by Mark Powell
The Final Push
Night had fallen now by the time they had decided to make their move. Yet Stowe and McCabe could see well enough in the darkness, as the clear sky was lit by bright stars and a full moon. They blended into the shadows as they spotted the enemy before them and in front of the house, which was a prison for the Maddens.
“Cover me,” said Stowe, cocking his sidearm, and motioned for McCabe.
The latter nodded. He had been on countless missions, but he always felt the great behemoth of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Despite hearing his fast heartbeat in his ears, time seemed to slow down. His breathing too began to pace slower.
Stowe closed his eyes as he leaned on the wall of a house more than thirty meters away from the protected house that held the Maddens. Just like McCabe, he could feel his veins pump with fresh adrenaline, but he focused on calming his nerves. This was it, he told himself. There would be no second chances. It was like a hundred missions he’d performed before, and yet, like McCabe, he could feel the same jitters one usually felt before heading into a mission as this. Here was the penultimate moment. They had lost Mooney and others, and they were down to just two. But two was enough, Stowe told himself, even if it seemed like suicide. He’d seen what McCabe was capable of and he had begun to trust in the man’s skills as a war machine. They would be all right, he assured his senses and focused in on the mission at hand. They had not planned much now, save for the focus of killing all the bastards that were posted within and without the house, take the Maddens and run out to their jeep. From there, they were to drive straight ahead to the border, but not before informing Ogilvy of their success. Hopefully, they would meet an escort who would take them past the border and into Kenya. Then, they would finally be home free. It felt good to think about, but he knew he was way ahead of himself now. Right now, everything would wait. Their focus was to get to the Maddens and get out. “Ready?” he asked of McCabe, whispering.
McCabe drew in a deep breath and sighed, “As I’ll ever be.”
Stowe nodded.
There were a few more houses on the block leading up to the main house, where they could see eight soldiers standing guard outside. They took a crisscross path, snaking their way through, undetected thus far.
“Wait!” Stowe had noticed one of the soldiers eyes them and it was too late to pull McCabe out of the line of fire.
“Shit!” McCabe blurted and a bullet nigh hit his leg. He crouched and shot his attacker in the head. “Cover me, damnit!” He yelled as he ran as fast he could to grab a hold of the fallen soldier’s AK-47.
Stowe did not need to be told twice; he shot away at those attacking McCabe, while the later ducked and took over against the walls of nearby houses and kept shooting. Dogs barked in the distance, and many were roused out of their sleep, but none dared even come near their windows to see what was happening. Before another enemy pirate could grab the lone AK-47, McCabe grabbed it and fired at the soldier coming his way, tearing the middle of his torso into shreds. Blood spurted out of his mouth and his eyes rolled into the back of his head before he fell on his knees and collapsed on the ground.
The air was thick with smoke and gunpowder and flashes of orange and fiery yellow sparked every moment without fail as the soldiers continued firing at Stowe and McCabe. Stowe snaked his way through, shot another in the neck, kicked him, and grabbed his AK-47. Now, the duo took cover against the bullet-ridden walls of the houses.
“I’ll cover you!” Stowe shouted. Aside from the constant firing, they heard jeeps in the distance. Someone must have radioed for backup and informed Bashir. Good, through Stowe. He wanted to have his chance to see who this guy was and maybe even get a chance to look into his eyes before he killed him.
McCabe nodded and made his way closer to the house, shooting at another two men, who fell at once. The doors of the house containing the Madden flung open. They heard cursing and shouting and an exchange of words in Somali. They spotted another six men scurrying out in attack positions and opened fire at them.
Stowe hurried through, all the while covering McCabe until they both stood behind walls. They kept eye contact and nodded, continuing to cover each other and they came closer to the house and taken out another three men. Now, there were nine left with the addition of the six coming out from the house.
Three jeeps behind the house came to their aid, carrying ten men each.
“For Christ’s sake!” said McCabe. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“What’s the matter?” Stowe said, smirking.
“Never mind,” said McCabe, too focused on even giving him an answer. “Let’s just do this.”
