John O'Brien - Taken

Minutes pass — actually seconds. My nerves are on the highest edge and my mind warns my body to be prepared for pain. I just hope the team can get the kids out. I don’t care so much what happens to me just as long as they’re safe. The light beside me dims and darkness takes its place. I raise my head and see the light moving off to my right. I’m surprised my sigh doesn’t blow a six foot deep hole in the ground. A quick wave of nausea passes through me and I start to move again. I have just taken twenty years off my life but I’m still around.

I reach the fence and slide through at an opportune time and hold it open for Greg. We close it without sealing it and stalk up to the base of the tower. My whole body is still tingling from the close call but is settling down. I set the ladder down and lie in the grass with Greg by the opposite post. I give a thumbs up and see his in return through the green glow.

The spotlight is still off to the side panning around in the trees. “Henderson, Denton, when you have a moment, we’re ready,” I whisper into the radio.

Two soft claps reach out along with a corresponding double flash from within the depth of the trees. The claps are so close together they sound as if it’s almost one. The two 7.62mm rounds streak toward their destination uncaring what that might be. The first strikes one of the guards just to the right of the bridge of his nose and is deflected to the right ever so slightly. It mushrooms only a bit and the now slightly warped bullet passes through the tear duct meeting little to no resistance as it destroys the eye before entering the brain and impacting the rear of the cranium at a high rate of speed. There, it mushrooms fully and explodes out of the back taking a significant amount of the skull with it. A chunky spray, consisting of brain matter, blood, flesh, bone fragments, and hair, blows backward. The guard never knew what hit him. The nerve signals from the nose began their travel to the brain at light speed, firing several synapses along the way before being unable to continue. If the feel of the bullet striking the nose was even registered, it was so quick as to be non-existent. The guard was checking for movement along the beam of the spotlight and then all went black. Nothingness.

The second round hits the other guard in the middle of the forehead. The upward trajectory of the streaking projectile causes the bullet to angle sharply upward. The thick bone of the guard’s forehead mushrooms and splinters the shell as it penetrates the skull. Taking a sharp upward angle, the steel-core round slams into the top of the cranium and exits taking a large part of the guard’s head with it, splattering the ceiling of the guard tower with gore. The first guard’s head snaps backwards. His body follows and he drops from sight. The second guard’s body stands for a moment as if not believing it’s been injured and then falls heavily to the floor.

The spotlight flashes skyward and is lost from sight. The beam comes to rest, shining upward onto the ceiling of the tower. Greg and I rise as one and quickly pull the tactical ladder into its full upright position and attach the small hooks on the end to the tower overhang. With me holding the ladder, Greg quickly scales quietly upward. The ladder is made of hardened plastic which allows for a silent climb. I hear faint static from the radio above. The spotlight beam moves and is once again panning the area, carefully avoiding the team that has crept to the edge of the trees.

Another burst of static from the radio. I hear Greg faintly, “Yeah, it’s all good. I dropped the fucking thing.”

“Okay, Lynn, go,” I say lying once again in the grass at the base of the tower.

I sight in on the other side tower — tower four — and see nothing amiss. The soft sound of grass swishing against pants legs penetrates the area around the tower but not loud enough to be heard from any distance. I watch as Lynn slides through the fence and holds it open for the others. She then heads by me, pausing only to give me a firm hand squeeze on my shoulder, and, with the other team members following, makes her way slowly to the trees. McCafferty crouches beside me. Henderson and Denton arrive and quickly scale the tower as I hold the ladder steady. Greg climbs down and the ladder is pulled up. We are in and it was like a mist flowing rapidly onshore; swift and quiet.

A shriek echoes through the trees we just vacated. That was cutting it a bit close and other shrieks respond from the woods across the compound, seemingly from the area Lynn and I were in earlier that afternoon. That ought to keep the guards busy for a while , I think watching the spotlights swing in the direction of the howls. Greg, McCafferty and I creep slowly through the grass and arrive in the trees. The only indications that the copse is occupied are the lumps on the ground behind trees. I only know they are there because of the NVG’s and, well, because I know they are supposed to be there. I guess if there were a tension meter present, that would indicate we were there as well.

“Okay, Lynn, keep ’em down. We’re heading to the gym,” I say once we all settle into place.

“Copy that, Jack. Good luck,” she whispers back in the radio.

I tap McCafferty at my side. She nods and, rising, we head in a slow crouch to my favorite dumpster and fold into the corner. I take a step toward the pool building corner when I hear the faint crunch of a footstep. Fuck! Really?! I think as I turn and quickly motion McCafferty back to the dumpster. The step sounds close. I direct us quickly to the opposite side of the dumpster. We don’t really fit as there are two of us but we really don’t have much of a choice. We’re both hidden by the large green container but not as well as I’d like. I hear the very faint shuffling of footsteps.

“Jack, what’s up?” Lynn asks whispering.

“I hear footsteps,” I answer quietly.

A pause. “Jack, there’s no one there,” Lynn says.

“I swear I hear faint footsteps,” I respond but am confused. I don’t doubt Lynn’s words but they aren’t corresponding with what my ears are telling me.

“I don’t see a thing,” she replies. “Oh, wait, one guard just entered the light by the main entrance. How in the fuck did you hear that?”

“You got me,” I whisper. Funny thing is that I don’t hear the steps anymore. What I do notice is a slight headache but that has become the norm lately. I also know I’m in for the ‘you can hear just fine’ conversation later. Providing there is a later.

Lynn keeps me abreast of the guard’s position and it’s obvious my roving friend has returned. He is heading our way and the teams in the trees make themselves deep, dark holes. The flashlight arrives in much the same manner as the previous evening. McCafferty is behind me in the corner. I whisper that we’ll let him pass but if we’re spotted, I’ll take him. If there isn’t time or I’m too slow, she’s to take him out. I quietly hand her my M-4 and take out my six-inch, double-bladed knife. The flashlight on the ground in front of me advances.

My adrenals kick into a higher gear. Guards close by tend to do that. I take a deep breath to calm myself, releasing it through the shemagh wrapped securely around my head. Then it’s back to the short breaths. My body is both tense and relaxed as the beam moves closer, lighting the ground in front of me. The radiant light it casts illuminates my knees but only barely. This location isn’t the best for two people but it’s what we have.

The light advances slowly and the guard comes into view. The grip on my knife tightens. I’d prefer to let the guard pass as he’d be missed soon if we were to take him out. He stops, occupying almost the identical spot as before only this time it isn’t for a cigarette. It’s apparent his subconscious has told him something is amiss. Whether that came from a glimpse out of the corner of his eye or otherwise, it’s there. He turns his head in my direction.