by Angus McLean
‘Thanks. Remember, stay close.’ They were just about on the alleyway now and the men up ahead were barely forty metres away. Travis paused outside a shop to look at a rack of flowery shirts, just at the mouth of the alley. ‘Nice and easy,’ he said, ‘I’ll be right behind you. Go now.’
Susie sidled past him and into the alley. As soon as she left the footpath she sprinted. Travis gave her a couple of seconds and followed, swinging the daypack off his shoulder as he began to run. He dug out the first Sig and jammed it into his waistband, slipping the pack onto his back as he tried to catch up to Susie. She wasn’t wasting any time and was several metres ahead, hair dragging in her slipstream.
He heard running feet behind them and threw a glance back-the smoker he’d spotted was after them, the smoke and phone gone now and replaced by a pistol. A tuk-tuk was entering the alley behind him. Travis focussed on getting distance, seeing Susie just about at the end of the alley now.
A van screeched to a halt across the alley in front of her and the side door slid open, revealing two Thai men. One had an SMG of some sort, the other a sawn off shotgun.
Susie skidded to a halt and started to turn, but was barely three metres from them. Both guns swung towards her. At this range they would tear her apart.
Still running full tilt, Travis swung the Sig up and thumbed the safety off. The first shot was deafeningly loud and blew out the driver’s window. The shotgunner yelped with surprise and involuntarily fired his weapon, blasting a chunk out of the alley wall beside Susie.
Travis heard her shriek and fired again, a double tap this time that took the shotgunner in the chest and knocked him backwards into the van where he hung half in and half out, the sawn off still in his hands. The driver panicked and tried to escape, but bunny-hopped and stalled the van. He looked up in terror as he cranked the ignition.
The sub-gunner seemed to be more switched on and took a crouch, bringing his gun up.
‘Down!’ Travis bellowed, diving to the dirty floor of the alley as the SMG opened up. A long burst of rounds shredded the air above him. He saw Susie hit the deck to the side and start crawling towards him. He rolled awkwardly with the daypack on and got the Sig around, coming online when another burst of rounds pinged off the ground only inches away.
He heard a shout behind him as the two men at that end came dangerously close to a blue-on-blue with the sub-gunner. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Travis unleashed a second double tap towards the sub-gunner and saw the man’s torso judder with the impacts of the heavy .357 SIG rounds. He fell sideways, dropping his weapon. The van roared to life and leaped forward out of sight, the wounded shotgunner slipping to the ground. The rear wheels of the van bounced over his legs as his driver escaped.
‘Go!’ Travis shouted, pushing up and racing towards the footpath ahead.
Susie was up and moving. A shot sounded from behind them but they ran on. The whine of an overworked tuk-tuk told them their pursuers were closing in.
Susie cut left onto the footpath and he was right behind her, ignoring the dead man-someone was already attending to him, or maybe stealing his sub-machine gun-and the screaming shotgunner as he ran past. The street was busy and bright with gaudy lights. People were flocking to the alley scene, some screaming, everyone rubber necking. They leaped out of the way as the brightly coloured tuk-tuk roared out of the alley, both gunmen aboard now.
Susie glanced back and Travis slapped her on the shoulder. ‘Keep going!’
She upped the pace, shoving past anyone who got in the way and jumping obstacles she could barely see on the ground. They heard the tuk-tuk racing up behind them and as it got close Travis grabbed Susie’s arm and jerked her backwards. They turned and cut back the other way as the tuk-tuk reached them, the gunman in the back loosing off a pair of shots from a .45. A light above them shattered in a burst of sparks and people screamed, ducking for cover.
The tuk-tuk overshot and Travis held his fire, wary of all the civilians around. They ran instead, straight across the road behind the tuk-tuk, gaining a valuable lead as the machine struggled to turn around in the traffic. The passenger jumped out and waved his pistol at motorists to force a gap, but by that time Travis and Susie were across the road and sprinting away.
The driver shouted and gunned it after them, the passenger leaping aboard as they saw their quarry reach a rank of other tuk-tuks up ahead.
