Sabre Six : File 51

by Jamie Fineran

  “Joe, listen in, mate! We need a plan. Can you think of anything good?”

  Joe scratched his head. “What about, we are a medical civilian team working in the area and got lost from our team?”

  “Sounds a good idea – good one! We’ll definitely use that.”

  “I need to brief you on what will happen after I take the shot.” He drank from his canteen. The weather was fiercely bitter.

  “Once I take that shot, every man and his dog will be out to find us. If I were them, the first place I would look at, is from the east, easy access back to Pakistan. They would cordon off the area in minutes, trust me, and we’d be dead before breakfast.”

  Joe agreed with me, now munching on a cracker.

  “If you’re captured, just remember our cover story. Dump anything that could frame you as the shooter, and I mean anything. Once we take the shot and our man is down, drop everything, even your shooter. There should be nothing in your possessions to say you’re British. The weapon serial numbers have all been scratched off, so they can’t be traced to anyone. If you get caught, at least we’ll have a chance to plead innocence. On the other hand, get caught with them, and they’ll cut your balls off.”

  “Yeah, yeah! I’ve got the picture, thank you.”

  “Let’s go! Let’s do this!”

  I withdrew the M24 from its case, loaded a magazine into the rifle and dumped everything else inside my webbing. I ate as much as I could, followed by a full canteen of water, the last of my water in fact. I was sure we would find more en-route. We went into patrol state, using tactical manoeuvres, and above all, maintaining noise discipline. After a good slog with a few minor hang-ups, we eventually arrived at our killing zone. Joe was on stag whilst I donned my ghillie suit. I got myself up together and took up post whilst Joe got his attire on. I took a compass bearing and off we stalked, into position. Our objective was no more than two miles away. We took each step as our last, and moving like ghosts through the rocks and bush, we became one with nature.

  A snake crossed over my foot. I carefully nudged it on, went down onto my knee, and waved Joe to close in.

  “Are we there, mate?”

  “This is the spot! Let’s go!” I said, pointing just up ahead.

  We were once again on our belt buckles crawling very slowly, dropping down into a small bank where we could set our shot up. Once we were down, I tapped Joe to move into place once more. He lay by my side, carefully observing everything in and around us, then removed his binos and scanned the area in front of us.

  “Five times males, static, inside the fence – two observation towers either end of camp, occupied by two guards. Two on the front gate – fenced off area – possibly more males inside the camp – six trees to your left of axis. Clear for a shot.”

  Joe was spot on with his observation. We positioned ourselves inside a small rocky divot. It gave us maximum protection and concealment, and it was a top spot. My M24 was in position and ready to fire. I had good arcs to fire from and was not short of ideas either. Our objective was to take Mohammed down. I had a small breeze coming in from the north east; the humidity was not that bad either. It was now light outside, as the sun had been up for the last forty-five minutes. Joe rested up whilst I monitored our target. I had restricted movement ahead of me due to a ‘parking issue’, and it was half an hour before the vehicle moved and I could plan my shot. I had a clear view to the target building that I had been briefed on. Looking right at it, I had an estimated angle of up to 800 metres from my location to drop my subject.

  In the meantime we were both comfortable and in good spirits; we hoped this run of luck would continue.

  “We need to get closer, Joe; we need to see what’s happening down there.”

  “Ok mate, you go and take up post back here, covering your arse! Go!”

  My job was to recce our objective, giving us the best possible chance of success, without any fuck ups. The more intelligence we had, the better the success rate was, and the quicker we’d get the fuck out of here in one piece.

  I waited until the sun had gone down. The wind had picked up a little which was an advantage to me, it would cover up any little niggles that might crop up. There was a lot of loose twigs and foliage on the ground. One snap of a twig, and the game was over, brother! Leaving my webbing with Joe, all I took was my M24. I wanted to check a few things out. The nearer I got, the louder my heartbeat became; I could hear it pounding in my chest like a set of bass drums. I started bollocking myself for the noise, “Who the hell is going to hear my heart!”

