Vengeance

[The Stig]

For someone who preferred activity over idleness, the last several hours had been tantamount to torture for Sargent Lowry. Their trip towards rally point Bravo had started out well. The route between their hide site and the rendezvous area was mostly wooded so he and Dickerson had covered a much further distance than the other team after the abortive airstrike.

All had gone well until a patrol of Peacekeeper's had stumbled on them. There was no indication that they had spotted Lowry and Dickerson, but they'd spent hours slowly searching the area and generally had the two men pinned into place. With little chance of being discovered unless a Peacekeeper stepped on them they simply had to wait out their opponent's before moving forward.

Even as darkness fell the men had stopped patrolling and set up a small defensive perimeter in the area. Lowry thought he'd explode from boredom.

Dickerson glanced at him after the men quickly mounted their vehicles and suddenly sped off in a southerly direction.

“What the hell was that all about?” asked Dickerson.
Stretching out his cramped limbs, oddly sore from doing nothing, Lowry replied, “Beats me. They camped out because they knew they had us pinned. They were either waiting for reinforcements or for one of us to do something stupid. No clue why they saddled up and bolted.”

“Either way,” he continued, “we gotta beat feet if we want to reach the rally point before morning. Its going to be tight.”

The two men resumed their escape at a careful, but quick pace.


****

Saxon knew he was a goner. The Peacekeeper, rifle at the ready, took and steady aim at his head.

He knew he'd never registrar the sound of the gunshot before the 5.45x39 round punched a hole though his skull and covered the homeowners barbecue grill with his brains.

“Oh well,” he thought, “it was a good run.” Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but close his eyes. It was as if a subconscious defense mechanism had been activated deep within his mind.

There was nothing he could do but await the inevitable.

The sound of the solider exclaiming “oh” and crumpling to the ground shocked him as he reopened his eyes and he tried to take in what had happened. Seeing the other man laying motionless before him he gingerly regained his footing.

Before he knew what had happened Reynolds appeared around the corner of the home, sound suppressed M4 carbine rifle in hand.

“You alright Sarge?” he asked pulling his team-leader to his feet.

Picking up his rifle, that had landed several feet away when he fell, he said, “Damn am I glad to see you. Let's get the hell out of here.”

Rounding the corner of the house Saxon saw the scene that had unfolded. The gunner lay lifeless in the turret of the small truck while the driver was equally unresponsive. One of the soldiers lay near the corner of the shed, head and helmet nearly torn from his neck while the other had clearly been shot by Reynolds. Caddy stood near the Hilux keeping a look out for any additional enemies.

Caddy asked, “you want to take this for a ride?” as Saxon and Reynolds returned.

It wasn't a half bad idea and would cut down on much of their travel time.

“As much as I'd like too, it'd stick out like a sore thumb. Come on,” replied Saxon as he motioned his team towards the drainage ditch. Let's get as much distance away from this as possible.”

The three men had covered the entire distance of the trench and disappeared into the maze of houses in the adjoining neighborhood when two Humvee's roared down the street and came upon the scene of the brief fight.

****

DeMetrie was worried. It was two hours before dawn and the choppers had just arrived. He scavenged two from an old Army buddy in Nashville. It took some cajoling but they had been in basic training together and the bonds still ran deep.

“Jones, I've already arranged for the birds to get refueled at the airport. Get the ready team over there and have them standby in the birds. That way they can get airborne the second we get the call.”

“Sir,” responded Jones as he spun and went to carry out his assignment.

Several more teams of soldiers had returned from their patrols and DeMetrie briefed each one on what had happened. Soon the men were rearming and making their way to the river. They would cross it and began making their way towards rally point Bravo. They'd never cover the distance to the rally point in time to be of any help, but DeMetrie liked to keep his options open.

Now all he needed was a signal from Saxon's team that they had reached the rally point. From that point the Blackhawk helicopters would be launched and would cover the minimal distance in a short period of time.

From there all DeMetrie could do was pray. For now, all he could do was wait.

