by A P Bateman
Stone bent down and picked up two rocks. One about the size of a baseball, the other the size of a softball. The man moved and Stone heard a rattle. The weapon’s metal sling-clip. Hinged and hanging from the frame like a belt buckle at both ends. He was clearly untrained. Experienced soldiers tape them up or take them off and carry the weapon at all times.
Shine, shape, silhouette and sound. The four basic issues you need to have covered when you want to get from point A to point B without being seen.
Stone lobbed the baseball sized rock high and to his left. The rock landed with an audible crack on the shale slope and the man spun around, his weapon held at waist level. He moved down the slope approximately twenty feet and across another twenty. He peered down the slope, but Stone was already moving high and made it to the first crop of saplings and the solid ground. He dropped low, eyes on the man, using the gradient of the slope and the saplings as cover. The man turned, trudged up the slope a little way and stood twenty feet away from Stone, his weapon now over his shoulder again. Stone felt around the ground beside him and picked up another large rock. He pitched it out and the man spun around as he heard it bounce of the shale and scree slope. Stone leapt up, bounded the space between them in four paces and bought the softball sized rock down on the man’s skull. Both men fell, Stone’s momentum making him lose his footing and they sprawled a few feet, stopped from sliding any further by a bunch of saplings.
Stone took the weapon, in the darkness he knew it was an M-16 variant, a weapon produced under license by many manufacturers, but he was willing to bet it was one of those new-looking Colt AR-15’s his captors carried earlier. The man was either dead or unconscious, Stone didn’t particularly care which, and he rested the rifle on the ground while he checked the man’s pockets. He found a basic mobile phone and was about to try unlocking it when the ground erupted beside him. He threw himself clear as a line of bullets tracked across the ground, over the body of the man in front of him and started arcing towards him. With no time to grab the rifle, he flung himself down the slope and felt the shale hit him as the bullets smashed into the slope and followed him. Stone kept rolling, but he noticed there were more bullets impacting – two gunmen for sure – and it was only now that he took in the noise as the rapid firing echoed off the mountains around him. It suited him though, because he was now out of their line of sight and although they continued to fire, he ran at full speed across the slope and knew that they could not possibly hear him as he dislodged rocks and sent tiny avalanches of shale down into the valley below.
It had been no more than an hour since he jumped out of the truck and learned that some species of trout still managed to live, feed and breed in rivers with epically large waterfalls. Given that these men were on this side of the mountain, Stone figured that it would be the original group of six men. It was doubtful that the pickup driving Beth had doubled back, and that reinforcements had reached this side of the mountain so soon. He knew the position of two of the group, and had neutralised another. That meant he risked running into three men at the most. He slowed, then when he was on firmer ground, he stopped, crouched and listened. He could hear loose shale above and behind him. That would be right, the two men were following. The sound ceased and he heard movement to his left. It sounded like one person. Each step was being carefully placed. Stone reckoned the person knew his quarry was being flushed towards him; was getting into position to ambush.
Stone took out his knife and thumbed the blade open. He took a handful of earth, spat on it and rubbed it into a paste, then he smeared it on the blade. There was no shine from the metal, and the moon had just started to rise, casting more light his way. He rubbed some of the mud onto his face. So far, so good. He had his enemy between the moon and himself and would not be illuminated.
The sound of the two men making rapid progress was audible once more, and Stone used it to edge his way closer to the last sound he’d heard from his left. He placed his feet carefully, keeping low.
The man appeared from a growth of saplings, his weapon shouldered and his aim concentrating past Stone towards the sound of the approaching men. Stone estimated twenty feet between them. The man was shuffling, taking short steps, his knees bent, his aim steady. Military training for sure.
Stone kept the knife low. He moved slowly, the man had just reached the point whereby Stone was in his periphery. Another few steps and he wouldn’t see Stone coming. The sound of the two men rushing in was clearly audible now, and they were making a terrific amount of noise. The man took two more steps, and Stone made his move. He powered forwards, plunged the knife into the man’s back and swung his left arm around the man’s throat pulling him close to his chest. The man grimaced, a silent scream pursing on his lips as Stone pulled the knife out and plunged it deeply in again, this time through the man’s kidney. He pushed his foot into the back of the man’s knee both to unbalance him and to create some leverage. He pressed hard, pinning the man’s shin to the ground. It wasn’t pretty and the man started struggling violently, but in vain. The knife went out and back in three more times and the man finally went still, slumping backwards and as Stone released his grip and stepped back, he fell lifelessly to the ground. Stone folded the knife and put it back in his pocket. The sound of the approaching men was close and as Stone picked up the rifle, flicked off the safety and checked the breach, both men appeared above him, no more than fifteen feet away. He raised the rifle, aimed and gave the first man three shots in the chest. He dropped to one knee, closing his profile down to the minimum he could, and fired at the second man as he himself got a round off that whistled past Stone’s ear no more than a few inches away. Stone, his night vision ruined by the muzzle flash in front of him, kept firing and the man dropped. He was up in an instant, closed the gap to two paces and fired a round into each of the men’s skulls.
