by P. S. Bridge
‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked. She smiled as she motioned him to follow her.
The rooftop looked like a war-zone as Mark and El Toro wandered through the sprawl of bleeding, dead corpses. Smoke grenades that had been fired aimlessly at moving targets sat slowly smoking, the smoke blowing gently across towards Mark and El Toro, making it difficult for them to see. They both stood around staring at the carnage that lay before them. El Toro spoke.
‘The massacre of Cabrera,’ he sighed, almost weeping at the amount of death before them.
He’d left this life behind many years ago and had lived on this island in relative peace and quiet. Retired to a life of happiness, laughter and history, El Toro felt the familiar pain which always used to precede a firefight. Now it seemed this man, this friend of his closest friend and ally Nial Atkinson, had brought death and destruction to this once peaceful safe-haven. He didn’t blame Mark though, he blamed his old enemy and shed a silent tear that someone he used to call ‘brother’ had still not learned from the mistakes of the past. Lundon still believed anything or anyone he couldn’t control or understand had to be shot at, blown up, pursued across the world, and killed. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Mark was breathing heavily and struggled to see through the plumes of smoke which almost engulfed him as he staggered to his feet, after dispatching the last of the dying men, with his Kadet knife. He was giving no mercy if someone tried to kill him or El Toro, especially as these soldiers, brave though they were and had put up an extraordinary fight, had been sent to kill and followed orders blindly, without thinking about the consequences of what they did, nor who or what the ‘enemy’ were and asking themselves if perhaps THEY were the bad guys. Mark felt like a bad guy as he stumbled over falling weapons, pools of blood and spent shell casings towards where he could make out the outline of El Toro. Once he reached him, he put a friendly and supportive hand on El Toro’s shoulder and the two men gazed around them in silence at the scene of utter devastation.
The smoke grenades were dying down as Mark left El Toro to wander the bodies to see if anyone else was still alive, and to collect any ammunition, weapons, radios and anything else which could prove useful. These men had families and their loved ones deserved to know where they were. Mark was considering how best to pile the bodies up and how they would explain all this if the authorities came calling.
It was all too much for Mark to bear and he collapsed to his knees, head in his hands, trying to make sense of it all; all this needless killing and suffering, for what? For the good of mankind, to make Lundon feel better or to amuse those who pulled the strings, knowing they had conditioned these men, and probably thousands of others like them, to lay down their lives for a cause they didn’t even fully understand. Lundon wasn’t the master of some powerful organisation, and Invictus Advoca wasn’t some shadow government with the weight of worldly decisions on their shoulders, they were a group of power-mad playground bullies, driven mad by the lust for control, dominance and perceived superiority over anyone who would serve them.
Mark wasn’t mad anymore, or angry, or vengeful, he was sorry. Sorry for Lundon, sorry for Marie and the children, sorry for El Toro, dragging a war to his doorstep which had nothing to do with him, and above all, sorry for himself for believing he had no option other than to follow this path until he found Marie’s killer. He didn’t expect this feeling to suddenly overwhelm him and he was unprepared for it.
He looked up and El Toro was busy taking dog tags from around the necks of the dead and putting them in his top pocket. Now THERE was a man who had seen wars. Wars no one else should see and probably didn’t even know about. Here was a man who had suffered and seen suffering at its most prominent, and yet he maintained a steely, cold silence as he stood, knee deep in blood, death and carnage, yet seemed to still stand tall and let it all wash over him. How he managed it, Mark thought to himself, he didn’t know, as he searched around for dog tags and useful items. The smell of the smoke grenades caught the back of Mark’s throat and he coughed, reaching for his cigarettes in his pocket and lighting one up. El Toro whistled at him and Mark looked up, just in time to catch El Toro’s hip flask. Mark gratefully drank heavily from it, hoping it would numb him enough from the surrounding sights. It didn’t, but it quickly made him feel less ‘there’ and slightly more spaced out.
