A Team of One: An Unsanctioned Asset Thriller, page 2
“Negative. We’re pinned down. They knew we were coming.”
“No shit.”
Axe fired at a tango on the roof, killing him. They might have a small window before more enemy got near them. He leaned close to his team lead. “Ronbo, hold on.” Ron had hated the parody of the movie warrior’s name at first, then grew to love it. “We’ve got to move.” Axe let his weapon dangle on its sling as he crouched over the wounded man, grabbed him by the straps on his equipment harness, and heaved him over his shoulders with a grunt. He had to weigh upwards of 250 pounds with his gear.
Axe pushed himself up, staggering under the weight, then focused on a spot in front of him and breathed.
The only easy day was yesterday.
He grabbed his weapon, changed magazines again while noting his remaining ammo supply, and started putting one foot in front of the other. “Moving, plus one,” he called out to Link and Hector. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The door to his right opened a crack and the muzzle of a rifle poked out. Axe fired rounds and heard screaming—which halted after he fired two more bullets.
Ron held on with one hand while he worked his radio. “Air support?”
“They’re working on it. Sudden cold feet from the host nation. We’re on our own while they work it out,” replied Eric—Echo One—who led the mission.
“Head west. We’re on our own for now,” Ron called.
Hector covered them while Axe advanced with Ron, then Axe covered Hector as he leapfrogged their position.
The hours of training paid off.
The weight lifting. The cardio. The thousands of dollars in ammo expended at the range.
The communication. The tactics.
The trust.
They were killing machines.
The tiny village overflowed with fighters. How had the intel nerds missed the massing of a huge force? They must have come from hundreds of miles around.
Communicate. Move. Shoot. Repeat. Down the road, around corners. Always working west towards the other team and the extraction point. Taking enough time to be safe, but moving as quickly as possible.
The night stretched on and on.
They left countless bodies in their wake.
“That was my last mag,” Axe announced, much more calmly than he felt as he pulled his pistol. His legs trembled. He’d already gone through his ammo, plus all of Ron’s.
“Me too,” Hector said.
The sound of Link’s pistol joined theirs a few seconds later.
They were near the outskirts of the village. Only about a few hundred yards to go… but almost out of ammunition.
They were in trouble.
A small alley appeared ahead, a narrow path between two buildings. They ducked into the space, so tight their shoulders touched both sides.
The firing died to the occasional potshot at the alley’s opening while the enemy regrouped and advanced. They had taken a lot of losses, which might make at least a few hold back from charging forward to die like their friends had.
Hector stood near the street, shooting anything that moved, conserving ammo while keeping the enemy at bay.
Axe checked on Ron. He looked horrible. In pain and fading. He had just enough energy to check in with the other team. “Echo One, sitrep?”
“Holding our own. We’re pinned down and running low on ammo. But we’ve killed a shit-ton of bad guys. There can’t be all that many left, but there’s enough to hold us here. You?”
“We’re near the edge of the village. Down to pistols only.”
“No go on the air support. Doesn’t look good. At this point we’re praying for an evac bird, but they’re not even sure they can get that. Politics,” Eric spat, his voice laced with disgust.
Ron slumped back, his eyes closed.
Axe looked at his brothers as the enemy’s latest flare sank lower. “Anyone want to quit?”
He knew the answer. They’d rather die. Which, he had to admit, might happen soon.
“Still in the fight,” Link said, checking the bloody bandage he’d slapped on the wound at his side. Ron nodded, his eyes still closed. Hector kept shooting bad guys.
“Okay, new plan. Hector, you and Link are going to carry Ron together. That should make it possible to run, or at least speed walk.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to kill everyone.”
Link barked a laugh at the joke, then saw Axe’s face. “You’re serious.”
“You get close to Echo One, quietly. It’s not that far. Stash Ron somewhere safe and attack the enemy near them from the rear. I’ll be right behind you.” Even as he said it, he understood the odds of him making it out were slim.
The latest flare sank below the edge of a building. The light faded. Time to hunt.
Axe flipped his NVGs down. The flares had come less frequently, so they hoped the enemy was running low, conserving them by sending each up later and later after the previous one. He’d have a minute or two of darkness.
“Give me a minute to clear a path and draw fire.”
“Good luck, brother,” Link said with a fist bump. “Don’t fall behind or I’ll have to come back for you.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m getting out of this, too.” The odds might be bad, but he’d never, ever give up.
Hector stepped into the street as the last light of the flare vanished, giving Axe space to get by in the close confines of the alley, then moved back to help Link with Ron.
With the advantage of the night vision goggles, Axe ran toward a cross street a hundred meters back in the direction they’d come.
He ignored the occasional shots directed at the alleyway. They were shooting blind. With any luck, the enemy’s night vision hadn’t returned yet, and he was invisible.
His legs ached from carrying Ron. It felt like he was running through mud, but once again his training paid off. The ability to focus and fight through the tiredness led him to a side street in the area where he guessed they had launched the flares.
He scanned the area and saw three men near the edge of a roof, arguing.
