Splinter Self

by S L Shelton

  On the other side of the SUV, the second attacker fired one pistol through the window at Wolf, his shots piercing the door of the vehicle and striking the floor, the other still trained on Mac who now laid in a heap on top of Hawkins. Wolf pushed the dead assailant away and leaped to his feet, firing a steady rhythm at the other.

  The assailant had no choice but to drop back and take cover. But before Wolf could cross the room, the man broke from around the SUV, having circled around with speed and silence that could only have been accomplished by an enhanced asset. He left his cover and charged toward Wolf.

  Wolf dodged his attacker’s aim and fired at nearly point-blank range. Three rounds impacted the man’s body before the bolt locked back on the M4. He slashed at the black-clad invader with the barrel of his empty rifle and kicked his other wrist as he swung the second pistol toward Wolf’s face. The weapon clattered to the ground while Wolf parried with the barrel of the rifle.

  Grunts and the sound of metal raking nylon were the only sounds from the second man. The attacker kicked Wolf away, freeing his gun hand, bringing it to bear on Wolf.

  Stabbing outward with the barrel as if it had a bayonet, Wolf smashed the man’s fingers, sending his shot high. Before the assailant could adjust, Wolf locked the man’s hand between the barrel of the rifle and his own arm before brutally ripping the second pistol away.

  The agile killer grabbed the barrel of the M4 and tried to pull Wolf forward with it. But Wolf released it instead and reached behind him for his Glock.

  As he drew it forward, the attacker pinned Wolf’s arm to the side of the SUV with the back of his arm, grabbing at the weapon in his hand. Wolf turned his wrist and fired twice, striking the man in the hip before the pistol was knocked away.

  An elbow to Wolf’s throat sent him to the floor, as the man stepped back to regroup.

  Wolf stood slowly, angling his body between the black-clad intruder and the weapons on the floor. “Bear,” Wolf said, without looking away from his opponent. “Can you move?”

  “Yeah,” Mac replied.

  “Grab the kid and get out of here,” Wolf said. “I’ve got this.”

  His attacker seemed amused by the bravado judging by the smug grin that slid across his face. He glanced down at his dead partner on the floor for just an instant and lurched toward Wolf.

  Wolf set in with a fresh attack. His first punch connected solidly with the side of his attacker’s head and then he followed with a kick to the inside of the knee. The kick did little more than send the man off-balance and he responded in kind, a flurry of jump kicks and roundhouses. Confusion swept the man’s face as Wolf deftly deflected or avoided each move.

  Wolf grinned and wiped the blood from his eye as he stepped back then executed a windmill kick toward the man’s head. But something felt wrong halfway through the motion. The man spun backward and met Wolf’s kick with one of his own, stopping Wolf’s momentum and sending him back to the ground.

  The attacker immediately rolled through the air in a windmill kick of his own, trying to land a heel in Wolf’s face. But Wolf feigned a rollaway before trapping the attacker’s foot. He flipped the attacker to the ground and pushed himself away, breaking from the fray once more.

  Wolf stood, slowly, cautiously, but smiled knowingly. Another Jagger.

  The attacker looked confused by Wolf’s skill as he rolled to his feet. He took a half step back instead of immediately attacking again.

  “Two guys? That’s all they sent?” Wolf asked, sounding amused. “Didn’t they tell you there’d be SEALs here?”

  The attacker launched forward again, striking Wolf in the midriff with a full body tackle. Wolf braced himself against the floor, keeping himself upright, then rolled backward, kicking his leg up hard and fast, launching the attacker through the air. The assailant landed hard on his back but continued to roll to his feet.

  Wolf smiled, confusion cut across the attacker’s face.

  “You’re program,” the man said, taking a step back then launching forward again.

  The Jagger threw fast, brutal punches and kicks, yet each was deflected and returned. Wolf reached down while the man was in mid kick and swept his leg, sending the Jagger to his back once more.

  “Program? You mean BUDS?” Wolf replied with mock confusion, referring to Basic Underwater Demolitions and SEAL training. “Yeah… I went through BUDS. Did you?”

