Fitzduane 02 - Rules of The Hunt

by O'Reilly-Victor

  There was the sound of screaming metal as the skids dragged across the metal grating of the landing area, showering sparks everywhere, and then the rotors disintegrated as the wrecked machine came to a halt against the base of the control tower.

  The impact had been severe, but the short drop made it far from fatal, and the slide across the pad had dissipated much of the energy. Strapped in as they were, Chifune and the surviving detectives were bruised and shaken but otherwise unharmed. Immediately, they scrambled out of the cabin door and took shelter at the base of the tower away from where the helicopter had impacted. The pilot tried to follow them, but just as he was climbing out, the fuel tanks blew and engulfed the near side of the control tower and much of the landing pad in burning fuel and red-hot debris.

  A guard staggered toward them. A long piece of rotor blade had hit him in the back as he ran away from the crashing helicopter, and as they watched he pitched forward, thick blood spewing from his mouth.

  A figure peeled over the roof parapet of the control tower. They were too close to the base of the tower for the .50-caliber to be brought to bear on them, but the guard had a submachine gun and was bringing it to the point of aim as Chifune fired. The guard jerked and blood sprayed from him as the burst cut him open, then he pitched over the parapet edge and crashed to the ground beside them.

  Chifune crawled toward the body. They had to take out the heavy-machine-gun team on the control tower roof, and she needed grenades. Her effort was in vain. The guard had none. Her movement attracted the attention of other guards firing from a doorway about fifty meters away. Rounds cracked over her head and smashed into the base of the tower behind her.

  Sergeant Oga and Detective Renako mounted a furious hail of fire in reply, and under its cover Chifune crawled back to where they were. Effectively, they were pinned down in a crossfire between the guards on the control-tower roof and the others around the door.

  * * * * *

  Fitzduane held up his left hand, effectively stopping Hitai, in front of him, and the two yakuza guards, behind him, in their tracks.

  The gaijin was responding at last. He was doing something other than retreating. This was good. This was what Namaka-san wanted, and what he wanted, his men wanted.

  "Namaka-san," said Fitzduane, "I was thinking about the difference between Western swords and those of Japan. Is it not true that Japanese swords were perfected around the eighth century and that a sword made a thousand years later is more or less the same in appearance?"

  Despite his rage, Kei was interested. The gaijin was a fellow weapons expert. What he had to say, particularly under these extreme circumstances, could well be worth hearing. "Wait," he said in Japanese to his men.

  Hitai had been preparing to kill the gaijin by drawing his sword and slashing in one continuous flowing move. Kei Namaka was famous for it and Hitai wanted to show that he, too, was a master of Iai-do — the art of drawing a sword.

  The gaijin did not look to be presenting much of a problem as an opponent, but his behavior was upsetting. His method of retreating meant that it was hard to keep the appropriate striking distance away. And this ridiculous conversation was just distracting. It upset the dignity of the occasion. Hitai found it irritating, and it was hard to clear his mind as he had learned to do.

  His object was to make his mind like water: a reflection in water is the symbol of a clear, calm mind in harmony with its surroundings — the highest level of training in a martial art. The gaijin's behavior was the mental equivalent of throwing pebbles into that water. Hitai could not focus.

  "Yes, it is so," said Kei. "The classic Japanese sword, the katana, reached perfection at a time when Europeans were fighting with crude lumps of steel — and then how do you improve on perfection? Instead, the emphasis changed to perfecting the use of the sword. One hundred and twenty draws and a thousand cuts per day was normal for a warrior's training. It is only through constant practice that perfection is achieved, and that warrior and sword become as one."

  "I have to admit, Namaka-san," said Fitzduane, "we're a sloppy lot in the West by comparison. Instead of settling on perfection, we keep on trying out new things. It makes for a disorderly but creative society. Take the rapier, for example. At one stage, some models were all of five feet long — rather difficult to wear on social occasions. Of course, trial and error produced a more acceptable result. But then we all switched to the gun. What do you do with degenerates like that? Fickle. No staying power."

  Kei Namaka was nonplussed. The gaijin was playing with him. Hitai glanced toward Kei in a silent plea that this nonsense be stopped.

