The Corrector

by Ethan Jones

  “Where’s Rahim?”

  “You’ll see him in a moment. This way.”

  The doctor walked another couple of steps, then Claudia stood up. She took him by the arm and led him to the other room, to Saif and Rahim.

  Javin’s eyes never left the driver and the other two gunmen. All three of them were nervously staring at Javin. The younger of the gunmen finally placed his assault rifle on the hood of the truck and lit up a cigarette.

  The driver also relaxed his shoulders. He hoisted his Kalashnikov rifle over his left shoulder and began to talk on his phone.

  The middle-aged man placed his machine gun over his shoulder. He turned his head toward the northwest. A few flickering lights in the distance were the only sign of the city.

  Javin looked in that direction as well. He studied the horizon through his binoculars, then put on his night-vision goggles. Nothing strange or unexpected.

  The next ten minutes stretched slowly, dripping with tension.

  The sounds of tools clanging came from the other room, along with the doctor’s and Claudia’s hushed voices. Once in a while, Rahim exchanged a few words with them, but he was mostly silenced by the doctor, who seemed to have no patience for interruptions.

  Then a low rumble came from the north.

  Javin’s attentive ears perked up. He peered through the binoculars, adjusted their powerful focus and zeroed in on the helicopter gliding near the horizon. He placed it perhaps three miles to the north. Is that the Syrian Army?

  The gunmen had also noticed the helicopter. They were talking among themselves in low voices and kept pointing at the house.

  Javin studied the helicopter. Because of the distance and the darkness, he could not see any identifying marks. The helicopter was as black as the night, with only a faint, blinking light betraying its presence.

  “Who is that?” one of the gunmen shouted at Javin.

  The driver stomped his cigarette under his heel, then readied his rifle.

  Javin ignored the question and kept his eyes glued on the helicopter. It was now hovering in place. Then a couple of silhouettes appeared to be fast-roping to the ground, about a hundred and fifty feet below. That’s a high rappel, Javin thought. These are trained ops. Army? Foreign troops?

  Another four silhouettes descended the ropes. Javin knew they were going fast, probably eight feet per second. He had never reached that speed, no matter how hard he tried, but had gotten to six feet a couple of times. Fast-roping took a lot of upper body strength and lots of practice. These are elite troops.

  A deep frown stretched across his face. What are they doing here? He wanted to believe the operatives were running a separate mission. Perhaps they were dropping near Deraa City to eliminate a high-value target, an IS leader, or a terrorist mastermind. But his gut feeling, trained by years of combat and field operations, taught Javin that there were no coincidences. The special operatives were there for Javin and his team.

  “Claudia, hurry up, we’ve got company.” He stood up and shouted at her.

  “Are they your people?” the old man asked.

  “No, you brought them along.”

  The driver shook his head and cursed the helicopter. “They’re not with us.”

  “Well, then they’re the enemy.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  One mile south of Deraa City

  Syria

  “Your enemy and our enemy,” the driver said.

  The other two gunmen nodded.

  The older man said, “We’ll fight them together.”

  He stepped toward the house, but Javin pointed his rifle at them. “No, you’re not coming in.”

  The driver began to lift his rifle.

  “Don’t do it,” Javin shouted. He cocked his head toward the helicopter, which was disappearing into the night. “That’s the one you should fight.”

  “But you’re not letting us,” the driver shouted.

  “Take position around the truck and the SUV. Not in the house.”

  “Those aren’t well-protected,” the old man replied.

  The driver nodded. “Yes, we’re going to get slaughtered.”

  Javin shook his head. “Your choice. We can argue among ourselves, or we can fight them.”

  The old man thought about it for a moment, then cursed the helicopter and the fighters it had unloaded. “Let’s give them what they came for,” he blurted out his words.

  “Allahu akbar,” the driver shouted. God is greater.

  “Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar,” said the other gunman and ran toward the SUV.

  “What’s going on?” Claudia asked.

  “A helo dropped half a dozen troops about five klicks north.” He gestured with his head. “I suspect they’re special forces, by the way they handled the high fast-roping. Depending on their ground transport, they could be here in a matter of minutes.”

  Claudia frowned. “CIA’s SAD?”

  Javin nodded. The Special Activities Division of the Central Intelligence Agency had been very active in the area, mostly with assassinations or snatch and grab operations. “Yeah, it could be them. I doubt Hamidi can pay for a private army like that.”

  “No, that’s unlikely.”

  “Syrian Army comes to mind, but their timing coincides perfectly with our presence here.”

  “Could it be that Ajaz or Erkan asked for help?”

  Javin peered at Claudia. “Turkish troops?”

  “Why not? They’re not far away. And if this diversion to Syria was staged, meaning Erkan and Ajaz had planned to escape, they could have arranged for their exit days ago.”

  Javin nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Erkan lured us into this quagmire, which made it easier for Ajaz to escape. The two of them were working together.”

  “Yes, if the dead man in the Rover was, in fact, Erkan.”

  Javin shrugged. “That might remain an unsolved mystery. Anyway, whoever these people are, they’re not friendly, and they’ll be here soon.”

