by Michael Cole
The guard post was a wooden platform resting high on a compacted dirt mound, resting against the thick trunk of a two-hundred-foot tree. The mound itself was about eight feet high. It would be difficult for Nagamine to climb that height and take out the guard without creating noise and a struggle.
He reached along his vest, pulling out two small knives. Clutching one in each hand, he inched closer, careful not to disturb the plants around him. He kept his eyes locked on the target, observing his every move. The guard seemed to have a routine, looking in various directions for several seconds at a time. As Nagamine observed, the guard checked each area in the same order, looking to his right, his left, then looking back toward the site. Each time he glanced right, Nagamine froze, resuming approach when the guard looked away.
He rested on his elbows and knees underneath a bamboo bush. Peeking between the leaves, he watched the guard, determining the right moment to strike. He didn’t want him to fire and alert the other soldiers. Also, he didn’t want him to yell out, or fall off the platform, which would draw attention. He waited, watching the guard turn left. After a few seconds, he turned around to look at the site.
Nagamine had his chance. He lifted himself onto his knees, and launched both knives at his target. The guard started turning, just as Nagamine calculated. In the midst of his turn, the blades simultaneously embedded into his neck. One struck below the left ear, severing the carotid artery; the other through his trachea, preventing him from calling out.
After a brief gag, the soldier slumped down against the tree, hardly making a sound.
Nagamine glanced behind him. Seymour emerged from behind another bush, and nodded to his fellow warrior.
That guy’s good. He waved his finger toward the post, instructing Nagamine to take position and wait for his signal to attack. As he did, Seymour began sneaking toward the next post.
Rex spat out a mouthful of dirt. Lying flat on his stomach, he crawled under bushes and over anthills, ignoring the bites from the little critters as he moved toward the southeast corner.
Ivan trailed behind him, following along the same path. Two large men built like Greek warriors, they had no choice but to keep low to remain undetected. In his mind, Ivan cursed Nagamine and Terrie, briefly envying their smaller statures which allowed for stealthier movements.
The mounds cast giant shadows into the already murky jungle, helping the two giants to blend in. Having reached their destinations just past the mounds, Ivan and Rex distanced themselves from each other, peeking through the vines at the several huge tree trunks. They listened to the groaning engines as the bulldozers pushed more dirt into the piles. With the position of the mounds and the trees pushed into the southern perimeter, Ivan came to a realization.
These guys are creating barricades.
Seymour gradually worked his way around the perimeter, calculating every step as he neared the final guard post. The soldier stood high on his platform, carefully keeping track of any movement coming from the jungle. Seymour froze and waited for his watchful gaze to turn elsewhere.
This guard was not stupid, nor lazy. He was thoroughly observant. Hidden in the brush, Seymour watched his target. This guard’s uniform was not clean. Dried mud was caked all over him, leading Seymour to believe he had recently encountered some type of skirmish. To sneak up on this lookout undetected, Seymour would have to move fast and accurately.
Nothing he hadn’t done before.
He held his SOG knife, pointing the blade down. With his free hand, he touched along the dirt, looking for anything to distract the guard. He located a chunk of bark, then looked for a place to put it. Seeing the paranoid appearance, he determined that throwing the decoy into a pile of bushes might illicit a nervous, accidental discharge.
Seymour gradually moved left, drawing closer to the perimeter. He eyed a clear opening near the backhoe, where no guards were present. With the guard looking into the jungle, Seymour tossed the heavy piece of wood behind the post. It landed and split.
The guard turned toward the sound, now looking toward the site.
No longer in the line of sight, Seymour stood and rushed the post. The guard turned back, just in time to feel the blade enter his throat. Seymour lowered the guard down off the post. He sheathed his knife and held his HK 416. He moved around the guard post and studied the site once more, ready to begin shooting.
He eyeballed the backhoe, then the scattered soldiers working along the mounds and trees. Looking past the barricades, he knew Ivan and Rex were in position. However, he knew it was unlikely the soldiers would bunch up in a crowd.
