by Jake Bible
“What was that happy horse shit?” Thorne asked as he joined the Team. “What did I miss?”
“Apparently we have a command center,” Max said.
“Anyone else turned on by the ball buster?” Shane asked.
Kinsey turned to Darby. “Spill it. Who are they?”
Darby looked at them and sighed. “The woman is Diane Horace. She’s in charge of Finance. The small guy that looked like he pissed himself is Jeremy Longbottom. He’s Insurance.”
The Reynolds couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yes, I am sure he regrets his name also,” Darby said. “The tall man is Stefan Perry. He’s Legal.”
“Finance?” Thorne asked. “Insurance? Legal? What the fuck does any of that mean?”
“They head up those departments in the company,” Darby said. “Since the company is in the business of solving problems, they are here to watch our op and make sure we aren’t creating any new ones.”
“The audition,” Max smiled, “now I get it.”
“Way better than the stupid medical analogy,” Shane said.
“Much better,” Max agreed.
“Are you going to let them just watch and judge us?” Kinsey asked her father.
“Doesn’t fucking matter to me,” he shrugged. “There’s always someone watching ops in the SEALs. I could give a shit. We have a job to do and we’ll do it. They like to watch, then good for them.”
“I like to watch,” Max said to Darby.
“Yes, I guessed as much,” Darby responded, “it explains a lot.”
“Because he’s a sniper, right?” Shane said.
“Because he’s a douche,” Darby said and walked away.
“I will marry her one day,” Max said, “as God is my witness, I will!”
“Masochist,” Shane said.
“Enough crap,” Thorne said. “Go over your gear, triple check everything. I’m going to meet with Jennings and make sure he’s up to the task tonight.”
“Got it,” Max said.
“Will do,” Shane replied.
“I didn’t like that Darren seemed to be in the dark,” Kinsey said.
“Me either, but nothing we can do about it,” Thorne responded. “It’s his ship, he has to deal with the red tape and bullshit that comes with it. We just have to kill bad guys and rescue good guys.”
***
The cold spray invigorated Kinsey as the Zodiac bounced across the waves just off the Somali coast. She sat at the bow, her modified M-4 cradled in her arms. The rest of Team Grendel sat behind her, all eyes on the few twinkling lights of the city they were about to infiltrate.
It was 0213 when Jennings cut the motor and let the Zodiac drift through the surf and onto the rocky beach. The Team silently jumped out of the boat and then pushed it back into the waves so Jennings could race back to the Beowulf II before being spotted. Everything from there on depended on them not being found out and targeted.
They sprinted up the beach and took cover in a thatch of thorny bushes close to a small gravel road. Each of them were outfitted with their NVGs (night vision goggles), a modified M-4, a Sig Sauer P220 pistol, body armor, and pouches filled with their various kits that covered almost every contingency from cash they could use to buy their way out of town if the extraction went bad to morphine and med kits. The only variation in gear was Shane’s sniper rifle, which he had strapped across his back.
They had thought of everything they could and it was all up to fate at that point.
“We slide through those houses,” Darren said, “then Darby and I split off.”
“Stay on schedule,” Thorne said. “We’ll be bringing some heat with us when we come for you.”
“We know,” Darren said.
Thorne looked around at each member of the Team, making sure they were set. Confident they were as ready as they ever would be, he slowly moved towards the buildings in a low crouch. Once they hit the houses, which were just glorified shacks, they straightened up and made their way slowly through and around the trash and detritus of the small African city.
It didn’t take long for them to realize they were in a Third World country. The smells, the garbage, the scavenged materials used for the housing, all of it was indicative of a people living a life of subsistence. That was good for the Team. It meant less loyalty to the pirate gang. There would be tribal ties, but on a deep level, no one wanted to help those that didn’t like to share the spoils.
When they made it past the first set of shacks, Darren and Darby split off, moving from shadow to shadow off to their target. The Team watched them go, their bodies illuminated clearly in the NVGs, and made sure they made it to their route without trouble, then continued on to the compound.
It took them longer to get to the compound than they would have liked, and Thorne felt the pressure of their timetable. Keeping to com silence, he gestured for everyone to pick up the pace and started to hump it double time through the maze of shacks and mud houses. They gained some of their lost time, but not much, by the time they reached the compound.
The objective was to get in through a side gate undetected, so Shane could get onto the roof of the first building and set up an overwatch to cover the rest of the Team. The compound had the only multistory buildings other than the city municipal buildings, so they had to get inside first before Shane could get a good position. Having him watching their backs was key to the success of the op.
When they got to the side gate, they were surprised to find it unlocked and open. They quickly glanced around, scanning the area for guards or a gang member that was out for a night walk. They saw nothing and quickly entered the compound, glad for their luck. A locked gate would have meant having to blow the lock and risk detection right away.
Once inside, Shane hurried to his position, as the Team crouched in the shadow of the large wall that surrounded the compound. There was no fire escape on the building, but that wasn’t a problem for Shane. He was able to find foot and hand holds in the window sills and exposed bricks of the building. Its lack of upkeep made it easily scalable.
“Position,” Shane said over the com, the first words any of them had uttered since Darren and Darby split off.
