Dead Six

by Larry Correia; Mike Kupari

  “Saradia,” Hudson corrected as he flopped onto the couch. “Say it with me. Saw-radia.”

  “Sara-Dia!” Tailor exclaimed, needlessly accentuating his twang.

  “Now you’re just messing with me,” Hudson muttered.

  “What?” Tailor asked. “Sara-Dia.”

  “Hell, I can’t tell if you’re Southern or handicapped,” Wheeler said. “But I repeat myself.”

  We were becoming a tight crew. One of the things I’d missed after leaving Vanguard was the camaraderie. It was good to have the R&R time together. Too bad it was temporary.

  One of the colonel’s security men appeared in the doorway. “Tailor, Valentine, Mr. Willis needs to speak to you right away.” He didn’t even wait for the response.

  Tailor groaned. “Oh, what now?”

  “Come on, man.” I headed for the door. “This is why we’re paid the medium bucks.”

  “I’m management. I should be getting bigger bucks.” Tailor reluctantly followed. He stopped at the doorway to shout at Hudson and Wheeler. “Sara-Dia!” Then he ducked around the corner as Wheeler chucked an orange Fanta can at him.

  The two of us headed across the courtyard. Tailor seemed to be in a better than normal mood, but shooting people in third-world nations was his element. “How’s Sarah doing?”

  “She’s good,” I replied, suspicious. “Why?”

  “I bet,” he said, smirking. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Val, I know you two are getting it on. She jumped your bones in the safe house, didn’t she?”

  I chuckled. “As a matter of fact—”

  Tailor laughed. “I hope you at least turned the couch cushions over.” I felt my face flush, and Tailor laughed at me again. “It’s about time, anyway. That girl’s been after you since the day you met.”

  “This whole thing is insane,” I said. “I mean, it’s intense. I feel like a teenager. I don’t know how it’s going to work out, but—”

  “Goddamn it Val, there you go again!” Tailor said, interrupting me. “Quit overthinking it! You always spaz out and scare the girl off.”

  “When did I ever,” I began.

  Tailor interrupted me again. “Remember Teresa?”

  “Oh . . . right,” I said.

  “I’m always right,” Tailor insisted. I was dubious about that claim, but in this instance he was. Teresa had been a medical assistant with Vanguard, and she was the last woman I’d almost had a relationship with. I more or less pushed her away. I had to give myself credit, though. I was trying really hard to avoid doing the same thing to Sarah. “I’m serious. Stop being such a big spaz-girl. I can’t have you worrying about some bullshit angst when we’re out in the field.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. Tailor doused his cigarette as we entered the building. Gordon Willis and Colonel Hunter were waiting for us in the classroom.

  Gordon greeted us enthusiastically. As always, he was wearing a suit. Anders was there also, leaning against the back wall, looking bored. “Mr. Tailor! Mr. Valentine!” Gordon said, vigorously shaking our hands. “Great to see you boys again. Damn fine work you’re doing out there. Your hit on the terrorist recruitment house went off without a hitch. Now, our Zubaran counterparts were pissed that you caused so much collateral damage.” Gordon leaned in closer and theatrically lowered his voice. “Off the record, boys, I don’t give a shit about that. I’m glad to see you mopping the floor with hajji.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tailor said. “You sure as hell gave a shit last time.”

  “I see where you’re coming from, Mr. Tailor. Last time there was some concern that making too big of a splash too soon would cause some of our known targets to go to ground. We were able to keep things under control, and that didn’t happen. The plan now is to kick it in high gear, keep hammering the enemy, so they don’t have any safe places to hide.”

  Tailor and I looked at each other. I could tell Tailor wanted to get in Gordon’s face, but I shook my head ever so slightly. He just frowned and sat down.

  “Have you had a chance to look over your mission packets?” Gordon asked as I took my seat. We hadn’t. “Well, I guess that’s why we’re having this briefing, isn’t it?” Gordon said, laughing at his own joke. Tailor and I ignored him and opened our packets. “As you can see, gentlemen,” Gordon continued, “we don’t have a lot of information on the next target. His name is Adar. We believe that he is originally from Saudi Arabia. We don’t know if Adar is his real name. We also suspect that he has ties to the Saudi government, but we’re not sure what those ties are.”

