Warning Order: A Search and Destroy Thriller

by Joshua Hood

  He lay panting on the wooden floor, fighting to catch his breath.

  “Fuck, I’m getting to old for this,” he moaned

  He ripped the empty mag from the HK and pounded a fresh one into the rifle. Mason was just dropping the bolt when something hit him hard on the top of the helmet.

  CHAPTER 59

  * * *

  Renee, running across the tarmac with the rest of the paratroopers, took a knee behind a burned-out hulk that had once been a Humvee. Muzzle flashes were winking off to her right, and she brought up her rifle, searching for a target.

  A man ran out into the open with an RPG, and she centered the reticle on his head and pulled the trigger. The round broke clean and blasted through his skull, sending him sprawling on the ground. Another jihadist was maneuvering to her left, and she transitioned smoothly onto his chest and dropped him with a double tap.

  Beside her, the 240 gunner slapped a fresh belt into the machine gun. He followed Renee as she crept around what was left of the Humvee. One of the paratroopers nearby dropped to a knee and shouldered an AT-4.

  “Back blast area clear,” he yelled before firing the rocket into a sandbagged position fifteen feet in front of him.

  The rocket shot from the launcher and detonated before he even had time to throw the empty AT-4 to the ground.

  “Fuck yeah,” someone yelled as another 240 opened up on the flank.

  “On line. On line,” the team leader commanded as more paratroopers flooded onto the tarmac, looking for cover while a squad laid down a base of fire.

  “What’s your name, kid?” she asked the gunner who was stuck to her hip.

  “Darren,” he replied.

  “Okay, Darren, you need to get that gun up.”

  “Just looking for a spot,” he said with a grin.

  Renee dropped the mag from her rifle, quickly slammed a fresh one into the mag well, and scanned the area for any threats. She saw a low concrete wall next to a group of cars, a few meters to their right, and motioned for Darren to follow.

  A fighter suddenly emerged from a spider hole dug in the dirt ahead of her, but Renee was on the trigger without ever breaking stride. She could see similar positions in a neat row just ahead, and she swung out wide to cover them as they moved.

  She held up her hand, telling Darren to stop. Ripping a frag off her kit, she lobbed it into the next hole. The jihadist hiding inside yelped in surprise, but the grenade drowned it out with a deafening explosion.

  They reached the wall without further incident. Darren laid his gun across the top and unleashed a long burst into the enemy’s flank.

  Renee saw a hint of movement to her right and whirled to engage. Her finger was on the trigger when she recognized Zeus running for one of the sedans.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, a feeling of relief washing over her.

  “Mason went after al Qatar,” he huffed, throwing his rifle into the first car he came to.

  “Why didn’t you go with him?”

  “There’s a fucking sniper up there,” he said, pointing to the building from which he had just taken fire.

  “That’s Warchild’s position,” she said in disbelief.

  “Yeah, I fucking figured that out. Are you coming or not?”

  Warchild’s voice came over Zeus’s radio. “Variable 1, this is Savage 7. I have two vehicles moving north and request immediate intercept.”

  “What channel is that?” she demanded.

  “Air to ground, why?”

  “Because I think Warchild is about to call an airstrike on Mason.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Just go. I’ve got this,” she ordered before sprinting off toward the building.

  She quickly found the door and yanked it open. In short order, Renee located a flight of metal stairs leading up to the second floor. She placed her foot on the first step carefully and made her way slowly to the top.

  “Roger that, Variable, they are headed north.” Warchild’s voice echoed above her.

  “Stand the fuck down,” Renee yelled, coming up on the landing where the two men stood, staring out the opening.

  “Well, look who it is,” Warchild sneered, ignoring the rifle pointed at him.

  “Roger that, Savage 7, stand by while we locate,” the radio blared.

  “Get out of the way, Parker,” she said, raising her rifle.

  “I can’t do that,” he said. “If they blow the dam, we’re all dead.”

  “Parker, get out of the way,” she repeated, edging forward to get a better angle on Warchild.

