31

Jack

 

 

The Forest, Refugio Tatí Yupí, Paraguay

 

 

Suz and the boys were tucked safely in a hide. She had his Glock in her hand in case an animal got too curious. Jack was surprised that she had accepted it without protest, taken it without vomiting – not even a shake in her hands.

Jack had taken off at a jog to get eyes back on the camp. The day was advancing, and he was afraid for the Mossad unit. Through his binoculars, Jack saw a man with the bearing of leadership standing in the middle of the clearing with a SAT phone in his hand. The man hollered, “Yuri.” A man turned and jogged forward. The leader called out something, and Yuri about-faced and jogged to the commander’s tent, bringing back a notebook and pen.

The leader wrote something out then checked his watch, pointed toward the ATVs as he made his directive, and pulled the page from the notebook. Yuri saluted and folded the paper before he put it in the side pocket of his pants. He pulled out his cell phone, nodded, and put it back in his pants. He moved toward the ATVs.

Jack took off running. Across the path from the camp, he made a sharp right and high powered his way through the trees, crashing through the undergrowth. He had to intercept Yuri before Yuri was able to get enough bars to call out.

Jack felt certain, that with a little luck, and his leg holding out, he could transect the curve and get ahead of the guy. His knee burned, sending shock waves of pain through his whole body. Jack clenched his jaw and emitted a low-level growl. He came to the tree line that was his only shot at getting this guy without using a gun. Jack’s nostrils flared as he sucked in oxygen and hissed it back between his teeth. He strained to hear the engine noise and got nothing. If he was too late, he’d need to jog out of here and try to warn the unit. Jack reached down and jerked his leg brace back into place. Twenty-two klicks would feel like hell.

Jack flipped his molle pack onto the ground and pulled out a spool of bank line. With a practiced hand, he drew the black cordage around the tree and ran across the path to affix it on the other side. Coming around that curve, the guy would have no chance of seeing the line in time to divert. It should hit the guy across his shoulders.

Jack turned his ear toward a low rumbling. He pulled his knife. Plan B was to throw himself onto the path behind the guy and get his blade between his ribs and into a lung. Shooting the guy was last on his list of intercepts. With the boys and Suz hidden near the camp, and only his Glock in Suz’s hands to stop the bad guys from recapturing them… It was like arming the enemy, he knew. Suz could never shoot anyone. But he had to leave her with something. And he wasn’t willing to bring them to the men’s attention by using a bullet to drop this guy off his ATV.

Jack stood in the shadow of a tree, his toes at the edge of the path, his knife in hand, perfectly still. As Yuri drove up, the cordage clothes-lined him. Yuri’s body stayed in place as the ATV continued forward dropping Yuri onto his back. The man was sucking wind, his eyes frantic.

Jack was on top of him in a second, pinning the man in place with his weight alone. The man couldn’t breathe, his eyes stretched wide as he tried to flail. But Jack lifted his knife and planted it behind the man’s clavicle, ending the fight. Jack patted the guy down, pulling out his wallet and ID, his phone, and most importantly the paper with the message. It was written in a language Jack didn’t recognize, lots of accent markings. He put it in a plastic bag in his pocket and zipped the pocket shut. Jack dragged the body back into the forest and moved to the ATV. The forward momentum of the rider-less machine had slid the vehicle into the tree line and wedged it at an angle between two massive trunks. Jack’s plans of riding the ATV to the road, making a call, and heading back in to the hide were crushed.

Jack turned and jogged back to the camp to scope out the situation and devise his next moves.

Hidden behind a fallen log, Jack trained his binoculars on the x-rays. Using his thermal imaging, he had eight heat signatures. Just on the off chance, Jack tapped his comms, “Zulu command this is Alpha two, radio check, over.” Static greeted him. He wondered how close they’d have to be to get radio signal. He checked his watch Time flies when you’re having fun. The skies were still clear, he expected the unit in soon. He tried again, “Zulu command this is Alpha two, radio check, over.” He’d keep trying.

Jack switched to his binoculars and trained them on the guy working behind Suz’s tent. He bent and traced the outlines of four sets of foot prints. He followed them to the corner of the fence line and just as Jack had done he bent and studied the puddle, twisted the nut and stood with his gaze headed down the path. This man was a professional tracker. Jack needed to take these people out. As the guy jogged toward their leader, Jack put him in his crosshairs. His finger moved onto the trigger as he followed him with his sights. The guy stopped when the leader held up his hand. Through the rifle scope, Jack could see that the leader had made a connection with the SAT phone and was talking animatedly into the line. Jack held off, he didn’t want the person on the other end to hear any gun fire and send more people in.

Minutes passed very slowly as the guy talked.

“Zulu command this is Alpha two, radio check, over.”

“Zulu command, readable, what’s your sitrep?”

“Stand by for a salute report. There are eight x-rays, patrolling the camp. Caucasian. Civilian clothing. Arrival zero six forty hours. Heavily armed — AK-47s and side arms. They sent a messenger out. He was neutralized. Intel gathered. I have eyes on the camp. They have a SAT link up and are in communication. All three POIs were located and shelved in a safe location to the north-west of camp.”

“Solid copy. Alpha three picked up Serbian communications. A unit is headed in at the top of the pathway. We are three klicks to your location. Standby.”

