Chronicles of War
Part 1: Way of the Storm
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"So I came too far/
To end up this way/
Feeling like I'm God/
Feeling there is no way."
- Korn, "No Way"
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Chapter 14: When it Hurts
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James and Ed walked down the main hallway with their guns drawn and
ready. Their eyes searched every nook and cranny within their sights, as
they moved towards the center of the mall with quick and sure steps.
Coming within a few dozen meters of the junction of three hallways that
opened into the food court, they ducked into a store full of various
bathing oddities. Ed dropped into a crouch next to James, peering into
the hallway through a rack of shelves filled with twenty dollar bars of
soap. He had never really thought much about this store--what it sold,
how it was decorated, how it smelled--and he suddenly realized that was
how he felt about every store now. That was how he felt about
everything. He couldn't look at his family the same way.
"Here's the plan," James said softly. He pulled out his pistol and
checked the clip as he spoke. "They've either got backup or shooters
behind those two plants at the corners. Since no one sniped us at the
other junction, I'm betting backup. Now, all we do is get behind that
low wall there, and I'll move ahead. When I'm taken hostage, I'll drop
my gun. They'll stay away from me and demand you surrender. You drop
your gun and they'll close in a bit on both of us. When I move, you use
your backup to shoot anything that moves and isn't me."
"You lost me," Ed said truthfully.
"Okay, a backup is a guy right in the action. Let's say you've got some
property your protecting, and some people are sneaking onto it. So you
have one of your men--"
"I have men?"
"For our purposes, yeah. A couple of men; some real bad-asses."
"Okay. Cool."
"So, you have one of your men get out there and sit behind some cover.
He pops up and draws a bead on one of the invaders once all of them are
in your guy's kill zone. While one guy sets up with a sniper rifle, the
rest of your men come out and disarm the other guys on your property."
This sounded familiar to Ed. "So it's like an ambush, huh?"
"An ambush is supposed to catch your enemy by surprise. The point there
is to attack them when they least expect it. Here, you attack them when
they are prepared, ready, and invading your territory, but still manage
to surprise them. Small philosophical difference, major combative
difference, since you've go the home field advantage."
Ed nodded, not entirely following. "So...why is your guy called
'backup'?"
"Well, plan A is to shoot the trespassers with a machine gun from a
defensible position, preferably behind cover."
Now the plan made sense.
"What is it now?" James asked.
"Nothing. I just...like that line of thinking."
James pulled the two-way radio from his pocket. Ed did a double take. He
had completely forgotten James had the walkie-talkie. The last time
James had used it was when they were evacuating the mall, just one hour
and a lifetime ago.
He spoke into the device, "Kat, this is James." He let off the talk
button and the radio chirped obligingly, indicating that his slice of
time spent talking was over.
"About time you called, asshole," came out of the radio. A chirp from
the other end followed her last word.
James smirked. Ed noted that his eyes never left the hallway. "I love
you too, honey. Could you be a dear and tell me what the cops had to say
about JC Penny?"
"They think there's a bomb in it. According to your map, you do too."
James stared in shock at the radio for a minute. Ed fought back the urge
to poke him to see if he could start breathing any time soon. Finally,
James pushed the talk button once more. "Did they have nothing else to
tell you when they gave you that list? They just rattled off a bunch of
place names and had you write them down?" Chirp.
"Sorry. I remember...they said something about the ceiling of the
entrance."
Ed's mouth moved, words coming out of it before Ed himself was thinking
about them. "They're doing construction on it."
"I don't know if that helps, James." Chirp.
James glanced at Ed, then at the radio. "We'll look their next. Thanks,
Kat."
"And just leave us here?"
"I'll send Ed over when I'm done with him. Besides, we have them
off-balance right now and I'm going to ruthlessly take advantage of that
fact like a politician in October."
It only took another thirty seconds to get her to actually stop talking
over the radio, which James then turned off and returned to his pocket.
"JC Penny's?" Ed asked.
"After I'm done shooting people here, we'll take a little detour. Catch
'em off balance."
"Just don't shoot me, okay?"
James smiled, a savage and twisted thing that made him look like the
cold-blooded killer Ed was beginning to think of as the real James.
"That wouldn't be any fun."
