Hell To Pay

by Andrik Rovson

  The bright muzzle flash, impossible to suppress, was the reason sniping was a bad idea at night. Moving after shooting, hiding in a new place between rounds was the only way you could evade counter fire from the pissed off soldiers you were shooting at. That made every shot precious and dangerous if the other side had a good idea where you might be, as they did. The sniper had to hold fire until he had a perfect hit, unlike the snap shot he'd fired at Jabo and Cathy in her car earlier, spotting movement in the parking lot after all the workers have gone inside. He'd been scanning the building with a scope, surprised by the parachute harness, then the box that had appeared above the roof edge, heavy enough Jabo had crouched low, tipping it over the side, mottled enough it looked like camo in the dark, a man's torso as he inched over the edge to drop down.

  The sniper had held his scope on the place the rope dangled down the side, steadying his aim only seconds before, waiting for Jabo to appear to slide down, an easy shot. But he'd fired too quick, hitting the metal box instead and alerting Jabo. Over confident, he'd drilled it as it started to fall down quickly the side, like a man rappelling for the ground, shooting before he saw it was too small to be a person. His first mistake – it showed how good he was, hitting a falling object from over three hundred yards away. He couldn't blow it the next time.

  Now Jabo was going to play the same trick again. It was his only play. After hearing the shooting on the roof, all the men in the building were too scared follow Grigor up the hatch. No heroes, they stayed back, like the men in the front. Intimated, they were still ready to kill anyone who tried to rush the front entry or climb down through the hatch from the roof.

  With an over-watch position behind the building, the sniper could cover everything but the front of the building, which made the West side Jabo's only exit point using the rope he'd recovered as he lay low. Jabo couldn't come down the hatchway, into a prepared trap, showing up in the midst of nervous security men armed with pistols or Grigor's men, who'd reinforce them, running to the back with their automatic rifles. That was a death trap for him, like it was for them if they tried to come up.

  Throwing the rope over the edge at his new position, he heard the boom of the explosive round hitting the top of the small hill, then, seconds later, a second one. That was his cue and he worked the legs of the small man over the edge of the building, moving slower than the tool box had earlier. Jabo hoped it looked like him, working over the edge of the roof on the North side, opposite his first attempt, like he didn't think the sniper could displace fast enough to get a shot at him from the other side of the building. The dead body appeared to be staying low as it got ready to slip down the rope as fast as it could. It was Jabo's only play, fishing, the sniper had to bite or he was as dead as the lifeless body he was dangling over the top of the roof.

  A sharp crack and the body moved, letting him push it over, lifeless, the round had hit the torso of the body, the best the sniper could do, since hitting the legs wouldn't kill him. Jabo had kept dead man's head low, behind the concrete wall, what was left of it after his own .308 round had blown it to pieces. It had been the easiest kill shot he'd ever made, using the gaping mouth of the first man he'd killed, stupidly grinning as he held his empty magazine. The front of his skull with most of his face was left but the cranium was gone in the back, blown completely off, making him look like a grisly mask attached to a body, smiling at Jabo, like it was amused by the final use of his body.

  The dead body fell with a whump on the ground below. Behind the building the rest of their explosive rounds impacted as near the location of the sniper's shot as they could make them. He didn't think they'd get him, it was more a barrage that would force him to hide behind a tree or a small mound of rocks he'd piled up in front of him, unable to shoot at Jabo for a few seconds.

  Time to move. Jabo worked the rope around the corner to the safer front side. Moving quickly, he followed the rope down the East side, keeping the building between him and the small rise the shooter had rushed up to shoot from. Jumping over the side, the rope and rappel brake in his hand, he hopped, jumping away from the surface three times to roll onto the grass ringing the building. He was safe with the building between him and the sniper's bullets, letting go of the rappel brake in his hand. Standing up he felt the price of his wild descent, a spike of pain in his calf, like he had all three times he'd pushed off from the surface, rappelling down the side.

