Smoke and Shadow

by Gamal Hennessy

  “It must be really easy for you to send your friends into a shit show, huh?”

  Baker tapped his shattered leg. “If I could learn parkour, I’d go in for you. If you don’t go in, I’ll drive the extraction vehicle myself and provide cover for Shadow’s exit. Just decide if you’re in or out so I can put the date in my calendar.”

  Chu shook his head and fought the urge to lash out, not knowing who angered him more. Was it Baker for his pig-headed insistence to ignore good tradecraft, or Trent for throwing himself into the job and not displaying any common sense? Maybe he was just mad at himself for the choice he already made.

  “How soon can I start learning parkour, Shadow?”

  “We can get you into Brooklyn Zoo on Sunday. They have an open…”

  “No,” Baker cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t want any training in public. I’ll talk to someone over at Chelsea Piers and get you some private time after hours. We need to keep all of this under wraps.”

  “Ok…”

  Baker turned to Chu with the cold and final tones of a parent. “And we need you to square your shit away. No more passive resistance, no more half-hearted involvement. If you’re in, be all the way in. You’re a liability to everybody if you’re not.”

  “No worries, I got it.” But Chu didn’t get it and his confusion ate away at him more than anything about the mission could.

  Chapter Six: Casualty of Lust

  “So why the fuck is this so important, anyway?”

  Chu’s confused frustration echoed through the cavernous expanse of the empty sports complex. Chelsea Piers used to be just another warehouse on the Hudson, storing meat and other cargo from ships docked in the adjacent harbor. But gentrification in the area produced an inevitable wave of high maintenance health conscious professionals who pushed out the butchers, longshoremen and hookers from this part of town. Now Chelsea Piers was one of the most exclusive health clubs in the city. Chu didn’t know what connections Baker had to get them into the space in the middle of the night, but Baker’s social network didn’t concern Chu tonight.

  Trent didn’t share his anxiety. “The gap jump is important because no one wants you falling five stories into a rat infested alley or breaking your legs as you try to make the jump. If you’re going to land properly you have to keep your legs bent when you’re in the air with the ball of your foot pointed towards…”

  “I know why the jump is important, moron. That’s not what I’m talking about.” Chu took a running start of half a dozen steps and then launched himself into the air. He sailed over a mat Trent used to represent the space between the two buildings. Chu’s task was to run up to the mat as if it was the edge of a roof and then leap over it. A successful jump would place him on the other side without injury. But Chu landed on the mat, stumbled and collapsed onto his knees near Trent’s feet.

  “It is important, because if you keep jumping like that you’ll be dead before the op even starts.”

  Chu got up and stepped away from the mat. “I get it, but it still doesn’t explain why Ghost needs this done so bad.”

  Trent’s body glided up to the mat, over the imagined expanse and down on the opposite side with the natural grace of a cat. He landed without a sound into a roll ending right in front of his friend.

  “So saving a dozen women from a life of slavery isn’t enough for you?”

  “Sure, but we’ve rescued women and children before. Baker never let the work cloud his judgment in other ops. He never let the goal become more important than his tradecraft.” Chu took another jump, pumping his legs harder as he ran. His body cleared the mat, but he landed in an awkward stumble, almost crashing into Trent as he tried to stop himself. “There’s something else going on this time.”

  “Well, you need to figure it out or forget about it if you’re going to do this right. You’re not concentrating on the movement. If you keep this up, you’ll break both your ankles.”

  Chu took a swig of water from his bottle before he responded. “I’m starting to think he’s trying to get revenge on the Fuk Ching for some reason. Maybe saving the women is just a cover for taking out someone inside the gang.”

  “I doubt it.” Trent made the second jump look easier than the first, landing without a roll and continuing his run as if in mid stride. “If this was about one gang member or even a group of them, he wouldn’t be so fixated on the Red Crane. He’d have us take them out away from their home base because they’d be easier targets when they were isolated.”

  “Then what do you think is going on?”

  “Maybe he’s trying to save a specific girl in the building.”

  “But this isn’t a rescue op. It’s an assault. He didn’t tell us to find anyone specific in the building or pull them out. Who are we saving by building up a body count?”

  “Maybe it’s not about a woman in the building. Maybe it’s for a woman on the outside.”

  “Like who?”

  “The client”

  “How do you know the client is a woman?”

  “Because Baker lives for women. What man does he spend time with besides us?”

  Chu shrugged.

  “And he only tolerates us because we’re useful. Trust me, Baker might be getting paid for this op and he might gain some strategic advantage from it, but when you strip away all the nonsense, Baker’s first and only love is the ladies.”

  “That’s some stupid ass straight boy bullshit.” Chu took another jump, pounding angry steps before takeoff. The harsh boom of his landing echoed through the empty warehouse and shot pain up the back of his legs.

  “Land on the balls of your feet, not your heels or you’ll break your...”

