by Sam Sisavath
Right, Keo thought then, and did again now. As if I could have said no.
He’d left the others behind with the wounded Springer and had enough faith in them to keep themselves alive until he could return. Of course, he’d had faith in Chang and Banner, too, and they were lying dead somewhere else in the woods right now. About half a mile to the northwest of Keo’s current position, as far as he could tell—
Snap!
He went into a slight crouch, the MP5SD submachine gun rising, ready to fire in front of him. He peered through its scope and looked left, then right, then back left again.
Nothing. There was nothing out there but trees.
And more trees.
Goddamn, there were a lot of trees.
Where am I, in the woods?
He almost chuckled to himself but managed to stop it in time. Even a little bit of noise might be too much right now.
Instead, Keo squeezed out a slow breath before going completely silent.
The noise had come from in front of him, close to the ground—
A rabbit leapt out of a bush and vanished behind a tree.
Keo almost shot it—or tried to pick it off as it was in midair, anyway—but refrained from pulling the trigger when he saw the blur of moving white fur.
Close there, little rabbit. You have no idea how close you came to being someone’s stew this morning.
He relaxed and stood up, then moved toward a tree and pressed against it. He had put half a mile between himself and the team and had kept track of his movements and turns. Keo was reasonably certain he could backtrack to the others when the time came. Then again, it was entirely possible he was overestimating his abilities. Wells was their navigator, after all, and he wasn’t here, but Keo didn’t think so.
Sure, everything looks like everything else in this place, but you’re not lost.
Far from it.
Yeah, that’s the ticket.
He decided to focus on what had happened this morning instead. There wasn’t really much to think about: They had walked right into one of Fenton’s snipers. It was bad luck, pure and simple. The chopper had inserted them a full ten miles from their target, for God’s sake; what were the chances Buck had widened his security perimeter that far out?
He hadn’t, was the answer. At least, not really. Instead, Buck had put a single man out here. Who knew how many other one-man patrols were camped this far out from Fenton? Maybe there was even just the one. After all, if there had been more around, they would have converged on them by now, and Keo would have definitely stumbled across a Bucky or two.
But they hadn’t, and he hadn’t.
Which meant Calvin was out here all by his little lonesome.
“I tried, but I’m either out of range or the trees are blocking my signal.”
The problem was that there was no reason for Calvin to be telling the truth. And yet, almost two hours since the ambush, and there were still no signs of any Buckies in the area looking for them. Which was one of the reasons Keo was out here now looking for the man. (So what are the other reasons, pal?) If Calvin had no backup, that meant he was still out here all by his little lonesome.
Mano a mano. I like those odds.
Of course, the sniper did have the advantage. Keo didn’t delude himself into thinking he had the upper hand here. God only knew how long the guy had been out here setting up his kill zones. But Keo didn’t think the man had every inch of the woods covered. That was highly unlikely. At least, not with just a single pair of eyeballs and a single pair of legs to work with.
Keo stepped away from the tree and continued forward, mindful of the ambush site somewhere to his left, hidden behind half a mile of woods. Or, at least, it was supposed to be half a mile. Wells had been pretty certain about it when they talked earlier.
“So what are you gonna do, go out there and look for this asshole?” Rita had asked.
“Yeah,” Keo had said.
“By yourself?” Gholston had chimed in.
“It’s better I do it by myself.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
Gholston hadn’t looked convinced, but instead of arguing, he had said, “At least take Rita with you. She can take him out from a distance.”
“He’s right,” Rita said. “That’s what I do.”
“You couldn’t even see him last time,” Keo had said, and immediately regretted when Rita flinched noticeably at his words.
“And you’re going to see him this time?” she asked.
“Look, he wants me alive. That means he’s not going to pop me the first chance he gets. You guys, on the other hand… Look at what he did to Chang and Banner.”
“Just because he doesn’t want to kill you doesn’t mean he won’t put a bullet or two in your legs to disable you,” Gholston had said.
That was almost the same thing Calvin the sniper had said, but Keo had said anyway, “I’m in charge. So do what the fuck I say, and stay put. Keep trying to reach Black Tide Command. Until then, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
They’d had trouble getting in touch with command all morning. Wells thought it might have been because of a storm that was pushing into Darby Bay from the Gulf just before they took off this morning; or maybe it was the thick tree canopies blocking their signal. Either way, Keo was secretly glad they couldn’t reach Lara while he was around. He was dreading telling her what had happened.
“Hey, Lara. Thanks for having enough faith in me to put me in charge of my own team, but, uh, I got them killed. Or, at least, two of them. Sorry?”
Yeah, he could imagine how well that was going to go over.
This is shit. Being in charge is for idiots.
So why did I say yes?
Because Lara had asked him to, that was why.
“You don’t have to do it… But I’m asking you anyway, because I think you give us the best chance at success.”
How was he going to say no to that?
