Special Ops

by Leo Nix

  The man came back quickly trying to ease the situation and prevent it from escalating. No doubt he'd done this before.

  “Sorry Khan, my mistake. I was out of line. I should have known there was a plan behind your questions, sorry,” the younger man pleaded.

  Khan breathed deeply, blasting the breath from his mouth several times. To Obi-Wan, it looked like he was reaching his high. 'He's probably on methamphetamine, ice,' he thought.

  “I… I…” Khan was now drifting into another dimension, his face appeared to close off from the world and he started to smile, he found a chair and sat down. “I don't remember where I was at. Chucko, what was I saying?”

  Chucko, the man closest to Obi-Wan, answered. “You were asking this dick here questions about his friends who drove off.”

  “Yeah, now I remember… sorry, mate, what's your name again?” Khan once again exuded charm, he sounded friendly.

  “Ben Kennedy,” Obi-Wan replied politely.

  “So… Ben, you're army and you're here on holidays.” He now pulled out a plastic bag containing a white crystal then poured some onto the glass top of the admin table. He chopped it into a fine powder snorting two thin lines.

  “Yeah, now I remember… wow, I feel good. I could kill someone right now!” Khan was storming back up into another high. He swung his fists like a boxer giving an opponent an uppercut followed by a six-punch combination. He then stepped forward and kicked the air to the side of Obi-Wan followed by a series of martial arts moves.

  Obi-Wan watched, noting the tall man's style. He also noted that Khan favoured his left leg, he might be carrying an injury. He also noted that Khan's style wasn't karate but a mainland Chinese kung fu style.

  'Damn, what is that style, I know it…' Obi-Wan said to himself, his mind raced through a series of files he held of the many fighting styles he'd studied as a teenager and then as part of his special ops training. 'Yes, got it, Tiger style. He's obviously done…' he thought for a moment, 'four or five years training. He might be a competent opponent one on one too.'

  “Hey, not bad, eh!” Khan put his face in Obi-Wan's and laughed. “What did you think of that kung fu, eh?”

  'Nice work, Obi-Wan, we've done it, he's now yours.' Staff Sergeant Ben Kennedy smiled to himself.

  “Not bad, Tiger style is it? It looks like you're pretty good too. My preferred style is Bagua with a smattering of Praying Mantis.” Obi-Wan now looked Khan directly in the eyes. “I think I could teach you a thing or two about kung fu, Khan.” He goaded his enemy deliberately, certain that Khan would accept his challenge.

  There is a traditional insult, or challenge, among martial artists and that's to offer to 'show' or 'teach' your opponent how much better your style is compared to theirs. There has always been fierce rivalry, particularly among the older, more traditional styles, for prestige as the superior martial art. Obi-Wan saw that Khan's style kept strictly to traditional forms - Khan must have been trained by a traditional custodian of the Tiger style. Tiger style is an ancient kung fu style rarely taught to non-Chinese. Whoever taught Khan did it well and didn't seem to have held back enforcing a perfect execution for each move.

  “You seem to know a bit about kung fu, Ben. Perhaps I can teach you a few tricks myself.” Khan glanced at his two companions now lounging in their chairs only a few metres away. They were armed with Steyr automatic rifles, Australian army issue. These were no doubt some of the weapons Khan traded while working in the military Q-Stores. The two men laughed, they knew what was next and they anticipated some entertaining violence.

  “I was taught by an old Chinese kung fu master, he worked as a chef in Sydney. He was a tough old man, very strict, very traditional. His family lived in China and he needed money to bring them over here. His granddaughter had cancer and he was desperate. I traded him lessons for money, a lot of money I might add.” Khan was artful in both his manner and in how well he spun the machete in his hand.

  “Did you like that?” Khan asked and did it again, following up with a pattern involving a series of slashes, stabs and leaps as though fighting an invisible adversary.

  Obi-Wan noted his form and style, 'now that's more a northern Shaolin kung fu than the southern style', he considered and let his brain unconsciously develop counters to the moves he'd just seen.

