by C. L. Jones
It looked like everyone in the mess hall was focused on Cowboy and Tracker so Pops opened the door only enough to get out. He slid out and gently eased the door closed behind him. He stayed in the shadows and crawled on his belly from the mess hall to the trees where he was sure he could not be seen. Finding the closest hiding place in a group of trees he stood up and looked around. Pops wasn’t able to see anyone or anything so he began to work his way toward the area Tracker had pointed out.
Working at a snail’s pace, Pops moved through the night. He was getting that old combat feeling back where you learned to listen to the sounds around you as well as the little voice that hides away deep down inside until it’s really needed. That voice is always there even if you don’t understand it at the time and it’s never lied.
CHAPTER NINE:
TRIMMING A LITTLE FAT
There they were, the outline of two men crouched down in the brush tucked neatly in the trees watching the mess hall. They were two of the same three men who’d hid the explosives in the woods.
Pops watched and pondered what his next move should be. He wanted to move in a little closer but still didn’t know what was going on. Besides Cowboy’s knife, he had his weapon but he thought if he had to use a firearm it would bring a world of shit down on him like you couldn’t believe.
Pops thought his best option would be to stay hidden and watch because he knew after they left he could check if they’d stashed anything of importance. His legs were cramping from the day’s workout so he started to stretch very slowly when his foot hit something. Looking down Pops saw a perfectly round baseball-sized rock. He picked the rock up and it fit nicely into the palm of his hand. Holding it like a softball pitcher, he figured he could underhand it through the brush to make enough noise so the men would check it out. If the men separated to investigate it would be even better because he could take them down one at a time.
Pops spotted an overgrown bush at the far end of a patch of grass which made a perfect target. With an underhand motion Pops let loose of the rock and watched as it sailed toward the bush. It was a perfect strike and couldn’t have been any better if an all-star pitcher had made it in a major league game. The rock hit at the edge of the dried bush making a crackling and crunching noise at first, then continued rolling and bouncing through the main part of the bush. Pops eyes shifted back to the two men when the rock started to make a racket. The man on the right reacted to the sound a split second before the other. He snapped his head first towards the noise then back to his partner, pushing the other man’s shoulder and pointing in the direction of the noise. The second man started to get to his feet just as the first man grabbed him by his sleeve. The second man stopped and looked back at his partner who was still crouching and appeared to be the one giving the orders. The first man signaled with his hand in a downward motion telling the second man to stay low. The second man nodded his head yes and crouched down and moved in the direction of the noise.
The guy moved through the brush and trees like a movie actor in some nonsensical action movie. Pops knew from years of experience which included classes in human nature that this moron was clueless about what to do. He shook his head in disbelief. This looked like it was going to be way too easy.
He waited. The man was nearing the place where the rock had landed when Pops made a little scuffling noise by pulling a handful of bark off a tree. Pops never took his eyes of his target as he repeated the sound again. The inexperienced man and his amateurish actions told the story. The man stood upright and looked around and then went back to his crouching movie roll combat movements. He headed in the direction of Pops.
It really was too easy. Pops waited until the man came up to the tree where Pops had been and stopped and looked around. When he didn’t see anything he stood up out of his half-ass crouch. Like a night ghost, Pops slid around the tree. The man was so poor and inexperienced at this that he didn’t hear a thing. Pops reached out and in one swift movement grabbed the man around the head with his arm wrapped around the guy’s mouth. With all the force Pops could bring to bear he kicked the back of the man’s knee with the side of his foot buckling him to the ground. After the man was on the ground Pops quickly and deliberately silenced him with the special forces knife.
Pops considered his next moves as he shifted to a position where he could watch the first man. Bingo, it came to him. He headed back to the place where he’d just dispatched the second man. He crouched down and started moving towards the first man who was still watching the mess hall.
This whole night seemed to be straight out of an old action hero movie. Pops moved in on the first man just as he looked up in Pops’ direction. The man gestured to the man he thought was his returning partner to stay low. Pops decided the first man was now his new favorite idiot. As he got close to the idiot, he moved around behind him and grabbed him just like the other guy. Pops put him down in one powerful quiet slash using the special forces knife.
He looked down at the dead man and thought about the last few minutes. He wasn’t feeling bad about doing what he had been paid to do by his government for the past few years. If the organization didn’t want this kind of action or reaction, then why send a bunch of professional killers to a place where the end results were predictable? At least this time Pops thought he would have a much better pay day at the end of the mission.
Pops wiped the knife blade off on the man’s shirt and moved in the direction of the mess hall. He would try to go back in without being seen just in case anyone else was watching from the tree line. He wormed his way back through the door and stayed on the floor as he made it back to his chair. He then sat back up and stretched his arms over his head and yawned as if he was getting sleepy.
Pops saw Cowboy head to the sodas and popcorn table so he got up from his chair and also headed in that direction as if to get another soda. Once at the table he popped the top on a can of coke and slid the knife back to Cowboy under the table. Neither man said a word. Pops tipped the coke can up and took it all down in two or three drinks thinking this nighttime sneaking around the woods and killing sure makes a man thirsty. Cowboy and Pops returned to their seats and sat through the final credits as they rolled down the screen. The rest of the team got up from their chairs, stretching and scratching and acting like they had just watched a movie and nothing else. Like good military people they cleaned up after themselves and started back to their hooches. After exiting the mess hall Pops whispered to Cowboy, “Just trimmed a little bit more fat.” On the way to his hooch Pops concluded that it was now six to eight, not counting himself.”
