by Leigh Barker
He and Winter waited for him to get to the bodies before they walked away. And left him alone on the trail, talking to himself.
“We should catch up with Top before he gets into any trouble,” Winter said.
“I’ve had all the trouble I need for one night,” Gunny said. “But I plan to keep moving. It’s going to get a bit ripe around here come sunup.”
“Top will have found a bar someplace,” Loco said. “Him and Andie’ll be sitting back sipping a cold beer.”
“You know Pakistan is Muslim, right?” Winter said.
“Yeah, course. You can’t believe that stuff about not drinking. It’s just for the tourists. Trust me.” Loco slung his sniper case over his shoulder and walked ahead of them without a care in the world.
Winter shrugged. “Your choice, but if they catch you, they chop things off.”
Loco turned and stared at him.
“Hey, wait up!” Smokey said, and trotted after them. “There’s a load of scary dead guys back there.” He passed them and caught up with Loco, taking his arm and half dragging him along.
“Good to see the kids enjoying themselves,” Gunny said.
“Muslim secret drinkers.” Winter shook his head.
“Dunno about you,” Gunny said, “but I could use a cold beer about now.”
“Maybe Top will have got us a few in.”
“Never happen.”
“No. The search and recovery team are still out looking for his wallet,” Winter said, but picked up the pace.
Top might have a problem finding his wallet, but he sure as hell knew how to find trouble.
There was no bar in the big house, and it wouldn’t have been used if there had been. M16s and beer make poor bedfellows. Marius was on the second-floor balcony, his sniper rifle resting on a carved wooden flower trough and his keen eyes searching the small village for any movement, while the old feelings of combat resurfaced from their hiding place in his mind. Not all bad, but good wasn’t a word he would apply to the tightening he felt in his gut and the familiar dryness in his mouth. Maybe he would die tonight; it was possible. He thought about it and shrugged. Tonight or in ten years, the only difference was the passing of time. And to die fighting bad men was better than the long goodbye of dementia. He’d seen that with his friend, and he would sooner put his automatic in his mouth.
Ethan checked the doors and windows on the ground floor for the third time. This was the weak point. Accessible through the shrubs and rocks surrounding the house and just one man to watch all four sides. If they came, it would be silently through one of the windows. If it were him, he’d take the east side, the side with almost no cover. And the one a defender would least expect. But these were mercs he’d never met and couldn’t know. Some mercenaries were pros, ex-special forces, but some were just fantasists convinced they could walk the walk as good as any special ops has-beens. They usually didn’t make it through their first firefight, but that was okay with the contractors, who got boots on the ground at no cost.
He had his M16 on a strap diagonally across his chest ready for use, but held his Sig in his right hand. He left the front window and moved through the house again, checking and rechecking, but this time left to right. No predictable rhythm. He almost wished they’d come; waiting just gave him time to worry about the kid. And the Norwegian. Okay, they were military, at least the kid was, the Norwegian had been back in the day. But now they were pretty much civilians, and civilians get themselves killed, and usually take you with them.
He glanced up at the ceiling at the scraping noise. The kid moving about. She’d be scared out of her wits. Thing to do is let her be, harden her off so next time it’s just another night waiting for the enemy to sneak up and blow her head off. That’s what he would’ve done had it been some rookie up there, a new recruit learning the ropes. But Andie wasn’t a rookie or there to learn the ropes. And for her there probably would never be another night like this, assuming they made it through this one. He trotted upstairs to the first floor.
Andie was standing in the big window between the open double doors, holding her M16 and staring out into the blackness. She looked back quickly as he came into the big sitting room and stopped.
“Jesus, kid!” He strode across the room, took her arm, and pulled her back behind the wall. “Some bat flies into the room, it’ll hit you right in the face.” He saw her stunned look. “And that would be a pity.”
She licked her lips and nodded, then looked again at the open window. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was watching the road. I never thought I could be seen in the darkness.”
“Night vision.” Ethan shrugged. “Gotta assume they’ll have NVGs.”
She was trembling, and he took her rifle from her and put it on the polished table. “Have you eaten anything?”
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Then no, Top, I haven’t eaten anything.”
“There’s stuff in the kitchen, but I’d stick with just the bread.”
She didn’t move, just staring at him while she tried to process the casual way he was talking, as if it were just a sleepover at a friend’s, not waiting to be killed.
“Go get something to eat,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out for trouble.” He stepped up to the side of the window. “View’s better from here anyhow.”
She started to do as he said.
“Here, take this.” He handed her his Sig. “Might be rats.”
“I hate rats,” Andie said, and took the weapon.
“You and me both.”
He watched her cross to the door, walking in front of the open doors, and felt a kick in his stomach. He’d brought her into this. What in God’s name had he been thinking?
No, this wasn’t on him, this was Orpheus. Setting them up. Forcing him onto his back foot. Reacting instead of acting. Well, enough of being played for a fool. Yeah, playing it and being it. He’d known this trip was bogus. Heard the warning voice and ignored it. Second time in his career he’d done that. First time was in Afghanistan, that gig with the Brits. And ignoring it got his whole unit killed. Should’ve listened to the voice then and now. Next time.
