Saber Down

by Harrison Kone

  The phone on Bryon’s desk vibrated before she could turn the knob. It drew everyone’s attention. Bryon nearly knocked over his chair as he jumped up from his workstation. He worked fiercely at the keyboard as his eyes traced back and forth over the computer screen.

  “What happens when he doesn’t answer?” Rachel inquired, vocalizing what everyone was thinking.

  “Do you have it?” Natalie asked. Bryon didn’t answer. The tension in the room fell like a thick fog as the phone continued to vibrate on the wooden desk. “Do you have it?” Natalie asked again, more forcefully.

  The signal bounced off satellites leaving a trail encircling nearly half the globe. Whoever was encrypting the call was well trained, and Bryon knew immediately that they weren’t native, or at least if they were, they were educated overseas. He knew he could intercept the signal with the agency algorithms at his disposal, but he had to determine the next waypoint the signal would rebound from in order to successfully capture the trace. With little time remaining, he worked to encode the agency algorithm on all available network satellites. He inhaled heavily and continued after the signal. The room, frozen with deep anxiety, simply watched him work.

  “Got it!” he exclaimed. A great relief spread across the floor. Natalie grinned happily and brushed a stray hair from her face.

  “Well done,” Natalie said. “Abby, get Captain Shaw for me,” she ordered.

  “Absolutely,” the young woman replied.

  “Hey Natalie,” Bryon started as Abby moved toward the door.

  “Yes?”

  “That was far more sophisticated than anything I’ve seen to date over here. It was unusually hard to trace that call,” he explained. Natalie pondered the severity of his words as she watched Abby exit.

  • • •

  Abby rushed across the courtyard and into the security building. Shaw and Wyatt’s gaze snapped to the door as the young woman burst in. She favored Natalie, with her dark hair and short, slender build, but younger, perhaps five years or so.

  “Natalie’s asking for you,” she told Shaw, “Bryon traced the call.” Shaw and Wyatt, still dressed in their full battle gear, quickly followed Abby out the door and raced across the compound.

  17

  “Hey, something’s up,” Becker said into his radio as he watched Abby dash toward his building from the other. He stood atop the security building’s roof with his rifle resting on the steel reinforced wall.

  “What are you talking about?” came Quinn’s voice through the radio. He was positioned on the opposite side of the roof keeping an eye on the mountainside. Becker waited a moment and watched as Abby appeared below him, followed by Shaw and Wyatt. The three hurried across the courtyard.

  “Yeah, I just saw Wyatt and that Raider captain follow Abby into the main building. They looked to be in a rush,” Becker said.

  “That’s Shaw for you,” Reeves stated accompanied by a slight chuckle. He and Adara stood atop the main building’s roof. Reeves kept his light machine gun trained down the road.

  “What’s that mean?” Becker asked. Reeves chuckled again and recalled his memory.

  “Back in ’04, Det One was folded into our team as part of a trial to assess their direct-action capability,” he began. “But Fallujah sucked, man,” Reeves continued, his deep voice taking on a tone none of them had heard before. “Marines were going door to door, and, every time, one or two would come out wounded or dead. It was brutal, and they didn’t have the right training for it.

  “We got word of a group of Force Recon Marines pinned down by enemy fire, and from the sound of it, they were getting cut up pretty bad. I don’t know what happened, but when the unit designation came over the radio, Shaw bolted. He just left us and tore down the next alley, and Petty Officer Ben Tussac was the first to follow. Since Ben went, we all went, angry as hell at the both of them.” He laughed at the memory, “and we showed up, got in the middle of this firefight, and Ben catches one. I was right next to him, but if I came off my Bravo, I don’t know if we would have made it. Next thing I know, Shaw is there. It’s like he just materialized solely for Ben in his most dire moment of need, and he saved that kid’s life. He saved more than just Ben’s life that day. It’s the kind of story that gets lost in the annals of war, you know?

  “They gave him a medal for it when it all got sorted out, but Shaw left the podium and pinned the thing on Ben’s chest right then and there. Not only did he save a bunch of good Marines, he saved Ben, then had the humility to pass off recognition. I wish the military had more men like him,” Reeves finished.