****

Glancing at his watch, Saxon realized they were running out of time if they wanted to be pulled out before daylight. The team had just gotten to rally point Bravo. Much like a scene out of South East Asia in the 1960's, there was a large clearing in the midst of heavy woods where the helicopters could land and pull the team to safety.

They had about forty-five minutes before dawn and already the night sky was already starting to lighten.

The three men huddled in silence near the edge of the woods while they awaited their ride to safety. Reynolds and Caddy set up a makeshift perimeter while Saxon contemplated his next step.

Saxon had a tough decision to make.

If he waited for Lowry and Dickerson to arrive before calling for the extraction it could be too late for the chopper to arrive before daylight. They'd be forced into waiting for darkness to fall again before another attempt. While they were in a fairly remote area, the battle with the Hilux made clear to the Peacekeepers that the enemy was in the area. They were certain to pour in troops and every minute the team spent on the ground they risked detection.

If they did have to wait another day they could move on to the next rally point which would also move them closer to the river. But this would do nothing to minimize the chance of getting caught.

The other option was to call for the extraction now and hope the other men made it to the landing zone in time. The risk here was that they wouldn't make it and Saxon would have to call them off at the last second. Not only would this pin point there location to the enemy, it forced the choppers to make a difficult run through enemy territory for no reason.

There was no way he was leaving without them.

Looking at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes Saxon decided he'd give them ten more minutes before calling for the extraction.

****

As they moved through the woods Lowry and Dickerson were doing the mental calculus of their own. They'd make the extraction with just enough time to spare, or so they hoped, before daylight.

“I guess we better let them know we're on the way,” said Lowry. On the prearranged schedule they had been quickly clicking the microphone's on and off to signal they were still moving to avoid communications. Although on scrambled frequencies, there was a good chance the Peacekeepers would be using radio detection equipment in an attempt to track them down.

Nodding in agreement, Dickerson keyed his microphone, “Raven 1 this is Raven 2, over.”

Expecting a quick reply Lowry kept moving without looking back. It took him nearly fifteen seconds before he realized none had come.

“Raven 1, this is Raven 2, over,” repeated Dickerson.

The only sound heard heard in reply was that of the men's footsteps.

Keying his own microphone, Lowry repeated the same message with no avail.

“Looks like maybe going with the lowest bidder wasn't such a great idea after all,” quipped Lowry.

“Now what,” asked Dickerson.

Repeating the call, and again getting no reply, Lowry replied, “let's pick up the pace. They clearly have no idea if we're coming or not.”

Both men began moving more quickly. They still moved deliberately and so as to minimize noise, but their pace increased noticeably.

****

Looking like a scene out of popular American movie Star Wars, the room was a sea of lights. Some blinking, some steady. Some red, some green. Dials and switches seemed to have been sprinkled across the face of the console like toppings on an ice-cream cone. Both of the soliders faces were illuminated by the dull green glow of the equipment.

The shift had been tiresome. In additional to their normal duties, the Colonel had assigned the the task of monitoring for any strange radio signals. Their ordered were to determine the location of their source and alert him at once.

For weeks their had been various drills of the same nature. For hours they would twist the dials, move the levers and listen for any sort of incriminating radio traffic. Other than some short-wave transmissions from civilian radio operators, which had been outlawed by Crutchfield, not much had been noted in their log books. They simply reported the short-wave activity so that a team of soldiers could be sent to arrest the transgressor.

They had both nearly fallen asleep as the gentle buzz through their earphones combined with the warmth of the equipment, lulled them into a trance like state.

One of the men, the younger one, bolted upright.

Knocking his coworkers arm he grunted out, “channel seventeen.”

The coworker heard it too. The signal was scrambled but was definitively a high frequency burst type transmission and most definitively not civilian.

Both men, jolted from their near slumber began wildly typing on their console keyboards and adjusting their equipment.

“Got em,” exclaimed the younger one as he wrote down the coordinates for the grid map.

“Good work, get that to the Colonel,” he instructed his young partner. “Go.”

[piranha2]

Awesome, keep em coming.

