Jake didn’t like mistakes, but he reminded himself that his men weren’t trained soldiers, they were just guys with guns, and he was prepared to break a few eggs in the process of making an omelet.
The explosion slowed but did not stop the frontal assault as his men sheltered in place, waiting for the smoke to clear before picking themselves up off the ground where many had thrown themselves and continuing toward the entry steps.
Suddenly, Jake heard a hissing sound, and from the corner of his eye, caught a trail of smoke snaking through the air just down the street from him. At almost the same instant, there was a massive explosion and a huge ball of fire that erupted right behind Steel Will’s Stryker.
“What the hell was that!?” Jake yelled, swiveling in his seat to follow the trail of smoke in the sky. It led to the rooftop of one of the buildings across the street opposite the hotel. Near the rooftop’s edge, Jake could see a man standing, a rocket launcher perched atop his shoulder. A man directly behind him was helping to reload the weapon.
Jake maneuvered his Stryker’s machinegun to take aim, but by the time he’d got the gun positioned, it was too late. Jake watched from what moments earlier he had considered the impenetrable confines of his own Stryker as there issued another hissing sound and a wispy trail of smoke shooting through the air. Suddenly the trail stopped and transformed into a huge ball of orange in a direct hit that decimated the other Stryker. Jake watched in stunned disbelief as burning men came pouring out of his destroyed steel baby.
He gritted his teeth in anger and sprayed fire at the men with the rocket launcher, sending them diving behind the rooftop’s ledge. He could now see more men lining other building rooftops in the area, firing down upon him and his troops, and in the process, pinning his assault team down and keeping them from making their way inside the hotel. Worse yet, his reserves were going to be coming into what was fast becoming a debacle, and he had no way to contact them as he had made the poor decision to issue the pre-set five-minute rendezvous time rather than make direct radio contact with them. And for as pissed as he was about the loss of the Stryker, the realization hit home hard that had he brought Ava along for this assault, she would have been inside the now burning armored vehicle, and most likely dead.
The realization that it could have been his Stryker that was blown to smithereens, rattled Jake even more though.
Jake realized, as he looked at the number of weapons trained upon them from the rooftops around him that he’d led his men directly into a deadly valley of fire, and now they were being burned for this lapse in judgment.
* * *
Kill King – Jake’s sniper and self-proclaimed “best shooter” – enjoyed his work, and he liked having his skills put to the test. What he didn’t like however, was unforeseen problems. Getting to the stairwell’s rooftop exit only to realize that it was chained shut and that he and his men didn’t have a set of bolt cutters with them was one of those issues that really pissed him off. Not only this, but when Jake had radioed him back at their vehicle to see if he and his men were in position, he’d answered his boss in the affirmative, assuming they’d cover the few floors to the rooftop in under a minute. He didn’t want to be the one to delay Jake’s big attack. Worse yet, he’d left the radio down in their car, so there was no way to inform Jake. It didn’t matter now anyway, as the attack had already begun.
Without the bolt cutters, Kill King now had to wait while two of his men ran back down the building’s multiple flights of stairs to the ground level, out across the street to where they’d parked, and dig a set of cutters from the trunk. Such a delay had certainly not been integrated into Jake’s hurried pre-attack timeline.
The King and his best shooter waited impatiently while the two other men he’d selected for his tiny, yet deadly team made the trip back downstairs. The seconds seemed to pass like minutes, and as the shooting erupted outside, the Kill King felt his heart start to pound harder and his hands start to sweat. Not only would his boss not be happy, but he was missing out on all the action.
So when he finally heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs below him, he was relieved.
“Finally,” he breathed aloud, listening, counting the steps as they neared. But as he listened, he sensed trouble, and when he heard words in Spanish being uttered by the approaching footsteps, he knew instantly something wasn’t right.