The night returned to silence. Stone edged his way around the slope thirty metres or so, kept the weapon trained in front of him, surveyed the terrain. He waited a few minutes then returned to the three bodies. He put the rifle down and pulled the largest corpse over onto its side. He worked quickly, stripping the clothes off and then undressed and put the dry clothes on. He was instantly warmer. He switched his wallet, the lighter and his knife over and then went through the other men’s pockets. He found some gum and a basic phone. He ate a stick of gum, but folded the paper and put it in his pocket. One of the men wore a sheath knife on his belt and Stone wasted no time taking it and fastening it to his belt. He checked his weapon, which seemed in good order, then helped himself to four spare magazines. He was about to start collecting more ammunition from the magazines in the weapons, but stopped when a beam of light shone near and he heard voices. He ducked low, then leapt off the solid ground onto the shale and ran fast and at an acute angle so he gained distance, but could control his descent. The flashlight played briefly across him, lighting his way, then tracked back. He heard a shot, but the light never quite got onto him again and he dropped the angle a little more so he covered two metres with every step, half running, half skating on the surface of the shale. The shots started, the bullets ricocheting off the rocks. Stone reached an outcrop of solid ground with larger trees forming the edge of the forest. He ducked into the trees, then turned and ran up the slope so that his direction changed from his last sighting which would cut down his chances of being hit by wild, indiscriminate gunfire in the general area. He could see the muzzle flashes, and he could both see and hear the bullet strikes on the shale and against the trees. He was two hundred and fifty metres away. He rested against a thick pine and aimed the rifle at the muzzle flashes. He was doubtful whether he could hit at this range, in this light, with iron sights. But he could sure as hell make them duck their heads.
Stone felt the tension tighten on the trigger, and then he released it. Better to let them risk a confirmation. They would know by now he had a weapon, and if there was no return fire, then they would assume he had been hit. Now they had to come down acr
oss the shale, nervous that they would come under fire. They would have to cover each other, take careful steps. Be aware that they could be a target. Maybe they would change direction and come down from another angle. It was their problem, and Stone could afford to wait and watch and ambush them.
24
The men didn’t come. Stone kept the rifle trained on them, or the area he’d last seen them in, but thirty minutes later he realised that they were either going to approach from another direction, which was fine with him, because it could only be from above and not below. So he knew they would come from above, but he did not know from what angle. He started to work his way up the slope, taking advantage of the firm earth and rock and thick trees for cover.
There had been six men in his pick-up truck. He could now account for four. The two men above him could still be watching and waiting or they could be tracking across to approach more stealthily. Or they could have used a cell phone to call in reinforcements. Good luck with the cell service around here, but they were high up and twenty miles out from Abandon. The signal might be good enough for surfing the net for all he knew. Stone thought about trying the cell phone he had captured, but he did not want to risk the light from its screen. How many men could the Conrad brothers muster? More than he could fight, that was for sure. But as he made his way up the slope he realised that he had gone through quite a number already. He may well have struck at their resolve. He knew how soldier’s minds worked – and these men were basically private soldiers – and if they knew one man had caused their colleagues such trouble, struck so many down dead or as casualties, then they would not be so keen on joining the fight. When the fighting was real and bloody, soldiers always preferred to duck their heads down than to storm above.
He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock and the moon was now out and bright. He was warm, but tired, hungry and thirsty. He could hunt these men all night, but he would be better placed to lay up somewhere, get some rest and head out for Abandon in the morning. At least there he could get to his car, the cell phone he kept charged in the trunk, get out to a signal and get the FBI involved. Maybe Maggie or Deborah would hide him until he could get a plan together and find out where they had taken Beth.
Stone changed his angle and headed down hill at forty-five degrees. He knew he’d find water at the bottom. The terrain looked rockier, and he was sure he would be able to find a crag to hole up in. After thirty minutes riding the loose shale underfoot he reached the bottom of the slope and the vee of the valley. A shallow river ran swiftly to where Stone estimated was a westerly direction. It also confirmed he was on track, because he knew in this region all rivers ran towards the Pacific. He dropped to his knees and drank his fill. He followed the stream for thirty minutes, dropped down and drank as much as he could force down, then crossed over and started to climb the other side of the valley.
The rock was steep, but craggy. He soon found what he was looking for – an overhang with trees growing above and evidence of ice age erosion at the base of the rock. Softer rock had eroded away to leave gullies and small caves. At one time, this stream had been a mighty river and had worn the valley down over millennia. One of these caves was a few metres deep, and as Stone inspected further, he saw that it dug into the mountainside in the direction of the river-flow. This meant that it was out of sight from the mountainside opposite.
Perfect.
Stone climbed up the slope and into the fringe of the forest. He gathered up handfuls of debris from the floor and stuffed it into his pockets and down his shirt. He collected an armful of twigs and small branches and headed down to the cave.