  Fitzduane stepped back three paces, and as the two yakuza stumbled in surprise at this totally unexpected move, he executed one ferocious thrust which pierced the neck of the man next to him and continued without pause to sink its point deep into the second yakuza's eye.

  Kei gave a bellow, and Hitai turned back to his opponent and drew his katana with incredible speed and slashed in a reflex at where Fitzduane had been. The blade caught the second yakuza as he fell away, mortally wounded from the sword in his eye; after cutting through his spine, it severed his right arm.

  Fitzduane, who had little time for style over substance when his life was on the line, left his rapier in the first yakuza's neck and grabbed the man's Uzi. The strap would not come away, so he cocked it and fired it while still attached to the yakuza's body.

  The weapon hammered and Hitai's weapon shattered as the first rounds hit it. It did not seem quite the occasion for restraint, so Fitzduane fired again, and Hitai sprouted red flowers as he shot backwards into the second yakuza master swordsman.

  The Uzi jammed. Fitzduane pulled his rapier out of the dead yakuza's neck with some effort and met his new opponent as he advanced. The yakuza delivered a series of slashing blows in a vertical cloverleaf arrangement that effectively prevented anyone from getting near him. It was an aggressive defense, because the man advanced as he deployed this flashing perimeter.

  Fitzduane scooped up Hitai's damaged katana and used it to parry the yakuza's blade, and as he did so thrust his rapier into the yakuza's stomach. The man sagged forward onto his knees.

  Fitzduane whirled to meet any possible attack from Kei Namaka, and was stunned to see that neither he nor Goto had moved.

  Kei just stood there, the ax in his hands, enjoying the spectacle. Then Fitzduane moved forward and the ax was a blur in his hands. There was a fountain of blood , and the yakuza's head flew across the room. The headless body slid to the ground, as Kei watched, mesmerized. Then he looked at the dripping weapon. "Superb," he said. "The balance, the craftsmanship, quite superb."

  "Namaka-san," said Fitzduane, "clearly you did not eat enough fish as a child. There can be too much of a good thing. Put that weapon down."

  Kei looked across. The gaijin had moved again. Now he was by the small table where his belongings had been placed and there was something in his hands.

  "Don't disappoint me, Fitzduane-san," he said. "Let us fight man to man."

  Fitzduane looked at the carnage around him and then at Kei. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "The familiar Calico was now in his hand. The exploding ex had been a nice idea, but he did not relish being in the same room when it went off. Metal fragments traveling at high velocity had no discrimination.

  "FIGHT ME, GAIJIN!" Kei roared, and charged at Fitzduane, the ax held high above his head.

  This is the man who arranged to have me killed and who nearly killed my son, thought Fitzduane. Still, there was deep regret, as he squeezed the trigger of the Calico and 10mm red tracer winked across the room, smashed effortlessly through the ornate samurai armor, and tore the magnificent body of Kei Namaka into shreds.

  The remains that had been the chairman of the Namaka Corporation crumpled, and streams of crimson spread out across the seamless wooden floor.

  "Namaka-san," said Fitzduane to himself, "we gaijins have our weaknesses, but we know — we truly know — about the business of killin
g. And there is scant glory in it."

  In a far corner of the room, the new security chief of the Namaka Corporation crouched. Under the samurai war helmet, he was white-faced and shaking with fear.

  Fitzduane walked across to him, the Calico loosely trained on the terrified man. "Goto-san," he said mildly, "are you sure you are on the right career path?"

  Goto shook and could not speak. The gaijin had killed five armed men in less than a minute, and he was certain it would soon be six. He had taken the job of security chief after Kitano's abrupt demise to consolidate his power in the Namaka keiretsu, but had never dreamed he would be much more than an administrator. The reality of violence made him sick.

  "Goto-san," said Fitzduane. "If you don't want me to add to your normal quota of body apertures, you're going to get up and show me how to get out of here."

  The terrified man did not move.

  Fitzduane straightened his aim so that the Calico was pointing directly between Goto's eyes. "Please," said Fitzduane dryly.

