Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller

by Tony J. Forder

  There was no finesse in what followed. The weapon was switched to fully automatic a setting seldom used in close quarters and all it required was for him to pull on the trigger and spread the deadly spray of bullets around. The narrow channel and the close presence of a target which virtually filled it, meant it was impossible to miss his intended victim. A single burst was enough, and the biggest danger to him that day ended up being the hot cartridges being expelled by the rifle.

  Seven years had passed since that operation; the last of that particular tour in Afghanistan. Now, as then, he wondered why he, with the more severe injuries, had been able to continue with his career, when Mike had been invalided out. Luck of the draw, he supposed. Mike’s wounds affected his ability to run, his own were upper body and had healed well.

  Enough to find himself in a tunnel once more.

  This time, however, Terry’s passage was sanguine by comparison. The final stage was on an incline, and he leaned into it. At the mouth he paused, the carefully placed foliage and branches providing natural camouflage to complement that which he had smeared across his face. He listened hard. If the two armed men he had seen on the CCTV system had not moved, they were no more than twenty yards away. Between him and the house. Hearing nothing to suggest a trap had been set for him, Terry moved.

  The exit was shielded by woodland and heavy undergrowth, on the northern edge of the property. Terry emerged dripping soil and twigs, did a full 360-degree turn, took a knee. He looked down at a smart phone, which was streaming camera footage now that he was above ground again. The cutting of power to the house had not entirely taken him by surprise. That he had a generator backup system set to automatically trigger, had probably not figured in his opponent’s calculations, however. He had also relied on the fact that the signal jamming system was limited to the property itself, and not its land. The screen revealed a full fifteen yards of cover between him and them, maybe a foot or so more. Their attention was focussed on the house. His on them.

  Terry read the way ahead. No tripwires that he could see. These men were not expecting opposition from anywhere other than the house itself. The gathering gloom made it difficult to see clearly, but not impossible. Next, he checked the woodland floor, searching for a more natural giveaway, such as thorns or dry twigs. What he could see he could avoid.

  He gradually made his way across to the two men, one careful tread at a time; little back-lift, little effort in the steps forward. The M4A1 still his weapon of choice he held in readiness; resting against his chest, angled forward, left hand supporting, fingers of the right brushing against the trigger.

  Now Terry stood directly behind them. If either man turned, even a fraction, they would see him. Neither was prepared, so two shots each would do the trick. Supressed or not, the sound was different to any other being heard in or around the property at that moment, and whoever was running the show at their end would have used men capable of recognising the unusual. Which is why he did not intend using his assault rifle.

  When he felt secure in his position, Terry silently unclipped his weapon and laid it on the mossy grass. From a leather sheath on his belt he took out his thirty-year-old Fairburn-Sykes, a double-edged knife that looked like a miniature sword. Its seven-inch carbon steel blade could be deadly in the wrong hands. Which is where it was now. Terry took a deep breath and, crouching low, coiled in readiness to spring, he inched forward.

  The two men stood a yard apart, side by side. Not speaking, but not attentive, either. Certainly not making life difficult for him as he approached. As he moved to within a few feet, he assessed the two men more closely. The taller one on the right stood straight-backed, feet planted wide apart. The smaller one took up a more slouched posture, legs together. It was this difference that told Terry who to kill first, and how to begin the attack.

  Blade in his right hand, he used his left to violently shove Smaller in the back. Taken completely by surprise, the man pitched forward and fell to the ground. In the same movement, and rising as he swivelled to his right, Terry cupped the taller man’s mouth with one of his big mitts, yanking back as he did so, whilst he used the other hand to drag the blade swiftly across the man’s throat in one unhesitating movement. As his hand drew back he arced it down in a single powerful motion and slashed the femoral artery in the thigh.

  Without pausing to check, instinctively knowing the target now gargling on his own blood would be dead in seconds, Terry planted a boot into the soil for purchase and leapt onto the back of the fallen second target. Smaller’s stance had made him vulnerable to the shove, and Terry had been certain that the way the man cradled his weapon would cause him to fall awkwardly. Though the fallen opponent struggled and heaved, his cry for either help or mercy was stifled by a big gloved hand, whilst the other did its work a second time.

  And just like that it was over.

  Less than ten seconds. No warning to others given. Two men down.

  Terry had no time to congratulate himself. He had to dash back down beneath the earth and work his way around to the southern exit. Even if that went well, the three most daunting tasks lay ahead. As he made his way back into the tunnel, he wondered how well Mike was coping.

  “Try not to shoot at all. But if you have to, do. Just try not to shoot too early, either.”

  Those had been my instructions from Terry. As good as, anyway. I had listened attentively whilst my friend described the ideal scenario.

  “I need to take down half of their team before they start concentrating on the house. I should have little opposition around the wooded exits. The others lack cover, and that’s where the shooting will start for certain. If I can make it back here without you having taken a shot, that will be terrific. If you have to shoot after I kick things off, then so be it. But Mike, please try your damnedest not to fire until either I or they take the first shot. Think of that as your starting pistol.”

  Easier said than done.

