Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

by Manda Mellett

  It’s the normal shit, the discussion just a way to pass time. I listen but don’t offer anything. My contribution would only consist of finding a place to get drunk and a willing woman or two to fuck. Slice and Buster will be visiting family, Pooh, his wife and the son he hasn’t yet seen in the flesh. Gun’s a loner like me and states he’ll just go with the flow. Tailor will be returning to his on/off girlfriend. I gather from what he’s been saying, the tumultuous relationship’s on again now.

  I listen, nodding in all the right places. I’ve no home other than the accommodation I have on base, and no family anymore. Without me there, Dad had taken up driving once more and wrapped his car around a lamppost a year back. Did I feel guilty? Hell no. He’d have done the same whether I’d been a football player or SEAL. Even Stateside, I wouldn’t have been there to chauffeur him around.

  My lack of remorse hadn’t worried me, and I hadn’t bothered to ask for leave to attend the funeral.

  Sometimes I feel adrift, having no roots, no one apart from the men around me to grieve were I to die in this forsaken desert overseas. No one, other than them, would give a fuck if I wasn’t around. My job is my life, my mistress the country which depends on me. Though sometimes I do wonder what I’m missing, as I had when I looked at the photos of his newborn son Pooh proudly showed around. Having a baby hasn’t softened him, in fact, I’d say it’s made him more determined to make the world a safer place for him and his family.

  Does having something to live for make everything more worthwhile? I can’t see that. Having a son meant fuck all to Dad. It would have been better for me if he’d never procreated. Maybe it’s best to be unencumbered with distractions or to make commitments it’s not inside me to make. The fear of exactly what I might have inherited from my sperm donor raises its head again. My other parent’s contribution wasn’t particularly admirable, she’d walked out when the going got tough.

  Conversation carries on around me, but I’ve descended into a sombre mood. With murmured ‘goodnights’ I take myself off to grab a few hours’ sleep.

  I’d been a football star at high school, my virginity lost long ago to one of the cheerleaders. What was her name? Dana? Dinah? Something like that. And while it hadn’t been my intention for it to have become a one-night stand, it had been around the time my dad had lost his licence to drive and I had gained mine. The threat that he’d kick me out if I didn’t toe the line curtailed my social life so he could have his. I’d made the sacrifice, driven by the fear of not being able to complete the education I needed to become a SEAL if I was made homeless.

  Maybe I’d have run from a relationship anyway. Maybe my frustration with him had been tinged with relief. What did I know about women? The only female who’d been in my life had been my mother, and she hadn’t cared enough to stick around or even stay in touch. Now, at thirty years old, I think I’ve got so set in my ways, I’d find it hard to share a home with anyone.

  Of course I’m a sexual beast and my urges don’t go unsatisfied. I’ve fucked, tens, probably hundreds of women. Though I might not have gotten close enough to anyone to admit I’m a SEAL, the fact I’ve got a Navy uniform is enough to get many a female into bed. I don’t see the harm in it as long as I make the expectations clear from the start. It’s more a rest from my hand for the night which is damn all I get when I’m on a tour.

  But Pooh’s rightful excitement at seeing his family makes my future seem lonely. In the darkness, I shake my head. I probably wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if I found one—apart from the obvious that is.

  As I lay my head on the pillow, I don’t dwell on the mission ahead or in wondering what I’ll do with my time on leave. Instead, I switch off fast. Like many enlisted men, I’ve learned to take the opportunity of downtime when it occurs. My thoughts never keep me awake for long.

  The next morning I awake one hundred percent focused on the task ahead, attending our final briefing just to hear a confirmation of what we already know.

  Instead of training the indigenous forces, today we’ve got an op of our own. I can already feel the excitement churning inside me. Seated around the table in a makeshift conference room, we go over the plan one more time.

  I may not have a lot of time for Lieutenant Commander Smythe, but I do pay attention. The town we’re heading for was once slap-bang in the middle of the war zone. There’s barely a building left standing, all residents moved out long ago. But satellite images have shown activity in a broken-down warehouse that once stood proud.

