Daria 2

by Martin E. Silenus

  Police and ambulance sirens wailing, people rushing away from the scene, the microphone standing naked, alone, serene and untouched amidst the collection of body parts and wet stains. With a gust of cold wind the threatening rain begins to sprinkle down from the dull gray sky.

  “Nice shot Matt.” says D.

  “Jesus, how much power did you crank that thing up to, the diseased rat just went completely blewie and exploded!” I exclaim.

  “Impressive display wasn’t it?” chuckles D. “Just enough power to make a very positive visual statement to answer your question!”

  “Guys we need to break the equipment down RFN and get out of here as some bright investigator will have had experience shooting people or varmints and be able to figure out where we shot from and come looking.” says Frosty.

  He’s right, I know he is, as I have shot thousands of varmints and I know from what the remains do after they have been hit that a bright lad can examine their placement and calculate a reverse azimuth to where we shot from. Once you know what to look for it is like leaving a sign pointing back at the shooter.

  I break the gear down and store it into the cases. D comes in with the quad copter and I attach its sling to the gear and she hauls it up and away back to the truck. It’s raining heavier now, the cold rain slanting down. I’m warm and dry in the suit and invisible with the cloaking turned on. Through the Pulse rifle scope I can see the Police and special investigators walking through the mess sticking little flags in the ground, taking pictures, and writing notes. They look miserable in the rain. Miserable and not too interested in what they are doing. But investigative processes must be followed regardless of the weather or the lack of interest in the victim.

  D is back.

  “Come on sailor, let me give you a ride.” say D.

  “Outstanding,” I reply as I clip in to the harness. “Giddy up”

  Invisible and quietly we lift up from the roof top, swing out and around and head back toward the truck some miles away at a convenient truck stop.

  Back at the truck we gather in D’s sea-can and watch the wall of monitors. The news feeds are full of the Islamic Muslim Cleric exploding and of a blurry feed from a security camera of a shadowy figure of Juthamah. Those few grainy video frames are from a security camera on a building which is some one thousand yards from the park, but on the same shot line from where we actually did the shooting. The natural tendency will be for the public to conclude the Daesh rats are killing one another.

  “Nice work on the grainy security vids D,” I say. “They look just tantalizing enough to be authentic.”

  “The sisters did a great job of them didn’t they?” replies D. “And of allowing them to be leaked/discovered by some of the keenest investigative reporters.”

  “It all plays very well and very credible, and the operation has executed very smoothly.” says Frosty. “I have no comments on how to improve it at all, we should be extremely proud of our work.”

  “For sure, and just for the record, I have no remorse whatsoever for exploding this guy, not a bit; he was just another Daesh fat diseased rat varmint!” I state.

  Chapter 28: Kukri

  We are relaxing in D’s sea-can and chatting on this, that and the other, including maintenance items which need to be done.

  “I have some ideas around our straw man terrorist Juthamah.” says D.

  “Like what?” inquires Frosty?

  “Well as we know the ISIL or Daesh seem to like beheading people for the shock and outrage values of the killing. It’s designed to raise the act of killing to a higher level. No different than the middle ages when they used a guillotine, or had people drawn and quartered to horrify the public into obedience.” says D.

  “Ok, with you so far.” says Frosty.

  “Are you familiar with Kukri knives?” asks D.

  “You mean the nasty machete type blade curved inward from the handle, I think the British army carried them at one point.” I say.

  “Yes indeed that’s the knife. It’s a Nepalese tool developed as a utility device and weapon characteristically carried by the feared Gurkha warriors.” replies D.

  “Now then, how much do you know about ceramic knives with carbon fiber grips?” asks D.

  “Their light, extremely sharp, cannot be detected by metal detectors, but will break if you use them as a prying tool.” I reply.

  “Very good Matt, one more question. Ever heard of a vibrating blade or sonic shaft knife?” teases D.

  “Good grief, where is this going D?” asks Frosty.

