by Darren Hale
Then a voice…
Catherine’s…
A single word, ‘stop!’, like a jolt of electricity, and her heart had begun to beat.
Figures raced towards the mouth of the tent. Two of them distinguished by their slight lead and decisive bearings, and another half-dozen besides.
They’d stopped at the mouth of the tent.
The second had drawn a gun.
And there had been shots.
And then her world had been undone…
Guns barked.
Bullets sang.
Explosions rocked.
And trees quivered.
A flush of hope had been expunged by a moment of panic as bullets reached out around her, errant shots pattering like raindrops through the trees.
She stood and ran; her legs hammering the ground as branches and leaves railed against her.
A shape.
A person.
A gun.
It wasn’t Martin.
She would have recognised Martin...
Remembering that she was no longer defenceless, she raised the gun in her hands. And fired…
A loud bang.
A blow to her shoulder.
Pain.
Breathlessness.
A crack to the head.
And all went dark…
56
Monday 23rd October:
Nathan was stunned. The clamour of battle had not concerned him. Nevertheless, the sudden appearance of the amber-haired woman charging at him, wild-eyed and shotgun in hand, had caused him to falter for the fraction of a second it had taken her to pull the trigger – a delay that should have been fatal. In the hands of any half-competent attacker, the shotgun would have inflicted a serious wound, no matter where it hit.
And, given that it was pointed in generally the right direction, it shouldn’t have missed.
But it had.
At least that’s what he’d thought...
There had been an almighty bang, and in an involuntary reflex, he’d closed his eyes in anticipation of the impact that never came. And when they flickered open again a fraction of a second later, they came to alight upon the unconscious body of a woman spread at the foot of a tree, her predicament a mystery for only as long as it had taken him to spot the shotgun, which, having been thrown from her grasp, had been twisted and split like a pod of peas. Upon firing, the shell had clearly encountered some obstruction and exploded inside the barrel with enough force to tear metal.
He paced towards her, deafened, and disorientated from the explosion, though not such that he’d missed the voice that cut to him through the ringing in his ears.
‘Drop the gun Eades… And stay where you are!’
Nathan remained motionless. He might have contemplated raising his weapon, if not for the fact that the accent had been American, and the speaker, though tanned, lacked that olive complexion common to the country’s indigent population.
And the speaker had clearly known him by name…
This was not one of Ramon’s men.
Nor was he one of the Peruvian soldiers currently assaulting them.
Nathan dropped his gun, and slowly raised his hands behind his head.
******
If not for the explosion, Martin might well have missed his encounter with Nathan Eades. The man was no stranger to a warzone, and despite the resounding exclamations of gun and bullet, he was used to moving through terrain such as this in a hasty, yet stealthy fashion. Worse yet… the tables might have been turned, and the man he’d been hunting might very well have ended up pointing a gun at him instead.
‘Drop the gun Eades… And stay where you are!’ he warned. The temptation to pull the trigger, burned inside him, though, unlike the members of Cobra Team, he was not so morally invested. He’d not known this man or his victims. Other than what he’d read in the papers and after-action reports… But he did know that this man was dangerous, and that, given the slightest opportunity, would not have afforded him the same leniency.
He cast an eye towards the body lying on the ground nearby. It was Juliet. The wreck of a gun and the trickle of blood from her brow gave testimony to what had just happened. Having turned the gun on Nathan, it had then exploded, hurling her headfirst into a tree. The blow had been sufficient to render her unconscious, though it hadn’t killed her. The gentle rise and fall of her chest told him that much, and there were no other apparent injuries.
He felt a fluttering of relief. Though he’d found her earnest conversation to be somewhat irritating, he rather liked the girl.
Without lowering his gun so much as a fraction, he toggled his radio.
******
What the fuck is going on? Brad wondered. The engagement seemed to be degenerating rapidly. A constellation of man-shaped blobs had exited the treeline to the north of the clearing – a few falling to invisible gunfire as others surged towards the tents.
The enemy had gathered, for the most part, along the southern edge of the clearing, and had themselves sustained a few casualties, though they were now giving as good as they’d received.
And a little further to the south, and off to the western edge of the engagement, were four figures of interest – as defined by the boxes that had been drawn around them. The first of the three had been identified as their informant, codenamed “Snake Pit”, and the second, a high value target labelled the “Ace of Spades”, also known as Nathan Eades. But the third was unknown – a female who was now lying on the ground and quite possibly dead, having apparently been shot by the “Ace of Spades” within moments of their encounter.
And the fourth – labelled only as “Hostile Sniper”, following his recent actions, was converging on them stealthily, followed at some distance by members of Cobra Team.
Snake Pit: ‘Wheelhouse this is Snake Pit. Be advised – I have apprehended The Ace of Spades. How do you want me to proceed?’
Unfortunately for Brad (and others looking on from the control room of the Blue Yonder II), they were not privy to any outgoing communications. Wheelhouse had strategic command, leaving them with just the one-sided radio chatter to flesh out the narrative.
