Vengeance

[The Stig]

“So...soo....sorry boss,” stuttered Caddy from his hospital bed. The electronic and rubber spaghetti ran from Caddy's body to a myriad of machines all employed in sustaining his life and highlighted his medical situation.

Gently patting the soldiers arm, DeMetrie said, “Stay strong trooper. You did good.”

During the evacuation from the landing zone, Caddy took a round to the lower abdomen area. Despite blood loss and internal injuries it appeared he would survive the wound. The immediate response of the helicopter crew-chief to employ combat casualty care along with the arrival at a hospital in under ten minutes saved Caddy's life.

DeMetrie rushed to the small hospital complex as soon as the chopper radioed to notify him of the injury. He personally carried the litter to the chopper as it touched down.

“So what's the outlook Sir?” asked DeMetrie of the attending doctor after the preliminary surgery. They had left Caddy's small room to talk in private.

Looking over a small chart, the doctor replied, “your man should pull through Captain. He got very lucky. Internal injuries were relatively minor and he received medical care quickly. He's out of action for the foreseeable future, and will be on a pain med regimen, but overall I'd say he should recover fully.”

“Outstanding,” replied DeMetrie. “Keep me posted would you Sir?”

Shaking the Captain's hand the doctor replied, “Absolutely. Once he's stable, he'll be flown down to Nashville for long-term care. Probably in a day or two.”

After ducking back into Caddy's small private area, and asking if Caddy wanted anything, the Captain prepared to leave, “Looks like you'll be heading to Nashville in a few days. Doc says you should be be fine.”

Looking up weakly Caddy forced a slight smile, “Thank you.....Sir.” After a short pause to collect his breath, he continued, “I'll be back to keep Lowry in line.”

Both men knew that Caddy would likely not be returning. He'd been cleared for combat with the team under special circumstances and as a favor to DeMetrie. But the combination of his age and special status likely meant he'd be sent home with a hardy handshake and a nice plaque. DeMetrie might be able to pull strings, a second time, but in the short-term the odds were likely that he'd never see Caddy again.

Neither man wanted to acknowledge that reality or Lowry's present situation.

After several minutes of small talk the Captain stood. He had developed a true affection for the older man who's sense of honor and duty was an inspiration to him. They'd once been enemies and now the Captain considered the old Marine a true friend.

Shaking Caddy's hand the Captain said, “I'll come see you before you leave, you get yourself well, understand?”

Weakly....and with a slight effort, Caddy replied, “yes....yes sii...Sir.”

The Captain spun and left the room before noticing the slight tear in Caddy's eye. He'd been in the military in one form or another his entire life. The fact was, the only thing he knew how to do was solider.

Now that was all over.

****

“What the hell happened Mike?” asked Colonel Tom Haggard. He was the officer loosely assigned to overseeing DeMetrie and several other similar operations. “Four aircraft, a helo and it's crew, five of your men dead, another wounded and two more missing. How did this thing go so sideways?”

Without pause or hesitation Captain DeMetrie replied, “my fault entirely Sir. I rushed the airstrike without doing proper recon first. Had I done so the presence of the air defenses would have been discovered.”

Captain DeMetrie, decorated service member, was not one to shy away from blame.

“I'm not interested in beating you down Mike. No satellites, no air recon, no drones. You can't catch everything when you do boot-recon. Any word from your two men?”

“No Sir,” replied DeMetrie. “My comms people are on all the preset freqs, but looks like one of their radios was inop and no telling if they've had time to think let alone get out a message.”

“So what's your plan from here?”

In between responding to the returning helicopter, dealing with Caddy and quickly debriefing Saxon, DeMetrie had been asking himself the same question.

“I don't have the manpower to go wandering all over the countryside looking for them. And the surviving helo is shot to pieces. I have to get a report from the pilot once I return to HQ. That said, I've already recalled a couple teams that were working further west, I'm going to insert them on the east side and have them start working towards the last known area. That will cut down on response time. Ultimately, I need that bird, and need it to fly, so I can pull them out the second they make contact. Otherwise they have to hump fifteen clicks through Indian country.”

“The bird's yours. I'll clear it with the pilots CO. Wish I had men to send you Mike, but for now I'm afraid you are on your own. Crutchfield's forces have made some big advances in the East so the President has shifted what little resources we had over there. Keep me posted.”

****
Returning to his operations room, DeMetrie sprung into action. He wasn't one to sit around and sulk after a setback.

