by Tom Benson
“You sound as if something is preying on your mind, which isn’t like you.”
“I’m worried about Max. He’s the president of a biker gang, so he’s going to have guts. From what Rachel said, he also has a lot of anger to control.”
“Radio our guys.” Annabel dropped a gear and once again sped past a line of vehicles that were travelling within the fifty-mph speed restriction. Horns sounded in their wake.
“It might help,” Phil said. “We have to try and make him hold back. If he gets too impulsive, he’ll get himself killed.”
“Ask Rachel to pair up with Max.” A smile passed over her lips. “She’ll enjoy the responsibility, and besides—Max will enjoy the company.”
“You’re right—Jake will be fine on his own.” Phil turned up the volume on the handheld radio and unplugged the throat mike and earpiece. It clicked to the loudspeaker.
“Hullo Juliet and Romeo, this is Zero,” Phil said in a clear, even tone checking the radios.
“Juliet send.” Jake’s bike engine growling behind the voice.
“Romeo send.” Rachel’s voice boomed from the small device. The engine noise of her bike roared in the background.
Phil said, “I will co-locate with Alpha approximately three hundred metres north of Tango.” He paused. “Juliet, perform backstop one hundred metres east. Romeo, remain co-located with Max—one hundred metres west of Tango.”
“Juliet, roger. Backstop to the east,” Jake responded.
“Romeo, roger. Co-locate and remain west,” Rachel said.
“Shit-head,” Annabel muttered and braked to avoid a slow inconsiderate driver who’d pulled out. “Sorry,” she said, as she dropped gear again. Backs and shoulders were forced into seats as the Audi set off, rapidly reaching eighty.
Phil continued as if it was a casual drive. “Romeo this is Zero, what is your ETA?”
“One-zero minutes,” Rachel said.
“Zero roger.” Phil glanced at his watch and nodded his approval. “Our ETA is two-zero minutes. Avoid action if possible before my order.”
“Juliet, roger.”
“Romeo, roger.”
Phil placed the radio on the centre console and gazed at the traffic ahead. As they approached the roundabout between Drumchapel and Clydebank, the Audi slowed and leant right, left, and right again as Annabel negotiated the island. The big engine roared as the car accelerated rapidly.
.
12:15 pm
The two big bikes idled along the final one hundred metres, engines burbling.
Max approached, putting away his pistol as he got close. He grinned when he recognised Rachel’s ‘Kwaki’.
Rachel and Jake dismounted and removed their helmets to carry them underarm.
“Max,” Rachel said. “This is Jake, one of my associates from BTL.” She turned to her companion. “Jake, this is Max the Knife.” She grinned as the two men reached out and gripped each other’s hand in a powerful, but brief handshake.
Rachel observed the pair, pleased to see there was no macho bullshit. The steady mutual gaze demonstrated a rapid and silent assessment by both men. They would recognise strength in each other’s expression.
Rachel said. “What’s been going on since we spoke earlier?”
“Not much change.” Max glanced over his shoulder and then looked from one to the other. “At first there were two guys with machine guns, and then a different pair came out to patrol.”
Rachel said, “Have you seen the guy with the beard since he went inside?”
“He came out at first with others to grab a couple of big canvas bags.” He nodded at the building. “I noticed one guy leaning out of an upstairs window, and another came out and stood at the front door to have a smoke.”
“So we’re looking at five X-rays at least,” Rachel said.
Max squinted at the mention of X-rays but didn’t ask. He looked at the two bikes. “Did your boss get in touch with the guys in Byres Road?”
“No,” Rachel said. “Hawk just told me on the radio. The phone at the clubhouse is out of commission.”
“You were right then. The whole thing is a fuckin’ setup,” Max said, grimacing.
“I’ll be off,” Jake said. “I’m in a different location Max, but I wanted to meet before the fireworks. Rachel will brief you on the plan. Okay, mate?”
“Sure—thanks for comin’ mate.”