“Good luck,” Mr. Ballantine’s voice said over the com, “stay safe.”
Thorne chuckled at that last part. Easy for Ballantine to say, all safe out at sea, miles from the action.
The Team headed for the building where the hostages were kept. Or where they thought they were kept. They only had company intel to go off of, and if that intel was as good as what the military had always provided, then who knew where the hostages were kept.
Max tried the door, hoping the knob was unlocked. It wasn’t.
“Breaching charge?” Max asked.
Thorne nodded and Max pulled a strip of explosives from his pack. He pulled off the adhesive, pressed the charge right next to the lock, turned, and ducked his head. Kinsey and Thorne turned away also as two seconds later, there was a small blast and the door swung inward.
Max was first in and he swung his rifle to the right as Kinsey followed, covering the left. Two men stood there in the small room, AK-47s in their hands, their eyes wide with shock and surprise. Kinsey took down one as Max took the other, the suppressors on their rifles keeping the sound of the shots down to a quiet cough. Thorne came in behind them and pushed forward towards a door at the back of the room; Kinsey and Max were right on his heels.
“You have four hostiles heading your way,” Shane said, “take them?”
“Not unless they engage,” the voice of Stefan Perry said over the com.
“Get off my line,” Thorne growled. “Any of you interrupt or give orders again during this op and I’ll personally give you an M-4 enema when we get back aboard.”
“There’s hardly a need for threats,” Jeremy Longbottom said.
“Let’s respect Commander Thorne’s request, shall we?” Mr. Ballantine said.
“Gee, thanks Ballantine,” Thorne said.
“Any time, Thorne,” Mr. Ballantine replied.
“Hostiles have spotted the breached door,” Shane said. “Heading your way fast.”
“I consider that engagement,” Thorne said, “light ‘em up.”
Shane tracked the first man, aiming for the center of the man’s back. He gently squeezed the trigger. When the break came, he shifted targets, repeating the shot three more times. All four hit the dirt, massive holes in their torsos from the .338.
“Clear,” Shane said, “but they know we’re here now.”
Even with the suppressor on his sniper rifle, the .338 was too powerful to be quiet. Unsuppressed, it would have sounded like a small cannon, but with the suppressor, it sounded like a .22. That was still loud enough to attract attention. The door to the barracks opened and several men came rushing out. As soon as they saw their fallen comrades, they began shouting and cursing.
The compound was instantly flooded by light.
“Fuck,” Shane said, flipping up his NVGs, almost blinded by the sudden light. “No one said anything about those!”
“What the fuck, Ballantine?” Thorne growled. “It’s Friday Fucking Night Lights out there!”
“We didn’t know,” Mr. Ballantine replied, “the lights must be a new install.”
“Fuck,” Shane said again. “One of them has a brain. My hide is blown. Engaging with extreme prejudice.”
“You’ve always wanted to say that, huh?” Max said as he tried the door at the back of the small room. Locked also.
“I have always wanted to say that,” Shane agreed.
They could hear the .338 go fully active. AK-47s responded quickly. Men were shouting and screaming. And sounded like they were dying too.
The door in front of them was obviously cheap laminate and Max gave it a hard kick next to the jamb. It burst open and he moved inside quickly.
“Jesus fuck,” Max said as he saw the scene before him, “they’re fucking dead.”
They were. Every hostage in the room lay in congealed pools of their own blood, their throats slit from ear to ear. Each corpse had handcuffs on their wrist and ankles, securing them to bolts in the concrete floor.
The Team could hear gagging from the command center.
“Get off the fucking com if you can’t handle it!” Thorne barked. “Don’t you fucking puke in my ear!” The gagging noise was cut short. “Bug out! Command, we need immediate extraction! The op is a bust!”
“I only count eleven hostages,” Diane Horace said over the com. “There should be twelve. The captain must be in the main building with Daacad.”
“You don’t know that,” Thorne said. “We don’t know that. Mission is off. Get us the fuck out of here.”
“Your job is to rescue the hostages, Mr. Thorne,” Ms. Horace said. “There is still one more hostage.”
“Is she serious?” Max asked as the sounds of AK-47s from the compound increased. “It is getting hot as shit out there. She wants us to wade through that and take another building?”
“That’s exactly what I want you to do, Mr. Reynolds,” Ms. Horace replied, “or no extraction.”
“You fucking cunt,” Kinsey snapped, about to say more, but stopped when her father shook his head.
“We’re on it,” Thorne said. “Shane?”
“I got it covered out here,” Shane said, “but don’t come out the front door. You’ll walk right into a six pack of fuckers.”
“Window,” Max said as he pointed to a barred window at the back of the room.
He quickly set explosive strips on all four sides and then waved Kinsey and Thorne back. They each unceremoniously flattened themselves out next to a corpse, taking whatever cover the bodies would provide. The concrete and brick around the window exploded and showered them with debris. The barred grate covering the window slammed against a wall and clattered to the floor.
Max and Kinsey hopped out through the hole where the window used to be, landing in a small alley between the building and the compound wall. It was barely wide enough for them to move and their gear kept getting hung up on chunks of the wall, as they hurried towards the end of the building. Thorne was right behind them, covering their six.