Snake Pit: ‘Copy Wheelhouse.’
Cobra One: ‘Acknowledged Wheelhouse. Two tangos to the east of our position currently identified as the Ace of Spades, and one unknown female. Snake Pit is in possession of the Ace of Spades, and we are moving to offer assistance. Do we have any reason to believe that the unknown female represents a threat?’
Cobra One: ‘Copy that Wheelhouse. The unknown female appears to have been disabled and threat assessment is low.’
The blobs marked as the “Ace of Spades” and “Snake Pit” hadn’t moved. The fourth, designated “Hostile Sniper” was almost on them. Brad wanted to shout at the screen... To warn them of the approaching hostile... But there was nothing he could do.
Snake Pit: ‘Copy Wheelhouse, King of Clubs is…’
The blob identified as Snake Pit staggered and fell to the ground.
Brad wanted to scream.
Cobra One: ‘Copy Wheelhouse, Snake Pit is down.’
******
Nathan’s gun barely made a sound as it fell to the floor, as empty of protest as his surrender.
‘Good,’ said the American. ‘Now step away from it.’
Nathan did as he was ordered and took a few slow steps to his right, his hands raised behind his head.
‘Wheelhouse this is Snake Pit. Be advised – I have apprehended The Ace of Spades. How do you want me to proceed?’
‘Hold him there. Elements of Cobra Team are moving to your position to render assistance.’ The man’s radio crackled as it replied.
‘Copy Wheelhouse.’
The man’s gun remained pointed at Nathan’s chest. Had Nathan wanted to, he would doubtless have failed to take the man down without first receiving a mortal wound.
It was finally over…
Bang!
A figure burst from the trees, his still smoking
gun pointed towards the American.
Thrown from his feet, the American fell to the floor, sighing as the air left his lungs.
It took Nathan less than a heartbeat to recognise the intruder as Roberto Frakes, and even less time to realise that the man’s actions had been motivated by a love of killing, rather than any effort to save him.
Frakes marched forwards without missing a step until he was standing at the American’s feet, and could see the look of surprise on the man’s face turn to horror, as he sent him to the grave with another two shots to the chest.
Bang!
Pause
Bang!
Nathan, who had likewise been trained to kill, had been quick to recover his senses, and in the time it had taken Frakes to step forward and execute the American, he had himself recovered his weapon from the mud, raised it, and fired.
The first bullet struck Roberto Frakes in the back.
And, as his body spun with the blow, the second shot hit him in the temple, killing him instantly.
‘That’s for Operation Snowcrest you bastard. For Lucas Zachary, Matthew Saunders, Sandy Marshall, and Greg Owens…’
57
Monday 23rd October:
Catherine should have been terrified.
Any rational person would have been.
The tent now trembled and quaked as it was pummelled by the explosions and gunfire.
So why wasn’t she?
Had she become so resigned to the threat of death, it no longer mattered how and when it came?
After all, there seemed to be no escaping it.
Carmen was hunched over Miguel, rocking with him in her arms as she offered up a prayer. The balled-up shirt she’d used to stem the blood from his wound, now lay beside him like a crimson rose. Her efforts had been in vain. Somewhere in the last few minutes, his life had fled in a final gasp.
Somehow numb, Catherine looked on in sympathy.
It was all happening so quickly…
Enrique had turned up, wild-eyed and menacing, and in that moment, she’d taken her final breath.
Or so she’d thought.
And had a final revelation…
It was all a lie.
In those final moments, one’s life was not revealed in kaleidoscope of memories, “life flashing before your eyes” as many had claimed.
There was nothing but stillness.
Acceptance…
And then the sound of a shot…
An impossible sound – one that she should never had heard… And she’d opened her eyes to see Enrique lying dead in front of her.
And then the shooting had started in earnest.
Ramon and the man who’d apparently saved her life had bolted from the tent, as the men that had been left guarding them, threw themselves to the floor.
Emboldened by recent events (or perhaps too feverish to be mindful of his actions), Simon hurled himself at the closest of them, in a move that had surprised everyone.
And Oki and Rufus had followed…
And hidden amongst the clamour of gunfire and explosions coming from outside, the sound of the bullet that struck Rufus had gone almost unheard. Simon’s bold aggression had failed to subdue the guard, and having wriggled free, he’d been able to bring his gun to bear.
Rufus staggered.
There was a ripping sound from the back of the tent…
A tear had appeared, somewhere to the left of the professor’s position, flowing up and around the tip of a knife.
The first rays of the morning seemed blinding as they entered around the shape of a man…
Ramon!
His rigid bearing and beret had given him away before Catherine’s eyes had time to adjust.
Having stepped through the gash, he lunged at the Professor and grabbed him around the neck, his knife coming up until its point rested against his back. ‘Stop – or he dies!’
Between them, Oki, Rufus, and Simon, had the battle won: the two guards were down, and Ramon was just one man against them all. Nevertheless, having reduced it to a test of wills, Ramon had just defeated them all. While there was no doubt that he could sink his knife between the professor’s ribs without hesitation, they could not so easily take a life.
