by Bobby Akart
One of the men raised his voice slightly, enabling Major to hear every word.
“Seriously, how long do you think we can hold this ranch? I mean, Holloway is delusional if he thinks he can squat here and get away with it.”
“Man, that crazy dude is delusional and psycho. Look, don’t get me wrong. He took me in when I was just street hustlin’ dope for the Fullerton Boyz. Holloway turned that operation from a bunch of gangbangers to a real street gang.”
“Yeah, at platoon strength too.”
“No doubt. I can’t fault him for what his goals are, but this seems a little nuts to me. For now, it’s all we’ve—”
Palmer had had enough of the chatter. While the two men were ignoring their duties and distracted by their conversation, she’d quietly approached from one tree to another until their silhouettes stood out against the tailgate of the white pickup.
As Duncan had taught her, she quickly fired two rounds into each of the men’s bodies, who immediately dropped to their knees as if to pray. Palmer never gave them the chance as she skillfully punctured each of their skulls with a nine-millimeter bullet.
Major quickly ran into the clearing with his weapon ready for any type of movement. Palmer checked the truck bed to look for anyone hiding, and Major likewise cleared the front and back seats of the cab. Satisfied they’d removed the threat, both of them put away their weapons.
Major turned to Palmer. “Go get the horses while I dispose of their bodies. Let’s not tip off any roving patrols we may have missed.”
“I’m on my way.”
While she was gone, Major stripped the dead of their weapons and a single two-way radio. He programmed it to the same channel he’d be monitoring with his sons. Then he dragged the two dead commandos into the woods behind a pile of fallen tree limbs. Lastly, he reached into the pickup, took the keys, and manually locked the doors. He didn’t want the truck to be used by any fleeing commandos.
When Palmer arrived, he quickly mounted his horse and handed her the extra radio. Major checked his watch. Their efficiency had paid off.
“Let’s check on your mother’s barnyard. Maybe we can take out a couple more.”
They urged their horses forward and rode along the well-worn path that lined the outer perimeter along the fence. It was a path he and Preacher had taken many times over the years.
Major fought off the melancholy feelings about his old friend. He knew Preacher was likely to die before they could get him medical help. He’d lost too much blood, and despite the heroic efforts of Sook to control his fever, the bullets lodged within his body were taking their toll.
First, he and his youngest child had a job to do. Step one was accomplished. Removing any reinforcement threat at the barnyard would help Duncan and Sook as they went after Holloway. Also, it would lower the number of commandos they’d have to account for after it was over.
“Daddy, we should stop well short of the barnyard. The chickens will sense our approach. If they get riled up, our cover will be blown and so will the whole operation.”
Major chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like Duncan.”
“Yeah, I reckon I am. Up ahead, Daddy. Just before the small barn would be best.”
Palmer took the lead and slowly made her way to a broken-down wagon, which had found its final resting place many years ago, but nobody had the heart to give it a proper burial.
After dismounting, Palmer moved toward the back of the barn, with Major just behind her. He pointed out another one of the pickups parked near the hog pen. They knew one or more commandos would be here, but the question was whether they were in the smaller utility barn or in the larger hay barn on the other side of the chicken coops. Out of concern for disturbing the chickens, they tried the small barn first.
Palmer knew the side door creaked when it was opened, so she whispered to her father, “Daddy, guard this entrance. I’m gonna slip around to the front and see if I can identify them. If they come out this way, well, you know what to do.”
Major nodded and gave her a thumbs-up. In this moment, he had never been prouder of his daughter. She had grown up to be a well-rounded, astute young woman. Now, she had the presence of mind to take on trained killers without fear. He wasn’t afraid for her as she rounded the corner of the barn alone.
He leaned against the barn and tried to see through cracks in the boards. It was dark inside, and his view was partially obscured by a tractor, but he was able to catch a glimpse of a shadow moving from right to left.
Frustrated by his inability to see, he moved to the other side of the door and searched for a knothole or gap in the barn board. There was nothing, so he took a deep breath, steadied his rifle, and listened.
Spit-spit. Spit.
It was the distinctive sound of a silencer doing its job. An excruciating minute passed as Major’s palms became sweaty. He assumed Palmer had killed her target, but the deathly silence unnerved him. Where is she?
Another minute passed, and Major felt fear for his daughter for the first time. His confidence in her abilities was being pushed back inside him—replaced by apprehension.
He followed her path inside, using the front entrance to avoid the squeaky hinges. While his curiosity and concern got the best of him, he also needed to be careful not to get shot by her deadly aim by mistake.
The tension was building within him, and he decided he’d call out to her in a whisper. “Palmer! Palmer!”
“Over here!” Palmer responded calmly from across the hog pen near the side door to the other barn. “We’re clear, Daddy. I got the one guy. Will you grab his gun while I get the horses?”
Major fell against the barn and breathed a sigh of relief. He swallowed hard and tried to moisten his mouth, which had dried out of nervousness.
“Okay,” he finally responded and went about the same routine as before. He gathered up the commando’s weapon and fumbled through his pockets, where he found the truck’s keys. This man did not have a radio.