With lightening quick reflexes, and just as four Hispanic men turned the corner on the stairwell landing below him, the King nudged his best shooter. He nodded wordlessly at the approaching men and drew a pistol with attached silencer from behind him. His shooter followed suit and they both starting plugging silenced rounds into the four men just as they started up the stairs toward them.
The front two men dropped almost instantly, absorbing most of the bullets the Kill King and his man fired. The two behind them looked up in stunned surprise, lifting their automatic rifles to fire. The King nailed the first one with two shots to the chest, but his counterpart’s gun jammed just as he took aim and squeezed the trigger to fire at the second. As the King angled his pistol toward the other attacker below him, the man squeezed the trigger on his automatic rifle. The spray of hot lead ripped into the King’s best shooter, dropping him to the floor. The King clicked off three lighting-quick rounds, hitting his target in the chest. But as the man fell, his still-firing weapon angled toward the King, sending a round into the King’s right thigh. The King faltered and then fell. Seconds later, his other men were back with the bolt cutter.
“Goddamn it!” the King yelled as he writhed in pain. “What the fuck took you so goddamn long?” he said, grabbing at his thigh.
“Sorry boss,” they grumbled, one getting to work on the door while the other tended to the King’s wound.
“Just get it fucking bound up and get me outside!” he barked at the man assisting him with his leg.
“You’re losing a lot of blood,” the man tending him said.
“Tie it up as best you can and help me up,” the King ignored the warning.
A minute later, the King was bandaged up as best as the situation allowed for and at the rooftop’s ledge. He and his men hurriedly pulled scoped rifles from cases and rushed to set up shop on the tallest rooftop in the neighborhood. In the quick scan he made of the scene around him, the Kill King could see three buildings down the street, all with lower rooftops than the one they’d chosen for their position, all facing the hotel across the street, and all with men firing from atop them. He figured the men they’d met in the stairwell had been coming up to do the same.
“You two take the buildings closest to us,” he said, putting his eye to his rifle’s scope. “I’ll take the farthest.”
There was a huge explosion in the street below them.
The King’s leg throbbed, and he could feel warm wetness from the blood he was losing trickling down his leg and into his boot, but his adrenaline was pumping and he didn’t feel the pain. Just as he got his rifle’s crosshairs focused on two men on the distant rooftop, another huge explosion rumbled up from the street below. Suddenly two men, one of whom was holding a rocket launcher, ducked for cover as a spray of bullets ripped into the rooftop ledge where they stood. As they cowered, the King exhaled slowly, squeezed the trigger, and fired. The man with the rocket launcher keeled over in a heap. The other man looked around, confused and then scrambled to pick up the launcher. Just as he got it into his hands, another perfectly aimed shot from the King dropped him beside his partner.
“Report!” the King called to his men swiveling his scope to examine the other two rooftops.
“One building clear! One in progress!” came the responses from his men.
The King moved his rifle’s position – never taking his eye from the scoped-lens through which he looked – to locate one of the riflemen on the building where his men were working, and in an instant, dropped him. A moment later, his two fellow snipers followed suit, mopping up the remaining men atop the building.
<
br /> Their main mission accomplished, the King’s snipers relocated to the front ledge of the building, turning their attention to the hotel across from them.
The King gave a weak smile, content with a job well done and knowing that he’d pulled his boss out of a real shit storm. He watched as Jake’s men down below, freed from the scathing gun and rocket fire from above, poured inside the hotel’s main entrance. It was the last thing the he would ever see out of his solitary eye as he collapsed on the rooftop, dead in a pool of his own blood.
* * *
Seeing his prized armored vehicle go up in flames angered Jake, but more than that, it frightened him. The realization that he could be cooked alive inside the steel beast where he sheltered pushed him to action. It wasn’t the action he wanted to take, but he felt his chances were better outside the Stryker than hunkering inside what had now become the biggest and best target on the street.
“Let’s go!” he commanded his men, opening the back of the armored vehicle and pushing the men before him. There were eight men total – including Jake – inside the Stryker. The first three to hit the street were instantly torn apart by the gunfire from above. Falling, they caused the two men behind them to stumble, slowing the exodus from the vehicle. These two men quickly recovered and made it a few more feet before they joined their dead comrades.
