by LS Silverii
“The other two, show you hands. Now.” A pause, then the voice escalated to angry, “Fire!”
Justice ducked his face into the rock-hard side of the rotting corpse as hundreds of rounds of bullets tore through the three bodies and ricocheted off the truck’s metal frame. The bright explosions of chambered gas ignited creating flashes of brilliant white, orange and yellow lights. He squinted into the muzzle blasts. An AK47 had a uniquely distinctive rattle when fired. There was no doubt these were bad guys who toted surplus Russian rifles.
Justice counted at least eight different weapons being fired. On his signal, they would easily dispatch a close-quartered gaggle of only eight soldiers, but should they? He preferred stealthy, covert operations. This whole mess had been anything but quiet. Justice backed his finger away from the trigger.
If they drive off, they live.
During a break in the savage attack, he heard the clicking of thin metal ammunition magazines being ejected and fresh ones being loaded. The clicks and clangs of bolts being racked, chambering bullets to be fired, alerted him they were ready to shoot more.
The chaotic episode also signaled that these men were not trained professionals. Real pros would never leave everyone unloaded—they’d stagger their fire so while one group shot and reloaded, the other half would continue with cover fire. These seemed to be more locals with piss-poor training and a high-tech vehicle transmitter.
“Just drive away,” Justice whispered. “Just drive away.”
“Fuck you, America,” Yelled another voice, but in English. It sounded young, maybe a teenager.
Justice dug his boots deeper into the sand, and rocked his face back and forth to shake away the stinging pests. That last comment pissed him off—it really fucking pissed him off. He slipped his right index finger through the trigger guard and eased it back against the ridged metal tongue. He felt the slack come out of the pull, and he hesitated.
“What you want to do, Bro?” Fury’s impatient voice broke the headset’s squelch.
Justice felt a pounding drum beat in his temples. He waited and listened to their constant taunts and threats. If they’d again trusted the locals in this land, they would have been riddled with hot lead.
These fuckers will always hate America so why not end their lives now before they kill one of ours later?
“Get ready, but we gotta take them all out in that truck. Can’t let them scatter.” It was an emotional decision, but he didn’t care. He was fed up.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Batya asked.
“Okay, boss, whatever you say.” Loyal Fury responded, hesitant but ready to do as his big brother suggested.
Justice waited. Closest to the truck, he could almost smell them. He hated them. He hated what they stood for and how they resented everything the United States had done to liberate them from the tyranny of oppression. What a bunch of fucking hypocrites. They deserved to die.
“Come on, boys. Momma calling to go home. Poppa is still very ill,” said one of the occupants.
“Poppa is scary. Let’s not go home till he sleeps. He hurts me,” said a younger voice, spoken in soft dread.
The tone and the words took Justice back to the bayou. His own father had hurt him too. A drunken brawler, the man’s nightly boozing and stumbling home to punch out their mom still sickened Justice. He shook his head to sweep the memories, but childhood torture still cut deep. Poor Rage, the oldest of the seven, got it the worst and the longest. That was until Justice was old enough to at least block the first few punches to distract the old man away from Rage.
“Stand down,” he slipped the words through quivering lips. Killing would only do them a favor.
The old sand vehicle chewed through the gears as it tried to turn around inside the narrow alley. Headlights swung wildly across his position. He ducked low, smashed his face against ground that appeared to shift in the moving shadows. The vehicle finally lumbered away. Justice blew out a breath in relief.
He tried to survey their vehicle but wasn’t able to tell much in the dark. He’d expected it to erupt into flames as the hundreds of rounds pierced it, but luckily it was still intact. The three bodies hadn’t fared so well though.
“Wadrega,” a voice yelled. Their vehicle came to an immediate stop.
Justice ducked. Had they seen him? Then he heard the thud and distinctive pin pop. He buried his head beneath his arms. The grenade exploded. The truck juddered and burst into hellish red flames. The fire licked the gasoline cans until the teasing ignited another eruption.
“Kha woraz walary,” the young voice jeered as the vehicle bobbled away with all of the boys laughing.