  Now that Terry was gone, I thought of my friend’s words and they irritated me every bit as much as they had when he uttered them. Sure, I was rusty. But I was no rookie. Terry and I had shared many a battlefield together. And hadn’t I been the one to carry him across one of those bloodied fields?

  I didn’t like being the one left behind. I wanted to be out there taking the more proactive role. Not reacting to events, not with the added pressure of being Melissa and Charlie’s last-hope guardian. But Terry had forgotten more about this type of warfare than I had ever known. If the shooting started when the shooting started I would stand up and do the job expected of me.

  Terry had left to suit up, get equipped and make his way down the first tunnel. The two of us had comms, but radio-silence was to be maintained unless the men outside launched a pre-emptive assault before Terry had managed to claim his first few victims. While I waited, I sipped strong, hot coffee. I stood in the surveillance office, monitoring cameras affixed not just to the house and outbuildings, but also high in trees and on several other structures well away from the buildings. Each was motion-activated. Not that there was much of that going on.

  I was so absorbed in the screens that I completely failed to hear the soft, pad of feet behind me until it was too late.

  “What game are you playing?” Charlie asked.

  I whirled. No way could I cover all of the screens at once, and I needed to keep them switched on. But Charlie had given me a way out. “It’s a new one,” I said. “I’m testing it for a friend. Well, me and Terry are testing it. We’re playing it together. It’s for adults only, though, sweetheart, so you need to go back to Mel.”

  “So, I can’t play?” The smile she had worn was now gone, a bright sun masked by dark clouds.

  I squatted down, so that we were the same height. “Charlie, there’s nothing more I would love to do right now than to play a video game with you. I’m sure you’d win, because I’m useless. But you see, some games are too violent for children. It would be wrong of me to let you play this one. Mel would be
very angry with me if I did. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Charlie shook her head. She didn’t look happy about it, but she appeared to be accepting the decision. “Okay, Mike. I don’t want you to get into trouble with Mel. Can we play a different game?”

  “Later on for sure. Right now, I have to help out Terry or he’ll be in all kinds of trouble as well. I have to save him. And hey, if you hear noises, like battle sounds and lots of action, that’s just us playing the game. Now, off you scoot and tell Mel all about it.”

  The smile reappeared. She had a task, and it seemed to please her. She dashed off, and I watched her go, her little pipe-cleaner legs pumping. Some guardian I was. A little kid had just managed to take me by surprise and she wasn’t even trying. Earlier we had agreed that Melissa would attempt to act as if nothing untoward was happening, and to keep Charlie engrossed in something noisy, or possibly have her wear her headphone buds. Somehow Charlie had slipped away, and I wondered how that had happened. Turning back to the screens, I let go of the thought and started to manipulate the cameras in order to locate the men who had come for us.

  I had no joy with the flatlands out front. The only cameras pointing in that direction were either fixed to the house or hidden away inside a stone pillar into, which part of the bridge had been built. That meant the view was neither high enough nor close enough to any positions they might have taken up. If they had. I was out of practice, but I could not identify a single hiding place out there.

  I fared no better with those to the rear of the house, either. Beyond the river, more flatlands. A few patches of scrub, some tall grass, so they were possibilities. Nothing came up when I briefly switched to thermal imaging, but if these men were as good as Terry believed them to be, they might well have wrapped themselves in thermal cloaking sheets.

  Altogether, I picked up only six of the eight targets previously located by Terry. No matter how I manipulated the cameras I could no longer find two of them. That was a worry. About to make further changes, I noticed a lone figure appear as if from nowhere. I zoomed in and recognised Terry. Enthralled, I stood and watched as the figure moved with great caution towards two of the targets. I felt myself grow tense, my stomach stirring. Then the figure moved swiftly, and with devastating effect. One went down following a shove, the other reacted too slowly to save himself. Moments later, Terry made his way back to the tunnel and disappeared into its mouth and off the screen.

  Two down.

  At least eight to go. Probably more.

  And only four now visible.

  I checked my Glock. As I had already done on several occasions. It went completely against all that I believed in to stand there and watch as my friend made his way through the targets. But then my thoughts turned to Melissa and Charlie and I remembered my own role. Charlie’s innocence and Melissa’s naïveté were prizes worth fighting for.

  The second pair was dispatched less easily, but relatively swiftly and efficiently nonetheless. The exit manoeuvres had been far more difficult this time. Rather than appear from behind the two operatives, Terry emerged ahead of them. This was perilous, but the one advantage he had was that the mouth of the tunnel was thirty yards off to the right of the pair, so he hadn’t popped up directly in their line of vision.

  He paused as long as he could at the mouth. Waiting. Listening. Terry’s original plan was to navigate his way behind them, but he recognised it would take so long that he might jeopardise everything. Instead, he worked out a new path in his head. More dangerous, but far less time-consuming.

  Terry traversed the wood, skirting undergrowth, hedgerow, side-stepping tree roots and overhanging branches. It was slow going, as he had to ensure that each step was silent. His own heartbeat grew loud in his ears. In retrospect, he reckoned this was where he made a misstep. Something, at least, had given him away.

