by J. B. Havens
I wiped the bloody knife on the man’s dirty pants as Jordon stuck his head out the door and waved Linc in. Jordon got out his dummy knife as Linc came in.
I crept toward the shape on the bed. I pulled my KA-BAR ten steps. The only sounds were the rumbling snores brought on by too much drink. The stench of sweat and scotch permeated the room, hanging like a heavy cloud of smoke over our heads. With just five steps to go, I could see Mateo on his side, facing away from me. My breaths came a bit faster; time slowed to a crawl. While awake the man before me was as deranged as they came, but in sleep he was just as vulnerable as the rest of us; more so because of the blow he snorted like candy and the booze he drowned himself in. I knew in that moment that he was weak; the drugs made him weak, his hate made him weak. If we weren’t here doing this, very soon one of his men would be. There was no room for weakness in lives ruled by violence and fear.
I was right against the bed, my thighs pressed against the side of the soft mattress. Mateo was less than a foot away. Now came the moment that we had been preparing for. Jordon was on the other side of the bed from me, watching me with eyes narrowed to slits. Linc was huddled near the door, watching us with wide eyes. I placed my palm over my mouth and pointed to Mateo. Holding up the fingers on my left hand, I tucked in my thumb. I registered the understanding on Jordon’s face. I dropped my pinkie finger. My palm grew damp on the knife. My ring finger was next and Jordon leaned closer. My middle finger fell and I switched the hold I had on my knife, making a downward stab easier.
I dropped my hand and grabbed Mateo’s greasy, slimy hair at the same second Jordon clapped his big hand over Mateo’s mouth. I didn’t waste a second. Before Mateo’s eyes opened all the way I stabbed my knife into his throat. His warm blood splashed across my hand and spilled across the sheets. He gurgled a bit as I shoved the knife in further and drew it out sharply; blood flew out in an arc, hitting Jordon across the chest and stomach. I had blood almost to my elbows. Jordon’s eyes flew wide; he was breathing too fast. I wiped my hands on the sheets as best I could as Mateo twitched a final time. He was dead.
“Jordon,” I said, pointing to Linc. Jordon pulled his dummy knife, I put my bloody blade near the hand of the dead man, and stood guard at the door. It wouldn’t do for the second guy to come in and interrupt us at the wrong time.
Linc stepped near Jordon and braced himself. Jordon stabbed him in the stomach with the dummy knife, bursting the blood pack with a faint tick of sound. Linc looked down at his stomach in disbelief, surprised that he wasn’t actually stabbed. It looked very real.
“Linc, lay down and play dead. Be convincing,” I whispered, Linc did as instructed and Jordon put the bloody dummy knife in his hand. “When the other guy leaves the room, make your way downstairs and meet us at the closet. Understand?” Linc nodded in response.
I drew another knife from my pocket and opened the door. There was blood under my fingernails. Always a bitch.
“Jordon. You good?” I asked in a whisper. His eyes were wide and shiny. He was going into shock. Mateo’s blood was very red against the white of his shirt, like cherries on top of whipped cream. He saw me looking at him and glanced down. He paled and started walking backward. Phillips came out of the other room, just in time to catch Jordon with equally bloody hands.
“Cool it. Hard part starts now,” Phillips whispered in Jordon’s ear, catching my eye. We needed to make Jordon buck up and fast. Now was not the time for this. Jordon could freak out later. We needed to get out of this mansion in one piece first.
I snapped my bloody fingers in front of his face. “Suck it up, buttercup. We have work to do.” He breathed in so deep it looked like it hurt. His color came back slowly and his eyes began to clear. Good.
“We need to move. Get us back to the storage closet.” We bounded down the stairs, Jordon and Phillips skipping several with their long legs. I kicked off the stupid heels as soon as we cleared the door to the closet. With no time for niceties, I stripped out of the bloody dress and threw on my fatigues as fast as I could. Jordon and Phillips followed my lead. I looked at my watch; we were ahead of schedule. Now for the hard part, I thought as I laced my boots and shoved my knives into their proper places.
