by Ray Carole
But he also knew WHITEOUT may be waiting for him to come up and inspect Robby’s body. Surely a colleague would do this? Check his wingman?
Another ambush in the space of 15 minutes at the exact same point?
No thanks Mick thought, that’s an amateur’s mistake.
As much as it killed Mick to not see Robby he knew he had to register the co-ordinates of his body, part company, make a call then loop back in and chase WHITEOUT again.
This time they would both be on foot, both with pistols with the identical aim of killing each other or put more elegantly, surviving. Mick couldn’t risk staying on skis even though he could potentially catch up with WHITEOUT faster. Skis restricted his mobility at close quarters, especially if he got jumped again or shot at with minimal, if any, warning.
He made the call.
‘Gerry it’s all gone fucking wrong, Robby is dea,.’ Mick quietly told Gerry down the phone.
‘What the fuck?’ Gerry responded totally caught off guard.
‘He came from nowhere; all I saw was him behind Robby at the top of a bank ramming a knife into his neck. I think Robby is dead.’
‘Where is Robby now and what about WHITEOUT?’ Gerry asked.
‘I’m in cover behind an ice formation looking back at where Robby was taken out. I don’t know if WHITEOUT is near him or not, but I assume he has Robby’s pistol. What the fuck is all this Gerry?’
‘You have got to get WHITEOUT Mick, I know it’s tough but he needs killing, don’t worry about anything else just kill him,’ Gerry commanded again, trying to get Mick out of his state of shock and back into business mode.
That inflated ego that most South African Special Forces house, had just had a major puncture. Mick’s bottle was in question now and he knew it.
‘Not sure I can do this Gerry, I need back-up he’s too sharp out here, he could be watching me now.’
‘Mick take a few deep breaths, have a moment, come on let’s get some composure.’
Mick breathed heavily in and out a few times, the vapour mist rising with each exhalation as he continued to erratically dart his eyes everywhere looking for WHITEOUT.
‘Gerry I could be dead in a few minutes or hours, what the fuck are we doing here, give me at least that, you owe it to us. Robby, he’s dead for Christ’s sake,’ Mick began pleading with Gerry.
‘Mick, listen, WHITEOUT is theoretically our most wanted at the moment, he is a man we need killing now, today. He’s a loose end that is inhibiting the activation of the most covert-psychological mind manipulation programme that will can kill terrorisim from within. It’s a game changer. He was an intricate part of the programme. We need him dead mate. I know you’re in pain and may be doubting yourself, but you can do it. He got lucky with Robby. Remember he is exhausted. You need to start tracking him again and take him down. CAN YOU DO THIS MICK?’
Mick digested all that Gerry said and took a few more breaths gradually regulating his pattern of breathing.
‘Mick, face the facts mate, he is going to hunt you down and want some answers or he may just kill you without question. It’s a catch 22 and the only way out is for you to kill him, I can’t help you at the moment and he’s not going to wait around. You getting all this?’
‘I’m good, I’m good,’ Mick responded without sounding like he was hyperventilating this time.
‘That’s it Mick, let’s get the game-head on now buddy. He is either going to start moving fast to the Trans-Ant RV in which case we will sort it out then, but between now and then you have to give chase as he might just fuck off on a tangent somewhere else, we can’t predict his behaviour so you need to get on it now.’ Gerry was trying to get Mick moving.
‘Okay Gerry I’m just thinking, give me a second.’
‘Mick,’ Gerry shouted, ‘he’s just murdered Robby, your close friend, a friend whose family don’t have a husband or father now. Now if you want your family to suffer the same consequences then keep thinking, but thinking won’t get you anywhere. Get on the offensive now, take the upper hand again and bury this guy.’
‘Fucking too right Gerry,’ Mick responded aggressively, snapping into gear. ‘Okay but I want in, full-time when this is finished Gerry, this is a massive undertaking now and Robby is dead remember. We can’t keep doing this shit without knowing how deep we are.’
‘Not a problem, you have my word, you’re in. Just get WHITEOUT and then get yourself to the EP site afterwards, you hear me?’
‘That’s a deal,’ Mick confirmed.
‘You can do it Mick, you can do it. Now sort yourself out and end this fucking nightmare, you owe it to Robby.’
‘That’s me I’m out of here. Phone is still on. I’m moving now to pick up his tracks, out.’ Mick killed the call and with his eyes barely blinking started moving on the ice to kill WHITEOUT.
Chapter 31
Mick had finally got his mettle together and started a right-hand loop to try and pick up WHITEOUT’s tracks completely avoiding the scene of Robby’s massacred body. Knowing that witnessing first hand Robby’s murdered torso across the bloodstained ice, might make him reconsider this pursuit or supercharge his desire for a quick revenge.
He moved at a snail’s pace knowing that it was possible for WHITEOUT to be bunkered down waiting for him to walk into his sights, and killing zone. The weather had moved in and now he could only see about five metres to his front.
