by Luke Duffy
Marcus could see nothing. He was blinded by hatred and a violence that filled his every sense. His veins coursed with fire and venom and no force in the world could stop his rampage.
Rounds smashed through flesh and bone. Screams of fear and pain rang out as Marcus dropped down and began to race along the line of shallow trenches, firing into the bodies that were still concentrating their fire on the road below, not realising that their position was compromised until it was too late.
He continued to the left, growling and howling like an enraged wild animal, rolling up the enemy and cutting a swathe of blood along the hilltop.
More shots and screams rang out from behind him as the two newcomers that had come to their aid assaulted from the far end, picking off the remainder that Marcus had bypassed when he launched his final assault through the centre of the ambush.
Marcus' rifle stopped, the cocking lever remaining fixed to the rear and indicating that his magazine was empty. With no time to correct the stoppage, he drew his machete from the sheath attached to his waist and brought the blade down, burying it deep in the skull of one of the ambushers.
The steel of the blade stuck, embedded in the bone.
Marcus released his grip on the handle and instinctively hurled himself at the next man in line with his hands stretched out in front of him and his teeth bared.
The shocked face of the soldier turned towards him, his eyes widening with terror as he saw Marcus and realised that they were being overrun. He attempted to raise his rifle, twisting it in his hands and bringing it to bear at the insane snarling figure leaping towards him.
The soldier was too slow and Marcus dropped on top of him, using his weight to pin the much lighter and younger man below him. The man yelped and struggled to free himself as Marcus began to pound him with his fists, roaring down at him as he landed each blow.
Digging his fingers into the soft flesh of the soldier's neck, Marcus began to tear at him, hearing the young soldier's choked pleas but continuing with his blood fuelled vengeance.
Muffled screams sputtered from the man's throat while he struggled desperately, kicking out and clawing at Marcus' hands, which refused to slacken their grip from around his windpipe.
Howling furiously, Marcus brought his head down with all the power he could wield behind it. His forehead crashed into the young man's face, splintering bone and causing a torrent of blood to erupt from his nose and mouth. Repeatedly, Marcus smashed the face to a pulp beneath his heavy blows, all the time tearing lumps of flesh from the dying man's throat as he gurgled and choked beneath the assault.
Finally, when there was nothing left to recognise as a human face, Marcus released the body that continued to twitch, dropping it on the ground at his feet.
He spat and wiped the blood away from his forehead as it began to run in to his eyes.
The crest of the hill fell silent as the young soldier's screams faded, indicating that the attack was over. Marcus reached for his rifle and quickly changed out the magazine, ready to take on the next fight, but none came.
Looking around him, he could see the sprawled and bloodied bodies of eight men. Steaming pools of blood covered the ground beneath the mutilated corpses that had been chewed up by Stu's heavy bullets or by Marcus' rifle and hands, as he hacked and gouged his way through them on his rampage.
He turned and saw two men standing just a few metres away, staring at him.
Marcus did not raise his weapon or perceive them as a threat. Their weapons were not pointed at him and their body language indicated no malice. They were obviously the men who had come to their aid, attacking from the right and helping Marcus to storm the enemy position.
Stu appeared over the crest of the hill, panting hard with the gun thrown over his shoulder and long belts of brass ammunition hanging from the chamber. Steve arrived close behind him, his eyes like saucers and his face as pale as a sheet.
Steve surveyed the ground in shocked silence, staring at the carnage they, and in particular his brother, had created. He placed his hand over his mouth, trying hard to stem the gag reflex that threatened to overwhelm him as the aftershock and nerves from the battle took hold, making his head spin, his knees tremble and his stomach churn.
"How was your baptism of fire, bro?" Marcus asked with a grin that creased his blood- and filth-smeared face, making him look demonic.
"The cut-offs," gasped Stu, "they'll either be closing in to help, or they’ll be making their escape."
Stu was referring to the two groups that would be placed far to the left and right of the 'killing group' to ensure that no one could escape from the killing area of the ambush.
"No need to worry about them," one of the men behind Marcus announced.
"We took care of them last night and they didn’t bother with a 'rear protection group', either. There were only two men per cut-off, so it was easy enough."
Marcus climbed up from the shallow trench containing the dead body with the pulped face. He looked at the two men and walked towards them as he pulled out a bottle of water from one of the pouches on his vest. He poured half of the contents over his face and began gulping the rest. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, quietly eyeing the two men for a moment with his finger resting against the trigger of his rifle.
Shots continued to ring out from the road below as Jake and the others took care of the numerous dead that had been attracted by the noise of the battle. Marcus glanced down at them and then turned to the two men behind him.
"Who are you and why did you come to help us?" Marcus spat, still feeling a surge of the aggression that was only slowly dissipating from his system.
The two men glanced at one another for a moment, and then one of them nodded to the other, indicating that he should do the talking.
"I take it that you were part of the helicopter bunch?" the closest of them asked.
Marcus' eyes widened and his grip on the rifle tightened.
