by James Beltz
Argo shifted in his seat. “Then what are you suggesting?”
DJ shrugged. “I’m not sure, but aren’t you guys tired of being on the defensive? Let’s do a little recon first. If we see there’s an ambush waiting for us, we figure out how to counter it. And by we, I mean we make Carbon come up with some sort of whiz-kid plan to give us an advantage.”
Carbon threw his hands in the air. “Oh, sure! Anytime the odds are impossible, you turn to me and expect me to just whip something out. I’ll remind you that you constantly refer to me as kid, software dude, oh, and my personal favorite, panty-waisted button-pusher! Well, you want to go grunting and charging into an ambush and show off your muscles, you can do it without me!”
DJ sighed. “Number one, you look like a kid and you play more video games than a ten-year-old. Number two, you know more about software than a person should so consider that a compliment. Number three, I’ve seen you in your underwear. They’re silk briefs. Don’t want to be called panty-waisted? Don’t wear panties.”
Carbon’s face went instant crimson. “They’re not panties. They’re just… shiny. I tend to chafe. I need something slippery.”
DJ smiled. “Look, we wouldn’t be the same if we didn’t have you. Everyone here knows you’re the smartest member of the team. None of us could beat you at checkers even if we had railroad spikes in our brains. We would have been toasted twelve times over if it weren’t for you.”
Before Carbon could reply, DJ’s phone started ringing. The number was not one he recognized, and he hesitated before answering. He glanced at Carbon for assurance. Carbon seemed to know what he was thinking. “Go ahead,” he said. “After all the precautions I’ve taken, the CIA couldn’t track your phone even if they were using wizard spells and rolled a twenty.”
Argo glanced at the hacker. “Rolled a twenty? What does that even mean?”
It was Cash who answered. “It’s a Dungeons and Dragons reference.”
Argo beamed a grin at Carbon. “And you wonder why we call you kid.” The smile vanished and he narrowed his eyes at Cash. “Wait. How did you get that reference? Got something you want to confess, blondie?”
Cash shrugged. “It’s a game of imagination and endless possibilities. You should try it, Argo. Might make you feel like a kid. It’s good for old people like yourself to feel young again.”
Chapter 19: The Duelists
It took nearly two hours to reach his destination, and DJ was winded from the effort. Much of the hike had been uphill in uneven and wooded terrain. Before he reached his target location, the moon was already high in the sky. Even though it was only a crescent, the night was clear, and it was easy to make out the valley below. Laid out before him, in all its grandeur, was the Midget Mine Ranch. The canyon, hand-carved by time, stretched out below like a scene from a Louis L’Amour novel. DJ had been many places and seen many wonderful things, but nothing more spectacular than this beautiful piece of Western Americana. He had thought of it as his own private oasis. Turned out, it wasn’t so private after all. Carbon had been right. There was an ambush waiting. It was confirmed when Carbon did a high flyover with one of his drones. The thermal imaging system picked out several people lying in wait around the cabin. Mostly behind it and in the small aspen stand immediately in the foreground.
His mind turned back to a time earlier when other bad men prowled this canyon. It was in that same cluster of aspen that DJ had very nearly lost his life.
The small house sat against the northern cliff face on a small rise. It was a wonderful place to sit on the porch in the morning and watch deer feed in the field on the other side of a small babbling brook. The thin, shallow creek unevenly carved the canyon in half. It too, had a special memory for him. He had flipped his Jeep alongside the banks near the entrance to the property. The crash had dislocated his shoulder. He had to flee from his pursuers across the creek with his arm screaming in pain. All of that was long ago, but the similarity of the situation he eerily found himself in, brought all of those memories into the forefront. Here he was again, about to defend his home. This time would be different. This time, he wouldn’t be alone.