  “Let’s get ready to meet them.” Claudia tightened the grip around her rifle.

  Javin nodded. “Yes. Rahim’s friends have the front covered, although I don’t know their abilities. Still, they should hold off the opposition for some time. Considering it’s only six troops, they’re not going to split up and attack on two fronts. Still, we need to cover the back.”

  “I’ve got that. And Rahim?”

  “What about him?”

  “He could give us a hand.”

  “You’re sure we can trust him with a gun?”

  “No, trust is a heavy word. But our interests align with his. These troops are not here to rescue him. He knows that.”

  “And you can keep an eye on him?”

  Claudia nodded. “He’ll be in the front line.”

  “Okay. Get him a weapon.”

  “Good.”

  She dashed toward their truck under Javin’s watchful eyes.

  The three gunmen had taken positions around their vehicles. The older man turned his head toward Claudia, but made no threatening move. The driver also looked back and said something to the other gunman, but Javin did not hear the words.

  Claudia returned in less than a minute carrying an M4 assault rifle, an ammunition box, and an RPG launcher with three warheads.

  Javin smiled. “It’s only Rahim, not an army.”

  Claudia shrugged. “You know what they say about needing weapons . . .”

  “Better to have them and not use them—”

  “Than need them and not have them.”

  “All right. Be safe, back there.”

  “Yeah, you too, Javin.”

  She leaned in for an embrace, and Javin held her against his chest. Again, he felt a strange sensation in his heart. He shrugged slowly and broke the embrace.

  “Kill them all, Javin.”

  He nodded. “I won’t let them get close.”

  Claudia disappeared into the other room.

  Javin dropped to his knee and loo
ked through his binoculars. Nothing moved through the scrubland. A buzzing noise came from the road as a small sedan sped away. He switched to his night-vision goggles and gazed at the green, grainy images.

  Nothing.

  That was going to change soon.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  One mile south of Deraa City

  Syria

  A low, almost imperceptible humming came from Javin’s right.

  It was not moving toward him from the north, but from the east. Javin expected the assailants to change their direction of approach. It would be too obvious if they continued straight ahead.

  He searched the night for the source of the humming. But before he could locate it, the noise disappeared. They must have dismounted their bikes or ATVs.

  Javin’s hand became one with the rifle. His finger rested against the trigger guard. He slowed down his breathing and listened hard. He stood still and listened for any noise—breaking of branches, boots crunching on sand, anything that might catch his ear. As soon as a target came into his view, he was ready to fire the kill shot.

  Tense seconds stretched into tense moments.

  Javin did not like it.

  The delay in the imminent attack reinforced his belief that the attack force was composed of trained operatives. If they were just a bunch of ragtag militia, they would have charged in firing wildly. Javin had often seen such foolishness. But this team was disciplined.

  One of the gunmen shifted his position. His rifle clanged against the front of the SUV.

  Javin bit his lip. The noise interrupted his concentration. For a brief moment, he could not listen for other noises. Besides, the error could give away the gunman’s position.

  And it did.

  A bullet zipped through the air and slammed into the SUV’s grille. It missed the gunman’s head by mere inches. Slivers flew through the air, and the gunman rolled behind the SUV and cursed out loud.

  A couple more rounds thumped against the SUV’s door.

  Javin turned his head toward the possible location of the incoming fire, looking for the attacker’s muzzle flash.

  It had gone dark.

  He peered so hard his eyes almost watered.

  No movement.

  No sound.

  Javin glanced at the SUV.

  The gunman rolled to his side, then popped up around the SUV’s other side. He fired a quick burst toward the east. Perhaps he had seen the attacker’s position. Or perhaps he was firing blind.

  Return fire echoed from the left side, the gunman’s exposed flank.

  A bullet slammed against his chest, and he collapsed to the side.

  Javin swung his rifle and pulled the trigger once, followed by another couple of rounds. He had seen the muzzle flash, and he sent the bullets at that target.

  The flash went dark, but he was not certain he had killed the man behind that weapon. Javin fell back behind the cinderblock wall.

  Bullets struck the other side of the wall, lifting large chunks. One came close to Javin’s face, but without hitting him.

  Loud gunfire erupted from the back of the house. It had to be Rahim. Yes, Claudia would be more careful with her rounds.

  Return fire came from the back, followed by bullets striking the truck and the SUV. A few of the rounds shattered the windows.

  The attack force was trying to lure the defenders out of their positions, pestering them with occasional gunfire.

  Javin had rarely been in such firefights. Most of the battles in these blood-soaked sands involved jihadists or government forces rushing in with guns blazing, without any specific plan or tactics.

  A couple of bullets struck the other side of the wall. It was the invitation for Javin to pop his head around the gap in the door, so a bullet could blow it off.

  He shrugged and slithered further back inside the house. A number of small slits had been carved into the walls. Javin stopped when he came to the nearest one. It faced north, the direction of at least two of the attackers.

  He slowly moved a piece of a torn black IS flag littering the ground with the tip of the muzzle of his rifle. When he brought it across the slit, a bullet whizzed through and pierced the rag.