Before he could say a word, however, Saxon, who had been hovering over the radios waiting desperately for Lowry and Reynolds to make contact, said, “Sir, I blew it. I should have called off the extraction, or chosen a different LZ.”

Waving his hand through the air to stop Saxon, DeMetrie said, “Sergeant, your task now is to help bring your men back. I'm not going to second guess decisions you made in the heat of the moment.”

Looking at his aide Jones, DeMetrie fired off a series of orders. “Jones, once Echo and Foxtrot teams return to base have them brought up to speed and ready to reinsert, on foot, ricky tick.” Glancing down at his watch, he continued, “They should be back within two hours. Send the team leaders to me first so I can brief them.”

Barely taking a breath he pushed on, “every member of the comms team should be on station and working the gear. If Lowry or Reynolds farts, I want to hear it. Go.” Jones quickly finished his notes and left the command center.

Turning to Saxon, DeMetrie continued, “any support staff that aren't part of an active mission gears up and is our ready reaction team. You brief them on the situation, review procedures for the green guys, and square them away. They may go in by chopper or foot, unknown now. They stay on this side of the river until we get word from the boys, but when you go, you go in hot and hard. Good?”

“Sir,” Sergeant Saxon replied as he dashed out of the cramped room DeMetrie used as a command center. His Captain had been right, putting him back on the horse right away kept his head in the game.

DeMetrie then turned to the last remaining person in the command center, the surviving helicopter pilot. Wiping a light film of sweat from his forehead, DeMetrie asked, “status on the bird?”

Looking somewhat surprised, the young pilot responded, “Shot to hell sir. Several systems are out.”

“No good,” the Captain fired back. “I need that bird to fly. You're going back in to get them.”

“Sir,” the young pilot responded, “I'm not sure I can fix it and we need to return to our base.”

The Captain, already not pleased with the pilot leaned in very closely. “Listen to me Lieutenant, and listen good. You owe me for two Mk. 1A1 troops that you left in Indian country. Until they are back on my post you aren't going anywhere. Now you beg, borrow or steal what you need, but that chopper is going to fly, and it's going to bring back my men.”

The young pilot, clearly not realizing the time to shut up, again tried to protest, “Sir, I understand but I need to check in with my commander.”

Cutting him off, the Captain's voice rose from it's icy cold tone to a heated rage, “You shitstain. It's been cleared with your boss. From here on out your ass is mine. You will do what I say when I say it. You will fucking make that bird fly. You will fucking go get my men. You will bring them back to me. Copy?”

Snapping to attention, the Lieutenant, realizing his predicament, “I'll get to work on the bird and advise you the minute we're cleared to go.”

“Outstanding,” replied DeMetrie as he dismissed the young officer in disgust.

Sitting down in his chair DeMetrie let out a long sigh. Being fifteen miles behind enemy lines, with limited means of contacting your headquarters, low on supplies and surrounded by an enemy looking for you, was a tough spot for Lowry and Reynolds.

He would move heaven and earth to get them back, but the odds were slim.

Pushing the negativity from his mind, he began pouring over maps of the area.

[bacpacker]

Very nice update Stig. Glad Caddy pulled thru.

[The Stig]

“Man, this water sure is cold,” murmured Dink as he and Webb both began releaving themselves.

At the next urinal over, Webb replied, “and deep too. I remember what that was funny.”

The truck-stop bathroom, covered in the grime of years of abuse and travelers, was both dimly lit and located in the far rear of the building. It took the two men a few seconds of searching before a lackadaisical employee indicated the presence of a small hallway by grunting and nodding his head in its general direction.

The entrance to the restroom was a small L-shaped hallway off the main one. The lack of a door fit in with the rest of the crudely constructed building.

“Aw comeon now, when did that stop being funny,” Dink said to continue the well intentioned fun.

Webb, suddenly changing the mood of the conversation, asked, “what do you think about this Kirilenko business?”

Dink, replied, “Well man....Miller needs us so we help him right?”

“No, of course. I mean what Miller told us about him.”

As he finished his business, Dink zipped his trousers and stood for a second. “I reckon it's all true.”

A third voice, uttered, with a thick accent, “Gentleman, I assure you everything you've heard is true.” The man, wearing an untucked button-down shirt and ballcap also held something that immediately gathered Dink and Webb's full attention: a silenced Gsh-18 pistol. The Russian built pistol held 18 rounds of 9mm ammunition, more than enough to silence them for good.