James waited another second, then waved Ed forward. The two dashed into
the main hallway, closing in on the food court. The massive Christmas
tree that occupied most of the wide hallway, just as it met the open
court, was perfect temporary cover. James ducked under the ropes marking
it off from the hallway and stopped right next to the pile of presents
sitting under the tree's lowest branches. James didn't sit around. The
pine needles of the monstrous evergreen that effectively hid them from
view would not stop bullets; a quick glance around and they were moving
again. Around the tree they went, under the ropes of the opposite side,
and to the west of the decorative fountain that marked the southern
corner of the food court.
The food court was shaped like a diamond, with a four foot high, two
foot thick reinforced concrete wall establishing the perimeter of the
eating area from the rest of the court. The restaurants covering the two
northern walls met not at a plain corner, but at the entrance to a small
hallway that led to the restrooms. It was much smaller than the larger
hallways that left to the east, west, and behind the two armed men,
south.
Ed made a mental note to remind James that the hallway to the restrooms
contained the backup fire alarm control panel and several storage rooms.
They stopped only a few yards up the west wall, crouching low and
pressing their backs against the cold white tile that made up the wall.
Another several yards to the west, along the wall, was an entrance to
the open area that had all of the tables and chairs left for the
patrons. All three entrances were flanked by massive plants growing from
pots set into the top of the perimeter wall, and helped both mark the
entrance and obscure most of it from view. Ed knew that blind spot well.
The fountain behind them, he noted with an unnecessary snort of
derision, was decorated with plastic holly that did nothing to improve
its looks.
It was quiet until James unexpectedly shouted, "Give up and we'll go
easy on you!" A bullet skipped off the top of the wall above his head in
response. He turned to Ed, "I guess they're still upset."
"Really?" Ed remarked. To his own ears, the words sounded oddly
conversational. More bullets hit the wall while he reflected on this.
"Yeah, really," James answered in kind, "I'm an expert on this. Now
remember, don't shoot 'til you I make my escape."
Ed took a deep breath. He was getting used to this, and shouldn't that
bother him?
He pushed the question out of his mind and answered, "Okay."
----------
James ran down the wall as well as one could hope to run while hunched
over, trying to be two feet shorter than they really were. He supposed
it looked funny to see a grown man with a gun running around a five year
old playing hide and seek. Or was that cowboys and Indians? In any case,
he'd seen enough of his targets do this very run, that it had stopped
being funny long before he bowed graciously out of the business of--
"Freeze!"
James obeyed the command, but put a bright smile on his face and let his
mouth start running. "So, now that you've shown yourself, do you want to
go through the long, painful, humiliating beat-down, or should I just
knock you out, take your weapon, and save the day real quick like?"
The soldier before him was wearing thick body armor that covered him in
angular chunks of olive drab. His face was a mess of odd angles mashed
together like someone had stuffed his head into a vice when he was a
little kid. His mouth was hung permanently crooked, a twisted leer and
evil smirk, promising pain and violence. He held the business end of an
M16 at James' face. "Put the gun down and I'll consider leaving you
awake while we kill your friends and escape with you knocked out and
tied up in a bag?"
Nice guy, James thought sarcastically, and good looking too. He took a
second to file the ugly soldier's words away for future reference, and
let the MP5 clatter to the floor.
"Kick it this way," the man said tersely, keeping his eyes on James as
the assassin complied, then raised his hands into the air. "And your
friend, too."
"Ed!" James bellowed, "get out and drop your gun! The gig is up!"
"God damn it!" Ed shouted, obviously too late for the expository
swearing. At least he was letting James know he was following the plan.
Had their been silence, James would have found a way to shoot his friend
and keep from standing up and putting his head in the path of a bullet.
Once Ed was unarmed and looking down the barrel of another M16, the
soldier in front of James seemed to relax slightly. He stepped further
away from the wall to let another man appear.
The new soldier was taller than the ugly one, with an instantly
forgettable face and huge orange sideburns. Was the Army letting people
dye their hair on active duty now? The soldier pulled out a set of metal
handcuffs and slid them across the floor to James.
"Cuff yourself," the ugly one demanded.
James raised an eyebrow. Normally the military would pin him and put on
plastic cuffs--the kind one couldn't put on oneself. Why were they even
carrying around this police equipment? "Kinky. Are you sure you're okay
to do this? You look a little nervous..."
"Do it!" The soldier demanded, jerking his gun towards James
threateningly. Sideburns just stood by like a statue.
"We haven't even kissed yet," James persisted merrily.
"Cuff your fuckin' hands behind your fuckin' back!"