He couldn’t. No one could. Not Danny or Peters or Gaby or anyone wearing that inguz rune patch on their shoulder. Most of them hadn’t been with Mercer five years ago, but had arrived to join the good fight—to join her.
She was Lara. The voice on the radio. The woman he couldn’t stop thinking about, even though it was driving him nuts that he couldn’t. Five years later, and that image of her, that night, was still fixed in his mind’s eye—
Zip! as the round sailed past his right ear and embedded in a tree trunk two meters behind him.
Shit!
Keo dove forward and down without thinking—and slammed into the dirt on his chest with the MP5SD clutched in his hands. He was instantly swallowed up by knee-high grass that he used as cover to begin rolling to his right. Thank God he’d had the chance to let all his wounds heal before he jumped onboard that helo and flew back into the fire, or else this would have really hurt.
Pek-pek-pek! as dirt kicked around his head and flicked at his face, each round seemingly getting closer.
Hey! Fenton wants me alive, remember? he wanted to shout at the shooter, but he was too busy rolling, because if he stopped for even a second he might never move again.
Jesus, where was the guy shooting from?
Keo had no chance to figure out that answer, because he was too busy moving moving moving.
Finally, he made it behind a tree and scrambled to his feet and pressed his back against the gnarled trunk, the Heckler & Koch still clutched in his hands. He hadn’t wasted a shot at the sniper because it would have been exactly that—a waste. And he had a feeling he was going to need every bullet he had on him.
Right now, that was exactly two spare magazines in a pouch on his left hip. Thirty rounds apiece, not counting the additional thirty he already had loaded. Ninety bullets in all for the submachine gun. He had spent two magazines earlier while covering their escape during the first ambush. Another pouch on his right side held two spares for the Glock 19. Fifteen per magazine, for a total of forty-five.
Not that the reasons did him any good right now.
Keo made sure the submachine gun’s fire selector was on semiauto. It didn’t matter how many rounds he could send downrange if he didn’t know where the man was shooting from. He was somewhere in front of Keo on the other side of the tree, that much was obvious, but where exactly?
Here, there, and everywhere, apparently.
Who is this guy?
“Almost got you!” a voice shouted. Calvin. “Again!”
Keo didn’t know why he was so surprised that it was the same sniper. Maybe it had something to do with the fifteen hundred meters or so he’d put between him and the last ambush site. How the hell had the guy ended up in front of him, again? What was he using, some goddamn satellite that was tracking Keo’s every movement?
He glanced up on instinct, maybe hoping to glimpse that secret weapon, but the sky was mostly covered by canopies, and what he could see was a white cloudless day. There could have been a hundred machines orbiting up there for all he knew.
“Consider that a warning shot!” Calvin shouted.
Like the last time, there was something not quite right with the voice. It was too echoey, and it seemed to bounce from one tree to the next, never giving Keo a single source of origin.
How is he doing that?
“But it didn’t have to be,” the sniper continued. “Be grateful my daddy raised me to be the sporting type. I could have just popped you in the legs and dragged you back to Buck without giving you a fighting chance, but I chose not to do that. You can thank me later, buddy.”
I’m not your buddy, pal.
But he didn’t bother shouting that back. Instead, he tried in vain to put a location to the voice.
“Maybe he’s using some kind of machine to throw his voice?” he’d said to Rita earlier.
“Does something like that exist?” she had responded.
“Hell if I know,” was his not-very-helpful answer.
So how was Calvin camouflaging his position?
“That you, Calvin?” Keo shouted back, even as he slid down along the length of the tree to lower his profile. He glanced left and right, then left and right again. If Calvin already knew which tree he was behind, it wouldn’t take him long to try to flank him for a better shot. He hadn’t done so earlier because Keo had the others to watch the angles. That, and Keo believed the sniper was too smart to try to pick off more of the team when he’d already done plenty of damage and knew he was outgunned if he exposed himself.
He’s deadly, and he’s got a strong sense of self-preservation.
Great. That’s just great.
“Yeah, it’s me!” Calvin shouted back. “You were expecting someone else?”
“Where’s your Bucky reinforcements?”
“Bucky?” Then, laughing, “Oh, I get it. That’s clever. Bucky, because of Buck!”
Well, it ain’t because of your cheery personality, pal.
“Nice one!” Calvin said, and his voice seemed to be coming from Keo’s left that time. Or was it?
He’s gotta be using some kind of machine. Right?
“Thanks!” Keo said. “I pride myself on being clever.”
“How’s that working out for ya?”
“Not so good at the moment.” Then, “So you’re alone, huh?”
“That’s right!”
Keo debated if he could believe the sniper. Would Calvin lie?
Yes. A million times over. Why wouldn’t he?
“You’re not fibbing, are you, Calvin?” Keo asked.
“Nah,” the sniper said. “They finally radioed me back, though, but I didn’t answer. The only person who knows you’re out here is me, Keo, ol’ buddy, and it’s going to stay that way until I drag you back to Fenton.”
“And why would you want to do a fool thing like that?”
