by Ray Carole
Both lay down facing each other.
‘That shat me up, I just caught a speck of red. Do you see it mate?’ Mick asked.
‘I got it.’
Heart still pumping hard Mick took a moment to compose and gather his thoughts.
‘We’re about an hour ahead of time, let’s drop our kit down behind that ice boulder and get ready.’
Without saying anything Robby pulled the pulk into the ditch, Mick slid in behind.
The preparation was simple.
Weapons needed to be ready. Plasticuffs accessible for the quick detention of WHITEOUT. Next the camera and satellite phone.
Minutes later they were both ready.
Mick made the call burrowed in tightly to Robby’s back.
‘Hello Mick,’ Gerry answered.
‘Gerry we’re at the FRV. The tent is about 100 metres away as we were taken by surprise but it’s all quiet. Here’s our grid.’ Mick spoke as quietly as he could despite the roaring wind drowning out his voice.
Repeating back the grid Gerry continued, ‘Mick you all set?’
‘Once we get him under control we will call Sully for the interrogation. I will call Sully now to prove communications after we have finished,’ Mick confirmed.
‘Good stuff guys. You have time so be cautious out there. Keep it simple mate and take no risks, if he fucks about shoot him cold dead.’
‘I hear you Gerry.’
‘That’s all from me Mick; this is what we came to do. Well done for getting there. Have a good one,’ Gerry finished up.
‘Okay Gerry, out.’
Ending the call to Gerry, Mick quickly scrolled for Sully’s number.
‘Got it all Mick,’ was the short response from Sully before Mick could say a word.
‘Okay Sully we will call you when we have him pinned down and ready for you to question him.’
‘Well done Mick, speak soon.’ Mick rolled his eyes, he was as clipped as ever.
Collapsing the antennae again Mick turned to Robby.
‘This is it mate, let’s just take a look at the ground in front.’
As both men looked from behind the ice boulder to survey the ground, Mick was trying to access the best approach route in. Terrain-wise he knew it was perfect. Loads of boulders as opposed to it being a billiard board. Robby was thinking the same. It was a no-brainer. There’s always going to be that paranoia associated with moving across open ground with WHITEOUT watching them approach, but this had been played out in Norway. Even though he should be asleep, Mick wasn’t taking any chances. Aiming for worst-case scenario was always a good safety mechanism.
‘You see the last bolder near his pulk?’ Mick asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘I will hold at that position and cover you from the spiked ice formation a few metres to the right, once we are both at these two positions, we can close in completely. Before that we can both walk up together to the halfway point then split off. I will let you fan out right first then we move to our final assault positions.’
‘Halfway together then break off?’ Robby asked.
‘Yeah. Let’s check comms in case we need them in a second along with the weapons.’
Looking at each other they both checked their pistols giving them a quick confidence check which simply involved racking the top slide of the receiver a slight way back to ensure a 9mm round was chambered.
Mick was surprised at how easy it was to pull the top slide back; he had expected a little more resistance. Good sign that the weapon would fire without malfunction.
Robby had the same result. Both Glocks were ready to go.
‘Plasticuffs’ Mick said tapping them with his left hand. Both sets were attached by a karabiner on a short piece of cord.
‘Phone, video camera,’ talking to himself Mick tapped his pockets then quickly pulled out the camera and checked it functioned. Within seconds the screen powered up showing 3 battery bars, but a blank screen due to the lens cap still covering the aperture.
Still transfixed on Robby who was waiting Mick cracked on.
‘Okay we’re good. On my command we will move forward fifty-fifty until we hit the halfway point. I will hold out my left arm at that point. You then split off right and loop around to the spike. I will move to the boulder. I will do a quick comms check before we commit to the takedown. Once I give the signal, you dive on the tent whilst I shout the commands to calm him down. We don’t know if this lunatic has a weapon so no warning just collapse the tent on him. Once he stops fucking about we will cut him out of the tent then cuff him, happy so far Robby?’
‘Fine.’
‘I will then phone up Sully, you hold the camera ready. I will hold the phone next to WHITEOUT’s ear. Any fucking about from WHITEOUT take a shot, no risks Robby.’
‘Understood,’ Robby replied without hesitation.
‘Right let’s just take a moment mate the talking is over,’ Mick relaxing leaning against Robby. ‘Fuck me this task seemed like a wind-up, even impossible sat back in the VW. What we thought was a barking mad option is about to become a reality mucker.’
‘I’m with you mate, let’s just get this done and get home,’ Robby said whilst giving Mick a reassuring clench around the shoulder knowing they were less than 100 metres from WHITEOUT, or Harry Decker to his loyal followers, whose life was about to be brought to an abrupt and possibly violent end. Sleeping after another 14 miles of skiing he would shortly be awakened with the same shock of capture violence he had inflicted on terrorists with ruthless conviction. A short violent interrogation would lead the way to a shock execution, though Mick vowed to honour Sully’s wishes and send him off unsuspecting, and not facing a barrel.