[The Stig]

“Raven Nest, this is Raven 1 Actual, over,” Saxon said quietly into his radio equipment. Fifteen minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Lowry and Dickerson. Making the tough call that battlefield commanders often have to make, he decided to call in the choppers. If the two men didn't make the rally point, Saxon would stay behind and they would simply have to stay alive long enough for another extraction attempt.

He pointedly omitted this information from Reynolds and Caddy to prevent them from getting any romantic notions of staying behind.

Captain DeMetrie needed every hand he could get and two troops returned safely beat five dead ones.

“Raven 1, this is Nest go ahead,” came the surprisingly crystal clear voice of the base radio operator.

“Nest, Raven 1, at RP Bravo. Raven 2 en route. Request extraction immediate. Over.”

There was a pause in the reply that caused Saxon some concern. Captain DeMetrie had always promised a helicopter extract for his men in the event of extreme emergency and the men took him at his word. They never really thought about the practical realities given that their unit didn't have any direct access to a helo. They weren't even sure there were any in the general area. As such they were dependent on other units to assist them and that help wasn't always guaranteed.

“Raven 1, Nest. Expect extract in one five minutes.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Saxon and the radio operator exchanged the necessary information to coordinate the rendezvous between the men on the ground and their saviors from the air. Soon grid coordinates, call signs, and radio frequencies were exchanged.

“Good luck Raven 1, Nest out.”

Saxon turned to his two men and said, “bird arrives in one five for exfil.”

Caddy and Reynolds exchanged glances as they realized the implications for Lowry and Dickerson should they not make the landing zone by the prescribed time.

****

Lowry and Dickerson kept moving to cover the remaining one thousand yards to the landing zone by the prescribed rendezvous time. They knew a chopper would likely be coming to extract them, but much like Saxon had never really considered the concrete details of how that would happen. They figured that the Captain would send a chopper for them, despite the obvious risks but chances were that a bird, if one was in fact coming, would be sent before dawn.

They could see the sky in the east lightening and knew that sunrise was approaching on a time table determined over billions of years. There would be no adjusting it.

Putting their heads down they continued to push forward through the heavily wooded area and move closer to the landing zone.

They stood a pretty good chance of making the deadline. They only had a relatively short distance to travel, and since they were out of communication with Saxon he likely pushed back the extraction as late as he could make it. They were moving through a wooded area, which slowed them somewhat but there was no roads to cross or residential areas to traverse.

It would be close, but Lowry gave them ninety percent odds.

Then he heard the throaty roar of diesel engines.

****

The landing zone, which ran almost due north and south, was approximately six hundred yards long by fifty yards wide. With a gentle dogleg to the left, and a sharper rise towards the northern end the spot was an obvious place for a rally point, and excellent spot for a helicopter landing.

A gentle creek meandered down the west side of the landing zone for nearly the entire length of the open field. The creek, which over thousands of years had dug a trench nearly three feet deep spots, was anywhere from ten to thirty yards from the treeline on the west.

On the eastern side of the field the treeline extended directly to the edge of the landing zone.

Saxon, Reynolds and Caddy were huddled together in the creek-bed about two hundred yards from the northern edge of the field. Lowry and Dickerson would approach the rendezvous point from behind and their left, although where exactly they'd emerge from the woods remained to be seen.

“Raven 1 this is Hammerflight, copy? Over.”

It had been a long time since Saxon was glad to hear a pilot's voice over the radio.

“Hammerflight, Raven 1. Copy.”

“Raven, Hammerflight will be on scene in one zero minutes. What is the status of the LZ hot or cold? Over.”

The pilot, concerned about the chances of a enemy reception, was asking if there was a chance they be fired on by asking whether their touchdown point would be hot or cold.

Hammerflight, Raven. LZ currently cold, not sure how much longer it will stay that way. Enemy presence nearby. Throwing out IR markers now.”

“Hold tight Raven 1, we're on the way.”

After getting the signal from Saxon, Reynolds tossed several IR marker beacons towards the middle of the field abeam their hiding spot to mark where the helicopters should touch down. The devices, no larger than a baseball emitted an infrared signal that would be viable to the helicopter pilot through his night vision equipment.