“You know how to tell if you’re the best at something?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“You put it all on the line against the best. And if you beat him, then you know. That’s the only way you’ll know for sure.”
Keo smirked. “And I suppose hogging all the glory has nothing to do with it?”
Calvin laughed. “Maybe a little. But I assure you, Keo, it’s mostly about challenging myself. I haven’t had decent competition since the monsters were still in charge. And frankly, I’m getting bored. And then you showed up. The man who killed Mercer himself. Now I’m as happy as a little clam!”
You’ll be as happy as a dead clam pretty soon, pal.
“You know what I did to Mercer, but you’re still out here by your little lonesome,” Keo said. “You must be suicidal.”
“Why, should I be scared?” Calvin asked. Keo could tell a mocking voice when he heard one.
“Aren’t you?”
“I’ve been hunting since I could walk, and I’ll be hunting long after you’re gone.”
“You that good?”
“What do you think?”
Keo thought of Chang and Banner.
Yeah. He’s that good.
But he shouted instead, “I’ve seen better.”
“Have you now?” Calvin said.
“There was this guy who did this thing with me in Uzbekistan. Fred-something-or-rather. Now he was good.”
“So good that you can’t remember his name?”
“In my defense, we were using made-up names. So there was really no point in memorizing it.”
“Did you entertain poor Mercer with that story before you offed him?”
“Is that what they’re calling him now? ‘Poor Mercer?’”
“You did blow the man’s brains out.”
“He had it coming.”
Calvin laughed. “Don’t we all?”
“Absolutely!” Keo shouted just before he spun and, bent slightly over at the waist, darted out from behind the tree.
He moved right while edging forward at the same time. The MP5SD was ready, and while his eye was not quite looking through the scope, he was fully prepared to shoot anything that might pop up in front of him.
There, slight movement from a bush about thirty meters in front of him!
Keo fired five times—pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft!—by squeezing the trigger as fast as he could, sending every round into the bush as he continued to move, move, move. There was no return fire, and Keo made it behind another elm tree two seconds later.
He slid against the rough bark and leaned out the left side to get a better look—
Pek! as a big chunk of tree exploded in his face.
Keo pulled his head back and blinked away the pain. He was pretty sure he had pieces of the tree in his eyes, maybe a splinter or two (or a hundred) sticking out of both eyeballs. But that couldn’t have been the case, because he could still see just fine after a few seconds of focusing.
Booming laughter from the other side of the tree. “Hey, Keo, I think you got it! That little bunny isn’t going to hurt anyone anymore!”
Instead of being angry about missing Calvin, Keo smiled, because he had figured something out that the sniper probably didn’t want him to know.
Keo checked the bullet that had chopped off a generous patch of bark from the tree in front of him a few seconds ago. There, the greatly exaggerated diagonal line made by a bullet firing from a high angle and at a downward trajectory.
Calvin was in a tree.
Five
Idiot. You can’t dodge bullets. Remember?
He remembered, but it wasn’t like he had any choice. He’d committed to this path of action, and he couldn’t do anything about it now. The only thing left was to run, and run fast!
Thank God his wounds were he
aled.
Thank God he wasn’t still limping around.
Thank God Lara had insisted he was 100 percent—or close enough—before she would let him hop on that helo. She had made sure, too, and even checked his scars herself. Sometimes he forgot that she was once a doctor. Or a medical student, anyway. And she still was, he guessed, but it just wasn’t her calling anymore.
What are you doing thinking about her? Do you wanna die?
Run!
Run run run run!
He did, picking up speed with every pounding heartbeat, darting left then right, then forward, and using the trees around him for cover when he could. The bullets came hard and fast, sometimes so close that he could feel the heat of the subsonic rounds. They were screaming at him from an angle like before, slamming into the ground behind and around and sometimes in front of him as the sniper tried to guess his pattern.
Good luck with that! Keo wanted to tell the guy, because he didn’t know which direction he was going to take before he actually took them.
Bark flew from every direction, and the air was filled with clouds of dirt as Calvin fired and fired, and Keo figured the man was using a weapon with a generous magazine given how fast and furious the lead was coming. The sniper might have been trying to nail Keo in the legs before in order to take him alive, but with every passing second Keo was still running, the bullets were edging higher until the last one zipped! over his scalp and Keo swore it singed a few strands of hair as it passed.
Close one!
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, but it had to be anywhere from five to ten seconds, even though it had felt more like five to ten hours. But that was what happened when you threw yourself into the lion’s den and waited for the animal to open its mouth and take a bite. Time slowed down and every heartbeat became a monumental victory, every inch he managed without eating a bullet a minor miracle.
He never stayed behind one tree for very long before moving again. In fact, he rarely stopped at all and was constantly moving, moving, moving. It was the only way to throw Calvin off while at the same time keeping track of where the bullets were coming from. He had no chance to see the exact location, but with each round—each chunk of bark that blew loose—he began narrowing down his target.