Mark heard a noise a few feet in front of him. A cough mixed with a splutter; and he froze, looking around him to see where it was coming from. He saw movement and slowly moved over to where the noise had come from. As he crawled across the bullet-ridden concrete, he realised what it was, and suddenly hardened again; he slowly drew his weapon and released the safety catch with a ‘click’. He found the soldier, wounded but alive, trying to get up and the soldier froze when he saw the barrel of Mark’s suppressed pistol, right in his face, almost touching his nose. The soldier looked up and saw Mark’s dirty, tear-soaked face with his bloodshot eyes from the smoke grenade and prepared himself for his imminent death.
It felt like a lifetime for Mark to reach the soldier, like time had slowed down and he was moving in slow motion. He thought it might have been the drink El Toro had given him, but his co-ordination seemed fine, it was just that everything else seemed to vanish into a white haze and all Mark could see was the soldier, staring at him in fright, his flak jacket torn and with several visible bullet holes punched into the chest protector. All Mark could think about was that someone who tried to kill him was still alive and Mark had to defend himself. Mark tried to stand up on his shaky, weakened legs, and they trembled as all he could do was lift himself up to his knees. He leaned back a little further and closed one eye, taking aim at the soldier who had propped himself up on the body of someone who had fallen next to him and probably saved his life by doing so.
The two men’s eyes met and widened. Mark’s were those of a possessed madman. The soldier thought Mark was suffering from being ‘trigger happy’. He knew it was a form of hysteria when someone couldn’t stop firing, even when everyone around them was dead. If this were the case, this man pointing a gun at him would likely kill him, so he propped himself up on his elbow and leant against the body behind him, ready to face his enemy. He watched as Mark’s finger slowly moved towards the trigger and glared at Mark for all he was worth.
Chapter Twenty Nine
El Toro stumbled over the bodies to where Mark knelt and made eye contact with the soldier half lying, half sitting against the body of his dead comrade.
‘Talk and I’ll spare your life,’ Mark promised.
The soldier nodded, having just witnessed Mark kill one other for not talking.
‘We’re based at an old UN fortified command centre – Ain M’lila Airfield in Algeria.’
‘What is there? Co-ordinates and mission objective?’ Mark questioned, taking a step towards him.
Mark realised Lundon being so near, made sense he could orchestrate an attack so quickly after Mark’s arrival. The soldier continued.
‘Ain M’lila airfield is an abandoned World War II military airfield in Algeria, located approximately seventeen kilometres north-northwest of Aïn Kercha in Oum el Bouaghi province, about fifty kilometres south-southeast of Constantine.’
The soldier coughed and spluttered so El Toro shook him vigorously, but it was no good; he was dead. Mark stood up and cursed and turned to El Toro for reassurance about their new intelligence. But El Toro’s attention had moved to something which caught his eye on the rocks to the left of their rooftop position. He quickly called Mark over and the two of them spotted four figures moving silently through the rocks towards the main castle gate the same way Mark had climbed. The fading light meant that they stood out, dressed in black combat gear against the bluey grey rocks which guarded the castle against all but the most determined ground assault.
‘This a guy, jeeze! Don’t a know when to QUIT!’ El Toro tutted impatiently.
He reloaded his weapons and made his way to the edge of the roof
top to provide over watch. He gestured to Mark to take the left while he took the right and they took up their positions. El Toro held his hand to signal to Mark that he wanted to wait until they got to within a few feet of the gate before opening fire on them. The pair waited and, one by one, Charlie team walked towards the gate, looking confused that their entrance to join the battle above them seemed a little too late. Suddenly, El Toro jumped up onto the parapet, arms stretched upwards, holding his OICW in one hand and his bloodied Kadet knife in the other and screamed at the top of his voice some violent gargling battle cry.
‘I, El Toro, commanda this a land and you, infidels, not wanted here!’
Mark stared at him, disturbed by this seemingly insane outburst. El Toro continued, ‘Who shall a come in years gone a by and say, I was a there, with the El Toro. Who DARES trespass on a my land?’
