Sabre Six : File 51 (21 page)

After sha
king off Joe I picked myself up. He just looked at me!

“I think that’s one to me.” Cheeky sod!

Joe moved off, and I gave him the credit after we finally found our position an hour later. “Ok, I admit it! This time yes, I screwed up.”

We reached o
ur new destination and dug in, my M24 ready to fire. I could at least take the credit for my accurate firing position: I was right you know, I had a much better shot from here! Even Joe laughed at my expense. I had a raging itch just below the knee, which I intended to scratch until I noticed a swarm of bats heading our way, flying viciously over our heads.  It was like a swarm of flying rats, and I hate rats. I could not move a muscle; I felt violated by these annoying little vampires. Joe sent a last message that we had arrived at the final RV.

All we had to do was lie in wait; we knew the bastard was home, there was too much activity for him not to be, and I’d already seen the fucker! I sighted my scope in on the two watchtowers. The soldiers on guard were just your bog standard village militia, nothing more,
and the gate was being manned by two kids of no more than fifteen, if that: pathetic really. They both carried AK47s.  The rest were workers, buyers, nothing more, nothing less. Just warlord lackeys and scumbags.

“Michael! One girl has just walked up to the gate!”

“Yeah, seen.”

“She’s got a nice little tight arse
, ain’t she! The little slut!”

“I’ve
seen it all before, mate, all before.”

“Seen what?”

“The other day on my recce. The same girl appeared then too!”

“And you never bothered to tell me?”

“I didn’t feel you needed it after your session with the big black yank!”

“Fuck off
, Michael, you prick! It wasn’t like that either, nothing happened, ok!”

“Yeah, ok then Joe, ok buds! N
othing happened. You just had your arse rammed by some tall black marine, who happened to be a big old boy!”

“
I hate you Michael, I really do!” Joe continued to stare at the girl until she fucked off that day. He was very quiet after that.

It must have taken us two more days before the bastard finally showed his face. I had his head in my sight. I zoomed in, finger on the trigger – and then his child jumped in front of my shot. I pulled myself back. Joe was updating me on everything that was going on around us; he never missed a thing. I had missed my chance, though ruined by that darned kid! It would have been over by now; we’d be on our way north and across the border by tomorrow evening.

We continued scanning the area, only hoping that we would get another chance to take this bastard out. Joe passed me my water canteen and a piece of biscuit fruit; I placed it inside my mouth and continued to stag on. My eyes aggressively fixed to the front building, I was becoming anxious about the fact I may have missed my only chance. Maybe I should have gone for it and shot through
the kid! I positioned myself at a correct angle and waited for the bastard to come to me. It took six hours before we got another chance. Joe nudged me, and I pinpointed the scope to the building, noticing a crowd of people standing by the doorway, all smoking cigarettes or cigars. Joe was giving me a sit rep every minute, on the ball big time. I was very impressed. I could see one male blocking the doorway, and as he turned round, Joe confirmed that it was Mohammed. His ten-year-old child was standing next to him, laughing away with the others. I released my safety catch, whilst Joe counted me down.

“T
arget in sight, wind direction north to north-east; slight breeze, target 800 metres. FIRE! – FIRE! – FIRE…”

“Stop!” I pulled back from the shot! My stomach churned.

“Michael, what the fucking hell are you doing? Why didn’t you take the fucking shot?” I scanned the area with my scope. Was I seeing things?

“Michael
, are you listening to me, mate?”

“I have just seen Killeen, mate! Fucking Killeen
is down there with Mohammed and his kid!”

“You’re fucking joking!”

Joe looked through his binoculars and was shocked at what he saw.

“Jesus fucking Christ
, mate! Take Mohammed out, now!”

I had so many emotions coursing through my very
blood. My wife’s killer was no more than 800 metres away. My adrenaline had doubled. I wanted this fucker more than anything.

“Michael, take the fucking
shot and take out Mohammed now- our main target!”

