by DAK
Chapter Eleven
The mission was falling apart around my ears. I had to assume I was back on the opposition’s radar, my new safe house was burnt to the waterline and worst of all, my source was potentially compromised and headed into a danger area without support. In short, things were very bad and looked likely to get worse. At times like these one can either panic and waste time in recrimination, blame apportionment and spinning one’s wheels or one can move on to do whatever is possible in order to complete the mission.
Improvise, adapt and overcome. Embrace the suck. Ranger up. All the old but true sayings that echo in your head and push you to perform despite uncertainty, fear and the looming possibility of failure. Thanks God for the dedicated men who beat that response to misfortune into me at an early age. Pulling on my gloves, which would stay on until I knew I was clear, I flew through the routine of sanitizing the house, taking any evidence of my being there with me into my BMW and tossing the case into the truck. My mind was racing through possibilities and permutations. The first priority was to get myself away from here and establish another base of operations. I needed the freedom of movement being out from under surveillance would give me. That meant a return to the Grand was out as was allowing my BMW to be seen and associated with me by the opposition. I needed to break contact and regroup, devise a new plan for extracting Aferdita under conditions ranging from benign to extremis and prepare a new safe house.
First things first. I needed to get clear of the last location at which the opposition could place me. I chinned up on the exterior wall away from the gate and scanned up and down the street. This let me see from a vantage point anyone outside wouldn’t necessarily be expecting. The gate and its small inset window were too obvious. The street outside showed clear, no one standing or loitering nearby. I could make out several vehicles parked along it but none showed signs of occupancy although the dark and distance made that uncertain. I thought that one of the vehicles parked farthest away, maybe fifty meters up the street in the direction the Four Runner had been travelling, was a dark SUV but couldn’t be certain. I held my position for a few minutes before dropping down and starting the BMW. Leaving the driver’s door open, I opened the gate before slipping into the BMW and pulling onto the street, facing toward the intersection and away from the Four Runner’s direction of travel. I hopped out, closed the gate and was back in the BMW in no time. Driving off I scanned the area one more time and saw nothing unusual. That changed as I turned at the intersection to head toward Airport Road.
In my rearview I saw the sudden sweep and gleam of headlights on the walls and street behind me. The light was coming from where I had seen the dark SUV type vehicle and it was enough for me to know what had happened. Rat Face and his buddy had parked up, watching the gate and waited until I turned out of sight before putting on their lights and beginning to follow. They weren’t skilled enough to realize that the light spill from their headlights would show behind me even though I was around the corner. It was an amateur move which confirmed my assessment of their surveillance skills but also meant I was not yet clear.
Time to break contact and continue the mission.
Even at this time of night there was a fair amount of traffic on Airport Road. Further down to my right it split, one part continuing straight to enter Kosova Polje proper, the other part curving away toward the airport. That road itself carried on into the countryside with a turn off to the airport draining away most of the daytime traffic. Turning toward Pristina, now to my left, meant a long straight drive with few chances to evade anyone and a lot of government and international buildings with high security and heavy police presence which would also reduce my chances to do any serious anti-surveillance maneuvers. I wasn’t worried at this point about disguising my intent; the need to hide my affiliation was superseded by the need to be free to act. I slammed the gas pedal to the floor and the BMW shot out across the traffic lanes. Twisting the wheel to the right I headed toward KP and then skipped across the oncoming lanes to enter the break off toward the airport. Behind me I saw the Four Runner, now clearly visible in the well-lit intersection also cut across traffic and fall in behind me as a traffic cop blew his whistle and waved for us to stop.
Yeah, right. Good luck with that.
I began to drive like I was back in Kabul, splitting the difference between lanes as I passed into oncoming traffic, wove in and out of the lanes and broke most of the traffic laws within a half mile. I wanted to see if Rat Face and Co. would push it to keep me in sight or break off. Sadly, they were committed and we screamed through the countryside, dodging the occasional late night driver and reaching the left hand turn toward the airport in record time. I wasn’t too worried about the police. They still had a largely reactive orientation which meant that if anyone bothered to call and complain, a couple of bored guys would finish their coffee, grumble their way into a Skoda and drive around a bit before reporting they saw nothing. There was always the possibility of running into a more motivated officer but out here it was less likely. I knew that the road became largely a country affair once past the airport junction. I hoped to lose the Four Runner by simply speeding away, finding a quick hiding place and letting them go by. I’d then retrace my path at some speed until I reached the airport junction where I’d drive further away from Pristina and take the network of country roads to bring me out on the Pristina-Skopje highway south of the city. This meant that I had to outrun them first, something that despite my advantage of a better vehicle was proving difficult on unlit, windy roads with the occasional slow moving vehicle, often lacking tail lights, to add to the challenge.