Jake wavered inside, wondering what he should do. Should he stay inside the Stryker and risk being obliterated by rocket fire or go outside and be gunned down in the street like a dog?
As he hesitated, the gunfire from above suddenly lightened, and Jake saw his chance. He followed his two remaining men out of the Stryker and toward the front of the hotel.
“Kill King,” he smiled knowingly to himself as he ran toward the hotel entrance where the rest of his assault team was regrouping and readying to move inside.
It was the Kill King’s portion of the assault plan that Ava had always told him was most critical. “Ensure that you hold the high ground, wherever you are, and put your best shooters up there,” she had said.
For as much as he hated to admit it, Jake once again recognized that Ava had been right, and this time it had really paid off. As he dashed up the hotel’s front steps, he paused, ushering any trailing men inside ahead of him. As he waited, he looked above him where he saw the rooftops of the buildings across the street cleared and several of his own men perched atop the highest now covering their advance inside. On the street to either side of him, he could see approaching vehicles loaded with more men as Mad Dog and Rambo arrived with his reserves.
Jake knew it was only a matter of time now. The tide had turned once again, but this time in his favor, and as he stood among the dead bodies strewn around the hotel’s front entrance, he reveled in the sense of victory and accomplishment without the aid of Ava. While it had been her plan that he’d used, it was his personal victory; and this time, he could take 100 percent of the credit without anyone questioning his right to do so.
The battle raged on for almost another half an hour as various firefights sprang up throughout the hotel’s now devastated corridors. The remaining defenders put up a ferocious defense, Jake’s men often having to go room to room as they worked their way through the hotel’s hallways floor by floor.
While the hotel’s guardians fought with tenacity, it was all in vain. Once they were out of ammo, Jake’s men dragged the few remaining defenders from their positions within the penthouse suite and lined them up before a large wood conference table near the center of the suite’s living room.
Meanwhile, Jake had decided to wait out front. He enjoyed these assaults, but he also knew that he’d pushed his luck far enough for the day. He had soldiers for good reason, and he wasn’t about to stick his neck out any more than necessary.
He glanced at the still smoldering Stryker in the middle of the street. Its destruction had rattled him. But he wasn’t about to let on to anyone else that the thought had passed through his mind that it could have been Ava, or worse yet, him inside that vehicle.
And as darkness settled upon the day, Jake sauntered inside the hotel to smoke a few cigarettes and drink at the hotel’s bar. He found a bottle of tequila – one of the few bottles that hadn’t been shattered by gunfire – and sat down on a bullet ravaged bar stool.
Sitting there at the bar, several dead hotel defenders lying on the floor nearby, Jake tallied up his losses. First there was the Stryker armored vehicle. That would be difficult to replace. Steel Will had also been killed in the loss of the Stryker. That was okay, Jake reasoned, since Steel Will’s main role in the organization had been to operate the Stryker and oversee several of the neighborhoods. A manager for Will’s domain would be relatively easy to find, and without the Stryker, Jake didn’t need Will.
Several of the armored SUVs had been taken out too or were damaged beyond repair, but those were easily replaceable. Jake had lost his best sharpshooter in the Kill King, and that was a blow, but sharpshooters were replaceable too. So far the tally of killed and wounded on his side was 26, and his men were still getting a count on enemy casualties although it really didn’t matter to Jake. He had won – whatever the cost to either side – and that was all that mattered. While some of his most loyal men had been lost in the process, he could buy more easily enough.
Jake was still drinking and reveling in his victory when a white SUV pulled up outside the hotel. Jake noticed it through the bar’s smashed and shattered windows.
It was Ava.
Jake pounded back the glass of tequila that sat before him, lit another cigarette, and stood to go outside and confront her.
