Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Several rounds of gunfire exploded to her left, coming from the hangar entrance. The Tunisian soldier’s were making their move, with one providing cover while the other scrambled inside.

  When Stasia’s vision returned to where Reyos Huskich had been standing just a moment earlier, she found him gone.

  Shit.

  More gunfire sounded, followed by a high pitched howl of pain. Stasia couldn’t tell if the sound came from Mac, or one of the Tunisian soldiers.

  Where is he?

  There was more gunfire, another scream, and then silence, with still no sign of the hijacking air marshal.

  The outline of Mac Walker could be seen leaning against a wall, his left hand reaching out to steady himself while his right hand was struggling with something on the AK-47. Stasia wanted to yell out to Mac, to warn him, but knew doing so would reveal her own position and eliminate the advantage of surprise against Huskich.

  Then she saw the air marshal no more than forty feet to Mac’s right, pointing his own assault rifle at Mac’s head. From that distance Stasia knew he wouldn’t miss.

  She raised her weapon and fired several rounds without regard to aim, hoping to get lucky, but at the very least, buying Mac some time to move. Mac Walker did indeed react quickly, but not away from Huskich, as Stasia thought he would, but rather directly toward him, launching his body onto the stunned air marshal who had fallen to the ground as several rounds ripped through the air no more than a few feet above him.

  The sound of the struggle between Mac and Reyos Huskich echoed throughout the hangar as Stasia moved quickly toward the two men with her weapon at the ready. She couldn’t fire though, as Mac and Huskich rolled across the hard packed earth, fighting to overcome the other, both men’s rifles laying on the ground several paces away from them.

  Stasia could see Mac was weakening, his struggle quickly transforming from one of attack, to one of desperate survival. She ran to where Reyos Huskich sat atop the former Navy SEAL, with both of his powerful hands clamped around Mac’s neck, choking the life from him. It was then she saw the wound at

  the back of Mac’s head, wondering to herself how he had managed to continue fighting at all.

  “Let him go you prick…NOW.”

  Huskich looked up at Stasia and snarled his rebuke, his eyes lit with fanatical fire.

  “No woman will ever order me. Not in this life. That plane is ours. It is Allah’s will!”

  Mac’s face was turning a deep red as his eyes rolled into his skull, a low whistling of air issuing from his half open mouth.

  Stasia knew there was no reasoning with madness. The only option was to kill it.

  Gunfire echoed once again from inside the hangar, but it was not from Stasia’s weapon, but rather from someone behind her. She felt the hot sting of a bullet scorching across her upper right shoulder, and knew she had been shot. The wound provided all the distraction Reyos Huskich needed as he lunged upward to grasp onto Stasia’s AK-47, attempting to rip it from her hands.

  The Vatican Intelligence operative recovered from the shock of being shot nearly as soon as it happened, twisting her body under Huskich’s outreached arms and using her right leg to brace itself behind the air pilot’s legs, allowing her to send the much heavier opponent crashing onto the ground.

  Huskich maintained his grip on Stasia’s weapon though, which caused her to fall as well. The air marshal used his own momentum to roll on top of her, his right fist smashing into the side of her head. The blow caused Stasia’s vision to momentarily fade out, as her considerable and instinctive desire for self preservation screamed that she remain conscious.

  The air marshal attempted another punch to her face, but Stasia had managed to free her right arm, ignoring the pain of her bullet wound, and sending the bottom half of her palm crashing upward into Huskich’s chin, snapping the man’s head back. Then her right leg slid upward toward her chest, allowing the inside of her right knee to curl around the air marshal’s neck. The strength of that leg proved too much for Reyos Huskich as his upper body was pushed violently into the dirt with enough force it left him gasping for breath.

  Stasia Wellington knew if she were to survive this encounter, hesitation was not an option. As the air marshal attempted to push himself up from a crouching position, his lungs still crying out for air, the bottom of Stasia’s right foot impacted the bridge of Huskich’s nose, tearing cartilage, and sending a torrent of blood pouring down over his mouth and chin.