He stepped out onto the wide balcony, keeping close to the wall, saw a curved wooden recliner chair and sat in it. The hell with it. They come or they don’t, getting all tense and introspective is just making work for the brain prodders.
He didn’t move when he saw the faint light to the right of the narrow dirt road. He’d seen Sergeant York where Gary Cooper made turkey calls to get the enemy to stick their heads up then shot them off. He wasn’t falling for that. Then he saw the light again and the Morse code FU. It could only be Gunny and the unit.
He got up quickly and leaned over the low wooden balcony and looked up at the next floor. “Marius, hold fire.”
“I too read Morse code,” Marius said from his position just a few feet above Ethan.
“Good,” Ethan said. “You got a torch up there?”
“Of course. You would like me to send a reply?”
“Yeah, send FU2.”
Marius laughed a low belly laugh like a hungry bear at a picnic table.
A minute later Ethan opened the front door and let Gunny in, followed by Smokey and Loco.
“Where’s Winter?” For a moment Ethan felt cold fingers on the back of his neck.
“He said he was going for a stroll and a look-see,” Gunny said.
“He would,” Ethan said and relaxed. “We’ve got trouble.”
Gunny nodded. “We have. There’s a coachload of mercenaries out there pretending to be locals.”
“That many,” Ethan said.
“And as many locals pretending to be mercenaries,” Gunny added.
“They let you through though,” Ethan said.
“I think let is a big word. They’re too busy strutting and bigging themselves up to notice a marching band passing by.”
“Then we sh
ould get the hell outa Dodge,” Ethan said.
Gunny shook his head. “Getting in was easy. They weren’t expecting us. Getting out…” He shrugged.
“Okay, then we stay and maybe change their minds.”
“That’s it though, isn’t it, Top?” Gunny said. “What’s on their minds? And how the hell did they know where to look?”
“Any beer in this place?” Loco said, looking around the dim corridor.
“Probably,” Ethan said without looking at him.
“Cool, I’ll go find some.”
“He knows this is a Muslim country?” Ethan said, watching him set off on his futile search.
“Told him,” Gunny said. “It’s Loco.”
No further explanation was necessary.
“There’s food in the kitchen,” Ethan said. “Man owns this place is okay. A Viking, name of Marius.”
Gunny didn’t ask. He’d met Eskimos living in Hawaii. He pointed down the corridor and got a nod.
“I’d stick with the bread and cheese though,” Ethan said.
“I like Viking food. Good raw fish,” Gunny said, pushing open the kitchen door to find Loco half in the fridge and mumbling to himself.
“Sure,” Ethan said, returning to the stairs. “You still can’t handle curry, right?”
“Goes straight through me,” Gunny said, stopping at the door. He nodded once. “I like bread and cheese.”
Ethan had just enough time to get comfortable again on his recliner when he saw Winter’s signal beside a house across the road. He heard a soft sound above and knew Marius had seen it too and would be responding in kind.
Ethan sighed and pushed himself off the seat and went back downstairs to let his sergeant in. He’d known Winter long enough to see when he was rattled, even if not another soul on the planet would.
“The rest of the guys are in the kitchen. Supper and beer. Without the beer.”
“That’ll be Loco.”
“It will,” Ethan said and led the way into the kitchen. “Okay, the boys are all in town. Let’s hear it.”
Gunny put down the knife he’d been using to cut a hunk of cheese; Smokey woke up in the chair by the window. And Loco came out of the fridge, beerless. Even Andie looked up from the laptop she had on the scrubbed wooden table.
Winter was trying to think how to put it.
“We’re that screwed?” Gunny said.
Winter nodded. “Twin mounted .50 cals on a pickup.”
Nobody moved or spoke for several seconds.
“Is that bad?” Andie said, and wished she hadn’t when they all stared at her.
“One .50 cal will chew this matchbox to shreds in no seconds flat,” Winter said.
“Two of them…” Gunny said, and shrugged. “That’s just greedy.”
“Where the hell did they get .50 cals?” Ethan said, almost to himself.
“You want me to go and ask them?” Winter said.
“No need,” Ethan said, “they’ll be around come first light.”
“Why wait?” Gunny said. “They could chop us to dog food and be back in their racks before their coffee’s cold.”
“They’ll want light.” Ethan said, and saw the question. “For the cameras.”
They nodded.
“Cameras?” Andie said.
“Sure,” Gunny said. “Proof of death, so they get paid.”
“Christ!” Loco said, and forgot about beer.
“What are we going to do?” Andie said, standing up and leaning on the table for support.
“Do?” Ethan said. “We’re going to get out of here before the fireworks wake up the neighbor’s dog.”
Winter shook his head and stopped them. “There’s no cover out there past the edge of the village. We’d be out in the open with our asses in our hands come daylight.”
“It’s got to be better than staying here and waiting for two fuckin’ .50 cals to turn this place into a vacant lot,” Gunny said.
“We won’t make it a mile, trust me,” Winter said.
And they did.
“So,” Loco said, and unzipped his M40 case. “We drop as many of them as we can. Make them pay.”
