by Byrd, Daniel
There were muffled vocal sounds underneath the helmets, and then both men pointed their guns at Jackson and Max respectively, who both quickly returned the hostile gesture, and the standoff was initiated. Time stood still as men pointed harbingers of death at one another, fingers on mechanisms designed to start a series of functions all leading to the demise of whoever was standing in their paths. The fact that all four participants each were focused on a target that was mimicking them really brought the meaning of deterrence to forefront.
"Let's not be so hasty to die, guys," Jackson said, eyes back and forth from the guy he had deemed asshole number one to asshole number two. Considering what they were fucking up, he thought the nicknames were fitting.
"Are you two the ones who delivered the doctor?" the one Jackson identified as asshole one asked. Asshole two followed up on his friend’s question.
"You guys had one job! You could have lived had you both left and obeyed the restrictions! Now…" He laughed. "Well, look at the mess you're in."
Max was unsettled as his eyes struggled to remain fixated on the man in his iron sights. Jackson knew he was the weak link in the chaos of events that would lead to their end. If asshole one saw it, he'd shoot, Jackson would react, maybe get asshole two, but asshole one might be fast enough to retaliate on that. There were too many variables at play. These guys might not even be professionally trained! There might be a chance! There might not be!
Sweat was rolling down his face. The salty taste hit his lips in the middle of the intense moment. One drop in his eyes and he'd blink, and that would give an opening. This had to end. “Look, let's just calm down and-"
There was a faint humming sound that stole everyone's attention. Concentration was broken as the sound grew louder by the second, and for the shortest moment the soldiers looked at one another, and Jackson and Max did the very same. Jackson feared that the armored car was on its way back, and that the assholes had called for them before confronting them. Maybe they were just on patrol? Either way, he and Max were becoming buried deeper in shit by the second. There was no way out, so Jackson prepared to initiate the firefight that would determine whether or not he would walk away alive…and then the assholes were hit by a car.
The first guy it made contact with flipped sideways in midair as the hood passed beneath him, before he connected with the top of the windshield and was sent spinning through the air like a rag doll. The second slammed into the hood before falling under the car. The vehicle bumped violently as it ran the man over and he disappeared underneath. While this happened, the first man landed feet away from where he had originally stood seconds before, motionless.
Jackson and Max were dumbfounded. They had just been saved by what they could only guess was a fleeing citizen who had just accidentally committed vehicular manslaughter. The screeching of tires followed by the revving of the engine announced that the car was coming back. Max and Jackson hadn't expected that, and collected themselves as they brought their weapons back up, awaiting its return. Surely the driver wasn't in league with the two it had run down and was coming back?
The car reappeared and slid to a halt in the center of the intersection. It was nice looking, horrible things aside. Jackson refrained from opening fire in the hopes that whoever the driver was would indeed be nothing more than an innocent citizen who had just happened to unintentionally play hero. The door opened, and a cane appeared on the ground beneath it. A foot followed, and finally a head appeared above the door. Jackson was surprised to see an elderly man emerge from the vehicle. The man looked past the car to the blood trail and body not far from him before shouting something in a language neither Max nor Jackson understood. He then turned his attention to them and smiled a yellow-toothed grin.
"I am terribly sorry I interrupted your conversation!" the man spoke in a thick yet higher than average pitch, and scratchy Russian accent. He sure sounded like a crazy geezer. “This damned glass eye does me no good in my lack of depth perception!"
Jackson gave no fucks about the man's eyesight. “Sir, I'd take the time to buy you a beer, but I'll have to take a rain check."
"Rain check?" the old man asked, clueless to the idiom. “You are American. Well this place is crawling with PMC rubbish, so I am afraid I will have to take my leave."
"Wait!" Jackson shouted. “You know who these people are?!"
"Of course!" the man announced. “You are uniformed, so I only presumed that is why you are here?!"
Jackson speculated, and then pointed his rifle at the old man. Max was immediately alarmed and reached out to stop him.
"Jackson, what the hell?!"
Jackson ignored him and stepped up the intimidation. "Who are you, old man?"
The elder smiled again and rapped his fingers on the top of the car door as another engine could be heard roaring in the distance, and approaching fast. Jackson had a good idea as to who it was this time.
"You two are alone, correct?" the old man asked.
"Yeah," Jackson answered, the distraction causing him to lower his gun, "but how do you-"
"American soldiers…you may be insightful. Would you two like a ride?" the man asked, looking at the heaps of twisted metal that once made up a whole Jeep. Jackson was between the wreckage, the noise, and the old man, anxiety tearing into his mind as he weighed his options. He didn't trust the man, but Max's naïve innocence shined through.
"We'd love one right now, right Jackson?" he asked, eying his partner. Jackson was still apprehensive, but his options were fight or flight, even if flight was with a crazy Russian…who did just save them. Max then went back to his naïve self. “Would it be considered AWOL?"
The old man laughed at his odd state of mind in such a serious situation. “My child, you have already been abandoned if you are here."