“Now what?” Jordon asked.
“Now we wait for Linc to come down. The alarm will be raised, I’m sure,” I said, tightening the strap on my thigh holster and readying my rifle.
****
Phillips stood back in the corner of the closet and pretended to be paying attention to the scene before him. In his mind, he was back upstairs standing over a sleeping woman. He didn’t see an arms dealer or person soaked in the blood of innocents. He saw a delicate beauty sleeping peacefully. Could it be? Could this woman really be all they said she was?
He had stood there, staring down at her, knife in hand. He knew his duty. The handle grew sweaty under his palm as he tossed it from hand to hand. His gut twisted every time he looked at her hair spread across the pillows. Her mouth was popped open slightly, showcasing the shape of her pink lips. Her eyelashes lay softly under her closed lids. Her eyes moved back and forth under her eyelids with some dream. He didn’t want to cut her soft throat, he wanted to kiss her supple lips. He wanted to run his big hands down her arms and pull her hands over her head, pinning her to the mattress and stealing her breath with his kiss.
He could do none of those things. His hands shook with palsy as he inched closer to the bed. He swallowed the taste of bile working higher up his throat with each step he took. Just as he raised his arm to strike, her eyes flew open.
They were a blue so bright, even in the semi-darkness he could see their color. Her cheeks quickly flushed red and she reached under her pillow. He was so busy staring into her wide blue eyes that he didn’t react until it was almost too late. The gun in her hand was a small one, but at this range it didn’t need to be big. A glint of light on the polished metal of the barrel was his only warning. With practiced ease he disarmed her and buried his knife to the hilt in her pretty throat. Blood filled her mouth and spilled over; her lips opened and closed as she tried in vain to cling to life. Blood ran into the sheets around her, bright red against bright white. Fateful death and fragile beauty comingled. The moonlight filtered through the delicate curtains, highlighting the shine of her blood and the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her blood shone black in the moonlight in stark contrast to her porcelain skin.
His soul drained onto the sheets with her blood. He died a little bit in that room, forever leaving a piece of himself behind.
Phillips came back to the present with a jerk. He stripped off his bloodstained clothes and put his sweaty fatigues back on. Slinging his shotgun over his back and cradling his rifle like a lover, the steel was warm and hard under his blood-soaked hands. Just like Jordon, he didn’t have time to have a nervous breakdown. He needed to help get Mic and Jordon out of there alive.
Mic was lacing her boots and shoving knives back into place. That woman was nothing, if not efficient, with great one-liners and a skill for delivery. He couldn’t help but admire her, even when he didn’t want to.
Just then Linc came in, looking freaked the fuck out. He was breathing hard and sweating his fake blood off.
“Time to go, Linc. How do you feel about heights? We’re going to make our way to the LZ and climb up a roped dangling from our helicopter,” she said with that crazy smile of hers. That evil fucking grin usually meant she was having fun in an otherwise shitty situation. Good news for us, bad fucking day for the bad guys.
“I’ve no problem with heights, luv. Do you?” Linc chirped back. Just then, alarms started to scream and strobes flashed. Time was up. The alarm was raised too early; they were supposed to be clear of the mansion before the sirens went off. Looked like Mateo’s man showed up sooner than planned.
“Ha, boy here has jokes! Can it. Time to go. Hope you’re ready, English.” She was definitely having too much fun. Covered in blood, outnumbered, outgunned, and she was snarking of
f with sarcasm thick enough to walk on. Typical day at the office for Steel Corps.
****
I peeked around the corner. No one was in sight. I tapped my comm button in my vest. “Pierce, go.” I counted to three before I heard the first explosion that blew in a wall on the opposite side of the mansion from us. Let’s hear it for forethought and coordination. I had hoped that we could just sneak out without having to fire a shot, but luck was not on our side today.
The sound of AK-47s firing non-stop filled the air. Idiots were just firing randomly into the jungle. There was no one on their side for them to even shoot at. Fuckwads were going to make this easy.
