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

by D. W. Ulsterman

  It was during this time he had been given repeated assurances by figures within both the United Nations and the American government that his work was very much appreciated. A new world was emerging, one that would be absent silly religious disputes or national borders. Instead it would be a world dominated by absolute power and authority over others where a chosen few were to oversee the lesser masses. Ramtin was determined to make a place for himself near the head of that table.

  The limo absorbed most of the bumps on the long and narrow dirt road that led to Allid Safarah’s farm, but not all of them. Ramtin winced as the vehicle bounded over a particularly large dip in the road. He shook his head in disbelief that someone of his standing was actually making a journey in the muck and mud of rural Illinois. Few things disgusted him more than the seemingly endless and vast filth of the American countryside.

  Ramtin glanced up to see the outline of his longtime driver and personal security detail through the dark glassed partition. Abdul Arif had been a soldier in Saddam Hussein’s elite Republican Guard combat brigade. Though a tribal Shia, Arif earned hard won respect as a fearless fighter during Iraq’s almost nine year war against Shia-dominated Iran. The then young soldier rose quickly through the ranks of Saddam’s military and was among the few Iraqi’s who remained near the Kuwait border and fought back against coalition forces during the Gulf War of the early 1990’s. It was after that war that Abdul decided to visit family in Dubai, and it was there he met Ramtin Armeen at a nightclub. Two years later Armeen offered him a job providing security which, given the pay was nearly ten times that which he was earning in the Republican Guard, Abdul promptly accepted.

  That was nearly a decade ago, and the forty-eight year old Abdul Arif had not left Ramtin Armeen’s side since. And though the pay was excellent, Abdul would have happily done the job for free as he had fallen in love with Ramtin, a man the former Iraqi soldier considered both brilliant and beautiful.

  Ramtin saw the farmhouse coming into view and then the multiple pig pens just beyond. It appeared a man who the billionaire assumed was Allid Safarah stood just outside one of the pens likely watching over the individual Hamid told him was Mac Walker, the one who said he was working with the Iranian government.

  Well, Mr. Walker, I will confirm that claim to be true or not, and you will soon be dead regardless.

  Ramtin lowered the limo’s glass partition.

  “Drive past the house and park near the pens.”

  The billionaire glanced at Allid’s home, shocked that a human being could live in a place of such disrepair, surrounded by so much dirt and mud, and strangely aggressive open space.

  The limo came to a stop forty feet from where Allid stood with his back to the vehicle. The farmer’s refusal to even turn around annoyed Ramtin, a man unaccustomed to being so ignored.

  Perhaps I’ll leave here having killed him too.

  It wasn’t an idle thought. Ramtin Armeen held little value for any life beyond his own. He knew that by tomorrow the world would be both horrified and mesmerized by the reports of mass casualties in locations throughout the United States. The media would dutifully broadcast and re-broadcast the bloodied remains of countless children and the underlying and undeniable message to all of America would be none of you are safe.

  People would demand they be protected. The government would promise to do so, and that thirst for power and authority would then necessitate an approach well beyond the borders of the United States. It would have to be a global effort, and there Ramtin would find his greatest opportunity. The epicenter for this effort had already been hatched in Chicago and would soon spread throughout America and then beyond. He would continue to work with both the Saudis and the Iranians, all the while improving his own standing, wealth, and influence.

  If thousands of children were to die to ensure that conclusion, so be it. The world had become too crowded anyways. The planet’s long term health required men like him to outline acceptable behaviors for everyone else. Those who refused the necessary mandates would simply no longer be allowed to exist at all.

  The billionaire was so engrossed in his own plans for the future his awareness of the present suffered terribly. Ramtin had stepped out of the limo and didn’t immediately notice that the man he thought to be Allid Safarah was actually just an empty jacket hanging from a post. His driver and bodyguard had noticed though. Abdul’s gun was already drawn as he instinctively moved to push Ramtin back into the limousine.

  “What is going on?”

  Ramtin’s question wasn’t answered by his bodyguard. Instead both men looked toward the small covered porch of the farmhouse. It was there Ramtin received his answer, an answer that caused the man who hoped to one day rule much of the world to be reminded he was just a man after all, and more than capable of meeting the same death he intended to visit upon so many others.

  “This can’t be.”

  8.

  Mac Walker was delighted to have found Allid’s weapons stash in the hidden room of the farmhouse cellar. He was particularly pleased to be able to point a fully functional, albeit older model, Iranian-made shoulder-launched RPG-7 at the black limousine as it crept toward the pig pens.

  Mac waited just behind the farthest corner of the home’s covered porch and was even more impressed at the sight of two men exiting the vehicle.

  That’s Ramtin Armeen himself!