  “Dang, dude,” Becker stated. He knew Reeves’ well enough to understand the weight he placed on Shaw’s actions that day. “Thanks for sharing, bro. I take it we can count on Shaw when things get tough?” he asked.

  “With your life,” Reeves answered. With the stress of an impending attack from a hostile force of unknown numbers, the statement reassured them all.

  • • •

  The glow of monitors illuminated the small upstairs room, and the five men had worked tirelessly through the night preparing for the next stage of their plan. Faatin Radi watched from over the shoulders of the four before him as he stood in the center of the room. From this room, he managed Al Amiri’s money, orchestrated any deals for additional arms, communicated and planned with other cells, and commanded the militant forces under Al Amiri’s control. Additionally, the team kept watch for potential issues that might arise from Western intelligence agencies. His was the warfare side of Al Amiri’s operations; someone else handled all the details when Al Amiri paraded as Taaha bin Hashim, and Radi couldn’t care less.

  Radi wasn’t from Yemen, but he had found his path to prominence through Isaam Al Amiri. One day, Al Amiri’s influence and, more importantly, his finances would pass to Radi, and that promise alone was enough for him to leave Afghanistan when Al Amiri asked.

  “He didn’t answer,” one man stated holding a cellphone in one hand. Radi folded his arms and thought quickly.

  “Try him again,” he ordered.

  • • •

  The phone on Bryon’s desk buzzed again after sitting idle for a few seconds. It served as a reminder that they needed to move quickly. Shaw held his helmet in one hand and his M4A1 carbine in the other. He looked at Natalie as she discussed the planning details. Natalie highlighted the target building on the large, wall-mounted monitor that broadcasted satellite imagery.

  “I can’t tell you what you’ll find or provide you with an accurate threat evaluation,” she said.

  “We understand,” Shaw replied, “you’ve given us a target, and that’s more than what we could ask for. How long will it take us to reach the building?”

  “This time of night, we estimate about twenty minutes,” Bryon answered.

  “Alright, we need one of your SUV’s,” Shaw stated.

  “It’s yours,” Natalie replied. “Keys are in the security building in a wall-mounted box to the left of the exit.”

  “Hogan, Barone, we’re on,” Shaw said into his radio. “Grab a set of keys on your way out. They’re in a box on the wall to the left of the exit.”

  “On it,” came Hogan’s reply. Shaw turned and offered Wyatt a firm pat on the chest as he passed. The younger Raider grinned, eagerness burning behind his blue eyes. Having already outfitted his kit with the supplies Shaw had brought and opting for his M4A1 carbine over his M110A1 sniper rifle, Wyatt followed Shaw out the door.

  • • •

  “Still no answer,” the man said. Radi’s brow furrowed. It could mean a multitude of things, but he had to anticipate the worst. “Pack everything up. We’re leaving,” he said. He moved to Al Amiri’s room. He doubted there was any real threat, but he would rest easy once they were all loaded up and on their way to a secondary location. He knew it would take them no longer than thirty minutes to pack everything up and get out, a time in which he was more than satisfied.

  • • •

  The SUV slowed and
turned onto an alleyway that ran by the rear of the target building. Advancing through the alley provided the four men additional concealment the main roads didn’t provide. Shaw glanced at Wyatt, who gave him a quick nod. The four Raiders exited the vehicle and moved silently into the alley. They moved in single file with Shaw leading. The night wind, coming from the sea, whistled down the lane and tossed light debris, garbage, and various papers around the team as they approached the building. They were seventeen minutes into their mission, which put them three minutes ahead of schedule.

  “We’re approaching on foot. Target building in sight,” Shaw said into his radio. He didn’t expect to receive a response but only relayed the information as part of the mission protocol. Natalie and their MARSOC support team, led by Bateman with the designation Warhorse, watched the team’s movements through cameras mounted to their helmets.

  The two-story building matched the rest in the vicinity with its flat roof and sandy color, but there was no doubt they had the right building. As they neared, they noticed a van with its two rear doors open wide.