  I looked through my packet as Gordon talked. This guy had spent years running all over Southwest Asia killing American and British soldiers. There was only one photograph, and it was taken from far away. He was a pretty nondescript looking guy, with short hair and a trimmed mustache. He was braced against the cinder block wall, looking out a window, carrying a Russian SVU bullpup sniper rifle affixed with a sound suppressor.

  “I’ve heard of this guy,” Tailor said. “Read about him on the Net. They say he’s killed over a hundred Americans. The army thinks he’s a myth, nothing but terrorist propaganda.”

  “If only that were the case,” Gordon said, doing a very good job of feigning sincerity. “Adar is quite real, and that number is probably accurate. We don’t know who he really is, who he works for, or who trained him, but he’s a definite threat. Eliminating him will help me prove to my superiors that Project Heartbreaker is a worthwhile cause.”

  “So we’ve been able to track him down, then?” I asked.

  “Exactly!” Gordon said, sounding upbeat. “He keeps a home in Zubara, in the village of Umm Bab, near the Saudi border.”

  “So, the US has been trying to find this guy for years, but all of a sudden we find out where he lives? How do we know this information is good?” I asked.

  Gordon didn’t bat an eye. “Twenty-four hours ago, we intercepted an e-mail from Adar. He’s returning to Zubara and will be staying at his house here. However, if it turns out Adar isn’t there, we’ll just cancel the operation and go back to square one. If the information proves to be accurate, you two are going to go in and kill Adar.”

  “What? Just the two of us again? What about Hudson and Wheeler? They were assigned to me.” Tailor was visibly agitated now.

  “The operational plan calls for two shooters, Mr. Tailor,” Gordon said dismissively. “I wasn’t able to get clearance for any more than that.”

  “Shouldn’t this get the priority?” I asked. “I mean, we need to get this guy, right?”

  “I’m going to level with you boys,” Gordon said, leaning in closer. “My superiors don’t consider Adar a priority target. Eliminating him is a way of garnering more support for Project Heartbreaker, especially from people in the Pentagon. I was able to get approval for this operation, but you two are the only ones I was able to commandeer, if you will, to do the job. People in my chain of command have security concerns. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but . . . well, let’s just say that this operation will be a little unorthodox.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think. Gordon sounded sincere, but he always sounded sincere. Adar certainly was a worthy enough target; I’d heard of him too. I sure as hell didn’t like the sound of unorthodox though. “It’s not that killing Adar isn’t worthwhile, sir,” I said cautiously. “It’s just . . . look, we almost got killed on our first mission because we were outnumbered. If we’d had Hudson and Wheeler with us, the complications would’ve been avoided entirely. Because there were just the two of us, we had to improvise.”

  “And you lost one of my trucks,” Hunter growled, speaking for the first time.

  “Exactly,” I said. “With more eyes on the target, more shooters, we could’ve wiped out all of Al Falah’s bodyguards in a less than a minute. As it was . . . well, things went to shit.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, Mr. Valentine,” Gordon said, looking me in the eye. “I don’t like having to take risks like this. But it needs t
o be done. This Adar has killed over a hundred American soldiers. Let’s get this guy. Can I count on you boys?”

  Tailor and I looked at each other again. “We’ll get the job done, sir,” Tailor said.

  “Great!” Gordon said, slapping me on the shoulder. I winced as pain shot through my arm; he managed to hit me right where the bandage was. “You boys go ahead and look over those mission packets. There’s a lot of information in there. I’ll be contacting you as soon as we have confirmation that our target is on the ground.” Gordon’s cell phone began to ring. “Excuse me,” he said, answering it. He left the room with his phone in his ear and Anders in tow.

  We waited until we heard the outside door close. “Colonel, you didn’t buy any of that horseshit, did you?” Tailor asked. “Isn’t there some way we can get more guys for this?”

