Rise of the Phoenix

by Gibbs, Dameon

  Razor, seeing Chou hurled into the water, waded as quickly as he could towards the man standing over his partner. He raised his weapon and yelled, “Fucker!” to distract him. Edge’s head moved slightly acknowledging the new title bestowed upon him.

  Just then, to his right, Razor noticed something moving under water towards him, causing ripples on the surface. He paused, thinking, Is it that analyst? No, Wolf’s after him. In that pause, the thing suddenly accelerated through the water at a speed too swift to be human. Razor only saw gaping jaws shoot out of the water and clamp down on his head.

  “Ahhh!…..HEL…..,” was all Razor could shriek before being silenced forever. His helmet prevented his head from being crushed but rows of sharp teeth sliced into his neck and face. The alligator whipped its prey around, snapping the Razor’s neck in a single movement.

  The hellish scream snapped both Edge’s and Chou’s attention to the sounds of splashing water, only to see Razor’s corpse locked in the death roll of an eleven-foot alligator as it twisted and thrashed wildly. The flashlight from Razor’s dropped gun shone through the water illuminating its transition from greenish brown to dusky red.

  Using his comrade’s death as a distraction, Chou kicked Edge’s leg, swatted the gun out of his hand and pulled the man down and onto his back. Chou straddled Edge and placed him in a two hand choke hold, forcing his head beneath the dark water. With each passing second, Edge felt Chou’s hands clench tighter around his neck, as he struggled to break free. Edge flailed his arms around in the water, which his attacker interpreted as a sure sign of desperation and panic, but in reality, Edge was searching for something that he could use as a weapon to free himself.

  Edge found a stick half sunk into the mud just beneath the water’s surface. He pulled the stick from the ground and with all his might jammed it into Chou’s face, dislodging more than a few teeth. Blood, mud, and pieces of ripped flesh oozed from Chou’s mouth. The blow stunned Chou enough to loosen his grip on Edge. Edge took advantage of it to strike Chou on the head, knocking Chou off him and into the water.

  Chou stood up and immediately pulled out his sidearm. As he turned to locate his target, Edge stepped into his view. Swinging the stick like a baseball bat, he hit the pistol squarely and sent it soaring onto the shore. Chou, in a blind rage, lunged forward; Edge countered and flung Chou face-first into the water. As Chou stood up to continue the attack, Razor’s arm drifted by them. Both men looked at each other, then back to the place where Razor was pulled apart. Each nodded to the other, and they quickly moved out of the water and onto land.

  The two men stood, considering the sidearm that lay about halfway between them. Chou looked up at Edge as he pulled his knife from his ankle sheath and began playing hot potato with it, tossing it back and forth between his hands, blood still flowing from his sinister smile.

  Edge estimated that it would take him about ten steps to make it to the gun, plus the time needed to grasp it securely, point it and pull the trigger. It would be cutting it close and wrestling with a trained man like Chou while holding a loaded weapon was a gamble Edge was not willing to take.

  “You know, you should thank me,” Edge said. “Now you’ll fit in just perfect around these parts,” Edge joked.

  Unamused, Chou simply returned a bloody smile.

  The two men took off towards the gun. Edge realized how fast the man ran. Yeah, new plan, he thought, changing direction.

  Chou reached the gun first and aimed at Edge, but the man was gone. Edge had dropped out of the line of sight to his right. He was close enough to kick the merc’s hand, once again sending the gun flying. A blood-curdling scream erupted from Chou as he tried to stab Edge. Edge countered the attack, slashing at the man’s face with his knife, cutting the chin strap to the former SEAL’s helmet.

  Chou immediately slammed his fist into Edge’s chest, knocking him back while he made a mad dash for the gun.

  Shit, I’m not going to catch him! Edge realized as he took off after the weapon.

  Chou slid and dropped to one knee while Edge continued at full speed as he dove over Chou and grabbed the gun as he rolled to a standing position. He completed his move just as the soldier’s blade was nearly on top of him. Edge dropped to his back and fired. Chou’s head snapped back, his dropping him first to his knees, then face to the mud.