Ava had been working late at their main bank branch, running numbers with the bank president on how the “Banks for Bullets” program was proceeding when she’d received word of the attempt on Jake’s life and the planned reprisal attack. She’d promptly cut their accounting session short and had her driver take her straight to Little Havana and Gonzalo’s hotel.
When she arrived, it looked like something out of a movie. One of the Strykers was thoroughly destroyed. There were burned out SUVs scattered around the street and dead bodies everywhere. The hotel itself looked like it’d been in a war. All the windows were smashed or shot out. Trails of bullet holes lined the building’s front façade and large hunks of stucco were blasted away. The building’s main entrance had been obliterated, leaving a gapping hole where the front doors used to be.
Ava was glad she hadn’t been present for the battle itself. What would she have done? Would she have shot at the hotel or shot at Jake?
She recognized some of the men milling around outside and knew that while things looked bad, and that the losses likely severe, Jake must somehow have pulled out a victory. Her stomach churned and she wanted to tell her driver to turn around and take her back to the condo, but she knew she had to put on a brave face and act the cheerleader for Jake’s victory. She hoped that maybe he’d been killed in the battle, but just as the thought entered her mind, she saw him stroll outside what was left of the hotel’s main entrance, stepping over the body of a dead man who lay prone across the building’s front steps.
Her driver parked, got out, and came around to open the door for her.
She stepped out of the SUV and walked over to where Jake was waiting for her.
“About time you showed up,” he greeted her.
“I was at the bank,” Ava said flatly. “I heard about the attempt on your life.”
“Assholes,” Jake spat. “Last time they try something like that,” he sneered, turning and nodding at the demolished building behind him.
“You should have consulted me before…” she looked around her and gestured, “…before you did all this. Looks like it cost us a lot.”
Jake ignored her comment and concerns.
“Come on,” he said, stepping up close to her and taking her gruffly by the arm. He stiffly led her back up the steps and inside the hotel to the elevator. “I want to show you something.”
They rode in silence up to the penthouse suite. As the elevator door slid open, Ava saw the man who had escorted her up this same way for the meeting with Gonzalo. He now lay on his back, dead in the hallway, several bullet holes in his chest. She followed Jake to the open penthouse suite doors where they stopped just outside.
“They put up one hell of a fight,” Jake said. “I kind of get now why you didn’t want to deal with this when we were taking the city,” he glared at her and then pushed her roughly inside the suite.
“Take a look,” he said, pointing to the conference table where Ava and Gonzalo had so heatedly, so passionately, so voraciously reacquainted themselves not long ago.
“There’s the big three you were so scared of,” Jake said, clueless as usual. “Seems like I could do what you couldn’t,” he continued, satisfied with himself and enjoying finally having something to rub in Ava’s smart little face.
Ava could barely stand it. Here was Jake – the big boy, finally gone potty all by himself, and he wanted to show mommy what he’d done.
She wanted to smack that smug little grin off his face so bad, and it took everything in her being to resist the urge. Instead, she just stared unflinchingly at the conference table, the center of which was no longer adorned with a glistening silver urn of fruit, but instead with the heads of Rico, Pepe, and her lovely, her sweet, her wonderful Gonzalo.
She bit into her tongue so hard that she broke skin, but she remained silent. She just nodded.
Jake turned to face her directly. He was still grinning foolishly.
Ava’s fists clenched and re-clenched, wanting to go for her lucky guns, but she kept her arms stiffly at her sides. Several of Jake’s most loyal men milled about the room and she knew she’d never make it out alive even if she did manage to take down Jake.
“You see,” Jake sneered. “I take care of business.” He nodded toward the head-adorned table. “I was thinking that maybe I should nail them to the front of the hotel as a warning to others around here thinking that they might be able to pull the same type shit. You see, you might be the brains…” he grabbed Ava, pulling her up close to him, “…but I’m the brawn. Just remember that. And it didn’t take a fucking brain surgeon to figure out who was behind all this,” he glared at her.
The Systemic Series - Box Set Page 94