“Wilco.” Jack switched his rifle sight for his field glasses and followed the activity. The tracker was out the front gate, he moved slowly down the trail, stopping every few steps to closely examine the pathway. He must have picked up the small boot prints from Suz and two sets of small tennis shoes, being tracked by his swim-fin-sized boot tracks. The tracks heading out of the forest looked differently than the dainty booted feet next to Jack’s heading back without the little feet, two people instead of four. The militant stood and scratched his head. He looked back at the camp. He looked up the trail. He radio-ed in his findings.

Keep going. Keep going, Jack willed the militant on. This guy moved like a special operator. Trained. Confident. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d easily follow the tracks at the camp to where Suz and the boys hid. Jack needed to take this guy out of the picture and keep Suz and the kids safe. The farther the operative got from the camp and backup, the better. Jack was up on his feet, but his knee refused to hold his weight. Jack crashed into a tree. “Bite me,” he hissed, reaching down and, through the stiff cloth of his BDUs, he snapped the lock on his brace so that his leg couldn’t bend. He began his step-hop with as much dexterity and silence as he could muster through the heavy growth toward the tracker, now rounding out of sight.

“Alpha two this is Zulu command, we’re on foot, moving toward your location.”

“Alpha two, moving, eyes on an X-ray tracker, heading up the path in your direction.”

“Zulu command, do not engage with fire arms.”

“Copy that.” No he’d have to take this guy out hand to hand. Jack took nothing for granted. This guy was big, but Jack would have the element of surprise. Jack kept pace with the militant, waiting for him to crouch and observe a print, when his thoughts would be elsewhere. Jack knew the size and weight behind his boot print made for easy tracking in the wet loam. This guy didn’t need to bend and think. The heat of the day rose with the sun, Jack perspired heavily under his battle fatigues and pack. Sweat dribbled down from under his helmet, stinging his eyes with salt.

The militant crouched in the shadow to make a low profile. Stilled. His focus was down the path that was straight and downhill at this point, giving him a long view of what was ahead. He swung his rifle into position against his cheek and peered through the scope.

“Zulu command, this is Alpha two, you’ve got attention.” Jack moved air over his tongue and lips, knowing that the technology would fill in his words with sounds for the unit’s ears.

“Copy. All units take cover.”

Jack saw the militant reposition, dropping a knee to the ground, and moving his finger from the guard to the trigger. He had a lock on someone. Jack flung himself out from behind the tree and landed on the tracker, trapping the rifle under him so he couldn’t fire. The man quickly twisted, yanking a knife from his leg holster. He and Jack grappled, rolling and snorting over the ground, into the trees. Fists impacted muscles with dull thuds and grunts. The guy was on top of Jack and had Jack’s braced leg in a lock. The pain was excruciating. As the guy’s knife swung toward his eye, Jack twisted the militant’s wrist, snapping it. The knife floated somewhere into the composting vegetation. As the man cried out, Jack reached up to grip the guy’s neck, and squeezed until the sound was silenced. The militant was a machine. He kept coming after Jack. He had found a rock and was slamming it against Jack’s helmet, hitting in to Jack with heavy thuds. Jack’s hands squeezed down on the man’s neck. The militant’s last swing shoved the helmet off Jack’s head, the rock making contact with a stinging blow. The militant’s weight fell onto Jack. Jack rolled the man’s unconscious body off of him to the side, he lifted the guy’s torso and standing behind the unconscious man twisted his chin and shoulders in opposition, cracking his cervical spine, and killing him instantly.

Jack gasped into his comms, “Alpha two, the threat has been neutralized.”

“Zulu command, copy that, we’re moving, the militant unit just past us on ATVs, we counted fifteen heads, over.”

. . .

“Alpha two this is Zulu command do you copy?”

. . .

“Alpha two this is . . .”

The ringing in Jack’s head drowned out his ability to form words. He staggered forward a single step. He fell over a downed log. Rising up onto his good knee, his bad leg stretched behind him, he moved his head in a slow circuit. The greens of the forest kaleidoscoped before him. He tried to lift himself to his feet and fell. He pulled off a glove and felt his head where the rock had crushed down on him. The flesh was swelling. Blood poured from his wound, down his collar, saturating his shirt. His fingertips traced the opening; he could feel bone. Jack pulled his shemagh from his pack strap and wrapped it tight around the gash, at least he could keep the blood out of his eyes. He felt around blindly for his helmet and got it back on his head. Years of night operations allowed him to work without a visual field.

He leaned over and puked. Wiping the last of the spittle from his lips with the back of his arm, he tried to formulate a plan. If he lay here, he’d be panther food. If he crawled to the path, the insurgents would find him. If he called in a unit member, they’d be one down for what came next. They were already outnumbered two to one. Jack was on his hands and a knee panting; his left leg stretched out at an angle. If Zulu unit shot into the camp with AKs, the high-powered rounds would fly toward Suz and the boys. He had to get to Suz and the boys now and get them moved. He pushed to standing. He took a single blinded step and was down again. “Bite me.”

Flat out on the carpet of leaves Jack thought, Jack fell down and broke his crown. . . Lynx had been crying when she told him that. She didn’t say it out loud, but Suz would come tumbling after. No fucking way he’d let that happen. No fucking way. Jack pushed his palms into the ground, lifting his torso. The world spun to black.