  I moved closer to the sentry post, watching each step. The wind suddenly picked up, covering my movements. I crawled like a slug across the ground, as silent as a mouse. My body was clinging to the land like the growth I had become. I was a ghost, a silent ghost coming for you in the night, coming to take your life. As I came within view of the camp perimeter, a soldier opened the front gate; the door slammed into the side of the metal plate holding it together. He found it hard to control as the wind took it from his hands, the other guard laughing at his misfortune. I lay motionless for up to ten minutes, not daring to move; I was like a stick, as quiet as the grave. Finally, he managed to close it. I waited for a few moments before lifting my head up again, and then one of the soldiers turned on the main search light. It was fucking bright. I could see a girl standing alone at the front gate, adjusting her short skirt and lighting a cigarette, or what looked like one. She looked like she was the local whore. She spent five minutes sorting herself out, trying to attract the attention of the guards in the gate post. One came out to the front gate and started chatting to her, and as I watched they invited her through the gate and took her into the gate house. Joe would have loved this! I adjusted the sights on my M24 and from my view point I could see right into the guard house. I moved my location, getting a clearer view into the room. I could see the young girl entertaining the guards. She was earning her wage from the looks of things!

  I needed to know that when I took the shot we’d have enough time to bug out without half of the fucking camp on our tail. I slowly lowered my head and dug myself into the ground. Unbeknown to me, I had been out there for kind of a little longer than I expected, and the frigging sun was coming up: Joe was going to kill me. I may have been in a tight spot out there alone, but unless someone actually came looking for me I could remain undetected for some time. I spent that valuable time clocking everything that happened in and out of the camp, and learned a lot by doing so. Time passed by and I couldn’t quite believe my luck. Mohammed, my target, was standing right across the track from me. If only I could have taken the shot right then! Nah, that would have been a one-way ride. I’d have been shot on sight.

  I picked myself up off the floor and returned to Joe. Christ, did I get a bollocking when I got back.

  “Where the hell have you been, you prat? I thought something had happened. I nearly came looking for you, ya dopey sod!”

  “Sorry, buds! But on the bright side, I have learnt a few things.”

  “And what would those be, Michael?” he asked in a very sarcastic tone.

  “That we have to move! We’re in the wrong place; I have found us a better shot at the target.”

  “Are you taking the Michael? Michael! I’ve got comfortable now – this is my new home. God, Michael, you always have to ruin things, don’t you! I just get settled in and you throw it in my face. You’re so selfish, I hate you!” He smirked at me, very reluctant when showing me his cheesy grin.

  “Come on dick head, let’s go!”

  On my recce earlier I’d noticed a small divot about 850 metres down in the rocks. It gave valuable cover for us and a base for fire support if needed, not to mention a way to escape. I was very pleased with my discovery, to say the least. There was plenty of foliage about, so we could easily set up a hide and take the shot. Joe followed with the kit in tow. I had plotted a secure, ultra-unobtrusive route, which we were now using, straddling the ground like humping horse
s. Our field craft was superb; Joe was one of the best scouts in the force. Then, with less than ten metres to go, I dropped to the ground!

  “Joe!”

  I had seriously screwed up. I had walked onto a live track without noticing, and I could see a car’s headlights coming closer. I jumped down a bank into the side of the track, with Joe landing on top of me. He came crashing down, landing on my back; it hurt like hell. The car passed by and I could hear the rag-head music coming from the car stereo as it went. What an idiot!

  After shaking off Joe I picked myself up. He just looked at me!

  “I think that’s one to me.” Cheeky sod!

  Joe moved off, and I gave him the credit after we finally found our position an hour later. “Ok, I admit it! This time yes, I screwed up.”

