Hard Impact: A Jason King Operation (Jason King Series Book 0)

by Matt Rogers

  King knew instantly it was the wrong move. Mabaya’s tone had been dead serious when he told her not to speak. He already hated the three of them.

  Burns’ voice tipped him over the edge.

  He shifted his aim once again and pulled the trigger. In the enclosed room the noise exploded off the walls like a detonating bomb. Norton screamed and flinched behind them. The muzzle flash filled King’s vision. The next thing he saw was Burns doubling over. Clutching her stomach. Blood began to pour from her mid-section.

  She hit the concrete floor with an unceremonious thud and came to rest in the fetal position, hands covering her abdomen. Already her face was deathly pale. Pain creased her features.

  King did not hesitate to act. He needed to apply pressure to the wound before she bled out. It might be too late to try, but he couldn’t just stand there. He dropped to one knee and hurried to find the exact point of entry of the 9mm bullet.

  The wound was significant. Her tattered clothing was already soaked through with blood. King knew he had turned his back to Mabaya. He wouldn’t see a bullet coming if the mercenary decided to end his life. But it was his duty to try and save Burns.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ a voice behind him said.

  Another deafening report. King’s flinch was involuntary. He’d expected Mabaya to shoot, but he didn’t think he would still be alive to hear it. But he hadn’t been the target.

  Burns’ head jerked backward, now sporting a bullet hole in the centre of her forehead. Instantly the life disappeared from her eyes. She was a corpse by the time she came to rest, rolled onto her back by the force of the impact.

  It was the final straw. King saw nothing but red. His head filled with blinding, seething rage.

  Running off instinct, he turned and charged at the steel mesh. He felt an enormous surge of adrenalin coursing through his veins, lending him speed. His actions were fast. Too fast for Mabaya to get a good aim.

  He lashed out with a steel-toed boot, throwing a front kick. A move practiced thousands of times on heavy bags in gyms across the world. Coupled with the burst of primal energy, King struck the flimsy lock in exactly the right spot. The rusting metal bent under the force of the kick, denting beyond repair. As his foot touched the floor he kicked with the other leg. A fluid motion. The movement took no less than a second. This foot struck the centre of the cage door with equal power. It was enough to have its intended effect.

  The door tore off its weak hinges. King had guessed correctly when he assumed that the steel mesh had been in place for years. There was limited access to supplies in these parts. It hadn’t been designed well enough to withstand such a precise blow. He had expected it to swing open but the material was poorer than even he had anticipated. The entire door flew out of its slot and struck Mabaya. Not enough force to do damage. But he hadn’t seen it coming. The impact sent him staggering. One of his boots skidded on the concrete floor and he careered to the floor. The steel mesh landed on him, pinning him awkwardly.

  King surged out of the caged area and threw the flimsy door to the side, exposing Mabaya. The incident had taken him by surprise and as a result he had lost his grip on the Browning. It lay by his side, no use to him now.

  King thundered an elbow into his throat, once again timing it perfectly. He felt the man’s windpipe take a significant impact. He was winded. It was time to finish it. If he had learnt one thing over his career it was that no nobility or honour existed in hand-to-hand combat. In a life or death fight, one must do whatever necessary to ensure their own survival. With that knowledge in his mind he took the opportunity to swing a boot into Mabaya’s chin.

  He had no idea how much damage the kick had done. It scrambled Mabaya’s brain and knocked him senseless. If there was lasting damage, King couldn’t care less. The consequences of the kick barely scraped the forefront of his mind. The only thing that mattered was that the man was unconscious.

  For a moment he considered the recklessness of his plan. If the door hadn’t budged, he would have been shot to pieces. Rage had taken over. Even though he’d come out victorious, he should not have been so careless. Blind luck had been the difference between life and death.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he heard Norton say from the corner of the room.

  The kid would be in shock. Burns — his only companion — was dead. King wasn’t sure if Norton had ever seen a corpse before. Coupled with the massive instantaneous violence of the last ten seconds, King didn’t blame him for being scared senseless.

  ‘I know this is all too much to process,’ he said. ‘But you can worry about that later. If you want to live, ignore it and just follow what I do.’

  Norton nodded, his eyes wet.

  The unconscious body beneath King had a satellite phone attached to its belt. He couldn’t help but smile. Now he had exactly what he needed.

  ‘Thank you, Mabaya,’ he whispered.

  He bent down and snatched the phone out of its holster, scooping up the Browning with his other hand. Ten round magazine. Two rounds were buried in Burns. He had eight bullets.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  As soon as he spoke, he heard commotion in the hallway. Mabaya had left the door open, revealing a narrow corridor with walls made of aluminium sheeting. The whole place felt shoddily constructed. This area must be a haphazard prison in one corner of the building.

  A man rounded the corner. Norton jolted violently, surprised at the sudden encounter. King was ready. He knew the gunshots would have drawn attention. Anticipation was everything in this game. It meant that King took only a fraction of a second to lock his aim onto the bulky figure in the doorway and tap the trigger twice in quick succession.

  One in the head, one in the throat. The Phantom was dead before he hit the floor.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?!’ Norton screamed.