“Did he just say ‘Have a nice day?” Batya radioed.
Justice was madder than a mosquito in a mannequin factory. “Fucking little pricks. We should’ve shot them when we had the chance.”
“You made the right call, Bro. They’ll get what they got coming soon enough.”
“You might be right. Let’s fall in and see if we can salvage anything from this heap.”
Batya’s voice came across solemn, “I’ll remain to provide cover over-watch.”
Justice clicked the headphone twice to signal it was okay for her to remain located on the elevated position. He grabbed at his cache of weapons and gear with filthy hands, felt the buzz of the Agency’s encrypted satellite phone inside the go bag. Curious why they’d initiate contact, he squatted close to the zipper to reveal the device.
[Asset status?]
Why the fuck is the CIA text messaging me like a high school cheerleader on a Friday night?
[Code 4] Justice stamped out a reply.
[Stay low] the message read.
“Stay low?” Justice let slip over the microphone.
“Repeat,” Batya asked.
“Home base just sent message to stay low,” Justice advised.
“They’re also–” Batya’s transmission was cut off with a loud blast of light and sound. The old vehicle that had toted the eight jackals was blown to smithereens.
Justice groaned as his frazzled frame slammed back onto the hard ground as shockwaves followed the drone’s initial strike.
Fingers blistering on hot rocks, Justice clawed at the solid soil as he scrambled to conceal his position. He wasn’t sure it was a drone strike, but realized they’d been tracked and targeted by both homegrown terrorists and his home agency. He shoved his big body beneath some sparse, prickly brush, the best the desert had to offer for greenery. He scanned the area for more locals, American troops or CIA technology? Paranoia began to eat at him.
Fuck, I hadn’t even considered Ben. Are they trying to take us all out?
Chapter 12
“What the hell are you trying to do?” Justice spat in broken breaths. He willed himself to steady the deep-brewed anger.
“Do not contact us unless told to do so,” a sniveling voice taunted from the other end of the satellite phone.
“Boyd, that you? I’m not surprised. Where’s your daddy, Dunnigan?” Justice’s skin prickled at the young bureaucrat’s snide tone.
“You’ve broken protocol, Agent. This could mean termination.” Boyd’s tone was almost a snicker.
Justice pressed his finger to his lips and Fury, who approached, waved to show he understood. Justice pointed two fingers towards his eyes and then swung the fingers around and back and forth across the area. Fury lifted his rifle and disappeared back into the darkness.
“Do you hear me, Boudreaux?”
Justice licked his sand-coated lips, and tried to swallow down the lump of vitriol in his throat. “Put Dunnigan on the line.”
“Where is Operative Batya Cohen?”
“No names, you asshole. You’re going to compromise her.”
Boyd hummed a taunting tune into the phone. “You said my name, so what’s the difference?”
“Because your patsy ass has never gone further than from the desk to the food court to pick up lunches for the real operatives. No on
e gives a shit about Robert Boyd. Other than Robert Boyd of course.”
“We’ll see.” Boyd’s tone changed. “I’m dispatching a private security force to your location to take your AWOL brother into custody. Seems none of you Boudreauxs are capable of following rules.”
Justice clamped his teeth down against his tongue. His powerful fingers squeezed the phone’s cradle case. He squinted into the night but knew Fury wouldn’t be anywhere within the glow of either vehicle that burned about forty yards apart. He hated himself for what he’d gotten his brother into. He had to fix it—but how?
Justice sucked in a gulp of thick air. “Listen to me good, boy. Interfere with my mission and you’ll pay with an ass whipping your momma should’ve given you years ago. You fuck with my family and it’ll be you instead of Ben Ford that I take out next. You might think you’re powerful behind a keyboard, but you don’t have a fucking clue the horrible shit real men do to pussies like you.” He smashed the receiver off.