  The air marshal’s eyes had been overtaken by the realization he was truly in trouble, unbelieving it could be happening at the hands of a woman.

  Stasia saw that realization in Reyos Huskich, and it brought her pleasure, but not so much pleasure as when her left foot smashed into the right side of the air marshal’s jaw, choking him on three of his own dislodged teeth, and then the satisfying crunch of the hijacker’s throat being utterly destroyed by the heel of her right foot as it slammed down onto the vulnerable cartilage, leaving Huskich a soon to be dead, quivering mass of broken flesh.

  Guess you should have followed a woman’s orders after all you pig.

  29.

  Mac Walker watched Stasia dispense of Huskich through the blurred haze of eyes still struggling to focus after his head injury. He marveled at how fast she moved, and the way in which she was able to leverage Huskich’s own bulk against him.

  The woman knew how to fight.

  There was gunfire coming from somewhere else in the hangar.

  In the space of just a few seconds, Mac fought to focus his thoughts. He was certain someone had fired toward Stasia just moments earlier, which meant they were likely preparing to do so again.

  Mac could smell the dark, musky odor of dirt, mixing with the more acrid, burnt paper stench of recent gunfire. Stasia was moving toward him, crouching low in the gloom, trying to present a smaller target to whoever remained inside the hangar. She knelt next to Mac and gently pushed his head forward to examine the wound.

  “Oh my, you got yourself quite a bit of metal lodged in this hard head of yours, Mr. Walker.”

  Stasia was looking down at an inch long piece of shrapnel from the hangar wall that had been blasted apart from the Tunisian soldiers’ gunfire outside and then imbedded into the bone of Mac Walker’s skull. A slightly larger piece would likely have found itself all the way into Mac’s brain.

  “That’s ok, at least it’s not something I use much.”

  Stasia smiled at Mac’s attempt at humor, while at the same time scanning the area for any sign of where the most recent round of gunfire had originated from.

  “Help me back up. We’re still not alone in here.”

  Leaning heavily on Stasia’s shoulder, Mac Walker once again stood upright, ignoring his body’s demand he lay back down.

  “You’re shot.”

  Stasia had forgotten about the bullet wound to her right shoulder, but Mac’s reminder pushed the pain back to the forefront of her awareness.

  “Thanks, it felt fine until you mentioned it.”

  Mac was looking at the entry wound, and then located the exit wound. Satisfied it was little more than a flesh wound, he offered the Vatican Intelligence operative a grin.

  “Next time – duck.”

  Raucous gunfire ripped through the hangar, though its location was well removed from where Mac and Stasia stood. They both looked toward the 767, hearing the collective screams of passengers, followed by yet more blasts from at least two AK-47s.

  “Oh my god.”

  Both Stasia and Mac ran toward the boarding steps, though Stasia was a few steps quicker as Mac struggled to overcome the urge to pass out. Before she reached the bottom of the steps, the primary boarding door opened as a body fell backwards, tumbling end over end before coming to a stop halfway down the steps, its head twisted like some grotesque mannequin, leaving its face staring blankly behind its shoulders.

  “Who is it?”

  Mac called up to Stasia, who had descended the steps two at ti
me and then stopped to look down at the bullet riddled body with the broken neck.

  “The captain.”

  Mac Walker forced himself up toward Stasia, taking each step carefully as he fought to keep the world from spinning into darkness around him.

  The lifeless form of Captain Rogers stared back at Mac through unblinking eyes, an assault rifle still clenched in his right hand.

  “Help! He’s bleeding! We need help!”

  The plea for help came from inside the plane. Stasia was once again on the move, with Mac struggling to keep up. He could hear people crying, while others were attempting to comfort them.

  Just inside the 767’s entrance, adjacent to the cockpit door, was Walter. He sat on the floor with his back against a wall, his legs splayed out in front of him. Both of his hands covered the blood drenched front of his Atlantis Airlines shirt. Mac could see the blood oozing out with each beat of Walter’s heart. He had been shot at least a half dozen times.

