Paul Kane - Arrowhead

"I don't like this," muttered a soldier to Granger's right. He knew what the guy meant; even with their firepower, it felt like they were sitting ducks, felt like they were the ones being targeted. And they'd just told whoever was out there exactly where to find them. Smart.

They moved forwards, following Javier, knowing that they didn't have a choice in the matter. The overweight Mexican was De Falaise's eyes and ears; he might as well be him. If they revolted, more men who had no choice would come after them. Granger knew that, they all did.

"Why don't you try picking on someone your own size?" came a voice out of nowhere. It echoed all around them, impossible to trace. "If you can find anyone."

"There!" shouted Javier, "It's him!" He pointed, and the men opened up on the trees once more. Except for Granger. He had his finger on the trigger of his weapon but something told him he'd be wasting his ammo.

When the gunfire died down, he was proved right. All was quiet and still for a moment or two, then came the voice again. "Nice try."

"Bastardo!" spat Javier, red faced.

There was movement again in the foliage – but this time Javier himself was on it. He brought up his M16/Colt Commando, firing an incendiary from the grenade launcher fitted underneath. He laughed crazily as the forest burst into flames, burning everything ahead of him. "How does that suit you, my friend?"

There was no answer this time.

Suddenly there was movement again, this time from a completely different direction. Javier pointed, ordering a handful of his men into the trees, Granger included.

Shit! he thought. More orders, more trouble.

Granger held well back as the troops moved in. They crept along as they scanned the area. A guy on his right was the first to go down. Granger heard a snapping sound and turned, quickly enough to see that the man had stepped into a snare, the noose around his ankle yanking him sideways as the branch it was attached to dragged him away into the foliage.

"Place is booby-trapped. He's led us into a fucking trap!" shouted another man, right before his leg disappeared into a small hole that had been covered over with bracken. He cried out in pain, eyes watering. Another ran across to help him, tripping some twine on the floor, which in turn dislodged the stick holding a weighty branch in place. This swung down and hit the man squarely in the chest, sending him reeling backwards, rifle flying out of his grasp.

Granger didn't see how the next soldier set off the trap, but he spotted all too late the spear that was fired from what looked like a huge bow. It hurtled across the green into the man's shoulder, with such an impact that it carried him back a few steps before he eventually fell.

More cries came as the rest of his 'comrades' experienced the same. Spears, snares and tripwires caught them out. Set in a concentrated area to catch animals, they were now decimating their number. Another fell when a homemade bolas wrapped itself around his neck.

Granger retreated, slowly, glancing down at the ground as he did so. Nervously, he checked around him in case he set anything off. Too late he heard the cracking sound below, then the next thing he knew he was being yanked upwards, the net closing in around him and pulling him into the air. His gun fell out of his hands, the mike from his head. He felt his stomach roll as he was hoisted up, only stopping when it reached a certain height.

There he was left, dangling. He took deep breaths, calming himself down. You're still alive, still alive. Just caught in a net, that's all. You can get out of this.

Even as he thought it, someone passed by beneath him wearing a hood. He paused to look up at Granger, and the youth thought that was it – his time was finally up. Then the hooded man went on his way, disappearing into the undergrowth as if he'd never really existed at all.

Javier had heard all the screams through his headset and scowled.

It was one thing he hadn't anticipated, although he probably should have. Having led men into battle in the jungles of South America, he should have thought more about the possibility of traps. But who would have expected the quiet English countryside to be like those war zones? These were different times, though, weren't they? This was post-Cull Britain and anything was possible. The man they were dealing with was a hunter, of course he'd know how to lay traps! Now a good chunk of his squad had been incapacitated, probably killed.

Bastardo!

Javier shook his head. He couldn't let some fucking Englishman with a sense of the theatrical get the better of him. He still had over a dozen well-armed men and There was a noise. It sounded like something whistling, travelling fast. "Take cover!" screamed Javier, but his warning came too late. A single arrow was already flying. But it didn't strike any of the men as he'd expected. Instead it hit the ground, some distance from where they were standing.

What is he doing? thought Javier. Either he's a very bad aim or…

"Get up! Get up and get out!" Javier barked his orders, but they were too late.

The explosion was loud, a live grenade attached to the arrow suddenly detonating. The nearest men were thrown into the air, pulled as if performing a circus act on wires. Smoke was everywhere.

Through the smog, he saw a figure. It darted between the trees, entering the arena of battle, taking on those who were still standing, making the most of their confusion. Javier could have warned them but instead wanted to observe his enemy in combat, get the measure of him. The hooded figure was trained well in the defensive arts, that much was obvious by the way he handled himself. Deflecting punches with his forearms, kicking, throwing men onto the ground and winding them. One pulled a Browning pistol out of his holster and the hooded man spun around, grabbing the soldier's arm and bringing it down over one raised knee until the gun was relinquished. He fought as if he didn't care what happened to him, and yet at the same time Javier recognised some sort of survival instinct there. It was a curious and very dangerous combination.

By the time the smoke had cleared, Javier had brought his grenade launcher to bear again, letting off another incendiary in the hooded man's general direction. And, just as he hadn't anticipated what had happened with the traps, he didn't see what came next, either.

The hooded man cowered from the spreading fire.

Could it be that… Yes! He was actually afraid of the flames. Javier grinned. The hooded man held up his hand to protect his face, stumbling backwards, his mouth open in fear.

This wasn't any ordinary aversion, Javier could see that. Rather, it was as if the fire held some kind of special significance for him – some private terror that only he knew about.

It didn't matter. He'd burn the bastard to a crisp and take his remains back to De Falaise. Javier could imagine what the Frenchman might say: "You have done well, Major. Pick a county and you will rule it as my deputy." It was why all of them were with the man, wasn't it? Power? A chance to rule? Or maybe he should take the hooded man back to De Falaise alive so that he and Tanek could have some of their special brand of fun?

Javier had only let his mind wander for a moment or two, but it was enough for everything to change. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there were other people there. One of the rising soldiers was struck across the face by what Javier thought at first to be a piece of wood, a branch of some kind: another trap the hooded man had set? No… now he could see it was a walking stick, brandished by a squat, bald man, who was even now attacking again. He looked very familiar.

And who was that on the other side? Smaller than the rest, throwing stones at a couple of the other soldiers. A rock caught one man a glancing blow across the temple and he collapsed to his knees.