Walk

Disclaimer: I’m ad-libbing from memory on one-shot stories that happened almost two years ago. If there’s errors, let me know and I’ll ammend them.

Disclaimer 2: This chronicle is for mature audiences only.

“You see the way that McNabb boy scrambled on Sunday? Damn, he’s gonna take them to the big show, ain’t he Cain?” Elisha Cain didn’t care much about the Eagles chances to make it to the Super Bowl. He didn’t care much about Shavers using his name. In fact, there were only two things that he did care about right now. First, that the mission would run razor smooth. Second, that he’d be able to finally get a good night’s sleep afterwards. Cain thought about ordering Shavers to shut the fuck up. He did, after all, outrank him, not that ranks mattered in the wetworks business.

“We’re almost at the drop zone, 2,” was all Cain decided to say as he started his final weapons check. Shavers nodded, acknowledging the unspoken order. The others began their final weapons check. They had been a team since the Gulf, beginning with run and gun missions, eventually moving up to political asassinations. Killing everything that breathed in the name of good old Uncle Sam. They had become a good team, knowing each others’ move like Swiss clockwork. They were Squad Four.

“Check complete, 1,” said Weever, 3 on this mission. Some uniform with a bunch of stars on his shoulders asked them for codenames, as if they were some cartoon real American heroes. They had responded with simple numbers: 1, 2, 3, and 4. Each mission, they switched up who was what number, just in case any clever bastard began listening in to their communications and figured out their tactics. In the case against General Viggo Lukovich, Cain was the lead dog, so he was 1.

The green light flashed, signaling their arrival at the drop zone. The squad moved quickly, a pair of zip lines thrown out each side of the helicopter bay. As Cain felt the rotor blades whip wind in his face, he thought over the mission. The primary target was one General Lukovich, a grade C asshole. Back in the day, the U.S. had funded his little missions against the big red threat, gave him weapons, training and money, and ignoring his private little genocidal missions in Eastern Europe. Once the Iron Curtain had rusted, the boys at the top had decided to cut Lukovich’s funding, obviously putting a crimp in Lukovich’s day. Now this asshole thought he could blackmail support from the Red, White and Blue by threatening to reveal his actions to the media, bad move for General asshole, job security for Squad Four. Seconday targets’ flashed across Cain’s memory as he slid down the rope with practiced ease, they included a number of known aides. Tertiary targets included any media types that may have the low down on the situation.

The helicopter pulled away and that familiar mood settled into the squad. DeCosta, 4, called it the old ‘off the reservation’ feeling. Now they were in charge of themselves, and they were sanctioned to do whatever was necessary to complete the mission. Cain felt that the wind from the departing helicopter was a subtle rain, washing away the veneer of civilization, allowing him to be the predator he was. Predator, he thought, as the squad began moving toward the General’s reported position. It was something that had been disturbing his sleep of late. Dreams of being a predator, running down prey, feeling flesh rend underneath his hands. Cain chalked it up to all the horror movies he watched and the fact that he was headed into the dark forests of Eastern Europe that gave birth to a good chunk of those movies. Still, those dreams were so vivid. His attention was brought back when he noticed 4 holding up a fist, signaling to halt. Another sign informed him that landmines were present.

The team skirted the mines, diabling enough for a quick exit strategy. Once through, Cain’s plans began to unfold. Satellite imagery had given a good layout of the small town. The analysts had created blueprints of what the house inside should look like. The plan was for 1 and 2 to move into the house and eliminate the primary target, 3 and 4 were to generate diversions to draw the General’s men, allowing for a simple exit. A few ticks of the watch synchronized the team and they began their assignments.

As they approached the target’s location, 2 almost killed some woman who happened to open the door where he was hiding, just so she could put her cat out. It was a close call, pulling the trigger before reaching the target site would have been a big minus. Luckily, 2 managed to render the obstacle silent before she could scream in shock.

