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SAS Para-Ops: MEGA SET - SAS Para-Ops Books #1, #2, #3, #4, #5 & #6

Page 39

by Casey Christie


  “Biltong, boet?” said a voice in a heavy South African accent.

  The Colonel looked up to see the battle hardened and scarred face of the tall instructor he had seen down range.

  “Biltong, my brother, do you want some?”

  Still confused the American commander was about to say something when he heard another voice, a much calmer, more well travelled voice say: “The Americans call it Beef Jerky, Sahara, but of course our version is much tastier.”

  Without waiting for a response Sahara withdrew the offer of dried animal meat and happily ate it himself before saying: “Like I care, more for me then, hey!”

  The newcomer offered Colonel Brow a hand and continued: “You must be Colonel Brow, a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is, well they call me Kalahari and this is my Second in Command and lead instructor, Sahara.”

  Colonel Brow, finally finding his composure, got to his feet and greeted the two men. Perhaps more formally than he would have liked to.

  “Bull, my brother from another mother, how are you my china!” said Sahara while taking General Khan in a vice-like old Roman style hand shake. The two men held the grip and beamed at each other in mutual respect before Kalahari came over and embraced his old friend in a bear like hug.

  “I can’t fucking believe you are still alive, Bull. Last I heard you’d been captured by those bastard, goat fucking, unshaven, boy lovers!” said Kalahari.

  All three men laughed before an awkward silence ensued only to be broken when Sahara ventured: “They didn’t.. you know.. fuc…”

  Thankfully Kalahari interjected just in time. But it wasn’t necessary as Bull addressed the issue head on: “No fucking way, I’m far too fat and ugly and un-goat like for those cowards.”

  Thank god for that, thought Colonel Brow.

  “Now that all the hello crap is over with would you gentlemen like to follow me into my office for a drink, or six, and bring me up to date with exactly what we can do for you!” said Kalahari..

  Chapter Nine – Moment Critical

  Colonel Brow had been in the company of the South African Mercenaries for only the best part of half an hour and already he had taken an immense liking to the men. This surprised him and went against almost everything he had heard about the fighters. He had to reflect on his meeting with the men and had excused himself to visit the toilets in a moment of contemplation. Indeed everything he had heard about the contractors before this had been negative and universal: racist, heartless, brutal thugs without honour. Yes, everyone he had spoken to about them said they would want them next to them in a gunfight but not at a respectable dinner function or indeed even be associated with the men on paper or in business.

  Perhaps it was too early for the Colonel to properly make a judgment call but if there was a weakness, a fault, he had to find about the South Africans it would have to be their openness. Something Colonel Brow certainly found in short supply with the British men he had worked with. The British were good humoured and well mannered but by no means open.

  They were so candid Colonel Brow almost found it suspicious but then he remembered General Khan’s words to him the night before: Always keep something in mind about Kalahari and his men, Walter. They are as you see them, straight shooters and they will expect you to be the same. But do not take this for weakness, for if they think you are lying to them they will cut you out from their existence completely and depending on the offence might even cut you out of your own existence.

  Thinking back on Sahara those last words sent a chill down Brow’s spine.

  “Can’t piss, hey?” said that familiar, heavily accented, rough voice of Sahara from behind Brow.

  Brow zipped his pants up and turned to Sahara who leaned against the bathroom wall with a half amused, half suspicious glint in his eye. Hunting knife still in his hand, biltong grinding in his mouth.

  “I was finished actually, just thinking about things. No problems for me downstairs, if you know what I mean” said Brow who winked at the mercenary named Sahara and then walked outside and said “And next time I catch you spying on me in the bloody bathroom I’ll cut your fucking cock off!”

  Colonel Brow smiled to himself when he heard Sahara burst into loud, genuine, laughter.

  Back in Kalahari’s ‘office’, which was actually a very well worn tent, Colonel Brow found Kalahari and Bull in exactly the same position he had left them - sitting in folding chairs, each with a glass of ‘Brandy and Coke’ in hand. A South African favourite apparently.