  Javin stepped carefully over the closest slits, which were near the ground. Then he came to one near his eye level. He paused for a second, then stole a quick peek.

  Nothing happened, so he rested the rifle’s barrel at the edge of the slit. He drew in a deep breath, waiting for the right moment.

  It came when one of the attackers fired a round.

  Javin noticed the location and fired a quick burst.

  Gunfire erupted from another position about ten feet away from the muzzle flash that Javin had targeted. Before he could turn his rifle in that direction, an RPG came from the back of the house and cut through the night.

  Javin’s eyes followed its fiery trail.

  It flew over the attackers’ positions and lit up a couple of them.

  Javin fired quick bursts.

  A long barrage came from the front of the house.

  He recognized the machine gun’s thunder.

  Bullets hammered the other side of the wall.

  Javin fell back and reloaded. Then he listened as the gunfire slowly subsided.

  A moment later, the driver ran into the room. He was dragging the body of a wounded gunman.

  Javin turned his rifle toward them, but the driver’s attention was focused on saving his teammate. He was bleeding from his chest and leg, and his body had gone limp.

  “Is he still alive?” Javin asked.

  The driver nodded. “Yes, but the wound is deep. My brother . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Javin was not sure if the wounded man was the driver’s biological brother, or they were brothers-in-arms. Regardless, the driver was very distraught at the clear predicament of his teammate’s approaching death.

  “Doctor, doctor,” Javin shouted. “Hey, doctor.”

  The driver glanced around, then noticed the doctor’s thin silhouette moving toward the wounded gunman. “Save his life.”

  “Give me a hand. Yes, hold him like that.”

  Javin glanced at them for another moment, then returned his attention to the gun battle raging outside. A second RPG had just sliced the night’s darkness, but Javin did not find any of the attackers.

  A split second later, an incoming RPG struck one of the SUVs, raising a cloud of dust and smoke.

  Then everything went quiet for a long moment.

  Javin studied the doctor and the driver, then walked toward the back of the house. He had just come around the corner when machine gun fire erupted outside the wall. Javin dropped back, then swung around with his rifle pointed in that direction.

  The old man was firing his PKM machine gun from a standing position. The ammunition belt was dancing around, as the old man handled both the weapon and its recoil fairly well. He moved the barrel left and right and kept firing.

  Javin shook his head. He was not sure what to think: the old man was either brave or reckless, the line between the two being quite thin. He was out in the open, and the attackers could take him down at any time.

  “Get back, back,” Javin shouted at him.

  The old man either did not hear Javin over the loud barrage, or ignored his call.

  “Hey, get inside, get back,” Javin hollered at the top of his lungs.

  The old man stepped back, then turned his head to Javin. “They’re dead. They’re all gone.”

  “Get inside.”

  “Why? Nobody’s firing at me. There’s no one there.”

  The old man seemed to be correct. No one fired back although he was standing still just outside the house.

  Javin said, “Maybe they’re reloading.”

  The old man grinned. “Dead men don’t reload.”

  “Get inside,” Javin said against his better judgement. As much as he did not want another fighter he could not trust inside the house, he also did not want him dead. The old man mi
ght be crazy, but he was a crazy good fighter.

  The old man nodded and rounded the corner.

  Javin looked at the next house, trying to find Claudia. He thought about the attackers. Were they really dead, all dead? Or could this be a tactic? Acting as if they were all killed to draw out the defenders? Javin nodded. Yeah, that could be it.

  “Javin,” Claudia called to him.

  He turned to see her standing by the door leading to the next house. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and you?”

  “Still in one piece.”

  Claudia smiled. “Where are they?”

  “Don’t know. Seems like they’re dead, or playing dead.”

  Before Claudia could say anything, a low rumble came from the sky.

  Javin glanced up, but could not find the helicopter. He suspected it was to the north, close to where it had first appeared. Is it dropping another assault force? Or picking up the wounded and the dead?

  He took his binoculars and searched the horizon. It took him a few seconds, but he located the helicopter, flying at a high altitude. It was a few hundred yards beyond the reach of any rocket-propelled grenades or the effective fire range of their weapons. And it was coming closer and closer to the house. What is he doing?

  Javin glanced around and found Claudia standing just inside the door gap of the other house.

  Before he could talk to her, an explosion threw him to the ground.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  One mile south of Deraa City

  Syria

  Javin began to move his arms, but they felt heavy. The gestures were painful, and he felt agonizing stabs coming from his back. His eyes were covered in dust, and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

  He was still in the house, but it seemed to have been turned upside down. He looked at the night sky and flickering stars. A large portion of the roof was missing. It had collapsed, and cinderblocks were scattered all around him. What happened here? And why is it so silent?

  Javin groped around for his rifle. He found it covered in debris, but when he tried to pick it up, the rifle weighed a ton. He clasped his fingers around it, then lifted himself up to an elbow. Ignoring the shooting pain from his shoulders and the back of his head, Javin sat up and looked around. Most of the walls had crumbled, as if a giant foot had stepped over it. The helo. Yeah, the bomb.