The lights for the whole town went out just as Cain and his partner reached the General’s house. 3 and 4 had completed the first part of their assignment. Cain could almost see the two moving to their second objective. In the solitary light of the full moon, he entered into the building.

Killing the target was relatively easy. The General’s men were good with ambushes and shooting defenseless civilians, but they were no real match. Still, the bastard got lucky when he batted a stun grenade back into the hallway from where 2 had thrown it. A blast from a shotgun splintered the door, bloodying the dazed 2. You were nothing in this business if you couldn’t think and react on your feet. Cain laid down in the exposed doorway and pulled his trigger. 1 and 2 moved into the room. 2 confirmed that the target was silence by kicking him in the head several times. “Watch the door, 2,” Cain ordered as he secured some rope and threw it out the window. In the distance, he heard an explosion followed by gunfire. 3 and 4 had detonated the gas depot. Most likely, the shots were just panic fire from the enemy. “Let’s go.” In response, 2 pulled the pins on two more grenades and threw them into the hallway.

Things hadn’t gone as planned with the diversions. The gunfire was not in panic. 3 and 4 had become exposed and the enemy was still in pursuit when they rendezvoused with 1 and 2. Cain took quick assesment of the situation. 2 had been hurt in the General’s location. 3 and 4 looked like they were okay, but complaining of low ammo. They were less than a mile from the pick up. “Hide and seek,” Cain stated as the team divved up their remaining ammo. The others nodded. They would take cover, let the enemy pass, then assault them, being as quiet as possible.

By the time the team had approached the pick up, the shit had hit the fan. 2 had been shot and was bleeding bad when he pushed 1 away. A later explosion told Cain that the enemy had found Shavers’ body. 3 was also supporting 4’s weight. DeCosta had been too close when an enemy had triggered a mine, he had been caught with some of the shrapnel. Cain’s anger was building. How had things gone so wrong? What had he missed in the planning? His body felt like it was on fire. He was sweating like he’d never done before, even in the desert heat.

Suddenly, lights from a jeep shone down on the remaining squad members. Gunfire from an AK-47 and a Slavic-accented “Halt” froze them in place. “On your knees, Americans,” the voice said in accented English. Hesitation was death on this job, Cain fired in the direction of the lights, hoping to hit somebody important. Instead, it brought a short, but painful barrage of gunfire. He lost support from his lower body as burning metal lodged itself into his middle. Out of the corner of his eye, Cain saw blood welling up through Weever’s fingers as the he put pressure on his neck. “You lost Americans, you only managed to kill my decoy,” the voice, General Lukovich, said as he approached the helpless Cain, unholstering his sidearm. “You see, I still have some friends to tell me you were coming.”

A single bang and the whole world seemed to freeze. As Cain fell onto his back, he looked up into the night sky. The moon, he thought, the moon was so close. In the distance, almost as if he was hearing under water, he heard DeCosta give a last “Fuck you,” before another bang reverberated in the air. Cain reached up towards the moon. It filled his vision, he felt as if he could touch it. He reached up and a pulse seemed to reach down to him, answering his burning body. It matched his anger and his frustration. He felt like his body would explode in rage, and it did.

Screams. Pain. Breaking. Rending. Screams. Burning. Tearing. Screams. Glorious Screams. Death.

The familiar wind from the helicopter rotors brought Cain back to himself. His clothes were torn, shredded. His hands were covered in blood, he could even see pieces of flesh under the nails. The back of his throat had the metallic tint of blood. Looking around, he saw the remains of the enemy and his squad. They were torn apart. The smell of blood and smoke filled the air. Limbs and entrails had been pulled from their owners. What had happened? Cain felt his head. He had been shot, right? There, just above his left eye, he felt a bump. Like a deep splinter, he pulled the pistol’s slug from his forehead.

Soldiers pulled him into the helicopter. On the radio, he heard the pilot declare the mission a success.