  While the area has been relatively quiet, trucks have been coming in under the cover of darkness and dropping off loads. Advance intel from one of the local forces is the deliveries have consisted of weapons, explosives and mines. We can’t know what they intend to be used for, but something definitely is planned. Our op is to get in and blow that damn armoury up before the Taliban have a chance to plant said mines and take a chunk of our force out.

  Any tangos we find will be interrogated and hopefully provide the explanation for the build-up of what’s supposed to be an impressive-sized munitions dump. That’s the reason we’re not just launching a ballistic missile and taking the whole thing out.

  “We’ll go in at 2300 hours. I’ll stay in the bird and monitor operations. You’ll rappel down, landing on the roof, here.” Smythe points to a diagram.

  “Stormy. You and Pooh will make your way down to what we’ve been told is the store.” Smythe indicates it out. “That’s our target, the munitions. Pooh, you cover Stormy while he’s setting the explosives. You’ve got twenty minutes, no more, okay? This is a quick in and out.”

  I raise my chin. Nothing unusual.

  “You want me to do an inventory so we know what they have stored there?”

  “No point,” Smythe replies. “Just blow the fucking thing up.”

  I suppress rolling my eyes. If we knew exactly what they’d gathered it could provide intel as to what they’re planning. But Smythe’s got his orders—blow the darn thing up. Sometimes I wonder whether he’s even got a brain.

  The man himself is continuing, “Tailor, Slice. You’ll give cover to Stormy and Pooh. Make sure they have a clear route out of there. Gun, Buster, you’re to go through floor by floor and take out or preferably capture any tangos. We want at least one alive, okay? Everyone, keep your eyes open, that building’s already unstable.”

  I think we’ve all got it now, but Smythe wants us to have it memorised word for word. I focus on him, but in my mind, I’m already going over how I’ll be playing my part, and precisely what explosives I’ll need to take with me.

  “At 23:20, the bird will return for you. At 23:21 I’ll be pressing that detonator, so make sure you’re all clear.” Smythe finishes up. “Any questions?”

  We have none. It’s straightforward enough, the unknowns being how many tangos we’ll encounter. I’ll be relying on Tailor, Gun, Slice and Buster to clear my path and allow me the space to do my job. Pooh raises his chin at me and gives a slight nod. It’s far from the first time we’ve worked together.

  I’m more than happy to blow that place sky-high, particularly knowing I’ll be obliterating hated mines. I’ve seen only too often what they can do to a body, civilian or soldier alike.

  Meeting adjourned, we start to prepare, equipping ourselves with all the best in technology Uncle Sam can supply. Even after all these years, this moment makes me proud to be part of the US military.

  While flying in any type of aircraft is not my favourite pastime, jumping out is actually the part I don’t mind. Flying means I need to trust in the pilot’s expertise, when parachuting, or as today, rappelling down, the control is all mine. All my nerves flee as the target comes into sight, and the countdown to exit begins.

  “Go!”

  I don’t hesitate when it’s my turn. Anticipation, the thrill I live for fills me as the wind rushes past. Landing within seconds, I tilt my head, letting go of the tether and listening for sounds as my five teammates land around me. Above us
, the helicopter lifts away, flying off to a safe distance.

  As the sounds of the rotating blades fade, using gestures clearly seen via our night goggles, we begin to spread out. Pooh and I follow Tailor and Slice to the stairwell, our task to descend as fast as we can, our two companions clearing the way in front of us. Above me, I can hear Gun and Buster beginning their search on each of the floors.

  Tailor pauses. Tango ahead, he signals. His M4A1 leads the way, a burst of fire taking the tango down. No chance to take a prisoner here, it was kill or be killed instead.

  We descend floor by floor. Just one more to go, and I’m feeling twitchy, expecting to have found more human obstacles in our way. It’s too quiet. There’s only the occasional burst of gunfire above me. We soon reach the basement where the weapons are stored.

  Tailor’s voice sounds through my headphones, mimicking my concern. “It’s too fuckin’ quiet. But do what you have to do, we’ll watch your backs.”