Not concerned about disrupting the chickens, Palmer rode into the barnyard with her father’s horse. Once again, he checked his watch.
“Palmer, I’m very proud of you.”
She began to laugh. “Thank you, Daddy. Can I have a raise in my allowance now? It’s been years since y’all put quarters under my pillow for lost teeth and such.”
Major leaned off the side of his saddle and extended his fist toward his daughter. She promptly provided him a fist bump.
“I think you’ve certainly earned a bonus. How about a shiny new Ford truck? We’ve got a white one and a red one to choose from.”
“I’ll take white. There’s already one Red Rover in the family.”
Major laughed and pulled on the reins to turn his horse toward the silos. “C’mon. We’ve got less than ten minutes to get to the silos. Your trigger-happy brothers are probably gettin’ antsy.”
Chapter 21
January 24
The Armstrong Ranch
Borden County, Texas
Duncan and Sook spent a furtive hour together as they circled the ranch house in preparation for their attack on Holloway. All of the lights were off inside, and the same two guards were milling about the front lawn. The vehicles were still parked in the same position as earlier, and there was no indication of any type of change in their security measures. All of these factors contributed to Duncan’s earlier conclusion that the North Koreans had become comfortable in their surroundings.
Our surroundings.
The men were smoking and talking in hushed tones. Occasionally they’d laugh and slap each other on the back. Also, rather than patrolling the grounds with their rifles at low ready, now they’d slung them over their shoulders, and a bottle of liquor emerged in place of their weapons.
Duncan thought about the disciplined soldiers he’d encountered near the nuclear-testing facility in Kusong. When he and Park had been stalked following the failed assassination attempt, those men had been intense, alert, and followed or
ders. The two guards laughing and drinking on the front yard of his family’s home were North Koreans by birth, and perhaps trained with the Lightning Death Squads, but they’d lost their edge as commandos.
They were criminals, just like Holloway. Drunk ones at that.
Without having radio contact with his dad, Duncan was unable to determine whether they’d been successful at the north gate. Two things gave him confidence in their efforts. One, he hadn’t heard any gunfire as of yet, and based upon the time, if something had gone awry, the night air would’ve exploded in gunfire all around the ranch.
Secondly, there had been no radio communications between the two guards they’d been observing and the outposts. While there was a time and place to maintain radio silence, when performing perimeter security, all silence, all the time was not a good idea.
Duncan assessed his options. The men were too far away from the house to take them quietly by using his knives. In their inebriated state, he considered drawing them around toward the smokehouse with some type of noise, similar to the tactic Park had used as they’d approached the military base in Kusong.
Duncan’s new secret weapon was soft-spoken Sook. He’d seen her in action on Sinmi-do when, by using her charm, she’d disarmed the North Korean soldiers searching for him. He could employ her again for this task, but even these near-drunk men would be astonished that a North Korean girl had found her way to West Texas.
The silenced H&K was the best option, but he had to get close enough to fire upon the men without missing. From his hidden position two hundred feet away from the guards, he would have to eliminate two threats with a single shot each without them uttering a sound. Even with his skill set, it was very risky.
It was time to make his move. He and Sook made their way to the corner of the house. Duncan took her silenced sidearm and prepared himself by whispering his final instructions to Sook. She was prepared to use the Kel-Tec PLR-16 he’d obtained from the armory to shoot at anyone who exited the house. She’d only had minimal training with the short, lightweight equivalent to an AR-15 rifle, but this weapon was easy to use and control.
“Are you ready?” Duncan whispered to Sook.
She smiled and nodded. “I have your six.”
Duncan, who’d remained focused during the last hour as he mentally prepared for their against-all-odds battle to regain their home, managed to snicker. “Where did you learn that?”
“Preacher told me I needed to learn to talk like a soldier. He reads many army books.”
“Okay, well, he’s right,” said Duncan. Then he grew serious as he prepared to ambush the sentries. “Sook, things will happen very fast now. Pay close attention to me and my signals. We will have to move quickly and quietly. Okay?”
“I am ready. Move!”
Again, Duncan laughed to himself and responded, “Moving.”
At a low crouch he entered the front yard, where the Zoysia and Bermuda grasses were dormant for the winter. His soft approach coupled with the cushioning effect of the lawn allowed him to get within forty feet of his targets—deadly close for the former operator and trained killer.
Duncan, who was right-handed, always chose to eliminate the left target first when training. It was more comfortable to swing his barrel away from his body rather than across it, especially when he was wearing a full kit with extra magazines and a compact sidearm stowed in it.
He continued walking toward his targets, closing a few additional feet as he studied their movements and reactions. The drunken guards were oblivious to his approach and were blissfully unaware as the bullets silently flew into the back of their skulls.
Duncan immediately sped to their side and felt for a pulse. They were both dead. He swerved his body from the barn to the main house, looking for movement. All was quiet. As instructed, Sook placed herself at the corner of the porch with her weapon raised toward the stairs descending onto the front lawn.