“No problem—any fight of Rachel’s is a fight of mine.” Jake donned his helmet and gauntlets, turned his bike and set off quietly on the main track. It would take five minutes to reach his position. He used the narrow lanes so he could keep the revs low.
.
12:25 pm
Annabel eased the car along a dirt track near the perimeter of the copse. Phil got out, checked the undergrowth and then waved her in. Annabel reversed the vehicle into position, out of sight, but ready to go if they had to bug out.
While Annabel fetched the weapons bag and settled in her vantage point, Phil spent two minutes spreading a hessian cover over the car’s gleaming bodywork and windows. He stood for a moment just inside the tree-line, watching and listening. The birds sounded content, which meant Phil was too. Silence as often highlighted in movies is rarely good.
Five minutes after parking, Annabel had set up her Sako rifle. It was an older style of weapon, but still her favourite for this type of work. There were a series of clicks as Annabel fitted a bipod and a large suppressor.
Annabel fitted and adjusted the Zeiss telescopic sight. She liked three hundred metres. It gave good clearance to target, and only an outstanding shooter would be able to return effective fire. She set the crosshairs on an upstairs window where a shadow had moved within.
Phil crawled into the undergrowth alongside his partner and placed his Heckler-Koch sub-machine gun on the grass. There was no intention of using the weapon from so far away, but Phil wanted something to use if he had to move within one hundred metres or closer.
He pulled out his field glasses and focused on the old building. While not impregnable, there were no windows or doors; only holes. The stonework had substantial thickness. Where there should have been large ornate windows, there were eight gaping spaces on the rear and four on each of the two sides.
As per S.O.P., the target building was named Tango, the opposition’s vehicle was X-ray-Victor, and the occupants known as X-rays.
Phil panned right, and because of movement, he saw Max’s leather jacket with the club and personal patches. It took longer, but nearby in deeper cover was Rachel. Phil panned left, past the old house and looked for Jake. Even though he knew where to look, he didn’t expect to see him. He lifted his radio.
“Hullo Juliet and Romeo, this is Zero. Now in location, with Alpha—send sitrep.”
To the untrained, the call might have sounded better as Romeo and Juliet, but in radio procedure, the call-signs were used in alphabetic seniority from the first letter to the last.
“Juliet, ready,” Jake said. “Clear view of Tango front, and X-ray-Victor.”
“Romeo, ready,” Rachel said. “Four armed X-rays identified. Original X-ray not seen for thirty minutes.”
“Zero roger. The party will start in five minutes. S.O.P. for engagement.”
Rachel whispered the result of the conversation.
Max said, “What the fuck does S.O.P. mean?”
“It means Standard Operating Procedure. In our case, we don’t kill people for the sake of it, even if they are assholes.” She turned from him to glance towards the old house and then looked back to him.
“I fuckin’ would,” he mumbled.
“However,” Rachel said. “If somebody decides to play at Cowboys and Indians; they fucking die.” Rachel knew Max would respond better to a partner who could curse easily.
“Well, I hope they want to fuckin’ play.” Max was gagging for a fight and revenge.
Rachel stressed that until trained, only to fire single aimed shots. “Remember, holding a handgun sideways
might look cool in a movie, but in reality, it’s totally useless unless you simply wanted to scare somebody.”
Max’s brow furrowed at the news. How could such a well-known technique be wrong?
“The weapon doesn’t know which way is up,” Rachel said. “In the case of most weapons with a level of recoil, when the gun fires the barrel will move. You should also squeeze the trigger—don’t pull it.
Max’s brow furrowed as he tried to understand this enlightening mini-lecture.
Rachel said, “Hold the weapon upright and aim low, you might hit the target high, but at least you’ll have a better chance of a hit.”
Max’s bushy whiskers twitched as he nodded and smiled in understanding. “So in reality, if you hold the weapon sideways, there is a fair chance you’ll fuckin’ miss?”
“Correct,” Rachel said. “There’s an even fairer chance the other bastard will kill you.”
