by Dwayne Gill
“Why else would Cane and Daniel need to fly overseas? Whoever this man is, he’s evidently unable to come to them. Second, Colonel Mathis made a fuss over a certain POW a few months ago.”
Vinson only knew of one ranger being held by the Russians. “I know about this American,” said Vinson. “He was captured a few months ago, but the Russians cleared him of having the marking.”
The American soldier had aroused the Russians’ suspicion when he showed superb ability before they finally subdued him. Mikhail Malakhov, an officer on the scene in Tajikistan, had personally inspected the American for markings.
Mick’s eyes were wide with excitement. “He didn’t have the marking, no. But did Malakhov tell you his arms were covered with scars?”
Vinson didn’t recall that revelation, for it would have warranted further investigation. “No, he didn’t mention it.”
“Well, apparently the soldier received those scars as a young child. It’s listed as a cooking accident, officially.”
The wheels were turning in Vinson’s head as he connected the dots. It was too obvious. “What’s his name?” asked Vinson.
“William, you asshole,” said Bowman, who’d finally woken up.
“That’s it,” said Mick. “William Garrett.”
Ignoring Bowman for the time being, Vinson asked, “Where is he?”
“Turkmenbashi,” said Mick.
Vinson frowned. There were no lieutenants remotely close to the location. “Alert the Russians there and call Malakhov. He’s close enough.” Vinson paused and considered his next order. “Tell him to bring Levi.”
Mick swallowed. “Are you sure?”
Vinson nodded. “The Russians won’t be able to stop all three men on their own.”
Mick nodded but was still surprised by Vinson’s request. Even with Levi present, the odds of stopping the trio were small, but Vinson had to give the Russians a chance to succeed.
“What time is it?” asked Bowman. He sounded half asleep, tired, and high.
Vinson spun around and grinned at him. “It’s 8:00 p.m. Do you have somewhere to be?”
Bowman mumbled something under his breath. “What’s that?” asked Vinson.
“It’s 5:00 a.m. in Turkmenbashi,” said Bowman.
Thinking the captain was losing his mind, Vinson laughed. “Okay. What’s that mean?”
“It means you’re too late,” said Bowman. “Welcome to hell, asshole.”
Exodus
October 2, 2028
5:00 a.m. GMT + 5
Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan
Something was different this morning with the guards, who seemed more anxious than usual. William knew their routine forward and backward; there were two different shifts of five men on this wing that he knew of, each crew working every other day. The chubby guard who worked this shift had been walking back and forth a lot, and he’d slid William’s breakfast to him in a hurry, two hours early. The unusual scheduling was telling; he’d been here since early June, and not once had breakfast been delivered this early. Though the guards weren’t treating him any differently, something had them stirred.
William looked at the brown goo in his bowl and felt nauseous. He forced himself to eat to keep his strength up, for he’d lost at least twenty pounds during his stay.
Following his capture in Tajikistan in early May, the Russians had provided him immediate medical attention because of the severity of his injuries. Two wounds were easily dealt with—gunshots to his left calf and shoulder had passed cleanly through—but a bullet lodged above his left knee and a deep stab wound to his abdomen had proved more problematic.
Part of William had hoped to die on the operating table, but he refused to check out so easily. He wanted to live to see his wife and child again, and to fulfill a bigger purpose, one he knew he was born to accomplish.
It was surprising how much effort the Russians devoted to his survival and recovery, although William knew it wasn’t because of their charity. Possessing a squad leader, albeit a lowly sergeant, was something Mikhail Malakhov, the Russian officer who captured him, was proud of. William’s rebellious actions in Tajikistan, which included engaging the Russians there, had provided ammunition for Russia to use against America.
William laughed to himself at the irony of the situation. Malakhov had no idea he’d devoted a full medical staff to saving the life of one of the three men they wanted dead so badly. Thanks to the scars on his arms, his identity had been concealed, buying him more time to figure out a way out of his predicament. He never thought he’d be thankful for those scars; they were brands an unstable man had forced him to take when he was just a kid. He’d lost so much, at such a young age, and he shouldn’t be alive, but here he was, breathing and intact.