  Pooh’s already doing his task. He’s completed one circuit, checking for anyone hidden. He opens his mic. “No one here. No other entrances or exits. We’ll be okay here, Tail.”

  Tailor’s eyes find mine. It’s so damn empty it feels like a trap, but Pooh appears to be right. So I give him a sharp nod, then he and Slice disappear the same way we’d arrived.

  Wasting no time, I set about placing the explosives while Pooh busies himself opening boxes and crates. I grin. Guess he had the sense to do a quick inventory after all. When they blow up, Smythe won’t know they were closed or open. Through my headphones I can hear repeated calls of all clear.

  Turning off my mic, I say to Pooh, “I hope they leave someone alive. Else we’ll have no one to question.”

  No one would criticise anyone for shooting back if they were in the line of fire, but there has to be one who’ll surrender rather than die.

  “Three dead tangos,” I hear Tailor report. “No one still breathing.”

  “Shit.” Smythe’s plans have gone out the window and he doesn’t sound happy. “Sitrep, Stormy.”

  “Setting the explosives now,” I say through my now open mic.

  Pooh motions me over. Like I did just now, he cuts off the comms for a moment. “I don’t fuckin’ like this. Under these guns is straw. The mines too. This isn’t some large armoury, there’s hardly any shit here at all.”

  I grimace and speak quietly as I give Smythe the update. “Got a few mines. Nothing of the amount we were led to believe.”

  After a moment, there’s a sharply drawn in breath. “You’re not there to do a fucking inventory.”

  “Kind of hard to miss.” Pooh shakes his head at me, making me grin.

  Smythe’s unable to argue. Tailor comes back with an explanation, and it’s one none of us like. “Fuck. They might have already planted them. Or moved them on.”

  “Not for us to worry about. Complete the mission,” Smythe says. “Set the explosive.”

  “Copy that.”

  “We could leave it,” Tailor resists. “Stay here and watch for anyone coming back.”

  “Our mission is to destroy whatever there is.” Smythe is adamant.

  Smythe’s reply makes me roll my eyes. I’m with Tailor, something’s off.

  “The bird’s returning. You’ve got five minutes to get yourselves back to the roof,” Smythe reminds us.

  “Copy that,” Tailor resignedly confirms.

  Having no option, I set the explosive and arm it. The control is up with Smythe who’ll set off the detonation remotely.

  “Over here,” Pooh says quietly, waving me too him. He’s just moved a box and has found a trap door.

  Signalling I’ll take the lead, I sink down, listening carefully but I can hear no sounds from below. My arm reaches forward, pulling the ring to lift it up. Pulling open the door, I duck back for cover as soon as it’s wide. Pooh’s gun appears over my shoulder, but our night vision goggles reveal nothing inside.

  Still hypervigilant, I drop through, my SIG Sauer P226 held at the ready as I scan my surroundings. It’s basically a single room with an alcove off to one side. I step forward to the small opening. Perhaps here’s where I’ll find the real store of weapons. I start to approach the alcove when I hear a low childlike cry which is immediately cut off.

  “Trap,” Pooh says quietly. “Gotta be, man.”

  Could it be? It could be a recording left playing, but is the doubt I feel worth it? “I’m going to check it out.”

  “Storm—”

  “Head for the extraction point, I’ll catch up.”

  “Fuck that. You’re staying to check, you need someone to watch your back.”

  I’ve still got an open mic and my words weren’t heard by Pooh alone. “Stormy, Pooh, get back here now. Tailor, Slice, Buster and Gun are waiting to leave.” Smythe sounds impatient. “That’s an order, Stormy. The bird’s on its way to pick you up. Soon as it’s here, we’re taking off.”

  Mentally, I flip him off. It may be nothing, but I’m not leaving here without investigating the sound. When this place blows, it will take most, if not all, of this warehouse. There could be someone here that we could question.

  “We got another escape route?” Pooh asks.

  “One floor up at ground level. You should be able to get out.” It’s dependable Tailor who’s clearly consulting the plans.

  I hear Smythe start to protest, but I ignore him.

  “We’ve got two minutes,” Pooh tells me. “Let’s do this.”