‘Ready?’ Mick nodded at Robby. Robby nodded.
Leading the way Mick moved over the brow of the trench. Creating an inch indent with each step and cringing at the crimping sound which sounded magnified through his senses.
Moving about 30 metres with his Glock aimed at the tent, he stopped and gave Robby the signal to start moving, flagging his left hand in the air whilst remaining still.
Robby slowly bounded forward and moved up near Mick. Both of them were feeling the physiological effects of this ordeal. Minus 30 with a 20mph wind, anxiety was creating sweat this time, not the wind. Noticing his mask was steamed up fully by his sweat Mick removed it, and placed it on his head so he could see properly. A wise move, any moment now he may have to make a snap judgment shot that involved complete accuracy.
Robby closing into Mick realised that he had to do the same now with his.
Mick took a few quick blinks before focusing directly on the tent entrance, almost expecting a random WHITEOUT to pop out for a piss. Taking no chances he kept his weapon trained directly at the tent door. The clamminess on his hands was now evident to him. Trying to counteract the nervous shaking of his hands he gripped the pistol tighter even though his training told him that it would amplify the feeling.
‘In control, you’re in control, nice and easy, that’s just the adrenaline pumping you up,’ he whispered to himself.
Knowing that this was the natural activation of all his impulses with his pupils dilating for heightened awareness to channel his vision, he remained transfixed on the perceived threat.
Taking comfort from his body’s flight-or-fight mechanism charging the blood to the muscle groups that could be needed to stand and fight, or react in an explosive and dynamic manner if called upon, it was as though his central nervous system had just become his best ally.
Mick saw the boulder clearly a few feet away and knelt beside it waving Robby forwards. Picking up the pace slightly Robby quickly moved in.
A quick nod at each other signalled the initiation of the final approach. Both men registered each other’s eyes almost popping out with exciteme
nt, terror and anticipation. Both were relieved that they looked and felt the same.
Moving off to the right-hand side, Robby moved in closer. Mick aware of Robby in his peripheries stood his ground training the Glock directly on the tent’s entrance again.
Taking time to cautiously move and swing around in a semicircle to take up a ninety-degree angle to the spike. Robby was almost holding his breath to be quiet, even though the wind was ripping through and slapping the tent fabric without remorse. Robby still thought he was making too much noise as he moved up behind the spike, cursing himself frantically.
They both paused at their final assault positions, well beyond the point of no return.
Mick looked at Robby 30 or so metres away and gave him the signal via hand. Zero radio.
Robby felt the final supercharged rush of adrenalin hit his limbs that automatically drove him in to action. He moved forward, exploding into action grabbing the end tent hoop and diving in towards the tent knowing this would be where WHITEOUT’s upper torso would be. The poles snapped out of their rubber housing beds and extended allowing the rear end of the tent to collapse.
‘Stay the fuck where you are Harry, just stop, no moving, we are armed,’ Mick screamed firing a few shots in the air to prove it.
‘Stay fucking still Harry I mean it you’re outnumbered and we’re armed,’ Mick repeated.
Robby had tensed his muscles up, bracing himself in anticipation to feel the battered and tired torso of WHITEOUT laying inside his sleeping bag. Driving his knees down hard first for shock effect to at least bruise a few ribs.
‘Stay still you cunt, stay fucking still,’ Robby was pumped shouting away.
Mick covering and still shouting as Robby’s knees ploughed into WHITEOUT’s sleeping bag. Something wasn’t right.
Wearing salopettes and two other layers Robby tried to make sense of what his knees had hit.
It definitely wasn’t a body.
Like a madman Robby started to feel around, his arms crawling over the tent, then started beating the ground hard to locate WHITEOUT.
Mick was observing what looked like a blind tramp desperately trying to locate a passer-by’s coins thrown on the deck. ‘Shit the bed, the tent’s empty,’ Mick realised. Robby also stopped and jumped up both quickly turning around in opposite directions, weapons ready.
‘Where the fuck is he?’ Robby yelled over. Mick shook his head negatively recollecting his premature smirking remark about WHITEOUT setting patterns, being disciplined so it would be an easy takedown. This assumption was now biting him sorely in his ass.
‘Cover me Robby, I am going to check his pulk.’
‘Roger,’ Robby replied.
As Mick closed in he reached down, his left arm fully extended to locate the zip. One jagged rip back, pistol at the ready, he turned to Robby who was panning the horizon.
‘He’s fucking gone, the skis and poles are gone, he’s done one.’
Still remaining alert, as WHITEOUT could be anywhere watching from close proximity. Mick ran through a quick battle appreciation.
‘Has he gone for a piss, shit? No. Has he just gone for a quick ski to exercise his legs? Don’t be so fucking stupid idiot.’
Robby started checking the tent’s contents. Ripping the tent doors open instead of cutting the fabric Robby got inside the collapsed tent.
Creating a dome with his arms he could see everything due to the tent being so small. He panned around clocking the items that confirmed WHITEOUT had not merely gone for a shit.