  “How about I teach you a few tricks, Ben, what do you say? Want to go a few rounds with me?” Khan again flicked his machete into a series of patterns with yells, leaps and thrusts. It was impressive and his two henchmen smiled, they looked forward to the entertainment.

  “Sure, I'd like that, Khan. I've not faced a Tiger style for some time, this should be interesting,” replied Obi-Wan. No one noticed his breathing had begun to change again. He could tell that Khan knew the patterns of his style but not the energy breathing that goes with it. It appeared that his teacher deliberately failed to teach his student how to breathe, deep into his dan tien, that vital space between the navel and the spine, the martial artist's source of power.

  Obi-Wan wanted to keep Khan off balance while he prepared himself for the fight. “So, that piece of shit, Spiro, he's good at martial arts too? Is he good at Tiger style like you?” It got a reaction but not quite the one he was after.

  “That piece of shit Spiro, is a wanker. His only weapon is a gun. He worked with me, helped me collect weapons and sell them on the black market. But his greed is bigger than his balls, he'll never challenge me to a fight, he's more likely to shoot me in the back. I've got him covered though, don't you worry about that,” replied Khan confidently.

  While Khan was busy talking Obi-Wan continued to breathe slowly and deeply forcing his energy deeper into and around his cracked ribs. Slowly he built a web within the fascia surrounding his rib cage, an armour that would hold his ribs in place for the vital few minutes he needed to kill his opponents. It would also serve to protect his ribs in the event of a kick or punch. He knew well enough that he could only hold the power in his fascia for a limited time. It needed to be long enough to take down all three enemy in the room.

  By the time Khan ordered Chucko to untie him Obi-Wan had centered his energy in his dan tien, armoured his ribs, and was on a mild high himself. He felt the energy 'high' that only elite martial artists enjoy.

  Chucko pulled Obi-Wan upwards and sliced the rope binding his legs then stood to do the same with his prisoner's hands. The second his hands were free Obi-Wan flicked his fingers into the man's eye bursting his left eyeball. As Chucko dropped screaming to the floor while Obi-Wan snatched his knife and thew it into the throat of the second henchman. It happened so fast the man had yet to raise his rifle from his side.

  “Now we're even, Khan, one-on-one, mano-a-mano,” said the injured but resolute Ranger.

  Khan hadn't quite registered that he was alone. It hit him when he saw Obi-Wan stand before him, smiling, in his Bagua stance.

  “Hey, dick-head, let's pretend I'm Spiro and you're my bitch!” taunted Obi-Wan.

  “Fuck you!” Khan was in shock at the speed of his enemy's assault. Instead of flying into a rage, as Obi-Wan had hoped, Khan settled quickly. “Don't you worry about Spiro, I've got him under my thumb - he's my bitch, just like you're my bitch.” He smiled, a disarming smile as though the two were drinking together at a bar and about to play pool.

  “I did notice you used the Bagua Monkey Flick on Chucko. Nice, you popped that eyeball real good!” He laughed out loud then turned to yell at the man clutching at his eye and screaming on the floor. “For fuck-sake! Chucko, shut up or I'll give you something to cry about!”

  Khan then turned to focus on his opponent, he flicked his machete into a forward fighting position.

  “Come on, yank, show me your style,” he said. His voice was soft, empty of emotion, he had now become pure, cold evil. Torturing Obi-Wan was for pleasure but killing him was just business.

  Obi-Wan felt, for just a moment, that the energy surrounding his ribs was waning after he had expended most of it in the Mo
nkey Flick and knife throw. In the space of a heartbeat he pumped several short energy breaths bringing his 'armour' back to full strength. He knew that he had about ten seconds to end the fight before the pain overwhelmed him. Against a trained opponent that would mean death.

  “You're just a jerk-off wannabe, Khan. Your stance is weak, your patterns sloppy, you're a loser. No wonder Spiro thinks he's a better man to lead this little empire than you.” Obi-Wan taunted one more time, his next move had to be the decisive one.

  Khan did exactly as Obi-Wan wanted this time. “You arse-licking yank. I'll show you who's worthy to lead.” He slashed his machete in anger at Obi-Wan's face, then twisted to send a flying kick at his opponent's ribs - Obi-Wan noted that Khan balanced his kick on his weaker leg.