The first month of his recovery had been brutal; having nurses who despised you didn’t offer many perks. The aides had treated him roughly, and had he not been a fast healer, the rehabilitation might have killed him. The Russians wanted him mended as fast as possible, so he’d be out of their way and inside a prison camp, like the one he now occupied. After nearly two months, the worst of his injuries had passed, allowing them to ship him here, to where he presumed was Turkmenistan. His only clue had been overhearing one of the Russian guards mention it from afar, but it made sense. Russian military heavily occupied the country, and there were many prison camps spread throughout.
William had known the process of his escape would be a long one, for neither Cane nor Daniel knew who he was at the time of his capture. Marcene had yet to officially meet the two men, so recruiting them to break him out would be tricky, especially considering what William knew of them. Cane was an ex-assassin hiding from almost everyone, while Daniel was locked up in prison, serving multiple life sentences. Neither man had any reason to volunteer to save him, even if they’d been readily available. However, William trusted Marcene would make it happen. She’d been pulling strings and doing the impossible all his life, so why doubt her now?
As he shoveled in a handful of oatmeal, he couldn’t help wondering whether the guards’ anxious behavior had something to do with Marcene. Could they be on high alert because of something happening with Cane and Daniel? He sure hoped so. He watched the chubby guard walk by again as he stopped to talk to one of the others; though William didn’t know their language, he’d gathered enough to recognize an intense conversation was taking place. Did he sense fear in the guards?
You have reason to be afraid, thought William.
*
Stepan had taken the precautions relayed to him by Malakhov. The reserve soldiers were posted in the watchtowers outside, the exterior lights had been turned on, and another dozen guards were properly arming themselves in the supply room in case of an attack. Stepan imagined Malakhov was overreacting to something, for the Americans would never be dumb enough to infiltrate Turkmenbashi. However, he followed Malakhov’s orders, and now he was to watch for suspicious activity.
Stepan had been stationed here over a year. Most officers didn’t like guard duty, but he cherished it. His time here had been largely uneventful, even with an American soldier on the premises. The tediousness was Stepan’s favorite part of the job; no one would ever accuse him of being a hardened soldier, so desk duty suited him well.
There were only a dozen prisoners here, so the facility wasn’t staffed properly to defend against a large raid. However, there were a few other facilities a short drive away if true reinforcement became necessary.
Stepan’s desk phone rang, causing him to jolt forward in his seat. He answered on the second dial; it was Malakhov again.
“All quiet?” asked Malakhov.
“Yes,” said Stepan. “Just like every other morning.”
“Kill the American,” said Malakhov. “Immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” said Stepan.
“Stay alert,” said Malakhov. “I’ll never make it there in time, so I’m flying to Baku to intercept the American in case he gets away. I want a call every ten minutes, so
I’ll know if something happened.”
Stepan swallowed hard. If Malakhov was being paranoid, he sure seemed convinced something was about to go down. “Yes, sir,” said Stepan.
Why would Malakhov fly to Baku before coming here unless he was certain they’d fail in containing the threat? Did he know something more? Stepan panicked. He radioed Nahum, told him to execute the American soldier, and paced the office. Suddenly, he thought of the guards in the supply room, for they’d been gone a while. He grabbed his pistol and walked down the hall until he reached the door, which was open.
When he walked inside, he stopped dead in his tracks, gasped, and stumbled backward and into the hall. The twelve men he’d sent to prepare for battle were scattered across the supply room floor, which was pooled with blood. The guards’ lockers were still open, and the men looked like someone had killed them without a moment’s warning.
I didn’t sign up for this, thought Stepan as he continued to back away from the carnage. As he took his last backpedal, he stepped on something that felt like a person’s foot. He wheeled around, raising his gun, but a large man caught it in midair. The man was also holding a pistol to his forehead.