Peering into the darkness with their own night vision equipment they scanned intently for any sign of Lowry and Reynolds.

[The Stig]

When rally point Bravo was chosen by Saxon and his team as one of their many emergency meeting points one of the features that attracted their attention was it's seclusion. They had ruled out several large public parks, with broad open sports fields, specifically because they were in the midst of residential areas and were subject to heavy traffic.

Rally point Bravo on the contrary had no direct access and the nearest road ran parallel to the field about four hundred yards to the west. While the road was fairly close the team had decided it presented a reduced risk as it was a maintenance road to a cell phone tower, not a heavily traveled thoroughfare.

When the mission had originally been planned none of the men fully realized the extent to which the Peacekeeper's had penetrated the area and had been studying their surroundings. They knew the camp was being reinforced and must have figured into Crutchfields plans, but without aerial reconnaissance or satellite imagery they had no knowledge of the air defenses and total amount of men in the camp.

The large field loomed just as large on the enemies maps as it did DeMetrie's, and as such the maintenance road was already known as an expeditious shortcut to the long, narrow field. It hadn't taken long to note the location of the detected radio signals and the proximity to the open area and deduce where to send their men.

Lowry and Reynolds had just crossed the maintenance road when they heard the sound of vehicles approaching

Realizing that their enemy was much closer than they anticipated, both men, already tired from the long trek broke into a run.

They were a mere thirty yards into the underbrush as the first Humvee, followed closely by a Vodnik, screeched to a stop on the gravel and dirt road before disgorging their troops.

Knowing the seriousness of the situation, and hearing the shouts of soldiers behind them as their leaders began directing their men, Lowry and Reynolds knew their situation was dire.

Running through the woods and underbrush, with nearly one hundred pounds of gear, in the dark and through the grainy green view of their night vision equipment was a challenge. Between the risk of twisting an ankle or braining themselves on a tree limb, there was a good chance they'd injure themselves before reaching the landing zone.

Both men realized a sprained ankle outweighed the unpleasantness of a rifle round through their chests and kept moving.

****

Saxon heard the noises simultaneously; the rifle shot from their left and rear along with the deep thump of the Blackhawk Helicopter's rotor blades as it approached, swooping in just over the treeline.

“Hammerflight, Raven 1. Be advised LZ has just become hot. Enemy fire just heard several hundred yards to the west of the LZ. Strength unknown.”

“Roger that Raven 1” came the emotionless reply. The pilots strained through the night sky looking for the shape of the landing zone they had previously memorized on DeMetrie's maps. More importantly, they peered into the darkness to avoid hitting a power-line or tree branch as they skimmed just over them both.

Turning to Reynolds and Caddy, “once those choppers flair for landing you both break for them. I'll be the rear guard.”

Reynolds, normally quiet and reserved asked, “Sarge, what about Lowry and Dickerson?”

“They'll be here. You just run like mad to those choppers.”

Caddy and Reynolds simply nodded in response to the order. They were fighting men and understood the risks and chances they took on a daily basis. Still, these were friends, comrades, brothers-in-arms. They had no desire to leave their friends behind.

He glanced up to see the outline of the Blackhawk Helicopter as it turned and began descending towards the landing zone.

“Godammit, you better be here,” Saxon thought to himself as sporadic rifle fire popped and echoed in the distance.



****

“Run dammit, just run,” yelled Lowry as the first rifle shot exploded behind them. Having a well trained enemy behind them, with high powered rifles, suddenly made the scant distance separating the two groups seem very small. They had long since dropped their heavy packs and other equipment other than a few rifle mags and their M4 carbines to allow them to move faster.

With just over fifty yards to go before reaching the clearing Lowry and Dickerson plunged ahead ignoring the sting of tree-branches hitting their bodies and desperately trying to remain upright.

They had gotten lucky.

They were in the bottom of a small ravine of sorts that ran between two hills, the tops of which were fifty yards higher in elevation. The ravine ended just short of the treeline and about twenty yards north of Saxon's position and shielded them from view.

