by Simon Harrak
He remained at a distance, not daring to move any closer, terrified of seeing the man’s lifeless stare judging him from the beyond. He turned away to the side instead, and found Ralph’s body on the grass, his neck and chest covered in blood.
“It’s escalating,” said Gerricks, his head cocked to the side. “Look. Here and here.”
Scheffler leaned forward and paid close attention to the screens. A soldier with a body camera had just burst into a warehouse when at least a dozen armed men swarmed him with rifles. The camera shook, and the soldier fell to the ground while the armed men continued past him. Another two soldiers were escorting someone out of a building before the footage turned chaotic, the camera spinning in all directions. A crowd of people in a public square in Stockholm ran away screaming as a gunfight broke out. Another screen showed only smoke.
“Doesn’t look good,” said Gerricks.
Scheffler looked into space while rubbing his chin. Most of the targets were supposed to be shocked from their slumber and taken in with minimal fuss. Instead, mayhem had broken out almost from the get-go.
“How many casualties?” said Scheffler.
“Hard to tell. There’s too much going on. Fifty? Hundred? It’s climbing.”
Scheffler tapped his fingers on the desk while grinding his teeth. If he was going to call in reinforcements, now was the time. There would be no victory without them, and Scheffler wanted to triumph more than anything. Everything he did for The League was in service of that goal. There was just one problem: if he did call in the reinforcements, all-out war would break out on the streets. The fall-out would be horrific. Civilians would surely enter the crossfire. Unforeseen consequences would ripple for days and weeks, possibly longer. It was a nightmare in the making. The greatest weakness of their plan was that they had no idea of the strength of their enemy.
Scheffler was forced to think back to his first mission in Kosovo, the one that ‘never happened,’ where hostilities between the Kosovo Liberation Army and the Yugoslavians were raging, and an undercover MI5 agent remained trapped in the Drenica Valley. The untested Scheffler was a last-minute addition to the unit of five men tasked with extracting the MI5 agent in a nighttime operation. Scheffler could still vividly see the faces of his fellow soldiers in the dark, glistening with sweat and adrenaline in their eyes after they had been forced into the forest by unexpected heavy bombing. Their mission was off the books, so they had no way of calling in help, and both the KLA and Yugoslavian Army were potential ‘enemies.’ The plan had been to move along a deserted road, sneak into the village, get the agent and be out by sunrise. Three days later they were deep in the woods with foreign soldiers crawling the area. Something serious and unexpected had happened, and their location had become a point of sudden interest for both sides. An argument broke out between the members of Scheffler’s unit. They looked to their squad leader Jack for a way out. Jack insisted that saving the agent was a lost cause. He established a new landing zone ten kilometres south and prepared his men to move out. Scheffler was livid. How could they give up? There had to be a way to complete the mission. He told Jack he had a plan to get the agent out by himself, and if he was not back in five hours they could leave without him. Jack outright refused, so Scheffler waited until Jack was distracted and took off anyway without his squad leader’s permission.
The village was two kilometres away, and KLA soldiers remained scattered in every direction. Using darkness as cover, Scheffler lay charges in three separate locations and set them to detonate ten minutes apart. The first explosion went off, and as predicted, the KLA soldiers moved in that direction. He shifted to the edge of the village, and the next charge went off. He crept along the streets while following his map. As he found the house where the agent was meant to be waiting, the third charge went off. KLA soldiers sprinted past before he worked his way around the house. The door for the underground bunker was in the backyard beneath the shed. Scheffler pulled it open and went down into the tiny space, ignoring the stench, where he found the man he was tasked with saving with a bullet hole in the head.
There was no time for emotion. Scheffler took the treacherous path back to the forest, where to his surprise his unit was still waiting for him. He handed the agent’s belongings to Jack, including a small diary and a wallet with a picture of what looked like the man’s daughter. They made it to the LZ and were extracted without incident.
The mission was a failure, but at least the agent’s family would have closure. They could mourn without the torture of false hope, without a lifetime of ‘what ifs.’ After the mission, Scheffer was reprimanded for refusing the orders of a superior, then promoted for his bravery. Jack had been instrumental in him getting a pass. Scheffler had put his life on the line, refusing to concede defeat. He had somehow found a way.
This time was different. It was not his life that would be at risk.
He knew what he had to do, but the thought of going through with it made his stomach turn. He desperately sought out a magical solution but came up short. Facts were facts. It was turning into a bloodbath, and the longer it went on, the more men they were going to lose. He clenched his fist until it began to tremble, until the nails cut into his palm. He scanned every screen desperately for signs of victory, anything that might signal the winds were about to change. All he saw was one of his soldiers running for his life before a splatter of blood caused by a headshot sent him spilling to the ground.
Scheffler eased his fisted grip. He had seen enough.
“Tell everyone to pull back,” he said.
Gerricks turned from his screen and gave Scheffler a bewildered stare.
“Serious?”
Scheffler rubbed his temples. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Yes. Full retreat,” he said with a low, thick voice.