  “Shoot the bitch,” Warchild said, checking the GPS unit strapped to his wrist.

  “Renee, this is way above your pay grade. Just turn around and go,” Parker said, moving in front of Warchild to block her shot.

  “Why are you protecting him?” she asked, lowering the rifle as Parker’s hand slid slowly to his pistol.

  “We have orders, Renee, and I can’t let you get in the way. Not this time.”

  “For chrissake,” Warchild said irritably, “can you just kill her so we can get on with this?”

  “Dude, chill the fuck out,” Parker said, his pistol creeping out of its holster, while Renee kept her rifle trained on Warchild.

  “No, you chill out. I don’t know why you are so hung up on this bitch, but it’s time for you to choose,” he said, shoving Parker forward.

  Renee reacted without thinking, and as Parker’s pistol flashed up, she fired two quick shots into the center of his chest.

  “Damn, you shot him,” Warchild exclaimed. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Oh, no,” Renee said, Parker’s eyes opening wide with surprise. His mouth formed a small O as he fell to his knees. She dropped her rifle, reaching out for him. At the same time, Warchild raised his pistol and pointed it at her face.

  “Guess you chose for him.”

  CHAPTER 60

  * * *

  Mason heard Warchild scramble the jets to his location at the same moment an unknown assailant grabbed his helmet and began twisting. He aimed the HK over his head and managed to pull the trigger before it was kicked out of his hand.

  The rifle went off with a tsk, and he heard glass shatter. Without warning, the truck lurched suddenly to the right. He felt the sling slip over his head and the rifle clatter away. Luckily, the grip on his helmet relaxed for a brief second.

  Mason scrambled onto his stomach and the fighter kicked at his face, forcing him to roll out of the way. His shoulder slammed hard into the shells stacked along the middle of the cargo bed. The man stepped forward, trying to stomp on his face.

  The American jerked his head away as the man’s boots slammed into his shoulder. Lashing out, Mason kicked the man in the back of the knee, knocking him flat on his back.

  As Mason dove for him, a shot rang out from the cab of the truck. He slammed his forearm into the fighter’s throat before bringing the rim of his helmet down on the man’s nose with a sickening crunch. A spray of blood hit him in the chin, and the man tried to buck him off with his hips.

  Al Qatar yelled at the driver, and the truck swayed violently back and forth on the road. The shells rattled against one another as they shifted beneath the ratchet straps. It was obvious that he was trying to throw Mason out of the truck and, to make it worse, he heard his rifle clatter toward the edge of the bed.

  An AK punched the remaining glass out of the rear window and a burst of fire swept across the bed of the cargo truck. Mason had his back to the cab when a round crashed into the back of his kit, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

  Trying to take advantage, the fighter began scratching at his eyes. Mason slammed his elbow down on the man’s already bloody face, as splinters showered over him. One of the rounds from al Qatar snapped the fighter’s head to the side, sending a rush of gore over the front of Mason’s battle shirt. He knew the man was dead, and he lifted himself off the body as al Qatar inched into the back of the truck.

&n
bsp; “Hold it steady,” the terrorist yelled at the driver while firing toward the shells that Mason was hiding behind.

  Mason ducked down as one of the rounds sparked off the body of the massive shells.

  “You’re going kill us both,” the driver yelled, looking frantically over his shoulder.

  “Be quiet,” al Qatar snapped. Raising the Kalashnikov, he lined up the shot and pulled the trigger.

  The sturdy AK clicked on the empty chamber, and the terrorist threw it away before yanking a large knife from his belt.

  “Savage 7, be advised we are going in hot,” Mason heard the pilot say while getting to his feet.

  He tried to key the radio, but suddenly al Qatar was lunging at him with a wicked-looking knife.

  Mason’s foot got caught on the ratchet strap right when the terrorist swung the blade at his neck. He saw the blade sweeping toward his neck, and when he tried to move back, he fell. The blade cut through the commo wire, and Mason found himself flat on his back.