Crutchfield's men and the Peacekeeper's, aware only of a general heading, were forced to fan out and look for the escaping men. One solider, a former American, thought he saw movement and fired several shots at what would ultimately be a raccoon. Sporadically other men would see movement or the imagined insurgent troops and fire a short volley.

But between the noise Lowry and Dickerson made while running, and some outdated Soviet thermal imaging, it didn't take long to get a better idea of what direction to search in.

****

“As soon as those wheel's get near the ground you two haul ass,” Saxon reminded his men.

As he scanned the treeline for his men, Reynolds and Caddy watched as the first helo began flaring just prior to setting down in the soft earth. They glanced back and saw a second helicopter a short twenty yards behind lead airship begin the same process. The lightening sky was giving away from the dark of night to grayish hue so that the helicopters were gray shapes hanging in the air.

Reluctantly, Reynolds and Caddy began sprinting towards the bird.

As they ran, legs pumping, chest pounding, they were unaware of the unfolding drama behind them.

Lowry and Dickerson emerged from the woods seconds before the first enemy appeared just to their left. Running full-steam towards their salvation, they were oblivious as Saxon calmly fired two shots in rapid succession to take out the threat.

Reynolds looked up, and in a scene out of a Vietnam War movie, could see the door gunner begin engaging enemy troops with the mounted SAW machine gun. The gun rocked back and forth as spent brass casings arched through the air. Careful not to cross into the line of fire he watched the crew chief as he waved and encouraged them towards safety.

Simultaneously, the small group of men in the second helicopter had begun shooting towards the woods to the right of Dickerson and Lowry in an effort to slow the advance of those troops. They wouldn't move much beyond a few yards from their helo, but the addition of their firepower was welcome. The door gunner on that helicopter soon joined the fray, sending a stream of tracers flying into the woods.

Finally reaching the helicopter, after what seemed like an eternity, Reynolds turned and helped push Caddy up onto the metal floor of the aircraft and helped by the crew-chief, he was soon pulled aboard, albeit ungracefully. Reynolds couldn't hear the roar of the SAW, despite it being only several feet from his head, over the screeching helicopter turbine.

Soon he too was pulled aboard and finally turned to see, in horror, what was happening.

The treeline was a sparkle of bright lights as nearly fifteen soldiers fired at Saxon, Lowry and Dickerson. By the time Reynolds was pulled aboard the airborne chariot, the two wayward soldiers had reached Saxon and all three began the dash to the waiting helicopters.

Bullets whizzed through the air all around them as the three men, now oblivious to anything other than covering the distance to the helicopter ran as hard as their bodies would allow. For Lowry and Dickerson both it felt as if their feet were encased in cement. In slow motion they watched each agonizing step bring them closer to the waiting arms of the helos.

Reynolds, hearing rounds begin to smack into the fuselage of the helicopter, and seeing the spent casings of the SAW gun spit through the air, heard the pilots screaming, “we have to go, they are tearing us apart.”

In the same split second it took Reynolds to comprehend the pilots words, he turned in time to see Dickerson fall to the ground and land in an awkward heap. Lowry and Saxon, both sensing his absence turned to attend to their fallen comrade but it was clear there would be nothing they could do.

They were a scant twenty yards away when Reynolds sensed the engines surging to a full power and the helicopter begin to move forward across the ground. Caddy and the crew-chief reached down to pull Saxon into the chopper. As they did Caddy suddenly grunted and fell forward, nearly out of the chopper. Reynolds watched in horror as dark red blood began seeping onto the hard surface of the chopper's floor. The crew-chief had to yank him back to keep him from pitching out of the jerkily moving helicopter.

Saxon somehow scrambled on board, if only barely as the helicopter began lifting off. Reynolds, kneeling over Caddy suddenly realized they were short one passenger. Screaming towards the pilot, “Wait, there's one more” Reynolds realized the two pilots in the cockpit were now focused on getting their bird out of harms way before further damage could occur. He wasn't a pilot, but the urgently flashing red lights on the cockpit console told the tale: the chopper was already damaged and any further time on the ground would result in all of them going down.