“You got it,” said Gerricks.
Scheffler stood up and left the room, then went into his office and shut the door. He slumped into his chair and frowned, disgusted with himself. There was a painful lump in his throat. He covered his face with his hands, unable to bear it all. There would be no victory, he realised, no glory to be had. Until his death, he would never forget that his first significant operation as General was an absolute and total failure, and there was nothing he could do about it.
17
The streets were deserted. Even in heels, Ida marched quickly down the sidewalk while Terence struggled to keep up with her.
“Hey, slow down!” he said with a chuckle.
Ida checked behind them for any sign of Vidrik then crossed the road and went in the direction of the square which she had passed through earlier.
“Hey, stop for a second!” said Terence, placing a hand on Ida’s waist from behind.
Ida stopped and huffed impatiently.
“What’s the hurry?” said Terence, searching Ida’s face.
“We can’t stay here,” said Ida. “I’ll explain once we’re safe.”
“Safe?” said Terence, cocking his head back. “From what?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” said Ida and took off again.
“Why do I always go for the crazy ones?” came Terence’s voice from a distance.
Ida approached another deserted street. Where is everyone? Her ears prickled. She listened in the distance to what sounded like rattling, accompanied by a sudden and strong booming noise. The rattling continued, only abating for split seconds at a time. The sound of a siren grew louder, before a police car eventually raced by with its lights on. Terence’s footsteps approached slowly from behind.
“Can you hear that?” he said. “I think that’s gunfire.”
Ida turned her head suddenly and gasped when she saw a shadow move in the far distance behind them. She got déjà vu while looking at Terence, remembering the guy who had tried to chat her up at Gorbachev’s. The image of him splayed over the step of her building with his throat cut made Ida’s heart race. She had made a severe mistake exposing Terence like that.
>
“You’re in danger if you stay with me,” she said. “You need to get out of here.”
“What are you talking about?” said Terence, now visibly getting angry.
“I’m sorry,” said Ida, pleading with her eyes.
Terence’s charming facade slowly withered away. He scowled, then tensed his face and frowned. With a slow exhale and shake of the head, he finally got the message and marched off down the street.
Ida remained where she was, allowing Terence to create distance between them. Meanwhile, she bent down and took off her stilettos and tossed them aside, then pulled at her dress until she could rip a slit at the side to allow for better movement.
She took off in the opposite direction of Terence, now able to tread silently without her heels and with quicker steps. She followed the street then descended a set of stairs. When on lower ground she began to run, crossing a multi-lane road and passing through a park filled with tall, thick trees. Every human-made structure around her was monumental and imposing, and with Vidrik lurking out there, she felt like a helpless ant trying to navigate a tyrannical child’s play world. She ran along a small street engulfed on both sides by skyscrapers, then through another park which looked identical to the last one. She glanced behind her but saw no movement, then sprinted across another major road which led into a tunnel. She looked desperately down the way for a light, begging for a lone car to drive by and save her. After a long wait, her panic grew unbearable, and her sense of dread forced her to continue forward through the concrete wilderness.
Two sets of stairs led her down to even lower ground where she stopped behind a bush and listened out for Vidrik between heavy breaths. She remained where she was for a long time, listening, anticipating, not daring to move in case she gave herself away. The stillness of the night left her feeling isolated and alone, yet she took comfort in the vacuum of silence, which was tainted only by the whooshing and rattling from events happening elsewhere in the city. Then a tapping sound penetrated her bubble, sending ripples of terror shooting through her. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate echoes from above. She bolted off, speeding through a flurry of street lights and grey walls and windows, her bare feet thumping with pain as they collided with the concrete. Her chest grew tight from the lack of oxygen, which the adrenaline forced her to ignore. The Gare de La Défense train station zipped by as she found herself on the esplanade. Her panic pulled her along, deeper into the growing nightmare, with bright signs, eerily empty restaurants and bizarre artistic sculptures contributing to the surreal ride of terror.
She turned her head mid-sprint and almost screamed when she saw him. Vidrik was now at the far back of the esplanade running straight for her. She sped up again, dashing past the enormous fountain of water and through an open stretch flanked on both sides by hedges. A series of steps appeared in her way and she leapt over them as far as her legs would take her. More obstacles appeared. Benches, bicycles, electric scooters. She navigated through them all. Her terror and desperation grew. Meanwhile, despair began to seep in. How would she keep this up? Vidrik was going to catch her, and he was going to kill her.
To her surprise, she found herself slowing down. Stop running, a voice told her. She listened to it and finally stopped, sucking large gulps of air deep into her belly, forcing her scattered focus back into her body. Overwhelmed and unable to expend any more of her energy on fleeing, she clenched her fists and began yelling at the top of her lungs in the form of a war cry, releasing all her pent up frustration and panic.