The driver of the first machine saw them coming and took off in fright, immediately crashing into a passing cyclist and sending him flying.
The second driver looked at them with a sneer and put his hand out. Travis was in no mood to negotiate.
‘Gimme your wheels,’ he shouted.
The driver shook his head and lifted his shirt to show the handle of a dagger tucked there. Travis slammed a fist into his face and knocked him sideways out of the tuk-tuk.
Susie jumped in the back and he fired it up, taking off with a screech of tyres. The wounded tuk-tuk driver behind them stood in the roadway, shouting and swearing until the gunmen came racing past and clipped him with a wing mirror, spinning him off to the side again.
Travis kept the revs up, weaving as best he could through the traffic, completely disoriented now. With no idea where they were he figured the best plan was simply to get distance. He hunched over the handlebars of the little machine.
‘Does that make it go faster?’ Susie queried from behind him.
‘Aerodynamics,’ he shouted back,’ so you should probably keep your mouth closed.’
Her retort was lost in the sound of a shot careening off the steel body.
‘Get your head down and get that gun outta the bag!’ Travis shouted.
Susie ripped the zip of his bag open and searched around, hanging on for dear life as the little machine swayed and bumped. Travis braked hard and cursed, swerving around a motorist who had pulled out blindly. Susie hung onto his daypack, narrowly saving herself a spill out the side, and her fingers finally found the second Sig. She pulled it clear and shoved the holster back into the bag, taking the spare magazine that was with it and securing the bag again. The way her partner was driving he was likely to lose everything out of it.
Travis concentrated on the road ahead, which seemed to contain the entire population of the city and go forever. The enemy’s tuk-tuk was staying right behind him and he guessed they were probably standard machines with similar performance abilities-the chance of outrunning one was minimal. Plus the enemy obviously had local knowledge.
In the wing mirror he could see the passenger in the back leaning out the side with a pistol in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
‘Back up,’ Travis muttered to himself. Sooner or later they were going to be outnumbered.
A shot boomed out from behind and shattered the taillight of the car Travis was undercutting. The car swerved left and Travis jerked the handlebars the same way to avoid a collision. He mounted the footpath and clipped a fruit stand, scattering produce everywhere. The enemy tracked him on the road, a second shot booming out and flying between them.
‘Jesus fucken son of a bitch!’ Susie yelled, grabbing the side for support as she slid across the hard plastic seat.
‘Well said.’ Up ahead Travis could see there was a small van pulled partially across the footpath, with a couple of men dismantling a stall of some sort and loading it in the back. The footpath was blocked by boxes and the top of a trestle table. ‘Hold on!’
The two guys dropped their boxes and dived to the side as the tuk-tuk reached them. The front wheel hit the first box and there was a sickening lurch then a blessed lift as the wheel became airborne. The tuk-tuk leaped the obstacle and they both left their seats, slamming their heads into the plastic roof. It landed with a bone-shaking thud that threw Susie forward into Travis’ back. She hit the floor in a tumble and grabbed for a hold, her feet bouncing off the ground for a few seconds until she hauled herself up again and regained her seat.
‘Get your phone out and call D
ang,’ Travis shouted. ‘We can’t outrun these fuckers in this thing.’
Susie plucked the phone from her pocket and tried to get the number up. Travis cut left down a side street, getting a slight lead as the enemy’s tuk-tuk overshot and had to slow to come back around.
‘Any idea where we are?’ Susie shouted over the noise of the roaring engine.
‘Not a clue.’
She shook her head in frustration and finally got the number up on the screen from her call list.
Suddenly a white van appeared in the wing mirror, its high beams on and the front passenger leaning out the side with a shortened pump action shotgun in his hands.
‘Back up’s here,’ Travis yelled.
‘Oh, thank God,’ Susie breathed.
‘For them.’
‘Shit shit shit!’ She stabbed the talk button and turned to look behind, just as the shotgun bellowed and ripped a gash in the roof above her.