“Take me to William Garrett’s cell,” said the man. “Now.”
*
5:05 a.m. GMT + 5
If William wasn’t sure before, the frantic behavior in the compound guaranteed something was amiss. He’d finished his bowl of slop and sat in the corner of his cell, listening to the raised voices in the distance. He figured he’d hear gunfire if something big was going down.
The chubby guard walked by his cell again, and something was different about him. He looked angry, determined, and more importantly, had his pistol drawn. He stomped to the door of William’s cell, and as he aimed, William did the only thing plausible, which was to leap across his cell. The Russian tried to fix on his target, but William kept zig-zagging, and the chubby man’s first shot sailed high and away, striking the wall at the back of the cell.
William knew he wouldn’t survive this game long, but there was nothing else he could do. If you’re here, Cane and Daniel, now is the time, he thought.
Almost as if he had summoned one of them, a club came down on top of the Russian’s head before he was able to get off another shot, and he collapsed to the floor. A giant of a man stepped into view and in his hands he carried…a leg?
The huge man smiled, and a second man entered the frame, this one a familiar face. “Dirk,” said William.
His old buddy grinned. “What are they feeding you in here? You’re a bag of bones.”
William was so overjoyed to hear Dirk’s voice, he had to choke back the intense emotions. Two other men leaned down over the fallen Russian. William assumed they were searching for the guard’s keys.
“William’s cell is right here,” said another Russian voice, coming from afar. A moment later, another American approached holding a key and handed it to Dirk. He wasn’t as big as the guy toting the leg but looked just as dangerous. “You do the honors,” he told Dirk.
The newcomer shot the chubby guard, turned, pointed his gun at the Russian who just spoke, and pulled the trigger. A second later, William heard the body hit the floor. “You must be Cane,” said William to the shooter. When Cane looked at him, William said, “Seemed like something I would do,” referencing the sudden execution.
William met Dirk at the cell entrance as he opened it, and they embraced. “Good to see you again, old buddy,” said Dirk.
William released Dirk and nodded at Daniel. “We’re not on that level yet,” said Daniel, though William had made no move to hug him.
“Can you walk?” Dirk asked William.
“I can,” said William, although he knew he was weaker than he’d let on.
Dirk handed William a pistol. “You still know how to use one of these?”
“I’m about to get some practice,” said William.
“Let’s move,” said Cane. “There’s another camp not far from here. If they’ve been alerted, we’ll have company soon.”
William nodded and let Cane lead the way. He knew nothing about the layout of the prison but was sure the men had done their research.
The corridors were empty, and they were unimpeded until they reached the front doors. Cane motioned for everyone to stop before they exited. “There are two watchtowers, each manned by a guard, and two at the front entrance.”
“Why don’t we leave through the back?” asked Daniel.
“It’ll take too long,” said Wayne.
“The woods were thick back there,” said Dirk. “We made a lot of noise coming in.”
William understood. If they were pinned in, they’d be easy targets in the back of the property.
“Who’s taking the shots?” asked Wayne, referring to the guards in the watchtower.
“Not me,” said Dirk. “I’m no sniper.”
“Let me do one,” said William. All five men looked at him. “I’m not that rusty.”
“We only have one sniper rifle,” said Orlando.
“Okay, I’ll take both,” said William.
Orlando handed the gun over as William holstered his pistol. The feel of the weapon was foreign to him for a moment, but after juggling it, he was ready for action.
William had never primarily been a long-range shooter, but he’d excelled in the training and was even better than Trey, the primary sniper in his squad.
William pointed to the door, Wayne pulled it open, and William knelt in the middle of the threshold, finding the perfect spot to acquire both targets. The distances weren’t that bad; in fact, he’d be able to take the shots with minimal interference from gravity or the wind.