DJ found a spot close to the edge and rolled his shooting mat down. The mat would protect his elbows from sharp rocks when he lay across it with his rifle. Next, he set up the rifle. It was a long-range setup made by Accuracy International. The .338 Lapua round would bellow like a great beast when it was finally used, filling the canyon with the crack of thunder regardless of the suppressor. The round would be traveling too fast to be silent. The suppressor was only to hide the muzzle flash and make the gunfire tolerable behind the trigger.
Additionally, if his targets were wearing vests, it wouldn’t matter. Stop the round or not, the heavy projectile would put anyone into the dirt if they were the unfortunate recipient of his aim. He would aim low, just in case. A .338 through the middle would take the fight out of anyone.
Since the enemy hiding below knew there was only one way into or out of the canyon, they would be focused in only one direction. They wouldn’t suspect that DJ might flank them and start picking them off from the top of the surrounding cliffs. It would be a while before they understood what was going on. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.
DJ smiled. Too bad, he thought. That’s what you get for playing for the other team.
He keyed his mic. “I’m finally in position. Where are you guys at?”
Cash answered over his earpiece. “We took our time, but we’re in position as well. From where we are, we can’t see too much. These thermal goggles aren’t really helping right now. We’ll need you to direct our fire.”
DJ spoke to Carbon next. “Carbon, you sure this is going to work?”
Carbon scoffed. “You doubt me? I’ve hacked my way into the Pentagon. A vehicle is a piece of cake. The challenge was finding a UI that could handle the language. What I had to do was first hack the manufacturer’s R&D center. Surprisingly, they were nearly impossible. I guess car manufacturers are more concerned with corporate espionage than the Pentagon is of a foreign power. Shame, really. Once I did that-”
DJ cut him off. “Just tell me if you’re ready. I don’t need a book report.”
Carbon’s reply was terse. “Yeah. The button-pusher is ready.”
DJ had settled in behind the thermal scope on the big gun and started seeking targets. He spotted three straight away. They were parked in the small grove of aspen right below. Their image was subdued in the thermal scope and he almost missed them. They must be wearing heat-dissipating clothing, he thought. Still, from above, he could make them out. DJ called out their position to his team. Next, behind his cabin and to the west, there seemed to be a group of them. If he wasn’t mistaken, DJ spotted their vehicles, too. There looked to be three of them concealed in the trees. The combatants were on the other side. He guessed maybe four, but he was uncertain because of how they were clustered and partially obscured. It was exactly as first reported by Carbon’s flyover. He called out that confirmation as well.
DJ was as ready as he would ever be. Still, he waited, listening carefully, ears focused on one sound in particular. He checked his watch and continued to wait. He should have heard it by now. The timing was everything on this. Finally, after what seemed like forever, with DJ growing increasingly impatient, he heard what he was waiting for. It was far in the distance, barely detectable. He called out over the mic. “Let the games begin. Carbon, you’re up.”
Again, DJ had to wait. The gravel road leading into the ranch was long. A few minutes later and he could see headlights coming through the trees. In short order, it pulled through the wooded drive and slowly came to a halt in front of the Cabin. The headlights stayed on and the vehicle just sat there with no one exiting. DJ scanned through his targets. None were moving. His enemy could not afford to jump the gun until they were sure who was driving the van. If they sprung their trap, and the occupants were not DJ and the others, they would have to deal with the trouble of col
lateral damage. So, they waited.
DJ did not. He spoke one word to Carbon. “Now.”
All at once, in the back of the cabin, the three hidden SUVs began flashing their hazards, blowing their horns, and lighting up the surrounding area with their bright LED headlights. Carbon’s hack into their remote systems had worked. The enemy hidden close by began moving, surprised by the sudden commotion.
DJ went to work.
His first round had one of the men in the back of the cabin crumple to the ground, the crack of his rifle carrying through the canyon. It was like an angry god of mythology snapping a whip. DJ cycled the bolt and picked another target: one stationary and partially obscured behind the hood of an SUV. The round punched through the top of the hood, passed through the fender, and took the man out anyway. Now that DJ had started firing, it was his team’s turn. Argo and Cash opened up from the tree line on the eastern edge of the clearing, aiming into the stand of aspen, peppering the small grove with rounds from their .300 blackout assault rifles.