  “Well it’s going here. Given the Daesh like to cut off heads, and given our imaginary terrorist Juthamah is a rogue Daesh terrorist, it follows that some of Juthamah’s victims should be beheaded. And to do it quickly and effectively it would be very efficient to use a ceramic Kukri knife with carbon fiber grips and a sonic vibrating blade. It can cut through a four inch by four inch post in one easy swing. If you touch the blade you lose your fingers. The sonic vibrating blade cuts so quickly the spine of the blade can be thicker to avoid breaking if a pry movement is required.” replies D.

  “Too bad we don’t have one, or do we?” asks Frosty with a smile.

  “Ahh, but we do gentlemen, check the package over there by the combat suit Matt, and please be very careful if you want to keep all your fingers.” chuckles D.

  I open the package very gingerly as I like all my fingers and have grown quite attached to them over the years. The contents reveal themselves as a black web harness to sling the knife on the back of the combat suit. The knife sheath is flat black of uncertain material; from it protrudes a black slightly curved carbon fiber handle with larger pommel and deep finger notches. I grip the handle and very carefully pull it out of the sheath. A thumb rise and finger guard keeps my hand well protected from the blade. The spine is thicker than a normal knife and extends out some seven inches on the same slight curve as the handle and then knuckles over for another eight inches to the point of the knife. The cheek of the knife is three inches broad at the widest point and swells down from the point and curves back in a long lazy S shape to the heel. All told the blade is fifteen inches of wet black killing device. It’s utterly gorgeous and purely functional for one task.

  “Mother of god,” I breathe. “It’s singing, I can just hear it very high up in the frequency range.”

  “It is doing exactly that,” says D. “The cutting edge is vibrating at an extremely high frequency, so fast you cannot see it move. The high speed vibration allows you to cut through even metal just like a chop saw. Oh, by the way it recognizes you, and your grip is the only one which can activate it. And it shuts down when you place it back in its sheath.”

  “And this came from where?” asks Frosty.

  “I started thinking about this when we came up with the Juthamah idea. It seemed to make sense, so I asked the soul sisters to investigate ceramic knives and in particular sonic vibro-blades. Of course no sonic blade knives exist, but with some engineering we found a way to construct one. The operational gear is enclosed in the handle of the knife. We’re quite proud of what we built.” replies D.

  “Who are the soul sisters? I ask.

  “Why, my three backup replications of me” grins D.

  “You girls did one hell of a job on this knife, it’s a killer.” I admire as I wave the Kukri around.

  “I certainly hope so Matt, as you are going to have a chance to use it soon.” replies D.

  “Why whatever could you mean Lady D?” chuckles Frosty.

  Chapter 29: SHAPE

  “Another assignment is what I mean, and this one will test our skill sets considerably.” says D. “We have been asked to “use extreme prejudice” to terminate a prisoner in a high security detention center. He is currently being held at the SHAPE, Belgium Military Base in the interrogation unit where they are attempting to soften him up.”

  “SHAPE as in Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe, I presume?” asks Frosty.

  �
�Yup, that’s the one.” says D.

  “Soften him up as in how?” I ask.

  “As in hanging by his arms from ropes, defecating in his clothes, surrounded by very bright lights and bombarded by thundering thrash metal rock loud enough to loosen fillings, all 24 x 7. It’s called sleep deprivation and is very effective.” replies Frosty.

  “Ah yes, I have heard of the technique. So, why do they want us to kill him, just kill him themselves?” I ask.

  “Well your guess is as good as mine, but I would bet that the prisoner may be on the verge of spilling some information that may implicate people on the good guy side that would prove to be very embarrassing if the public got wind of it. So to tie off loose ends they want him terminated.” says Frosty.

  “I think you are correct, oh and a couple more things. As the prisoner is on a military base, they use patrol dogs.” says D. “So it’s going to be a challenge, but if Juthamah could infiltrate and behead the prisoner the shit would really be in the wind wouldn’t it?” chuckles D.