  It was the opportunity Obi-Wan was waiting for. He easily swung his head backwards avoiding the machete, his feet slid across the floor into position ready for Khan's follow-through. As the kick came in Obi-Wan timed his own kick to send Khan's leg flying towards the ceiling. Khan's groin and torso were left exposed and vulnerable for that split second.

  This was the opportunity Obi-Wan needed, but that split second was too short. The energy armour surrounding his ribs simply couldn't withstand the demand for his ownfollow-through.

  The Ranger had the opportunity for a Baboon Snatch to Khan's hanging arm, or an Eagle Claw Grip to his exposed groin, but he simply couldn't do it, it was too late, the moment had passed. He was losing power fast and the pain was breaking through. A dribble of sweat ran down his cheek and onto the floor.

  Obi-Wan unconsciously closed his mind and went on autopilot. His body immediately positioned itself for a Praying Mantis jab into Khan's exposed stomach. His right fist sank deeply into his opponent's midriff. Khan's core-muscle training had been severely neglected and the fist sunk nice and deep. Next, Obi-Wan twisted his wrist causing Khan's muscles to contract around it. This had the secondary effect of fracturing his stomach and bowel muscle tone causing Khan to automatically open his bowels. As Obi-Wan twisted he let out a loud grunt, the pain from his cracked ribs had broken through - he was at breaking point.

  To complete the combination he slammed his elbow into Khan's rib cage causing his taller opponent to lean forward. All Obi-Wan needed to do next was flick the knuckle of his index finger into Khan's temple.

  Khan collapsed to his knees on the floor, a stream of faeces dribbled out from the bottom of his trousers. Obi-Wan also collapsed, the pain from his cracked ribs had broken through. At that moment he was completely powerless to protect himself. If Khan stood now he could easily kill the brave Ranger and the fight would be over.

  With enormous effort Obi-Wan stood, breathing deeply he shut out his pain and snatched up the dropped machete. Just as Khan began to rise Obi-Wan brought the blade down, it cleanly sliced Khan's head off.

  “Fuck you,” he grunted, surprising himself. Obi-Wan never swore, but this was an exception he decided.

  Chucko was still on the ground groaning, holding his hand over his burst eyeball. He had remained completely oblivious to the fight and its violent outcome. Obi-Wan had just enough strength to finish off Chucko, using Khan's sword-like machete.

  Reaching for the Steyr lying on the table he picked it up, slowly rummaged through both henchmen's pockets for ammunition. He now had six magazines of thirty rounds each. He stepped over to the man with the knife in his throat and pulled it free. It was a thin-bladed stabbing knife, well balanced too, so he decided to keep it. He held onto the machete, it had a good feel to it as well.

  'I'll keep this too, it might come in handy one day,' he thought to himself.

  The pain in his body was almost unbearable so he sat down. After a minute of slow, deep breathing he felt a little better. Obi-Wan knew that it wouldn't be long before one of the gang members came snooping, then he might be in a bit of trouble.

  The smell of Khan's shit filled the room but Obi-Wan just smiled. That was the most skilled execution of the Praying Mantis move he had ever performed.

  Chapter 12 – Skip the Skipper

  Skip saw Fortune running towards the vehicles and he knew something was wrong. Then he saw flashlights and several men running. As they had agreed earlier, if the mission was compromised get the hell out. He gunned the engine of the four-wheel drive and yelled at Fortune to jump in.

  Danielle knew what to do. With the mission going pear-shaped they were to pull out, at speed. Although it went against every cell in her body she knew there was no other option. The two vehicles pulled away as instructed leaving Obi-Wan in the hands of the enemy.

  No-one bothered to follow so after a few kilometres Skip pulled off the dirt road and drove into the desert some distance. Danielle followed. The red-haired SAS corporal swore to himself as he walked to the back of the vehicle and started kicking in the overly-bright tail and brake lights. Skip was grief-stricken, distraught and furious.

  “Damn things, I should have thought of this before. Damn! Damn!” He then went to the headlights and did the same, venting his frustration, grief and anger out on the vehicle's lighting.