It proved to be a challenge in another way when the Four Runner caught up as I was forced to slow for an old Lada in front of me and oncoming traffic approaching me in a small village just past the airport junction. The road wasn’t wide enough to permit me to split the lane down the center and I had to wait for several seconds before shooting out into the oncoming lane and barreling through to a clear patch. The Four Runner was right behind me and glancing in the side mirror (the rearview was useless with the high beams coming from behind), I could see the passenger, presumably Rat Face, holding his right arm out of the window with something that resembled a weapon pointed toward me. The Four Runner was in the oncoming lane, closing on my left rear and in a second or two would have an excellent angle of attack for the passenger. They were certainly close enough to shoot the hell out of my vehicle, something I wanted to avoid. I didn’t know if they meant to close and force me to stop by threatening to shoot or if they intended to shoot once they had a clear shot. It really didn’t matter as I had to assume the worst.
Since they were behind and to my left I glanced ahead as we crested a small hill, saw that I had a short but straight patch ahead and slammed on the brakes. The Four Runner shot past, its brake lights flaring and the whole vehicle fishtailing as the driver reacted. I continued to brake, letting off the pressure slightly to keep close to them but still significantly slowing. Seeing this and now being ahead of me the driver took the bait and came to a sudden stop in an attempt to box me in. I was hoping for this and rocked to a halt about five feet behind them. I killed the engine and was out of the door before either of the two occupants of the Four Runner had opened their doors. I slipped backwards a step; letting my left hand swing my door closed as my right reached across and drew the M57, thumb on the hammer cocking it as it came on line.
In front of me, through the Four Runner’s rear window, I could see the passenger, Rat Face, dropping out of his door and turning toward me. The driver was moving more slowly, his door still closed, and I went for Rat Face as he was the main threat at the moment. I still didn’t know if they intended to kill me, kidnap me or just ask pointed questions but the presence of weapons made the distinctions moot. Sliding forward and then to my right, I cut across the rear of the Four Runner, M57 up in a two hand grip as I looked down the slide. My sidestep in front of the BMW took me to a point where I could lean to my right, lettin
g only my head, shoulders and most importantly my weapon come around the corner of the Four Runner. Rat Face was just starting to advance down the side, his hands together in front of him in a sort of low ready posture. He held what looked like a Skorpion, a very portable machine pistol in 7.65 caliber. It didn’t have great range or accuracy, especially with the wire stock folded over the top where he had it but it was damn useful up close and personal.
Close Quarters Battle (CQB) is a game of micro-seconds and fractions of an inch. The reason a well trained professional looks down the length of their weapon is so they can instantly engage a threat. This isn’t possible if one is in the low ready or otherwise has to bring a weapon into line with a newly detected threat. Rat Face never got to learn that lesson as I stamped Fail on his effort with a double tap to the brain housing group. He was still bringing the Skorpion up when I fired, less than a second away from using it but a lifetime too slow. He dropped straight down, head jerking back in a red mist as he collapsed.
I stepped forward, keeping the bulk of the Four Runner between myself and the driver who I had lost track of while focusing on Rat Face. This is a serious danger in CQB. Tunnel vision could kill me as quickly as having his weapon out of line did for Rat Face. I dropped into a lower crouch, swinging the M57 in an arc that crossed from the empty driver’s seat down the length of the vehicle to stop when I found the driver. He was moving along the other side near the rear wheel, a pistol held in the full Sabrina and his face turned toward me as he looked through the rear windows.
Damn, these guys really had no clue.
I ran through the front sight, fuzzy, clear, fuzzy, squeeze, squeeze routine in one smooth blur of time. The rear windows on both sides shattered and the driver fell away with a cry of pain.
Yeah, dude. Windows don’t stop bullets.
If you’re in a fight up close and personal then being fast and aggressive is the way to go. To paraphrase the Good Book, you’re quick or you’re dead. If the driver had moved quickly he’d have had a chance to come around the end of the Four Runner and engage me while I was still looking for him. Fortunately for me he was more worried about not being shot than he was about shooting which is a deadly mindset in a close quarters gunfight.
Deadly to the guy thinking it anyway.
I moved fast but carefully around the passenger side of the Four Runner, taking a quick peek inside to ensure there was no one else I’d missed in the recent excitement. The interior was empty, illuminated by the entry light. I slid around the front and looked down the driver’s side to where the crumpled form of the driver lay. His door was closed and he was laying half on his back making a gurgling sound. I had been concerned that I hadn’t hit him well enough to incapacitate him and that he’d be looking under the vehicle aiming to shoot me in the legs or feet as I came around the back. Hence my coming around the front. I knew I’d hit him and lying on the ground wounded makes for slow positional adjustment. Coming this way meant I had a bit more time on my side, just like Jagger.
I kept the M57 on the driver and slid closer in the bent legged gliding crouch I’d learnt for such occasions. He was alive but not a present threat as there was a large hole in his neck through which blood and air bubbled. It looked like he’d picked up some lacerations from flying glass too but I doubted if he’d noticed. His eyes were wide, staring upwards at the stars, showing no reaction as I closed. There was an M57 looking pretty much like mine lying on the ground near him.
Killing is something that bothers some folks. I can understand that it does on an intellectual level but viscerally it makes no sense to me. There’s no difference in my mind between the guy trying to kill me and the cow which provided my steak last night. Both Hindu and Christian would disagree with me but each would be wrong albeit for the same reasons. In any case, if you can do it you should damn well be able to look at the results of your work. I looked at the guy, young, early twenties, someone’s kid, someone’s friend.