  Before he was within ten paces, both men turned in his direction. Terry reacted immediately. Stealth no longer an issue, he ran at the duo and launched himself through the air, both feet forward, legs spread slightly. He hit both men boots first, the impact driving him backwards onto his elbows. Both of his opponents let out gasps of pain and surprise. They were unprepared. He wasn’t. That was the only reason for his success.

  Springing forward and straight back to his feet (almost before he had hit the ground), Terry stepped into the man on his right who was the first to rise, and drove an elbow into his nose. This had the desired effect of both temporarily disabling his opponent, and causing him to sink to his knees. The man’s partner was quicker than Terry had anticipated, however. An MP4 came out of the hazy greyness, sweeping up towards his head. He ducked and raised an arm. The weapon deflected heavily, but continued on its arc. He felt a molten pain sprint through the meat of his upper arm, and although the rifle only clipped his scalp, Terry felt his flesh open up and spew blood.

  Scalp bleeds are rapid and copious. He had only seconds, or it would be in his eyes, blinding him. If that happened, he was done.

  Terry used his opponent’s momentum, guessing he would be unbalanced by the rapid strike and glancing blow. He sank down on his hips and pushed forward. The heel of his right hand caught the other man beneath the chin, slamming his head back like a boxer’s speedball. The man staggered, swaying like a broken reed. In one practised movement, Terry pulled his dagger from its scabbard and thrust it deep into the man’s throat.

  His hand came back still gripping the blade’s handle. He switched grips, and drove it sideways. This time the knife took his second opponent in the right ear and bit deep.

  Sucking in air, chest aflame, Terry used up a few moments to take stock. Four down. There was a chance that the second skirmish may have been overheard, so Terry waited a few moments. No radio crackled, no shouts went up. He thought he was fine. His arm would stiffen, and his movement would suffer, but not for a while yet. The wound right at his hairline was bleeding freely, warm rivulets slipping down his face like wet paint.

  It was time to weigh options.

  He needed to keep moving. Yet it would ill-serve him to become blinded by the crimson tide. Experience told him the flow would only increase if he put himself under duress and exertion. Nodding to himself, Terry knelt and reached behind him into his small backpack. From within one of its many zipped pockets he withdrew a medical kit. First, he used a cotton swab to mop the blood away from around his eyes and across his forehead. Then he split a sealed packet, unfolded a moist towelette coated with an anti-septic and used it to dab at the wound itself. Terry cursed silently at the liquid’s sting. Another swab to dry the area was followed by a small bandage, which he expertly wound around his head. It wouldn’t hold, but it would get him one stage further.

  And that was all he would need.

  35

  I had watched in horror as the fight at the second point looked like going the wrong way. I had enormous faith in Terry, but I was fully aware that anyone can lose in a close combat situation, especially when outnumbered. It was over in seconds, but it felt a lot longer while it was occurring. I leaned forward with both hands on the table on which the monitors stood, and gave a relieved sigh when Terry finally started making his way back through the woods. So far so good, but we had both known going into this that the hardest part was to come.

  The plan had been for Terry to strike first north, then south. To the west lay the wide expanse of flat fields, to the east the river. Instinct told us both that we ought to leave the area with a natural defence the river until last; which left venturing into open land as the third point of attack. Terry and I had debated this critical third stage for several minutes. Eventually, both of us agreed that the lack of cover out front made tackling that area too risky for a man working alone. Terry would head east and hunt down whoever waited for him there.

  I had openly questioned my friend’s decision-making from the beginning, yet I allowed the superior tactician to develop and carry out this plan virtually unchallenged. Even so, the pair of us had been nervo
us about this aspect. It was a plan, and even the best-laid of them can unravel almost before they have begun. However, this was a situation neither of us had been comfortable with.

  Time and again I asked myself whether leading these armed men here was a good idea after all. On the surface, it seemed rash. One might argue worse than that. For once, I had not been able to see an end game. Still could not find my way past being so outnumbered; if not outgunned. It’s every warrior’s instinct to take the fight to the enemy, but a great soldier also had to know when to employ caution; to ensure he lives to fight another day. Terry had been right about one thing, though: things were as they were, not as I might prefer them to be. You played the hand you were dealt, and you did not blame the dealer.

  The pivotal time period was now upon us. Terry was out of sight. One of the cameras facing the river was down, and that felt ominous to me. Not for the first time my urge was to follow Terry out there. Now, though, more than ever, it was vital for me to maintain discipline and keep both eyes on the front of the house. That was where our enemies would launch their final strike. Terry and I had agreed on that, at least.

  And right at the point at which I felt that much would hold true, I saw the movement.

  It was not discreet.

  I knew then that Terry and I had been wrong. Terribly wrong.

  No one had made their way covertly down into the flatlands as we had predicted. Instead they had remained behind the hill, irrespective of its lack of height. Our enemy had calculated rightly so that there was sufficient cover. Now they came, hard and fast. Not in the predicted attack order, not from the forecast location, and not according to logic.