Asteroid Destruction

by Bobby Akart

  Drug Cartel Compound

  The Darién Gap

  Colombia, South America

  Cam followed the guard across the compound with the benefit of her night vision. Similar to the way drug dealers operate in the shadows of America’s streets, the cartels lived in a world of darkness at night in order to avoid detection. The faint, flickering glow of candles could barely be seen through gaps in curtains on the residential buildings. The flashlights of guards patrolling the fence and compound were generally pointed downward to illuminate the path to their next destination.

  The stocky man entered the prison building and closed the door behind him. While Bear carefully cut the chain-link fence, stretching his muscular arms to avoid triggering the ground sensors that ran along the outside of the compound, Cam backtracked through the jungle to get closer to where she assumed the cartel’s prisoners were held.

  The lack of windows and the driving rain prevented her from hearing any conversations. She cupped her ear in an attempt to focus, shielding her hearing from distractions. Frustrated, and with the patrolling guard due to come back around soon, Cam began to make her way back to Bear’s position, when she heard a man scream in pain.

  She swung her weapon around toward the prison building, where she observed a flickering light emanating from holes in the roof and gaps in the block walls. Only, this light was different from the soft glow of a candle burning. It was bright white, almost electrifying in nature. With each flash, a man’s screams of agony grew louder.

  “Gunner,” she muttered as she raced back toward Bear.

  Just as she reached him, he addressed her first. “I heard it too. I’m almost there.”

  He continued to cut away at the fence, link by link, working diligently to create an opening large enough to fit his six-foot-four frame through it.

  The man screamed again, only louder this time.

  “They’re torturing him, Bear!” exclaimed Cam, forgetting her need to stay quiet. Her desire to protect Gunner from suffering temporarily got the best of her. Fortunately, the raindrops pelting the buildings and their tin roofs drowned out her voice.

  “Almost,” said Bear.

  “I’ve got movement in the compound,” observed Cam. “Two men are coming out of the barn building, and two more are making their way from the front gate.”

  “Weapons?” asked Bear.

  “Affirmative. Long guns. AKs maybe. They don’t appear to be in a hurry, but they’re all headed to the prison building.”

  The screams and flashes of brilliant light stopped. Cam removed her night-vision goggles and used the scope on her M4 to follow the activity.

  “Okay, I think we can breach the fence now,” announced Bear.

  “Dammit, Bear. I think we’ve lost the element of surprise. I count one guard already in the building and another four headed that way.”

  Bear put away the pliers and raised his rifle’s scope to make his own assessment. “We need a distraction, but not one big enough to raise the roof, if you know what I mean.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Smoke and mirrors. I’ll be right back.”

  Bear took off to his right and disappeared into the undergrowth of the jungle. Cam tried to follow him through her scope, but he was lost in the thicket within seconds. She quickly turned her attention back to the prison.

  “Come on, Bear, do whatever it is you have—” she began to complain when she heard shouting.

  “Fuego! Fuego! Aquí!”

  A voice warning the others of a fire could be heard screaming from the back of a warehouse building. She swung her rifle around to find the source. Smoke was billowing up from behind the building, creating odd wisps and tendrils as it found its way skyward.

  “Good job, Bear,” she said to herself with a smile.

  She turned her attention back to the prison building. The diversion worked. The four guards descending upon the makeshift jail stopped and began jogging toward the warehouse. Most likely, Cam assumed, the coca plants were stored there for processing. A fire would be devastating to the cartel’s operation.

  Bear came lumbering through the jungle and dropped to one knee by her side. He was fighting to catch his breath in the moist environment.

  “That gives us an opening,” he said in between breaths. “I’ll hold the fence open for you.”

  “Fuego! ¡Ándale,” shouted the men heading toward the warehouse. Urgency was demanded.

  Bear spread the opening for Cam to slide through, and she turned to assist him. Within seconds both of them were inside the compound and had dropped to a crouch to avoid detection.

  Cam let out a sigh. “Well, shit. Now we woke the whole damn place up.”

  Bear added, “Yeah, I’ve got at least a dozen men coming out of the building on the far end that looks like barracks.”

  “And two of the original guards are turning back toward the prison.”

  “Wait. Cam, look! Is that Gunner?”

  Chapter 36

  Drug Cartel Compound

  The Darién Gap

  Colombia, South America

  Gunner knew he had to act fast, but he’d hoped for a little bit of a head start. Once he’d emerged from captivity, his goal was to make his way to the front gate, overpower the night-shift sentries, and escape into the jungle. He’d noticed the razor wire strung across the top of the perimeter fencing when he was being dragged to the barn for a torture session. There appeared to be only one exit—through the twin wooden gates.

  Through the rainstorm, he’d seen flashlights bobbing along the ground. Cartel security guards were coming from two directions, descending upon the prison building. Gunner instantly regretted not snapping the man’s neck, which would have permanently quietened his agonized screams.

  So he stood with his back against the grayish, white block wall, naked except for his no-longer-white briefs. At least his captors had allowed him to retain some semblance of dignity. He imagined that would’ve been taken from him next.

