by Oliver Tuson
“They couldn’t afford any mistakes. If any police were seen, they reckon he would detonate the bomb and wipe out an entire floor killing all inside. So, they wanted the best. They wanted us. Special Forces to neutralise the terrorist and secure the explosives quickly and silently.” Clarke adjusted his seated position slightly, leaning forward as if to better tell the tale.
“Undercover police created a soft perimeter around the area. All out of sight from the apartment. A quick reaction force along with bomb disposal teams were ready to assist, hidden around the corners and out of sight. My team gained access to the roof undetected from an adjacent building. We would assault the apartment he was holed up in by roping down and smashing in through the windows. Hard and fast. We would have the element of surprise. Simple.” Clarke shook his head as if shaking off a bad thought.
“Only if the intel was bad, we would have no back up or support for at least five minutes as the QRF got to the building and up to the tenth floor.” Clarke stopped for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing his story. The story that had crippled his mind for so long and haunted his past. “And the intel was bad… very bad…”
16
Past Revelations
13:50, 10th February 2003
Target Building, South London, England
The rain was starting to pick up, coming down harder as Clarke looked out over the dark dull London skyline. Familiar buildings reached up into the afternoon sky. Another bleak, rainy day in the capital, he thought, before turning his attention to his team who were securing ropes to anchor points on the building’s roof. Each solider testing the rope’s hold with a few tugs and giving a thumbs up to their boss.
One by one they approached the side of the building with the ropes attached to their abseil harnesses ready to descend down. Clarke had a sudden feeling of isolation as he looked down to the street far below where people where sheltered under umbrellas that were hurrying along the pavement. All busily going about another day in the city. No one looked up. Their heads all looking down. Hiding their faces from the miserable weather. Everything and everyone seemed so distant. If anything went wrong, back up would be slow getting to them. They were alone, and for a split second he considered calling it off, maybe pushing for different options. Or was he just being over cautious? He felt his team staring at him, no doubt wondering the cause of the delay. Just nerves, he thought as he dismissed the idea from his mind.
With a nod to his three men, they all faced towards the building and slowly leaned back. Gradually gravity took control and the ropes went tight. The four men trusting the ropes with their lives as they hung from the roof of the tall building. Below, the Londoners kept moving about in the rain, oblivious to the soldiers high above. Below the men, in bags attached to their harness, the remainder of the rope was coiled up. Enough to reach the pavement below just in case there was an issue breaching in. As the team started to abseil down between the windows of the tall building, the rope would uncoil out, hiding their approach. The last thing the team wanted was a long rope swinging around below them announcing their presence.
They kept stepping down the wall cautiously, the brick work slippery in the now heavy rain. A few minutes later the four men were poised above windows that shielded the target from the horrendous weather. Clarke saw a flash of lightening crack across the sky. Followed by a deep rumbling roar of thunder seconds later. He hoped the target didn’t approach the windows, drawn in by the lightening, to look at the storm that was growing worse by the minute.
“Hello Zero, Hunter One is in position now. Confirm go?” Clarke said over the radio net as he hung helplessly from the rope, his boots planted firmly against the wall as he looked down at the empty window below.
“Confirmed, you are clear to engage Hunter One!” Command responded over the radio causing the team to subconsciously flex slightly as the adrenaline started pumping even more. They no longer could feel the rain soaking through their clothing. They could only feel the rope in their hands. Fully focused on the job in front of them. Oblivious to the weather that took over the people’s world far below.
“Prepare to breach…” Clarke whispered over the radio to his team. All four men turned in their harnesses, facing down towards the pavement far below. It was a strange feeling. Hanging looking down at the mass of umbrellas, Clarke thought as he edged forward slightly until he was on the upper lip of the window and let go of the rope, trusting in the brake of the harness. He pulled his MP5 silenced sub machine gun from his back and aimed into the room. No movement. The apartment’s lights were on, displaying a mainly open plan looking room. A large modern kitchen and dining area to the right and massive luxury lounge in the centre with various fancy sofas and chairs. The apartment had an expensive feel to it. To left past the lounge were a few doors littered around the wall. No doubt to bedrooms or other practical rooms of some description. No sign of their target anywhere in the room. Or at least from the limited view Clarke had.
But, the team leader did see something else that made him smile. Sat on a low table to the side of the lounge was a collection of tools and explosives. Everything needed to make a bomb. He could see putty like substances, detonators, nails and ball bearings. Whatever explosive device the target wanted to make, it would be deadly, Clarke thought as he motioned for the solider next to him to carry on.
Pike, moved forward and placed a small charge on the reinforced safety window of the apartment whilst Clarke remained looking through the sights of his weapon covering the two men. Once the charge was firmly attached, Clarke and Pike spun back round in their harnesses and moved back up the building a few meters, just enough to clear the danger of the blast. The other two soldiers had mirrored their actions on the next window along before declaring “Ready,” over the radio. Clarke took a breath as he mentally prepared for the assault and the lives that hung on his team's success.