He decided to adjust his plan.
He emerged from the tree line. Though in the open, he was unseen by the unsuspecting soldiers as they were focused on their work. He hurried to the backhoe, taking cover behind it. He snatched two of his C-4 blocks from his vest. After activating the sensors, he placed them into the platform.
The nearby rumbling from one of the bulldozers caused him to duck behind the backhoe. The huge construction vehicle moved on its tracks, passing nearby the backhoe. Seymour peeked around the front. He watched it push a large collection of grit into the perimeter on the other side of the fallen trees, then back up to start another round.
Seymour moved toward the back of the backhoe, again watching the soldiers to make sure nobody was looking toward him. He waited as the bulldozer backed past the backhoe. As it did, Seymour sprinted toward it. He leapt onto the moving tracks, immediately pulling himself onto the platform.
He whipped the cab enclosure door open and burst inside. The driver shuddered with shock and reached for his firearm. Seymour plunged his knife into his chest, inflating his lung. Seymour repeatedly stabbed the driver in the torso, then into the throat. With the driver dead, his foot lifted from the hydraulic accelerator, stopping the vehicle.
“What the fuck’s he doing?” Terrie whispered to herself, watching Seymour through her sniper scope. She observed as he planted two more blocks of C-4 onto the bulldozer’s converter. He disappeared behind the hidden side. Scanning left, she saw two soldiers slowly stepping toward the bulldozer, shouting for the driver to move.
Knowing Seymour, he has a plan.
Holding their rifles down, the soldiers could only see the soldier slumped in the cab enclosure. A moment prior, he had been driving fine. They suspected he was tired and taking a rest, something they would not permit. Angry from his lack of response, they marched forward.
A green blinking light gave them pause. A small object, the size of a coffee cup, rested on the converter. A tiny bulb was at its center.
They had only just begun to realize what it was, when they saw Seymour step out between the backhoe and bulldozer. His HK416 was shouldered. The suppressor was detached.
Seymour cracked a grin.
“Good morning!” He squeezed the trigger. Three-round bursts ruptured the skulls of both soldiers, their bodies falling hard against the ground.
CHAPTER
16
All eyes turned toward the sound of gunfire. Two of their men were down, with a single shooter standing before them. Shouts of directives echoed through the air, and the soldiers opened fire.
Firing back blindly, Seymour dashed back into the woods, taking cover behind the tree near the guard post. An endless barrage of bullets tore through the air around him, forcing him to keep as low as possible.
Dozens of soldiers rushed the perimeter, firing their assault rifles toward the jungle in which the assailant disappeared. They spread out to avoid bunching up, tearing the jungle apart with their munitions.
Bullets passing around him and splintering the thick tree, Seymour dug for the remote trigger. He extended the antennae, igniting a green light. He pressed the trigger.
The backhoe and bulldozer erupted into massive balls of flame. The thunderous boom of the blasts ripped across the site. Glass from the other bulldozers shattered. Caught in the blast, several North Korean soldiers rolled along the ground, completely ablaze. A
s the fire stretched out, it forced several soldiers away from the blast zone, grouping them together near the fallen trees.
With their machine guns mounted over the trunks, Ivan and Rex opened fire. Bullets soared from the two M60s, mowing down the gathered platoon. Blood and body parts flew in one large gory fountain.
“Like fish in a fucking barrel!” Ivan yelled, grinning ear to ear as he blasted the enemy soldiers.
“Ten! Eleven! Fourteen…” Rex counted out loud.
“Those last three were mine!” Ivan shouted. They continued hitting the platoon, all while endlessly bickering about their “scores.”
With the enemy fire drawn off, Seymour burst from the tree line. Two soldiers took cover from the M60s behind the burning backhoe. They saw Seymour and turned to fire. He shot first, putting several rounds center mass in each of them. After they dropped dead, he rushed past the burning backhoes.
A soldier hurried to the radio tent. He had just clutched his radio when his torso exploded into pink mist.