"What?!" Jackson exclaimed, his focus fixated on the man rather than the possibility of their impending doom.
"Not now. Have you made a decision?"
Jackson swore. “Fine, we'll go, but only because you're two and zero with our side right now."
"That is a wise choice," the old man said with a grin as he got back into the car. Before he closed the door he shouted from inside, “Who would like the front seat?!"
"Max," Jackson said as they approached the car. Max leaned his head to the side.
"Yeah?"
"I'll take the back so I can keep a clear watch on him."
"I'm not that worried about him," Max said, walking around the car.
"Why?"
Max shrugged. "I trusted a zombie to not bite me as I drove across the coast, so this seems kind of tame when compared to that."
Jackson couldn't argue with his logic, but still scowled as he opened the door and took a seat in the fine interior. He wasnt used to the interior being reversed, so it was odd seeing Max sitting in what would have been the driver’s seat back home with the steering wheel on the old man’s side. That new car smell was oddly relaxing, and the old man smiled at him in the mirror.
"Like it? Brand new," he said proudly.
"Never been in an Audi before," Jackson responded, impatient as to why they hadn't left yet. The old man looked to the road ahead.
"Do you two wear seatbelts?"
Max thought back to Joseph's reckless driving. "Always," he answered hastily as he fastened his.
"Nope," Jackson replied dully, his eyes focused outside of his window as he scanned for threats.
The old man put the Audi A8 in gear. “I would suggest you make a habit of it," he said as he revved the engine, breaking traction and spinning the vehicle around to face the direction of the meeting place.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Jackson yelled at him from the back. The calm response was too weird for him.
"I have a friend to pick up, and I am running late."
The car thundered down the road towards the memorial.
***
Roman was sweating, and fighting hard to keep from wiping his brow. The three men below were
still hiding among the stone slabs, all smart enough to keep themselves away from the opening. They'd probably have a chance to figure out the direction the shot had come from, but they weren't acting on anything. Roman was deathly quiet, watching and listening for signs of compromise. The seconds ticked by like minutes to him, and at any one the door behind him could burst open and introduce his end. Would they be that quiet? Would I have no warning?
He could pack up and run while he still had the chance. Odds were they didn't know where he was just yet, and it wasn't like there was anything to lose in here; the idea of taking hostages meant going down there anyway. The only thing he needed right now was for Mikhal to hurry the hell up and get there so he could extract the target. Roman didn't want to abandon the mission, but if Mikhal’s intel about PMC troops in the area was correct-and he had to admit, Mikhail was never really wrong-he had to think rationally. There was no need to die today while the mysteries were compounding.
He had too many things to focus his senses on to the point that he was pretty sure that his sense of smell was the only thing spared, but his paranoia from his time in the KGB had him occasionally smelling the air for any traces besides his own body odor. He wouldn't smell anything odorless anyway, and he couldn't detect explosives as it was…until it would be too late. The stress was insurmountable, and his heart rate was only escalating further and further with every second. He could feel the blood flowing through his hands and feet as they swelled in heated anxiety.
“Calm down,” he uttered to himself, focusing through the scope on the situation below. To the prey under his watchful eye, surely they were worse off than he was.
***
“So, Dr. Hamilton,” Ruthven spoke out from behind his own block across the way, “let us discuss the claus of our business agreement.”
The guard just beyond him was astounded. “How can you discuss something like that right now? We’re all in-”
“I agree,” Hamilton replied in place of the guard. “We can discuss this when we’re not in danger of ending up like your friend there.” He pointed to the body between them for emphasis.
“Nonsense,” Ruthven croaked in sputtering laughter, crossing his arms. “I'm not a fan of wasting precious time, and that is just what we are doing here. While we are stuck in this predicament we may as well go ahead and eliminate part of the process. Shall we begin with your background check?”
The remaining guard looked from Ruthven to Hamilton and shook his head. “You two can't be serious?”
Hamilton shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“Jokes aside, doctor, you are aware that you may have no contact with anyone outside of our group?”
Hamilton nodded, sitting down against the stalea. “Yes, yes, I understand.”
“Good, now we can…” His voice trailed off as a distant sound of something roaring drew closer. Hamilton could hear it too, coming from the south. His guess was a car, but this day was turning out more and more interesting for something so simple.
There was a crackling sound coming from Ruthven’s direction, who immediately replied in another language. A garbled response followed, and then nothing. Something was about to go down, and Hamilton could only guess just how many unknown factors were really out there beyond and within the memorial.
Welcome to the urban jungle. Hope you're willing to survive.
“If I wasn't willing, I wouldn't be here to begin with,” Hamilton argued with himself. Something to his left stole his attention. By the time he looked over it was already gone, but then another figure darted past his view between the stone slabs. Even with the smallest window of a glimpse he could make out the black and red, just like the other two guards. They were converging on something.
This is about to get even more interesting…care to make a bet?