  Hunter’s face was a mask. “I’m afraid not, son,” he said, turning to leave. “It’s not my decision. Wheeler and Hudson will be staying here. You boys relax now, but stay sharp. And don’t discuss this with anyone, not even your teammates. You won’t get much notice for this one. Don’t leave the compound.” With that, Hunter left the room, leaving Tailor and me alone.

  Chapter 7:

  Black Helicopters

  VALENTINE

  Fort Saradia National Historical Site

  April 15

  1700

  Colonel Hunter and Sarah were waiting for us in the classroom. One of Hunter’s security men had come looking for us in the chow hall and ordered us to go in for a briefing.

  “Gentlemen, I’m glad you made it,” Hunter said, sounding slightly agitated. “I know this is short notice, but you two are rolling out tonight. We believe our target has returned to his compound.” Sarah handed each of us a fat new mission packet, full of maps and photographs.

  Tailor and I sat down in the classroom, opening our packets as we did so. “Has this Adar guy come back, then, Colonel?” I asked.

  “We believe so,” Hunter said. He clicked his laptop and a video appeared on the big screen at the front of the room. It was footage from a thermal camera, taken from an aircraft. A pair of SUVs could be seen rolling into a compound. Eight people got out after they stopped.

  “This is Adar’s place in the village of Umm Bab. It’s about fifty kilometers southwest of here. This video was taken fourteen hours ago.”

  “Wait, what’s that?” Tailor said, pointing at the screen. Hunter replayed the segment of the video. It appeared that one of the people was being dragged into the house, struggling.

  “We don’t know,” Hunter said bluntly. “Our boy has an ugly reputation. That individual could likely be his next victim. That’s not our problem.”

  “Where did we get this video?” I asked. “Do we have a drone out there?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said from the back of the room. “Our, um, support network was able to acquire several UAVs for us.”

  “We’ve had UAVs watching Adar’s compound since Gordon came and talked to you boys,” Hunter said. “Nothing’s come up until today. No one has left the compound since this was filmed. You’ll be rolling out shortly. Gordon wanted to move sooner, but I told him I wasn’t going to try this in broad daylight. You’ll have the cover of darkness at least.”

  “Wait, how do we know that Adar’s there, then?” I asked. “Did someone on the ground ID him? Are we just going by this footage?”

  Hunter and Sarah exchanged a glance. Hunter then came around the table and leaned against it. He looked tired. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Look, boys, I’m not any happier about this than you are. Frankly, I think this whole mission is bullshit. I told Gordon I don’t want my men risking their lives on his pet projects when we’re running with a skeleton crew to begin with. I was overruled on this one.”

  “Is there any way we can get more guys, Colonel?” Tailor asked.

  “No, Mr. Tailor, there isn’t,” Hunter replied.

  “So how are we going to get there?”

  “A truck will be waiting for you by the gate,” Hunter said. “First you’ll need to go to supply. Get your gear and draw your weapons before you get on that truck.”

  “Wait, we’re going to just drive there?” Tailor asked incredulously.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Tailor,” Hunter said dismissively. “Your transportation needs will be taken care of. The organization that has oversight of our little mission has a few assets. Everything else you need to know is in your packets, including aerial photos of the target compound. You’ll need to plan your operation while en route.”

  “What? Colonel,” I began.

  Hunter cut me off. “This is not a democracy, Mr. Valentine!” he barked. “Now get your ass to supply and get kitted up! Move out!” Tailor and I looked at each other, and stood up. Sarah gave me a worried glance as we left the classroom.

  VALENTINE

  Confederated Gulf Emirate of Zubara

  April 15

  2045

  “Control, Nightcrawler, radio check,” I said, squeezing the transmit button on my headset.

  “Read you loud and clear, Nightcrawler,” Sarah replied, all business.

  “Alright, let’s go over this one more time,” Tailor said, concentrating on one of the aerial pictures of Adar’s compound. We were in the back of a large, windowless van driven by Hunter’s man, Conrad. He ignored us as we talked. The interior of the van was lit by a red light. “We’ll use the assault ladder to hop the wall here,” he said, pointing a gloved finger at a spot on the picture.