Justice climbed to his feet and patted his tactical vest to find the radio transmitter. Usually designed for short-range transmissions, he wouldn’t dare speak into the microphone. He clicked Morse code instead:
.-. / .- / .-.. / .-.. / -.— (Rally)
He stalked the area with his weapon at a ready position. Two major explosions were sure to draw attention from either side. He’d tried to stay focused on hunting Ben, but bullshit and bureaucracy made it impossible. Fury whistle chirped three times to alert Justice.
“Come over,” he said to his brother. “Where’s Batya?”
They both stopped. He pressed the headphone close to his ear, which still rang from the concussion of the eruptions.
--- / -. // -- / . (On me)
“She’s staying put. Let’s move to her and higher ground,” he said, clutching Fury’s shirt.
Fury pulled away. “What’s going on with that call?”
“Nothing. You’ll be okay.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Justice. I’m not okay, am I?”
Justice trudged across the open plain then began the short hike uphill. Fury begged him for answers, but he shrugged it off, face was aglow with rage. Fury snatched a fistful of his jacket and yanked him off balance. “Tell me now. You fucking owe me, Justice. I came out here to help someone I know nothing about. And it got my partner killed and gonna get me court marshaled.” Spit flung from the froth that lined his lips. “I fucking deserve to know.”
Justice jerked his shoulder away. “I’ll tell you once we get to Batya. We all need to know the situation.”
They crested the dune about thirty yards later. Batya had pushed herself upright and looked to be struggling to breathe. Fury rushed to her and mashed two fingers against the carotid artery in her neck.
“She’s going into shock. We gotta medevac.” His face was painted in panic.
Justice’s worn boots sunk into loose sand as he ploughed the rest of the distance to kneel next to her. His eyes moistened at the sight of her agony. Both fists clenched against his thighs in anger for being so irresponsible during this mission.
Fuck Ben Ford, I’ve got to save them both.
Justice clasped his raw palms around Fury’s shoulder. “How much time do we have? Is she going to make it?” His mouth barely touched Fury’s ear as he whispered a desperate plea. Fury shook his head—no words were needed as the wooden expression gave her prognosis.
Justice mashed the back of his wrist against his eyes to capture the wetness that seeped onto the bridge of his crooked nose. On both knees, he looked up and mouthed a prayer. He wasn’t sure what to say, really who to say it to, but he knew that alone, he didn’t have the ability to save his brother and Batya.
“Bro, you’re freaking me out. Talk to me,” Fury demanded.
Justice collapsed against Fury’s shoulder. The vulnerable contact sent shivers of distant memories through his body. They’d not been close growing up, but they were still blood. Maybe because Justice had known all along Fury was queer. He didn’t really care either way, but it caused both of them bunches of bullshit as kids along a hard-core bayou backdrop. He’d always taken up for his younger brother, but now when he needed him most, he felt helpless.
“We’re screwed,” Justice admitted.
Fury seemed to have achieved a level of calm in the face of Justice’s rare fragility. “Tell me what’s going down, Justice. Let me help.”
Justice helped Batya onto her back and brushed her hair from her face to comfort her. He turned away and motioned for Fury’s overstuffed ALICE pack. Fury tumbled sideways into the prickly brush. Justice smiled briefly at the awkward fall as if given a moment’s reprieve from the heavy burden that threatened to crush him.
He reached out to help right Fury as he looked over the ancient military backpack. The All-purpose, Lightweight Individual Carrying Equipment, or ALICE had been around since first issued in the 1960s, but his brother wore it faithfully with every supply he could shove inside.
“You ain’t got a chopper in that thing, do you?”
“Is that all you need?” Fury attempted a laugh. His lips stretched tight. But, in reality, worry was written all over his face.
“One of the many pricks back at the Agency’s HQ has unleashed a squad of mercenaries to arrest you for going AWOL.” Justice reached a hand to steady his brother. “This asshole, Robert Boyd hates me for cleaning up the mess he made with the twenty-five experimental citizens. This is his chance to get back at me by arresting you.”
“Right now I don’t really give a crap about being thrown in the brig. That woman needs medical attention or she may die. She’s bleeding internally and going into shock.”