“I don’t like that plan,” Ethan said, “but I haven’t got a better one.” He pointed at the door. “Smokey, go bring the Viking up to speed and take first watch. It’s going to be a short night.”
“Maybe there’s a cellar,” Andie said, her voice a little thin. “You know, like when the tornados come.”
Ethan wanted to say something reassuring but couldn’t think of anything. “This house is built on a mountain.” She didn’t get it. “Granite.” He stamped his foot to demonstrate.
“Oh,” she said. And sat down.
“Maybe if I get up on the roof,” Loco said, stopping at the door and patting his rifle. “I could maybe stop them before they get started.”
“Pickups got an armored plate welded around the front,” Winter said. “Like one of those torpedo boat guns. Only see the top of the gunner’s head.”
“That should be enough,” Loco said, without thinking it through.
“Those .50 cals have got a range of a mile and a half,” Ethan said. “You’re good, but hit a five-inch target at that range? Nobody is that good.”
Even Loco had to agree.
“Then we’re totally screwed,” Loco said. “We can’t run and we can’t hide.”
“I’d say that’s pretty much it,” Ethan said. “Unless God takes pity on us and forgives us our sins.”
“Not much chance of that,” Gunny said, and chuckled. He returned to his cheese.
Ethan saw Andie’s face, drawn and pale. “Loco’s got an idea. For a change.”
They turned and waited. This should be good.
“The terrain here is going to force the pickup close, probably on the crossroads. Loco and the Viking could work their magic.”
“The Viking a sniper?” Gunny asked.
“He is.”
“Then yeah, that’s a plan.” Gunny glanced at Andie. “Give us time to lay down some fire and take out the .50 cals. The mercs will take off with their tails between their legs.”
“Then that’s the plan,” Ethan said.
He and Gunny exchanged a long look, but said nothing.
“You all get some sleep,” Ethan said, heading for the door. “Four hours we’ll have visitors.”
“Shit,” Loco said.
“Copy that,” Ethan said, closing the door behind him.
Aces and Eights
Leonard Hofmann put down the phone and stared unseeing out of the big windows. The President was an ass. No, worse than that, he was a goddamned ass. How the hell had he been elected? Easy, the alternatives were even worse. The country was going to the dogs. Problem was, no one with any integrity and an ounce of intelligence wanted the crappy job, so the country got fools, cowboys, and the Texan.
He felt like he needed to wash his hands after talking to the man. Five minutes, that was how long he’d been on the line, and in that short time the man had told him he was the greatest man in the world six different ways. The only positive thing he could take away from the deluge of self-congratulatory drivel was that he’d not only agreed to meet, he was positively salivating at the prospect. The king and the kingmaker was how he’d put it. Jesus, the man’s ego could eclipse the Californian sun.
The man was an upstart, a common man who hadn’t even made his money himself. Handed to him on a platter.
He stood up and went into the bathroom to wash his hands, unable to deny it any longer.
The truth was, he supposed, had the President been a man of honor and integrity as the position deserved, he would’ve put down the phone the moment the phrase agency director review had been used, instead of agreeing wholeheartedly that changes were overdue in all the self-interested and anti-government agencies. It almost beggared belief.
He dried his hands and threw the white towel into the corner of the oyster-tiled bathroom. Christ, the man hadn’t even
the semblance of a moral compass. One thing was certain… He stopped in the doorway as the thought crystalized. When this was over, he would have him squashed like a bug. The thought brought a smile and he felt the knot loosen in his stomach. His blood pressure was good, but there was no point pushing it.
He glanced at the wall clock. Four dots and two red laser pointers. What had he been thinking when he let her put that thing up. He looked at his wristwatch, as he always needed to since his Cartier had lost its place to that monstrosity. Three hours. He had arranged a meeting with the most powerful man in the world with only three hours’ notice. It was almost embarrassing how much the man wanted to suck up to anyone he perceived as his better. But it played into his hands, so okay, he’d take it.
It wasn’t as though he had to be friends with the oily little—
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” a disembodied voice said from a hidden speaker.
“Yes, Bernard?”
“A…person is here to see you.” There was a long silence. “A Philip…” Bernard’s voice drifted into the distance but could be heard speaking. “Clayton-Thomas.” Silence again, speaking louder than any words.
“Has he completed his project?”
Bernard’s voice was distant again for a moment. “No, sir. He wishes clarification, I’m afraid.”
Hofmann closed his eyes. “I am not his mentor or his father confessor. Tell him to go away until the project is complete.”
There was silence from the speaker for several seconds.
“He has…slunk away, sir.”
“I have a meeting at the White House,” Hofmann said.
“Yes, sir. I have arranged for your driver to pick you up. I thought the Bentley would be appropriate.”
“It would, Bernard, it most certainly would.”
Ethan heard the pickup start up right on cue as the new day touched the top of the mountain range. He got up from the lounger and stretched his stiff back. Was a time he’d have thought the wooden bunk was comfortable and a sprung bed was a kind of torture. Funny what a few years will do to a man’s perception of what is and what is not. The .50 cals were coming, so any plans he might have for future comfort would have to go on hold.