Stowe leaped out, his gun blazing out bullets. He killed another four men and then took cover. Those from the jeep charged at them, knowing the other soldiers in front of the house would have them covered, while four others, led by Bashir entered the house.
“We better hurry!” said McCabe, noticing the men move into the house.
Stow and McCabe now jumped out together, screaming at the top of their lungs and firing. They took out five men apiece and grabbed their guns and semi-automatic pistols. One of the men grabbed a rocket launcher and fired. “Watch out!” Stowe said, pushing McCabe to the other side of the gulley as the rocket whizzed past them and exploded. A blast of dirt and rock blew apart behind them. They heard screams of terror, and everything became a bright for a moment as the fires of the explosion went up into the air. They took advantage of the soldiers who stopped firing and took them out at once. They continued to exchange fire, now just five meters away from the house.
Inside, Bashir and four men headed to the locked room, in which the Maddens were holed up. He quickly opened the door and scurried in, his blood boiling with anger. He would finish them off now. He eyed the couple with gritted teeth and a malicious stare. Terry held Sarah in his arms. They were both silent for the better part of the battle outside, both wondering internally what was going on. It had crossed both their mind that that they were probably going to be re-kidnapped yet again by another faction. Yet somewhere in the hearts, there were the last strands and fibers of hope that perhaps it was a rescue team. The constant firing outside and explosions lasted for a straight twenty minutes now.
Terry shivered with fear and he tried his best to maintain his composure. It seemed like a dream to him now. Even the constant firing seemed like some faint sound in the distance, muffled by a deep haze of a sub-conscious state. Lack of nourishment and constant stress had made the couple weak and full of despair. For a few seconds, he almost felt like he could not care less what was going on. He felt like his breaking point was almost reached, and he would either breakdown and give his piece of mind before succumbing to bullets or kill someone before it happened. No, he told himself, he couldn’t do it. Not while Sarah was still with him and alive. If Sarah lived, that was all there was to live for now. He would have to remain calm and assure.
Sarah too felt hopeless. She didn’t want any more of this. Would they ever be home again, she kept wondering. The presence of her husband was enough to keep her alive, or she would have killed herself a long time ago, she ventured to think. Whatever was happening outside would be the last straw, she told herself, although her body quivered with fear and her heart leapt at the sound of the door bursting open. If it was rescuers, she would feel all right, but if it was yet another kidnapper, she would resort to the same ends that Terry had resolved to in his mind, provided her husband was not all right. All in all, they were slightly, slowly, going mad with days of only little water, some food, and no contact with the outside world. Their minds were fraught with memories of the past, a bleak nostalgia taking over them, and with fear of the future, as bleak as the feelings their wholesome memories brought on.
Bashir, his face covered by his keffiyeh grunted and drew his pistol, aiming at Terry.
“No! Please!” Sarah shouted, kneeling in front of Bashir and blocking the gun’s aim. If she was going to die, then she wante
d to die protecting her husband.
“Sarah!” Terry said, clutching to his wife and holding her in his arms.
“Be done with it, then, you bastard!” Terry yelled, “But spare her life!”
Bashir grimaced. He had enough. Everything slowed around him as he felt only the pressure of his finger pressing against—
A huge explosion erupted from outside and for a moment, all was still. They heard nothing but the constant whistling in their ears, ringing interminably until at last they could sense the smoke from the entrance. Bullets were fired and two of Bashir’s four men were downed at once. Bashir yelled in Arabic, and they took cover. He shot haphazardly at the attackers, and motioned for the other two to attack. Before they could, they were shot down. Bashir grabbed Terry after kicking him and placed him in a chokehold while aiming his gun at his victim’s right temple.
From the smoke and debris, like two avenging angels, Stowe and McCabe walked in, their guns aimed at Bashir. Stowe grimaced and McCabe, feeling like it was old times, like he was with Brian on a mission, seemed to have no expression at all, his sharp eyes focusing on Bashir’s hand. If he could just shoot the gun out of his hand, he thought, they might have had a chance to disarm him and get out of there. They had already taken out all the guards, and grabbed fresh AK-47s as well as the rocket launcher. Bashir was the only alive now. “Let him go!” said Stowe.