“Breach, breach, breach!” The soldiers pressed the detonators in unison, causing the charges to explode and blow the window in, just enough of a blast to shatter it with ease but keep the men dangling above safe. Clarke instantly kicked off the building whilst descending down, swinging in through the window with precision. The type of flawless entry you only achieved through hours and hours of practice. The type of practice his team had done many times, in many different scenarios.
He landed square footed on the broken glass that crunched under his tactical black rubber boots and raised his weapon up whilst stepping right to allow Pike to swing in and land beside him. Equally as fluid and professional. Carter and Harvey, the other two members of Clarke’s team continued to mirror them, breaching through at almost the exact same time on the next window along.
Movement erupted from a door as the target suddenly sprinted into the lounge. Bolting towards the pile of bombing making equipment in the lounge. The target, realising his plan had failed, no doubt sprinting to try and set off the device and wipe out the building. Gaining at least some sort of victory.
All four soldiers aimed. Red laser dots flickering around the target’s torso. In unison they all fired their suppressed weapons. The silenced rounds delivering the death quickly and effectively. The man fell lifelessly to floor just short of the table of explosives in a crumbled heap. One by one, as the others provided cover on the target, they unclipped from their ropes and approached the man. Red laser dots dancing over the target as the weapons still aimed at the body.
Pike turned the body over after checking for any traps, ever cautious and well trained. Blood poured from the multiple wounds littered around his torso. “Target terminated!” Pike needlessly confirmed to the team as they all shared a grin of satisfaction. Clarke let out a sigh. Mission successful.
Only it wasn’t. Clarke suddenly realised the intelligence from the security agencies had been bad. Very bad. Bullets shattered through the wall from the far side of the lounge. A hail of inaccurate gunfire that smashed through the wooden partition. Pike staggered back as three rounds hit him
in the chest, then fell backwards with blood creeping out of his assault vest. The three soldiers instantly returned fire of their own towards the unknown assassins hidden behind the wall.
“Move!” Clarke shouted as he gripped at Pikes' assault vest straps and dragged him into the kitchen area, taking cover behind the thick modern steel appliances. Pike grimaced in pain from the bullet wounds as Clarke put pressure on them in an attempt to slow the bleeding. His body armour had slowed the rounds down, reducing their velocity and damage of the bullets. The vest now did its secondary job of keeping his wounds compressed and insides in.
Bullets kept whistling through the air. Smashing into the steel area and surrounding walls. The apartment was now a war zone as Carter flipped a heavy, large oak table over to provide some cover. The expensive table, that could seat eight easily, took all his strength to flip. Bullets smashed into it instantly, causing the fine varnished wood to splinter.
Luckily, whoever was firing at them were using 9mm rounds, no doubt from similar weapons Clarke’s team were fielding. If it was higher calibre weapons, then the rounds would puncture through the steel kitchen appliances and the oak table with ease, Clarke thought to himself as he assessed the situation whilst keeping pressure on Pike’s fatal wounds.
The room suddenly flashed white as a stray round caught one of the explosives. The blast was small, but enough to set the apartment on fire and send shrapnel bouncing round the room, one piece smashing through the oak table and wounding Carter by cutting his thigh open badly.
The room was a like a battlefield. The smell of smoke filled the air. Thick black smoke from the fire that was now raging through the apartment. Clarke shook off the effects of the blast and looked down at Pike. The gunshot wounds to his chest still bleeding heavily through Clarke’s fingers as he tried to stop the bleeding.
“Hang in there buddy!” Clarke ordered his friend as he looked at his face only to be greeted by lifeless eyes staring blankly back up at him. His heart sank as he looked through the thickening smoke towards the other two members of his team, crouching behind the oak table that was gradually breaking down from the impact of the endless stream of bullets. Both men fired towards the group of gunmen across the room, darting up to fire before dropping behind cover again. Carter was bleeding heavily from the wound to his thigh. His blood running down his leg and starting to pool around him on the polished marble floor.
“Contact, contact, contact!” He shouted over the radio net. “Multiple X-rays on our location! Man down… man down!”
“QRF is on route now Hunter One!” Command informed them as the remaining men tried to survive the overwhelming force attacking them.
“Shit! We gotta get out of here!” Carter shouted as he reloaded his weapon. Clarke looked over the counter he was crouched behind, towards the enemy that had broken out of the room with the decimated wall and were now firing from the cover of furniture and doorways spread around the apartment. He counted five. He also saw more explosives in the room beyond the shattered wall. Untouched by the spreading fire. So far untouched, he thought.
Then he saw it. A figure darting out of the room, across the open apartment towards the exit of the front door beyond the lounge. On his chest was the unmistakable sight of a suicide vest. “Stop him!” All three men tried to fire on the runner. But the suppressive fire from the enemy was too great. Harvey took a round in the shoulder and fell back screaming in pain. A bullet sliced Clarke’s arm, throwing his aim off the fleeing man, his bullets just missing the runner.
“Fuck!” Clarke shouted as the bomber disappeared from sight, out of the apartment, down the stairwell and towards the target of the school. Carter looked at Clarke as he shouted over the sound of the firefight.