Travis swerved hard right, the tuk-tuk skidded and lifted a wheel off the ground, and Susie slid across the seat again. The phone flew from her hand and smashed on the road. Another shot followed and they heard birdshot pinging off the cab.
‘Shoot them!’ Travis yelled at her, throwing a full U-turn and doubling back.
The van overshot but the other tuk-tuk was right there, the back passenger leaning over and jabbing his pistol out at them. The muzzle flashed and Travis’ wing mirror exploded in pieces.
Susie fired almost point blank, squeezing off three shots in quick succession before they were past and racing back towards the main road.
‘Did you get him?’ Travis asked, risking a look back. The van was reversing hard towards them.
‘I don’t know, I think I had my eyes closed,’ she admitted. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, they need to know we mean business. Keep it up.’
Travis realised they weren’t going to make the main road before the van reached them. He braked sharply and flung the little machine around in a rapid U-turn.
The van driver saw what he was doing and also braked, flicking his wheel around in a reasonable attempt at a J-turn. He got halfway round and stalled it. For the second time that night he found himself staring at the two targets, face to face.
Travis left the engine running and stepped out of the cab, his Sig coming up on line. He blasted four shots into the driver’s door, seeing the man rock with the impacts as the heavy slugs punched through the thin steel. The driver slumped in his window frame and Travis put a round through his head, spraying blood over the windscreen.
The front passenger had jumped out of his door and was hiding on the other side of the van. Travis ducked down and couldn’t see his feet, indicating he was behind a wheel.
‘Shit!’ Travis shouted, ‘I’m out! Reload!’
The ruse worked a treat. The gunman raced round the front of the van with his sawn off shotgun at the hip, expecting to find his target desperately trying to change magazines. Instead he found Travis in a crouch, the Sig in a double-handed grip.
The gunman’s eyes popped open with surprise as he realised his mistake, but it was too late. Travis pumped a double tap into his chest and dropped him. He pushed up and ran forward, putting the last round into the guy’s head as he twitched on the roadway.
The tuk-tuk was almost on them now, the driver having hung back while his comrades in the van took care of business.
Travis ducked behind the van again, realised he didn’t have the spare magazine with him, and rammed the Sig into his waistband. He scrambled forward and snatched up the fallen sawn off shotgun, getting his hands to it as the tuk-tuk arrived only a couple of metres away.
The .45 barked again and a piece of asphalt blasted off the surface beside Travis’ foot, a second shot tearing at the flap of his shirt. He lifted the stubby shotgun barrel and squeezed off a shot. The gun roared and the driver’s chest was ripped open. He threw his hand up and the machine swerved, smashing into a parked car at the side of the road.
The passenger was thrown forward and cracked his head against that of the lifeless driver. His eyes were spinning when Travis got to him and yanked him out onto the ground. He kicked the old Colt out of the man’s hand and pinned him to the ground with a foot on his chest. The wide barrel stared at the man’s face.
‘Who sent you?’ Travis snarled, acutely aware that time was not on their side. The cops would be here any second.
‘Huh? No Engrish!’
‘Don’t bullshit me, fucko. Who sent you to kill us?’ He ground his foot into the man’s chest, causing him to grimace. ‘Tell me now or I’ll blow your fucken brains out.’
‘No Engrish, asshole!’
‘Sounds like English to me.’ Travis pumped the slide on the shotgun to chamber a fresh round. ‘You got two seconds then I’ll shoot you in the kneecap.’
‘Fuck you!’
‘I warned you.’ Travis shifted position and lowered the shotgun barrel to the man’s right knee.
‘White man!’ the gunman shrieked. ‘Is white man! Pay money!’
‘Who? What’s his name?’
Sirens were rapidly approaching and Susie was shouting at him to get moving. They only had seconds.
‘Don’ know! I swear! White man like you, pay good money!’
‘Come on!’ Susie shouted, grabbing him by the arm. ‘The cops’re here, we’ve gotta go!’