Dink, spinning around at the sound of the voice, knew the man standing at the entrance to the room had the drop on them. There was little, if anything he and Webb could do to defend themselves. Despite having pistols of their own, there would be no way for them to draw and fire before the man simply gunned them down.

Rushing him was out of the question for the same reason.

Simply put, they were cornered.

“I know what you are thinking Mr. Dink. I'd suggest you both slowly turn back around, and walk backwards to the sound of my voice. Once we get out into the hallway, you walk forward and out the backdoor.

Webb remembered seeing the exit door at the end of the hallway right before he turned into the restroom. It was only a few feet, straight ahead, beyond the bathroom entrance. Cursing himself he realized they had lost all situational awareness and the mystery man with the gun held all the cards. The men were going to march them out the back of the building before he or Dink had a chance to make a scene or create a distraction. Once they were behind the building, and out of sight, odds were the men would silently kill them. Their bodies would be cold before anyone realized they were there.

Thinking the same, Dink said, “As you wish old buddy.” He and Webb turned and slowly started walking backwards towards the man.

After negotiating the L-turn, it was clear what happened. As he backed out of the bathroom into the main hallway Dink caught a quick glimpse of a second gunman. He had been guarding it to prevent anybody else from walking in. Now they both marched Webb and Dink forward towards the rear door.

“Good work gentleman,” came the accented voice. “Straight through that door please.”

Glancing at each other Webb and Dink slowly moved forward towards the door. Pushing it open, the door swung out to their right presenting them with a panoramic view of an overflowing dumpster and piles of old boxes. Several feet beyond the dumpster was underbrush leading into a heavy woods.

The gunmen might even toss their bodies into the woods to further delay detection.

“Turn to the right please,” instructed the gunman. “Then straight ahead.”

Webb felt the presence of the two gunmen as they moved closer to he and Dink. Normally captors try to keep separated from the men they are guarding to ward off any attacks. But in this case, the gunmen wanted to prevent their two captives from turning the corner and dashing to safety. Even with just a few feet head start the odds of an escape increased. It would be a risky move for Webb and Dink, but at this point is was their only option.

Following instructions Dink and Webb exited the building, all the while scanning the area for some makeshift weapon or avenue of escape.

The gunmen exited closely behind them, then paused slightly to survey the narrow area between the rear of the building and the beginning of the woods. This also allowed a slight space between them and their captives to redevelop.

The noted the dumpster, discarded boxes and general unkempt appearance of the alleyway. They'd move the hostages towards the corner of the building. One man would hold them at gunpoint, still hidden behind the building, while the other retrieved the car and drove it closer to where Dink and Webb were being held. They wanted to minimize the amount of distance they had to cover from the corner of the building and the car.

They were taking no chances.

Once they secured their hostages in the car, they'd deal with the third man, their actual target. Having his friends might even serve as leverage to entice him to go willingly.

The gunman from the bathroom, clearly the boss, instructed “alright gentleman, ahead towards that packing crate near the corner of the building.”

Dink, turning towards Webb said, “he sure is a polite henchmen.”

The head gunman replied, “well, no reason why we can't be civil.” As he said this he reached towards the door to the building, with his left hand, to shut it. He used his left hand as his right was occupied with the menacing pistol, still pointed ahead at Webb and Dink. The door was only three-quarters open but with the door fully shut there would be nothing to indicate trouble to an employe or customer who entered the hallway to the bathroom.

He exclaimed “oh!” as the heavy metal door suddenly flung open, wrenching his arm and throwing him both off balance and back a step. As the door bounced back off the man, it was flung open a second time, this time knocking the gunman to the ground.

As his partner turned to respond to the threat, he watched in slow motion as the throwing knife, arced through the air to cover the short distance between his assailant and his chest. To his horror the knife planted itself deeply into his chest, slicing through several vital organs and preventing him from responding further.

As the wounded man fell to the ground, his hands, responding in sympathy to both the fall and the sudden appearance of a metallic object in his chest cavity, clinched. This served to discharge his weapon with a dull thud as it too was silenced.

The gunman who had been thrown backwards to the ground attempted to bring his weapon up to shoot his attacker. He actually fired several rounds of 9mm ammunition through the door near where it met the building, but the attacker had already leapt forward, out of the line of fire.

Stunned, the gunman failed to respond allowing Miller the time he needed to swing the heavy pipe he'd found laying in the debris. With a slight change of direction Miller rared back and swung with all his force. The metal pipe connected with the gunman's head, sending his hat flying and caving in his skull in one violent motion. The gunman, still seated, collapsed to his side with a grunt. The crater in his bludgeoned skull was already pink and crimson.