  “Warhorse, they’re preparing to leave,” Shaw updated. Again, no response; it wasn’t necessary. Shaw and his team crept along the wall of the adjacent house and froze when a man exited through the back door and strode into the alley. He loaded a computer monitor into the van before returning back inside. He hadn’t seen them.

  Shaw and Wyatt moved fast as soon as the man disappeared into the building. Wyatt took up a position behind the van door closest to the building, and Shaw, grateful that the rear door swung outward, hid behind it. Shaw drew his knife, a Dynamis Alliance Revere Blade, and Wyatt drew his own, a Benchmade Nimravus. They waited, and Barone and Hogan kept their sights trained on the exit.

  Anxious voices readied the Marines as the two individuals returned to the exit. As far as Shaw and Wyatt were concerned, everyone present was an enemy combatant. Shaw waited for the first man to pass before seizing the second man from behind, executing a routine both he and Wyatt had performed countless times. Assaulting the second man first ensured that both targets cleared the exit and that neither could flee to alert any who may remain in the building. If there was a third, Barone and Hogan could drop them with a few suppressed shots.

  Shaw kicked hard to buckle the man’s knees and thrust his knife into the base of his skull. The man instantly fell limp, and Shaw released him allowing the dead man to fall to the ground. Before the first man could react to Shaw’s savagery, Wyatt materialized from the darkness, plunged his knife twice between the man’s ribs. Wyatt then drove him to the ground before freeing the blade and stabbing it into his neck. Wyatt held the man’s mouth shut until he stopped fighting. The man’s eyes rolled upward and dimmed, and, when Wyatt removed his hand, the man’s mouth contorted open, spilling his loose tongue over his lips. The monitor and computer the men carried crashed to the ground, tumbling and breaking apart.

  Hogan and Barone seized the moment and stormed inside while Wyatt and Shaw recovered. Certain the commotion had alerted those remaining in the house, Shaw and Wyatt rushed in behind them.

  • • •

  “What was that?” Radi asked, hearing the crash outside.

  “Maybe Jameel and Talha dropped something again,” one man said. Radi’s anger flared at the thought. It wasn’t easy to replace their equipment. The more he thought about it, the more he hated being in Yemen. He understood, to an extent, Al Amiri’s desire to free his people, but their war against the West would not be won in Yemen. It would be won through strongholds in the Middle East that provided access to modern conveniences and were relatively untouched by conflict.

  “Go check on them, Abdur,” Radi ordered, his anger diminishing slightly. He turned to enter Al Amiri’s room.

  Abdur froze as two Marines emerged at the top of the stairs. Fear gripped every part of his being, paralyzing him entirely. Their rifles, although suppressed, cracked and echoed through the small room. Radi’s ears burst in pain, and his hands instinctively shot up to them. He spun around to see Abdur slump to the floor.

  Radi didn’t hesitate.

  He sprinted for the nearest window. Pain seared through his shoulder and again through his back before he crashed through the glass pane. He tumbled onto the top of the van and cried out in anguish. He attempted a deep inhale but only managed a light shallow breath. Mustering what strength he could, Radi rolled off the van roof and slammed against the ground. He groaned as he rose to his feet. He held his useless arm close to his chest as he rounded the front of the vehicle. The wounded man climbed into the driver seat, cranked the engine, slammed the van in gear, and stomped on the gas pedal.

  • • •

  After firing at the target who threw himself out the window, Barone directed his attention to the last remaining man in the room, who raised his hands swiftly.

  “Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot me!” he cried in English. “I’m an American citizen!” Hogan ignored his convincing accent and rushed him.

  “On the ground!” he ordered. The young man complied instantly, not that he had a choice. Hogan’s strong hands shoved him downward, and he thrust his knee into the man’s back. Hogan pressed his hand against the back of the man’s head, smashing it firmly into the floor. He pulled a pair of linked, heavy-duty zip ties from a pouch on his plate carrier and secured the man’s hands behind his back. Barone moved to the window and saw the van screech away. He cursed before turning his attention to their captive.