Pops’ head had no more than hit the pillow and it was the next morning. He used the same routine as every other morning. He slipped on his flip-flops, took his shower and shaving gear and headed to the shower house. However on this morning one of the cadre was sitting outside the shower house door. “Sorry sir, right now only the blue team can use the shower house and the mess hall. Check back later.” Pops acknowledged him with a polite shake of his head and went back to his assigned building.
To Pops’ surprise he saw Cowboy sitting on the empty bed of his former hooch mate as he entered the building. Cowboy made eye contact and held his fingers up to his lips telling Pops to be quiet. Pops sat down beside him and Cowboy leaned over and said in a really low voice, “Two of the blue team were brought in this morning from the woods. I overheard the training captain say he thinks one of their own teammates is doing all these things because the red team was all accounted for last night.”
Pops tried to remember but it was starting to get a little foggy. He went over it in his mind, was it now seven to eight?
Cowboy rose up enough to look out the windows and then went on, “They are going to send as many of the cadre out to watch as they can to keep an eye on the blue team today. I don’t know how many are going out and how many are staying back here in the compound. I know when I was doing my play acting after my faked fall yesterday that you left to pick up somethin
g.” Cowboy waited for Pops to say something but Pops just sat there staring at Cowboy, not saying a word. When Cowboy realized that no response was coming he continued, “Why don’t you just let me in on what you found and I’ll talk to you later about it if you want.”
Still not saying anything out loud to Cowboy, Pops reached under his pillow and pulled out one of the clips. Using his bath towel he wiped any fingerprints off the clip and handed the extra ammo to Cowboy. Cowboy silently got up from the bed, tucked the clip in his belt under his BDU shirt and walked out of the building.
Trusting anyone could be risky but Pops knew this time he would not be able to work alone. Sometime during the night he’d already decided to give an extra clip of ammo to Cowboy, Surfer, Rocky, and Roadside and keep one extra clip for himself. Pops relaxed on the side of his bed staring at the floor while his mind was working overtime. Outside he heard the sound of the blue team leader telling the blue team to move out. He knew they were starting the course.
Pops got up, grabbed his bath gear and started to the shower house again. Just as he was about to enter the shower house one of the cadre started yelling, “Red team fall in over here.” The red team members very slowly came out from wherever they happened to be and gathered around in a kind of loose formation. The unhappy looking young man from the cadre was trying hard to present a proper military stature but his eyes and actions told a different story. The young man tried to make up for his inexperience. He constantly looked down at his uniform and posture to make sure he was presenting a good military bearing but his inexperience still showed.
The young man said, “Gentlemen, I’m going to do a head count then you can all take showers and go to breakfast if you want. You are not to leave the compound. I’ll do other pop-up counts randomly throughout the day.” Pops listened as the young man counted and the count was correct as it reflected all the men who were standing there. Acting like he believed he was General Patton, the young man then said, “Okay be here when I call.” Pops knew from his old military days that it was not hard to fool a young inexperienced novice. He filed that thought away for possible use later.
After the count Pops finally took his long awaited hot shower and headed back to his hooch, then to the mess hall. Pops ate his delayed breakfast and wondered who had and had not been in formation. The young man had been fooled into short counting a number of men.
The rest of the day was very lazy and uneventful. They had a roll call at noon and one at about fourteen hundred hours. Both times Pops had awakened from a deep in the pillow sleep. In the military you’re taught by harsh experience to sleep whenever you can and as much as you can because tomorrow you may not get any sleep.
The young man who’d done all the roll calls came to each hooch at about eighteen hundred hours carrying a handheld radio. When he stopped at Pops’ hooch, he explained, “Sir, we’re telling the red team members they may as well go ahead and eat. The blue team will be coming in rather late.” It was clear that the young man was in contact with the cadre in the field via the handheld radio.
He started to leave through the hooch door, when Pops said, “Hey wait a minute.” The young man turned his head and stuck it back through the door and looked right at Pops. “Why are they getting back so late, is there something wrong?” Pops asked as he stared into the young man’s eyes and waited for a read.
The young man looked around outside the doorway then in almost a clandestine whisper said, “I guess something bad, really bad happened out there.” The young man tucked his lips together tightly and made the zipper like motion across the lips like people did way back when they were kids.
With his curiosity piqued Pops said, “What kind of bad?”
The young man looked around again and when he was sure that no one was watching or listening he said, “Over the radio it sounds like someone accidentally got shot.” Checking the area again he went on, “Whoever the guy was, I think he shot himself.” Busting at the gut after telling his big secret to someone, the young man hurried away before Pops could ask any more questions.