  “Skip, I've got the road covered. When you're ready go and rescue Obi-Wan,” offered Hooky, trying to ease Skip's loss, giving him a direction to express his painfully raw emotions. He'd seen it before when he was in action with the SAS. When a mate was killed or wounded people react in disturbing ways. In this case a redirect was the best thing to do right now. Hooky knew that Skip was a professional and once he had somewhere to direct his frustrations he would slip back into his usual controlled, professional mode. Expending his frustrations Skip soon rallied back to his usual practical self just as Hooky expected.

  There was a simple rule among the special ops: get the civilians and wounded to safety, then come back and attempt a rescue - then send the bastards to hell.

  Skip called everyone together. “Fortune and I are going back in. Danielle, you will drop us off and come back here. You and Hooky wait and provide back-up if they come chasing after us. We might not be back until tomorrow night.” He pulled out his flashlight and checked his weapons. “I'm sorry we have to leave you both behind with a sick officer. Kerrie will either tough it out or she will die. I like her, we all do, she's brave and she's been a good friend to all of us. All I can suggest, Danielle, is that if you want you can head east and find the next property, drop her off and come back. That's about the best we can do for her right now.”

  Danielle thought for a moment then said, “I think we should all see this rescue to completion first - we stick together, Kerrie knows the score.”

  Skip was anxious to get to the farm and rescue his friend. Constable Danielle nodded and started the vehicle as Fortune and Skip entered. They only had a few kilometres to drive before they would exit the vehicle and make their way to the farm and surrounding buildings on foot.

  It was just on dawn when Skip and Fortune found a good position to observe the activity on the prison farm. There were work groups heading into various sheds and some were being driven off into the desert scrub towards unknown destinations. It seemed like the usual workday on a cattle property in the outback.

  “Where the hell have they put Obi-Wan?” asked Skip, musing out loud as he peered through his binoculars. “There doesn't seem to be much excitement… they have armed guards out too.”

  “They have a bunch of prisoners in that warehouse and they're using them as slaves,” offered Soldier of Fortune. He had gone silent since the escape and his soldier's mind had kicked in. The Delta specialist wanted revenge, on his terms.

  The two special ops wanted to put themselves inside the farming complex before the light improved, but there was too much activity and movement. They agreed that they would make better progress around noon, the hottest time of day, when there would be fewer observers. As heat and fatigue from being in the sun would soon strip them of energy they decided to lay back in their shallow ditch in the grassy paddock and sleep. They took turns to keep watch.

  It was m
idday and Fortune was on watch. He lay with his binoculars in his hands observing the movement of prisoners and guards at the farm. He saw movement and shifted focus. Sure enough, it was a bound Obi-Wan being dragged across the dirt and into the administration building they had both examined the night before. It was right up against the barbed-wire fence and the closest building to the two watchers.

  Fortune dug his foot into Skip's side, “Skip, we've got activity.”

  “Huh? What?” came Skip's sleepy answer.

  “They've taken Obi-Wan into the admin building right against the fence. It's the one closest to us. Just three enemy and no one else in sight.” Fortune handed the binoculars to Skip as he crawled beside him.

  “Yep, I've got them, they're inside. I can't see much more than shapes. I guess we should make our way over and introduce ourselves,” replied Skip with a smile, now fully awake and keen to go to the next level.

  They waited to see if there was going to be any more activity but it seemed to be the only action on the farm. There was no one else to be seen, there hadn't been any movement for the past hour.

  “OK, let's do it, I'll go point.” Skip eased his body into the long, dry grass in the paddock and began the painful crawl to the barbed-wire fence where the building was situated.

  In the arid regions of Australia the ground was usually covered in tough bushes, many of which were covered with spines that stick into the palms and backs of hands, fingers and sensitive faces. There were also countless thorns, some have spines an inch long.

  The two armed men carefully but painfully made their way to the fence under the hot sun. They were grateful when they made it to the shade of the building against the fence. They silently cut the wire and leaned against the building. It provided just enough shade to protect their roasted bodies. There they paused to drink from their water bottles.