“Drop your guns or he’s dead!” said Bashir, forcing the gun harder into Madden’s temple.
“Let him go!” Stowe repeated.
McCabe said nothing, more focused on making sure Madden would make it out alive and without a scratch.
“Drop your guns!” said Bashir.
They did not, but instead stopped in their tracks. They looked at one another. “Listen,” said McCabe. “There’s no one left. We’ve made sure of that. Now let him go, nice and easy.”
Bashir did not relent. He pulled away his gun and shot Sarah in the leg. The woman screamed in pain.
Terry yelled, “You bastard!” and nudged him hard in the stomach.
Bashir grunted in pain, but did not let go of his grip. “Now, I don’t want to have to tell you again! Drop them.”
Stowe and McCabe eyed one another, then nodded. They dropped the AK-47s. Stowe still had his pistol in his boot.
“I mean everything,” said Bashir.
“What?” said McCabe.
“What do you think, I’m an idiot?” said Bashir. “Drop all your weapons. Knives, pistols, everything.”
They did not move this time.
“Now!” said Bashir.
Stowe grimaced and nodded. He pulled out the emptied pistol in his back holster.
McCabe did the same thing. “Okay, now let him go.”
Bashir smirked. “Now let me go to my jeep. No sudden moves!”
Stowe and McCabe backed away, their arms held up to show they were unarmed. They made room for Bashir. The moment he crossed their paths, Stowe kicked him behind the knees and McCabe grabbed for his gun. Bashir pulled the trigger and bullet ripped through McCabe’s foot. “Damn it!”
Stowe elbowed Bashir in the neck and the latter let go of Terry. As soon as he was let go, Madden scurried to tend to his wife.
“Take them!” shouted Stowe.
Bashir shot at him, but now no bullets were fired. The gun was empty.
Stowe smirked and punched Bashir straight into the nose. Blood dripped down from it in globs that then turned to small tributaries or bright red. Stowe did not give his opponent a chance to retaliate and held him and chokehold, waiting until he would become unconscious.
McCabe and Madden carried Sarah outside, but the former tripped, his foot aching from the shot. He knew the jeep was quite far from where they were and motioned for them to get into one of the jeeps the enemies had used to give backup to those on guard at the house. Now, their bodies were strewn about, pools of fresh blood glistening all around them in the moonlit night and their cold, dead eyes looking up into the starry sky.
“It’s about bloody time,” said Madden, holding on to McCabe’s arm.
“I’ll be all right,” said McCabe, grunting as he stood back up. “Please, get in the jeep.”
McCabe tore a cloth from the keffiyeh of one of the dead men and wrapped it around the bullet wound, just a graze, of Mrs. Madden. He then wrapped another torn cloth around his own wound.
Inside, Stowe and Bashir had been exchanging punches and kicks the whole while. Bashir, an expert in Krav Maga, knew well than to strike first, and took advantage of Stowe’s aggressive attacks, using them against him by pulling in his bodyweight and slamming him to the floor. However, Stowe, on the ground, punched him hard in the groin and the latter tumbled to the floor in dire agony. Stowe grabbed an AK-47 but Bashir sweep kicked him to the floor, still holding onto his groin in pain. Stowe slammed the heel of his booth hard on Bashir’s shins and struggled to get the gun. Bashir resisted further, and pulled at his legs, despite being in great pain at that moment. Stowe kicked at him, then leaped up to his feet. Bashir struggled to get up and they charged at one another yet again, blocking and attacking, as if they were stuck in a dance of duels, persisting evermore and yet never rightly getting to their opponent’s weak spot. Neither relented and continued the rhythmic exchange of punch, kick, hook and uppercut, alternating, then differentiating now and again, but the other was quick to deflect and counter just as easily. Stowe finally feigned a right uppercut, then a left hook, but then swooped down and kicked Bashir off balance, and then caught him. He did not wait for Bashir’s reaction, and in one fluid motion he grabbed onto his neck and twisted it. He heard the crack of the joint dislodge from the spine. Bashir was dead before he fell.
Stowe paid no heed further and ran outside. McCabe had already started the jeep.
“Come on!” McCabe yelled. He made room for Stowe. “You’re gonna have to drive.”