  Mason could see the hate in the man’s eyes as al Qatar brought the blade back down in a wide arc. Mason barely rolled free of the razor-sharp blade, which whizzed past him before cutting into the ratchet strap.

  The artillery shells shifted and the tension holding them securely to the floor was released slightly, and the strap began to snap from the pressure.

  Yanking his own knife from its scabbard, Mason got to his feet and stepped forward, his left arm moving to block al Qatar’s next blow. The outside of his forearm slammed into the man’s wrist, and when he tried to bring the blade down for a backhanded strike, Mason stepped inside his guard and sliceed his blade across the man’s stomach.

  Al Qatar yelped in pain, and Mason jabbed the blade toward his ribs, feeling the point hit bone before bouncing off.

  The terrorist bellowed in agony, and Mason pressed the attack. He used his elbow to smash al Qatar in the face. The jihadist stumbled backward before Mason’s violent onslaught, and the American was just about to drive the blade into al Qatar’s skull when the ratchet strap behind him snapped, sending the heavy shells spilling across the floor.

  CHAPTER 61

  * * *

  Oh, no,” Renee yelled, dropping her rifle as Parker fell face first onto the ground.

  “All he had to do was put a bullet in you, but he couldn’t do it,” Warchild said, pointing the gun at her face. “Since you’ve been at the task force, all you’ve done is string him along, fuck with his mind until he can’t think straight, and now look what happened,” he snarled.

  Renee sank to her knees, cradling Parker’s head.

  Warchild mashed the pistol’s barrel into her forehead and shook his head. “Real easy like, I want you to unsling that weapon and put it on the ground.”

  She didn’t have much of a choice, so she slowly followed his instructions, placing the rifle on the ground.

  Renee’s mind scrambled to figure out what had just happened. Why had Parker been protecting Warchild? None of it made any sense. She did know one thing, though: she had to keep the man talking.

  “Thought you had it all figured out, didn’t you?” Warchild taunted.

  “How ’bout you let me up, and we can figure it out together?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “It’s real simple. We needed your boy Mason to find al Qatar for us, so I told Parker to get all cozy with you and pump you for intel.”

  “Bullshit, you had plenty of time to find him yourself.”

  “That’s not the way we do it in Anvil. You should know that,” he said.

  “Savage 7, Variable 1,” the radio on his shoulder went off, drawing his attention from the task at hand.

  Knowing this could be the only opportunity she had, Renee snapped her right arm up toward the pistol, rolling to her left simultaneously. Warchild’s hand was just on the mike when the outside of her palm knocked the pistol off target and he reflexively jerked the trigger to the rear.

  The gun went off, scorching the side of her face and causing an immediate ringing in her ear. She could taste the cordite, feel the burning near her eye, as she rolled into Warchild, who slammed the butt of the pistol down onto her back. Renee felt the blow land just off the center of her spine. Trying to stay as close to Warchild as possible, she drove her shoulder up into his stomach and came awkwardly to her feet.

  Warchild tried to backhand her across the face, but she slammed her fist into his groin, causing him to double over. Renee snapped her head up toward his chin and felt his mouth slam shut with a crunch of shattered teeth.

  Bellowing in anger, he kicked her in the side of the leg. The blow landed like a swing of an ax, hitting the peroneal nerve with enough force that her lower leg immediately went numb. Renee staggered from the blow, and her leg buckled, allowing Warchild to deliver a kick to the side of her head. She managed to raise her arms in time to block the strike, but the impact knocked her across the room. Grinning, Warchild threw the pistol to the ground and brought his fists up in front of his face.

  “I’ve been dreaming about this,” he said, closing the distance between them.

  Renee scrambled to her feet. He struck her with a jab and danced around to her left before hitting her with a looping cross. Renee was having trouble standing as Warchild snapped a front kick to her face, forcing her to block low before he pivoted to hit her with a spinning back fist.

  Ducking beneath the blow, she slammed her palm into his solar plexus and tried to sweep his leg, but Warchild was able to power out of the move and slapped her disdainfully across the top of the head with an open palm.