It was the cold reality of war.

He realized the sensation of the accent as the chopper pilots tried to coax the wounded aircraft into the dawn sky.

Without thinking he grabbed the rifle that miraculously landed on the web seats as he was pulled aboard the chopper, turned and pitched himself out the door on the side of the Blackhawk facing away from Lowry and the oncoming enemy soldiers. Barely missing from smashing his head into the barrel of the mounted machine gun, Reynolds fell ten feet to the ground and rolled to the side in an awkward attempt to break his fall.

Looking up in time to see Lowry, who had given up on getting in the helicopter and was running towards the trees on the opposite side of the landing zone, Reynolds fired a short burst at a visible solider as the second Blackhawk roared above his head, desperately clawing at the air while it tried to climb to safety.

Something grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards.

Yelling over the din, Lowry said, “You sir are an idiot.”

The two men frantically scampered into the woods on the opposite side of the field.

****

The pilots of the second helicopter, the one filled with DeMetrie's other men, manipulated their controls as they willed their machine into the air. They suffered the misfortune of crossing directly in front of the bulk of Crutchfield's men just as most of them emerged from the woods.

The chopper proved a tantalizing target as it awkwardly tried to transition into flight in the gray tinted morning light. As Lowry and Reynolds disappeared into the woods, all of the men on the ground fired, in concert, at the now smoking helicopter. Round after round of rifle fire poured into the fragile craft.

Inside the cockpit, the pilot exclaimed, as a round penetrated the side door and pierced his leg. Yelling out, he frantically tried to stem the flow of blood as it squirted across the canopy and cockpit. His femoral artery had been pierced, sending blood spraying and causing the pilot to forget, understandably, the first rule of airmenship: no matter the problem, fly the aircraft.

The co-pilot, who already had his hands on the control's was suddenly overwhelmed by the alarm bells, screaming warning horns and the din of the battle. Several rounds skidded across the canopy directly in front of him. Desperately, he yanked on the vertical control, the one that controls climb, which abruptly changed the angle of attack of the rotor blades. Suddenly, they tried to bite too much air and an aerodynamic stall developed across the blades, causing the chopper to lunge to the side.

As rounds continued pummeling the aircraft, and having already killed two of DeMetrie's men, the helicopter stalled and violently pitched downward into the sharp hillside at the end of the field. The chopper burst into flames on impact and within seconds a giant fireball enveloped the shattered airframe.

There would be no survivors.

[piranha2]

Now thats a damn shame.

[bacpacker]

Bummer, Damn near whole team wiped out.

[The Stig]

They had already covered several hundred miles before the sun broke over the horizon. Knowing that time was of the essence, Miller, Dink and Webb only slept for a few hours before heading out towards Clar Mar farms.

As the miles ticked by, and the friendly joking continued unabated, Miller couldn't help but think of his last trip there. Clarissa Donner managed a large working farm that employed a large percentage of the county and pumped a lot of money into the local economy. Her husband, killed in the war, and Father, killed in a gun-battle at the farm itself, were no longer there to look over her. Not that she needed it. She had taken to the farming business and learned the ropes the hard way. Attacks from other farms and business espionage were not consequence as the built a surprisingly strong business out of nothing.

During the reign of Senator Donovan, and his attempt to usurp power across several states, she had allowed Miller and his friends to use the farm as a clandestine base of operations to fight back. It was during this time that she caught the eye of the Senator and eventually factored heavily in his capture.

“So you think Donovan's sending some of Kirilenko's henchmen to ClarMar?” asked Webb.

Shaken from his thoughts Miller replied, “yea. It's likely. Like I said, we wouldn't have caught the guy without her. I can see where he'd be a tad miffed about that.”

“And with that part of the country being open to travel, getting a team in there would be easier than stealing candy from a baby,” suggested Dink. President Alan encouraged an open approach in the former Southern District in an attempt to return the area to normalcy after the Senator was deposed. While other parts of the country were under a kind of martial law, the southern states had no such restrictions.