That’s your last flare, isn’t it, you assholes? You’re trying to decide whether you should wait, or fire it now.
He accelerated straight for the building, holstering his pistol.
I hope this works.
He vaulted onto the hood of an ancient, beat-up car, stepped onto its roof, then threw himself forward and up, his hands grabbing for the edge of the building.
His fingers grasped at air and he thought he had misjudged the distance. Then his hands caught the edge of the roof and his body thudded against the wall.
The men above him fell silent.
With shaking arms, Axe pulled himself upwards, legs scrambling for purchase as he mantled onto the roof, like a swimmer emerging from the pool.
In a smooth motion, he pulled his knife from its upside down scabbard on his vest. The three men stared at him, still unable to see well in the dark. He stabbed the man nearest him, who held the flare. The knife slid into the stomach, under the rib cage, and up, piercing the heart.
A firm pull backwards freed the knife in time to thrust at the next man’s throat, stabbing him in the larynx.
The last man ran, trying to flee from the demon in the dark. He tripped at the edge of the roof and fell. The thud of his head hitting the car was easy to hear over the sound of the sporadic gunfire a few blocks away.
Axe picked up the flare and stashed it in his leg pocket. He calmly picked up the nearest man’s AK-47s and stripped the ammo from both the dead men. Then he jogged to the edge of the building and lowered himself down to the roof of the car, avoiding the dead fighter with blood oozing from his head.
When in doubt, sew confusion.
“Flares taken care of,” he sent over the radio as he advanced down back streets to the edge of the village. “You guys ready? I’m going to create a diversion.”
“Ready, but Ron’s not doing so good.”
“Copy. Give me a few more seconds. I’ll tell you when.”
He worked his way down a few small side roads. He climbed onto another beat-up car and used it to pull himself onto the roof of a building. Spread out on the roof, he saw about a dozen enemy, some resting with their backs to the wall around the edge roof facing the street, others on watch, peering over. A few took shots at the alleyway where Hector, Ron, and Link were pinned down. He’d been lucky to get out of the safety of their small alley when he had. The bad guys’ night vision had partly returned, but not as well as he could see with the NVGs.
He looked down to the street as he heard many feet running a few blocks away. A group of fighters jogged up the road.
Axe guessed their plan: they would use the covering fire of the men on the roof to get to the alley.
His brothers were a minute from certain death.
He turned back to see a man on the roof look his way.
How well could he see in the moonless night?
He whispered one of the words he’d learned in his language: “Help!” He gestured for the man to come to him, wondering if the distinctive outline of his helmet and goggles would give him away. But it was so dark the enemy either couldn’t tell, or felt reassured by hearing his own language. Stooped low, he came to Axe.
Axe stabbed him in the throat and caught him as he collapsed.
Axe staggered towards the next group of men, three of them, whispering, “Help! Help!” He kept his head down to hopefully hide the distinct silhouette of his helmet and NVGs.
He gently passed the dying man to the closest two, slit the last one’s throat, then stabbed the first two before either could raise an alarm.
The noise of the bodies as they hit the ground, however, attracted attention.
No more stealth.
He aimed at the nearest group of fighters and fired the AK. They dropped, and he continued killing the enemy lining the roof. He felt no qualms about shooting many of them in the back.
With a glance over the edge, he checked the position of the assault group running up the road, smiled, and got to work.
Surprise, assholes. Axe hefted the bloody body of the nearest dead enemy and took aim as the group of fighters raced along the road under him. He timed it perfectly, dropping the dead guy onto the head of the man in front of the group, who tumbled to the ground with a cry of surprise and pain.
The rest stopped abruptly, trying to figure out the situation, two of them comically running into the backs of the fighters in front of them.
They all died as Axe shot them from above, leaning over the edge of the roof and hosing them with AK fire.
“Go now,” he called over the radio as he ducked, taking fire from the enemy on the roofs across the street, who finally figured out they had an enemy in their midst.
Axe moved, popped up to shoot—and kill—before dropping and moving to a new firing position.
Repeat. Grab ammo from the dead enemy. Fire.
“We’re at the hill,” Axe heard over the radio. On the way in, they’d used a mound of dirt and trash on the outskirts of the village for one last observation before the final approach.
“Copy. Keep moving. I think you made it without them noticing.”
“Come to us. We’ll cover.”
A valid plan. Usually. “How’s Ronbo?”
A long pause from Link. “Not good.”
“Keep moving. I’m good. We’ve killed so many I think they’re having second thoughts.”
“Can’t leave you behind,” Link argued.
“So don’t leave. Keep moving. Just ‘cause I’m behind you doesn’t mean I’m staying behind! Go.”
“Moving,” came the terse reply.
The fight seemed to go out of the remaining enemy on the roof across the street. But it could merely be a lull while they regrouped or tried to flank him. Could there also be more fighters massing on a nearby street, planning an assault on his roof? Or worse—going after the team?
All warfare is based on deception.
Axe crawled to the nearest dead guy and pocketed his ammo. Then he hooked one arm around the fighter, holding the body in front of him, his right arm pointing the AK along the dead guy’s side.