“Wait for the next blast, then we go. Most of them will be drawn over to the other side of the compound. Linc, you stay right the fuck beside us.” A few seconds later, another giant boom shook the floor and dust fell down from the ceiling above us. That was our cue.
We ran out the door, heading perpendicular to the way we entered, through the gardens. I could just make out the faint sound of Flynn above us, heading to the LZ. I ran past the statues, ducking behind one when I felt bullets fly past my face. Looking behind me quickly to make sure no one was hit, Jordon and Phillips give me a thumbs-up. Linc was shaken, but appeared to be holding his own. He had to have giant brass balls to have survived in the clutches of the cartel for over a year.
“Eagle, we are approaching from the south gardens, need suppressing fire. Over.”
“Copy that,” came the garbled reply, followed by pops and thuds as Jones picked off the men firing upon us.
“Clear to proceed, Eagle Mother. Over.” For fucks sake, this was beyond ridiculous. On a normal day, Jones had about as much humor as a funeral director, but we were in the shit and he was smarting off.
“Copy, Eagle.” Pierce must have held his button down, I could hear him chuckling.
“Clear the line.” The laughter cut off abruptly, as if he hadn’t done it on purpose. The button was where it was so that we didn’t hit it by accident.
We ran forward out of the gardens, leaping over dead bodies as we went. Our boots squelching in puddles of blood. Great, just fucking great, these were brand new boots too. You could never quite get all the blood out.
Another blast shook the ground beneath us. Even closer than the last one, I could feel the heat from the fire starting in the mansion. Soon it would be a pile of ash and stones, a symbol of the fall of the cartel. Along with the sounds of gun fire, I could hear shouting and women screaming. The few remaining party guests were adding to the mix of chaos around us.
“Don’t shoot the civvies, green light on hostiles only,” I said, as I saw a woman in a 1920s style nightgown go running past us. She was screaming like she was in a slasher film; which in her eyes, I suppose she was.
We cleared the garden, Linc right on my heels where he needed to be. We came out at the side of the estate. I could see the main road and gate just beyond the small courtyard we were in. I raised a fist and motioned for the men to get down.
“Eagle, Riley, do you have eyes on us, over?”
“Copy that,” they both said.
“We’re going to come to the center with the package. Over.”
I turned behind me to Linc and Jordon. “Now is the time. Go.” Jordon brought his rifle up, firing before I even had a chance to react to the man coming toward us. The young man in baggy and torn clothes took a bullet to the head, blowing blood and brains all over the cobbled courtyard. The light faded from his eyes in a blink. Jordon just proved himself to me in a dramatic way. He saved my life, but didn’t stop. He advanced with determined strides, firing in rapid succession, his targets falling in the wake of bullets. Dropping to one knee behind the cover of a statue, he reloaded quickly; drawing their fire so we could move ahead.
I brought my rifle up as we moved, firing as I jogged forward, always advancing, trying like hell to get to the tree line and the cover it offered. I could hear shots from an M4 behind us on the other side of the mansion. Confusion reigned. Men scrambled around like ants, not knowing where the main threat was and not yet realizing their el jefe was dead. Without leadership to rally behind, their ranks fell to confusion and disorder. The guests were scattering as well, trying to run but having nowhere to go.
Before I could radio in, a shape materialized in front of us, silhouetted by the burning mansion. He looked like Mateo, only smaller and younger. Not ruined with drink and drugs, he was what Mateo must have looked like twenty years ago. There was a gap in our intelligence; we had no indication that Mateo ever had any children. He didn’t come toward us, instead stayed well back. He just stood there, watching us destroy his legacy; I knew in my gut this man was Mateo’s flesh and blood. I took a step forward, then another and another, until I was running toward this man. Running in the wrong direction. We were supposed to be hauling Linc to the LZ, climbing a rope, and heading home. I knew in the depths of my soul that if I didn’t kill this man, I would regret it.
He saw me coming, turned, and ran. He wanted to live as much as I wanted to kill him. My radio chattered; I ignored it and kept running.
“Mic, I’m on your six!” Jordon yelled at me.