James cuffed himself as instructed. "Party pooper."
"Lay face down on the floor!"
"I see," James said, following the soldier's directions. "You want me to
show off all of my fancy tricks."
"You pull any fancy tricks right now and I'll pump you full of lead,"
the ugly one growled.
James watched sideburns approach out of the corner of his eye. The
soldier had his back to the wall, well out of his partner's cone of
fire. He let his ears follow the man's movement. Step, step, step...he
heard something plastic slide clear of a cheap nylon holster. A stun
gun? That made a scary amount of sense. Next would come the decisive
moment. The time to act. James waited just less than half a breath, and
moved.
----------
Ed looked at the handcuffs sitting at his feet. The soldiers were behind
him, one pointing an assault rifle at his back. Simple, right? He was
already disarmed, right? James' plan seemed utterly, utterly mad right
now. James said to wait for the signal, and with nothing better to do,
Ed would follow those orders.
He stooped to pick up the cuffs when someone started shooting. Time to
move. He changed direction without a second thought, turning the bending
movement into a sharp roll to his left. Coming up, he pulled out his
backup pistol and shoot the first soldier where he stood--idiot hadn't
even moved.
His partner was frozen, staring
Ed shot the second man, trying not to look at the mess he'd made, then
took a glance at the action himself.
----------
To James, the hard part was not hitting a vital point on an unseen
target with his hands cuffed behind his back. The hard part did not
happen to include dodging Taser prongs and a falling body while getting
to his feet without the use of his hands. The hard part was not avoiding
a wall of 5.65mm ammunition in the process. The hard part, in James'
humble opinion, was doing all of the above...with style.
In one movement, he knocked the Taser aside and yanked one foot under
his body. Forcing as much strength out of his leg as it would give, he
rose and dashed forward, moving in a zig-zagging line that he'd
practiced countless times. He flicked up one shoulder as he met the ugly
soldier, knocking his M16 aside. The look on that mug was priceless.
James knew it well; how could someone move so that they were just out of
your sights? He could they all but dodge bullets, then dance right into
your blind spot to deliver a knockout blow? Money could not buy this
kind of entertainment.
James grabbed the M16 from the falling body with his hands still behind
his back, prayed the safety was off, while aiming at the wall, and
pulled the trigger. The first burst of fire tore the gun out of his
hands, and he let it fall away. It had served its purpose. He jumped
into the air. Bringing his knees to his chest, he swung his hands under
his feet, then he charged at the sideburns soldier. His target had one
hand on the wall, using it for support while shock washed his face
white. James' shots with the M16 had missed the man by almost a foot.
James took him down with a running knee to the chest, even as the
soldier reached for a backup gun. Both men crashed to the floor. James
heard two gunshots nearby--that had better be Ed--as he used the sharp
edge of the handcuffs to smash in his opponent's nose. His opponent
blinded for a moment, James spared a glance at the guard and his smoking
gun. Good old Ed, his buddy, standing in the open where the snipers
could see him.
"Sniper!" James screamed. Sideburns put out a hand, following James'
voice. His other hand drew back for a punch. Filled with rage, James
arrogantly slapped the hand and let the familiar calm fill him. He took
a deep breath, dodged the punch casually, and stepped in, standing right
next to the soldier. In the next second, sideburns was on the floor,
dead.
The assassin looked around. Ed's ass was disappearing over the wall.
James grabbed his MP5 from the floor, passing over the heavier M16, and
mounted the concrete wall.
----------
Ed heard James' warning and was over the wall without another thought.
There was surely greater moments of tactical brilliance throughout
history, even throughout Ed's life, but anything was better than
standing out in the open with his mouth agape and a stupid blank look on
his face.
James didn't look concerned when he shouted the warning. For all the
emotion that declaration contained, he might have been asking Ed to pick
up a six-pack of beer while he was at the store. The high volume level
did not bring high emotional content as well. Then he turned back to the
lean soldier with the big sideburns that was nursing a horrible broken
nose.
Ed was over the wall the next instant, listening to his heart beat and
his breath rush in and out of his lungs. Great, he noted dryly, I'm
still alive. He wished, fervently, for his heart to slow from the
mouse-on-crack pace to something it was more accustomed to. He noticed
then that he was pointing his gun threateningly at the dozens and dozens
of metal chairs and tables that filled the dining area of the food
court. He studied their shape and style, noted their height, and guessed
their weight. Then he spent a moment begging his breathing to slow down.
