by Chris Lowry
Two mercenaries stood on either side of the open doors and aimed inside.
A third knelt between the two and in sync, all teams opened fire with short three round bursts.
They killed the men where they slept.
Workers poured out of the other huts and found themselves facing armed mercenaries.
Most dropped their simple machetes and shovels, the only weapons they had.
Rebels shoved out of the backs of the huts and ran for the jungle.
Members of A squad and B squad popped out of the grass and cut them down.
It was a massacre.
Brill stood by Becker and watched, his finger aching to be on the trigger.
It was over in less than a minute. Cordite and gun smoke drifted across the village path as the sun crested the treetops and bathed the bloody scene in a surreal golden glow.
"Check in," Becker commanded over the radio.
Each squad checked in. No injuries. No survivors.
Becker turned to Brill and grinned.
"If only every contract was this smooth."
A hole opened up in his forehead and the back of his head exploded with a wet plop that sprayed the radio operator in gore and goo.
Brill ducked away and spun around searching.
Goldie jumped out of the open doorway of a trailer and sprinted toward the diamond mine.
He sprayed bullets from his AK at the mercenaries, short controlled bursts just like they had used.
Even without aiming, he was effective.
The men were distracted by the sight of their fallen leader sprawled in the village dust, the speed with which they had lost him.
Brill dropped to one knee and aimed at the running back of the rebel.
He led him by a few feet and squeezed the trigger.
The bullets slammed into Goldie's back and sent him sprawling.
Brill jumped up and ran to him.
The rebel crawled toward his fallen rifle, dropped when he hit and fell. He grunted and sobbed as he fought for breath.
Brill reached him and kicked him over onto his bloody back.
Goldie glared up at him and spit curses in his native tongue.
"Do you remember me you son of a bitch?" Brill cursed back.
Goldie grinned. Blood caked his lips.
"Wake," Brill shot him in the face. "Wake."
He bent over and threw up next to the body.
The smell of brain matter and shit and urine mixed with the gunpowder made him sick.
He grabbed the rebels rifle and worked the bolt to clear the chamber and turned back to the worker's village.
Brill walked to where the workers were being held under gunpoint.
He raised the rifle and emptied the clip into them.
The men screamed and shouted and tried to run, but the other mercenaries joined Brill and opened fire.
When the clip ran out, Brill dropped it and emptied his own rifle.
When there were no more men to shoot, Brill began gathering ammunition from the fallen rebel rifles.
"What are you doing?" Arnoux put a hand on his shoulder.
Brill shrugged him off.
"Kill them," he sniffed. "Kill them all."
He grabbed two more AK's and began walking toward the main camp.
The rest of the mercenaries fell in with him.
Arnoux slung Becker's body across his shoulders and followed after.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Simon met them at the LZ on the compound.
He zeroed in on Brill and grabbed him as he hopped out of the Sea Stallion.
Simon held him by the collar as he watched two men carry Becker's body out of the helicopter.
"Come with me," he ordered.
Brill didn't have much choice.
The Commander half dragged half marched him across the compound to the Command tent.
"You led a massacre?" spittle flew from his lips.
"They were harboring rebels."
"Do you know what kind of shit storm this is going to bring down?"
Brill shrugged it off.
"I don't give a damn."
"Do you think that makes you sound tough? You better damn well give a damn," Simon opened up a trunk and fished out a bottle of Scotch.
He took a swig straight from the bottle.
"This kind of action gets the attention of The Hague. Do you know what The Hague is?"
"No," Brill pouted.
"It's the World Court. You just committed a war crime."
"They weren't innocent."
"I damn well know that, and you damn well know that but in the eyes of the world, those workers were not the rebels."
"But they could have been," said Brill. "They know what kind of things those men do."
"No, they don't," Simon shut him down. "They may suspect, and some may know because they were rebels once, but the other side has done just as much, just as bad."
"They were bad men," Brill snapped.
"They're all bad men," Simon yelled back. "We all are."
They stared at each other until Brill couldn't take the intensity.
He blinked and looked away.
"I'm not sorry."
Simon took another swig off the bottle.
"I'm pissed we lost Becker," he said softly. "He was a good man and my friend."
