into one of my ammo pouches, I pulled out a pre-made doorknob charge. “Shotgun’s not going to handle that padlock. We’ll have to blow it.”
A doorknob charge is a nifty little tool of the trade that consists of a molded piece of C4 wrapped in detonation cord, and primed with a fuse igniter. Simply hang it on the doorknob, pull the igniter, wait three seconds, and ta da … no more doorknob. Clearly not as cool as the shotgun breach, but just as effective.
“I’m going to set the charge,” I announced. “Watch my back.”
“Roger,” Tony acknowledged taking a couple steps off the wall, raising his rifle to cover the front door and secure our six o’clock. At this point we weren’t too concerned about anyone popping through the sanctuary doors with the medieval quality security measures in place, but more conscious of someone getting the drop up on us from behind.
Creeping along the wall to the doorway, I reached the man-sized padlock securing the two massive chains together. Somebody was really fucking serious about making sure these doors could only be opened from out here. I was nearly finished setting the charge when the sound of a booming thud echoed through the dank air, and I momentarily lost my footing as the entire floor of the church buckled. It felt as if something had shaken the foundation with the force of a goddamned earthquake.
Shifting my gaze to Tony for an explanation, he simply shrugged his shoulders in a ‘No idea’ fashion. It happened again, forcing me to throw my hands against the doorway to prevent my head from slamming into it. I braced myself for a repeat performance, but it didn’t come. It seemed to stop as abruptly as it started. Shaking off the latest unexplainable element of this mission, I focused back on the task at hand and quickly finished rigging the charge. I signaled to Tony that it was time, and as I reached down to pull the pin on the fuse igniter, I heard it as much as I felt it.
It felt like footsteps. Big fucking footsteps. Running toward the doorway. Building up a head of steam. Shaking the floor to the point of failure.
Completely losing my balance, I fell most ungracefully toward the floor, throwing my left arm back to brace for impact. Keeping my attention locked on the doorway, I watched in utter bewilderment as the eight foot, solid hardwood doors, locked up tight with a chain — thick enough to tow a goddamn tank — blow clear off their hinges hurtling large, fractured chunks of lumber and splintered shrapnel in my direction. And here I was thinking we had the situation well under control.
Despite my best attempt to avoid the incoming onslaught of exploding door fragments, I was clearly unsuccessful. Raising my right arm to shield my face from certain disfigurement, I caught a four-foot section of door, traveling at break-neck speed, squarely across the midsection. As the pain meter spiked to new levels, I heard the distinct cracking of ribs as all the air in my lungs was instantly forced out of my mouth, leaving my chest in a perpetual heave cycle trying to replace it. The shear force of the impact hurled me clear across the vestibule and violently slammed me into the wall, adjacent to the front door. Dazed, confused, and really fucking pissed, I faintly heard Tony’s voice as I raised my head enough to see him barreling toward me in a state of wild panic.
Reaching my position in a matter of seconds, Tony assumed a kneeling position placing himself squarely between me and the now gaping hole in the sanctuary wall. Instinctively raising his M4, he braced for the coming assault.
“Jesus Christ, sir, you Ok?”
“Fucking great,” I painstakingly replied as the ability to breathe slowly returned. “Thanks for asking. How are you?”
Fighting through the agonizing, stabbing sensation of broken ribs, I mustered enough strength to pitch the slab of wood off my chest. Staggering to
my feet and wiping the blood out of my eyes with my hand, I muttered, “Goddamn Big Sarge — didn’t see that coming.”
The intense throbbing sensation in my head was a clear indication that I’d evidently whacked it pretty hard on the floor, the wall, or some other immobile structure on my short but exciting trip. Subsequently, the sizable gash on my forehead was returning the favor by releasing a steady flow of blood down my face. As quickly as I was able to stand up, my knees buckled and I quickly returned to a very unsoldierlike position on the floor.
“Damn It!” I barked after trying three times with the same result. “I need a second.”
Unfortunately, it seemed we didn’t have a second.
“Sir! I’ve got movement! Stay down!”
From my temporarily compromised fighting position on the vestibule floor, I hazily watched Tony swing his M4 toward the doorway as his tac light flicked on briefly, illuminating the breach. It was deadly silent. All sounds of torment previously heard from within the sanctuary had ceased, replaced by an indistinct rustling amidst the doorway. Holding back the pain, I forced myself into a kneeling position and clumsily reached for Bertha amidst the pile of kindling surrounding me. I also pulled a flash-bang grenade from my ammo pouch.
“I’m good,” I grumbled making sure Tony knew I was still in the fight. “I’ll pop a flash-bang on first contact.”
Tony nodded and slid the selector switch on his M4 to burst. He’d lay down a field fire while I tossed a flash-bang at whatever came through the door, temporarily disorienting them. We’d mop up with a barrage of bullets, grab Father Watson and the Doc, and call it a day. Not exactly the way we drew it up, but it would do.
Now we’d been doing this sort of shit for a good long while, and until this very moment I could have honestly told you that we’d seen it all.
Steadily emerging from the dimly lit glow of the distant sanctuary and into the focused beam of Tony’s tac light came two hands. Two really frigg’n big hands that firmly grasped the very top of the empty eight foot doorframe on opposing sides. Human hands that appeared, easily, four times larger than what they should’ve been. Realizing that my brain was perhaps not functioning at full capacity due to recent events, I shook my head a couple times in attempt to restore clarity. Unfortunately, what followed next either confirmed that I’d hit my head much harder than I thought and was fit for a white padded room with a rubber sheeted bed, or much worse — I was seeing just fine.
Rise of the Giants: The Guild of Deacons, Book 1 Page 5