  “Look at me,” Barone instructed. The man’s eyes shot upward though his face remained flattened into the ground. The young man quivered as he stared into the black orbs of Barone’s night vision goggles. “Isaam Al Amiri. Is he here?” The captive tossed his eyes toward the door. Barone’s eyes followed. He moved toward it, but Shaw’s raised hand stopping him mid-stride.

  “Get him downstairs, Wyatt and I will handle this,” Shaw stated. Barone nodded and helped Hogan yank the man to his feet.

  Shaw and Wyatt approached the door, and automatic gunfire erupted from the other side. Shaw sprawled to the ground and slid left. Wyatt dashed to the right and, drawing a flashbang grenade from his kit, neared the door. Shaw rose to his feet once out of the line of fire. He readied himself opposite of Wyatt and nodded his command.

  Wyatt pulled the pin, cracked the door, and tossed in the grenade. A flash of light followed by a deafening blast signaled the two to enter. They both checked their corners and then rotated to clear the rest of the room. An older man, holding an AKM and grabbing at his eyes, stood in the center of the room. Both men sent multiple rounds into his chest, toppling him over. Shaw advanced and kicked away the rifle as the man, gasping for breath, reached for it.

  Shaw lifted up his night vision goggles and stared into the fading eyes of Taaha bin Hashim, a man he would have once considered an ally if not friend. Any compassion or affection Shaw held for that relationship gave way to penetrating hatred.

  “I know you,” bin Hashim managed amidst quick, light breaths. Blood trickled from his mouth as he stared at the Marine, his eyes weak and fading. Shaw raised his rifle and loosed two more shots into bin Hashim’s chest. The body jerked before settling. Bin Hashim’s eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, and Shaw neared so his helmet-mounted camera could focus on the man’s face.

  “Warhorse,” Shaw said, standing and pressing his PTT, “Brimstone is down.” He used the designation assigned to Al Amiri by his command.

  “Good copy, Philo Actual,” came the voice of one of Bateman’s Marines.

  “Stand by for secondary confirmation,” Shaw said. “Hogan, Barone, bring him in,” Shaw ordered. A few seconds passed before the two Marines half dragged their captive into the room.

  “This Al Amiri?” Shaw gruffly asked him. The young man nodded quickly. “Are you lying to me?”

  “No, it’s him. I swear to God,” he said, trembling.

  “I’ve got a kid here, one of his men, who has also identified him,” Shaw radioed to the support team.


  “Affirmative, Philo Actual, collect what intel you can.”

  “We’re taking him,” Shaw told Hogan. The young man broke down into terrible sobs. “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to stab you right in the heart,” Shaw threatened. The man’s sobs reduced to pathetic whimpers as they exited the room. “Barone, Wyatt, you’re on clean up,” Shaw ordered.

  “Aye, sir,” came Barone’s reply. Wyatt simply smirked and unzipped Barone’s empty pack. He ripped hard drives from computers and stuffed them inside while Barone took a video recording of the monitors and maps arrayed on the walls.

  “The van’s gone,” Wyatt said once they emerged outside. Shaw stomped on the broken computer and yanked on the hard drive.

  “Barone,” Shaw said as a command. The young Raider hurried forward, turned, and allowed Shaw to stow the drive in his pack. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The four Marines hurried back to their SUV with their captive shoved between Barone and Hogan. Shaw issued a long exhale when he started the vehicle, and Hogan blindfolded the man before taking a seat next to him. He trained his Glock 19 pistol on the man’s stomach.

  “Warhorse,” Shaw said into his radio, “we’re Oscar Mike.”

  18

  The young man sat in the chair shaking uncontrollably while tears rolled down his face and dripped off his chin. Abby sat in the chair opposite him. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and gazed upon the young man with mock sympathy.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” she said. “You said you’re an American citizen?” The young man nodded quickly. “What is your name?”

  “What’s the point?” he managed. “I’m dead anyway. I know the punishment for terrorism.” Abby shook her head and offered him a warm smile.

  “I can help you if you help me. What’s your name?” she asked.