"Ed?"
Ed just managed to not squeeze the trigger of his gun as he flinched in
surprise. James had jumped the wall and walked up to Ed in a crouch
without making any noise to give himself away. And he was still wearing
his handcuffs, bastards. He wanted to ask how one man had learned to be
so silent, but settled for asking "What?"
James set his gun on the floor and held out his hands. "Can you shoot
these off for me?"
Oh, of course. Shoot things. Out here in the open. "Wouldn't that alert
them to our position?" Ed asked politely.
"Earth to Ed, I think they know we're here. Shoot the cuffs off,
please."
Ed set the business end of his gun against the short chain, pointing it
carefully away from himself and James, and pulled the trigger.
"Yay! I'm free! And we still have our eyes! Yay!" James looked ready to
jump to his feet and dance a jig. Fortunately, he just threw a fist
triumphantly into the air.
Ed felt his ear with one hand, wondering if it had been hit with
shrapnel. He was indeed lucky to still have his eyes--that was fucking
dangerous. Whey hadn't James warned him?
Speaking of James, the assassin took advantage of Ed's distraction to
scoop the big guy up in a bear hug. He paused when the warm business end
of Ed's gun touched the tip of his nose. James looked down the black
frame of the killing machine impassively. "Yes?"
"Don't do that, please." Ed's voice shook while his hands remained still
and his grip stayed firm.
James pulled back and stuck a hand in the air. It was jerked back twice
as quickly, as if he'd been burned. No bullets followed in its wake, and
James smiled. "Smart."
Ed was beginning to see the pattern. Only he wanted to know...
"James?"
"Yeah?"
"What was that thing you did back there, on the floor?"
The assassin paused in his little charade and gave Ed a secretive look.
Ed was still waiting for James to grab his shoulder, hold up a cupped
hand, and whisper into his ear when he finally spoke. "I practiced that
move thousands of times, correctly, until I could do it perfectly. I
figured that I would be in that position if I screwed up, and so it was
my backup plan."
Well, that made sense. "And the running thing where that guy couldn't
hit you?"
James' smile had a hint of melancholy. "Yeah, that too. A lot harder
than it looks, since you have to pay attention to the person's stance,
grip, how they were taught, and what gun they're holding to predict
where and how far they'll over-correct."
Ed figured it was time to ask the question. Maybe his friend could make
sense of this, and maybe not. Regardless, it was time to ask. "So, I
thought assassins were meticulous planners. The take people out at long
range, stay out of trouble, keep an exit on hand at all times..."
"I'm not sure what delusions you're operating under, Ed, but assassins
kill people. It's a messy business, and I've met damn few marks who
stood still when you were about to pull the trigger, or who stuck to
their routines when they suspected someone was out to bag them."
Ed filed that away for later reference. "So you fought a lot of people?"
"Killed. I killed a lot of people, and I didn't tousle with their
bodyguards for fun. I bagged the mark and got away using whatever means
were available." James' eyes glazed over in reminiscence. "Sometimes it
gets messy...any way, I'm going to run out there in the open and draw
the snipers' fire. You take them out if you feel like it. If you don't
want to chance your life, just stay put. We'll consider this our beach
head."
"If there's guys over there," Ed pointed at the north corner of the
diamond, where a blue restroom sign hung. "Then our flank is open."
"Sometimes we don't pick our battles," James said, checking the action
of his gun and moving into a runner's crouch. "On three?"
The man was either a lunatic with ungodly luck, or a genius in the art
of combat. Either way, they were alive and kicking.
Ed nodded and moved into a shooter's crouch. "On three."
----------
James sprinted towards the far corner of the diamond, all pretense of
stealth forgotten. As for dealing with the snipers he knew were
watching, he would just have to improvise. His environment would be his
defense.
The tables around him were built of cast iron and probably weight
seventy pounds a piece. He'd seen the style before, with a recessed
square in the top that had been filled with ceramic tiles designed to
look like traditional Mexican decorations. The sniper rifles would be
M24 SWS outfits firing 7.62mm ammunition. No commercial dining table
would stop such bullets, but the thick, cast iron edges of these
bruise-inducing beasts might be able to deflect one or two.
Might.
If they didn't, he'd better be elsewhere.