“Thanks for dragging that one out so long. Webb here about pissed himself,” Dink said jokingly. He was helping pull Webb up from the pile of debris they both flung themselves into when they realized Miller was attacking their captors. The last thing they wanted to be was in the line of fire if the gunmen shot at Miller.

Breathing a bit heavier than normal, Miller replied, “yea, sorry about that. Last time I let you two go to the bathroom without adult supervision.”

As he reached down to drag the man who's skull he had fatally fractured, he continued, “come on, close this door. Webb, help me pitch these two goons in the dumpster.”

Webb nodded while Dink replied, “Yea, we better make tracks before we get hung up by Johnny Law.”

****

As their truck sped down the highway the three men processed through what happened.

“That was bad. Real bad,” offered up Webb after several minutes of silence.

“No kidding,” replied Dink. “how the hell did they know my name?”

Miller, from his spot in the back seat offered up a more troubling question, “I got one better. How the hell did they know we were there?”

Webb nodded in agreement. “I didn't see anybody tailing us. And this highway was so desolate we would have spotted anybody back there,” chimed in Webb.

As they mulled over the situation, Miller suddenly barked out, “pull the truck over.”

Dink, taken by surprise, hurriedly replied, “what is it son?”

“Pull the truck over, now.”

After slowing the large truck and pulling to the breakdown lane of the highway, Dink and Webb hopped out after Miller. He had jumped down from the cab before the truck had come to a complete stop.

As Webb and Dink trotted to follow their friend, he disappeared beneath the rear of the truck.

Dink and Webb instinctively scanned the horizon for any sign of danger.

After a short while Dink, who could barely contain himself said, “Come on man, what is it?”

Miller suddenly reappeared, grasping a small metal box. After Webb helped pull him back to his feet he tossed it to Dink. “GPS tracking beacon.”

Staring at the small black box he uttered, “Son of a gun. How on earth did we forget to check for that?” Dink continued sheepishly, “I guess I figured the assault team back at the ranch didn't have time to plant anything.”

“Whoever planted it,” said Webb solemnly, “it led them right to us.”

As the three men climbed back into Webb's truck, it was clear to them all that they were being hunted by professionals. They would need to step up their game if they wanted to survive.

[Thor827]

This just keeps getting better!

[bacpacker]

Awesome!

[piranha2]

Gotta love it - keep em coming.

[The Stig]

“Look at that, 'Welcome to Shelton County'. Seems like just yesterday when we strolled the gentle winding streets of this fair land,” mused Dink as they crossed into the county that once was their home.

That was well over two years ago. Before the civil war. Before local government officials took advantage of the situation. Before Senator Donovan tried to create his own kingdom. All three men had lived and worked in the area before being forced underground and ultimately into a resistance movement.

Webb stretched and yawned as he replied, “yea, good old home.”

The county had recovered after the brush with totalitarianism. Road blocks disappeared. Military outposts were reclaimed by the wilderness. Bullet-holes were patched, the dead were buried and evil-doers brought to justice.

Even the city of Shelton, twenty or so miles further East, had recovered. Once a quiet rural county-seat, it quickly became a military garrison when the troubles started. Entire blocks around City Hall had been razed to make room for a new military barracks and command center. The high-school had even been incorporated into the mass structure.

Making the best of the situation, the locals had used the space for a massive community center and open park. It was a fitting end for a dark period in the town's history.

As they passed a long, straight stretch of country road, with flat land to one side, and thin woods to the other, the three men looked at each other knowingly. The site had factored heavily into their lives on the run.

“We should be at ClarMar in fifteen or so I think,” announced Webb.

Miller, who had been mostly quiet since the incident at the truck-stop, perked up as he adjusted from his semi-asleep posture. “Let's come in from the north. There's a grove of trees where we can scan the farm and see if there's any signs of trouble before we go be-bopping in.

Dink, chimed in, “Mosey. Saunter. Trapse. Hell, even stroll. But no Southern man, in his right mind, would ever be-bop into anything.”

****

As they approached the grove, and prepared to observe the farm, Dink asked softly, “so Miller, how did you know to bushwhack them behind the exit door?”

“You mean at the truckstop?”