Too fucking bad.
I am firmly committed to having the other guy’s relatives do the whole sad song slow walk thing. He got himself here and I felt what I usually feel, glad I survived and impatient to move along. Combat is a full contact event and most certainly not a sport with gentlemanly rules of conduct and all action stopping when the whistle blows. The objective is to kill your enemy by whatever means is most expedient. It isn’t to defeat him or stop his aggression or prevent further action on his part. It is to kill him, plain and simple.
There are occasions where one wishes to take a prisoner, others where killing a downed foe is counterproductive. But finishing a downed foe for which there is no use is, to my mind, acceptable if his continued existence presents a threat. Thus a patrol which is in hostile territory and finds itself engaged and unable to take prisoners back to friendly lines may well kill those enemies they have wounded or captured. Leaving them behind would mean the patrol was then at greater risk and in a very tangible non theoretic sort of way. Just as shooting an enemy from ambush isn’t murder for a soldier, so shooting an enemy whose continued existence still presents a threat, provided it is a credible, tangible one, is also not murder. Of course, it’s a thin line and one easily crossed in the heat of battle. My point is that if you are justified in killing someone in a fight, finishing him if his remaining alive presents a credible threat is also justified and for the same reasons. This wasn’t a war and I wasn’t a soldier but the principles applied. I brought the M57 into line and put two rounds into his face.
This shit ain’t pretty but it is as real as it gets.
I glanced back up the road and saw that the Lada had stopped on the crest of the small hill we’d gone over just after passing it. As I looked, it backed rapidly away and disappeared from sight. Whoever was in it was going to call or otherwise summon the police and this event would get more response than would a couple of reckless drivers. I had only a minute or two in which to complete my activity. I lowered the hammer on my M57, dropped out the magazine and slipped it in my right hand pocket. Grabbing up the driver’s M57 I gave it a quick check. It was clean, oiled and had a full mag. It also had no round in the chamber and the weapon was not cocked.
Poor fucker. Someone failed to train him properly.
A lot of folks carry pistols without a round chambered. They claim that they can quickly charge the weapon as they bring it into play. They also feel that a weapon without a round in the chamber is more safe. This is true in the same way that having a paperweight in place of a firearm is safe. You won’t accidentally shoot yourself but you can’t deliberately shoot anyone else either. The biggest trouble with this approach is that the practitioners do not spend the time ensuring through repetitive drills under serious stress that they always charge their weapon when drawing it. Since there are a number of circumstances in which one might draw a weapon but not necessarily charge it, they tend to believe they can decide on the scene. Of course, under intense stress one does what one is used to and forgets to charge the weapon as that isn’t what one does normally. The only safety needed, on a handgun at least, is one’s mind and a trigger finger that stays straight along the frame until one intends to shoot. Anything else is a crutch at best, a deadly error at worst. This sad sack wouldn’t have been able to shoot me even if he had moved quickly. And while he figured out why his pistol wouldn’t go bang, I’d have had time enough to kill him and drink a cup of coffee.
Train for the worst case. Train for reality not convenience. Train like your life depends on it. It does.
I dropped my M57 on the driver’s chest. I didn’t want to run around with a weapon which could now be linked to a couple of dead guys. His would work as well as mine and I could use the extra ammo. I went through the load and make ready, lower the hammer routine, shoved the new M57 into my waistband and headed back to the BMW. I needed to get away from here most ricky tick. The cops would arrive, at most learn that the Four Runner and a light colored BMW had been in a chase and two guys were dead. They would throw out roadbl
ocks, put out a BOLO (Be On the Lookout) and begin processing the scene. Sometime in the next day or two they would learn that the guys were mafia. This would change the focus of the case as cops don’t worry too much about bad guys killing bad guys until and unless they can leverage such an event against a bad guy. Absent that distinct possibility, i.e. a strong suspect, and, without any other leads, the case, would be shelved until they could connect someone to the event. It wouldn’t disappear, just be on hold, forensics neatly waiting, until there was someone to connect to the case. I didn’t want to make that last part easy, hence my exchange of weapons. I also didn’t want to return along the route I’d just driven and get caught in a roadblock. I drove back onto the asphalt, hopped out for the last time to scuff the marks of my tires on the dirt shoulder and then headed away down the road deeper into the concealing night.
It took a while to work my way through the narrow country lanes and find a way around KP and back to Pristina. I gave Naim a call to let him know I needed to meet him at the garage where he’d stored the M57. I texted Aferdita and got the all clear response. So far so good. I would try again later to convince her to extract now. The escalation which had just occurred meant that she was in more danger than ever. I didn’t want her taking the risk of being caught by an increasingly aware and motivated Enver. I’d have to find a way to talk face to face as that would give me the most chance of success in talking her into leaving. It would, however, have to wait until some of the heat inside the target organization died down.
Naim’s village was deserted; no one peered from a window or was wandering the street at this late hour. I pulled in behind where the BMW wasn’t visible to passing traffic. Leaving the car, I waited in the nearby shadows for Naim to arrive.