  Colonel Brow had yet to formally meet the rest of Kalahari’s team of four although he had seen them earlier, momentarily, as they had come in and had a brief discussion with their commander in their home language of Afrikaans. They were all average sized and for lack of a better word, skinny, although he was sure they would have preferred the word, wiry. Not what he was expecting. Kalahari had picked up on the Colonel’s thoughts and had explained that muscles do no good in a gunfight and do even worse in most parts of Africa where operators can go days and even weeks without a proper meal and then Kalahari had explained about dysentery and how often they contracted it in their line of work. “So you see it’s better to not have a lot on, if you get my meaning, hey!”

  Then when Brow pointed out that both he and Sahara were well muscled the mercenary was quick to point out “We’ve done our time on the ground, in the bush, in the dark, we’re more like, supervisors to Africa now, most of our wet work is now in the Middle East and Europe, much fucking easier on the body. Those boys have just come from Nigeria so they needed to be light as fuck to do their work.”

  Back to the moment and Brow politely turned down another double shot of brandy with some coke and reached for his water bottle instead. Just then Sahara put his head through the tent flap: “Boss, I’m sorry to cut the party short but we’ve got some work to do, hey.”

  Kalahari looked up at his 2IC with a confused look on his face.

  “You remember, man, we promised the Kurds we’d help them with those goat fuckers on the eastern front…”

  But Kalahari cut him off, far too late though. “Yes, yes, now I remember, you fucking loud mouthed idiot.”

  Looking a little embarrassed Sahara backed his head out of the tent and looked at both Bull and Walter and said: “Nice to see you okes, hey, I’ll catch you both later.”

  There that candidness was once again Brow thought to himself but he wasn’t sure what he found more surprising: that these men just openly admitted that they were fighting alongside the Kurds or that they were ready to get into contact with the enemy after drinking enough alcohol to have most men in bed for a couple of days. Although he had to admit one would never had known that either of them had even touched a drop of alcohol given their current demeanours.

  “I’ve thought about your proposal, gentlemen. And as long as I get clearance from General Arosi, which I have no doubt I will, we will take on the contract: Two Hundred and Fifty Thousand per man, US, in cash, delivered here to me before action commences” said Kalahari who then downed the contents of his tin cup and got to his feet in a very business like and stone sober manner.

  Colonel Brow had heard the South Africans were competitive when it came to pricing but he didn’t expect it to be this competitive. He knew from his own experiences that if such a mission were ever to be offered to an American or British outfit they would have been quoting nothing less than a half a million per man and that’s if they could find a company crazy enough to even think about taking on such a mission.

  General Khan looked at Brow and raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s acceptable. The money will be here within six hours. How long will you be out with the Kurds? And when will you be ready to move? We are just waiting on some intelligence, location and number of tangos etc., to come in and we will expect you to be ready to move as soon as that Int comes in?” said Brow.

  “What we are about to do won’t take long. We’ll be ready, we are always ready. And after this little assi
gnment we will be leaving this place, Turkey is not the friend the West thinks she is. Now Colonel, if you have no objections I will send the remaining four of my men with you to collect that cash and escort you out of here, they will join your convoy along with two of our Kurdish vehicles. And I am sorry to be the one to tell you this but those two men you left with your broken down vehicle are now dead.”

  A terrible pang of guilt stabbed at Colonel Brow and he immediately thought about his driver’s brother-in-law.

  “I’ll ask the Kurds to lead the convoy and take you on a… different… route back to your HQ. Sahara and I will link up with you there once we have finished our business here, if that’s acceptable with you, Colonel.” said Kalahari.

  “Yes, thank you, that will be fine” said Brow.

  “If that will be all then, thank you, gentlemen, I’ll see you a little later” said the tall Mercenary Commander before heading for the exit.