  He unhooked himself, from his jury rigged rope harness, tied into his Alice vest. Jogging off to the South, he skirted dim foyer in the front, sure they couldn't see out into the deep black of the parking lot, where the local power shutdown had produced an amazingly deep obsidian atmosphere, from the ground to the sky. Finding the parachute bundle and his tool box, he tied them together then, spun off a loop of rope, too beat to carry the weight into the parking lot, he'd drag them no matter how much noise it made.

  He hurried away from the building, staying on the grass as long as possible, then bumped over the curb and headed out into the parking lot which was full of cars, including his wife's Lexus – easy to spot because of its shattered windshield. It sat near it's original spot, in a new, safer location behind the LazaRuss sign, a full fifteen feet tall and at least thirty feet wide. Thank God they were arrogantly proud. He kept looking back to insure the building blocked him from the sniper's aim, confirming his guess he'd be okay after he got off the roof.

  Earlier they'd moved, their broken windshield making them aware they were a target, like Jabo. Cathy teamed up with Albert who had worked the gas and brakes as she steered, both laying low, as Cathy peeked around the bump made by the instrument panel. They'd quickly driven it behind the large, now dark sign displaying the data center's logo and address, luckily only a few parking spaces away. It was great cover and as close to the front of the building as they could get. They were Jabo's exit strategy. Cathy refused to consider going anywhere until he showed up.

  Each time Jabo pushed off, taking another step with his wounded leg it felt like the flesh in his calf was tearing apart. He worried it might be a permanent injury, forcing him to limp for the rest of his life, ending his special forces career he'd just restarted. He was under no illusions, the deal they'd offered him, that he had every intention of honoring, was for a man who could run and fully participate in field operations – not a planner with a slight limp, stuck in the rear with gear.

  “Jabo?” Cathy had swung her new lady's gun to point at him when he loomed up, since their view of the building was cut off, for the most part, unable to see him after he'd rappelled down and out of sight on the front of the building. It was a mottled gray 9mm automatic with a short barrel, with a woman's touch – a small flower engraved on the slide.

  “Hey, I surrender,” he smiled, lifting metal box with the harness and the chute tied on top. He rested it on top of the trunk, scratching the hell out of the light pearl gray paint – not that either of them cared. She ran out, crouched over like him, to help him load it in the back as he picked it up again.

  “I lost all my spare ammo and my other toys when I dropped the tool box beside the building, it's scattered all over, but I picked up enough to finish this. It's too dangerous to go back for any more. What I have on my body and in here is it.”

  He smacked the box then tilted it inside the trunk, slamming it closed. Their eyes met, her fear he'd be killed – now his bloody leg she wanted to bandage – all made it was too much to hold inside.

  “Damn you Bowie! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Then she threw herself into him, pushing him on his bad leg, so he buckled under their combined weight, slowly folding up as she reached out to grab the car and he felt behind for the curb to sit on. They settled beside the back of the car, with Jabo sitting on the curb with Cathy on his lap – his little girl, wanting some attention.

  They kissed quickly then she let herself cry a little then he wiped her tears away with his dirty camo blouse, kissing her nose as he looked at her, worried, then happy. “Hey
, not dead yet,” he looked at his leg, “just a flesh wound, as they say in the movies,” hiding his concern it was worse than it looked, which with all blood, was pretty bad.

  “Did you get him, the sniper?” She tried to be upbeat, hoping it was all over, her hunter home from the hill with his trophy, food for the table and her, his special prize waiting to be revealed slowly as they enjoyed each other all night once more.

  “No, actually he's sort of still alive, which is why I had to load up with all of my extra ammo and goodies,” his weak smile didn't cut it with her. “I got to do this.”