He emptied out the forest floor debris and picked out the tinniest twigs. It was dead wood and either rotten or brittle. He ground a few up with his hands and made a pile. He took out the cell phone and the gum. He opened the gum sticks and stuffed them into his mouth, grateful for the sugar lift. He folded the foil gum wrappers into thin sticks, then took the back off the cell phone and pulled out the battery. He found the positive and negative points on the battery and placed the end of a foil stick on each end. The circuit was complete and the foil started to spark. The paper layer on the back of the wrapper smouldered for a while then ignited and he poked the flaming wrapper into the pile of crumbled dried wood mulch. It almost caught, but he repeated the process again and this time it lit. He piled small pieces on top and soon he had a small fire going and had placed sticks and then branches on top. The fire warmed him, lifted his spirits and gave him light to see by. He propped himself up on his elbow, the weapon resting across his legs and planned his next move.
25
Dawn came, and with it the rain. A Pacific squall. Stone had not slept, but had managed to doze for ten minutes or so at a time over a period of a few hours. The fire had long since died, but he had intended it to. The light of the fire would not have been seen at night from the angle of the cave entrance, but smoke in the daylight would be seen for miles.
Stone had decided to move through the trees, rather than following the stream and its relatively obstacle-free route through the valley. He had not long walked into the treeline when he saw men on the opposite slope far above him. Six at least.
So they had called in reinforcements.
The men were trailed out in a line on the slope. They were heading towards the treeline that Stone had briefly hidden in the night before. There would undoubtedly be more men in the forest working their way down to where they imagined Stone lay, either dead or injured. He raised his rifle and used the weapon’s foresight to gauge the distance. One thousand metres. That was his best guess. Well out of range with iron sights. He took a magazine out of his pocket and looked at the cartridge in the neck. It was .223 instead of military 5.56mm. A common practice for civilian shooters. And although he estimated that .223 gave him an extra hundred metres range; one thousand metres was on the cusp for a paper target even with a powerful telescopic sight and a bench rest set-up. He had fired on Taliban at seven to eight-hundred metres in Afghanistan, and they had merely carried on their way.
As far as he could see, he had two choices. He could avoid the search party and make his way back to Abandon. Or, he could take advantage of the fact they were searching in the wrong place and attack. Avoiding them put him on the back foot. He would not know if they had managed to pick up his trail or sighted him until it was too late. He may well be compromised and he would have to fight them anyway. That would have him reacting instead of acting. If he attacked, he could keep the upper hand. He already knew they were off track; he could use this to his advantage.
Sun Tzu wrote The Art of War around five centuries BC. His work has been studied by military strategists ever since. Stone had studied it in the Secret Service. The text is a lesson in common sense. What Stone took away from it more than anything else, was that you only fight your enemy when you outnumber them. Sun Tzo was wise, but he had never heard of Colt or the AR-15 and what it could do in the hands of a man with the element of surprise.
Stone traversed the mountainside, keeping within the treeline. He could see the line of men, and he could see the patch of wooded slope they were moving towards. The men looked much the same as the day before, all armed with rifles that Stone supposed were the same out of the box AR-15s.
The going was easy enough, but he did not take his eyes off the adjacent slope for long. He could see that the man on the furthest most end of the line stood roughly where the bodies would be. Two more crouched and aimed at the line of trees, but they were exposed. They had no cover in front of them and should they take gunfire, they had nothing close behind them to retreat to. Stone stopped and watched. One man entered the treeline and the two remaining men stopped, their weapons aiming into the trees. Both of these men stood with no cover, nor any attempt to keep their profiles lower or smaller. Not one of the six checked their flanks, nor followed the point man into the trees. Stone looked at the mountainside above them. There were plenty of trees and rock groins to take cover behind
, and such was the angle, a few steps backwards and nobody below would have a clear line of sight. It would be an arduous trek, but if he could get around the wooded slope and into that high ground, he knew he could take them.
All of them.
Stone moved quickly. He ran into the woods thirty metres or so, then turned and ran parallel to the slope. He was far enough back to remain invisible to the men on the slope. The only downside, was they were also invisible to him. He estimated five-hundred metres, slowed and made his way back to the treeline. He could see the trees at the top of the slope, but could not see the men. He studied the treeline opposite for a few minutes, then stepped out, slid down the shale and crossed the stream. He bent down and drank his fill, like a horse. No cupping hands, no searching for a pool, just drop and suck. The water would hydrate him, keep him sharp and focused. The water tasted thick and a little like clay. The shale slopes would see to that. The water would purify and filter out further as it met the granite lower down. The water condition wasn’t ideal, but it would do the job.
Stone traversed the slope, cutting the gradient and saving his calf muscles as best he could. He zig-zagged, favouring the left by a pace or two each time to help him maintain his distance and not risk veering closer to the trees until he estimated he was level with the men on the other side of the wooded slope. On every right traverse he would check the trees ahead. He looked above the trees at the mountainside above, started to look for an approach. He could hear an airplane, a propeller plane. He searched the sky, but could not locate it. The pitch sounded like it was landing, or taking a tight turn. Surely they didn’t have an aircraft out searching for him? The sound droned away, finally growing silent. Stone turned his attention back to the slope. He found what he was looking for and headed towards a steep outcrop of rock that looked to be solid. It would be. The shale slopes had eroded, what was left looked like granite.