  Chu wasn’t interested in advice. “Baker has a hot wife in an open marriage. He can pick up any woman he wants any time he wants and do whatever he wants with them. Why the fuck would he risk our lives to get a piece of ass?”

  Trent didn’t match Chu’s agitated tone. “If I had to guess, I’d say this is about frustration.”

  “Your damn right it’s about frustration. Why the hell should I get shot for his sex life?”

  “It’s a good question, but I wasn’t talking about your frustration. I was talking about his.”

  The words stopped Chu’s rant as the anger formed in his mouth. He listened to what Trent said, although it was hard to hear over the heavy exertion of his own breathing.

  “Ever since Karbala, Baker’s felt impotent. Not in terms of sex, but when it comes to operations. He doesn’t want to lead from the rear. He wants to be with us, on the street and in the fight. But he can’t and it kills him. In a lot of ways, the sex he looks for is a coping mechanism for his inability to work in the field.”

  “We’ve had other ops since Karbala. What makes this one so different?”

  Trent shrugged before taking a third vault without apparent effort or exertion. “Maybe the client is a woman and the Red Crane is important to her. Maybe Baker wants to do the op himself to impress her, so he pushes us to do it because we’re the ones he trusts the most.”

  “Do you really believe that’s what this is about?” The thought of Baker’s crippling injury and his constant frustration couldn’t wipe away the color of blood from Chu’s vision.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t really care. People have used us for worse goals than women. Politicians send us into raid insurgent camps when they want to get more votes. Corporations use us to make more money. Generals stroke their own egos with useless combat operations. Everyone has an angle when we start sending rounds down range. At least this way…”

  “How is this better? Since when did this make more sense?”

  “Since forever. Julius Caesar went to war to satisfy Cleopatra. Helen of Troy sparked one of the biggest conflicts in ancient history. Men have always used violence and power to get women. Baker isn’t breaking any new ground here. ”

  Chu thought about his jump and all his previous mistakes. He ran to the mat thinking about
Baker and Cleopatra, Helen of Troy and his own father. He took off wondering how much blood spilled and how many men died for a handful of leaders to prove their manhood.

  Chu collapsed into a roll on the other side of the mat wondering if he would be the next casualty of lust.

  He stood up next to Trent wondering why he couldn’t walk away.

  “That was better.” Trent’s encouragement had no hint of irony or ridicule. “Your form and your focus are getting better. Try it a few more times.”

  Chu went back to the mat without a word. His form was getting better, but he couldn’t let go of an image of Baker building his bed on the corpses of his friends.

  Chapter Seven: Dry Run

  “Go! Go! Go!”

  Chu took the point, feeling the harsh blast of early morning air hit his ears as he moved. The bandana covering his nose and mouth kept the lower half of his face warm. The goggles and watch cap protected the top. But the wireless microphone wedged in his ear did nothing to keep out the cold. Chu shut out the whistling wind as he reached the first door, crouching near the frame against the wall.

  He held up his hand in a silent signal to stop. He felt Trent’s body freeze. Their tight formation gave Chu the sensation of his partner riding on his back. With one hand aiming the muzzle of his weapon down and away, Chu reached for his belt and unspooled the fiber optic cable wrapped around his waist.

  He didn’t look down the hall or back the way he came. He trusted Trent to watch his back and could feel his partner move his head and shoulders to scan the corridor. Chu concentrated on slipping the thin pinhole lens underneath the door and glancing at the small monitor attached to the inside of his wrist.

  The image on the screen shifted from light to dark before Chu could see his target. His only warning before the door slammed inward and the sounds of gunfire filled the corridor was the creak of the turning doorknob. Chu never saw his killer. He only heard the soft crack of Trent’s suppressed weapon firing into the room over his head and felt several rounds hit him in his shoulder, stomach and hip. Chu fell backwards, writhing in pain and cursing himself.

  “Your auditory signature was fifteen decibels above tolerance for these types of walls.” Baker tried to be even and nonjudgmental in his assessment, but Chu could hear the disappointment through the electronic crackle in his ear. “You need to be twelve to eighteen inches from the door frame prior to entry. If you stack up against the wall, the drag of your clothing will give you away.”

  “Understood” Trent answered with enthusiasm, even though it was Chu who made the mistake.

  “Move to position twenty three, same formation, same drill.”

  Chu bounced back to his feet and recoiled his camera. “Moving.” The level of energy in his speech didn’t match the vigor of his motion.

  Chu enjoyed training. The idea of waking up in the middle of the night, driving to the backwoods of Eastern Pennsylvania and being shot with simulated 9mm rounds didn’t thrill him, but working with Trent did. The two men were outside the kill house before dawn preparing. They tested their load outs, reviewed their engagement protocols and walked through dry runs before moving into the kill house.

  The coordinated rhythm they shared in Iraq didn’t come back all at once. Each of them had continued to train and hone their skills separately since Nightwatch disbanded, but combining their individual patterns into a seamless dance required practice. They didn’t move into the kill house until mid-morning, when a familiar fluidity began to replace the rust of disuse.