  They had one of those newly wed arguments, normally about what kind of house they'd buy or what to name their kids, when they popped out, the kind of important stuff that would degenerate later into easier spats about whose turn it was to take out the garbage or pick up the dry cleaning. Jabo made his case he was the only trained man on his team. He explained they'd lost two men, the RF team behind the building, dispatched when the sniper had showed up to probably ambush them. They'd done their job and watched the back. It was a weakness in his plan, trying to cover too much ground with as few men as possible. He'd tried to keep it low key and simple. His coverage hadn't included someone watching their back. That was on Jabo. The fact he couldn't have avoided it didn't matter. They were dead and he'd have to explain why.

  Whatever they'd gleaned about the cell phone calls from the building was still on the Sergeant's laptop, if it was still there. That made the data very expensive, generated as they'd monitored Grigor's urgent phone calls to his bosses. Their death was his failure, driven by his damned revenge instead of cool, tactical thinking, what normally guided his plans and actions in the field. He'd never act this way again. The memory of these two men, killed by his arrogance and rage changed him.

  “I have to see what's happened, my men are first,” he kissed her, “and you, my most important 'man'.” Getting a smile out of her at last, “then I'm going to kill the sniper.” That summed up his task, what he'd already lined out to her and the rest of his small team when he'd made his final briefing, only an hour before.

  “What can I do?” Cathy asked, accepting his oversight. Her unease hit him emotionally, knowing how much she struggled to keep her own strong personality in check. Jabo had brought a second rifle, from the man he'd used a dummy, taking it with him when he'd dropped his corpse off the roof, a dead decoy for the sniper, so he'd reveal himself for counter fire. Still strapped on his back when Cathy had knocked him down, Jabo moved so he could work it off after they'd untangled then stood up, still crouching, behind the car and the sign nearby. Salvaged, along with the clips from his body, the AR-15 was extra firepower they could use. Jabo assumed Albert could shoot, if his shoulder wound didn't stop him from holding it across the hood of the car.

  “Stay with Albert, make sure he survives so I don't have to worry about him or you.” That didn't go over well. Wives think their status confers power to be included in every decision their husband makes, including this one, how he intended on finishing the battle he'd started. Right now the Cisco Kid didn't need Pancho riding alongside, backing him up.

  Nearly a mile away they noticed blue and red lights flashing, approaching from far away. Soon they'd show up at both ends of the valley where the fifteen or so new concrete warehouse buildings sat, a semi-secluded area, which was why the Russians had selected it, with only two entry/exit roads. The geography would allow the police to set up road blocks at both ends of the old river valley where the North and South entry roads entered the grid work of streets around the buildings – East and West were farmland and low rolling hills, trackless, with dirt paths used by the ranchers long ago driving pickups over their land, servicing their cattle with feed or rounding them up.

  The cops stopped at a respectful distance, waiting for SWAT to appear from the county Sheriff's office or from Austin, nearly thirty five miles up the interstate then five off the closest exit. That would take time, but soon they'd show up and his sniper would disappear. Jabo had to go now or lose his chance. If the man shooting at him thought he could finish the job, drawn by Jabo showing himself again, he'd stick around. Nobody likes to be bait, but it was the only way to keep this going.

  “Cathy, this is my job, what I do, and you're just as liable to shoot me as him under these conditions. We have to drive somewhere safe, but close enough I can go get him behind the building, moving on foot.” His eyes told her he loved her desire to jump in and add to his firepower, be a distraction if nothing else, which he'd allow, if Albert couldn't shoot, but that was it. He laid it out for her, then waited, giving her a very long minute, a deep act of love because he didn't have time to give. Love like theirs made him patient, even in the middle of the most important fire fight of his life.

  “Okay, where?”

  They moved to a good location he'd spotted, as good as any. The sniper held fire, not sure where Jabo was, hoping he'd try to approach his hilltop perch from the server building. Jabo looked out from the car's window from their new location. They were North of the hill his sniper team had peppered with explosive rounds, sitting behind another of the concrete warehouses scattered over the low valley floor. It was as good as he could come up with after they'd sped off, with Cathy driving as he sat in the back, dressing Albert's shoulder with the bandages he'd had in the trunk, supplies for this contingency.