  “C’mon, bitch, I thought you had more than that,” he jeered.

  “Come get it, motherfucker,” she panted, rapidly running out of gas.

  Warchild came toward her, bobbing side to side like a boxer looking for an opening. Knowing he had the size and strength advantage, Renee carefully stayed out of range, making him come to her. She knew that he wanted her to commit, and when he feinted another leg strike, she kept moving, refusing to give him a target.

  “I’m over this,” he said finally, planting his feet and squared his shoulders in preparation to rush her.

  Renee was out of room, caught between her attacker and the wall of the hangar. She jumped forward, snapping a kick to his head, but Warchild was already launching himself at her, his head tucked low between his shoulder blades. She braced for impact, when he suddenly tripped, his hands smacking the floor.

  Emerging from the dead, Parker had grabbed Warchild’s back leg.

  She wasted no time diving out of the way, and as she hit the deck, Warchild cursed and scrambled to his feet. Renee tucked her body, rolled onto her shoulder, and came up with the pistol he had thrown to the ground a second before. The man stopped dead in his tracks, fear replacing the cocky look he had worn a second before.

  “What the fuck are you going to do with—?”

  Renee brought the front sight up and pulled the trigger before he could finish the sentence. The Glock 23 bucked in her hand, sending two rounds smashing through his chest.

  Warchild dropped where he was standing, his face slamming into the ground, and his lifeless eyes staring up at her as she rushed over to Parker.

  “I’m done,” he said. “Get on the net and stop the strike on Mason.”

  “Was he telling the truth?” she asked, grabbing for her radio, hoping it wasn’t too late to save Mason.

  Parker’s eyes were glassy, and his skin looked pale as he struggled to take a breath. A solitary tear ran down the side of his face as he looked up at Renee, and then, ever so slowly, he nodded his head.

  CHAPTER 62

  * * *

  The shells bounced heavily across the back of the truck, and one of them caught Mason’s leg, knocking him onto his back. He rolled out of the way as the neat stack of high-explosive rounds rolled toward the cab of the truck in a clanging jumble.

  Al Qatar grabbed onto the wooden slats of the cargo bed, clawing free of the rolling projectiles as a de
ep rumble erupted above the speeding truck.

  Mason saw a spit of flame flash across the sky as the F-18 opened up with its 20 mm cannons, shredding the back of the truck and punching through the cab. The driver’s torso exploded in a pink mist and the truck jerked hard, tumbling Mason toward the open tailgate.

  His arms flailed out, trying to grab anything that would check his fall. At the last moment his fingers closed around a jagged piece of wood sticking up from the floor. Above him, the F-18’s engines roared as the pilot shot overhead and climbed into the night sky. Mason knew that its next attack would be much more deadly, and while he clung on for dear life, he managed to activate the infrared beacon attached to the left shoulder of his chest rig.

  He could feel his grip slipping as the wooden shard began tearing away from the floor. Desperately, Mason began searching for another handhold in the dark. As the truck sped blindly down the rutted road, he could hear the shells banging around near the cab. Without a doubt, he was living on borrowed time.

  Suddenly he heard the beeping of a horn. Looking behind him, he saw the wan, yellowish glow of headlights appearing out of the cloud of dust the truck was kicking up.

  A small sedan broke through the thick haze, and he could hear someone yelling at him to jump. He knew that if he couldn’t get to his feet, he was going to be run over, but he didn’t have a choice. Mason was just about to let go when he felt someone grab his wrist.

  Looking up, he saw al Qatar with the huge knife hanging above his head.

  “Now you die,” the terrorist said, bringing the blade down.

  Mason let go of his handhold. He skidded toward the bumper as the knife came down, slicing into his already wounded shoulder.

  The pain was blinding, and the knife passed through his flesh before hammering into the wooden floor with a thunk. The blade ground against his clavicle, pinning him to the floor like an insect on a corkboard. Al Qatar moved forward to stomp him in the face, while blood cascaded from the wound.