Stopping immediately he realised he was being too hasty. This wasn’t going to be a quick resolution or revenge killing. Patience was now the order of the day unless he wanted to meet the same fate as his fellow South African. A classic case of the hunter becoming the hunted, Mick was in a lonely void where his bravado couldn’t hide the fact he was scared shitless. Every soldier needs his wingman to rely on, to turn to in times of desperation but this wasn’t an option. For the first time in his life he was on his own and felt alone knowing he had to finish the job to survive, or fail and die.
*****
Decker was finding it tough going underfoot as the ice conditions were fragile. A mixture of soft snow in between hard pack ice meant one second it was solid ice, affording good purchase the next he was up to his knees in snow.
Employing anti-tracking drills he was erratically moving from one ice formation to the other, constantly checking his rear, the same five-metre visibility was starting to take a strain. If he didn’t check his compass or GPS direction arrows every 20 metres he would become easily disorientated chancing a head-on with this guy. ‘Bring it on,’ Decker thought under his breath forcing the words out against the catabolic windstorm that was now murderously in session, gusting winds of 70 mph straight at him, rocking and spinning his body.
Naturally dipping his head to avoid his mask getting ripped up off his face, he stuck to his bearing, moving left and right to confuse his tracker and keep him guessing. From the moment the shot was fired he knew that this person was not going to stop, he had to keep progressing till Trans-Ant saw him tonight.
This weather was the worst he had come up against in a good while and was starting to dictate his tactics. Any sane man knew it was only a matter of time before continuing would be suicidal, and stopping soon was the only option. Wind chill, the combination of the cold temperature and the wind, magnified the temperature drop. ‘It must be at least minus 40,’ he thought as he was staggering blindly. Visibility was zero, energy levels were running dangerously low and progress was stinted.
It had been nearly 90 minutes since he’d ripped that unsuspecting guy’s throat clean out.
Decision point.
‘I have to stop, get into some sort of snow trench and get my North Face jacket on or I’m going to die of hypothermia, not a fatal gunshot wound,’ Decker mused to himself, finding a natural hollow in the ice pack was now his priority to shield himself from the wind. He faced the dire
ction he had just travelled. He could only work this out by a back-bearing on his compass that just involved looking at the direction of the white end of the needle, as visibility was now at zero. This would be the direction of his pursuers’ approach if he were still in pursuit and somehow following his tracks.
Mick would only find him now if he tripped over him such was the storm. His instinct honed by military training had told him to make the wise decision to survive and fight another day instead of continuing with the death march. It was again a waiting game. Only a weather window could set him free again to continue the manhunt.
Finding a hollow he sat crouched up and threw his huge North Face jacket on, knees tucked up inside. Wind still riding across his back, it was still bitterly cold but better than dying on his feet trying to evade Mick. He took a look at his watch, 0403 hours. Just as he was about to close his eyes the crimping of compact snow underneath heavy-duty boots made him freeze as he peeked out to his front. Unable to react the boots were only metres away, three metres then two. How the hell had this guy managed to find him? How had he actually managed to keep going during this onslaught? Decker was in a complete state of shock, had his arrogance got the better of him? Was it due to the other guy being fresh, unlike him, or was he that pumped up and determined to revenge his mate’s death he had adopted a crazed manic type of resolve to close in for the kill? Still motionless he was there finally on top of him. Paralysed he looked up hopelessly to see the legs above him. In a complete catatonic state he prepared himself for it to go dark when a mammoth gust of wind propelled a chunk of ice at his head waking him back to life and setting him free from the nightmare he just had endured.
‘Fuck that was a vivid one.’ Panicking then double-checking, Mick’s imaginary legs in front of his face had gone. Ripping back his jacket sleeve he took a look at his watch.
0456 hours.
‘Holy shit,’ quickly checking the weather he looked outside of his jacket hood. Sighing with relief it was still a blank canvas, no change.
This whole experience was wreaking havoc with his mind and his impatience was eating away at his consciousness. ‘I need to keep moving, I have to, I can’t drop off again.’
Logic batted this thought away.
‘Don’t lose your nerve there is no way that he is moving in this weather. Only a team of at least three or four men would dare move in this, and normally that is only to rescue the stricken mountaineers like him, and only in the most extreme of circumstances. Stay here it will get better.’ Reaching for his watch Decker set the alarm for 0600 to give him some much-needed sleep then shut his eyes again.
At 0620 hours he awoke with a shock.
‘That’s it I’m out of here, nice one with the alarm call dipshit I can’t even hear myself think let alone hear the idle beeping of my watch shaking against my jacket.’
He checked the weather again, 5-10 metres visibility wind slightly weaker.
‘This is it now, no excuses. That’s workable out there, time to get your ass in gear and make this RV.’
With over two hours’ rest he jumped up, stretched out and got a spurt on to try and warm up and also increase the distance before he decided what his plan would be to take his tracker down.
He made good progress, the ice pack was once again favourable underfoot and the visibility was opening with small breaks in the weather. He moved his feet faster knowing that the other guy would be feeling the same.
*****
Mick stopped and knelt down. He could see the footprints of WHITEOUT but no sign of any blood, knowing his shots fired earlier were not effective.
Scanning his front the mist was as clagged in as ever. Rising to his feet he gingerly moved forward with his pistol up ready to fire the moment he saw WHITEOUT. Instinct told him he was close by. Moving in, out and around the ice boulders he sensed something was happening. Pausing he took cover behind the ice to centre himself.