  Chu made a signal to stop and positioned himself away from the wall. The snake went under the door and he took his time to scan all four corners of the room. Without turning his head or pointing his weapon away from the door, Chu held up his hand and gave a series of rapid signals to Trent:

  I see four hostiles, two pistols left, one pistol right, one shotgun right.

  Trent’s silent squeeze on his shoulder let Chu know he understood. He put the camera away and reached back, squeezing Trent’s ankle as a signal to move.

  Trent moved without a sound. He got in front of Chu with a low compact profile, twisted the door handle and entered the room in one motion. Chu went in a few inches behind to both limit their exposure in the fatal funnel of the doorway and cover the side of the room Trent couldn’t see. Trent moved left, firing as he cleared the doorway. Chu moved right, firing two rounds into the hard corner before sweeping the barrel of his suppressed weapon left to put three more rounds into the cross corner.

  The red marking compound of the rounds formed tight groups on the chest and stomachs of the men in the room. Both Chu’s men dropped to their knees, the signal they were ‘dead’ and eliminated from the exercise.

  Then Chu realized one of his men wasn’t a man at all. She wore the same black overalls as the rest of the men acting as Fu Ching gang members. She had the same protective gear on her face, hands and head to keep her from being injured by the simunitions. But she stood several inches below the rest of the opposition and she had a three inch “C” on her left shoulder, right next to the two red stains Chu just gave her.

  “Please stop shooting the civilians.” Baker sighed into their ears. “I would appreciate a little discretion when you send your rounds down range. Let’s move to position twenty four. Switch formation, same drill.”

  Chu fell in behind Trent and reloaded his SIG. Where did Baker get off talking about discretion? What kind of discretion did he use when he decided to ask his friends to take on a mission without proper support or resources?

  Trent positioned himself near the next door and pulled out his own snake cam. Chu scanned the hallway for threats. Baker had the kill house modified to resemble other slave houses raided in the past by the FBI, MI5 and Hong Kong’s SDU. How much did all this cost? How much time, effort and blood did Baker waste on one woman? What could possibly justify this kind of expense? Was she some Helen of Troy who deserved this level of sacrifice to get into her pants?

  Trent gave Chu the signal. Chu squeezed his leg in response. How could he blame Baker for what he did? He was a man after all and men chased women. They didn’t care what they spent or who got hurt in the process. But Chu didn’t chase women. So why did he stay? Why did he wake up in the middle of the night and put himself through all this to risk his life for someone so…

  Chu opened the door and turned on the ball of his foot. His weapon was up and level with his shoulder. The hard corner in front of him was clear of threats at eye level.

  But he didn’t see the man lying on the ground under his field of vision. He only felt the simunition rounds catch him, once in the groin and once in the heart.

  “Let’s take a break people.” Baker didn’t try to hide his frustration. “Smoke, can you meet me in the manager’s office?”

  Chu slid the safety on his gun and holstered it without looking at the other men in the room. Trent gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder, but Chu could only feel the weight of anxiety and failure.

  Chapter Eight: Cost of Goods Sold

  “So what’s on your mind, Smoke?”

  Baker sat in the management office of the DMZ Training Academy as if he owned the place. The deep red tie and gold tie bar seemed out of place against the backdrop of combat photos and shooting trophies against the wall, but everything felt out of place to Chu at this point.

  “I guess I’m just shaking off some rust.”

  “You’re not paying attention to yourself or your environment. You’re ignoring signals from your teammate and walking through the kill house in a fog. Your errors aren’t physical, they’re mental. Your mind’s not in the game because you’re thinking about something else. So what is it?”

  “It’s nothing. I just need a couple more trips through the house to…”

  “We don’t have many more trips left. This is the last dry run before we go live. If you’re head isn’t in the game now, it’s never going to be.”

  “I can do the op.”

  “I know you can
do it. What I don’t know is why you don’t just fucking do it. Every time I turn around you’re fighting me or trying to shut this down…”

  “I just don’t know what this is about.”

  “Since when does a shooter need to know why? You know who, where, when and how. You know how to get in and how to get out. At what point did the big picture become important to you?”

  “When the job stopped making sense, when you start to ignore tactics and tradecraft for a questionable objective, when you decide to throw your friends into the fire over a woman.”

  Chu’s last words made Baker pause. The two men locked eyes for a moment before Baker shook his head. The look on his face became a stone mask of rejection. “If you think this is about a woman, you need to pack up your gear and walk away.”

  Chu felt his own head shaking in a futile attempt to take back his last words. “If it’s not about a woman, then tell me what it’s about.”

  Baker’s body didn’t move at all. If anything, his frame took on the closed rigidity of his gaze. “If you think I’d treat you that way after all the shit we’ve seen, you need to get the fuck out.”