  King didn’t blame him after witnessing so much death and violence for the first time, but the noise sure was inconvenient. Every mercenary in the compound would be on them in no time. He couldn’t hesitate.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said again to Norton.

  The boy didn’t move for a split second. There was no time.

  ‘Norton, move!’ King roared at the top of his lungs.

  It terrified him into action. He scrambled to his feet and followed King into the hallway.

  King’s eyes darted over his surroundings. He took a quick glance to the left and right. If they went left they would head into the main area of the compound. A large warehouse, King guessed. Most of the Phantoms would be scattered around the room. If he was alone, it would be his path of choice. He wasn’t one to run from a fight, and right now he had the biggest advantage of them all. Surprise. If he didn’t have Norton in his company, he would hunt down and kill every last remaining Phantom. That was his nature.

  But it carried a level of risk that he was not willing to expose the boy to. Norton deserved safety. He deserved every ounce of help King could give. And that meant escape.

  The other end of the corridor ran into the edge of the building. A window sat at chest-height, built into the smooth concrete wall. Just large enough to fit through. It led onto the rear of the compound, which consisted of a small open clearing surrounded by dense jungle. That was where they would head.

  ‘Out that window, okay?’ King said. ‘Go smash it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go break the glass. I’ll keep you covered.’

  ‘Uh…’

  ‘Norton, for fuck’s sakes, go. I’m going to make sure you don’t die. Hurry up.’

  The boy made for the end of the hallway. King dropped to one knee and aimed the Browning in the other direction, ready for anyone who dared to come through.

  He heard shouting out in the main area. It echoed off the walls and the high ceiling. They knew there was trouble. They would come charging in any second.

  He heard Norton smash the window, but he kept his gaze locked. Any second…

  He saw a flash of movement. He spamm
ed the trigger three times, more reflex than measured accuracy. Nevertheless, it was enough. Two bullets hit the Phantom who came charging into the hallway and he skidded face-first across the floor, carried by his own momentum. The gun in his hands came free and clattered along the concrete, coming to rest near King.

  A Taurus PT92 pistol. Probably fully loaded. They had a fifteen round magazine.

  He’d take it.

  With his free hand he switched the Browning for the Taurus and bolted for the window. Norton was halfway out. He knew the other Phantoms would hesitate to enter as brazenly as their friend, who had died for his brashness. He had maybe a few seconds.

  He was a foot away from the window when he heard the cock of an automatic weapon from far behind.

  Wrong. They weren’t hesitating.

  He threw himself at the window with everything he had. Pure nerves lent him another much-needed burst of energy. His torso exited the window first, followed by his legs. One thigh scraped along the broken glass, drawing blood. It was the least of his concerns. As he crash-landed in the mud, several rounds flew over his head, chasing him out the window. They’d missed by inches.

  Norton lay prone on the clearing floor. His legs shook uncontrollably. He was a nervous wreck.

  King sprung to his knees, raised the hand with the Taurus in it and fired three rounds blindly through the broken window.

  The gunfire stopped. The Phantoms had ducked for cover inside. Now was their one and only chance to get clear of the compound.

  He made a beeline for the jungle. On the way, he reached down and scooped Norton up with one hand, throwing him to his feet. It spurred the boy into action. Together they flew across the clearing and crashed into the foliage, disappearing into the trees before the remaining Phantoms had a chance to shoot them down.

  CHAPTER 26

  For a minute straight, they ran in silence. Norton had lost all disregard for injury. Every atom of his being was focused on survival. King had seen it before in newcomers to a warzone. Every type of injury lost all meaning. Staying alive was the only priority. The boy powered through the rainforest, almost turning his ankle over several times.

  King reached out a hand and grabbed Norton’s shoulder. He jumped.

  ‘That’s it, kid,’ he said. ‘We’re far enough away. Take your time.’

  Even with a loose grip, King felt the boy shaking.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Norton said. ‘Let’s go, come on, let’s go!’

  ‘Don’t rush. You’ll break your ankle and then I’ll have to carry you. And then they might catch us.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He slowed significantly after that. They jogged for another hundred feet, putting distance between themselves and the compound. Then King stopped Norton again.

  ‘That’s far enough.’

  ‘What do you mean that’s far enough?! Let’s get the fuck out of here!’

  ‘No, because then we’ll get lost. And then all the running in the world won’t mean shit. We’ll die of thirst or starvation. I’d almost rather take a bullet.’

  Norton saw the satellite phone in his hand.

  ‘Do you know how to use that?’

  ‘It’s a satellite phone,’ King said. ‘Pretty basic military appliance. I think I’m good.’

  ‘So you can call for backup?’

  ‘I can.’

  Then Norton did something that took King by surprise. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and hugged him.

  ‘Thank you for saving my life,’ he muttered.

  King took a moment to process it. He lived his life on the battlefield. Gestures such as these were few and far between. He paused for a second, then reached up and ruffled the kid’s hair.

  ‘No problem, buddy. It’s what I do.’

  They parted.

  ‘Time to get out of here?’

  ‘You bet.’