  “There, don't move your arm up unless you have to or it'll open up again, stitches and bed rest, maybe a hitch when you move, nothing major.”

  “Thank you doctor. Is Cathy going to do all the shooting?”

  “Have you seen her shoot?” She kept her eyes on the road but he knew she was following everything they were saying. “She could hit the eye of a squirrel at a hundred yards.”

  “Right, if you're channeling Jim Bowie. I guess that makes me Davy Crockett and she's Annie Oakley,” Albert smiled, holding his pistol in his left hand, wishing he'd taken more time at the range to get proficient with his other hand.

  “We're here, this good?” Cathy pulled up to the corner of the concrete warehouse, pushing the front of the car so it protruded from the building's corner, providing cover for her to shoot from. It was a decent blind, keeping the engine block between her and the sniper. Luckily the lights from this building were out, probably on the same supply line that the local transformer farm had shut down when they'd blown up the primary beside the data center, the next block over. Taking out his small binoculars he'd used overseas, less than a pound and tiny enough to ride in a side pocket, Jabo crept along the building then dropped down to the bottom of the corner, peeking at the small rise where the sniper had last fired at them. He didn't think he'd spot him. It was more to read the terrain. It was the time to plan his attack. The enemy was there. This was what he did best, fighting as a light infantryman – the men who got the job done.

  Cathy could simply spray the AR15 rounds at the hill, as a distraction, empty a mag then drop down. It was a backstop he didn't want to use, since she could hit him as easily as the sniper. Once things turned hot, she wouldn't be able to distinguish his fire from the sniper's. But it made her feel useful, potentially, like a frontier wife back in the day, ready to blast at raiders attacking her little farm house. She looked the part in her austere clothes and bloody cheek, red with Albert's blood, painted by his wound spray when the sniper's broken round hit his shoulder. He wasn't sure he wanted his wife to be a backup soldier on his team, but they didn't have anyone else. Jabo was proud of her, sure she'd handle the life he'd recently signed up for – might even like it when she got some training, who knows? She certainly had the killer attitude, from the expression on her face. But he'd already decided – this was the last time he'd let her come along, this was his world, not hers.

  If Jabo had been there, on the small wooded hill when the explosive fifty caliber rounds had impacted around his location, changing position would have been his first response. When the opposition has you bracketed it's time to retreat and call it a day.
Possible but he didn't think so. Solo operators, like him and the assassin he was facing have different personalities from normal people. Once they start, they have to finish their job, if killing people without remorse is a vocational profile in any sort of counseling handbook.

  Soldiers are different on the job, releasing themselves from normal constraints, like thou shall not kill. Vladimir and Jabo were way beyond that. They lived in a complete world formed from their will to live and prevail, a dream castle they inhabited at the risk of never leaving. For this reason predictability was out the door when confronted by someone like him. This guy had shown up, to finish his job, take out Jabo who he considered a threat, instead of heading home where he was more or less safe. That need to remove Jabo still existed, so why would Vladimir flee back home if he could stay and complete his self appointed mission? He wouldn't and Jabo was going on that gut sense of his opponent. He was there and Jabo had to take him out, since there was nobody else capable of doing it. It one of those life sucks moments.

  This guy had come back, taken out his RF team and set up for a final shot at him, as he rappelled down the side of the data center, all to get his job done – insanely competent and goal oriented. He'd even stayed and taken a second shot as Jabo had slowly shoved the dead man's body over the edge of the roof. The sniper had known it wasn't alive the instant his shot arrived. Mistaken once, he'd kept looking, ready for another trick. He saw the body didn't flinch or react to the high speed round tearing into its torso, showing he'd been snookered again. It must have pissed him off, producing another reason to stay, to right a wrong, settle the score on a different level, professional to professional – who's the best?

  Jabo was going to use Vladimir's pride against him. Both of them had shed their cool tactical thinking to satisfy their deeper urges. Bad idea buddy, you should have called it a day. It gave Jabo a reason to suppress his feelings and think his way through the last dance with this dangerous man.