  Walter looked up at both Stasia and Mac and gave a weak half shrug of his shoulders. His eyes said far more than the shrug – confident there was to be no more tomorrows.

  Mac Walker knew that look all too well, having seen it more times than he cared to recall in the eyes of enemies and comrades alike. Within that knowing was the understanding that his own inevitable end would come to pass as well, and he hoped to meet that end as bravely and selflessly as Walter was doing.

  Eldra moved from the main cabin toward Walter and leaned down to cradle his head in her arms, and then whispered something into his ear. Mac watched as Walter smiled and mumbled a thank you. The blood from his wounds continued to push outward between his fingers for a few more seconds, and then the flow slowed, and finally, stopped.

  Walter Hill was dead.

  Eldra’s eyes glistened with tears as she looked up at Stasia and Mac, the old woman’s lower lip trembling as her right hand continued to gently stroke Walter’s hair.

  “He was so brave. We knew someone was coming, trying to get in, and he told us to lie down and be still, and then…then the gunfire. It was so loud, so terrible. I know it was no more than a second or two, but it felt like forever, that awful-awful sound. He put himself between that killer and all of us. This poor, beautiful young man did that for people he didn’t even know. I just…”

  Eldra’s words were cut off by her own muffled sobs.

  Stasia lifted her head upward, and then turned around to look down the boarding steps.

  “You hear that?”

  Mac closed his eyes and then confirmed what Stasia indicated – the unmistakable, growling roar of two F-14s passing overhead.

  “Sounds like the cavalry has finally arrived.”

  After uttering those words, and hoping the safety of the passengers was in fact secured, Mac Walker finally relented to the demands of his wounded head.

  He passed out.

  30.

  Stephen Mardian wanted the meeting to be over.

  “Thank you for taking the time to conduct this informal hearing with us Mr. Walker. We’ll let you know if we need any further information from you.”

  Mac had been sitting across a Pentagon conference room table from Stephen Mardian, Ray Tilley, and General Tinny, for the last two hours. It had been nine days since the firefight inside of the makeshift island hangar off the Tunisian coast. Three of those days were spent recovering aboard a U.S. naval vessel following the removal of the shrapnel from the back of his head, and the five days after that sitting inside a D.C. hotel room awaiting further instructions from Tilley.

  “What happened to Colonel Mabazza?”

  General Tinny’s annoyance was clearly conveyed by his fleshy frown and exaggerated clearing of his throat.

  “The response to this incident in ongoing and doesn’t concern you, Mr. Walker. The fewer questions you ask, the more appreciative of your cooperation we will be. Understood?”

  Mac Walker leaned back in his chair while folding his arms across his chest, taking a moment to look each of the three men in the eyes before continuing. Ray Tilley had told him just a few days ago of the Tunisian colonel’s involvement in the hijacking, but as of yet, none of that information had made its way to the media, and Mac wanted to know why.

  “I would like to think your appreciation would include telling me the truth, General.”

  Mac watched as Mardian glanced at Tilley, his look a “keep your boy in line” order.

  General Tinny’s frown intensified as his nostrils flared.

  “I haven’t lied to you, Mr. Walker if that is what you’re suggesting.”

  Mac shook his head. Few things in this world were as pathetic, or offensive, as a politician dressed in soldier’s clothes. General Tinny was clearly a cover my ass politician of the worst kind.

  “Well you sure as hell haven’t told me the truth. Where are the media reports regarding the Tunisian government’s involvement? What about the plot to attack the Vatican? Why isn’t that being disseminated? Where is the other flight attendant, Danika? We’re almost two weeks from when Atlantis Flight 444 was hijacked, and all I’m hearing are stories about mechanical difficulties, miscommunication between the flight crew and the airlines, and a possible emergency landing that left some people dead. Was that you who cooked up that plate of bullshit, General?”