Terrie watched her target collapse and scanned the scope left. The soldiers were moving the remaining bulldozers to provide cover from the M60s.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said. She squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into one of the cab enclosures. Blood sprayed onto the dashboard as it passed through the driver. The vehicle came to a halt. After adjusting her sights, Terrie sniped the second driver.
Sutton and Easley began their run, tearing toward the nearest tent. Several soldiers backtracked to the north, while others were still grabbing weapons from the tents.
Sutton fired on the retreating soldiers, dropping several, while Easley focused on those emerging from the nearest tent.
At the same time, Nagamine rushed the opposite tent, dodging fire from several soldiers. He took cover behind a large stump from one of the fallen trees. The shooting died down, and the soldiers started reloading. Nagamine emerged from cover, pointing his MP5 forward. A spray of bullets launched from his weapon, tearing into the three enemy soldiers. After reloading, he entered the first tent, immediately shooting down two more soldiers.
The tent was comprised mostly of makeshift beds, rations, and some weapons. No hostages. He tore through the opposite entrance. To his right, a soldier saw him and aimed his rifle.
Like an airbag going off, his chest suddenly ripped open. Blood sprayed from his front and back, and the soldier fell to the ground, dead.
Terrie’s voice came through the comm. “Saved your ass.” Nagamine looked toward her post, knowing she could see him through her sights. He smiled for her, and continued to press on.
With most of the soldiers retreating to the north side, Ivan and Rex picked up their M60s and moved inward.
Three soldiers took cover behind one of the nearby bulldozers. Believing they had the drop on the two brutes, they emerged to open fire.
Ivan, aware of their presence, had his M60 already pointed. Bullets ripped from the barrel into the soldiers, tearing their chests into minced meat. The third, realizing he wouldn’t be able to hold his position against them, dashed toward the jungle. Ivan squeezed his finger on the trigger, sending a five-round burst after the runner.
The bullets pierced the runner’s neck, tearing through the spinal column and muscles. As the soldier fell, his head detached from his body and rolled several inches away like a bowling ball.
“Oh, MAN! That’s just wrong,” Ivan said in a fit of laughter.
Sutton and Easley spread out, as a group of soldiers burst from the tent. They fired at the two mercs, narrowly missing as they both ducked for cover.
Two of them, moving side-by-side, pursued Sutton, who was in the midst of reloading.
“Shit,” he said to himself as he ran toward one of the surviving trees on the site. A soldier, who had retreated from Rex and Ivan, had already taken refuge there. He saw the Doc approach. Alarmed, he whipped around and began firing.
Sutton drew his Beretta M9 and emptied half of the mag into the soldier’s chest. As the Korean fell, Sutton aimed his pistol past the tree, where another armed soldier approached. Depressing the trigger rapidly, he emptied the mag. The bullets pierced the soldier’s belly, doubling him over as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle. Several shots rang from the gun and tore up the ground as he fell on his face, dead. Sutton looked back over his shoulder. The other two soldiers closed in, their weapons pointed right at him. He turned to aim his pistol, but saw the slide locked back.
“Fuck.”
With the nearest soldier centered in her crosshairs, Terrie squeezed the trigger. The round zipped from the barrel or her rifle. It entered the soldier’s left ribcage, ripping through his lungs and stomach before exiting out the right ribcage and piercing the second soldier.
Both dropped dead in their tracks. Sutton breathed a grateful sigh of relief and quickly reloaded.
Easley dove into the jungle as four soldiers pursued him. As he disappeared, they hurried toward the Jeeps. They boarded them two-by-two. The engines came on with a roar.
Flesh, blood, and clothing covered the interior of the Jeeps, as Agent Hawk ambushed the group. She emptied the magazine of her submachine gun into the four soldiers, who all slumped dead in their seats. She reloaded, then moved into the tent.
Two soldiers stood up, having just assembled a large machine gun. They shouted in Korean, and picked up the gun to fire on her. Already aiming, she fired a burst, tearing open the triggerman’s upper torso. She fired at the other, putting two rounds in his stomach. He knelt over. Though in severe agony, he was still determined to fight. As he drew his sidearm, Hawk put a round in his head, splitting his skull like a ripe melon.