As Dink nodded affirmatively, Miller smiled and replied, “after I saw your two buddies enter the truckstop I followed them in. When I saw badguy number two posted outside the bathroom entrance, and the exit door just beyond it, it didn’t take much to figure out where they’d be headed. They sure was hell weren’t going to drag you back through the store and risk you making a scene.”

Webb asked gingerly, “what if you had guessed wrong?”

“I’d have been pissed,” declared Miller defiantly.

Dink snorted. “Why on earth would you have been pissed? We’d be the ones with 9mm slugs in our noggins.”

With a smile Miller jerked his thumb towards Webb and answered, “because then I’d never get my money back for filling up Webb’s truck.”

****

“Alright Kirilenko, what’s the status on the operation?” asked Donovan as he stormed into the large office.

Kirilenko, sitting behind a massive desk, once inhabited by a now imprisoned Federal Judge, looked up angrily. Glancing at his aide, he dismissed him with a quick nod of the head.

With a forced smile Kirilenko grunted, “what can I do for you today Mr. Senator?”

“What’s happened with the attempt to kill Miller before he reached ClarMar Farms?”

Sighing, and looking at Donovan as a principal would look at an impertinent schoolboy, Kirilenko answered, “Senator, you must understand that operations like this have a fluid nature. They do not happen on a set time table.”

Grimacing, the former car salesman shot back, “is that another way to say you failed again?”

Donovan was the one used to giving the orders and asking the questions. He’d always worked through underlings who did his bidding without question. Having to work with the Russian GRU General, who clearly wasn’t impressed by Donovan’s smile and brilliantly white teeth, did not sit well.

With a calm demeanor that belied his anger, Kirilenko responded, “I’ve been, as you say, locking horns, with Mr. Miller for many years. Sometime he wins, sometime I do. But he is always a worthwhile adversary. He is not to be underestimated.” He waved his finger to emphasize the point.

Eyes narrowing, “he’s a small town hick. You ought to squash him like a bug. Let’s hope your plan for ClarMar tonight nabs him and that whore both.” Donovan then turned and stormed out of the richly appointed office. In his huff he nearly knocked Kirilenko's aide to the ground.

“He is a….,” he paused searching for the word. “A Смикніться,” the Ukrainian word for jerk.

With an awkward smile Kirilenko replied, “he’s more than a jerk, Vanya.”

Handing his boss a file of papers, the aide continued, “Pardon me for saying so Sir, but the Senator was correct. Miller defeated another team. Do you think the team at the farm will have better luck?”

Without looking up from his papers, the General replied, “luck has nothing to do with it. The team will either succeed or fail. Either way, this dance with Miller will end before we go back to Russia. Its been going on too long.”

“Shall I coordinate with the team at the farm to ensure they’ve made all their preparations?”

Smiling, the General replied, “you are always on the details Major. When we return to the Ukraine you’ll have a lot more hardware on your shoulders.”

Nodding his head in appreciation, “Thank you sir.” As he reorganized the files Kirilenko had handed back, he paused slightly before asking, “have we heard more from the…..er…. Розвідник?” While a talented solider, the Major’s English left something to be desired.

“No. Lets not push him either eh?” replied the General as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s taken a while to get him on board. Let’s not spoil him by asking too much.”

Nodding in understanding of the direction, the Major turned and left the office leaving Kirilenko to his thoughts.

He had no intention of staying in American long. He’d complete this irritating diversion before returning to Russia. Once this messy affair was over his enemies at home would feel his wrath.

****

“Got time for some visitors?”

Clarrisa Donner looked up from her desk to see John Miller leaning against the doorway. Dink and Webb stood just behind him.

“Miller!” she exclaimed with genuine excitement. Rounding her desk the attractive brunette, gave Miller a full hug, and repeated the process with Dink and Webb. “I wish I knew you were coming. I would have made preparations.”

“Yea, about that,” started Miller. “We’ve been calling for two days with no answers.”

“We’ve been having problems with the phones for days. Frustrating really. We’ve been trying to coordinate a big delivery of supplies from a vendor and can’t seem to get anything done.”

Miller, looking concerned, asked, “internet?”

Looking up with her beautiful round eyes, Clarissa replied, “it’s down too. It’s through the phone lines.”

Turning back to Dink and Webb, “go find the main junction box for the phone line. Follow it back to the connection at the street. Look for any equipment that shouldn’t be there.”

“Let me call my farm manager, he can help you,” Clarissa chimed in.