“You’ll do for me, Rachel.” Max was gaining a new perspective on firearms, and a healthy respect for his pretty companion. She was much more than a looker.
.
12:30 pm
Due to the lack of glass, there was no reflection or glare, which made Annabel’s task easier than usual. She identified her first target in an upstairs room to the right. The semi-darkness of the room acted as the perfect background when there was movement.
Annabel controlled her breathing and curled her right forefinger around the trigger.
She whispered, “X-ray identified, top right window.” Her breathing was quiet and steady.
“Seen,” Phil said quietly, as he scanned the back of the ruin through his field glasses.
A man’s head and shoulders appeared slightly proud of the window ledge. He was leaning forward to look around, and then he ducked back inside. He stared across the open field to the copse and then turned to look left and right, nearer to the building.
Cradled across his arms was an Uzi machine gun. It wasn’t ideal to use from a window due to being a close quarter weapon, but there might have been no choice.
Annabel maintained her breathing rhythm and focused her cross-hairs on the target’s right eye. She adjusted her aim to the upper right arm.
A loud “Phutt!” sounded from the undergrowth at the copse.
“Bastard!” The cry carried across the fields, echoing from within the ruin. The bullet had torn into the gunman’s right biceps, and he fell back into the room. He dropped his weapon to grip his injury.
“Nice shot,” Phil whispered. He was no slouch in marksmanship himself.
“Thank you.” Annabel maintained her aim in case the injured man got brave, or stupid. Her features showed no emotion.
Phil used his field glasses to scan the other window spaces across the back and right side of the house. He was ready to identify targets.
“Okay Max,” Rachel said when she heard the injured man’s shouted curse. “We’re on, but please take it easy, okay?”
“You can trust me.” Max gazed at the old revolver in his hand.
“Remember, ten metres at a time, and get down following each move.” She glanced at him. “Wherever you look is where your fucking weapon should be pointing.”
“Got it.” Max smiled. He liked Rachel’s no-nonsense attitude, and he was beginning to understand the basics. “No time for fuckin’ around. If I see a target, I’m ready to fire.”
Rachel winked, treating the big guy to the flutter of her long lashes. “Fire and manoeuvre ... I move; you cover. You move; I cover.” Before they set off on the first leg, Rachel used her radio.
“Hullo Zero, this is Romeo.” She paused and glanced in the direction of the trees. “Would it be possible to immobilise X-ray-Victor?”
“Zero roger,” Phil said. “Watch and wait.” There was a light crack in the air, and the rear left tyre of the silver Astra exploded with a pop. The tyre was flat within a few seconds.
“Zero, clear,” Phil said over the radio.
“Romeo, roger.” Rachel made the first dash. It was five metres, but the most explicit way of demonstrating how to run and zig-zag. She got down low and waved her left hand without looking back.
Max would cover ten metres in his bound. He was big but agile. As he passed Rachel, he whispered, “Easy ... fuckin’ ... peasy.”
The pair worked together and got to within twenty-five metres of the old mansion house as two gunmen came out to patrol. The men were practically side-by-side, and both carried their weapons in the right hand, pointing at the ground. They were no immediate threat and would be responsible for their fates.
The two gunmen sauntered towards the hedgerow.
Rachel stood up, holding her 9mm pistol in a double-handed grip.
Max stood up and imitated her with his gleaming black service revolver.
Rachel said, “Put the weapons down, and you can walk away from this.”
The man who was a little further in front smiled and started nodding before he spoke. “Calamity fucking Jane are we, love?” He began to raise the butt of his weapon towards his shoulder, but it was a move too far.
A light crack sounded in the air, and a small hole appeared on the side of the man’s head. A larger hole appeared on the other side, from which, blood and bone fragments sprayed out over his colleague.