"Mine too."
"Alright," said Simon. "We've got a situation on our hands, but you got your revenge. I don't know if I can pay the price for it."
"I'll take his place," Brill said. "Not as your second in command, but I can be one of your men."
"Of course, you can't," said Simon.
"Sir?" Brill crinkled his eyes. "But what I did..."
"Yes, to all of that and more," Simon interrupted. "But we're soldier's, the best of them. We don't train you up. You did one operation, but you have too much more to learn."
"I could learn."
"But not from us."
Brill grit his teeth.
Simon was right.
He was eighteen and he got lucky in in one operation.
But he had lost that luck in the refugee camp so maybe killing the rebels had just balanced a scorecard.
Still he knew what he wanted.
He wanted to join the company.
The company wouldn't have him without training.
The solution was to get training, he decided.
But he didn't want to go back to the US. The rebels were backed by US forces.
The US didn't mean to kill the girl he loved, it didn't mean to violate him and change who he was at the core.
It just happened.
If he went home it would be too easy to turn into a homegrown terrorist.
He still had too much to deal with in the aftermath of what happened.
He was good at shutting it down for the moment, for now, but he could feel it boiling beneath the surface.
What he needed was an outlet.
And a chance.
"Alright, Sir," he said to Simon. "But may I ask for something?
Simon locked eyes with his intense stare and glared.
"What?"
"A recommendation letter."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The house stood at the end of a drive behind a guarded gate.
Brill tapped the motorcycle driver he had hitched a ride with on the shoulder indicating he wanted to be let off.
The guard watched him as he approached the wrought iron gate.
His eyes grew wide as recognition dawned and he stutter stepped to one side and pulled the small side grill open for him.
"Sir," he said in a small voice.
Brill nodded thanks and kept moving up the brick paved drive to the double wooden doors at the top of the portico.
The guard must have phone ahead because as he drew closer, the doors opened and Mr. Van Housen rushed down the steps.
He grabbed Brill by the shoulders and stared at him with red swollen eyes.
"They t
old us you were alive," he struggled to speak. "That you were there...with her."
"I couldn't save her," Brill started to say and broke down.
Mr. Van Housen pulled him into his arms and crushed him to his chest.
The two men held each other as grief shook their bodies, shoulders heaving and clinging as if to a life preserver.
They stood like that for quite some time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Later, in his study, Mr. Van Housen handed Brill a cold bottle of beer and clinked a twin against it.
They tipped and swallowed.
Brill set his down among two others on the table between them.
"I don't want to know what happened," said Mr. Van Housen.
He drank almost half the bottle in two swallows.
"My wife and daughters have gone to the country home," he continued. "I stayed behind. For work."
Brill nodded as he fished a disc out of his pocket and passed it to the man.
"I was instructed to give you this.”
“The job is done?"
“Yes Sir.”
Mr. Van Housen popped the disc into a computer at his study desk and glanced over the documents.
“I can turn this into a PR boon,” he muttered. “We’ll issue a statement. The MPLA attacked the diamond mine to finance their rebellion. Were you there?"
Brill nodded.
"Did you get the rotten shits that did this?"
He nodded again.
"I wasn’t sure when you would come back,” said the man.
He looked tired, aged.
Losing a child could do that.
“I haven't told anyone in the states that you lived.”
"Don't," Brill asked.
"But your parents?"
"Let them think I died. They wouldn't care. They would rather have the insurance money."
"That can't be true my boy."
"But it is. I want the whole world to think I died with her. Because I did."
He finished his beer.
Mr. Van Housen studied his face. He had changed.
The bloom of youth was gone from his young face, the spark missing from his eye.
He recalled the boy who sat across from him at breakfast just a few short weeks ago.
That boy was gone, and Brill was asking to erase him forever.
Mr. Van Housen felt a hitch in his breath, because thinking of the loss made him miss his daughter.
She had loved this boy, and he had been with her at the end.
Maybe that comforted her somehow.
"I can do that," he said.
"I need another favor," said Brill. "I don't know how to ask. But I need to join the Recce's."
"The RC Reserve?"
"Simon said I needed the experience and training."