After Dink and Webb had been dispatched, Clarissa, continued, “John, it’s wonderful to see you again. Let’s go over to the house and I’ll cook you boys some lunch.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m afraid you aren’t going to like the reason why we’re here.” Miller knew Clarissa was a strong woman and the direct approach would be the best. Most people wouldn’t respond well to knowing a team of soldiers was coming to kill them, but Clarissa wasn’t most women.

Sensing the seriousness in Miller’s tone, she sat back in her desk chair and nodded for him to continue.

“Donovan’s escaped to the north. He’s got an old friend of mine, a Russian General named Kirilenko hunting me down. They’ve already tried a few times. Odds are they are coming here too.”

Taking in the news Clarissa got down to business, “how serious and what do you need from me?”

Appreciating her no-nonsense nature Miller replied, “it’s serious. Kirilenko is a bad guy and has bad people who work for him. And Donovan. Well…he’s definitely got a bone to pick with us.”

“Yea,” she said thinking back to all that had happened in the past two years. “I can see where his ego would be deflated.”

“Odds are Dink and Webb are going to find equipment on your phone line that’s blocking the phone calls. Chance are good there’s a cellphone jammer somewhere around here to mess with those signals too. These guys are pros Clarissa. I’m afraid there might be a replay of last time.”

Sucking in a small amount of air Clarissa thought back to the night where a team of rogue State Troopers had assaulted her farm and killed her father. The farmhouse, destroyed in the process, had been rebuilt and her father buried, but that night still lingered in her psyche.

“Swell. So how do we play this?”

Miller smiled. “Let's go get that lunch started. I've got an idea but I'm not sure you are going to like it.”

[Grumpy Old Man]

I'm liking this more and more!

[bacpacker]

Me too.

[The Stig]

Jolting awake with a startle, Lowry struggled to understand the environment around him. It was dark, very dark. He seemed to be sitting on some sort of concrete, propped up against a wall of the same construction. The air was dank and thick and there was little sound except the occasional dripping of water.

Within seconds he regained his senses and remembered that he and Reynolds had sought refuge in a concrete culvert that lead deep into a hillside.

Whispering carefully, Lowry called out, “Reynolds. Wake up sunshine.” For good measure he elbowed his friend in the side.

“Ugh...what the...,” he exclaimed in a normal tone of voice before he too remembered their predicament and began whispering. “How the hell long were we out?”

“Looks like nearly all damn day. It's 21:15. Guess the thrill of adventure got the best of us.”

“Now what,” asked Reynolds.

Chuckling softly, “you didn't have all that worked out before you took the header out of the Blackhawk?”

Reynolds replied, “ya, well....it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Ok. Let's figure out how much ammo and water we have left. We'll have to improvise on food. We've got two radios.”

Reynolds interrupted him. “Actually one. Your radio is inop. We lost the signal from both yours and Saxon's set.”

With a sigh, Lowry said, “So one radio. Lets see what we have to work with first, then we'll have to figure out where we are. I dumped my GPS unit but have a paper map in my jacket.”

After a few minutes of careful movement in the dark they totaled eighty-nine rounds of M855 ammunition for their M4s, about one hundred rounds for their M9 pistols and one smoke grenade. In the dash for the helicopters Lowry dropped most of his extra equipment while Reynolds left most of his on the chopper. Both men had some water in their hydration packs, but they too were running low.

“This is a sad state of affairs,” declared Lowry. “At least we have the PVS-15s so we can see once we get out of here.” Turning on the low intensity LED light clipped to his chest rig, Lowry fished out his paper map.

“So we'll try to figure out where we are, get outside this tunnel and then radio HQ. They might try another snatch but we'll see.”

Reynolds whispered through the dark, “Probably going to be a long hump.”

“Well, you wanted adventure and to be all you could be right?”

****

From the grove of trees the team-leader leader watched his men slowly approach the farmhouse. He had two men approaching from one side, two from the other, and two head-on. It was standard doctrine as the team had practiced many times before.
The radio cracked to life as the teams reported being within twenty five meters of the house. From his vantage point he couldn't see the team to the right of the house, as they were blocked by several other buildings in the compound.

In Ukrainian, a voice came across the radio. “One light visible. Upstairs, probably a bedroom.”

In a low voice the team-leader responded, “Cleared to assault Mykola.”

Peering though the grainy green-gray view in his night vision scope, the team-leader, clad in all black, lay on the ground. His AK-74 beside him, he had chose to let his second-in-command lead the assault. He wanted his young second in command to gain experience. It was an odd choice given the news that Miller might be present. But he had convinced himself they were raiding the house of a single woman and the odds of her having assistance were low.