“You ever get through on the phone?” asked Miller. Webb had been calling every so often but kept getting no replies.

“Nothing yet,” was his reply as Webb reached for a drink of soda.

“So Miller,” started Dink in his slow drawl, “we're pretty much counting on the bad guys showing up, letting us capture them and then spilling the beans?”

Webb, nearly choking on his soda said, “when you put it that way, it's not really a ringing endorsement.”

From the back seat, Miller replied, “mostly we're heading to ClarMar to get Clarissa to safety. If we get to monkey stomp a badguy who just happens to share information that leads us to Kirilenko and Donovan, so much the better.”

“Makes sense,” said Dink. “Any chance we can hit the head at the next gas station? I gotta drain the lizard.”

“Charming,” was Webb's only reply.

****

At six foot, four inches, and two hundred and fifty pounds, Gegory Kirilenko was an imposing figure. His bald pate and rugged features only intensified his overbearing appearance as did his obviously European military uniform. He was used to using his physicality to intimidate young soldiers or people who had information he wanted. But there was more to the man than hulking size. Having seized on a chance encounter with the Soviet Premier during the political uprisings in the 1990's, he wasn't even supposed to be in the building that day, he used his new patronage to swiftly establish himself in Soviet, then Russian Military circles. Despite his Ukrainian heritage he quickly became the favorite of the Kremlin and he found himself facing increasingly more challenging assignments.

Slowly he entrenched himself in the GRU and used its network of spies and information to gather information on Russia's political elite every bit as much as the Chechen rebels he spent most of his time fighting. Soon he had become a major power broker. During the Second Chechen War, Kirilenko was everywhere as the Russian Federal forces brutally regained control of the rogue state. Directing military missions, assassinating political figures both in Chechnya and abroad, and running special forces missions behind enemy lines, the man worked around the clock to defeat the rogue state. His tactics were ruthless, brutal and entirely without compassion. When the phone rang following the Beslan School massacre he crushed anyone and everyone even remotely connected to the terrorist attack.

Cunningly he also used the situation to remove several Russian military rivals whose only connection to the attack on the schoolchildren was created by Kirilenko.

“So now what happens?” asked the older, tan man, clearly used to being in control.

Compared to Kirilenko, Miles Donovan was a small man. With quaffed hair, tailored suits and impossibly tan skin, he looked like a used car salesman compared to his new henchman.

“Your team in Wyoming failed to get Miller,” stated Donovan accusingly.

He had convinced Crutchfield that he was valuable and maneuvered Crutchfield into giving the blessing for a revenge mission against Miller. For his part, when Kirilenko first found out about his assignment to assist Donovan his enthusiasm was lacking. He had been dispatched to America as a form of punishment as those in the Kremlin finally gathered enough leverage on their rival to have Kirilenko banished. He figured he'd bide his time helping America implode and then return to Russia with a vengeance. Now he would be babysitting an old man on a bizarre vendetta. He couldn't fathom why Crutchfield was bothering with the dispatched Senator.

But then, in a meeting with Crutchfield and Donovan he heard one name that changed it all: John Miller. Realizing an opportunity to settle old scores, his enthusiasm for the operation blossomed.

Kirilenko, who bristled against the snide comment replied, “So what. We know they are en route to this farm in Mississippi. We have a team in place to hit the farm tonight. If all goes well, they'll all be dead this time tomorrow.”

Unflinchingly, Donovan said, “you really think this?”. He was used to testing political aides, underlings, lackeys and intimidating them. Simply put, he was out of his league with Georgy Kirilenko.

Staring back, hatred in his eyes, he said, “Miller is a wise opponent. I give him that. But my men are professionals. They will get him. If not, we send more.”

Unsatisfied Donovan left the small office.

Staring at his cup of coffee Kirilenko couldn't help but feel the excitement of facing an old rival. It took him back to different times and places around the Ukraine, Chechnya, even Eastern Europe.

