Soft Target 04 - The 18th Brigade

by Conrad Jones

  “There`s a car parked in a lay-by. I can`t see anyone inside it,” the passenger said.

  “Check it out and then catch up. We`re only a few hundred yards from the quarry,” Omar said.

  His passenger clicked the safety of his Mach-10 machinegun and opened the door of the police car as it slowed to a crawl.

  “Later,” he said as he closed the door. He ran to the back of the Brigade van and banged on the back doors. He yanked open the door and barked orders at the Yardies inside. Two of the Somalis jumped out of the van and ran toward the abandoned vehicle. The Brigade van and the police car trundled on down the access road.

  “There`s no one here, it`s been left,” the first Somali said.

  “Is there anything inside worth taking,” said another. He opened the driver`s door and the vehicle exploded in a huge fireball.

  Sergeant Mel Hickey had wired the vehicle to blow. He`d used the six kilos of Semtex that he had stolen from old Jim, and packed gas canisters around it. Taped to the gas tanks were twelve kilos of six inch nails. When the Somali opened the door he triggered the device. The resulting explosion was a pyrotechnic bonanza. The vehicle was catapulted twenty yards into the air, and was ripped apart by the force of the blast.

  The gas canisters ignited and were propelled hundreds of yards in every direction, turning the six inch nails into an Omni-directional shrapnel shower. Nails and metal shards were launched high into the night sky, glowing red against the darkness. The car wreck arced through the air and crashed onto the footbridge where Terry Nick was taking cover. The vehicle smashed the brick structure to pieces and it collapsed onto the road below in a huge plume of smoke and flames. The Brigade leader knew little of his fate. The initial impact crushed him, and his two snipers, breaking their bones and smashing internal organs to pulp. Seconds later their bodies were incinerated in the firestorm that followed. When the brick structure collapsed their remains were squashed beyond all recognition beneath tons of burning debris.

  The Brigade leader was dead, and the situation was still unclear to the rest of the 18th Brigade troop. None of them were one hundred percent sure whether the police car was the genuine article or not. Without their leader the Brigade was transformed into a group of individuals that reacted to violence with more violence, and the snipers opened fire on the vehicles below.

  The driver of the Brigade van felt the back end of the vehicle lifted slightly by the force of the blast wave. The rear windows shattered as a maelstrom of red hot six inch nails sliced through the cold night air. One of the Somalis screamed from the rear of the van as two searing nails pierced the side of his skull just above the left ear. His colleague next to him grabbed the head and shaft of the deepest nail, trying to yank it out, and the skin on his fingers sizzled like a sausage on a griddle. He yelped and pulled his scorched digits away. The man with the nails in his skull bounced off the interior of the van desperately trying to remove the burning metal from his brain. The driver caught sight of his hideous injuries and panicked. He floored the accelerator. The van lurched forward tossing its occupants around like a paper bag in a wind tunnel.

  Omar had ducked as the concussion wave shattered the rear window of the police car. Red hot nails were embedded in the headrests and dashboard of the vehicle, glowing in the dark, and causing the plastic to melt. The acrid smell of burning acrylics filled the vehicle instantly. The Brigade van launched into a wheel spin as the driver reacted to the explosion behind them, and took evasive action. Gravel and dirt splattered the police car as the van accelerated away from the explosion. Omar followed suit and stamped on the accelerator. The powerful police car roared as it sped forward behind the Brigade van. Omar whooped with glee as the vehicle fishtailed toward the quarry. His celebrations were brought to an abrupt end when the first high velocity bullet exploded through the windshield, spraying shards of shattered glass through the interior of the vehicle, slicing long cuts across his face.

  Chapter Sixty One

  Tank

  Tank had lifted his night sight binoculars and focused them on the quarry access road. He still wasn’t sure if the vehicles that had entered the quarry were a part of another agencies operation, or if they had stumbled into the scene by accident. Whatever the outcome was, they had to secure the only escape route. If the 18th Brigade were spooked into bringing the primary down from the mountain then Tank and his team would be ready to intercept them.

  The mystery vehicles passed beneath the first footbridge and the blue strobe light illuminated the area as it progressed. Tank could see a sniper positioned on the bridge. He shifted his position as the vehicles drove underneath, and appeared to be talking into a coms unit.

  “The Brigade are expecting company, all the bridges are covered by their men,” Tank said as he followed the action through the field glasses.

  “I can see men positioned on every bridge,” Chen concurred, as he looked through his binoculars.

  “You had better alert the snatch unit that the Brigade are expecting trouble, and they may have been tipped off about our operation,” Tank said.

  Chen picked up the coms unit and was about to contact the Regiment on the mountain when the set crackled into life.

  “Pilgrim one,” the SAS leader said.

  “Roger that, we`re receiving,” Chen answered.

  “The primary has been moved, the residence is empty, over,” the snatch unit reported.