  Mac’s eyes narrowed as he tried to get a better look at the limousine driver, hoping to confirm it was Hamid Gilani. Having both men in front of the RPG-7 would bring a swift and decisive end to his current assignment, and hopefully then save a great many lives in the process.

  But that’s not Hamid.

  At the very moment Mac’s mind formed that statement both Ramtin Armeen and Abdul Arif looked up and then directly at, Mac Walker. The Project Icon operative hesitated for a half second as he noted the limousine driver was armed before Mac pulled the RPG’s trigger.

  The rocket propelled grenade unleashed a loud whoosh as Mac braced himself to avoid being pushed over by the force of the rocket’s booster propellant activating. Mac knew as soon as the weapon fired his aim was as accurate as he would have hoped. The rocket arced across the property followed by a thin trail of black-grey smoke before detonating just under the vehicle’s rear quarter panel.

  Normally such a blast would have lifted a car several inches off of the ground, but Ramtin’s heavily fortified, armor plated blast resistant limousine merely groaned from deep within its metal frame.

  Mac dropped the RPG and picked up the 1970’s era Chinese made AK-47 that he had also taken from the pig farmer’s small but impressive collection. His keen eyes scanned the space between the farmhouse and the limousine, looking for any sign of movement. It appeared a shoe was sticking out the back of the half-open passenger door, but Mac was unable to locate the second man.

  The pigs, frightened by the RPG detonation, were shrieking loudly.

  I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow you jihadi scum to kingdom come…

  The shoe inside the limo moved slowly from side to side, indicating whoever was inside, and Mac had already assumed it was Ramtin Armeen, remained alive.

  The driver reacted quick – real quick. That indicates some kind of specialist training. He managed to push Armeen back into the car, and then somehow disappear. Maybe he’s in the limo too waiting to shoot my face off if I try and take a peek inside.

  Mac wished for another grenade to place into the RPG, but he had found only the one. The AK-47 and its 30-round magazine would have to do. Keeping his eyes locked onto the limousine’s partially open passenger door, he made his way carefully down the porch steps and toward the parked vehicle.

  As he came within twenty feet of the limo, Mac fell into a crouch so he could glance under the car to see if the second man was hiding on the other side. Finding nothing, he stood back up and continued walking toward the vehicle.

  Just as Mac Walker stood back up, Abdul Arif silently repositio
ned himself near the front right wheel he remained hidden behind. He thought he could hear Ramtin breathing from inside the limo and hoped the billionaire had been protected from the brunt of the RPG blast. As for Abdul himself, he had escaped injury almost entirely after diving underneath the bottom of the heavily fortified car and then crawling to the other side.

  Abdul had no idea who the man was that fired from the farmhouse porch. He only knew it was his job to see that man dead and Ramtin Armeen returned to safety. The former Iraqi Republican Guard officer intended to do just that. Abdul could hear the other man’s footsteps getting closer. He held his breath, grateful for the familiar weight of the Tariq nine-millimeter pistol in his right hand. It was a weapon that had served him well for many years, and Abdul was confident it would do so once again.

  Mac peered into the limo’s backseat and confirmed it was in fact Ramtin Armeen who lay inside on his back. Mac could see the billionaire’s chest raising and lowering, indicating he was still alive.

  That just leaves the other guy. Now where the hell did he go?

  The front seat appeared empty. Mac shook his head as his eyes scanned the pig pens, increasingly confused as to how a man could seemingly disappear.

  Normally in combat, by the time one sees their enemy, it is too late. The best soldier develops the inherent ability to sense danger before that danger actually and fully manifests itself. It was the split second difference between death or survival.

  Mac caught a flash of movement to his left and instinctively knew it was the second man he had been looking for. He also realized he didn’t have time to raise the AK-47 and fire before the other man did the same with his own weapon.

  Damn.

  Abdul’s first shot missed no more than an inch beyond Mac’s left ear. The air literally sizzled as the bullet flew past. Mac instantly dropped to his knees, seeking refuge behind the limousine’s front left side as he pointed the AK-47 in front of him and unleashed a burst of semi-automatic fire that he knew would keep the other man from moving himself entirely to Mac’s side of the vehicle.

  The momentary stalemate meant to provide Mac time to reassess his situation and come with up with a viable solution that ended with the other man dead. Abdul had no intention of giving the Project Icon operative that time though. Instead the former Iraqi soldier crouched and then catapulted himself gracefully past the limo’s hood as he fired his weapon in the location he thought Mac to be.

  He thought wrong.

  Mac had already managed to crawl under the limo. From that vantage point he was able to watch Abdul leap out from in front of the car’s hood and fire off two well placed rounds into the very space Mac had just seconds earlier been crouching. It was then Mac who fired the AK-47, holding it sideways and spraying the ground where Abdul gracefully landed. The first two bullets missed wide right, but the next two found his upper left shoulder, spinning the Iraqi around as he cried out in shocked pain.