  We reached our new destination and dug in, my M24 ready to fire. I could at least take the credit for my accurate firing position: I was right you know, I had a much better shot from here! Even Joe laughed at my expense. I had a raging itch just below the knee, which I intended to scratch until I noticed a swarm of bats heading our way, flying viciously over our heads. It was like a swarm of flying rats, and I hate rats. I could not move a muscle; I felt violated by these annoying little vampires. Joe sent a last message that we had arrived at the final RV.

  All we had to do was lie in wait; we knew the bastard was home, there was too much activity for him not to be, and I’d already seen the fucker! I sighted my scope in on the two watchtowers. The soldiers on guard were just your bog standard village militia, nothing more, and the gate was being manned by two kids of no more than fifteen, if that: pathetic really. They both carried AK47s. The rest were workers, buyers, nothing more, nothing less. Just warlord lackeys and scumbags.

  “Michael! One girl has just walked up to the gate!”

  “Yeah, seen.”

  “She’s got a nice little tight arse, ain’t she! The little slut!”

  “I’ve seen it all before, mate, all before.”

  “Seen what?”

  “The other day on my recce. The same girl appeared then too!”

  “And you never bothered to tell me?”

  “I didn’t feel you needed it after your session with the big black yank!”

  “Fuck off, Michael, you prick! It wasn’t like that either, nothing happened, ok!”

  “Yeah, ok then Joe, ok buds! Nothing happened. You just had your arse rammed by some tall black marine, who happened to be a big old boy!”

  “I hate you Michael, I really do!” Joe continued to stare at the girl until she fucked off that day. He was very quiet after that.

  It must have taken us two more days before the bastard finally showed his face. I had his head in my sight. I zoomed in, finger on the trigger – and then his child jumped in front of my shot. I pulled myself back. Joe was updating me on everything that was going on around us; he never missed a thing. I had missed my chance, though ruined by that darned kid! It would have been over by now; we’d be on our way north and across the border by tomorrow evening.

  We continued scanning the area, only hoping that we would get another chance to take this bastard out. Joe passed me my water canteen and a piece of biscuit fruit; I placed it inside my mouth and continued to stag on. My eyes aggressively fixed to the front building, I was becoming anxious about the fact I may have missed my only chance. Maybe I should have gone for it and shot through the kid! I positioned myself at a correct angle and waited for the bastard to come to me. It took six hours before we got another chance. Joe nudged me, and I pinpointed the scope to the building, noticing a crowd of people standing by the doorway, all smoking cigarettes or cigars. Joe was giving me a sit rep every minute, on the ball big time. I was very impressed. I could see one male blocking the doorway, and as he turned round, Joe confirmed that it was Mohammed. His ten-year-old child was standing next to him, laughing away with the others. I released my safety catch, whilst Joe counted me down.

  “Target in sight, wind direction north to north-east; slight breeze, target 800 metres. FIRE! – FIRE! – FIRE…”

  “Stop!” I pulled back from the shot! My stomach churned.

  “Michael, what the fucking hell are you doing? Why didn’t you take the fucking shot?” I scanned the area with my scope. Was I seeing things?

  “Michael, are you listening to me, mate?”

  “I have just seen Killeen, mate! Fucking Killeen is down there with Mohammed and his kid!”

  “You’re fucking joking!”

  Joe looked through his binoculars and was shocked at what he saw.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, mate! Take Mohammed out, now!”

  I had so many emotions coursing through my very blood. My wife’s killer was no more than 800 metres away. My adrenaline had doubled. I wanted this fucker more than anything.

  “Michael, take the fucking shot and take out Mohammed now- our main target!”

  “Fuck off, I can do this! Just fuck off, you cunt!”

  “Take out Mohammed first and then Killeen. Stan wants you to take him out! He’s the key player, mate: fucking do it!”

  I gave the thumbs up to Joe, and he knew that I meant business! I had both in my sights. I had five rounds of 7.62mm in my magazine. I would never take more than one shot, but this was so different.