  They found a small alcove in between two trees and hunched down into it, away from prying eyes. King fiddled with the satellite phone, thumbing its buttons until he found what he needed. He dialled in a memorised number and let it ring.

  It was answered on the second.

  ‘Name?’ a female voice said.

  ‘Jason King.’

  ‘Confirm, please.’

  ‘Arctic two chopper, zero three warthog.’ The people on the other end of the line were the only others who knew his identification code. It protected them from falling for any kind of impersonation.

  ‘Putting you through now.’

  A few moments of static, then another voice came on, this one male.

  ‘This is Lars.’

  ‘Lars, it’s King.’

  Lars Crawford held more power than any of the other Joint Chiefs of Staff, yet he technically did not exist. No records were kept of his dealings. He held no official government title. He worked from deep inside the Pentagon, often advising the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the man considered the most senior military official in the country.

  Mostly, he ran Black Force.

  King worked under the command of Black Force. No-one knew who they were, for good reason. Their forces consisted of only a few men, hand-picked from either Delta or DEVGRU. They were allowed to attempt what any official entity would write off as impossible, because they did not exist to any official entity. It gave them absolute discretion. They were men who had devoted their entire lives to the military. King did not know the others. He showed up, completed a mission and collected his paycheque. Because they had no books, Black Force paid handsomely. And it was all run by Lars Crawford, a brilliant mind who had been deemed too valuable to remain in his position as Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps. His work was stellar, but he often overstepped the line. So the President took him off the record and gave him his own office away from prying eyes. Where he could accomplish great things that no-one would ever know about.

  According to documentation he had retired to Wisconsin after leaving the Marine Corps.

  ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he said. ‘You disappeared, for fuck’s sakes. Delta’s currently cleaning up the airfield you left, trying to piece together where you went.’

  ‘I continued with the mission,’ King said. ‘I have one of them with me. Ben Norton. The other two are dead. They’d all be dead if I had waited. I need extraction, but there’s still a few hostiles left in the compound.’

  ‘There’s four Delta boys at the airfield. They have a CH-53.’

  ‘A Super Stallion?’

  ‘Yeah. I managed to secure one. It’ll help.’

  ‘It’s getting dark. Wait until morning. There’s no point losing any men by rushing it.’

  ‘Do you have supplies?’

  ‘No. But we’ll manage.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  King looked down at himself. The relentless pace of his time awake had caused him to ignore his injuries. Now, he studied them. The glue in his wrist had dried solid. He could use his hand, meaning that there was no significant nerve damage. The taut bandage around his shoulder was soaked through with blood, but once again he still had function. In pain, yes. But not paralysed. He would make it through another day.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  ‘How’s the hostage? Files say he’s nineteen.’

  ‘He’ll survive.’

  ‘Okay. They’ll arrive at 0700. We have your position from the GPS on the phone you’re using. Is that the exact place you want extraction?’

  ‘Come to this exact location and find the clearest place to land. If Delta has a Super Stallion, we’ll hear it from a mile away.’

  ‘Good luck, King.’

  He hung up. No wasted words. Nothing unnecessary said. Just what needed to be done, and how long it would take. Conversations with Lars were nothing but efficient.

  They had talked on loudspeaker, so Norton had heard the whole thing. For a moment, the boy smiled. A rare expression in a time like this.

  ‘I didn’t think I would make it out of there,’ he said.

&
nbsp; King began to speak, but a strange emotion sent a pang through his chest.

  The feeling of regret.

  He bowed his head into his hands and tried his hardest not to cry. Frustration swelled inside him. He felt Norton rest a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Um, Mr. King, are you okay?’

  He nodded. ‘I think I fucked this one up, Ben.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come here. Two of you are dead. If we’d just waited, maybe things would have been different.’

  ‘You didn’t fuck anything up,’ Norton said. ‘If you’d waited any longer, they would have done things to us that they were waiting to do. Mabaya said that some of them wanted to…’ He trailed off. ‘You know, I didn’t think there was that much savagery in the world.’

  ‘You just haven’t seen it before.’

  ‘I’ve studied it. We have all sorts of theories on terrorism and crime in international relations. I just … never thought about what it would actually look like. I’m sheltered, I guess.’

  King shook his head. ‘You’re normal. Not many people choose to confront that stuff their whole lives.’

  ‘It must take a toll.’

  He shrugged. ‘I can deal with it, mostly. I’d rather be in these situations and seeing these things and helping people than ignoring what’s happening and letting them die. That’s why I do what I do.’

  ‘I could never do that.’

  ‘Not many people could.’

  It was almost fully dark. King couldn’t see the sun dip below the horizon, but the sky melted from an incandescent orange to a stark grey. The jungle seemed to come alive around this time. The noise of wildlife echoed all around them. Birds hooting, insects buzzing. Somewhere in the distance, water flowed.

  ‘Should we head further out?’ Norton said.

  ‘I don’t think—’

  A few dozen feet behind the alcove, a cacophony of shouting rose up. Two sharp discharges exploded, resonating off the trees. A spray of wild bullets passed over their heads.

  ‘Yes, I think we should,’ King said.

  They took off into the night.

  CHAPTER 27