***
Roman could hear the engine of a car turning high RPMs through the tiny opening of the window sill. Mikhail was near, and his time of waiting was almost up. His mind began to run through the possible scenarios that could play out as they moved in to apprehend the people hidden inside of the monument, when he heard shouting from the hallway.
“Der’mo!” Roman frantically began to disassemble the VSS to pack into the small case. He stole a peak at the laptop setup nearby and noticed a few new figures poking out from behind some of the stone slabs on the live feed from his cameras. He hated it when Mikhail was right.
The sound of doors being kicked open kept him from bursting into the hallway and making a break for it, so he gripped the briefcase to his chest with his left hand while his right went to his shoulder holster and snatched the PSS out. Silent but deadly was always his preferred method, but if he got caught in a firefight the little 7.62 mm wouldn't be worth much. They hadn't anticipated this many enemies. He squeezed the briefcase to his chest, pushing against the armored vest beneath his coat. Complications were stacking up fast, and so were the number of footsteps outside.
Roman backed away from the door and evaluated the environment. He was three stories up, and five feet from the window he’d been shooting from. The room next door was currently being raided judging by the sounds of protest, and footsteps were drawing ever near. His options were fight or flight, and after creeping over to sneak another peak out of the window and seeing a few armed individuals below, he realized it was decision time. He'd broken enough bones and had been shot enough times-twice in the arm and once in the chest-to know he’d rather risk a leg than deal with the chance of bleeding out or worse. Mind set, he keyed his radio. “Wolf, what's your ETA?”
There was a fumbling sound on the other side before the answer finally came through. “Fox, we’re almost there.”
“Good, because…we’re?! What the hell does that mean?!”
“I will explain later,” Mikhail reassured him. “What is that American expression?”
“What expression?” Roman demanded. Mikhail then spoke in English in the background. Roman didn't expect the response he got.
“We’re coming in hot,” a young voice answered. It was definitely American.
“So am I,” Roman said as he peered down below at the street.
“What?” Mikhail’s voice asked in confusion.
“Look for me.” Roman tucked the radio away before grabbing his things and bursting out into the hallway. There wasn't anyone around, but he could hear noises coming from open doors not far away. A voice called out in what he guessed was Chinese, which took him by surprise. There wasn't supposed to be anyone other than the civilians here, so who the hell were these people? Whoever was up here was intent on finding him, because he could hear pounding and other aggressive sounds as people tore through the rooms. Voices cried out in protest as the invaders began barking orders to the confused occupants of each room. The elevators were out of the question, so Roman set off down the stairs, careful to make sure he wouldn't be seen. He'd just reached the second floor when he heard a voice in English from below.
“Find anything?!”
Roman seized up, debating whether or not to try and push through or find another way down. Mikhail would be there any moment now, and there was no time for either of them to wait with threats everywhere. Swearing, he ducked into the hallway of the second floor and went for the backup plan. He'd rented two rooms for the occasion, but was really hoping he wouldn't have to resort to the backup. The third floor was for the job, and the second floor was the failsafe for escaping. Roman wasn't afraid of heights, but he knew that even three meters was still a risky drop. Then there was the concrete below with nothing to break his fall…
“Clear!” a voice shouted up the hall. Roman swallowed his doubts and hurried to the room, finding it had been forcibly entered recently. The door was on its hinges, but no one appeared to be inside. He'd left some rope tucked behind the bed frame just in case it came to this. Mikhail had always told him about being prepared. Roman sprinted to the window and looked down. Not the longest drop, he figured, but still a good way to get hurt. The s
ound of a someone speaking German outside of the room cut his contemplations short.
“Did you check this way?!”
Roman was just getting the rope when stomping stopped outside of the room.
“Yeah!” another voice replied in the same language from further down the hall. It belonged to a female. “There's nothing there!”
Roman carefully grabbed the rope and ducked down behind the bed to begin fastening it to the frame. The aching creak of the door on broken metal only pushed his anxiety further as his fingers struggled to follow his eyes, making one loop after another in the knot.
“I don't remember you claiming this room was cleared!”
Roman’s fingers began to intertwine into the rope, and the heat of panic swam up into his face as the voice down the hall called out.
“Does it look like it's been cleared?”
His finger ached as he tore it from the bindings and gave a final tug to ensure it was secure. With that came the hard part; the armed figure outside was still there and the window was in the open.
“The door is hanging off of its hinges.”
More footsteps were coming down the hall as the other voice responded.
“Then it's been cleared, now move on!”
“Don't order me around!” the man outside argued back.
“Then don't waste my time!”
“Amateurs,” Roman uttered as he crawled towards the window. A quick glance towards the door revealed that the individual was in body armor. The uniform was black with red trim, and a logo was emblazoned on the shoulder, but Roman was too far to make it out. The head was covered by a visor, and luckily that was pointed down the hall, because Roman had no chance of going against someone with that equipment. The guy was holding an SMG of some kind that could deliver bullets faster than he could maybe deal some damage with his weaker pistol.