  “Target in sight, wind direction north to north-east, slight breeze, target 800 metres. FIRE! – FIRE! – FIRE! .... HIT!!” My first target was down. Killeen was dead: the bullet had passed through his heart. Joe was fucking angry that I’d switched my target. He was fucking fuming!

  My second target was down. Mohammed’s head exploded over his young boy. The boy froze! I pulled back on the trigger and took the shot. I hit him clean in the chest and he dropped like a sack of shit.

  I pulled back from the sight, closing the dust cap as I did so. Joe continued to observe as I destroyed the weapon. I took out the M24s firing pin, cracked the scope and prepared to move.

  “You’re a fucking wanker, Michael.”

  “Shut up! They’re down aren’t they? So stop your fucking moaning, bitch!” He wasn’t a very happy boy.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here, move it!” Joe dropped his ghillie suit along with mine and dumped it next to the rifle before sending the kill message on the radio.

  Chapter Eight: Sabre Six – File 51

  “Stan, there’s an urgent message for you in the back room!”

  “Ok, wait here, Sir, I’ll be back in five seconds.”

  One of the security staff escorted Stan into the circular office.

  “What’s this all about then?”

  “You’ll see, Stan!”

  Stan entered the room. The head of MI5 was on the video conference screen, sitting in his arm chair smoking a cigar.

  “Hello Stan, you ok?”

  “Not bad, Sir, and how are you?”

  “Fine, I couldn’t be better.”

  “That’s good.”

  “We’ve just received a recording that Sabre Six has been successful, Stan. The boys have done well!” Stan looked happy.

  “I knew they would, Sir: my boys wouldn’t let me down.”

  “Stan, one more thing!”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Sabre Six is dead, obsolete. Pull the plug.”

  “Sir?”

  “Pull the fucking plug.”

  “But Sir! What about the team?”

  “What team, Stan?”

  “Sir?”

  “Pull the fucking plug. It’s over!”

  The screen went blank. Stan slammed the office door. On the way back to his office, Stan knew that his boys would get home safely, Michael was the best there was in the field. Stan felt as if he had betrayed Michael, though, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it.

  We now had to get the fuck out of here. We cleared the first half a mile without any commotion from our pursuers, who were still coming to terms with what had just transpired. We were back in Afghani style clothing, but trying to b
lend in would be difficult because there was no-one about. We dumped the rifles and the ghillie suits; we had to just have local rags from now on. Joe turned and stopped in his tracks. “Jesus, can you hear that, they’re gaining on us.” We legged-it across a road, but Joe tripped over and landed on his knee. I looked back.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Nah, just keep fucking moving.”

  “Get off the fucking road, they’re coming!”

  We both legged-it in opposite directions: the game was now on. I dived head first into a rocky field of boulders and gorse. God knows what had happened to Joe; he must be on the other side of the track! I covered myself in mud, wiping it all over my hands and face. I needed to stink like shit. It helps cover up human scent, making it a bit harder for dogs to track. I knew I didn’t have much time, and they were gaining ground on us. I only hoped our Joe was ok; I was sure he was wise enough. Not long before the first vehicle appeared I could smell the exhaust fumes, the stale smell of diesel. Six men jumped off the back of the four-ton truck, the driver having trouble putting it back into gear, revving the engine as loudly as he possibly could, and the soldiers patrolled either side laughing at his actions.

  Once they got it sorted, the driver stuck it into gear and off they went, heading slowly up the track. A further three trucks passed my location, heading north towards the first truck; they realised we were going to head straight for the border, the turd heads. Once I knew it was safe, I popped my head out to have a look. Both sides of the track were clear. I sprinted across to try and find Joe, tripping and falling over on the way. I bet he was laughing at me, the little bastard. The bush was thick as me on this side, and he could be anywhere. “Joe, can you hear me? It’s me, Michael!” I knew he would be here somewhere.