And their humanity had cost them dearly…
Oki hesitated, and his adversary, quick to take advantage, had pulled himself free, recovering his feet as nimbly as a cat.
Unburdened by sentiment of any kind, the guard had then struck him firmly in the head with the butt of his rifle, rendering him unconscious, before turning his gun on the others.
But, if asked what happened next, Catherine would have been unable to answer.
As indeed had been the case when the question had been asked time and again in the days that followed.
There had been a deafening peal of gunfire.
Warm splashes…
And the smell of blood…
Ramon fell to the ground, a single shot weeping like a third eye in his forehead and two dead guards.
Rufus was injured – a shot to his side.
Simon too…
And her only explanation – the two brawny members of the Peruvian army standing just inside their tent – their weapons raised…
58
Wednesday 22nd November:
Wind howled, casting gusting raindrops against the window: ice cold drops from a scudding grey sky – not those distended tropical beads that broke like over-ripe berries against the skin, but the stinging chips of winter that cut like pieces of glass.
‘How’s that?’ Catherine asked, raising the blind so that Angus could see. The nurses had opened it just a fraction, having decided that there could be nothing to the view that anyone would want to see.
And they might have been right…
The low clouds and sheeting rain hid all that lay beyond a carpark that would not have appeared in any tourist guides, even in the height of summer.
But to Angus’s eyes, the frigid rain, grey sky, and howling winds, were a distinctly British experience.
He was home.
‘Better thanks,’ he said appreciatively, pushing himself back against his pillows.
‘You’re looking well.’ Catherine observed.
‘Yes – thanks to you…’
She acknowledged him with a flicker of a smile, unable to find the words to answer his gratitude, any more than she could find the right way to express it.
Angus had spent a month in a Peruvian hospital before being declared fit for travel. And had he not ordinarily been so young and fit, he might not have come home at all. The infection had almost killed him.
It had taken weeks of antibiotics, and multiple operations, to get it under control.
The damage to the muscles in his leg had been extensive and by the time it had been debrided of all the dead muscle, he’d been left with a sizeable wound, and a profound weakness that would endure beyond the skin grafts and months of physiotherapy that were yet to come.
And those were just the scars she could see.
The other wounds lay much deeper, and could not be salved with any pills or bandages. There was no escaping the memories of death, fear, and loss.
Catherine herself would never forget the helplessness she had felt, having been forced to watch as Miguel had died in front of her. Nor could she forget the warm spray of blood that had come from the young guard mown down in front of her, and the bitter satisfaction that had come from seeing Ramon’s brains splattered against the walls of the tent.
And the relief… liberated in tears as their saviours, apparelled in Peruvian military uniform, had marched into the tent.
‘I brought you these,’ she said, feeling a little uncomfortable. He’d been in the country for almost a week already, though she’d not made the effort to see him – until now. She too had been convalescing – though her healing had been more spiritual in nature. Death was not new to her. She’d seen it many times in her career. But it had never spoke to her so personally…
Nor had she felt so humbled by the gratitude of her friends – yet felt so undeserving.
So afraid to see them again…
‘Thank you,’ he said with a genuine smile. ‘Fortunately, I have something of a sweet tooth,’ he said, accepting the bars of chocolate from her and adding them to the stack upon his bedside table. ‘Though I’m not sure what I’m going to do with all the balloons…’
‘The hospital shop doesn’t offer much choice,’ she admitted as she hitched hers to the end of his bed, adding its message of “Get Well” to the half-dozen similar sentiments bobbing next to it. ‘So how’s Juliet? I take it you’ve seen her since you’ve been back?’
Angus’s smile broadened. ‘Yes – thank you. She’s doing well. As a matter of fact she’s just popped down to the restaurant for something to eat.’
‘Rufus and marina?’
‘Are doing well… And are planning on getting married. Rufus popped the question while he was lying in his hospital bed, nursing his wound. But don’t tell Juliet… I wouldn’t want her getting any ideas.’
Rufus had taken a shot to the belly, nevertheless, thanks to the prompt intervention the of the Peruvian military, he had survived.
‘And Simon…?’ she asked tentatively.
‘He’s doing fine. I can give you his number if you want…’ Angus’s smile softened though it did not diminish. He seemed to know how awkward she was feeling. His relationship with Juliet had blossomed upon his return, while that flicker that had developed between Catherine and Simon had never kindled to anything more. Like Angus, he’d remained in hospital, in Peru, for weeks after their salvation, his life hanging by a thread that was only as substantial as the drip that fed antibiotics and fluids into his veins.
Catherine shook her head. ‘No – that’s okay thank you.’
‘Do you mind if I ask why?’ he asked, his tone one of gentle curiosity.
‘I moved on…’ she replied. ‘I could not stand to watch another friend dying… Knowing that I might in some way have failed him. I know it’s silly – but…’