The second gunman glanced at Rachel and turned to see where the shot had come from. He hesitated before dropping to one knee. As he got down, he began to raise his machine gun, but his forefinger never reached the trigger. Before the weapon became a threat, a small hole appeared in his head, with a similar result to the first casualty. Rachel lifted both machine guns by their barrels and threw them into the edge of the bushes.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Max said. “You’ve got some serious friends.”
“Let’s go, mate,” she said, lowering her weapon. “We’re on next.”
Rachel and Max recommenced their alternating sprints. They reached Tango and stood side by side with their backs against the thick granite wall. They held their weapons double-handed, pointing upward a few inches away from the face.
“Ready?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah—I start on this side of the door, and you start on the other side.”
13. All for One
Jimmy Nairn was tall, slim and fair. The only dark aspect of him was on the inside. He had killed many men during his thirty-five years, and the first was when only eighteen years old himself. He had no regard for others, and later in life when taking part in any enterprise with weapons, he had little respect for superior firepower or strength in numbers.
Due to his criminal record, he was refused the chance to enlist in the British Army. Not to be denied the right to some excitement, Nairn learned to use a variety of firearms and then went to the Middle East as a mercenary. While there, he learned to use a few more. As long as he received some cash in hand, he would do anything to anybody, including torture and killing. For Nairn, there were two states; alive and making money, or dead.
Harry ‘Redhead’ Renton was also tall but of average build. He enjoyed nothing more than beating a victim to a pulp. He had been a bully at school, so gang warfare as a teenager was the natural progression. His devil-may-care attitude had allowed his early admission into the adult gangland scene.
A mop of ginger curls on his twenty-two-year-old head gave Renton a boyish look, but he was no less a thug. He’d witnessed death close up when he had helped beat a victim to death for a phone, a wristwatch and some loose change, but he had never actually shot anybody. He was eager to see the effects close up. Strange wishes can sometimes come true.
.
12:50 pm
Raised male voices echoed from within the ruin. Rachel and Max stood side by side behind the wide stone archway, listening and waiting. The chance for one of them to get to the other side of the entrance had passed.
When two of the voices got more apparent, Rachel raised her left forefinger to her lips and nodded. Max pressed his back flat against the wall as Rachel was
doing. The pair remained with weapons at the ready.
Two men stepped out to the edge of the doorway. Following no more than a glance to the left, they turned right and saw their two colleagues lying in pools of blood.
Nairn said, “Now you’ll get your chance to waste some of them fucking bikers Redhead.” Nairn raised his Uzi into an upright position, checked the magazine was secure and stepped forward with the younger man at his side. Renton had a Remington pump-action carried low across his body.
The average gunman has many lessons to learn, and if not learned early enough it can be costly. One technique is if carrying anything larger than a handgun, to have the butt in the shoulder or under the arm if preparing to meet an adversary.
Another lesson is never to carry a large weapon in such a way it becomes an obstacle to yourself or a companion, especially if heading into a patrol situation or fire-fight. Whatever were the experiences of the two men who stepped away from the doorway, neither remembered crucial lessons in weapon handling. It was unfortunate, but such is life and death.
“Stand still,” Rachel said quietly.
As the two gangland gunmen stopped and slowly turned, one found the business end of a 9mm pistol pointing at his forehead from less than a metre distance. The other man was staring in disbelief down the barrel of a Webley service revolver.
Five seconds later, the man facing the automatic experienced a warm, wet flow down the inside of his trousers. For the merest hint of time, Renton considered doing something other than wetting himself, but he managed to fight the urge. The fear of imminent death affects men in different ways.
In those same five seconds, the older man, either through stupidity or sheer pig-headedness attempted to raise his machine gun, but the old revolver gave a satisfying loud report, and a small hole appeared in Nairn’s forehead. There was a metallic clatter as the Uzi landed on a one-hundred-year-old flagstone, and a dull thud as the lifeless body crumpled and fell beside the weapon.
Max hardly flinched at the man’s death. He raised his right eyebrow as he slowly turned to Renton, the pistol barrel still smoking, and held at arm’s length. “Do you want to die too, dickhead?”