Max checked the corner and gave a thumbs up. All three sprinted in a crouch to the wall of the next building, which according to intel, should have been Daacad’s quarters. Each laughed internally, knowing how the intel had turned out for them so far that night.
Out in the courtyard of the compound, men were falling everywhere as Shane put round after round in their chests, their bellies, their heads.
“Gonna run out of ammo soon,” Shane said. “How’s that extraction coming?”
“The extraction is not---” Ms. Horace began to say, but was instantly cut off.
“Inbound,” Bobby called over the com. “ETA five minutes.”
“Who authorized that?” Ms. Horace said. “I specifically told you to find and rescue the hostage first!”
“Mr. Ballantine?” Thorne asked. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Mr. Ballantine replied.
The audio connection to the command center was severed.
“Good,” Thorne said. “We proceed into the building, but if we haven’t found the hostage by the time the Wyrm is here, then we are gone. This has gone south fast.”
“So we quit?” Kinsey asked.
“We aren’t quitting,” Thorne said as he squeezed the trigger and put two rounds in the head of a hostile that had turned and was about to fire. “We’re living.”
“Feels like quitting,” Kinsey said. She dropped two hostiles then turned as Max tapped her shoulder.
“Back here,” he said, nodding towards an alcove at the end of the building.
They hustled back to the alcove, which covered a side door, and all took a knee, their rifles aimed towards the courtyard. Each of them dropped two hostiles. Max shouldered his rifle and tested the door knob, while Kinsey and Thorne covered him. Instantly, gunfire erupted and Max fell onto his back as bullets punched holes in the door and flew over his head, just missing his skull.
“Fuck!” he yelled.
Thorne turned and fired into the door then stood and kicked it in, continuing his fire as he rushed into a kitchen.
“Ah, shit,” Thorne said, his rifle covering the body of a boy that couldn’t have been more than eleven years old. The boy held an AK-47 against his bleeding chest, a photo of Kanye West on his t-shirt, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. But he wasn’t a fish, he was a young boy. It wasn’t the first time Thorne had killed a child combatant, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“He fired first,” Kinsey said at his shoulder, “you had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Thorne said, “just not always a good one.”
“I doubt they have him in here,” Max said, looking past the dying boy at the rest of the kitchen. “We need to get to the courtyard.”
“Hold on,” Kinsey said, eyeing a small walk-in cooler at the back of the room. “That would the perfect place to stash a hostage.”
“And your holiday ham,” Max said.
“They’re Muslim,” Shane said over the com.
“Oh, right,” Max said.
The three stepped to the door, Kinsey taking one side, Thorne taking the other, as Max crouched and grabbed the handle. He gave the door a smack and ducked to the side, waiting for shots to be fired. But there was nothing. He held up three fingers, then counted down and pulled the handle.
Kinsey stepped in first, the flashlight on her rifle illuminating the empty wire shelves. And a still body, face down on the concrete floor.
“Got him!” Kinsey said as she slung her rifle and moved forward.
She pulled her pistol, keeping the body covered as she nudged her foot under the man and rolled him over. Kinsey barely had time to notice that the man was dead before something rolled out from underneath him.
“GRENADE!” she yelled, kicking the metal a
vocado aside as she leaped back, shielding Max and her father from the blast.
BOOM!
The concussion and heat sucked the breath from her, knocking her off her feet and into Max, and she felt a sharp pain in her right calf, but most of the blast was contained inside the cooler. The whole world was nothing but a loud ringing and she looked down into Max’s face and could see him talking to her. Hands grabbed her from behind and got her on her feet.
“Kinsey!” Thorne shouted as he spun her about. “Are you hurt?”
“Hostage is dead,” Max said over the com. “We’re coming out, bro. You got us covered?”
“Got ya,” Shane said.
“We are thirty seconds out,” Bobby said.
“Get to ground, Shane,” Lucy said, “I have this. Cover them down there.”
Shane pulled back from the edge of the roof, secured his rifle, and sprinted to the other side of the building. He affixed a line and rappelled quickly down the side. When his boots hit the ground, he immediately put his M-4 to his shoulder and rounded the corner.
Pop. Pop, pop.
Two guys down as he made his way to the others’ location.
Pop pop popopopopop.
Four more down.
He felt the heat of a bullet whiz by his cheek and he spun to the left, taking out a young man that was running at him, his AK-47 barking fire. The young man was shooting wild, screaming as he ran, and Shane placed two rounds in his chest, dropping him quickly. He heard the door behind him bang open and whirled about, coming barrel to barrel with his brother.
“Duck,” Max said.
Shane didn’t even think, just did. Max squeezed off three shots as Shane turned on his heels in a crouch to see two men fall as they sprinted across the courtyard.
The sound of the Wyrm filled the air and dust and dirt began to swirl as the rotor wash sent anything not nailed down tumbling about. The Team didn’t need any prompting and sprinted to the Wyrm. Shane grabbed the skid and pulled himself up into the cabin as Lucy laid down a stream of cover fire. Hostiles dropped as she sprayed them with the M-240 mounted machine gun.