Mark watched in amazement as Charlie team stood weapons down, motionless and terrified by this raving nut case shouting at them from the parapet above. They didn’t fire at him, they didn’t run, they stood motionless. El Toro reached in his pocket and pulled out a detonator.
‘You scumbags have a choice. You are now surrounded by a mines, no? Run or we kill you dead!’ he shouted.
Mark smiled, realising what El Toro had done. He had mined the main entrance with radio control mines. Not ‘usual’ landmines, these were different. They were only operated by a remote control which armed them. Once armed, they would act as normal mines but if they were not armed, they posed no threat to anyone. Charlie team stood still as each man in the team put his arms out to ensure no one else moved. There was silence and no movement for about a minute or two before one of Charlie team couldn’t resist the temptation any longer and turned tail and ran in the direction they came, thinking somehow he might make it to the rocks before he stepped on a mine.
Sadly, he was wrong and was blown to pieces one step before the edge of the minefield. Seeing him nearly make it, the others were tempted and shot the ground to set the surrounding mines off. This seemed to work and two of them made it forward and out of the mines at the loss of just two of their team. El Toro laughed but then cursed at the fact that two were still alive. He signalled to Mark, who had his rifle trained downwards on the other two Charlie team members. They were busy trying to lace the door with explosives and counting their lucky stars they were still alive. Mark popped an armour piercing round through the first guy who was holding the detonator and he fell, staggering backwards back into the minefield, onto one of the few remaining mines, which promptly exploded. Three down, one to go. Mark trained his sights on the other guy who had his arms up in surrender. Mark was just about to move as his target was neutralised when the last remaining Charlie team member put his hand behind his back and pulled his revolver and pointed it at Mark. As quick as a flash, Mark spotted it and spun his rifle round, had his eye on his sights and found the soldier’s forehead, letting two bullets go in quick succession. Mark watched in horror as the grass around the soldier flew up and he realised he missed. There was no third shot from the soldier however, as repeated shots rang out from the bushes behind him. He dropped to the floor. Mark looked stunned by this, as out of the bushes walked Pablo with his M16 and a flak vest on.
‘Hey señores, you’ll be requiring a boat man no?’ he shouted, waving at Mark and El Toro.
Mark smiled and waved as Pablo turned and made his way back into the bushes towards the cove where his boat was moored. Obviously Charlie team had not seen it when they launched their amphibious assault on the island. Mark let out a relieved deep breath.
El Toro checked the perimeter from the rooftop and both men were satisfied no one else was following Charlie team.
Thomas Lundon was furious and worried. He’d sent his best men after Mark King and they were all dead. There was no word from Charlie team so he could safely assume they were dead too and if he knew Mark King correctly, it’s possible he would have kept at least one of them alive to tell him where he was hiding out. So he had to prepare, for Mark King WOULD come to him.
‘No matter,’ he thought to himself. The area was covered by armed guards and he wasn’t about to let someone as insignificant as Mark King get the better of him. Lundon reached into the drawer of the grand desk he was sat at in his secure room and pulled out his old revolver.
He caressed it menacingly and checked the clip: fully loaded. He put it in his inside jacket holster and felt much more protected now he was armed. What was he thinking? He was sat in a fortified ex-UN airbase which had bunkers capable of withstanding a nuclear blast and a fully stocked weapons room and at least a dozen armed guards, what the hell did HE have to be worried about? He laughed out loud as Roman Vose stood at the crack in the open door, watching his boss.
Vose concluded his boss had lost the plot and had worked out how best to get out when the slaughter began. There was no way Mark King would stop, not until he put a bullet in Thomas Lundon’s skull and once he’d done that, he would come looking for Vose as he was a loose end to be tied up. Vose would not stand about and wait for that to happen. As time went on, Vose had time to sympathise with Mark King about why he was on this mission to avenge his wife’s death. Vose had initially wanted no part in it but revelled in killing just the same. For all his faults, he wasn’t as evil and twisted as many of the others thought he was. All the same, it was time to put his plan into action and he made his way down to the electricity room deep under the ground. He needed to have the strength to pull the plug when the time came so he could get out using Lundon’s car. It was the only way out.