"Yeah, that’s right. What do you know of them?"
They glanced at one another again, nervously.
"They were shot down by this lot and a few of their friends," he said, nodding at the numerous bodies scattered around them.
Marcus swallowed hard and turned to look at Stu.
"How did we come out?"
"Kieran got hit," Stu replied, "he took one in the shoulder and one in the lower leg. All four vehicles are fucked and we're low on ammo, too."
Marcus nodded as he reached up and wiped his face, smearing the blood, sweat and dirt.
"Jim's hurt too. He took a round in the neck. I had to leave him down there with Helen and Jake."
Marcus paused for a moment, his eyes staring blankly at the ground.
"Take what you can from these fuckers," he grunted as he indicated the dead men around him. "Make sure they can't come back, either."
He turned back to the two men who stood watching him. The professional soldier in him had taken over and he had avoided asking too much about the helicopter until he knew the condition and situation of his team and their capability to continue fighting.
"The heli, are they all dead?" he asked in a tone that demanded a straight answer.
The closest of the men shook his head.
"No, they crashed and the survivors were taken towards the east, their camp. Then this lot broke away and came to ambush you."
"How do you know all this and why were you so keen to help us?" Steve asked suspiciously, as he stepped forward.
He was eager for information and battled to hold back the feeling of panic that was growing inside of him for Sarah.
"This same bunch of bastards ambushed our convoy, killing a lot of us, and then took the survivors to their camp. We've been watching them for weeks but we couldn’t do anything because there were so many of them, and so few of us. We saw these guys coming out and we followed them and that's when we saw them shoot down the helicopter and realised that someone else must be coming for them to go through the trouble
of laying an ambush."
"So few of you?" Stu asked as he pulled his knife out of a head that he had just ensured would not get back up.
"How many of you are there?"
Again, the men looked at one another then turned to Stu and shrugged.
"Uh…just two," the man standing furthest away replied.
Stu snickered and shook his head.
"Fucking hell, we're formidable."
"Who did they take?" Marcus asked in a calm but impatient voice.
"They took a bunch of women and kids with them, I think there may have been a few men, too, but it was dark, so we couldn’t be sure."
Marcus nodded.
"Well then, it looks like we're going to be going after them. Can you lead us there?"
"Of course," the man replied, eagerly. "Like I said, they have our people, too."
"Okay, collect whatever weapons and ammo you can and prepare to move."
He turned to look down at the road, towards where Helen and the others remained and spoke into the radio.
"Jake, how's Jim and Kieran? Can they move?"
There was a moment's silence then Jake's voice crackled over the speaker.
"Jim's dead, Marcus."
The news hit him like a hammer blow. His legs grew weak and he had to sit down on the edge of the parapet of one of the shallow trenches that their ambushers had occupied.
"Fuck’s sake," he hissed mournfully as he stared down at the dirt and blood soaked ground at his feet.
Stu remained standing, shaking his head and fighting to control his composure as the anger swelled inside of him.
"Cunts…" he grumbled, and then spat on one of the mutilated and churned bodies lying in a pool of its own blood and entrails.
"I'm sorry," one of the men said as he stepped forward and crouched by Marcus.
"I'm sorry about Jim, but we can hit the fuckers back and save the rest of our people. We'll wipe the bastards out."
Marcus nodded, his body wracked with grief as he remembered the last conversation he had had with Jim and the fact that it had not been a particularly pleasant one.
"My wife and kids are with them, I hope," he whispered hoarsely, turning to the man who crouched close by, staring back at him.
"My daughter, too," Steve added.
"Well," the second of the newcomers began as he finished stripping one of the bodies of all its weapons and ammunition and dumping it back on the floor before moving on to the next.
"We need to get moving. We'll help your injured guy and find a place that he can rest up while we push for the camp."
Marcus nodded in agreement, as he raised himself to his feet.
"We need to take care of Jim first," he said with the indication that it was not open to discussion. "We can't leave him to rot here and we always take care of our men."
The two men nodded, understanding Marcus' sentiment as they felt the same sense of duty towards their own fallen comrades.
"You two got names?" Marcus finally asked as he turned to head down towards the road.
"I'm Toby," the first man said, then pointed over his shoulder, "and this ugly bastard, his name is Robbie."
32
The icy shock of the freezing water made her gasp as the immense cold snatched the breath from her lungs. Her eyes flickered open, just as a blow hit her on the side of her face, causing her head to snap back, rocking the brain inside her skull and threatening to send her back into unconsciousness.
"Oh no, Captain MacReady, don’t be going back to sleep," a calm but menacing voice spoke to her through the ringing in her ears and blurred vision.
She could make out the dark shape of a man sitting directly in front of her but the details of his face were obscured by her delirium.
"There are things I want to talk to you about before we allow you to rest, Captain MacReady."
Kelly's head swam and her eyes refused to focus. Her whole body was wracked with pain, especially her back and neck. Confusion reigned supreme in her clouded mind and she had no idea of where she was, or what had happened.