DJ glanced back to the front of the cabin and saw Ali streaking from the van and into the house, barreling through the door without pausing to unlock it. Someone hidden on the other side of the drive, an enemy missed on their initial survey of the canyon, broke from hiding and tore after him, trying to follow Ali inside. DJ clipped the man with a well-timed shot, and he went down in front of the door. A follow-up shot ended Ali’s pursuer for good.
Going for the cabin had been a risk. There was a possibility people were inside, but DJ had a sophisticated alarm that would have notified him via a cell signal through an app. There were no notifications. Nor did any of the inside camera views show anyone inside. It was assumed the ambushers had not entered for fear of accidentally alerting DJ remotely to their invasion. With the risk being minimal, Ali elected to go in. The reason was apparent a few seconds later. Floodlights located on all four corners of the cabin flipped on, completely illuminating the surrounding area. DJ could see the enemy scrambling in all directions, the cover of night suddenly gone for them.
DJ grinned. Six rounds left in the box magazine. More people to shoot. With a smile on his face, he went back to work, focusing on the front and back door to keep Ali covered inside.
__________
Sam was focused on the van in front of the cabin, gleefully waiting for Slaughter to pop out. When the SUVs stashed behind the cabin in the trees fired up their lights and started honking their horns, he was at first confused, angry that some idiot had set off the alarms and tipped off their adversary to the ambush. When a heavy-caliber rifle opened fire from somewhere to his right, somewhere on the top of the cliff near Sam, he realized what was going on. Slaughter had flanked them. Carbon had hacked their trucks. They had been caught with their pants down. The man firing the rifle to Sam’s right could only be DJ. The team leader was a far superior shot to the rest of his group. He would have appointed himself to make the hike in and set up overwatch, initiating a little ambush of their own.
Sam had to hand it to the guy, it was a first-class move.
He stood and shouldered his pack, leaving his own rifle in place. Unholstering his pistol, he backtracked into the trees and began circling around behind Slaughter. DJ didn’t know Sam was up here with him. He thought himself protected and secure, focusing on picking apart the men in the valley.
Sam was in no hurry, and he didn’t care about the people dying below. He had no interest in protecting them. If they lost this fight, Sam was at peace with it. His focus was on DJ. He moved slowly through the trees, carefully watching where every foot was placed so as not to alert Slaughter of his presence.
This was going to be fun. He would shoot the man, show him what a real shooter could do, then vanish.
__________
Agent Ali charged into Slaughter’s home at full speed, nearly tearing the door from the hinges, swinging his pistol up, and sweeping the living room. He had chosen to forgo the use of a rifle, knowing he would be inside. His movement speed would have been hampered by the .300 Blackout AR rifles that the rest of Slaughter’s team had chosen to carry. There was no doubt they packed a wallop in the short-range they were intended, but Ali needed speed. If this went according to plan, Ali wouldn’t ever leave the safety of the house.
The room was clear, so he sprinted forward through the wide entrance marking the dividing line between the living room and the kitchen. On the back wall, he spotted the switches he was after, four of them in a neat little row next to a doorway leading into the workshop at the back of the cabin. He flipped them on and was instantly rewarded with the sound of swearing outside the home. Through the windows on the south wall, overlooking the large field, bright floodlights had turned night into day around the house. Toward the east, he could hear Cash and Argo engaging the suddenly target-rich environment. Farther away, he could make out the harsh crack of DJ’s big rifle as it reverberated around the canyon, causing Ali to chuckle. He was sure the big man was having a great time lighting up the enemy as they scurried for cover.