“Fuck off, I can do this! J
ust fuck off, you cunt!”

“Take ou
t Mohammed first and
then
Killeen. Stan wants you to take him out! He’s the key player, mate: fucking do it!”

I gave the thumbs up to Joe,
and he knew that I meant business! I had both in my sights. I had five rounds of 7.62mm in my magazine. I would never take more than one shot, but this was so different.

“T
arget in sight, wind direction north to north-east, slight breeze, target 800 metres. FIRE! – FIRE! – FIRE! .... HIT!!” My first target was down. Killeen was dead: the bullet had passed through his heart. Joe was fucking angry that I’d switched my target. He was fucking fuming!

My second target was down. Mohammed’s head exploded over his young boy. The boy froze! I pulled back on the trigger and took the shot. I hit him clean in the chest and he dropped like a sack of shit.

I pulled back from the sight, closing the dust cap as I did so. Joe continued to observe as I destroyed the weapon. I took out the M24s firing pin, cracked the scope and prepared to move.

“You’re a fucking wanker
, Michael.”

“Shut up! They’re
down aren’t they? So stop your fucking moaning, bitch!” He wasn’t a very happy boy.

“Let’s get the hell out of here, move it!” Joe dropped his ghillie suit along with mine and dumped
it next to the rifle before sending the kill message on the radio.

Chapter Eight: Sabre Six – File 51

“Stan, there’s an urgent message for you in the back room!”

“Ok, wait here, Sir, I’ll be back in five seconds.”

O
ne of the security staff escorted Stan into the circular office.

“What’s this all about then?”

“You’ll see, Stan!”

Stan entered
the room. The head of MI5 was on the video conference screen, sitting in his arm chair smoking a cigar.

“Hello Stan, you ok?”

“Not bad, Sir, and how are you?”

“Fine, I couldn’t be better.”

“That’s good.”

“We’ve just received a recording that Sabre Six has been successful
, Stan. The boys have done well!” Stan looked happy.

“I knew they would
, Sir: my boys wouldn’t let me down.”

“Stan, one more thing!”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Sabre Six is dead, obsolete. P
ull the plug.”

“Sir?”

“Pull the fucking plug.”

“But Sir! What about the team?”

“What team, Stan?”

“Sir?”

“Pull the fucking plug. It’s over!”

The screen went blank. Stan slammed the office door. On the way back to his office, Stan knew that his boys would get home safely, Michael was the best there was in the field.
Stan felt as if he had betrayed Michael, though, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it.

We now had to get the fuck out of here. We cleared the first half a mile without any commotion from our pursuers, who were still coming to terms with what had just transpired. We were back in Afghani style clothing, but trying to blend in would be difficult because there was no-one about. We dumped the rifles and the ghillie suits; we had to just have local rags from now on. Joe turned and stopped in his tracks. “Jesus, can you hear that, they’re gaining on us.” We legged-it across a road, but Joe tripped over and landed on his knee. I looked back.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nah, just keep fucking moving.”

“Get off the fucking road, they’re coming!”

We both legged-it in opposite directions: the game was now on. I dived head first into a rocky field of boulders and gorse. God knows what had happened to Joe; he must be on the other side of the track! I covered myself in mud, wiping it all over my hands and face. I needed to stink like shit. It helps cover up human scent, making it a bit harder for dogs to track. I knew I didn’t have much time, and they were gaining ground on us. I only hoped our Joe was ok; I was sure he was wise enough. Not long before the first vehicle appeared I could smell the exhaust fumes, the stale smell of diesel. Six men jumped off the back of the four-ton truck, the driver having trouble putting it back into gear, revving the engine as loudly as he possibly could, and the soldiers patrolled either side laughing at his actions.

Once they got it sorted, the driver stuck it into gear and off they went,
heading slowly up the track. A further three trucks passed my location, heading north towards the first truck; they realised we were going to head straight for the border, the turd heads. Once I knew it was safe, I popped my head out to have a look. Both sides of the track were clear. I sprinted across to try and find Joe, tripping and falling over on the way. I bet he was laughing at me, the little bastard. The bush was thick as me on this side, and he could be anywhere. “Joe, can you hear me? It’s me, Michael!” I knew he would be here somewhere.