  * * * * *

  The only reason they were not dead, Chifune reflected, as heavy automatic fire cracked inches overhead and drew splinters from the base of the tower, was the thin double line of sandbags about two feet high and eight feet long behind which they were sheltering.

  She could not at first figure out what the bags were doing there, since the layout in no way constituted an emplacement, and then realized that they were probably used in high winds to help secure the skids of parked helicopters.

  The bags had been filled with a thin, high-quality sand, unfortunately, and as the gunfire ripped open the bags, the sand was flowing out at an uncomfortably fast rate. In a matter of minutes they would be well-equipped to build sand castles but devoid of cover. They were going to have to do something very soon.

  Oga was lying on his back, his Heckler and Koch MP5 pointed up at the top of the tower. From time to time, a head would appear and someone would try to shoot down, but Oga's accurate snap-shooting in semiautomatic mode to conserve ammunition kept the situation under control. He was talented at this sort of thing, observed Chifune. It was more than standard airborne training.

  "How is your CQB, Sergeant-san?" said Chifune. She was referring to Close Quarters Battle training, the highly specialized skills acquired for hostage training or close-in counterterrorist work.

  Oga fired twice rapidly at a silhouette appearing over the tower parapet and red mist stained the air. "Rusty, but coming back to me," he said. "They say it's like riding a bicycle. When you get older, you can still do it, but your joints creak."

  Chifune smiled briefly. She had heard much the same comment made about another popular human pastime.

  "If we stay here, we're going to get killed," she said. "If we advance to attack the guards in and around the doorway, we're not going to make it. There is at least a half-dozen of them and there are forty-odd yards to cover. Also, they will be able to hit us with the fifty on the roof from behind."

  "Which leaves the tower or waiting until help comes?" said Oga.

  "Help is going to take twenty minutes or more," said Chifune, "even with the quick reaction team."

  "So put a 40mm into the doorway and have Renako hose them down for a few seconds while we kick in the tower doorway," said Oga. "My guess, after the helicopter blew up beside them, is tat all the survivors are on the roof."

  "How many do you think?" said Chifune.

  "Less that there were," said Oga grimly. "Two or three, four at the most. So let's do it."

  Chifune looked up at the tower again. She could take the top off with a 40mm grenade, but they were too close for the projectile to arm, and even if it did the resultant explosion could well take them out too. She made a mental note to take good, old-fashioned hand grenades with her in the future. This obsession with direct-fire weapons was ridiculous. Within seconds of any firefight starting, every sane participant was under cover, and then grenades were the best tools for the job.

  Renako cried out and Chifune looked across. The detective's face was screwed up with pain. He reached down and pulled his leg under cover as if it could not move of its own volition. A round had smashed into his foot when it had strayed from behind their meager barrier into the line of fire. His face was gray with shock and there was sweat beaded on his forehead. The pain from such a wound would be intense, even if it was not immediately life-threatening.

  "Renako-san," said Chifune. "Can you take the roof? We are going to clear it, but you must keep their heads down for a few seconds. Then we can help you."

  Renako nodded weakly. Oga helped him onto his back so that he could watch the parapet, and checked that his weapon had a full magazine and a round chambered. He too had an MP5, but Oga set it to automatic.

  "Nothing clever, Renako-san," said Oga. "Just spray the fuckers if they show."

  "Hai, Sergeant-san," said Renako. He felt dizzy and the parapet was going in and out of focus, but he thought he could hang in there long enough.

  Chifune had been reluctant to fire her grenade launcher into the doorway since, if Fitzduane was alive, the chances were he would be in that direction. Still, they had just about run out of the luxury of options.

  "On my mark, Sergeant-san," she said, looking at Oga. He nodded.

  "NOW!" she shouted.

  Oga rose behind the barrier, weapon blazing, causing the guards in and around the doorway to duck temporarily. Almost immediately, Chifune added to the hail of fire with her C-Mag-fed automatic rifle and then sighted the grenade launcher and fired.

  The bulbous projectile, looking like a massively oversized bullet, shot from the under-barrel grenade launcher and vanished through the doorway.