“No problem,” said Stowe. He stomped the accelerator and the jeep whizzed into the great plains, heading southwest in the direction of Kenya. They left behind scattered bodies, pools of blood and rocks from the debris after blasting the house. No one would venture out of their homes until the morning, they knew.
“I think it’s best you stay lying, sir,” said McCabe, and draped a black cloth, which was in the jeep, over the couple, not even waiting for their approval. “We’ll need to make a quick stop into the city nearby. I need you to call Ogilvy and let him know. I can’t go out like this.” He pointed to his foot.
“Right,” said Stowe.
They drove for many miles to the southeast, taking a route untraveled before, but familiar to them from a map. It would leave them into a tiny ghost town, where McCabe hoped they would be able to call Ogilvy. They landed up in the town just after sunrise and Stowe made the call, informing Harry of the success. The exchange was brief, but it was enough, so that Harry could inform whomever he needed to about the success of the mission as quickly as possible. He also let Stowe know that someone would be there to pick them up at the border, under the guise of a WHO official, in a small van envoy. Stowe relayed the message to McCabe, who felt some relief by the news. He knew he and Sarah would be fine concerning their wounds and he assured the Maddens all was well for now. He didn’t want to rest easy, but stayed alert, knowing they wouldn’t be safe well until they were at the border.
They continued their journey, which lasted two more nights and they managed to set camp a few miles away from a village for one night, where the locals were kind enough to share some food with Stowe, who brought back some for McCabe and the Maddens. The second night was spent camping as well, with leftovers rationed from the previous night’s meal.
Finally, they made their way full circle, but waited for night to fall, as instructed by Ogilvy. When night came, the van arrived and McCabe and Stowe nodded at the man guised in WHO uniform. He had four such uniforms available for them to wear. They got dressed and left the jeep and entered the van. In the thick darkness of the night, they van
drove off. McCabe and Sarah were given medical attention. But what gave them all relief was the moment they were on Kenyan soil. They had succeeded. It was over.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
It was nearing noon by the time they had reached the High Commission. The sweltering heat and the hustle and bustle of the crowds as the WHO-guised vehicle traversed through the myriad of inner roads and finally up to Upper Hill Road made them all irritated and confused and dazed. The sense of dread had far left them, the Maddens, and the high from the adrenaline in McCabe and Stowe’s bodies left them tired and weak. McCabe wanted nothing more than to have a cool glass of lemonade, and maybe a stiff whiskey or two before plummeting onto a soft bed. Stowe felt likewise, but he might have enjoyed a woman or two by his side, he reckoned to himself. The Maddens were, for the most part, very still and silent, reflecting the events they had just witnessed and gone through over the last few days. While Terry sat still and held firm to his wife’s hand he stared out the windows, unblinking, while Sarah had already dozed off, her head on Terry’s chest. It had been hell for them, no doubt, but a good sleep in which not a care in the world would disturb it was seldom found in those few days.
The van began to slow down, and McCabe and Stowe nodded at one another and then motioned to Terry. “We’re here,” said McCabe. “I’m sure Mr. Bates will have been briefed about what to do next, no doubt.”
“Right,” said Terry, shaking out of his dazed reflection. He kissed his wife on the head and said, “Sweetheart. We’re here.”
Sarah took in a deep breath and sighed. She opened her eyes slowly and stretched, smiling. She hadn’t done such a thing in days. Especially the last part, reflected Terry. He loved her dearly, and that smile on her face was what he’d been dying to see all these days. It was genuine, with mirth and heart, and carefree.
He found himself smiling back at her and was amazed that he had it in him to do so; he had worried if he would ever get out of that hell alive, he might not have been the same. Indeed, he was not, but in a way, he had never expected it. For the first time in many years, he felt happy and lighthearted. It was inexplicable, but he loved it. For these few hours, the sense of fear and anguish had given way to a feeling of joy and security. They stepped out of the van and were greeted by Bates, wearing a suit to match the occasion, with his hair combed back. He bore a toothy grin, his face gleaming in the light. He extended his hand and said, “Welcome, sir! We’ve been expecting you.”