“Proceed to LZ, over!” Pierce was yelling in my ear.
“What the fuck are you doing Mic? Get to the LZ!” Phillips was shouting into the radio, as if increased volume would help.
“New target acquired,” I said, breathlessly into my com.
“Fuck that, get to the LZ. You are off mission!” Phillips continued to berate me.
“I will meet you there. If not, dust off without me and I’ll proceed to the secondary LZ.” I was gaining on him, but the heat was wearing on me. I bobbed and weaved around statues and animal-shaped hedges, firing at guards as I went. I had to get this fucking guy.
“Mic, you have to stop. Get to the LZ.” Flynn this time, sounding off. Giving me orders.
Before I could respond again, telling them to go without me, I heard a thud and a burn hit my calf. I was hit. The pain was fire, spreading through my leg. Warm blood competed with the sweat pouring off every inch of my body. My leg gave out and I hit the deck behind a short wall. Jordon nearly landed on me, he dove toward me so fast.
“Mic, what the ever loving fuck are you doing?!” He screamed at me over the sound of more explosions. Someone was throwing grenades, trying to give us some cover to bug the fuck out of there. I appreciated the effort, but it was wasted. No way could I make the LZ in time now. His green eyes reflected back at me, showing concern and fear for me. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, comingling to create the same mask from my dream.
“Nothing now. I’ll explain later.” I waved a hand toward my leg. In the pre-dawn light it was easy enough to see the blood seeping out.
“Fucking hell,” He ground out, ripping my pant leg and inspecting the wound. We didn’t have time for this. He seemed to read my mind. He ripped open his IFAK—Individual First Aid Kit—and tugged out the tourniquet and an Israeli bandage. He tied off the tourniquet above the wound and wrapped the bandage around the bullet hole, applying pressure that made me grit my teeth and fight a scream bubbling up in my throat. He was trying to staunch the flow of blood, get it stopped so we could get the hell out of there. Propping his rifle on the wall, he fired until he was empty. He took my last magazine off my vest, reloaded faster than I’ve ever seen anyone do and continued firing.
“Time to go,” he said, dropping the rifle on its sling and putting a thick arm around my waist. He pulled me to my feet, causing pain to shoot up my leg in a blast of hot agony. Every step was pure torture. Jordon was carrying me more than I was walking. I slowed us down to little more than a limping crawl. Fuck fuckity fuck.
“Jordon, do you know where we’re going?” I ground out between my gritted teeth, as we finally made it past the tree-line and into the cover of the jungle. The LZ was two klicks away through dense jungle and across a river. No way would I make it that far, not until we did some serious field medic magic
on me.
“The secondary pick-up LZ.” Ok, so yes, he knew where we were going. He should have left with the others.
“Eagle Mother, do you copy?” My radio crackled. We were getting farther and farther out of range. We needed to update them before we lost radio contact completely.
“I copy, Eagle. Is the package secure?” That was all that mattered at this point, getting Linc the hell out.
“Package is secure, Eagle Mother. Over.” There was heavy static between his words. I could hardly understand what he was saying.
“Copy. Package secure.” Jordon grunted as we cleared a log, him mostly picking me up, but letting me think I was helping and not a lead weight hanging on his neck.
“Where the fuck are you? We’re rolling out.” Pierce this time. He was no doubt ripping the radio off of Jones.
“We will meet you at the secondary pick-up LZ at …,” I glanced at my watch. “Zero eight-hundred hours tomorrow morning. I am hit. Not going to make the LZ today.” Crackle answered me back.
We were moving deeper into the jungle. I looked behind us, but didn’t see anyone in pursuit. The chaos at the mansion was hopefully enough to cover our escape.
“Do you copy?” I prayed they were still in range. I had to tell them about Mateo’s son, I had to warn them.
Nothing but static answered me. I could hear the faint noise of a chopper in the distance, only discernable because I knew what to listen for. They were on their way back out to the airstrip and would hunker down, re-fuel, and re-group before coming back in tomorrow to drag our asses out; provided we didn’t get killed in the meantime.