  “Wait, before you go, Mercenary, tell me, what are your chances of success?” said Brow.

  Kalahari stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the American Colonel in an almost bemused fashion. “Chances? No Colonel, we do not deal in chances. We will succeed. Depending on the number of enemies your intelligence identifies we will do it with our team of six or if there are more goat fuckers then I will sub-contract in some more of our own, either Kurds or some Russians I know who are currently operating in-country. Although that will take more time to organise.”

  “So you guarantee success, then?” said Brow in an almost sardonic voice.

  “No, I would never do that. I only guarantee that we will succeed or die trying. In my line of work ‘Sorry we couldn’t deliver’ doesn’t really sit well with our clients who invariably would have us jailed or killed if that were the case, so it makes our life easier in a way. Succeed or die. If that is all, good day to you, gentlemen. And Bull, good to see you again my brother!”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter Ten – Waterboarding and More, Much More

  Mark Andrews didn’t open his eyes he merely became conscious – why was he aware of the difference, because his eyelids had been sewn open and he only found the sanctuary of darkness through the pain of passing out. The torture, after being released from his coffin, had started off in an almost comical fashion as his lead torturer made his first attempt at ‘waterboarding’ Why are you British and Americans so caught up with this so called waterboarding? It’s not nearly as effective as some of my methods the man had said and then continued: But since it is all the fashion these days, I think it is my duty, as a consummate professional, to give it a whirl. And so the obviously reasonably well educated man with a thick East London accent had tried to learn the art of waterboarding. Unfortunately, or was that fortunately, for Andrews, the man wasn’t very good at the procedure and achieved no more than making Andrews pass out from lack of oxygen three times running. He didn’t seem to understand that the art of the torture lay in stopping just before the darkness took over, when the victim’s state of panic was at its highest.

  Next came one of his tormentor’s favourites – electrocution to the genitals. Now this pain was exquisite, Mark thought to himself. Far worse than anything his ex-wife had ever done to him.

  Then came the thousand cuts – now this really took its toll on him mentally, not so much from the pain of each cut but the anticipation of each short sharp shock to his system.

  Then a ‘relief’ torturer took over from the ‘lead’ torturer and began pulling his toenails off one by one with an old rusty pair of pliers.

  Mark had never experienced such excruciating pain before but even then he couldn’t make sense of why, as they did not interrogate him, they didn’t ask him any questions or press for any valuable information. They were just torturing him for the sake of it.

  In truth that very fact may have been the most demoralising part of this entire experience for Andrews until of course he was shown the two decapitated bodies of his friends and colleagues.

  His will to SURVIVE was diminishing and diminishing fast.

  At first he’d no idea who the two bodies were, only that they belonged to men, as the bodies were naked with male genitalia, and this in itself caused Andrews a great deal of mental torture in the form of guilt as his immediate reaction was relief, relief that it wasn’t the body of Ayla.

  Then he wished it was Ayla’s body as from another room he could most clearly hear the anguished cries of a female being repeatedly raped and tortured. Her screams, whether they were Ayla’s or not, were far worse than any physical pain his torturers could inflict on him, perhaps they knew this.

  Why? But why were they doing this Mark could not figure, as he supposed most of the world couldn’t make sense of the madness that is the Islamic State.

  After the sounds of the gruesome violation of a woman were allowed to infiltrate Mark’s mind he was electrocuted some more, so much in fact he could smell his pubic hair catch fire and sizzle, he passed out from the pain only to come to consciousness once more with the heads from the two decapitated bodies now staring at him from a mere few feet away. They had been stuck on to the ends of two broomsticks and held up in two buckets filled with dirty blood soaked soil – the faces of Lance Corporal Daniel “Danny” Jones and Corporal William West looked at him, almost mockingly, they looked through him.

  His will to SURVIVE was diminishing even faster.