Soon the radio crackled to life again. “Basement cleared.”

“Continue.”

After what seemed an eternity a voice whispered across the radio, “first floor clear.”

“Continue.”

Everything fit. The young woman was in bed, and probably close to sleep. The sudden presence of six armed men would be sure to overwhelm her. The idea of her resisting was laughable.

“Sir,” came an oddly toned voice. “The house is....empty.”

“Say again?”

“It is empty, the house. Target is not present.”

“You searched completely?” Mykola had a tendency to rush operations and miss important details in the process.

After several seconds the reply came, “Yes, top to bottom. Nobody is here.”

The team-leader was confused. They had set up surveillance shortly after dark but had not seen anybody enter or leave the home. Where could the lady have gone? For good measure he scanned the property again to ensure she wasn't sneaking off to a separate building to hide.

While the team-leader contemplated his next move, the assistant team-leader called in again. “Standby. Loud noise just heard in the building across the way. Team investigating.”

“Proceed,” was his simple instruction.

Looking through the night vision scope, he watched as the team emerged from the house, one man after another, and begin maneuvering across the yard towards the large building in the middle of the u-shaped parking area. Americans oddly called the place where one parked an automobile a driveway.

Based on their surveillance it looked like they were headed towards the farm's office building. The lady had either been working very late, or more likely somehow detected the team and sought refuge in the building. In the dark, and likely panicked, she had knocked something over drawing his teams attention.

“Report Mykola,” he instructed in the radio.

“We're just about to make entry. Going to rush the main office door in a stack formation to avoid crossfire.” He was right, if the men separated and entered the building through different doors the chance of them shooting each other by accident increased. By crashing through the door, and rapidly pouring into the office building with as much noise and violence as possible, they would overwhelm the target and avoid being in each others line of fire.

“Proceed.”

The door they planned to enter faced away from him, but the building was angled such that he could see the last two men in the stack preparing to enter the office building. Suddenly they rushed forward and disappeared from sight.

Seconds ticked by. In the course of an operation seconds become minutes which become eternities. As he stared at the office building, as if his willpower would grant him X-ray vision, he grew more anxious as each second without an update passed by.

Suddenly he wished he was with his team.

“Report Mykola,” he uttered into the radio.

Several more seconds passed without an update.

With more urgency he commanded, “report Mykola!”

Looking over to ensure his AK-74 rifle was still by his side, he depressed the transmit button on his radio-microphone and prepared to chastise his young assistant team-leader. Simultaneous with his first words the office building exploded with an earth-shattering roar. He watched, in slow motion horror, as the walls of the building burst outward and a huge fireball rocked out of the seams of the building. The five thousand square foot building was turned into a pile of rubbish and twisted bodies. His team simply vaporized.

Quickly grabbing up his rifle and small backpack the team-leader ran through the options in his mind. Weighing the pros and cons he rapidly determined it was best to cut his losses, head to the SUV's and get back to the hotel. From there he'd grab the gear and head north. The long drive would give him time to figure out how to explain the debacle to Kirilenko.

Glancing back at the funeral pyre of the six men he'd lead for the past two years, the team-leader knew something had gone horribly wrong. An explosion like that was no accident or mistake. The cause was likely from military grade explosives or an improvised device constructed by someone with intimate knowledge of how to maximize the effects.

It would appear that Miller and his men had been able to reach the farm before his team had.

****

Crashing through the entrance to DeMetrie's office, Jones, the young aide blurted out, “they called in Sir! They called in!”

DeMetrie and Saxon both turned and hesitated for a fraction of a second while they processed what the young solider was telling them. After the second passed, however, they both bolted upright.

“They're on right now Sir. Commo section has them,” Jones exclaimed excitedly.

As the three men briskly strode the short distance down the hallway, DeMetrie asked, “they say anything important so far?”

“Something about Broadsword calling Danny Boy. I didn't quite follow it.”

DeMetrie smiled as he replied, “let me guess, it was Lowry.”

Nodding affirmatively as they entered the communications room, Jones said, “Yes Sir. No idea what it means.”

Saxon interjected, “how old are you Jones?”

“Just turned nineteen Sargent.”

DeMetrie, in no mood to discuss classic World War II movies, grabbed the radio from his man and transmitted, “Glad to hear from you boys.”

Lowry, without hesitation replied, “same here Sir. We're good but could use a lift.”