  If this guy didn’t know who Wolf was, he wasn’t going to do his job for him. And each moment he dragged out this contest, the more distance Mac and Hawkins were able to put between them.

  “You’re an enhanced asset.”

  Wolf laughed. “You obviously don’t know the law of the jungle.”

  The attacker jumped forward again, but halfway through the kick rotated his body and flung a hand full of small, knifelike projectiles. Wolf put his arm up to protect his face from the knives. One embedded in his belly, one in his shoulder, and two others sank deep in the forearm he’d thrown up to protect his face. The Jagger landed squarely in the middle of Wolf’s chest with his feet, sending him sailing into the frame of the broken bay window, now in the middle of the living room.

  The Jagger flipped to his feet before Wolf could right himself and tried to stomp Wolf’s head. Rolling out of the window debris, Wolf scrambled to the side then yanked one of the short knives from his forearm. He jammed it through the top of the attacker’s boot. So hard was the thrust, Wolf felt it penetrate to the floor beneath. The man fell forward and thrust his elbow toward Wolf’s throat, but got little more than his shoulder as Wolf rolled clear.

  “Ouch,” Wolf said pointing at the man’s foot as he dragged himself backward, pulling the knife from his belly. “That’s gotta hurt.”

  The Jagger reached down with one hand and grasped the knife protruding from the top of his foot. Wolf climbed to his feet and turned his head in mock disgust as his attacker leveraged the blade back and forth to free it.

  The attacker rose and smiled as Wolf reached for the knife in his shoulder, but rushed forward again. He jumped up, kicking out toward Wolf’s face and simultaneously kicked down toward the inside of his leg. Wolf was able to block the kick to the face, but was off-balance and could do little more than lift his leg to avoid the brunt of the lower assault.

  They crashed to the floor once more and the Jagger was on him, glaring into Wolf’s face with a victory grin. “You bit off more than you could ch—”

  The Jagger’s gloat cut short as distress rippled across his face, the knife Wolf had pulled from his belly now sank into the Jagger’s armpit above his armor.

  The man began desperately smashing his elbow down on Wolf’s head. With only one hand free, Wolf had difficulty blocking the assault. The ferocity of the attack grew rather than weakened as it would with any other opponent.

  In desperation, Wolf arched his back, tipping the Jagger aside and yanking the knife from his armpit. The Jagger attempted to roll free, but Wolf flowed with him and plunged the knife into the soft, vulnerable inside of his thigh.

  The smell of rust filled Wolf’s nostrils, and a warm sticky flow rushed over his hand—he had hit his attacker’s femoral artery.

  Despite the shift in tide, the wounded attacker grasped the handle of the blade still embedded in Wolf’s forearm. He twisted it brutally, trying to force Wolf off of him.

  More confusion and then desperation spread across the man’s face as the action got no response. With the blade in the attacker’s hand, Wolf simply lifted his arm, removing the knife then slammed his elbow up into the Jagger’s chin.

  Wolf grasped the man’s wrist and with a powerful squeeze, dug his fingers into the tendons at the base of the thumb before smashing his hand to the floor. The blade clattered free on the hardwood.

  A cold acceptance set in the Jagger’s eyes; not fear, not panic, but wide-eyed realization that if he didn’t think of something—anything—he would die.

  The Jagger reached across with his free hand, exposing his side
to Wolf as he went for the dropped blade with the other hand. Wolf shoved his blade into the opening of the man’s body armor, punching with the blade three times before twisting it inside his lung.

  Still, the man in black persisted, striking Wolf in the face with his elbow as he tried to reach the blade. When his opponent’s fingers closed on the knife, Wolf shoved him away and rolled clear.

  The Jagger’s foot slipped on his own blood as he tried to stand. Even from feet away, Wolf could hear the rattling in the man’s chest, blood pooling in his lungs, choking him from the inside. Wolf climbed to his feet and watched, prepared for the battle to renew.

  The Jagger got to his knees then leaned against the sofa to stand. Falling forward in what looked like a collapse, but Wolf recognized the feint by his opponent.

  “That’s about enough of this shit,” Wolf muttered.