****

It had been close. Lowry and Reynolds continued their escape on foot after the failed evacuation attempt. In a cruel twist of fate, the time spent shooting down the second Blackhawk helicopter at the field had afforded the men the opportunity they needed to evade the Peacekeepers.

They first traveled nearly a mile due south, towards the river, as one might expect. However, they then turned westward, back towards the city, in an attempt to evade the majority of the squad of men chasing them. They had gambled, and it paid off. Most of the mixed force of Peacekeepers and Crutchfield's men converged on the wreckage of the downed helicopter before regrouping and searching the area for any other signs of remaining men. There had been unclear reports from some of the men that several men had run into the woods near the end of the fight. As a precaution, a force was dispatched southward to pursue them.

Soon however, the force drifted easterly assuming any survivors would want to head both towards the river and away from most of their forces.

They had covered the mile just as the sun reached it's full brightness. Knowing they had to keep moving, despite the daylight, the two men pushed on, exhausted, as they turned sharply westward, towards the city and the camp they had failed to destroy. After another half mile they found a large concrete drainage pipe, nearly eight feet in diameter, running into a hillside. Since it offered a modicum of safety they ventured inside and soon found a small chamber nearly fifty yards into the hillside. While dirty and dank, it afforded them a place to regroup.

“You really are dumb, you know that right?” said Lowry to Reynolds in a low whisper.

“You're welcome,” was all his friend could say.

“No really, you were safe and on your way home. The Captain needs every man he can get. Now he's out three men,” said Lowry thinking back to Dickerson's death at the landing zone.

Leaning close to keep the noise down, Reynolds, who looked oddly like the American actor, Cuba Gooding Jr, said, “might be four. Caddy took a hit as we were taking off.”

Pausing for a second to think about the potential death of their friend Lowry continued, “see you dolt. He needs you that much more.”

Reynolds, not really knowing what to say, sat in silence.

After thirty seconds Lowry leaned over again in the damp fetid air, and whispered, “thanks man.”

Reynolds, smile on his face, drifted off to an exhausted sleep. Lowry followed closely behind.


****

The gas station, was part convenience store, truck-stop and travelers lounge. It was a large building which was odd given it's location. It wasn't particularly near any large cities, nor was it a logical stopping point for travelers looking for a restroom. Somehow the business stayed afloat despite the distinct lack of customers. As Webb's large truck pulled in, he guided it to the pumps.

“I'm good guys. I'll fill it up. Just grab me a water,” said Miller, offering to perform the tedious task of filling the tanks of the large diesel truck.

Tossing him the keys, Webb said, “check the oil and clean the windscreen too.”

Flipping him the middle finger, Miller scanned the parking lot. Used to keeping track of his surroundings, it had kept him out of trouble many times before, he noted a couple old sedans, a pickup truck filled with junk and one large tractor-trailer at the commercial pumps. Several travelers milled around the inside of the store, with several more near a small cafe located near the back of the restaurant.

Soon he attended to the process of fueling the thirsty tanks of Webb's truck.

“This is probably going to cost me an arm and a leg,” he considered as he squeezed the pump handle and diesel began flowing.

The pump ran well past $100 before Miller decided staring at the dial wasn't good for his blood pressure.

It was as he walked around the truck, checking each tire for damage, that he noticed them. Two men, both in their early thirties, approaching the store. They had pulled in as Miller tried to decipher the credit card reader on the gas-pump and were now about to enter the building.

While they tried to disguise it by wearing blue jeans and untucked shirts, their appearance screamed of military experience. Short cropped hair, excellent physical build, boots instead of shoes all told Miller these were not locals on the way to work. That they walked upright, with ram-rod straight posture and a confidant and measured gait only reinforced his feelings, especially as he watched them scanning the parking lot and what could be seen of the store.

But what really set off Millers alarm bells, and put him on edge, was what they hadn't done. They hadn't made eye contact with him. In fact they had gone out of their way to ignore him.

“That ain't good,” was all he thought as he casually returned the hose to the pump and replaced the gas-cap.

[hedgehog]

Excellant.

[piranha2]

Its gonna get hot now.

[bacpacker]

Yeah it is.