DeMetrie glanced at Saxon who had just gotten the latest update on the helicopter. One of the safety systems for the tail rotor had been destroyed by gunfire at the landing zone. While the chopper could fly, it could also come crashing back to earth without warning. Unless the situation was desperate, killing all of the men in a helicopter crash after plucking them from danger was too risky.

Saxon slowly shook his head side to side.

“Negative. You'll have to hump for now. As soon as the bird is online we'll come get you. Day or night. Give me your grid and we'll figure out plan B,” said Captain DeMetrie.

After getting the grid from Lowry, DeMetire and Saxon quickly scanned their maps. DeMetire had long ago committed the map to memory, but to avoid mistakes he looked over Saxon's shoulder.

Saxon looked up, “Sir, assuming the grid is correct, if they head for rally point Delta, they'll be able to stay in the woods most of the time. It has a good LZ. They can reach it long before daybreak and in moves them four miles closer to the river.”

Scanning over the map, DeMetrie nodded in agreement.

“Listen Lowry. Head for rally point Delta. Stay low and avoid contact at all costs. By the time you get there the bird should be ready. We'll have you home in time for breakfast. I've got two teams that crossed the river six zero minutes ago and will start working towards you. If worse comes to worse, you hump to link up with them.”

“Roger that Sir.” It was clear Lowry was trying to minimize how much time he spent on the air to avoid detection.

“You two stay safe. Give me updates when you can,” said the clearly worried Captain.

“MacPherson murdered. Thomas, Christiansen, and Berkley captured. I'm effecting entrance to the castle within the hour. Out.” Lowry signed off and was gone.

Looking at his communications men, Captain DeMetrie ordered, “stay on the net. I want two men on the set at all times.”

As DeMetrie, Saxon and Jones returned to the Captains office, DeMetire continued, “Saxon, you've got the ready-response team set. Go encourage that dammed chopper pilot to speed up the repairs. Use your normal charm.”

“Yes sir,” came the reply as Saxon quickly departed.

“It's gonna be tight Jones. If we don't get that bird ready by 04:00 there's a good chance we won't be able to get them until tomorrow night. And that assumes they make rally point Delta.” The concern and love for his men was palatable.

“We'll get them back sir. Shall I make you something to eat Sir?”

DeMetrie smiled wanly, “Yes, thanks.”

Jones spun to retrieve some food for his Captain. As he got to the entrance to DeMetrie's office, the young solider turned back and around and timidly asked, “Sir, the last message from Lowry. What the hell did that mean?”

“Well Jones,” the Captain replied thoughtfully, “I think it means Sargent Lowry is nuts.” After a slight pause he added, “and when this is over we have to take you to the movies.”

****

As he approached the SUV the team-leader scanned the horizon looking for any signs of someone who might want to ambush him. Seeing nothing through the grainy night-vision scope he approached the SUV.

He knew he was in a bad situation. Kirilenko demanded results of his men and wasn't shy about dismissing them if they failed their task. While in Russia, that usually meant being reassigned to an infantry unit fighting in Chechnya or Georgia. Here in America chances are Kirilenko would send him to Peacekeeping outfit doing miserable work. He might even kill the team-leader without repercussion.

Fishing the keys to the SUV from a small case, he scanned left and right as he slid the key into the lock. Turning it he glanced one last time to his right as he pulled the door open.

It appeared that no one had followed him. Maybe he would simply drive off to a remote part of America and disappear. He'd read books about Utah as a child; surely Kirilenko's wrath wouldn't reach that far.

Tossing the AK74 and small pack into the passenger seat he jumped into the SUV. As he slid into the seat he was startled by the presence of a passenger in the rear seat. Spinning around rapidly, barrel of the Glock pistol appeared to be a much larger diameter than he remembered in training classes.

“Howdy partner,” said Dink. “Seems us boys need to have a little talk.”

Before he knew it a second man had approached from outside the truck. Even if he could close the door without the man in the back seat shooting him, it didn't matter as the man had blocked it with his body. Webb commanded, “Ok Ivan. Slide across to the passenger seat.” He motioned with a pistol of his own to emphasize his request.

Before the team-leader could do as he was commanded, Dink leaned forward between the seats and snatched the AK74 to safety. Having a loaded rifle in close proximity to a captive wasn't good operational practice.

“Ok Webb. Back to the ranch.” Dink ordered as Webb turned the engine and prepared to drive back to ClarMar Farms. “And Ivan, like they say in the movies. No funny business or I'll open you up like a ripe watermelon.”