He prepared himself for the lift. There was a reason it was called dead weight.
Axe pushed, his exhausted legs straining, and raised the man up with him. He stood, aimed at the far roof, and fired.
Return fire immediately slammed into the man’s body.
Axe cried out in exaggerated pain and pushed the body forward over the edge of the roof, ducking below cover before the dead man fell.
The rate of gunfire increased as the fighters emptied their clips into the body laying in the dirt of the street.
Suckers. Axe low crawled away, leaving behind the cries of victory from the fooled enemy.
Off the roof. Down an alley. In the darkness, he moved like a shadow across the open ground at the edge of town.
Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.
He caught up to where he thought the guys would be.
“Friendly approaching from behind.”
Axe got the acknowledgment from Link, then approached the group. They were a short distance from Echo One, concealed behind a pile of rocks. Even in the green glow of the night vision, Ronbo looked bad.
“Echo One is pinned down. Not by many, but enough. Evac is on the way. But we’re going to die getting Ron on the bird if we don’t neutralize those guys near Echo One.”
“Good thing I brought you presents.”
He handed an AK and ammo to both Link and Hector.
“Aw man, we didn’t get you anything, sorry.” Hector didn’t talk much, but when he did, he could be pretty funny.
“Best guess to the enemy positions?”
Link drew a quick diagram of the situation in the dirt.
They worked out a plan. “Tell Echo One to aim high. And don’t let the bird leave without me.”
“Not a chance.”
Once again, attacking from the rear proved successful. Axe killed the first two with his knife simply by crawling up behind them and slitting their throats as they focused their attention on shooting at Echo One’s position.
The second group was well situated and impossible to approach stealthily. He shot them in the head, a part of his brain noting the aim of the stolen weapon was off a touch to the right.
As soon as he fired, he heard two other AKs. Link and Hector each handling their targets.
The night was quiet except for the beat beat beat of the helicopter as he worked his way back to the team.
Minutes later, safe in the bird, he felt where the enemy had shot him. His chest hurt, but it wasn’t serious. The ceramic plate had caught the bullet.
Good aim. Well trained. He shot first. He was faster than me.
Axe slumped against the wall of the helicopter, fighting exhaustion. Tough night.
The corpsman working on Ron gave him a thumbs up and a nod. “He’ll be OK” he yelled over the noise of the wind and rotors.
Link and Hector caught Axe’s eye, giving him a nod and sharing everything with a glance. Their gratitude. Their respect. He shared a tired nod back. All part of the job. And they’d saved his ass plenty of times before.
It’s what they did.
2
The Exit
The gym at the base only had free weights, but they didn’t need fancy machines.
After debriefing the op, being reassured Ron would be fine, and seeing Link fixed up, Axe cleaned his weapons and took care of his equipment. Then he showered, ate, and finally slept.
When he woke, he hit the gym.
Axe strained under the weights, squatting down, then pushing up. Again and again. Who cared that less than twelve hours earlier he’d carried Ron around the village, jumped onto roofs, and walked miles? Strength mattered. Every day was an op day or a training day. Warriors didn’t take days off.
He grunted as he straightened, racked the barbell, and turned to Hector, working out next to him in the small room. “The tango got the drop on me. Let’s face it: I’m slowing down.”
“No way. You’re fine” Hector grunted as he bench pressed far more weight than seemed possible for his slight frame. “It was an ambush.”
“True. But he moved faster. And it’s not the first time. It happened last month too. That op where the goat stepped on the land mine.” That had been a bloody mess. But at least it alerted them to the danger ahead.
“Face it. I’m getting old.” He was by far the oldest guy in the Teams doing direct action. After a certain age, people either got out or moved up.
He didn’t want to rise up the ranks. He didn’t want to be command. How could he leave the camaraderie of the small unit? How could he sit behind a desk — or worse: create slide presentations for the brass?
No way.
He kicked in doors and killed the enemy.
Sure, he picked up the lead when Ron got shot, but any of them could have done it. He came up with the plan, so he took point. No big deal.
Axe wiped his thick beard and long hair with a fresh white towel from a stack in the corner of the work-out room. He avoided looking in the small mirror on the near wall. He didn’t need to be reminded of the gray hairs that seemed to multiply every day, especially on the beard.
Hector placed the weights on the rack and sat up. He was thirteen years younger than Axe and had no idea how much harder Axe had to work to stay in shape.
“I don’t care how old you are, Grandpa. Happy for you to have my back any day.”
Axe looked at his friend. The two of them had clicked from the start, despite their age difference. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone his decision yet, but he wanted to get it off his chest. “I’m done. I told command today.”
Hector choked on the water he was chugging. “Wait. What?”
“I’m out. End of this deployment. I’m not re-upping.”
He shook his head before Axe could finish. “You’ll change your mind.”
Axe shrugged. “Paperwork’s already done. They’ll have me stay behind for the next few weeks, or act as backup. If we get any ops, that is.” Things had been slow lately. Peace was breaking out all over. Aside from hunting down the asshole bomb maker, it had been boring. Another reason to call it.