Vidrik’s footsteps approached from behind. She turned around and saw him between the hedges sauntering toward her with his twisted smile, still panting from the chase. Her body trembled and her chest heaved up and down. Vidrik approached and slowly circled her, evaluating her with his eyes before coming closer, stopping barely a metre away. She clenched her teeth and stood upright with her fists held tight, refusing to look into his eyes.
“Naughty girl,” he said, reaching out and placing the back of his hand against her sweat-covered cheek.
The touch of him electrified her. She reached up and grasped his arm, snatching it forward and turning to her side while bringing him to ground in one smooth move. He was not stunned for long, growling and leaping on top of her while forcing her down. The slap to her face came from nowhere and left her stunned. He slapped her over again in a fit while she struggled to push him off. She pulled her arms up to protect her head. He punched her in the side of her stomach instead, and she yelled out in pain.
“You dirty!” he said with a hideous shriek as he continued to strike her. “Filthy!” he yelled, hitting her once more. “Disgusting!”
The insults set her off again, and she began yelling and striking back.
“Bastard!” she yelled, slapping his arms away and pushing upward with her body.
His rage grew unhinged, and his strikes became harder and more rapid, as a war of attrition broke out between them. Ida’s body screamed out in pain but she refused to give up, knowing that he had snapped, had gone beyond the point of return. Her instincts compelled her to fight, assuring her that he was going to brutally murder her if she gave up.
Two loud bangs erupted nearby in rapid succession. A third one came even closer, piercing Ida’s ears. Vidrik rolled off her and lifted his head, before his eyes lit up and he scrambled away. A fourth crack followed him before he disappeared behind the hedge. Ida struggled to lift her body. She looked in the direction of where the bullets came, then gasped in disbelief.
Bent down on one knee was Frederich, his gun pointed ahead with both hands and his finger on the trigger.
Frederich got to his feet and ran forward while maintaining a tight grip on the pistol. He glanced at Ida to make sure she was ok then continued past her, slowing down as he neared the hedges and carefully ducked his head around the corner. The crack of Vidrik’s bullet came almost immediately from the top of the stairs, and Frederich jumped back. He turned to Ida and signalled furiously for her to find cover, to which she scrambled to her feet and stumbled the other way, taking shelter behind the hedge on the other side. Frederich listened carefully, hearing quick footsteps which grew progressively further away. He cautiously shuffled around and caught sight of Vidrik disappearing behind a white building. His body willed him to chase, to finally give Vidrik the bullet in the head he deserved. Kill him! Don’t let him get away again. Frederich fought with the impulse while he weighed up the situation. Vidrik had the high ground. He was a sharpshooter, and he had plenty of places to hide and get off a clean shot.
Not today, Frederich told himself. If Vidrik took him out, Ida was dead. He had to get her somewhere safe. Only then could he decide the next move. He remained scanning the area with his pistol pointed forward until his instincts were satisfied, then finally relaxed his arms and strode back to where Ida was hiding. He found her kneeling on the ground with her head bowed.
“Come,” he said tenderly, placing a hand on her shoulder.
When she stood up, he took her hand and led her away, careful to put himself between her and any unexpected bullets. They zig-zagged through the esplanade and ran along the bridge above the River Seine then descended a set of stairs to the isle below, not stopping until they were safely hidden behind some trees.
18
Frederich looked at Ida properly for the first time. Her face was pale and her hair was twisted up. Her cheeks, chin and arms were scraped all over and covered in red, her nose was bleeding and a slit had opened above her eye. Frederich grimaced at the sight and bit into his jaw. I’m going to rip that son of a bitch to shreds. Ida said nothing, only gave him a determined stare, defiantly holding back tears. Frederich reached his hand out and gently touched her face, caressing where it had turned red. Then he reached over and hugged her, overcome with relief that she was alive. She placed her hands on his shoulders, but there was barely any life in her embrace.
“Are you ok?” he said.
Ida lowered her head and looked away from him. She s
niffled.
“What are you doing here?” said Frederich. “How did he find you?”
Ida walked off abruptly and went across to the bench, which faced a small, concrete square shielded by trees. Frederich sensed he had pushed too hard. He waited where he was, leaving Ida her space. The gunfire in the distance was gone and replaced by the sound of ambulance and police sirens. The alert from Intel had gone out almost an hour ago. Full retreat. The counter-offensive was over. Frederich had no idea what had caused it, but he gathered that the operation had not gone well. He was happy to wait to find out the details. After Bibby and the scramble to get to Paris, he was sapped. He had been beside himself with worry during the flight, convinced that Ida would be dead when he got there. When he arrived, he could barely believe what he was seeing; Ida putting up the fight of her life with Vidrik viciously trying to maul her. Now there she was, her body and pride banged up, but still breathing.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” he said, walking over to Ida.
She remained silent, staring off into the distance.
“Ida,” said Frederich gently.
“I’m an idiot,” she blurted. “Stupid!” she yelled.
“You need to tell me what happened,” said Frederich.
Ida turned away and shook her head.
“Ok. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. But we should get to the hospital and have you checked out.”