  The blowing gusts of wind and the rain had lowered the temperature, which didn’t bother him. In fact, it was just the opposite. He was invigorated by it, and the taste of freedom. Almost, anyway.

  “Fuego! Fuego! Aquí!” Gunner’s head snapped away from the approaching guards and toward the sound of the man’s voice, which was muffled by the downpour.

  The guards suddenly turned and began jogging toward the smoldering building. Smoke was pouring over the top of the roof until the tropical storm winds sent it flowing in all directions.

  The entry gates were directly across the compound. Attempting to cross in the open with the renewed activity would be suicide. While he was grateful for the combined distractions of the powerful rainstorm coupled with the smoke emerging from the other side of the compound, he was concerned this would empty the residential barracks.

  Gunner darted toward the left, away from the back fence and the smoking building. He decided to take a circuitous route to the front entry, using the buildings on both sides of the barn as cover.

  He couldn’t waste a second, sprinting from the prison building to a kitchen and pantry storage area, where he’d observed men drinking the day he was tortured in the barn. He dropped to a crouch and eased his way along the front of the building until he reached a wooden door. He slowly slid the iron latch upward and pushed the door open.

  Then he waited before entering. The compound’s mess hall was a temporary stop for Gunner, one in which he hoped to find a gun, or at least a knife. Hell, he’d settle for a meat hammer or a rolling pin. He had enough anger built up within him that he’d pound anybody to death who got in his way, as long as he could dodge their bullets.

  He slipped inside the building and attempted to scan his surroundings. With the falling rain, there was no light, making visibility near impossible. He felt his way through the dining area, bumping into wooden tables and chairs.

  More shouting emanated from the compound. “Fuego! ¡Ándale,” fire, hurry.
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  Gunner couldn’t argue with the hurry part. He fumbled his way through the kitchen and began to feel around for the utensil drawer. Working blind, he reached into a wooden cabinet and found what he was looking for, the hard way.

  His finger was pricked by the sharp end of a butcher knife. His hand recoiled as if it were bitten by a snake, and then, oddly, Gunner let out a laugh. He’d experienced worse pain in the last forty-eight hours.

  He grasped the knife by the handle and then gingerly explored the wooden hutch for anything else of use. He knocked over a tapered candle holder, which gave him hope that he might be able to find a lighter.

  Gunner closed his eyes, the pitch-black conditions making them useless to him anyway. He focused on his sense of feel and used his intuition to continue searching. Then he found them. A carton of old-school paper matches.

  He set the knife down and struck one of the matches. The soft light illuminated the kitchen, providing him more than enough to explore. Gunner set one of the tapered candles upright and lit it. He walked through the kitchen, holding it low to the ground so it wouldn’t be detected from the outside.

  There was more shouting, but the words were indiscernible. They were, however, certainly closer to where he was hiding. It was just a matter of time before they searched the prison, wondering where the night-shift guard had disappeared to.

  Unable to find any more suitable weapons, Gunner then considered that he needed a second distraction. There was an open window protected by two wood shutters on the far side of the pantry storage area. Next to the window sat two cans of kerosene and several lamps.

  He chuckled. “I’ve got some fuego for ya.”

  With the aid of the low light, Gunner moved quickly. He poured kerosene over most of the wood furniture in the dining area and then accumulated the partially filled lamps in the center of the building.

  He emptied a large bottle of habanero pepper hot sauce and filled it with kerosene. Then he soaked a torn piece of dishtowel with kerosene and stuffed it into the top of the bottle. His Molotov cocktail, Colombian style, was ready.

  Gunner made his way to the rear window. Along the way, he poured more kerosene on the floor to create a trail. He also spread the matchbooks evenly along the way so they’d add additional flames as the fire hit them. His eyes began to burn as the kerosene vapors filled the enclosed building.

  “Perfect,” he muttered. Like many flammable liquids, it wasn’t the liquid part of the kerosene that burns, but rather, the vapors that were associated with the substance. Once the vapors mixed with oxygen, all they needed was an ignition source to wreak havoc.

  Gunner opened the wooden shutters and was greeted with a gust of moisture-filled air. He didn’t waste any time as he hopped on the ledge, a butcher knife in one hand and a burning Molotov cocktail in the other.

  Feeling good despite the challenge ahead, Gunner couldn’t help but channel the Terminator when he said, “Hasta la vista, baby!”

  He tossed the flaming kerosene-infused bottle inside and paused to watch the floor burst into flames. Regretfully, he hung around a split second too long.

  Chapter 37

  Drug Cartel Compound

  The Darién Gap

  Colombia, South America

  Cam and Bear shouldered their rifles, opting instead to use their silenced sidearms. They ran along the fence, allowing the backdrop of the jungle thicket to help shield them from detection. Between their camouflaged clothing, gear, and face paint, the two operatives could hide from their adversaries on a sunny day. The tropical storm added to their cover.

  Cam kept her weapon trained on the three men who were hustling toward the prison building. Her speed and agility were unparalleled as she made her way across the forty-foot clearing between the perimeter fence and the block structure unnoticed.

  Bear agreed to hold his position until she waved him forward. He donned his night-vision goggles again to surveil the compound. It appeared chaotic around the warehouse where he’d set off the smoke flares. The men frantically searched for the source of the fire. Bear knew it was a matter of time before they found the canisters of smoke that he’d triggered.