A few hours later, once they had collected all the bodies and put them in the castle grounds incinerator, collected what weapons were still of use and stored them away, mopped the blood up and put things back the way they were before the assault on the castle, Mark and El Toro were nursing their wounds in the main dining area. El Toro had radioed the coastguard to tell them about the two downed choppers and advised them he saw them go down but didn’t know what caused it. There were a few coastguard vessels floating about around the areas in which the choppers met their grisly end. Mark was looking at one of the computer monitors and had found information about Ain M’lila airfield in Algeria. He read aloud to El Toro, who was downing a whiskey and staggering about clearing up.
‘It was built by the Army Corps of Engineers on a flat, dry lakebed at an altitude of 2,580 feet, designed for heavy bomber use by the United States Army Air Force’s Twelfth Air Force during the North African Campaign,’ he read, ‘with concrete runways, hardstands and taxiways. Billeting and support facilities consisted of tents. Due to its high altitude, the days are hot and the nights cold.’
El Toro stared at Mark and raised his eyebrows.
‘You a want another dose of what we just a had?’
Mark didn’t fancy that, but he fancied even less not moving on Lundon before he got word his attack had failed and either moved locations, or sent another team or three in to finish the job. El Toro nodded understandingly.
‘We need to sort ourselves out first before walking into another fire-fight!’
They both looked back at the computer monitor at the same time, which was showing a map and satellite image of Ain M’lila airfield.
The barbed and electrified fence loomed up at Mark as he skirted around the perimeter of the airfield for a weakness. There wasn’t one and he couldn’t locate another way in. He decided the best way was to go under the fence and wondered how far under the ground it went. He took out his folding shovel and dug. He had spent the best part of two hours prior to this in a tree high up, scanning the base for guards and anyone else who would pose a problem to him. He spoke into a small headset mic.
‘Eight wooden and metal watch towers with searchlights, which cover the perimeter, complete with armed guards, concrete bunkers looking out towards the open areas and what looks like it used to be a parade or training ground.’
He continued to scan the landscape.
‘Control
tower mounted on a large concrete structure with large blast doors at the centre of the complex and some smaller buildings scattered around. Look like barracks or huts of some sort.’
Finally, his eyes came to rest on tarmac.
‘There’s also what looks like the remains of an air strip which has seen its fair share of aircraft, both big and small.’
Mark also spotted a large raised helipad at the end of a narrow concreted road.
‘Guards on the roof, snipers probably, and some patrolling the grounds, some with dogs, some others guarding the smaller buildings.’
He could see floodlight posts every seven feet around the perimeter fence. The whole complex was built in between two huge hillsides with flat ground ahead of it where the runway was situated. He noted that there was an entrance gate at that end with two guard huts and barriers and one further to the rear of the complex. Both entrances were covered by machine guns with sandbag walls. Lundon had really thought this one through before shutting himself away deep within the centre of the complex.
There would inevitably be a series of tunnels underneath the entire complex with potentially a tunnel leading out somewhere, but he had to find it first. He gave up on digging and instead, planted one of his remote detonated mines under the fence and quickly covered over the hole. Looking at it, anyone would think it was a badger or fox hole, at least he hoped they would. He decided again to search for a tunnel entrance and backtracked through the woods, searching for an entrance or anything that looked like it could serve as a tunnel entrance.
Mark had been walking for a while when he came across what he thought was an anti-tank defence block. He skirted round it and realised it was a hatch entrance. The bolts, as he had not expected, were not rusted or welded shut, but instead they were new and polished. Lundon was expecting to flee if the situation arose. He cleared away some of the foliage and tugged for a few minutes on the hatch handle before it squeaked open. He paused and winced at the sound, hoping it had not given his position away. He looked around and nothing happened.