  Dipping his arm down, Wolf hooked and swept the man’s legs from under him with a sideways push.

  As the attacker tumbled, feet in the air, Wolf sliced through his Achilles tendon on the right and then the other femoral artery.

  The Jagger dropped to the floor with a thud, landing on his head and shoulder, unable to continue combat. A fountain of arterial spray erupted from the second wound and poured down his leg, pooling beneath him.

  Wolf stood and yanked the remaining knife from his shoulder.

  The Jagger looked up, confusion and seething anger in his eyes. As the man dragged himself backward, leaving behind a pond of blood on the floor, Wolf looked back with cold eyes—a machine collecting data.

  “What’s the rule of the jungle?” The Jagger asked, delaying the inevitable.

  Wolf leaned forward and grabbed the man’s wrist, letting him feel the power of the man who was about to end his life. Scott’s past life of rock climbing gave him a viselike grip that few could break.

  “That’s quite a grip you have,” the Jagger said grimacing. “Six feet, late twenties, athletic build, brown hair—”

  Wolf dropped a powerful hammer blow to the throat, stopping the description and then turned the man’s head to the side for examination. There in the dying man’s ear canal, a wireless covert earpiece peeked out. The attacker’s support team would be close by, though most likely just techs—if there had been backup, they certainly would have come in already, and this fight would have gone very differently.

  Wolf grabbed the man by the face as he began to lose consciousness.

  “Law of the jungle,” Wolf said in a whispered hiss. “Predators aren’t made…they’re born.”

  He felt the heartbeat of the man stop on his fingertips.

  Wolf turned the attacker’s head side to side, slowly examining him. He leaned forward to the man’s ear that held the covert radio.

  “Hooyah,” he said, then got up and walked out. He started running as he stepped off the front doorstep. He could hear the sirens in the distance as he turned the corner. He knew Mac and Hawkins had come this way. He saw the scuff marks on the ground from Hawkins’s boots and occasional blood drops, probably Hawkins’s. But more than that, he smelled Hawkins’s blood—a lot of it. It hung in the air and left a metallic taste in Wolf’s sinuses.

  He followed the scent to a garage a block from the safe house where the Explorer had been stashed and pushed the door open. Mac raised his weapon as Wolf entered.

  “Get in,” Wolf said, gesturing toward the Explorer.

  Mac did as commanded and dragged Hawkins into the back seat before climbing to the passenger’s side himself.

  “Is he going to be following?” Mac asked cautiously.

  “No,” Wolf replied with a grunt and turned the key.

  Mac relaxed visibly when the engine started. On the way out of the garage, Wolf tossed his phone into Mac’s lap.

  “Pull the SIM card out of that and yours, and switch them out with new ones.”

  Mac reached into the back seat and grabbed an accessory pouch from inside one of the duffel bags. He groaned through each motion.

  “How’s your wound?” Wolf asked.

  “I’ll live. It went right through the gut.”

  Wolf sniffed the air to see if he could detect a bowel smell as Mac slipped the new SIM cards in place. He didn’t smell anything other than blood so returned his attention to the road. “We’ll stop once we’re out of the area and I’ll patch you.”

  “Whatever,” Mac grunted, clicking the back of the phone in place. “Here.” He tossed Wolf’s phone back into his lap.

  Wolf grabbed it and switched it on.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Mac asked as he pulled the back off his own phone.

  “No.”

  “Good,” Mac grunted. “Wouldn’t want you getting all weepy on me for thanking you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Wolf looked in the rearview at Hawkins. It would have been obvious that he was dead even if Mac were tending to him—he was too quiet.

  “I’m sorry about Hawkins.”

  “He was a dumbass, but he was a good kid.”

  Wolf nodded. “I know.”

  Mac punched the dashboard in anger, then twice more before wincing in pain and reaching under his body armor. “I’m gonna need to do something about this,” he said, grimacing.

  “Five minutes,” Wolf said. “Can you hold on?”

  Mac nodded and looked up as Wolf drove down the Interstate 95 southbound ramp. “Where you goin’? Andrews is north.”