  Edge lay on his back, breathing heavy. His helmet came off…he must be dead. When the body next to him did not move, Edge let his body relax for a second. At that moment, reality set in. ALLIGATOR! Edge remembered, and he jumped to his feet as if he was pulled up by wires. He spun quickly, to scan where Razor had been attacked. Nothing was there, only calm water; nobody or alligator in sight.

  He bent to search Chou’s body and realized that he had engaged only four of the five men that initially set out after them. Where is the fifth one? Is he hiding? He thought about how soldiers engaged in combat and interacted with each other. No, the fifth one wouldn’t sit back and watch me pick apart his team. Edge’s eyes went wide in realization.

  “Shit! Tucker!”

  ۞۞۞۞

  The rain had begun again, pouring down and forming puddles around them as the large drops bounced off Tucker’s pistol. It was impossible for him to speak without spitting water.

  “Don’t move,” instructed Tucker. “Now, put down the weapon, kick it away and turn slowly; and I do mean very slowly if you value your life.”

  Rarely did Tucker encounter anyone so much more massive than he was. His thoughts raced to recall all the things about handling suspects that he’d been taught back in training but had never used. He remembered to maintain “adequate” distance from the other person, so he stepped back to put space between them. Yeah, two time zones might be adequate.

  Doing as ordered, the giant set down his weapon pushed it with his foot and turned slowly. Wolf was angry with himself, not because he had been set up but because the trap he walked into had been set up by a glorified pencil pusher.

  “Take off your helmet,” Tucker continued

  Wolf unfastened his chin strap, allowing the helmet to fall to the ground behind him, revealing his strong Native American features. Even in the fading light, Tucker could make out his tanned skin, prominent brow ridge, and a standard military crew cut. A heavy scar lined his forehead, the result of being the recipient of the butt end of a rifle during an interrogation, which channeled the rain into rivers down Wolf’s face. Seeing the murderous intensity in Wolf’s eyes, Tucker knew the man was his prisoner only by the barest of margins.

  “Who do you work for?” Tucker demanded.

  “Stupid spook, always asking questions instead of just killing a fucker,” the giant growled in his deep native accent that was just as intimidating as his size.

  Tucker responded with all the courage he could muster. “Maybe I should pull this trigger and end all this!” Tucker pulled back the hammer on the pistol, its clicking noise triggering some feel of control of the situation. “But you are alive because I choose to let you live. Now answer the ques…..” A clap of thunder diverted his attention for a fraction of a second, an instant in which Wolf sprang across the space between them, planted his left foot and lifted his right to deliver a crushing thrusting kick to Tucker’s diaphragm.

  Tucker flew back; his movement abruptly stopped by a small but solid mangrove tree. He felt his body conform the tree’s shape, one that was very unfriendly to the curvature of the human spine and a distant part of his mind hoped his medical plan covered a chiropractor.

  While Tucker struggled to draw his next breath, Wolf took his time walking back and to pick up his weapon, its strap back around his shoulders.

  With his brains rattled, Tucker rolled away from the tree and began to crawl towards his weapon. This is not my idea of an investigation; Tucker thought as he crawled through the mud.

  Just feet away from retrieving his gun, Tucker heard Wolf approaching from behind, his heavy boots suctioning in and out of the thick mud. Wolf�
�s walk was slow and deliberate; the giant had his wounded prey trapped, so there was no need for haste.

  Not about to give up, Tucker leaped to his feet, taking in hand a large fallen branch and swung it like a Louisville Slugger towards Wolf’s head. It was an improvised plan with a simple goal: knock him the hell out!

  Thwack! The stick made solid contact.

  That’s how you do it! Tucker thought, excited that his aim was true.

  Unfortunately, Tucker’s excitement was short lived. Wolf blocked the blow with his forearm and the decayed branch simply disintegrated into a shower of wet pieces. Tucker looked disbelievingly at the wooden stub, the word Screwed! Flashing through his mind.