  Signalling to Pooh to be quiet, I listen again, then step in the direction I’d heard the sound. The back of the alcove is piled with rubbish. With Pooh aiming directly inside, I start clearing that shit out.

  “Get back here now.” Smythe’s angry voice sounds in my ear. “Repeat. Stormy, leave it the fuck alone. You and Pooh get your asses up top.”

  Though no one can see, I feel my eyes roll. There’s nothing to stop us delaying the explosion until we’re certain there’s no one here. But that’s Smythe. His explosion will go off at the allotted time, even if we haven’t fully completed the mission. He’ll proudly state the time in his report.

  “We’ve got this. We’ll take the street exit.” I catch Pooh’s eye and see him give me a sharp nod. He’s a good man. If he thought I was wrong, he’d argue, but it’s clear he doesn’t.

  I move planks, rubble, sacks and then… Oh fuck. There, squeezed inside and tightly bound on the floor, are two girls. One appears to be in her late teens, another, a child possibly young enough to be her daughter.

  At that moment, I think I know what this is. A setup, an elaborate hit. Just a few mines and guns left to draw us in, to carry out a death sentence on these girls. Instantly, I wonder why they’re important.

  “Abort the mission,” I say fast into my mic. “I’ve got two girls.”

  “Locals or ours?”

  “Locals,” I confirm.

  “Leave them. Get out of there, Storm.”

  “Fuck that,” I reply.

  Pooh’s already got his knife out and is undoing the ropes that have them bound.

  “It’s likely a fucking trap. They’ve probably got explosives strapped to them or a grenade hidden in their clothes. You’ve got no time to search them. Get the fuck out!” Smythe’s ranting.

  But Pooh’s got them free. He motions to me, indicating he’s checked and there’s nothing on them. Like me, he can’t leave them to die.

  We’ve got no time to argue, no time to explain. I scoop the youngster up into my arms throwing just one sentence back at the older girl. “It’s dangerous,” I tell her in her own language. “We’ve got to get out of here now.”

  My sense of urgency gets through to her.

  I ascend the stairs, the crying kid in my arms. The teenager is right behind me, followed by Pooh.

  “Stormy,” the voice in my ear growls.

  “Give us time to get free.”

  “They’ll slow you down. Leave them. Get out of their now. We’ve got reports of tangos. The bir
d has to lift off. You want to lose your whole fucking team?”

  I don’t, but escape is only seconds away.

  “I’m detonating now,” Smythe warns me.

  “For fuck’s sake, give us two minutes.” It’s all we need.

  I spy the door to the street. Carrying my burden, I run as fast as I’ve ever run in my life, kicking the door open and exiting. We’re not clear yet, that building’s going to blow sky-high. I know, I set the fucking explosive and I don’t fuck up.

  “One minute. We’ve got incoming fire.”

  I heard the shot. It sounded like a pistol rather than a rifle, but I can hear the jitters in Smythe’s voice.

  One minute should get us clear. I don’t look around, just register the two pairs of feet running behind, then the cry followed by Pooh’s voice.

  “Come on, love. Get to your feet.”

  She won’t understand him, but the tone is calming and gentle. Looking back, I see him trying to help the teenager up.

  “One more minute, Smythe.” But he doesn’t acknowledge he’s heard me.

  Pooh sweeps the teenager into his arms, then runs as though the Devil himself is chasing him.

  A loud blast, the heat of which I feel on my back, sweeps me off of my feet. I roll, protecting the kid I’m holding, glancing back in time to see the older girl sailing through the air as Pooh has thrown her. She gets to her feet and starts running again, collapsing next to us.

  Pooh. Fuck it. Pooh. Pooh, unlike the girl, isn’t moving. He’d taken the brunt of the blast, a block of masonry lying next to him.

  “Pooh’s down. We need a combat medic here fast.”

  “We’ll send a team back for you.” Smythe’s voice is uncannily calm as I hear the rotors of the helicopter flying away. “Watch your back, tangos might be approaching.”

  4

  Swift…

  “Any news?” Pip stands as I enter the clubroom.