Pops sat on the side of his bed staring at the floor. His paranoia kicked in as he wondered about Cowboy and the earlier conversation. Pops had learned over the years to never ask a question when you don’t want the answer and never ask a question of anyone in this business. Too many questions are dangerous to someone dumb enough to be asking them. Pops had stayed silent when he’d passed the ammo clip to Cowboy and Cowboy began asking questions.
Pops thought this time he would change his routine. After eating he would take his second shower and check his stash of ammo and explosives if time allowed. He’d given Cowboy one of the clips and he’d decided he would have to replace it. Giving the extra clip to Cowboy could have been a mistake if Cowboy was working undercover for the cadre or the blue team or the organization. However if Cowboy told anyone about the extra ammo maybe they would think it was all hidden somewhere in his hooch.
At the mess hall Pops had a good meal and even went back for seconds. Seconds was something Pops rarely did except for coffee. Tonight however he enjoyed a meal of his choice and sat at his favorite corner table with his almost perfectly reflected view of the mess hall in the windows on either side of the corner. All through dinner he waited for the blue team to return. He leisurely enjoyed second and third after dinner cups of coffee while looking out the windows. Still the blue team had not come back.
He finished his coffee, exited the mess hall and walked back to his hooch. Feeling very relaxed he picked up his toiletries and headed to the shower house where he took a long hot shower and thought about the upcoming competition. More than once Pops had concluded that this was not going to be easy like one of those civilian weekend wannabe warrior paint ball games. He knew this was pitting people like himself up against others. Some could be as good as him and some may be not much more than worms on a hook, used as bait to draw in bigger prey like himself. Someone for some reason had invented this crazy competition idea and now the lunatic was probably sitting comfortably in an ivory tower, never in any danger. This same lunatic probably thought the survivors of the competition would give the organization the best team of triggers who would be ready to go into battle thinking they were somehow special and elite. Pops sarcastically thought that if everyone killed everyone there would be no last man standing. Then where the hell would they get this great team of elite assassins?
Pops finished showering and shaving, slipped on his pants and flip-flops and started back to his hooch. He saw the old troop truck sitting in the compound and blue team members sprawled around it looking like they were suffering a lot of agony. It was clear that they’d had no better day than the red team had experienced the day before. He continued on to his hooch but on the way crossed paths with Indy. Indy stopped, looked at Pops and said with a grin, “I don’t know how you did it killer.” Indy nodded his head toward the area of the truck and the blue team. Pops was about to say something but thinking better of it, caught himself before he spoke. Why show his hand now? Just let it ride. He just nodded as if to say thanks and kept on walking.
Pops had only walked a few feet on when Indy said, “They want the teams to hold their own meetings after the blue team gets done eating.” Pops turned and again nodded yes. Then like an old platoon sergeant, Indy said in an almost demanding voice, “Red team will meet in my building.” Pops had his back turned and was walking away so he just waved his hand over his head like he was saying fine, whatever.
Pops had shifted gears several times since arriving at the compound. His dumb-ass guy act didn’t last long and he wasn’t sure if it ever fooled anyone. After all, how many dumb-ass guys did the organization have? Also, after the practice run-through on the course, he suspected that he’d gained some respect from some of the men on his team. They were starting to look to him for common sense ideas.
Pops went back to his hooch and sat on his bunk in the dark. Something was bothering him about the run in with Indy and he couldn’t pu
t his finger on it. Maybe it was the fact that Indy thought that Pops had had something to do with the incident in the woods yesterday. Pops’ built-in paranoia kicked in and he reorganized his entire hooch placing his belongings in an exact pattern so he would know if anyone bothered anything when he was out. With the competition so near and Indy wanting a meeting so late, he thought it was time for some paranoia insurance. Sitting on the side of the bunk, he hung his head and put his head in his hands. He was starting to fall to sleep when Indy came back to the door, “Hey, meeting, my hooch now.” Indy walked off.
No doubt about it, Indy was making Pops uneasy, wearing him down to a few raw nerves. Plus Pops was a little pissed off anyway by Indy’s attitude to the point that he was getting nasty visions in his head about this guy. Pops picked up his weapon and quickly checked it over to make sure everything was just right. He popped it open, slipped the bolt out and checked the firing pin, checked his magazine and made sure he was carrying one in the chamber. Once the weapon was reassembled he headed to the team meeting in Indy’s hooch. The team had already gathered and was in a quiet somber mood. For some reason it felt like they were all spending their last night in state prison on death row. Pops took a quick head count and realized that Indy was nowhere in sight.
He glanced at the group and said, “Guys, come to my building when we finish here. Don’t let anyone see you and don’t say anything to that asshole Indy, okay?” Pops noted that each of the team members signified affirmative in one way or another.
Just then Indy walked in carrying four poles with red flags attached to the tops. He took a seat on the side of his bunk and said, “Well boys, I hope you’re ready because tomorrow’s the beginning of a week of hell on earth.” No one in the room said a word. Indy, paused for a minute then looked up at the team and continued, “And there will be two camps, one here at the compound and one somewhere unknown to any of the red team members. We get to stay here because we went through the course faster and we handled our loss of a team member a lot better than those blue team crybabies. I’m getting you guys up at ‘zero dark thirty’ for you military types and ‘oh shit thirty’ for you non-combat panty waists to start the competition.”