Justice stepped back. Right hand pressed against his heart, he hadn’t realized his connection with Batya was as strong as it was until Fury said she could die. He’d move heaven and earth to protect his brother, and now the same for her. Yet, he felt helpless.
“Forgive me, Fury. I’m sorry for getting you in this shit. I’ll work it out.”
Fury looked deep into Justice’s eyes. “You always do, brother.”
Justice felt the regret of so many years of keeping his distance from Fury. Being so worried about his own reputation growing up that he’d neglected to see the true heart of a sibling that loved him. He exhaled a few quick snorts of air and shook his head before his glare locked onto Fury and into the scenario.
“First things first, let’s vacate this spot. If those private contractors are on their way, we don’t need lights like Christmas bonfires along the Mississippi River to show the way for Poppa Noel.” With the words, he felt renewed—it was time for action. “Grab the weapons and I’ll hoist Batya. We’ll find a spot to hide until I can get Dunnigan on the line to get me help and call off Boyd’s dogs.”
“You seriously want a helicopter to land right here?” Fury asked, but looked timid.
Justice grabbed Fury’s shoulders and spun him around. “Yeah, you got a Blackhawk up your ass?”
“Matter of fact, I do.” Fury smiled as he slammed both palms into Justice’s chest. “I run with the most bad ass group of warriors on the planet. I’ve been there for them and have saved more than a few of them in the heat of the battle. They can reload bullets, but they can’t replace me.” Fury held his hand out for the satellite phone.
Justice dripped sips of water onto Batya’s cracked lips. She parted them to allow beads of moisture to seep in. He ignored Fury’s conversation in the background, but paid full attention to Batya. He’d seen more strength in her over the last days than with anyone he’d ever served. He gnashed his teeth at the thought of how brutal a beating she’d suffered from Jabar and his men. A wicked grin slithered across his face as he considered the hell Ben must’ve subjected Jabar to. Fuck him, he deserved more.
Justice removed his thick padded gloves to run his hand across the crown of Batya’s head. She groaned. He saw the spirit shine through the thin slits of her eyelids. She was a warrior—in spirit and in body. He cast another
glance toward Fury who continued to pace the hilltop hideout.
“Justice,” she whispered.
His heart ached with the voice of surrender. He swallowed once, twice, but the lump remained. “Yes, baby.”
She smiled. “Baby.”
“Batya, speak to me,” he begged.
“Slicha li.” I’m sorry.
Moisture filled his eyes, but he wouldn’t dishonor her with wiping the tears away. Her gentle nature of forgiveness conflicted with what he’d seen of her as a highly trained assassin. A single, salty tear splashed against the tanned skin of her cheek.
He brushed his lips against the wetness on her face, “Baby, please forgive me. I’ll get you help. We’ll get through this together.”
Her eyes remained closed and her tongue lingered at her lips longer than the last drowsy dab. “Did we get Ben Ford?”
“Not yet, but we’re close. You did good, baby.”
Faint, yet unmistakable, she smiled. “Ahh, baby,” she whispered through curled lips then fell asleep.
Justice lurched at the touch on his shoulder. He rolled away to the side to avoid landing on top of Batya. Fury. Justice knew his sense of reaction was faltering with the exhaustion and pressure of a hopeless situation.
“We’re out in fifteen,” Fury said.
“Seriously?”
“Yep, no shitting. One Blackhawk medevac on its way. The administration may not value the relationship with Israel, but the fighting forces sure do.”
“What about your alibi?” Justice grabbed Fury’s hand to pull up off the dirt.
“Her life comes before my freedom. We’ll just have to deal with it when it happens.”
Justice saw the flattened expression—one he’d recognized on his brother’s face since they were children. Fury was always the emotional one of the seven brothers. When it counted, Fury was the most righteous of them all.
Justice hugged him but had never felt so aggrieved that he couldn’t force himself to say he was sorry or that he loved him. He assumed Fury knew that he did but it gave him little comfort.
“Thank you, little brother,” Justice offered as he turned back to place his jacket over Batya’s shivering frame.