After so many months, it felt liberating to have his own destiny in his hands once again. The weight of the gun was now familiar, and William felt his confidence rise. He sighted the first target, who was illuminated by the light above the tower, then swung his weapon to the other tower, just to get a feel for it.
Returning to the first guard, he sighted him, held aim for a second, and fired. William didn’t need visual confirmation; it was a shot he could make in his sleep. He swung over to the second guard, who’d perked up with the sound of the first gunshot. William gently eased the crosshairs into position, having to accommodate for the man’s movement, and squeezed the trigger. This time he watched as the guard stiffened and fell.
As he glided the scope over to the first tower, he heard shouting in Russian. Shocked, he found his target squatted on the tower behind cover, holding his shoulder. I missed, thought William. It was a sobering failure, causing him to realize he wasn’t at full capacity.
“What’s happening?” asked Daniel.
“He only winged him,” said Cane.
The two guards at the gate shed weren’t visible, but William knew they’d been alerted. William aimed at the tower again, but the guard had moved even farther around the middle partition, blocking any shot attempt.
“Let’s advance,” said Cane.
The six men formed a triangle and moved forward as a unit after briefly schooling Daniel on the tactic. Cane and Dirk took point, Wayne and Orlando on their sides, with William and Daniel on the ends. Daniel held his prosthetic in one hand and a pistol in the other.
The group walked at a fast clip, putting their formation between the tower to their right and the guard station at their left. When they were in comfortable range, Cane and Wayne took aim at the tower and began their assault while Dirk, Orlando, and William fired into the guard shed, keeping the two soldiers pinned down inside.
When the group was close enough to the tower, Cane verified the guard was down, using his flashlight to reveal his prone body through the grated platform above. The group split in two and flanked the station, taking the four and eight o’clock positions to avoid ricochets and friendly fire. Though the men were unfamiliar with each other, they maneuvered like a veteran unit.
They riddled the guard station with bullets, mainly from the E-SCARs
Dirk, Wayne, and Orlando were wielding. There had been no return fire, but Cane and Dirk approached to make sure they had neutralized the two soldiers.
The door was unlocked, so Dirk swung it outward while Cane stormed in. After a few moments, Cane emerged and nodded. “Two down.”
William looked around him and into the illuminated forest. There was a road, but he knew they wouldn’t be headed down it. His military instincts still seemed foggy and out of reach, but he knew it was only temporary. What bothered him more now was his stamina, for he already felt fatigued.
“We have two hours before sunrise,” said Cane. “We need to make it to the boat in an hour.”
William assumed this meant the trip normally took longer than that, and he hoped he wouldn’t lag behind. He was used to being the most physically capable soldier in whatever group he served in, not the weakest link. He sized up the others; Wayne and Orlando were older men, likely in their fifties, twice as old as him, but they appeared to have aged well. Daniel was huge, but something told William he was in the best physical condition of any of them, save Cane.
“We’ll reach the SUV in ten minutes,” said Dirk, who laid his hand on William’s shoulder. “You okay?”
William frowned. His fatigue must be more evident than he thought. He cringed when he considered what he must look like; he was wearing a dirty t-shirt and cargo pants he’d watched loosen over his eroding frame over time. He was afraid to look in the mirror. However, the promise of a vehicle ahead perked him up. “I got this,” he said.
Cane looked back and nodded as they crossed the dirt road and disappeared into the woods. Behind them, William could hear vehicles roaring, but whoever was coming would be too late.
As they trudged on, the lights from the compound exhausted their reach, and they were blanketed in darkness. No one spoke as the group moved along, and only Cane wielded a flashlight as he led the single-file line. William noticed Cane cupping the light, revealing only enough to see directly in front of him. They’d occasionally have to move laterally to avoid an obstacle, but the woods were mostly easy to navigate. They climbed a hill, and when Cane reached the top, he kneeled, stopping their progress. He walked back down, and they all sat, huddled together.