“Back up won't make it in time. That bomber will hit that school before they can reach him!” Clarke knew he was right. “You gotta go… stop him!” Carter said as he fired back towards the enemy.
“I'm not leaving you!” Clarke said, knowing his two friends would be over whelmed quickly with one less shooter. “You have to!” Carter didn’t give him time to think. “Just go!”
Clarke was caught between the death of his friends, and the death of the innocent children as the bomber sprinted towards them, with only a slim chance of the QRF intercepting him in time. An impossible choice and time was running out. “Go!” Carter roared once more. Clarke let out a cry of frustration at the turn of events and impossible choice before him.
“I'll be back for you!” He finally spat out in blind rage.“Covering fire!” Carter shouted as the remaining men fired a heavy mass of bullets towards the enemy. Clarke leapt up and sprinted to his abseil rope, firing his weapon as he went, adding to the team's suppression of the enemy. Bullets kept whipping past him as he reached the rope.
No time to attach up. He threw the bag out the window which plummeted down towards the street, uncoiling the rope as it went. Clarke just gripped the rope as tight as he could with his lightweight tactical gloves and dived out the window as bullets smashed into the window frame behind him. He gripped with all his might and started to fast rope down. The tactical gloves just barley protecting his hands from the friction as he plummeted down at a lightening pace. The heat was burning his hands as the sound of gunfire grew distant above him. He kept squeezing as hard as he could, desperately trying to reduce his speed as the ground zoomed up towards him.
Clarke smashed down on top of an umbrella holding pedestrian who softened his landing a fraction, but he still hit tarmac hard as he rolled across the wet ground stopping just before the busy road as cars sped past, splashing water up as they went. The air was knocked from his lungs as he gasped for air. People had stopped on the street by the sudden appearance of the solider, all staring down at him as he tried to breath and kneel up.
Just as he staggered to his feet, he saw the man emerge from the building's entrance and start running towards the school, pushing past pedestrians who stopped and stared in panic at the bomber.
Clarke was moving, sprinting after him, lungs burning from the effort of the chase as he pushed past the mass of people with umbrellas partially blocking his view of the runner. Clarke’s rage and adrenaline had him catching up with the bomber quickly. When he judged he was almost close enough, he quickly unscrewed the suppressor to his MP5 and dropped it to the ground whilst stopping suddenly. He aimed his MP5 into the sky and fired off a burst. The loud gunfire having the desired effect.
The civilians blocking his line of sight ran for cover or dropped to the ground in panic allowing Clarke to take a clear aim at the fleeing bomber who glanced over his shoulder at the team leader. Clarke applied pressure to the trigger as he tried to steady his breathing, lining up an accurate shot. The terrorist spun round at the sight, his thumb on the detonator that he held up clearly for Clarke to see.
Clarke swore as he saw the dead man's switch. If the terrorist took his thumb off it, the bomb would detonate killing all the people around him. The bomber gave a deathly grin as he looked at Clarke and kept walking backwards towards the school that Clarke could now see close behind him. He waved his fist and detonator in front of him like shield.
Only Clarke had made the decision in a heartbeat. Even with pedestrians all around, who were now backing away from the man in terror, Clarke knew he had to take the shot. The blast would kill many. Including him, but less than if it went off in the school. And no kids. He aimed the foresight of the weapon onto the man's head.
But before he could fire, the sounds of sirens came flooding around the street corner as the police and QRF arrived. Coming into view between the school and the bomber. The man spun round as a police car pulled up and an armed officer jumped out aiming at him, shouting commands.
Clarke took the opportunity and sprinted forward, closing the gap in moments as the bomber screamed at the officer to stay back, wanting to get closer to his target before detonating. Clarke leapt at him, clapping his hands over the terrorist’s and keeping them pressed down on the deto
nator. The man lashed out, using his spare hand to punch at Clarke and try to get his hand free to detonate. Clarke threw the man to floor using a judo throw and dropped onto the arm still clutching tight. “Do it!” he screamed at the officer, who luckily read the situation quickly and accurately. The officer approached the two struggling men and put the muzzle of his assault rifle to the man's head and put a bullet straight through it in a heartbeat.
Clarke felt the warm blood and grey matter splash over the back of his head. The man went limb in an instant. Clarke pressed harder on the dead man's switch, ensuring the pressure stayed on and kept it from detonating. Then Clarke just laid there, holding the dead terrorists' hands clamped shut. His breathing heavy from the effort.
“Bomb disposal is here sir, just wait!” The officer said as Clarke laid helplessly on the wet floor. Through the heavy rain he could just make out the QRF storming into the building’s entrance and sprinting off towards the tenth floor. He glanced up the building to where he could still see muzzle flashes and hear the distant gunfire from his team’s firefight. They were still alive, he thought with hope.
Then his world changed forever. The tenth floor disappeared in a huge explosion. Flames leaping out of the windows, shattering the glass that rained down on to the wet tarmac below. Thick smoke bellowed out of the carcass of the building as Clarke could only grip the dead man’s hands tighter in despair. No one could have survived that. His team were dead. The team he was responsible for. The team he abandoned up there. Someone, or something triggered the explosives, taking his friends to their death.