  “We have something to do first,” he said and accelerated into traffic. “Send a text to this number.” Wolf held his phone out for Mac to see the phone number he’d highlighted.

  “And type what?”

  “Safe house compromised. Two dead. One wounded. No longer operational. Coming to you.”

  Mac looked up at Wolf, angry confusion on his face. “I ain’t dead yet, motherfucker.”

  “Just send it.”

  Mac set his jaw in anger and typed out the message as dictated. When he was done, he held the phone up so Wolf could see it and then punched the send button like he was setting off an explosive charge, a sneer creasing his face.

  “Thanks,” Wolf said.

  “Who’d that go to?”

  A notification chimed on Wolf’s phone. “Me,” he replied coolly. “Or rather, a relay in Clearwater Florida that they’ll think is me.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Your phone is going to ring. Answer and set it to mute. Okay?”

  Mac continued to glare at him. “What the—”

  “Answer the phone and hit mute…got it?”

  Mac nodded, still not understanding.

  Wolf pressed dial on his VoIP app. It rang three times before Mac’s phone chirped. Mac answered and hit the mute button.

  “Don’t come here,” Wolf said. “I don’t have the resources. You’d be better off just handing yourself over for court-martial at this point.”

  Wolf winked at Mac as the big SEAL’s facial expression revealed he had figured out what was going on. Mac nodded.

  “Do you understand? Don’t come here.” Wolf ended the call.

  Mac gripped his phone and was about to snap it in half when Wolf reached over. “No. We need this one to keep working.”

  Mac nodded as Wolf guided them off the road at a rest stop. He drove slowly, looking at the names of long-haul trucks. A flatbed trailer carrying a line of golf carts seemed to be the best option, so he pulled into a space beside it.

  Mac started to get out, but Wolf grabbed him by the shoulder. “I’ve got it.”

  He took Mac’s phone with him as he went around to the back of the SUV. After opening the rear hatch and grabbing a first aid kit, he returned on Mac’s side, tucking the phone behind the seat of a golf cart along the way.

  He opened Mac’s door and dropped the kit on his lap before helping Mac off with his body armor. Wolf sniffed again and still didn’t smell any bowel breaches, so he tugged the shirt open.

  As Mac pulled the body armor aside, a 10mm c
one tipped round fell out of the back plate. “Ain't that a kick? Never seen that happen before.”

  “We need more plating on these things,” Wolf said as he stuffed the wound with gauze.

  “I’m sick of these bastards and their armor-piercing rounds.”

  “You and me both, brother.”

  The ripple of a grin passed over Mac’s cheek before wincing in pain. “Careful.”

  Wolf tapped his face after pressing a temporary bandage over the rushed work. “Don’t be a pussy.”

  Mac grunted something akin to a chuckle and re-buttoned his shirt. Wolf went around and got back behind the wheel before pulling out. He crossed Interstate 95 and pulled through the median, bouncing back onto the road heading northbound.

  “Not to be a whiny bitch or anything, but I’ll need to have a more permanent fix than that at some point,” Mac said.

  “In fourteen hours we’ll be at Ramstein. If you’re still holding up then, we’ll drive to Lyon, France and find you a surgeon.”

  “I think I can hold on that long.”

  “You’ll have to unless you want us to leave you here for treatment.”

  Mac punched Wolf in the arm. “Fuck you.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Why Lyon?”

  “My first house call is in the South of France,” Wolf said. “And John is setting up our staging area in Lyon.”

  “How are we getting to Ramstien?”

  Wolf looked over and smiled. “Why do you think I asked for TSOP weapons and uniforms only?”

  Mac lifted an eyebrow. “We’re sneaking onto a deployment transport?”

  Wolf nodded.

  “I hope you like military prison,” Mac said.

  “Three squares a day and a rack? What’s not to like?”

  Mac snorted a chuckle through his nose then groaned from the pain in his gut it caused. After a moment, he nodded his head toward the back seat. “What about Hawkins. I don’t just want to dump him. He deserves better.”

  “I have an idea about that too,” Wolfe said as they sped north. “But we need to pick up Seifert first.”