  Wolf retaliated with a right punch, which Tucker instinctively blocked, followed with a short left uppercut that hammered Tucker’s diaphragm for the second time. The sheer force of his punch was unlike anything Tucker ever felt or wanted to feel again. Tucker buckled to his knees thinking, Oh God, lunch is going to come back up.

  “You should have pulled the trigger little man!” Wolf growled with pleasure, promptly giving Tucker a firm knee to the forehead. With Tucker disoriented and splayed flat on his back, Wolf straddled him and slowly removed his knife from its sheath. “When you talk, you die,” Wolf said through one of the most sadistic smiles Tucker had ever seen.

  As Wolf thrust the blade towards Tucker’s neck, the analyst summoned everything that remained in him to seize Wolf’s wrist, stopping the blade inches from his throat. Tucker’s muscles trembled under the giant’s strength and weight. He pushed back as hard he could. Lighting raced across the sky above them. Growling like a beast, Wolf looked down at Tucker with devilish bloodshot eyes and water pouring off his chin. Although Tucker took pride in his strength, he was still no match for the massive killer. Tucker grunted through clenched teeth. With the blade only centimeters away from his neck, Tucker felt his muscles starting to fatigue; whatever his will to live, his body was simply overmatched.

  Wolf smirked at Tucker as his blade slowly descended, assuring Tucker, “It’s about to be over very soon.”

  Although determined to resist, Tucker was about to accept the seemingly inevitable outcome when the giant was suddenly snatched away. Looking to his side, Tucker saw Edge slam Wolf’s body into a puddle of murky water head first, accompanied by a disquieting crack!. Wolf’s body lay there, his head twisted in an impossibly unnatural position, his eyes filled with the blackness of death.

  “Took … you … long … enough,” Tucker said, gasping.

  Edge was unperturbed. “Sorry, next time I’ll kill my four guys and run a half mile faster.”

  Edge took Tucker’s hand and pulled him to his feet. Although Tucker was now standing, he felt that he was still a long way from being truly upright. He tried twisting his back to something near normal.

  Edge gave him a moment to gather himself and then added, “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to ask our last two guests a few questions. By the way, where’s my gun?”

  “Your gun... is… over … there...” Tucker said, waving vaguely to his left, “and yes, I’m fine, thank you. Yes, I had no problem running from the giant that was supposed to chase you, then setting up a trap that worked - proud of that, by the way - then nearly getting combined at a molecular level with a tree and almost being split open like a pig.” Tucker breathed deeply and took a second to rub his neck.

  “Feel better?” Edge asked absently, as he checked his sidearm.

  “Yeah. I mean no. I mean this is not what I planned on doing when I took this job,” Tucker sighed, exasperated.

  Edge rolled Wolf over onto his back and frisked him for useful items.

  “Welcome to my world. It sure as hell isn’t as glamorous as action movies make it look. But you have to look at the positive. This is one hell of a story and will, at least, get you a beer at the bar, from the whole one or two people that can ever know about it.” Tucker’s face just registered disbelief at Edge’s willingness to joke at a time like this.

  Not sure what they would be walking into back at the cabin, Edge relieved the dead soldier of his rifle, taking an extra clip as a precaution. He then handed Tucker the dead man’s sidearm. Tucker looked at the pistol and then back at Edge as if to say, “Really?”

  “You did good, man,” Edge said. “But we’re not out of the woods yet. We still need to take care of the two guys back at the cabin. Hopefully, get one alive to interrogate.”

  Tucker took a deep breath and tried to get himself mentally back in the game. “They must know that their entire team is down, and mercs aren’t known for hanging around when things go sideways.”

  “Believe me, I’ve tangled with mercs before, and these guys don’t function like typical merc units. They are well structured, and their gear is too high end. They’re part of some organization: private military, security force, Blackwater-type organization. Whatever they are, they function just like any other special ops group. They came here for something and believe me they’re not leaving without it.”

  “So, what’s the plan? They’re gonna be expecting us,” asked Tucker.