Waiting and briefly checking over his shoulder, he looked to his front again and there he was. WHITEOUT was moving across his front slowly only just visible, probably ten metres away. Mick clenched his pistol hard as he saw him stop. Resisting the initial urge to pull the trigger, WHITEOUT then turned right so his back was facing Mick.
Fighting to compose himself Mick moved out of cover and slowly moved towards him not making the mistake of rushing in and firing too early.
‘This is it, he’s in my sights, stay calm,’ Mick whispered to himself.
Five metres away, Mick barely breathing couldn’t contain his adrenalin-fuelled instincts. His calm plan went out of the window as he pulled the trigger and shot 7-8 rounds straight into WHITEOUT’s back. He watched as he began dropping to the ground falling to his knees first as another few rounds punctured his back. Mick ran forward then fired another barrage of rounds into the body that was now laying lifeless on its front in the snow.
Emptying his magazine, he breathed out hard, relieved, his chest burning.
He knew WHITEOUT was dead, as the figure remained splayed across the ice with blood starting to flow freely from it.
He paused then walked to WHITEOUT’s legs. He felt a sharp blow to his right side with an immediate burning effect to match the feeling in his chest. The two sharp blows spun him violently making him drop his pistol.
Falling to the deck and trying to take stock of what was happening, he caught a glimpse of two figures clad in white overalls and holding rifles. Awaiting more muzzle flashes to come from the barrels indicating they were firing again to finish him off.
No more flashes came.
Face on the ice, grimacing in pain, Mick knew he was bleeding heavily. Looking up there were two or three figures closing in.
*****
Decker felt as though he was flying as he moved down a gentle slope, so much so his eyes were fixated on the ground to the front of him, even so it was not enough to stop him tripping and catapulting himself through the air. Tumbling a number of times, and being stopped abruptly by another ice statue.
He got to his feet swiftly and started moving again before coming to an immediate halt, motionless. He pinched himself to ensure that this wasn’t another hallucination triggered by a hypothermic state.
Nope this was real, this was happening. About 100-metres away he saw two figures standing up with their backs towards him. These guys were there, right to his front completely oblivious to his presence.
Gently dropping to one knee Decker pulled his pistol out whilst the other guys remained static looking at something on the ground. With the clag moving in and out, they were obscured at times, he was trying to piece it together.
One guy moved off ninety degrees to the right, he blinked confused. This was getting more interesting by the second. Squinting his eyes and concentrating once more he saw that two figures were lying on the ice. One had his hands behind his head as another figure knelt down to start searching him. The other guy on the floor was being cradled by another figure. He also noted they had white camo overalls on like the guy he killed earlier.
The figures were holding rifles, M4s possibly and had it trained on the man on the floor. It was now clear this man was a prisoner and maybe was about to be executed?
‘Is that the other guy who was trying to kill me on the floor? Who’s the other dead guy being cradled? In fact who the fuck are all these people?’ He wondered.
These questions could wait. Looking behind him he started to move back slowly to greater cover. If these figures looked back now, he would be compromised in the open with a pistol against a high-calibre weapon that could easily shoot semi-automatically to the 100 metres where he was.
His heart beating rapidly, he kept his eyes transfixed on the two figures as he continued his cautious retreat to an ice block about 20 metres away. His pistol was no match now and didn’t offer any danger at all to either of the men in front of him.<
br />
Currently this situation was helpless. It was one of those scenarios where the fight-or-flight mechanism chose wisely without hesitation.
‘A little bit more Decker, nice and easy.’
Both figures still facing away oblivious to him creeping backwards, this close encounter was almost over.
The ice formation that was to the left of the people standing came to life as another figure in cam whites holding a rifle stepped out.
Decker’s heart instantaneously missed a beat.
The actions of the new figure said it all as his weapon was raised and aimed directly in his direction. Wind shielded any communication being made by the figures, but the two figures standing now also turned and faced him.
Without hesitation Decker turned and legged it to the nearest ice formation.
Bracing himself for the impact of 5.56 bullets entering his torso from behind, he tensed up, gritted his teeth and just ran.
Looking at the cover he was heading for, he saw the ice splinters jump up metres to his left and right side. Experience told him to stay on his flight path as he launched himself hard off his right foot into a last life-saving effort, diving three metres directly to his point of potential safety.
Jagged shards of ice merged in with the bullets as they continued to splash up around him. He was expecting the ice statue he was hiding behind to get decimated along with his head within seconds so he crawled away from it.
Miraculously this didn’t happen but without delay there were more blisters of ice spraying up five metres away pinning him down.
‘They are not trying to kill me, they want me alive, they would have got me by now, 100 metres away is .01 of a second for a bullet travelling at 960 metres per second. Four men on foot with one prisoner and another dead? I have minutes to get the fucking hell out of this entire situation that I have no idea about.’
No bearing, just sheer adrenalin-fuelled energy transported his body across the ice as fast as possible. Heading for more cover to shield him from view, he ran and didn’t look back for at least two minutes. Falling down trenches, but picking himself up instantly he literally ran for his life.