“One does not simply join the Recce's,” said Dad. “It can take up to six years.”
“I'll do the time. I can do it.”
“It's one of the most elite fighting units in the world,” Dad said. “It's also one of the most difficult to qualify for. Add to that you're American.”
“Not if you give me citizenship.”
The Dad bowed his head.
“It's what Laurette would have wanted?” he sobbed.
“No sir,” said Brill as he sat across from the Dad. “She would have wanted me in Peace Corp, or Medical School to go work with Doctors without Borders. But I can't do that. I have to make bad men pay for their crimes, I have to make the world right.”
“Soldier's don't do that, they follow orders.”
Brill nodded.
“And I will follow orders too. I just need the training so I can get better.”
Mr. Van Housen reached out and put his hand on top of Brill's.
“I can get you in,” he said. “Let's go see a friend of mine.”
THE END
Thank you for taking the time to read CONSCRIPTED. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend. Thank you. Chris
MISSION ONE
a Shadowboxer story
by
Chris Lowry
Copyright 2016 by Grand Ozarks Media
Orlando FL
All Rights Reserved
Direct all inquiries to [email protected]
Get great tips on Twitter @Lowrychris
Can I send you a copy of CONSCRIPTED for FREE?
It’s the origin story of Brill Wingfield and begins the adventure of how he became one of the world’s luckiest hitmen.
MISSION ONE
"Who's the Spook?"
Brill sat at the back of a small room with seven sailors seated in front of him. An eighth man, their Lt stood beside a projection screen at the head of the room. None of the men turned around to look at him, though they all shot appraising looks as they entered in quiet order and took their seats.
"He's not a Spook," said the Lt as he nodded at Brill. "He's on loan to us from Homeland."
"Isn't Homeland a Spook business?" shot back one of the men. He was the tallest in the group, with a buzzed haircut and piercing blue eyes.
"You want to explain?" the Lt asked Brill.
He shook his head no.
His instructions were to say nothing and observe and he planned to follow them to the letter. This was his first assignment after nine months on the Farm, a CIA training facility in the Virginia countryside. He had been flown down this morning in an F 16 to Naval Station Key West to task with the SEAL team that operated from there.
"Loose lips sink ships, am I right?" one of the sailors turned to grin at him. He had dusky black skin and etched muscles. He held out a corded forearm.
"Washington," he kept grinning. "Like the President."
Brill considered the hand for a moment and leaned up to shake it.
"Pleasure," he disobeyed his orders.
It was the first handshake he had taken in over a year. Nine months ago, he was picked up in South Africa and brought back to the United States. The man who met him when he was led off the plane in plastic zip ties and a hood was U.S. Senator Shelby Johnson, an old acquaintance from his home state. Shelby didn't shake hands.
Instead, he ushered Brill to a private office for a meeting with the President, who conscripted Brill back into service for his country after absconding to South Africa.
Technically, he wasn't attached to Homeland Security or any government Agency. He worked for a private company called Barraque owned by Johnson that contracted with the government.
Brill wasn't supposed to know Shelby owned it, but the company, Barraque was named after a street in the hometown they shared.
"Let's zero in on the mission," the Lt called out. "Our guest can share over chow."
The sailors settled in and focused on their leader.
"Our target window is pretty tight," he started and pulled up a map of Africa on the overhead projector. "We're tasked with a smash and grab. CIA has intel that Abu Aish is in Nigeria working with Boku Harem."
He clicked a button and the projector advanced to a topography map of Nigeria.
"Abu Aish is under the protection of a platoon strength or more of Nigerian terrorists. They traced him to a town one hundred twenty klicks south of the border with Algeria, called Sokuto. We're doing a beach insert in the port of Lagos, and catching a ride North on a Red Cross plane. We will exfil in manner same."
He glanced at his men.
"This is not an easy mission. Nigeria is Africa's most populous nation, it's got huge oil field reserves and the leader of this group, Mohammed Yusif is no joke."
"What does the name mean?
"You wanna speak to this?" the Lt said to Brill.
"Boko Harem means roughly "Western Fraud." These animals are strict followers of the Qu'ran, and preach violent overthrow of the western influenced government."