  Even as Mac squeezed off three more rounds he was impressed by the former Iraqi soldier’s skill and determination. In his long military career, Mac Walker had certainly come up against far less capable fighters.

  Abdul Arif’s body was still, the result of one of the AK-47’s bullets tearing through his brain stem. Mac pushed himself out from underneath the car and carefully walked up to the body to make certain Abdul was in fact dead. After doing so he turned his full attention to Ramtin Armeen who remained lying on his back in the limo’s backseat.

  “Can you move?”

  Ramtin’s only response was a pained moan.

  Can made certain the Iranian billionaire wasn’t armed and then grabbed him by the front of his custom made suit jacket and pulled him out of the car and propped him up against the rear wheel, a displacement that caused Ramtin to gasp in pain.

  While the security modified car door had shielded the billionaire from most of the RPG blast’s impact, he still suffered from a concussion and two broken ribs that made it difficult for him to breathe.

  “Where’s your phone?”

  Ramtin’s eyes opened, though it took several seconds before they were able to focus more clearly on Mac.

  “In my jacket.”

  Mac kept the AK-47 pointed at the billionaire.

  “Get it out and see if it’s still working.”

  Ramtin did as he was told, wincing from the pain of moving his right hand into the interior pocket of his suit. The phone emerged looking unscathed.

  “Yes, it’s still working.”

  Mac nodded.

  “Good, now listen to me very carefully, Mr. Armeen. You are going to call off whatever attack you have planned. The school shootings, the daycare centers, call it off now – all of it. Do that, and I won’t shoot you dead here in the dirt.”

  Ramtin grimaced, though his eyes indicated hope he might yet make it out of this mess alive.

  “I am not responsible for the logistics. I don’t know---“

  Mac fired a single bullet into the space between Ramtin’s legs, missing his manhood by no more than a few inches.

  “I don’t want to hear that bullshit, Mr. Armeen. A businessman like you, there’s no way you leave anything to chance. Take that phone and call off the terror cell operatives, and do it now. Perhaps start with Hamid Gilani.”

  The billionaire grunted, amused at Mac’s suggestion Hamid would be open to considering such an order.

  “Gilani won’t stop. He’s a zealot, he won’t ever stop. Perhaps I can help with the others though, but I need one thing first.”

  Mac’s eyes narrowed as he prepared to fire another round off.

  “What’s that?”

  Ramtin cleared his throat, growing more comfortable and confident at the prospect of being able to negotiate.

  “I want my attorney present before I make those calls. He will be my witness that this is being done under duress, and without my admitting to being part of any alleged attacks.”

  Mac was stunned by Ramtin’s belief he could make such a demand even as the body of his just-deceased driver lay no more than ten feet from him.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  The billionaire straightened his tie, and then proceeded to cough up a sizeable amount of froth-tinged blood.

  “I assure you, I am not.”

  Mac pointed to the fresh blood on Ramtin’s hands.

  “That blood there is from your lungs, understand? That means your shit is seriously messed up. You might have no more than an hour of life left in you, less if I decide you’re not cooperating and not worth the time, effort, and expense of calling you an ambulance.”

  Ramtin refused to admit he had little leverage to negotiate. Instead he decided to emphasize the importance of the information he could provide, and the many lives that were still at terrible risk.

  “You need me, Mr. Walker. I can allow you to play the part of hero. Isn’t that what you types are always hoping for? To do that, I want protection for myself in the form of my personal attorney. This is America is it not? Am I not innocent until proven guilty?”

  Mac had to force himself not pull the trigger, so sickened was he by the preening billionaire’s infuriating confidence that he would buy his way out of his current crisis.

  “How do I know you even have the information to stop this on your phone?”

  Ramtin appeared genuinely offended by the accusation.

  “I have no reason to lie. You’re the one with the gun. Here, I’ll make a call to show prove I can be trusted.”

  Mac issued a growled warning.

  “You make that call in English. I hear one Allahu Akbar and I swear I’m putting a bullet between your eyes.”

  The billionaire nodded.

  “Of course, Mr. Walker, of course.”

  Mac watched as Ramtin speed dialed a number and then put the cell phone to his right ear.

  “This is me. Yes, it’s me. Terminate the operation. No, there is no need to confirm with Mr. Gilani. He can no longer be trusted. I am ordering you to terminat
e, do you understand? Good, thank you.”

  Ramtin ended the call and looked up at Mac with a sneering smile.

  “See? I am a man of my word, Mr. Walker. If you wish for me to make the other calls, I am to have my attorney present when I do so.”

  Mac lowered the AK-47.

  “So you’re certain you have all the contact numbers in that phone of yours?”

  The billionaire rolled his eyes, appearing utterly bored by Mac’s ongoing questions.”