‘Fuck it!’ Travis slammed the butt of the shotgun into the guy’s face, smashing his teeth in and knocking him out cold. He racked the slide a couple of times before it was empty, and tossed the shotgun aside.
Seeing flashing lights up on the main road, he followed Susie at a sprint down the side street.
In seconds they had disappeared into a network of side streets and alleyways.
Chapter Twelve
Brad had pounded the hilly roads around Onewhero for forty five minutes before arriving back at the house and hitting Jack’s home gym in the shed.
He pumped weights and slammed the heavy bag for another half hour, finally calling it quits when his singlet was drenched in sweat and his muscles were screaming for rest. He emptied his water bottle and walked outside until his breathing was under control. His mind was still whirling with the recent events. He wasn’t sleeping well and it was nothing to do with having killed three men-he didn’t give a fuck about them, they were shit kickers better off dead, although he did wonder if he shouldn’t feel something about having taken lives.
It was his buddies that were messing with his head, or more specifically, his inability to do anything for them. It was Tony’s funeral today down in the Hawkes Bay in his home town, and he couldn’t attend. Greeno was still in intensive care with serious head injuries, and it was touch and go whether he’d make it. If he did he was fucked anyway, leaving his wife and daughter stranded. Brad wasn’t allowed to visit him in hospital or even call Sarah to show his support. As far as his STG family were concerned he’d dropped off the face of the planet. He’d had several calls on his cell but that had quickly been taken by Ingoe and passed on to his bosses.
He was angry that he was being shut out, he was angry about what had happened and how it had all gone down, and he was angry that Jack and the spook lady were on a jaunt in Thailand while he was stuck here working out, doing mandatory psych debriefs with some head doctor in the city and getting bored and frustrated.
Jack and the lady spook, he thought. Old Jack was probably up to his nuts in guts right now. As for him, he’d had a casual thing going with one of his flatmates but it was nothing more than a matter of convenience. It had been a while since anything serious.
Brad shook his head in frustration and walked inside, refilling his bottle at the kitchen tap. He downed it in a long draught, letting the overflow run down his chin onto his sweaty chest. Dropping the bottle in the sink, he looked around. It was so quiet out here he could hear his heart beating. He crossed to the stereo in the lounge and rummaged through until he found a CD to his liking. Jack had some pre
tty old fashioned taste but he found a Cold Chisel classic and chucked it on.
Standing on the Outside cranked up and it seemed to perfectly match how he felt right now.
Brad wandered aimlessly round the lounge, checking out Jack’s photos on the wall unit then made his way down the hall to the office. Glancing around, he noticed a photo frame hanging by the window that he hadn’t seen before. It held four photos in a vertical line.
Staring at it, Brad realised each photo was a black and white formal shot of a man in Army number ones. There was an inscription below each photo with a name, rank and serial number, followed by a pair of dates.
The top photo was Captain Sam Travis who had served during the Second World War with the original L Detachment of the Special Air Service before returning home, then a second set of dates showed that he had also been an original member of the NZ unit, serving from 1955 through until 1963.
He was followed by Warrant Officer Class 1 Pete Travis, who Brad knew to be his own grandfather, serving from 1962-81. He had retired as the Regimental Sergeant-Major.
Pete’s younger brother Marty had a more chequered history, serving in the NZ unit from 1971-73 then with the Rhodesian SAS from ’73-80. He moved again, transferring to the Brits from 1980-85 and ultimately retiring as a Staff Sergeant. Brad had heard he was the black sheep of the family, never settling anywhere for too long and always in trouble of some sort.
His eye fell to the last photo; Jack. His dates of service were 1996-14, and he had reached WO2 status, meaning he’d been a Squadron Sergeant-Major when he left. The next step would have been RSM, like his father before him.
Seeing the faces of the four men, all battle hardened warriors, gave Brad pause. These men were Special Forces royalty; three generations of long serving operators. He had known they were all military men but after his mother had drifted from the family, he’d had minimal contact with his relatives. Sam had died a few years ago, Pete was somewhere down the line, and Marty was overseas somewhere-Aussie, the last he’d heard.
