John O'Brien - Reckoning

I send two rounds into each of the guards whose surprise is short-lived. One guard crashes backward into the controls from two rounds impacting his cheek and nose. He then topples to the ground leaving a red smear across the control board. The second is spun around in his chair as two projectiles slam into his neck and mouth, spraying blood into the air. He falls heavily to the floor beside his overturned chair.

Rounding on the third guard, who is recovering from his stumble and starting to reach for his own handgun, I fire point blank into his forehead. His head rocks sharply backward and stops. It then moves slowly forward as if he doesn’t know that he’s already dead and is trying to right it. He then slumps to his knees and falls face forward. The door behind me closes with a click.

The second guard, hit in the throat and mouth is gurgling, air bubbles forming from the holes in his throat and mouth. Noting that these guards aren’t wearing armored vests, I walk over and pump two rounds into his chest. His shirt flutters upward from the striking bullets and his wheezing/gurgling ceases.

I look overhead at the door to see if they have a camera installed inside and I’m glad to see that there isn’t one. There are dozens of monitors filling the wall above a control panel. Most are from the fence line but others show the interior. I see the ones of the hallway I just crept through playing through their loopbacks. They don’t look any different than the others with regards to quality and look natural. One monitor shows a room with several guards sitting around a table playing cards. I assume those are the ones who responded to the doors and cameras. Another monitor shows a location that looks like a control room for a space launch center with manned consoles and several large screens to the front. I continue to look but, other than the ones mentioned, I don’t see anyone moving around. Unfortunately, after looking over all of the feeds, I don’t see any depicting a barracks or where the majority of the security personnel are staying.

All of the monitors have locations imbedded into the video feed which makes it rather convenient. Studying the controls, I find that it’s rather intuitive. I’ll place the fence monitors into playback mode when the others arrive. If there is an alternate security room, they shouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary unless they look at the small time stamp in the lower corner. The possibility of a secondary security room is the reason I placed the loopback over the room I’m currently occupying.

“I’m in. Land and send the teams,” I send to Robert.

“Okay, we’re on the way,” he replies.

Now is the time for luck to take the reins for a little while. It’s going to be some time before the teams arrive and it’s just me. I remove my pack and place it against the wall near the door. Holstering my Beretta, I remove the M-4 strapped to my back. Uprighting the overturned chair, I place two of the guards in the seats, arranging them as best as I can. Using speed tape, I secure their legs to the seat and do my best with their upper bodies while keeping the tape hidden from the back. I push the chairs close to the console to hold their bodies up. It won’t hold up for anything more than a cursory inspection, but anyone passing by the window and glancing in shouldn’t be alarmed.

Dragging the third guard out of view, I remove his shirt and begin mopping up the copious amount of blood on the floor and console. In case you didn’t know, wiping spills up from a linoleum floor is a bitch. I end up having to use the guard’s pants as well. On a table opposite the equipment racks, there are three hats. I take two of them and place them on the two guards. Standing by the door, I look over my handiwork and chuckle thinking that I could actually make it look right. It’s like something from the horror section of a wax museum, but it should pass a quick inspection, especially as anyone walking by will be expecting to see guards at their stations. A lot of it is about what others expect to see and accommodating that vision.

There’s really nothing else for me to do so I station myself against the wall just inside the door, watching the banks of monitors and ready for anyone to enter. I won’t have any warning other than the lock disengaging so I stay alert. Although I’d never tell anyone, there’s a part of me that didn’t expect to make it this far and the effort has left me feeling drained. Along with being tired, there is a deep anxiety about having to wait so long. It’s the unknown and the anticipation of it that will fuck with the mind…and that’s where I am at the moment.

The hours seemed like days in the back of the 130. The perpetual turbulence made it seem like she was riding a bucking bronco. Not only was the jarring constant, but the back end also swayed to the sides as the aircraft rode the choppy air. The smell was atrocious, and it became too much for several of the soldiers. Although she threw the cat litter concoction on the messes and cleaned it up as best as she could, the stench still threatened to gag her, the sweet smell of the scented kitty litter seeming to actually make it worse.

It’s like Old Spice mixed with vomit , she had thought as yet another jarring crunch threatened to grind her hips into her shoulders. The sinking of the sun brought some calm to the turbulence.

That was hours ago and, since then, Jack had jumped out into the night. Riding in the cockpit since his exit, there had only been one update from Jack, relayed through Robert, saying that he was at the fence and proceeding. Since then, silence. For the past couple of hours, there has only been the droning of the engines as they turned in circles to the north.

Lynn knew it would take time for Jack to get inside, but her worry increased with each repetition of their flight pattern. Her bottom lip was sore from constantly gnawing on it. Several times, she had to restrain herself from asking Robert to call for an update. Each time, she stopped herself thinking that it might interfere with what Jack was doing. Any disruption could cause him to falter at a critical point. Instead, she just resumed her pacing and bit into her already sore lip.

“Lynn,” Robert calls but she is lost in her thoughts.

“Lynn,” he shouts, this time the call penetrating her consciousness.

She turns to Robert who is looking at her from under his helmet. “He’s inside. We’re going in.”

Relief floods through her. The moment is short-lived though as she knows their part is coming up, along with the fact that Jack is inside without any support.

“How long until we’re on the ground?” Lynn asks.

“Twenty minutes,” Robert replies.

Lynn gives a nod and heads into the back to inform the teams. With the news, the passive sitting that they’ve been doing for hours becomes an explosion of silent activity as they rise and begin gathering their gear. Straps are removed from the tied-down piles, packs are searched through and donned, weapons and mags are checked. Satisfied that they’ll be ready upon arrival, Lynn dons her own gear and heads back into the cockpit.

Robert and Craig are talking with each other and setting up for the approach as she reenters. Robert turns and lets her know that Jack didn’t find any mines on his way through but left a brown cord centered on a safe route. She listens as he describes the fence and pole number to enter through. He mentions that it doesn’t look like the response teams are wearing armor vests so center mass shot will be effective.

“Oh, and he said he left a key under the mat,” Robert says, finishing.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Lynn asks, searching for the relevance.