Neat and tidy were his two satellite phones and one beacon, his entire communications lifeline.
‘Over here,’ Robby shouted.
Poking his head into the dome created by Robby, Mick was silent, staring at the comms equipment. This moment lasted a few seconds, before they both panicked back to their feet.
Robby whispered: ‘Is this guy fucking with us?’
Chapter 29
EARLIER that day
Rolling back onto his front, he had shaken off his near-death experience. Looking up Decker paused. Squinting his eyes to refocus before looking down to the snow he shook his head, then slowly looked up again. Balling his eyes into the distance, there it was again, the clag cleared for a few seconds, and then again.
As he looked up a brief uninterrupted glimpse through clag gave him two miles of visibility. Looking into the lower ground he could make out two dark figures skiing. Cam whites might be okay at shorter distance, but anything over 300 metres offered no concealment. You might just as well be wearing fluorescent orange bibs. And there they were, two figures skiing straight on his bearing, one pulling a small pulk following him in his freshly cut ski tracks.
Catapulting himself into action in a state of sheer panic he put his skis back on, grabbed his poles and started to ski around the huge crevasse hole to hide. Naturally hunching over to lower his profile he started to ski as fast as physically possible.
‘They have finally turned up,’ he thought as his heart started racing as he drove his arms back and legs forward like titanium pistons.
‘I knew it all along, I am not mad, I’m a genius after all, I knew I was, I knew it,’ he continued to mutter to himself. Any self-doubt that saturated Decker’s mind throughout this journey was ripped clean out of his body. Thinking a near breakdown fuelled on self-pity and blame to cover his weaknesses was gone, forever. He started talking to himself but the script was fresh, this was real, this was happening, NOW.
‘Not a chance Decker,’ he bellowed out as he just discounted the last 5 minute conclusion of his life.
‘This is fucking happening and you never let anything but instinct rule your mind till you drop dead. You hear me boy?’ Ordering himself along.
After a few minutes Decker was sweating due to the explosive pace driven by the adrenalin flooding his body. Instantly remembering his training he slowed down and retained his normal pace knowing full well that it was considered rapid to many other people.
In those brief few minutes Decker had just run through an advanced set of operational estimation processes that would take the smartest group of military officers hours. Based on the evidence he had just seen, The FEAR was in fact real. He had some serious life-changing, if not life-saving, decisions to make instantly.
It didn’t matter now about the what, who, where or when. He wanted to know the ‘how’. How the hell were these guys planning on capturing him, or killing him if he believed his gut instinct.
There was still need for extensive cross-examination about his theories of how The FEAR had maybe mistakenly given him accidental insight to their existence, but that could wait, they were here and coming to collect. Survival was priority not getting back to the enigma of this whole fucked-up situation.
It was about dealing with the facts now, and this was no mean task as his thoughts started to implode openly.
‘Fact: this is them coming to capture or kill me. They could have just waited for me when I returned home but they are here, that means I’m high priority, right up there on the kill list. I can see two operators but there may be more. How long have they been behind me? It must only be a day or so maximum as I would have pinged them earlier. How exactly did they get here? The last three days has been boulder fields so impossible for a Twin Otter light aircraft insertion. That is the smallest airframe that could reach with fuel cache stops on route. It would have had to have landed at least 50 miles away, or three days ago to make that possible.
Helicopter? Nah nearest fuel dump is the Thiele Mountains and a return trip couldn’t cover that, it’s over 500KM.
Mobility? Not a chance unless they have come for the South Pole station and looped in behind me, but why would they get on skis and stalk me? No one else is in this quadrant so they could just as well have driven up to me when I start crossing flatter ground.
His mind was on overdrive, reeling insertion possibilities off his head. He knew you didn’t just rock up at the South Pole station, thumb down a skidoo snow taxi to ride out and kill someone, or borrow an airframe such as a Twin Otter to throw someone out, free fall to his rear, then creep up and slit his throat.
Covert insertion, it has to be.
This will be their signature so however they got in was either without the person dropping them off actually realising their true intentions, or they have bribed them if it’s a commercial plane.
Maybe they have used the cover of a United States C130 aircraft if the US government is helping?
Decker was not convinced the US Government were involved and his gut instinct was they hitched a ride without the facilitator knowing their mission set.
My last tent location must have been known or worked out. ALE base camp is compromised and Steve Jones has no idea, or my beacon may be working after all and they have been tracking it?
They must have a tracking platform but how do I know its depth and sophistication? I will have to completely ditch all communications equipment, it’s almost dead anyway. Even when the phone or beacon is off, or in sleep mode it can still be monitored if the right asset is covering it from above. Christ when I was serving we could turn phones on to listen to people, or maybe they’re just tracking my body via Satellite downlink?
Nah, no chance this is not Central Baghdad or the Hindu Kush mountains in Afghanistan. Sourcing those assets is a ball-ache for tier one Special Forces Units taking down top AQ leaders. Committing satellite coverage for me is ridiculous.