Ali peeked into the workshop, checking for bad guys, just as the back door crashed open. Someone had decided to enter from the back and shut off the lights before they were all killed. It was a good idea, but Ali shot the man through the nose for his quick thinking. A second man was right behind the first. He died as well, Ali killing him in much the same way. The CIA trained their operatives to shoot for the head. It had been ingrained into Ali’s thinking from the very beginning. A third man hung a rifle around the corner, spraying the inside of the house with automatic fire. Ali dropped to the floor and put three rounds through the wall near the doorway. The shooter dropped his weapon and the firing stopped. All Ali had to do was hold the building until the helicopters arrived and this would all be over.
He got to one knee and looked behind him, glancing at the front entrance just in time to see someone trying to come up behind him. The man didn’t make it. What could have only been a bullet from Slaughter’s .338 passed sideways through the man’s neck, nearly taking his head off in the process. The man collapsed into the entrance on top of another that DJ had capped. It was shocking to see but rewarding as well. Ali was constantly impressed by DJ’s unnatural talent for feeling his way around a firearm. It was as if Slaughter could sense what the projectile would do even before he pulled the trigger. It was an extraordinary gift with only one brutal purpose.
Ali turned back to the rear entrance just in time to engage yet another brave soul. Ali didn’t kill him, only a flesh wound to the side of the face, but it certainly made him change his mind on entering.
Not much longer now, Ali thought to himself.
__________
Carbon sat hunched against a tree behind Cash and Argo as they fired into the field, picking off the enemy who was currently in a state of confusion. Carbon wasn’t a shooter like the others, so he positioned himself on the backside of the tree and faced the rear. In fact, he would have liked it better if the tree he was against was about ten times wider. The more cover the better.
So far, everything was going to plan. His plan. This whole counter-ambush had been Carbon’s idea. In fact, if it weren’t for him making DJ pull over, they would have waltzed right into this valley and be dead right now. Instead, they were making the bad guys pay a heavy price for, well, for being bad guys. Not bad for a button-pusher, he thought to himself.
In the distance, he could make out the sound of an approaching helicopter. He hoped there was more than one coming. He hadn’t been surprised when Abbi called to tell them she had decided to take matters into her own hands and gone over the CIA’s head to the President of the United States. She was bold like that. Besides, they knew the man. Well, Carbon didn’t, but the others did. They didn’t like him too much and there was some apparent bad blood between them. Still, Abbi had somehow managed to get into a room with the leader of the free world and strong-arm the man into helping them out. It was thinking like this that proved Abbi and Carbon were the real brains of t
his operation. If it weren’t for them, and Brett, of course, these guys would think the solution to every problem could be found in the act of switching a weapon off “safe” and into “full-auto.”
As Carbon consulted the screen of his tablet, he could see things were definitively going their way. The drone feed showed that DJ was picking people off from above, the three or four guys that had hidden in the stand of trees in the middle of the field were no longer moving, and Argo and Cash were nailing anyone foolish enough to step out from behind the house. When the helicopter landed with well-armed troops on board, this would be over. The remaining enemy would find themselves against overwhelming odds and start throwing their hands into the air.
Carbon felt the whiff of a bullet past his ears and flinched. Another one smacked into the bark above his head, peppering him with wooden shrapnel. That made no sense. All of the gunfire was behind him in the field and around the house. Carbon rolled onto his belly, desperately trying to become one with Mother Earth herself, and repositioned the drone overhead. What he saw had him slithering across the ground like a frightened lizard and hunching up behind Cash. “Behind us,” he screamed. “There’s more coming from behind! Four of them!”
As if they could read each other’s mind, Argo stayed focused on the field and Cash spun to engage the enemy to the rear. How in the world had he missed the ones behind them, Carbon wondered? For that matter, how had they managed to walk right past them and not get shot? Carbon didn’t know. Carbon didn’t care. Carbon should have stayed in town and gotten a hotel room and had pizza delivered. Why did they always insist he come with them? He wasn’t a combat soldier. He was a button…