  Chen was about to reply when Tank grabbed his arm and put his finger to his lips to hush him. He pointed toward the two vehicles. The police car had slowed down to a crawl and the passenger got out. He was joined by two more men from the van and they seemed to be approaching a lay-by which was hidden from Tank`s view. Two seconds later a fireball exploded into the air. Five seconds later the cliff tops above the quarry lit up sporadically.

  “Muzzle flashes,” Tank said. “Who are they firing at?”

  “Whoever was driving those vehicles,” Chen said as the van and the police car sped down the quarry road away from the explosion.

  “We have to assume that they are firing on the police force,” Tank said. “Order the Regiment to take those snipers out,”

  “Pilgrim one,” Chen said into the coms.

  “Roger, receiving.”

  “Can you take those snipers out from your position?”

  “We`re already on it,” the reply came followed by silence.

  Tank pointed the binoculars up toward the quarry walls. The muzzle flashes stopped almost simultaneously. There was one persistent sniper at the far edge of the cliff wall, and his muzzle flash continued for a few second longer than his affiliates had. Eventually it too was extinguished.

  “Pilgrim one, the situation has been neutralised,” the Regiment leader reported nonchalantly.

  “I guess they met the Regiment then,” Tank smiled.

  Chapter Sixty Two

  Omar

  The van swerved violently as it reached the quarry yard. The back doors were flailing open as the vehicle rocked unsteadily, and Omar could see his men being tossed around like ragdolls in the back. He braked hard trying to avoid smashing into the rear of it. Bullets smashed into the bonnet of the police car ripping huge rents in the metal hood. A torrent of steam hissed from the engine block through the bullet holes and Omar knew that the vehicle was on its last legs. The van hit a low wall with its back wheel, launching the rear end of the vehicle high into the air. The body of a Somali was catapulted out of the back doors, and it landed across the bonnet of the police car. Dead eyes stared at Omar accusingly, and he winced when he saw two nails embedded deep in the man`s skull. Omar slammed the vehicle into reverse and floored the accelerator pedal. The police car raced backward screeching its tyres as it tried to gain purchase on the gravel. Bullets pinged off the road as he reversed at speed, and the dead Somali was tossed clear.

  The driver of the van opened his door and jumped clear of the vehicle. A tyre exploded as a high velocity bullet punctured it, before another ripped th
rough the body of the vehicle and penetrated the floor plan. It pierced the fuel tank and the van exploded in flames. Two Somalis spilled out of the back doors and staggered across the quarry yard with their hair and clothes alight. One of them fell to his knees as the flames engulfed him completely. The second ran toward the dark waters of the quarry lake and hurled himself over the low stone wall. There was a huge splash and smoke hung on the water where the Yardie had entered. The black water smoothed over but the Somali never resurfaced.

  Omar thrust the vehicle into first gear and the police car sprang forward. The van driver cocked his Mach-10 and sprayed the cliffs with nine millimetre bullets. Sparks flew all along the quarry walls as huge chunks of stone were blasted off the cliffs. The driver didn’t stop shooting until the machinegun clicked empty. Omar felt blood trickling down his face as he waited for the snipers to return fire, but none was forthcoming. The cliff tops remained dark and silent. The van diver looked at his machinegun in amazement, thinking that he had silenced the sharpshooters with a single burst from his Mach-10. The police car rattled and the engine started knocking noisily. Smoke and steam billowed from beneath the bonnet, and then the engine died completely.

  Omar sat holding the steering wheel tightly; his knuckles were almost white with pressure. The van driver staggered toward him, his legs were weak with fear. He was still clutching the machinegun despite the fact that it was empty. He was shaking his head and smiling, delighted and surprised to be alive. Omar smiled back at him and his gold teeth glinted in the dark. He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel a little.

  A single shot rang out from behind them somewhere. The van driver`s face was hit by a fat .50mm high velocity bullet. It punched a ragged hole the size of a walnut beneath his left eye on entry, and removed back of his head on exit. He looked shocked as he toppled over face first onto the gravel. His dead eyes were full of blame as they drilled into Omar.

  Chapter Sixty Three

  Tank

  Tank and his team mopped up the remaining Brigade men without any further loss of life. They were not bad men; they were mercenary soldiers being paid to do a job. Once it had been established that Tank and his men were British forces they relinquished their weapons without any resistance. Uniformed police divisions were called in to secure the area from further intrusions, while the situation was assessed.

  Omar had been found sat in the driver`s seat of the police car, dressed in a police constable`s uniform. He was staring at the remains of his friend`s brains which had been sprayed over the front of his car. The Taskforce men laughed as he was led away in handcuffs because he`d soiled his trousers. The fear of being taken out by a sniper had forced him to stay in the car, even when the shooting had stopped. Something had finally snapped in his mind. The stolen police uniform that he wore was used as evidence to prosecute him for the murder of Constable Thomas. He`d been found guilty and was sent to a high security facility for the criminally insane, with a recommendation that he was never to be released.