  “Right,” I said. “We’ll come down behind the shed, here, and stash the ladder there.”

  “We then move across the compound to the back door, here,” Tailor continued.

  “Then we enter and clear. As if it’s going to be that simple.”

  “It is that simple. Doing that without getting killed is the hard part.”

  I leaned in close to Tailor so that Conrad couldn’t hear me. “This whole thing is screwed up, dude. We’re going to clear a house that we know has eight people in it, with just the two of us. We don’t know the interior layout. We don’t know their security measures. All we know is that one or two guys patrol the yard every half hour or so.”

  “What I want to know is how we’re supposed to get close to the place by just driving up to it,” Tailor said. He had a point. The compound was in the middle of the village of Umm Bab. “Too much risk of being seen. Small town like that won’t have much traffic at night.”

  “Well, why don’t we ask him, then?” I suggested, nodding my head toward our driver.

  “What the hell, why not?” Tailor agreed. “Hey, buddy?” he said, moving to the front of the van and tapping the driver on the shoulder.

  “What is it?” Conrad said, seemingly irritated that we were talking to him.

  “How the fuck do you intend to get us to that compound without getting our asses shot off?”

  “Yeah,” I said, chiming in, “what are we going to do, just drive up to the front gate and hop over it with this gay little ladder they gave us?”

  Conrad was visibly annoyed now. “I’m not driving you to the target,” he answered curtly. “I don’t even know where it is. I don’t know what your objective is. I had no idea it was a ‘compound’ until you two idiots told me. I’m just dropping you off at a predetermined location. Someone else is taking it from there.”

  “Wait, what?” I asked. “Where are we going from there?”

  Conrad sighed. “Again, guys, I don’t know. I don’t need to know. I’m just the driver, okay?” He spoke to us like an elementary school teacher lecturing his class. “Maybe you two should just concentrate on whatever it is you’re doing back there and let me drive.”

  “Listen, asshole,” Tailor said, his eyes narrowing. Before he could say anything else I put my hand on his shoulder and shook my head. He plopped back down to his seat, flipping Conrad the bird as he did so. “Pissed me off,” Tailor muttered as he picked up his packet again.

  I leaned bac
k against the wall, rubbing my eyes. We’d been driving for over an hour, and I had no idea where we were. They hadn’t issued us much in the way of equipment, either. We were each given a set of fatigues, in the blotchy A-TACS pattern, and body-armor vests. We wore night-vision goggles up on our heads. The goggles themselves were state of the art and were lighter than any kind I’d used before.

  Another piece of equipment I’d never used before was the strange weapon in my hands. “What the hell is this thing?” Tailor asked, as if he’d read my mind. We’d each been issued a weird, boxy little .45-caliber submachine gun with a folding stock and a fat suppressor on the end.

  “It’s a KRISS Vector,” I said after a moment. “I read about these in a gun rag. They came out a few years ago.” Each of our weapons was painted to match our fatigues and was topped with a holographic sight.

  We carried the rest of our gear in pouches on our vests. Tailor had been issued some kind of tactical PDA with a GPS locator built into it. It had the coordinates preprogrammed, as well as a bunch of mission-specific information. I wondered why in the hell they didn’t just give us that in the first place instead of bothering to print out the mission packets. My .44 was on my left thigh. I had a feeling I was going to need some luck tonight.

  After a seemingly endless drive, the van rolled to a stop. “We’re here,” Conrad said, looking at us in his rearview mirror. “This is where you two get off. Leave your mission packets in the van.” Tailor opened the back doors and climbed out.

  “Where are we?” I asked, stepping out after him, slinging the folded assault ladder over my shoulder. The van had pulled off to the side of a long dirt road that cut through the desert. Far off in the distance, I could see the amber glow of Zubara City. The moon wasn’t out yet, and the stars were bright overhead.

  Conrad shut the van’s engine off and killed the headlights. Suddenly it was dead quiet; nothing could be heard except the faint sound of the wind and the rustling of our equipment.