  Edge checked Tucker’s weapon. “It’s very hard for two men to cover an area the size of what’s around the cabin, which gives us the advantage. Now you know why I got those aerial maps of the place and memorized them.”

  “So how will we use this ‘advantage’?” Tucker asked.

  Edge winked and started off towards the cabin. “I’ll make it up as we go along.”

  Tucker’s slightly obsessive-compulsive, analytical brain gave a twinge at the ‘wing it’ mentality of the Delta operative. He looked at his mud-caked clothes and contemplated the bruises he was already getting on his head and stomach. “How can it get any worse?” he muttered to himself as he took off after Edge.

  ۞۞۞۞

  At the cabin, Klein continued to scan the wooded area for movement while Bull stayed inside to turn the cabin inside out, not worrying about the delicacy of any items as they landed on the floor. He dropped the item he was finished examining and stepped onto the porch to join Klein.

  Klein acknowledged his team leader and said, “Sir if you haven’t found the package yet, they must already have it in their possession. We haven’t heard from anyone in the squad in the past ten minutes. We have to do something.”

  “Thank you for that penetrating glimpse into the obvious,” Bull responded, glaring at Klein, his frustration reaching its apex. He inhaled a lung full of the fresh night air. The bulk of the storm had passed, but the rain continued to mist the cabin. “Look here; there’s nothing but miles of wetlands. If they wish to see civilization again, they have to come back to their car. And it’s here that we will be waiting for them. ”

  “Sir, don’t get me wrong, but we have to assume that the squad is down. I think we should call in more support,” Klein argued.

  Bull remained silent, pondering what their next step should be. His pride would never let him call support.

  Two fucking wankers. I can’t handle two fucking yanks? Yeah, that’ll be the day.

  More importantly, Bull understood that his boss was not the forgiving type. To show up empty handed or call for backup would only result in him being removed from a position he had worked hard to achieve. After he had left the SAS, he found a new home with this group. Bull knew he was a grunt, but he prided himself on his loyalty and determination. He would finish this on his own if need be.

  Bull turned to Klein and decided, “Well, first thing’s first. Let’s not stand out here like a couple of asshole targets.”

  ۞۞۞۞

  Edge and Tucker lay flat on the ground and watched the cabin for nearly twenty minutes. There was no movement anywhere; the cabin had the same abandoned look it did when they first arrived.

  “Ok, they’re hiding,” Edge surmised. “We’re gonna have to flush them out.”

  “What if they’re out looking for us?” Tucker asked.

  “No, they have the advantage here.�
�

  “What?” Tucker whispered. “You said we had the advantage.”

  “We do.” Edge replied flatly. “And so do they. We just happen to have the better advantage,” he concluded with a half-smile.

  “Someday, you’re gonna have to explain to me how you do arithmetic,” grumbled Tucker. “So how do we flush them out?”

  In combat, Edge instinctively used hand signals to communicate to his team, and he found himself doing so now until Tucker’s blank stare told Edge that they meant nothing to him.

  “Okay,” Edge started over, verbally. “I’m going to work my way over to that tree; it gives me the best view of the cabin. I don’t want to get noticed so it’ll take some time. When I get there. I want you to run like hell to their car.”

  “Won’t they shoot me?”

  Edge tipped his head from one side to the other, weighing the question. “I have an idea where they are; I just need some confirmation. They shouldn’t shoot at you because they won’t know where I am. Best case scenario, they should call out for you to freeze. They still want the video after all, and they don’t know for sure that we haven’t hidden it somewhere.”

  “There’s an awful lot of hypotheticals in that plan then I like,” Tucker nervously observed.

  Edge tapped Tucker on the back. “We’ll talk about metaphysics of distractions later. Just get to that car and all will be good.” Before Tucker could respond Edge started crawling away.

  I should be glad he didn’t tell me to strip down to my boxers; Tucker thought as he watched Edge leave him behind.

  To minimize the chances of being seen or heard, not to mention shot, Edge crawled very slowly to the tree. Even knowing where Edge was and where he was going, Tucker could barely see his movements. Once Edge reached his position, he gave Tucker the signal to move.