  When daylight arrived the true carnage was plain for all to see. What had started as a turf war had ended in multiple deaths. The figureheads of both organisations had been killed. There were always others who would be eager to take their place though. A daylight sweep of the house and the interrogation of the Brigade men didn’t reveal what had happened to Rashid Ahmed. He had simply disappeared.

  Chapter Sixty Four

  Rashid Ahmed

  Rashid estimated that twelve hours had gone by. He had been hiding in the panic room while all the action went on around him. The Brigade man that he drugged had been hauled off with everyone else for interrogation. Rashid released himself from the panic room and then scanned the headland. There were no police and no Brigade men. He had dressed in a ski jacket and jeans, before he pulled on a woolly hat to help conceal him. He walked down the mountain path and greeted the odd tourist ramblers that he met along the way. The area was popular with walkers and bird watchers alike. The quarry yard was busy as police forensic scientists tried to protect and gather evidence. There were several areas cordoned off with yellow tape, but it was impossible to stop tourists from entering the reserve completely. Press teams and tourists were ambling around the quarry, some looking for a story, others for a rare sea bird or two.

  Rashid decided to skirt the edge of the quarry lakes which would take him behind the railway embankment and into the nature reserve footpaths which crisscrossed the coastline. He was quite sure that he wouldn’t be recognised by the general public, but not sure about the police. Rashid reached the black lake and skirted the edge away from the quarry. He was home and dry. The most perilous part of his journey was the path down the mountain, but no one had challenged him. He didn’t look out of place amongst the sprinkling of hill walkers. As he walked along the quarry lake he noticed a blond man walking toward him from the opposite direction, but didn’t think much of it. He had a strange limp.

  “Hello Rashid,” Sergeant Mel Hickey said. Rashid was surprised. The blond man grabbed him in a vice like bear hug. Rashid struggled but he couldn’t break the man`s grip.

  Mel had been stopped dead in his tracks when Terry Nick fired at him with the shotgun round. The makers of the Taser stun guns had developed an `Extended Range Electron Muscular Projectile` round, which could be fired from a shotgun. It would stop an elephant in its tracks. The sergeant had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but when he woke it looked like all hell had broken loose. His chest was black and blue were the paralysing round had hit him, but otherwise he was fine. There was activity all over the quarry yard but no sign of any Brigade men. There was a set of field glasses in the long grass near him, and he used them to look up the mountain. He had spotted Rashid walking down the mountain path, and made up his mind in an instant. This time he was taking his target down permanently, and no mistakes.

  He held Rashid in a vice like grip and walked toward the edge of the deep black lake. There wasn’t even a flicker of doubt in his mind as he stepped off the edge. Sergeant Hickey and Rashid plummeted through the icy black waters. The freezing temperature of the lake sent their bodies into shock, forcing the air from their lungs. The sergeant`s metal legs acted as a dead weight, dragging them down faster and deeper. In reality Sergeant Hickey wished that he had died in Nisour Square, at least as he died now he felt that he had redressed the balance of justice. He could hear Rashid Ahmed scream, which turned into a gurgle, and then the sergeant, was finally at peace with himself. A small raft of bubbles formed on the surface of the lake, and then the dark unforgiving water was still once again.

  Chapter Sixty Five

  Echoes

  Tank and the Taskforce informed the Minister of Defence that Rashid Ahmed was in the wind. His bank accounts were eventually traced and there was never any activity reported. Two years later he was finally recorded as missing presumed dead. The final arms deal with the Taliban was cancelled, and the directors of the security services were severely reprimanded for working with Rashid Ahmed at all. The investigation into the fire fight in the quarry was handed over to the uniformed divisions, and smoothed over as part of a turf war for the club land of Manchester.

  The 18th Brigade were removed from the government`s preferred supplier list, and they never deployed mercenaries on their behalf again. They did however deploy mercenaries through other giant security companies across the globe. Nothing had changed except uniform.

  Omar was confined to a psychiatric ward where he continued to convince the doctors that he was mad. He had planned to continue the pretence until the time when security around him would be relaxed, and the opportunity escape arose. Unfortunately after a prolonged series of chest infections he was eventually diagnosed with full blown aids. Like millions of his African cousins he had carried the virus undetected for decades. Six months after the diagnosis he died from chronic pneumonia. His girlfriend Gemma never saw him again after the night at her flat. He had thrown her out of the hatchback onto the pavement, which to her was unfo
rgivable. She claimed criminal injuries for the damage to her apartment and was awarded thousands of pounds in compensation. Gemma slipped back into her party girl lifestyle and she lived well for the next five years, although the advancing wrinkles and the increasing number of grey hairs were a constant worry. It was only when one of her many sexual partners spotted odd looking black growths on her spine that she went to her general practitioner to be checked over. The results confirmed that she had contracted the HIV virus from Omar, and that it had turned into full blown aids. Recording the details of her sexual history had raised a few eyebrows. The information then had to be investigated to track the possible infection of her sexual partners. The whole investigation took a considerable length of time, and destroyed a number of marriages. The echoes of Omar`s life resounded through her present. She died alone a year later.