  “Shit in the wind eh, your vocabulary and slang speech is coming right along D.” I tease.

  “Of course this could all just be a setup to get us to kill some poor schmuk for no other purpose than to capture us or learn as much as they can about who we are. Either way I don’t like it!” says Frosty.

  “The technology level of the base and the use of guard dogs make this much more of a challenge than we have had to date. I’m confident we can get in and do the job and get out again without a trace as I can bypass their best security systems without much problem. Not by blocking any signals but by looping what they regularly see. The combat suit will not show up on FLIR as it is insulated and will be the same temp as the surroundings. Local radar, motion sensors, floor pressure sensors, and laser trip beams I can intercept and adjust their signals. However the dogs not being technical are a larger problem for me. If they get anywhere close to you they will catch you. Not only from scent, but also by instinct as they can sense the presence of a threat. They may not see you or smell you but they will lead the handlers directly to where you are.” says D.

  “So suppose we do get in, do the hit, and get out, what then? Have we not demonstrated that our technology is superior to theirs and thereby got ourselves defined and in a corner, so to speak?” asks Frosty. “We have shown them we cannot be stopped, so we have by demonstration escalated the cat and mouse game. Not to mention what does this do to our Juthamah image which we are promoting. Not likely a rogue Islamic Muslim Terrorist will just saunter onto the base and do the kill. So if we make the kill have we not just killed Juthamah?”

  “Yes and no,” says D. “There is a small group of very high level spooks who know that a certain firm (us) is being given termination contracts. They know they are completed because we tell them so and they can see via their own devices and staff. The fact that we release images of Juthamah is neither here nor there for these spooks and they likely appreciate the concept of seeding a rogue Daesh agent. It diverts suspicion away from them. Keeps the world looking in the wrong direction. The other plodding middle level conventional agencies are the problem as they are attempting to do their job which is to investigate the who and how of these terminations. They have no idea that a higher level group of spooks in the same government is ordering these hits.”

  “We need a simple safe distant solution which we can use whereby we have not tipped our hand as to our capability. A smarter solution so to speak, how about we just poison him? They must be giving him fluids to keep him alive. Haven’t we got a nice quick poison we can slip into his water?” I ask.

  “I like it.” says Frosty. “We can use our superior ability to invoke a simple solution; thereby sidestepping this confrontation of ability they have setup.”

  “Does this mean we do not get paid? I ask. “Did they not ask for this guy to be killed with extreme prejudice, as in beheading?”

  “There will be no pay, if no beheading; it’s a push to sidestep the setup. Though we might leak a ghostly image of Juthamah poisoning his water. Just for shits and giggles and to rub their faces in outsmarting them.” grins Frosty.

  “My vote is to go in and behead the prisoner so we can get paid. I don’t see a significant strategic advantage to fussing around poisoning this guy for no compensation. That is risk without benefit. The high level spooks do not want us apprehended as it means they have to develop another operative team to do the same work. More risk for them without benefit.” says D as she idly twists her hair around a finger.

  “While we could do the invisible combat suit and copter methodology, we could also likely just walk onto the base with all the other folks who work there in various administration positions and go on and off the base every day. With the correct documentation we could blend in and never be noticed. That way the dogs are not going to be a problem as they are not patrolling for intruders during the day.” I ponder out loud.

  “We could do that as the confusion and obfuscation of the base staff coming and going would screen our operation nicely. However my position is, it should be Matt, in full combat suit and invisibility that slips in and beheads the prisoner. We have these superior tools and to not utilize them to maximum benefit is neither strategic, logical, nor operationally sound.” says D.

  In the end after further discussion, opinions, risk assessment, and more discussions about getting paid or not paid depending on our methodology, we elected to combine the best elements of both plans. It was hard to argue against D’s logic and reasoning as both Frosty and I knew she had a broader grasp and understanding of the playing field. We were the checks and balances and we could not uncover any flaws in the plan we unanimously adopted.