  Stephen Mardian leaned forward, his perfectly manicured hands gently folding into each other.

  “Actually, that would be me who came up with that, Mr. Walker – at least partly. The surviving members of the flight crew, as would be expected, are being detained, and at least one of them, the Danika you mention, is cooperating with various agencies. As you should know by now, there are certain things we must do to protect the interests of the country and its people. This is one of those times. A lie that potentially saves lives, is an honorable thing. You may not like it, but what you like or don’t like, means nothing to me, or the people I answer to. The sooner you understand that, the sooner you come to terms with your own clearly inflated sense of self importance, the more productive a relationship you can have with Project Icon.”

  Mac Walker could feel his anger quickly rising within him, threatening to overtake the need to remain calm. How he despised these D.C. hacks and their never ending schemes and power plays amongst themselves.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Mardian, I don’t give one little shit about your definition of honor, I just want to know why we ain’t going after that Tunisian son-of-a-bitch who tried to see a planeload of chemical weapons dumped all over Rome? At the very least shouldn’t we be sending a message to every other asshole in the world we ain’t taking this shit no more? Wasn’t that supposed to be the lesson of 9-11?”

  General Tinny shook his head as he smirked back at Mac Walker.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, Walker. I appreciate what you did helping to save those passengers, and keeping that plane from taking off, but you need to understand, there’s more to this than just that plane, and the people you saved – a lot more. The world is changing, and we need to make certain to protect ourselves, and our interests, in the midst of that change.”

  Ray Tilley tapped the table lightly with the tips of his right hand fingers, trying to intervene before Mac’s increasingly agitated opinion of the general and Stephen Mardian blew up right in front of them.

  “How about you give Mr. Walker and myself a little time alone gentleman? I’d like to finalize our offer of having him join Project Icon.”

  General Tinny opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Mardian’s raised right hand.

  “That would be fine Ray, let us know how it goes. As for you Mr. Walker, I do hope to have you working for us. Clearly, you bring the kind of talents that could be put to very good use, and despite what you may be feeling now, we really are the good guys.”

  The general stood up while glaring down at the still seated Mac Walker, and then left the conference room without saying a word. Stephen Mardian offered a slight smile
, adjusted his custom made, dark red tie, and then followed behind the general, leaving Mac and Tilley by themselves at the table.

  “Mac, I know you’re pissed, but people like that are a necessary evil. Without them, there is no Project Icon. They provide the funding, the diplomatic protections, identifications, all the peripheral tools we need to do what we do. You don’t need to worry about them though – that’s what I’m for. Once you’re in the field, you don’t have anyone to answer to but yourself. Tinny doesn’t like you, says you don’t play well with others, but you remember Francesca Porter with the Senate Intelligence Committee? She gave you an enthusiastic green light, told Mardian personally she thinks you would be an incredibly valuable asset to us.”

  Mac’s arms were still folded across his chest as he looked back at Ray Tilley.

  “What happened to Stasia Wellington? Is she ok?”

  Tilley nodded, sensing Mac’s concern for the Vatican Intelligence operative was both genuine, and well beyond a mere passing interest.

  “As far as I know, yes. I’m certain they’ve debriefed her just as we did you, and from there, I suppose she’s back to work doing whatever she was doing before. Believe me, we’ve tried to figure out what that is, but the Vatican is not terribly forthcoming about such information. I take it she impressed you?”

  Mac grinned to himself as he recalled Stasia’s toughness and considerable combat abilities.

  “Yeah – she did.”

  Ray Tilley paused for a moment, and then proceeded with his offer to Mac Walker.

  “So are you in, Mac? Can I put you down as operational for Project Icon? My plan is to assemble you a team, just a few other high quality operatives like yourself, and then some get in get out assignments, tough, dangerous - but lucrative. I need to know now though if you’re in, or out.”

  Mac closed his eyes and rolled his head slowly from side to side, noting the twinge of pain that still existed where the shrapnel fragment was recently removed from the back of his skull.