Two soldiers rushed from the southern tent, only to be gunned down by Seymour. After they fell to the dirt, he sprinted to the entrance. Several soldiers, having retreated from both the northern side and the M60 fire, had rushed this way for reloading. Seymour dropped to one knee and began firing, taking out the nearest soldier first.
“No hostages,” he yelled out, gunning down another soldier.
The walls of the tent juddered violently as a storm of bullets ripped through. Firing from outside the tent, Ivan and Rex yelled obscenities. Their bullets shredded soldiers and the structures. With nothing to hold it up, the tent collapsed over a half-dozen dead troops.
Seymour backed away from the downed tent, examining his surroundings. Several bodies littered the construction zone. Smoke billowed into the sky. All shooting had ceased. His mercenary team spread over the site, securing the area.
A rustling of green drew Seymour’s attention. He looked to the west, seeing several swaying plants. Behind them, he could hear the cracking of twigs and brush.
“Nine o’clock!” he shouted. He sprinted into the tree line. Dodging trees left and right, he followed the sound of running footsteps.
A gunshot rang, and chunks of bark exploded from a nearby tree. Seymour dropped and rolled as several more bullets passed by. He came up to one knee, with his rifle pointed. One of the soldiers stepped around a tree, unsuspectingly into his line of sight.
Seymour double-tapped, killing him. Two other soldiers emerged and returned fire. Seymour took cover behind a tree. The soldiers continued firing, pelting the trunk with projectiles. Seymour crouched low. Realizing they were not about to let up, he blindly pointed his rifle around the tree and shot back.
The soldiers withdrew deeper into the woods. Seymour emerged from cover and continued his chase. The soldiers ran, stumbling over the jumbled landscape. Each turn led them into another tree, another bush, another hill.
Confused, overwhelmed, and exhausted, the soldiers stopped. They turned around to fire their weapons at their pursuer. Seymour, already in position, squeezed the trigger. Two bullets struck one of the soldiers square in the shoulder, knocking him down in a pool of his own blood. The magazine emptied.
Seymour dropped the weapon and drew his revolver. With no time to aim, he fired from the hip. Each .357 round caused a heavy jolt as
they fatally pierced the other soldier’s center mass.
As his target fell, Seymour allowed himself a relaxing breath. He glanced down to his rifle. As he leaned down to pick it up, he noticed the footprints left by the soldiers. Two sets led to the ones he just encountered.
Then there was a third set, not belonging to either of the parties he had just neutralized, which banked to the right. Like a bolt of lightning through his body, Seymour’s defensive instincts kicked in.
The third soldier jumped from around a tree. He pointed the barrel of his rifle at Seymour’s head to shoot him point blank.
Seymour grabbed the weapon by the barrel, forcing it towards the sky just as the soldier pulled the trigger. Bullets ripped into the canopy as the men fought. The Korean struggled, fighting to regain control of the weapon. Looking his enemy in the eye, Seymour thrust the weapon forward, cracking the barrel against the soldier’s forehead. Seymour yanked back on the gun, pulling it free from the dazed soldier’s grip. With a swift kick, he planted his right boot square in the soldier’s chest, knocking him back several feet.
Just the distance he needed.
Seymour pointed the rifle and fired, killing the soldier with his own gun. Seymour tossed the weapon aside and began looking for the revolver which had been dropped in the scuffle.
Another rustling in the ground alerted him. One of the soldiers he had shot was still alive.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Seymour said to himself. The soldier grunted as he slowly got on his knees, holding his rifle in his left arm.
Seymour’s eyes located the revolver. As he was about to sprint, machine gun fire tore through the jungle, finding their way to the soldier. Bullets chopped through his torso, shoulders, legs, and even his face, erasing any and all identity. The soldier rolled backwards, reduced to nothing but a shredded blood bag.