  We would use the quad copter and combat suit, full armament, full invisibility cloaking, full security scan and interdiction. Come in low and slow and set down on roof of prisoner cells. I detach drop to the ground, D distracts guard, I slip into the cell behead the prisoner, slip out, scramble back up onto the roof, reattach to quad copter and we get out of Dodge. Nice and clean, quick and tidy. Or so we thought.

  Chapter 30: Op Time

  “Ok sailor, got your gear together, gone to the bathroom, ready for a little morning jaunt?” asks D.

  “All set, try to not fly us into the ground, forest, or maybe the antennae farm, ok D?” I chide.

  “Ha, just hang on and don’t drop your gun or knife, human!” retorts D.

  We move in at 7:45 am in the morning to catch the civilian morning rush onto the base. It’s cool and damp with ground mist and fog. Sounds are muffled; the air is thick, lazy and smells of trees. There’s a line of people and vehicles streaming onto the base. Folks are in “coffee and get to work mode” and nothing else. Most are irritable and concerned with nothing other than attempting to be in the right place at the right time, just get out of my frickin way and let me get to my damned desk, so typical of everyone on a gloomy morning. Security patrols are shuffling back and forth in a containment arc around the entry points on the off chance some crazy fool would attempt to break into the base.

  D has all the electronic security facilitates covered; everything is looping a clean signal back to the monitoring equipment and guards. Not that we expect any detection anyway, but two levels of safety provision is confidence inspiring.

  We move slowly and quietly, invisible at about eighty feet of altitude over the external security fencing of the base, some five hundred yards from the main entrance. Security staff isn’t watching in our direction, and even if they were, they would not see much of anything, perhaps a little haze, nothing else. It’s a short two hundred yards to the prisoner cell complex. Well complex is a fancy word for several well-guarded sea-cans and temporary buildings surrounded by two layers of security fencing. No sign of any dog patrols.

  I disconnect and go prone as D settles the quad copter down on the roof, engines slowly turning over. Dropping down the eight or nine feet into the patrol area between the sea-cans I give D the ok.


  D activates the door guard’s radio and in his superiors voice orders him to check the patrol alley way in between the buildings where I stand invisible. The guard confirms and steps away from the door and around the corner with his M-14 at the ready. He walks past me and when he is well away from the front of the building I reach out and whack him on the back of the neck. He goes down in a crumpled heap without a sound. I slip around to the front of the c-can and open the door just enough to slip in and pull the door shut.

  The stereo is thundering heavy metal thrash rock loud enough to loosen filling in your teeth, immediately my audio pickups reduce gain and the noise quietens in my helmet. Christ, you can feel the pounding of the music in my chest and stomach right through the suit. Four construction tripods each with two flood lights each surround the remains of the prisoner. The pathetic wretch is hanging by his arms on chains from the ceiling. He is naked and in a pile of his own filth. I immediately think of the old movies of the dark medieval middle ages and the prisoner torture chambers in the dungeons.

  No time for such non-productive thoughts, I draw the Kukri and step behind the prisoner, hold his hair with one hand to get his neck positioned and make a short swing with the knife. The blade passes through his neck so smoothly I hardly feel any feedback, his head comes free and I drop it in the pile of human filth at his feet. Blood pulses weakly from his neck. Jesus, this poor wretch was more dead than alive and the beheading put him out of untold misery!

  I am just reaching for the door when a warning blip on my helmet visor comes alive. At the same time D whispers a warning of someone approaching the door. It swings open and a civilian steps in. He can’t see me, and couldn’t see me even if I was visible in an orange ballerina costume, as he is transfixed and frozen by the sight of the headless prisoner. Stunned and mentally pounded by the barrage of heavy metal sound, shocked visually, and choked by the stench, the civilian cannot move a step, he is frozen in horror.