Comfortable that she had him covered, he holstered his weapon and dragged the two men across the grass toward the darker side of the house. He turned the commando’s radio off and slid it into his cargo pants pocket.
He quickly rejoined Sook at the house. With a final glance at his surroundings, he realized he’d left the liquor bottle lying in the grass. It would be visible to the men who were likely sleeping in the barn, but in the frenzy created by the attack on the south gate, he was sure the empty liquor bottle wouldn’t be spotted. Dead bodies, on the other hand, would’ve been noticed, which was why he disposed of them.
“Stay here,” Duncan whispered before he darted across the front of house to the other side of the porch. Being careful to avoid the glass and debris that still littered the porch following the RPG attack, Duncan snuck up to the living room windows and peered inside. Snoring immediately caught his attention as the apparently exhausted men crashed from two days of battles from here to Lubbock.
There was a man asleep on each end of the sofa, another one sprawled out on the settee, and a fourth leaned back in his dad’s recliner. He and Sook would have to work together to kill the four men and not wake up the other occupants of the home.
As he moved back toward her, he contemplated the stealth approach or whether to go in there with guns a-blazin’. Duncan grimaced as he led her around the side of the house. He dreaded the dangers of close-quarters combat with his beloved Sook by his side.
Chapter 22
January 24
The Armstrong Ranch
Borden County, Texas
Duncan and Sook entered the kitchen door nearest the smokehouse. He carefully turned the knob and gradually pushed the door open to minimize the creaking sound it made. Fortunately, the already cold air inside the house wouldn’t be affected by their entry. Once the door opening was wide enough for him to slide through, he pointed the barrel of his rifle inside and allowed it to lead the way.
Sook tapped Duncan on the shoulder. “Let me go first. I know the floors better.”
He and Sook were in familiar territory. They knew where the furnishings were located, which doorway led where, and what boards creaked as they walked on them. Sook had spent every day at the ranch house since their arrival back at the ranch. Duncan, on the other hand, had been away for long periods of time, including the years when he had been deployed abroad.
Duncan admired her fearlessness and had total confidence in her abilities. Despite his misgivings about including her in this perilous task, he relented and slid to the side as she passed.
They entered the family room, and the low light of the dying fire confirmed the number of commandos asleep on the furniture. Sook pulled a Morakniv Bushcraft survival knife from its sheath. The knife had been given to her by Preacher to be used as a multipurpose tool in survival or defensive situations. The sheath came with a diamond sharpener and an integrated fire starter, which had come in handy at their campsite the evening before.
Duncan pointed to the right, indicating Sook would take the man in the recliner and the man whose neck was exposed on that end of the sofa. Killing with a knife was a brutal, personal act. It required personal contact between the killer and the victim. Oftentimes, it resulted from extreme hate, revenge, or payback of a vendetta. Tonight, for Duncan and Sook, it was all business.
They were careful to avoid any debris on the floor as they approached. At one point, Duncan’s heavier frame caused them both to pause in their tracks, watching and listening for a change in movement of their prey, which would necessarily result in weapons being drawn.
None of the commandos stirred. Duncan nodded to Sook, and they moved closer. When they arrived at their mark, the two moved in unison and quickly sliced into the throats of the men who’d attacked the ranch.
Earlier, Duncan had explained the art of slitting the throat of another human being. It didn’t always result in instant death, which was typically portrayed on television and movies. It was actually a slower process, and it was not necessarily a quiet one. The victim typically gasped for air and flail
ed about in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
Duncan had pointed out the location of the external carotid artery, which provided the blood supply to the face and neck. Immediately behind it was the internal carotid artery, which provided blood to the brain. In order to achieve a quick, silent kill, the attacker had to slice deep enough into the throat to sever both arteries. Even then, it would take the target a few seconds to pass out due to the lack of oxygenated blood to the brain.
He’d warned that it took a certain amount of expertise to make the perfect cut, but Sook assured him that she was capable. He also described the resulting mess. When the deep cut was made, the jugular vein was likely to be severed. Blood would pour out of the victim’s throat in spurts as this happened.
The act would require Sook to clamp her hand firmly over her victim’s mouth to prevent him from screaming, hold firm while she made her cut, and then be patient while the target died. Then she would need the presence of mind to move to her next victim without stumbling or slipping on the blood.
After Duncan described the details of a kill to Sook, he studied her lack of emotion and steely resolve. She had a coldness in her voice that troubled him somewhat. Despite her outwardly warm and loving manner, Sook was capable of killing, just like he was. As they prepared to make their first kills, he had no doubt she’d adopted the mindset of a deadly assassin.
In choreographed-like unison, they eliminated the first two commandos. Working in tandem, they moved toward the sofa, where the second kills were quicker. It was over in seconds as the four men lay dead, their throats laid bare by the sharp knives of their assassins.
Duncan returned his knives to the specially designed pockets in his cargo pants and moved against the wall adjacent to the back bedrooms. Sook joined him, her chest heaving from exhilaration.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes. Now what?”
Duncan tapped on the PLR-16. “Ready your weapon. I’m going to clear these rooms, and then we’ll head upstairs.”