I trod carefully
, leaving no signs of damage on the ground just in case they returned and plotted our movements.

“Joe, where the hell are you, m
ate? It’s me, Michael!” I searched all over for an hour and a half but my good old mate Joe was gone.

I hoped he was ok. Those bastards were heading north, and that was the plan. Oh, God
! I hoped Joe would make it. I pulled my finger out, made a plan and then set a bearing to head east. I really thought those fuckers would have worked that one out: I didn’t know they were so clever; I was very impressed.  I covered myself up, wrapping my shemagh round my face and head. All they needed to know was that I was a lost medic. Joe was a strong character; I just hoped that he could make it. He must have known that the plan was flawed as soon as he heard the disturbance from behind. It didn’t matter, he was gone now. I made my move, kept off the tracks, and paced myself carefully as I trekked through the bush. As long as I could get to the hills I would be fine. My only concern was the two dead rag-heads from the plantation; I was sure they must have been reported missing by now. Something was coming! I got down, diving into a small bit of bush at the side of a pathway. Where the hell was that coming from? I kept my ears pinned back, hoping for the noise to go away. It couldn’t be soldiers. How the hell would they know I was there? No one had seen me; it would have been impossible. I very slowly lifted up my neck, so I could use one eye to see what was happening. They continued talking to one another, whoever they were. They were having a moan or something, the stupid slags.

I stayed where I was for at least half an hou
r after they moved off. If I could make it to the hills I would be just fine. My water was low and I had run out of food. I was sure I would have no choice but to find something soon. I dusted myself off as I crossed the track. Finding a small stream nearby, I took the opportunity to fill up my water canteen and freshen up, then set off, following the stream into the trees.  I had my compass attached to my coat, so at least I knew I was going in the right direction. I continued to follow the stream, which got deeper as I moved along it, until I tripped over a root, fell in and bloody hurt my leg. Soon it was throbbing. I wondered where our Joe was, hoping he was ok, the stupid bastard. I spent the next hour or so talking to myself, trying to work a plan out, or, to put it bluntly, wondering how the hell I was going to get myself out of this shit. At last I came to the end of the stream. Below me, further down the valley, was a dam and a big old drop – I had no choice but to climb down. The view from up there was somewhat undesirable; too many folk hanging about. I needed my peace and quiet. I made sure my footing was correct before I leant over the side: I was looking at about at least an eighty foot drop to the bottom. I took a leap of faith, and that was a big mistake. As I fell towards the water I hadn’t realised there was a shallow part on the right hand side. As I hit the water I had just about made a safe landing, though hurting my leg in the shallows. I swam in agony towards the river bank. Looking up at the falls, it was some fucking drop, and I must have been a wanker to have jumped. I decided I was definitely going to take it easy unless I came across any more rag-heads. Reaching down I grabbed my first rock. The bastard slipped and I fell sideways, catching my footing before I went straight to the bottom like a giant turd. I’d come to a hollow piece of rock and the fall was going to be hard, but I had no choice. My leg was too badly hurt, and I was going to have to endure the drop. I landed at the bottom, knocking myself unconscious, and lay on the floor bleeding from the head. My leg actually felt better as I dreamt of my beautiful Hannah working away in the garden. I was not so lucky when I came round. I was in shit state! My leg was even worse and I had broken a bone in my foot, leaving me gasping in agony. I tried to stand up, only to find that my head was bleeding quite badly. I needed to move on, but I was not in any physical state to do so. I had just dug my own grave. I had an unknown army out looking for me somewhere, so it was only right that I pulled my finger out and got moving. All I needed to do was continue heading east. Just keep heading east, Michael. Come on, boy, you can do it! Pull your finger out your backside and move it, Shit for Brains.