  Chapter Eleven – A Nail for a Nail

  Black Hands, Joey and Jesse stood around the bonnet of the van parked inside the abandoned warehouse playing the most uncomfortable game of poker in memory. They had been “playing” for the best part of three hours after stripping their prisoner naked and tying him to the chair on the instructions of Black Hands. Black Hands the Torturer had then placed his tools opposite the prisoner, making sure he had an excellent view of what was to come before blindfolding the man. He then placed a car battery on the floor and expertly wired it up ready for action. Black Hands had instructed Jesse to deliver a glass of water to the prisoner every fifteen minutes and to make very sure that each glass was drained.

  Joey broke the awkward silence after losing yet another hand to the CIA man, his three of a kind beating Joey’s two pair.

  “Fuck man!” said Joey who threw his cards across the bonnet and continued: “Really, how long are we going to fucking stand here?! When are you going to interrogate the prisoner so we can get the hell outa here?”

  Black Hands smiled. And it was odd. “I have been interrogating the prisoner, we all have, well loosening him up, really. We weren’t really playing cards, were we? But he thinks we were, how cruel. But I suppose you are right, time is not on our side, if it were, I would keep playing cards for at least another couple of hours.”

  Joey watched in silence as the CIA Torturer very carefully picked up the rest of his deck and painstakingly arranged them back into house order and placed the pack back into in his well worn case.

  Without another word Black Hands walked to the passenger side door of the vehicle and reached under the seat and produced a small leather case, from within it he produced a pair of skin tight black leather gloves. He put them on slowly and methodically until they fitted perfectly. Black Hands was about to begin his work.

  The two soldiers watched in silence as Black Hands walked over to where the captured Islamic State man was held and pulled a stool to within a few inches of the prisoner, sat down and first removed the prisoner’s eye mask and then removed his ear plugs.

  “Hello, friend?” said Black Hands in barely a whisper.

  The man looked at his would be torturer and then at the two soldiers and then burst into tears and began to wail loudly.

  Joey had the horrible feeling that it was the frightened look on his and his friend, Jesse’s, face that had sent the man into tears. And he was right.

  “Aw, poor little guy, I see you’ve peed your pants” said Black Hands.

  Indeed the prisoner had, his pants were soaked and th
e floor below his chair was covered in urine. The stench was acrid. The constant glasses of water had the desired effect.

  Then without warning Black Hands smacked the prisoner across the face with the back of his hand, hard. The effect was immediate and the man stopped crying, paused for what seemed like an eternity and then simply said: “I’ll tell you everything.”

  Joey couldn’t believe it and he exhaled deeply, let his shoulders slump and a massive wave of relief passed over his body; relief that he didn’t have to bear witness to a brutal torture carried out by the madman called Black Hands and relief that he didn’t have to carry out his commander’s orders if he had.

  Then a thought struck him: was Black Hands actually a madman?

  Chapter Twelve – Mind Games

  Mark Andrews gained consciousness once more and immediately wished he hadn’t and was actually beginning not to care. “Oh for fuck’s sake, just kill me already, what’s the point of all this.” The air caught in his lungs as he looked up and saw Ayla standing fully clothed and apparently untouched about six feet from him. She had two balaclava clothed men standing either side of her, both holding one of her arms. She smiled at him and he didn’t need the psychic gift to realise she was sending him love, warmth and tenderness and he soaked it all in and then as quickly as she had appeared she was taken away and led into another room.

  He looked down at the floor once more and tried as hard as he could to keep the picture of Ayla strong in his mind. A brief, warm flash of feeling passed over his fragile, broken and aching body. His brief hiatus from pain was broken suddenly though by the cackle of his torturer and then his words: “Good, we have you back again I see! Fantastic, let my work continue then shall we? Although we don’t have much time, a few hours at most I would imagine.”

  Then, as Andrews was once more about to let the darkness and gloom consume him he heard the unmistakable voice of Ayla say: “Fight back, Mark. It’s now time to fight back!”

 

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