  He returned his attention to Cam, who was waving him on. He ran at a low crouch to join her when he heard the distinctive spits of her silencer. Bear swung his weapon toward the center of the compound, but he couldn’t locate any identifiable targets.

  She fired three more rounds just as he arrived. Bear flattened his back against the wall and caught his breath. He vowed to drop some pounds when they got back to the States.

  “Three kills,” advised Cam. “They were coming from the main building to our left.”

  Bear nodded and pointed toward the warehouse. “We don’t have much time. We need to clear this building and find Gunner.”

  “I’m goin’ in. You watch my six.”

  “But, Cam—” Bear began to protest, but she was gone. He was uncomfortable with any member of their team entering a building alone, but he also understood that somebody needed to watch for the approach of hostiles. Once the guards determined the smoke grenades were a ruse, they’d immediately assume a hostage rescue was taking place.

  Bear holstered his sidearm and readied his rifle. He methodically grabbed for the half dozen pouches filled with thirty-round magazines. Then he slipped inside the building’s entryway to give himself some cover from both the attackers and the rain. He could also hear Cam as she cleared the prison building, in the event she needed assistance.

  At first, Cam moved silently through the long dark hallway. Her deerlike steps couldn’t be heard by Bear. Then she began to call out, “Gunner. Gunner! Are you in here?”

  A woman responded, “He’s gone. Will you let us out?” Bear could not detect an accent. An American!

  “When was he here? Was he alone?” asked Cam.

  Bear quickly reviewed his surroundings. Satisfied that no one was approaching, he backpedaled a few steps into the building so he could eavesdrop.

  “I think he was alone. They tortured him. Please let us out.”

  “I will, but when did Gunner leave?”

  “Just a little while ago. He overpowered the guard and left us. He said he’d come back. Are you with the DEA, too?”

  “Huh?” replied Cam. She ignored the question and finished her search of the cells.

  Bear saw several men headed toward the prison building. He retreated farther into the building to warn Cam.

  “Hey, we’ve got company!” he whispered.

  “Gimme a minute.” In the dim light, Bear could see Cam at the end of the hallway, where she found the unconscious guard, bound and gagged. He was locked inside the cell, and a cattle prod was bent in half outside the door on the dirt floor. She picked it up and immediately considered what it had been used for. She swiftly pulled her silenced sidearm like a gunslinger and then unemotionally planted a round between the guard’s eyes.

  The men in the compound were shouting now.

  “Cam, we’ve gotta go!” Bear was feeling a sense of urgency as he made his way to the exit door and began to identify his targets and the kill order.

  Cam arrived behind Bear, patted him on the shoulder, and pointed to the left. “He probably headed in the direction of the main gate. If I were him, I’d take advantage of your distraction and use the buildings as cover.”

  “Cam, we’re gonna have to shoot our way out of here. There are men pouring out of several buildings now.”

  “We still have a lot of options, including our grenades. We need to find Gunner, but also, we need to take the heat off this building. Those cells are full of women.”

  “Jeez,” said Bear, who readied himself to race around the back of the prison building, when an explosion rocked the compound.

  Chapter 38

  Drug Cartel Compound

  The Darién Gap

  Colombia, South America

  The blast created by the kerosene vapors forced air out of the small airtight building, propelling
Gunner through the window opening until he hit the ground and tumbled into the adjacent concrete structure. The impact caused him to lose his grip on the knife and momentarily knocked the wind out of his already battered body.

  Instinctively, he curled into a tuck and roll position to protect his head and face. An intense heat accompanied the fireball that shot out of the window he’d crawled through, scorching his hair and his already tender back.

  But it was the concussive effect of the blast that brought him to the brink of unconsciousness. Only the sound of gunfire kept him alert, as it reminded the conscious part of his brain that he was in mortal danger.

  He gathered himself and crawled around on all fours in search of the butcher knife. The muddy ground caused him to slip and slide, and he became frustrated. Gunner decided to give up the search in the interest of time and pushed his way up to his feet.

  Just as he found his balance, he was smacked in the back with the butt of a rifle. Muffled by the torrential downpour and the flaming building behind him, Gunner never heard the man sprinting across the compound toward him. He barely caught a glimpse of movement in his periphery, just enough for him to turn his body to lessen the impact of the blow. With no time to react, he was knocked to the ground anyway.

  The man immediately planted a boot on the back of Gunner’s neck and mashed his face into the mud. Gunner’s head had been battered and not nearly recovered. It exploded with throbbing pain, thumping, roaring, and tearing through his cranium as if his nerve endings were being squeezed by a powerful hand.

  His eyes began to water as the pain spread down his spine and along his shoulders. He tried to blink away the excruciating pain, and he focused on his assailant. Gunner pulled his left arm back toward his body and caught the man’s ankle hard enough to cause the attacker to lose his balance in the mud.

  The boot relaxed on the back of his neck, giving Gunner the opening he needed to fight back. He squirmed out from under the boot, and the man wobbled somewhat. It resulted in the hapless guard’s death.