About halfway across the diamond, he altered his course on pure
instinct, and hear the satisfying ring of a bullet ricocheting off of
something metal. He slowed, and tipped over one of the tables--at least
seventy damn pounds, he noted--then faked a dash to the right. He jerked
his body to the left, jumping into the air, and came to a stop in just
two steps. Then he dashed forward again. Another bullet went though the
top of the table behind him with the ear-splitting crack of shattering
cast iron.
Good so far.
He slowed enough to tip over another table, still nearly ripping his
shoulder apart, and sped up. The sniper waited. James had to concede
then, that he was up against trained snipers, and not ammunition-wasting
morons. His only advantage, and one he was taking ruthless advantage of,
was the fact that hitting a target rapidly changing directions at a
close range, was best taken down with a shotgun. A precision shot took
time to make, and since they were aiming for his legs...well, he wished
them good luck.
He skidded to a halt between two tables and grasped their rolled edges.
His fingers almost slipped over the black enamel this time, but he
up-ended both. They hit the floor with the ring of metal on ceramic. For
some reason, the sound reminded of a ringing bell. He then reversed
course, leaping onto a chair and from there bounding to a standing
table. He reversed direction again, feeling the table slide an inch or
two as it took up his inertia. The next leap landed him at the edge of
the adjacent table as another bullet went through his previous perch.
His legs, they were aiming for his legs. James resisted the urge to
throw a few insults at his attackers and faked another jump, dropping to
the floor instead of hopping to the next table in line. Once his boots
hit the tile, he sprinted directly for the wall and vaulted it. In the
air, with only his hand touching something other than air, he both felt
and heard another round slam into the wall.
He was home free. All he had to worry about was the third-string guys on
the other side of the wall.
Fortunately, there was only one of them.
And he was directly underneath James.
The soldier was another young man, probably not even nineteen. He looked
panicked but resolved, wide-open green eyes watching James descend upon
him. James noted the air Taser in his hands, the model that fired tiny
darts and could be used at range. Focusing, he closed his body into a
ball. Everything seemed to slow down as he approached, his eyes watching
only the string of vital points on the soldiers neck that he would have
to strike with timing defined by very tiny parts of a second.
Then the Taser fired. James didn't feel anything, so he assumed that one
of the darts had missed. It was known to happen, but it surprised him
nonetheless. Kids, he lamented. He came down on the soldier like a
wrecking ball. His hand flashed out, a blur to even his trained eyes,
and struck the boy soundly in the neck just before landing. The soldier
jerked back, his mouth opening in a silent scream while his eyes
unfocused.
James didn't spare the soldier a second glance as he rotated on the spot
and vaulted the metal counter to Dairy Queen, his feet missing the till
by inches.
Once more behind cover, he paused to consider his options, and take a
peek in the large canvas bag sitting next to him on the grimy--calling
this place a restaurant was a stretch--floor. It was large and sturdy,
with no identifying marks on the olive drab material. The top was closed
with a pair of brass zippers that parallel down a six inch wide flap.
James listened to a few more bullets skip around the fast food joint,
then heard sprays of automatic gunfire.
That was Ed.
He opened the bag on a hunch, and grinned when he saw the M79 laying on
top of a pile of various weapons and explosives. "Why would anyone just
leave all of this stuff lying around," he muttered with a dangerous
smirk, "If someone happened along and picked this up...why, they might
get themselves hurt."
James pulled out the grenade launcher, the distant sounds of Ed's gun
battle urging him to move with all due haste. He checked the safeties,
loaded an HE round, and peeked over the counter for a split-second. To
his right, opposite the far walkway, was a store selling what appeared
to be clothing for pre-teen girls. Someone and pushed several of the
freestanding metal racks together for a sniper to lay across. Perfect.
James moved over a step and readied the launcher. He popped up again,
drawing and bead on the store and firing the instant it was sighted. His
eyes barely registered the blur of the flying round--at barely subsonic
speeds, no doubt--before the entire store turned itself into a tornado
of debris and fire.
James was over the counter in the next breath, the huge bag slung over
his shoulder, doing his best to sprint towards Ed. No one was shooting
at the moment, thank god that M79 was a good...distraction. He spared at
glance at the ruined store and noted that while there was no Hollywood
fire, thick smoke was pouring out of the gutted entrance. His gaze
shifted back to Ed, crouched behind the wall and dropping a clip and his
presumably empty MP5 on the floor. His pistol was in his other hand and
looked a little worried. Okay, he looked more than a little worried. Raw
panic was just beginning to enter his eyes when he saw James...
And grinned savagely.
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