  Flame and bodies erupted. Chifune hosed the area with the rest of her C-Mag, reloaded, and followed Oga around to the side of the tower and as she was running, firing recommenced from across the roof. The grenade had inflicted casualties, but the defenders were far from out of action.

  The tower doorway was half-broken and still burning. Oga hit it at a run, went straight in, and rolled and came up shooting. There was no one there, just metal stairs that led straight up to the small control room and the roof.

  A face looked down and Oga fired again. The face vanished, but Oga thought he had missed. He was furious with himself for having fired unnecessarily and thus alerting the guards on the roof.

  Chifune crouched beside him. The stairs led to an open door. She mentally worked out the distance and the angle and what the effect of the blast might be. The alternative was to climb up the stairs under fire. The advantage would be with the defenders, and she and Oga certainly did not have surprise on their side.

  She did not blame Oga for firing. Had the base been occupied, they would have been dead if his precautionary fire had been delayed for even a fraction of a second. Combat, like most things in life, was about choices. You made decisions and you pushed ahead and you took the consequences if you were wrong. Regret rarely made a useful contribution.

  Oga was changing magazines, so Chifune kept a hail of fire going in a series of tight-aimed bursts at where she expected the opposition to be. She could see no one.

  "Do you want to be shown up or blown up, Sergeant-san?" she said in a brief lull, and fired again. The hundred-capacity C-Mag was a thing of joy. If fed rounds effortlessly and gave the firepower of a full machine gun.

  Oga got the point immediately. "Go for it!" he said, holding up his thumb. She could not hear him, but the gesture was unmistakable. She flashed him a grin.

  Chifune, crouched near the base of the stairs, fired the grenade launcher almost straight up. She imagined she could see the projectile as it entered the control room, and envisioned it continuing and impacting against the roof.

  She crouched down and put her hands over her ears. The blast was awesome in the confined space, and a wave of concussion hit her. Debris and dust filled the tower.

  She reloaded and fired again at a slightly different angle, in case the roof had blown open a
t the point of impact the first time, and again there was a violent explosion, though the concussion seemed to be less this time. The roof or some part of the structure had definitely been perforated and was dissipating the shock wave.

  "Let's go," said Oga, and bounded up the stairs. Chifune followed him. Thy had both received similar training for QCB, and without discussion they both fell into mutually supporting roles.

  They found two bodies in the wrecked control room. The center of the roof had fallen in and there was a third body under the debris. A single flight of perforated steel stairs led to the remains of the roof.

  Oga advanced up it, covered by Chifune. At the top, he vanished for a few seconds and then reappeared with a smile on his face. "I'm going to look after Renako," he said. "You'd better take a look, Tanabu-san. Don't worry. It's safe to look over the parapet."

  Oga, grinning from ear to ear but saying nothing more, rattled down the stairs past her to look after his man. Somewhat mystified, Chifune ascended. Two more dead lay there, their bodies severely mutilated from the grenade blasts and their blood leaching into the dust that was everywhere.

  Despite Oga's reassurance, she was extremely cautious in looking over the parapet. What she saw made her rise to full height.

  Several guards sat crosslegged on the ground, their hands clasped on their heads. Sitting slightly apart, very dazed, hands also on his head, was someone dressed in what looked like the remains of traditional samurai armor. It was an incongruous sight in this late-twentieth-century battlefield.

  Standing behind the prisoners, the unusual automatic weapon she had learned was the Calico in his hands, was Fitzduane. He was wearing a torn white shirt and slacks and his feet were bare, but he looked very much alive and he was smiling.

  He cupped his hands. "Chifune, you have never looked more beautiful. But what I want to know is — who is rescuing who around here?"

  Chifune felt a surge of emotion. She wanted to run down and throw her arms around this unusual man, to make love to him, to hold him. She felt tears coming to her eyes and fought them back. She did not move. She struggled to regain composure. Then she started to laugh. It was not easy at first, but then she felt so good she did not want to stop. Exhilaration gripped her. She abandoned the sense of control that was so important to her, that was so much a feature of her every action. She felt liberated and joyous and infused with a sense of optimism.