She tried to speak, but her words came out as nothing more than a slur.
Another open-handed slap to the side of her face sent her reeling backwards, almost falling from the chair that she sat on, but the restraints that were tied tightly around her kept her in place.
"You're not being very cooperative, Captain," the composed voice continued.
"Although, you never were the sort to tow the line, and that is why we find ourselves needing to have this little chat."
Finally, through the haze that shrouded her mind, she recognised the voice. No one referred to her as 'Captain MacReady'; no one except General Gibson.
His voice was now unmistakable. It was that same familiar, soothing and fatherly tone that always held a hint of threat, lurking just below the surface.
Her head rolled as she tried desperately to collect her thoughts and gain control of her mind and body. Everything threatened to close down on her and send her back into the blackness, but after hearing his voice, she became determined to face him coherently.
She knew that she would not live for much longer at the hands of Gibson, but if she could help it, she would meet her death standing on her feet and looking him in the eye.
Her sight began to clear as she angled her head, trying to focus her eyes like a drunk manipulating a mobile phone. She could see his smiling face more clearly now.
Gibson had never looked menacing in any way. His appearance was completely non-threatening. He was tall and extremely slim, bordering on malnourished, with a perpetual smile that exaggerated the deep lines and creases in his weathered face. Gibson looked no different than the average man, certainly not appearing as a monster, but his eyes; Kelly had always felt that they were as black and lifeless as the eyes of the dead and anyone that dared to look into them would be chilled to the bone by the evil that lurked just behind them.
"Ah, finally," Gibson smiled, "you're back in the land of the living."
He thought for a moment, contemplating the impact of his statement.
"Or, should I say, the living and the dead?"
He was clearly impressed with his little attempt at humour and he looked around the room for the approval of the other soldiers and officers that were assembled.
"Right then," he said excitedly, clapping his hands together then rubbing them against each other. "Let's get down to business."
Kelly watched him through one eye, still struggling to focus.
"What business?" she slurred. "You know you're going to kill me, just get on with it."
Gibson's face suddenly changed to one of mock offense.
"Oh, Captain MacReady, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need some answers, like, where were you going in my helicopter before we shot you down?"
The memory of the crash suddenly flooded back to her. The flashing red lights, the warning alarms blaring in the cockpit and the crack and thump as the machinegun bullets that ripped into the aircraft while the passengers behind her screamed in fear and pain.
"We were looking for a new place to live. How did you find us?"
The effort of concentration was painful as Kelly fought hard to remain coherent and place her thoughts in to order.
Gibson shrugged.
"Very easily, Captain; all my aircraft have a transponder fitted."
He watched for her reaction and saw the confusion in her face that he had been waiting for.
"Ah, of course, you didn’t know about the transponder, and that is because I didn’t want you to know."
Kelly shook her head and adjusted her position on the chair.
A hand from behind gripped her by the hair, forcing her head back; a bottle of cold water was thrust before her face. She gulped the cold fluid greedily, much of it running down her chin and onto her chest.
"See, I'm not that much of a monster. You feel better now?" Gibson asked in a cheery voice.
Kelly gasped, feeling the benefits of th
e cold water as it drained down her parched throat, rejuvenating her to a degree.
"Anyway," he continued, "as soon as you and Lieutenant Palmer deviated from course, we knew that you were deserting. You know how I feel about deserters and disobeying orders, don’t you, Captain?"
Kelly said nothing, but the visions of pilots and soldiers alike being hanged on his authority flashed before her eyes. She knew well how he felt about the subject.
"We've been watching you for quite some time. My men even infiltrated that zoo that you were living in. Who do you think it was that knocked out your cameras? We didn’t want you to see that we were weakening your defences."
Kelly's eyes snapped up, both of them suddenly becoming completely focussed as she stared into the eyes of the insane General sitting in front of her.
"Yes," he said, smiling and nodding as he confirmed to Kelly that she had heard him correctly.
"I don’t think that gate would ever have collapsed, if it wasn’t for the hard work of my soldiers."
"You bastard," Kelly snarled at him, her eyes fixing him with a piercing stare.
Gibson's expression changed. The smile disappeared from his face and his eyes narrowed. From somewhere behind her, another blow struck her in the right side of her head, smashing against her temple and sending her crashing to the floor as the power of the punch launched Kelly and the chair to the side.
A number of hands grabbed her and forced her upright again. She sat slouched in the chair, slumped against her restraints and barely conscious. Another torrent of freezing water was thrown into her face, making her scream from the shock as her flesh felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles.
"Okay then, Captain," Gibson's tone had changed. He no longer attempted to conceal the malice in his voice.
"Now that the pleasantries are over, I need to know where you were headed before the crash."
Kelly remained silent.
"There's no need to be the martyr here," he continued, "I know about the convoy and they're being dealt with as we speak."
Kelly's head twitched at the mention of Marcus and his team as they pushed north in their convoy, headed for the rendezvous with her and the helicopter.