Spartan 0-6, Ch.1
Hey y'all
This is my first story here. It contains graphic violence and coarse language. I apologize if it's hard to read. It looks better in word. I accept all comments. I also apologize if I didn't post the tags or anything like that properly, I'm a newb.
Northern Pakistan
A small rural village nestled in a rocky valley. A modest flock of sheep grazing on the sparse brush of a nearby hillside. Millions of stars glittering like diamonds in the clear night sky.
The old shepherd gazed on all these things with a loving eye. This was his native land. His home. He didn't care about the complicated world outside of this simple place. He just wanted to scratch a living out of this barren landscape, and live his life undisturbed. A cold wind came howling in from the north and the old man wrapped his cloak tighter around his body. He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the small shack overlooking the village. He suppressed a shudder, but not from the cold.
"Sometimes the complicated world comes to you whether you like it or not" he thought remorsefully.
He knew about the evil that took place in that lonely shack. The whole village knew, knew but did nothing.
"Does that make us just as guilty?" he wondered as he herded his flock back down the hill.
"I never thought it would end like this," the informant thought forlornly as he was dragged over the rough cobblestone floor.
Suddenly he was roughly deposited on a bare patch of floor in front of a large Islamic banner. He screwed his eyes shut as bright light flooded his vision. As his eyes adjusted to the light he noticed the eight armed men standing around him. Each man carried an AK-47 and their faces were covered by black balaclavas. Their eyes stared daggers of hatred at the cowering informant. One jihadi finished setting up a video camera and flashed a thumbs up to the terrorist leader.
"Please you don't have to do thi...." the informant's pleas were cut short as a rifle butt slammed into his skull with a sickening crack.
The terrorist leader began his speech, "This man has committed the crime of aiding the infidel armies. Now he will die..."
"This is the right place" said 1st Lieutenant Benjamin Pearson with his canine ear pressed against the shack's wooden door.
"Stack up, bang and clear on my order," he commanded the 5 Special Forces warriors around him.
"Now infidels, witness the fate of all crusaders who enter Arab land." The terrorist leader slowly turned from the camera, drew a long serrated knife and walked behind the informant.
"Please I don't want to die" the informant sobbed, but there was no mercy in the eyes of the men around him.
"You have to get up! Fight! Run!" a voice in the informant's head screamed. Before he could rise from his knees he felt a hand seize his hair in an iron grip that seemed to drain the life from his body. His head was yanked savagely back exposing his soft throat. The informant could only stare with wide horror filled eyes at the camera in front of him as the terrorists began to chant:
"Allah o Akbar!"
"Allah o Akbar!"
"ALLAH o AKBAR!"
The informant continued to stare into the camera's uncaring eye as the wicked knife drew closer and closer to his neck. The camera; an all seeing, mute witness to the horrifying spectacle of his death.
"I can't die like this."
"Please Allah save me!"
Suddenly the informant's world was filled with deafening noise and blinding light.
Ben stacked up on the door with his men. Although his face remained calm his heart was pounding in his chest. He let his eyes drift to the two operators closest to the door. To the right side of the door stood demolitions expert Samuel "Hollywood" Glennon with a prepped flash-bang in his paw. The young red fox hailed from the Army rangers and was one of the most courageous furs Ben had ever known. He was always on point, always the first one through the door and had a sixth sense for danger. Directly in front of the door, poised to kick it in, stood Gunnery Sergeant Daniel Knyte. Despite the coming danger, the former Marine scout sniper's visage remained (as usual) the picture of stoicism.
"Hemingway would be proud," thought Ben with a wry grin. The big cougar's golden eyes stared back at Ben giving him the silent affirmation that everyone was ready to go. Ben nodded in return then paused, squeezing the golden cross around his neck and sending a silent prayer skyward. "The course of my life is in Your power; deliver me from my enemies..."
"Do it." Ben commanded.
The cougar lunged forward placing all of his weight into a powerful kick that knocked the rickety door off its hinges. "Hollywood" pitched the flash-bang inside and ducked back to the other side of the door. The flash-bang detonated eliciting cries of alarm and confusion from those within the room. Instantly the operators rushed inside.
Through the door. Through the vertical coffin...to face death one more time.
As they entered each operator had a section of the room he was responsible for. Ben scanned his section searching for targets, his sharp eyes found a lone terrorist standing over the informant. The jihadist had his eyes screwed shut and his hands clamped over his ears, still trying to shake off the effects of the flash-bang. One hand still clasped a large serrated knife.
Though Ben's heart was racing his mind remained calm and detached as if he were watching the whole scene from outside his body. Fluidly he brought his silenced Springfield .45 pistol to bear, the weapon following his eyes to the target.
"Like wing-shooting birds" Ben thought as his finger slapped the trigger, sending a double-tap of .45 caliber slugs into the enemy combatant. The man jerked under the bullets impact, seeming to dance to the sickening thwack of rounds impacting his flesh. Then he collapsed to the floor, like a marionette suddenly free of the strings that gave it life. In seconds, it was over.
Ben stood amid the spent shell casings; his muscles taunt, eyes wide, canine ears twitching through the holes in his boonie hat, scanning for threats. The only life he found was in the form of the informant, curled in the fetal position on the floor. He was shaking like a leaf but was unharmed. Standing there breathing in the sharp smell of burnt cordite and blood, Ben closed his eyes and let the whole event replay in his mind. As soon as the flash-bang detonated, "Hollywood" entered and turned left moving down the heavy side of the room engaging any targets in his area. Coming in right on top of "Hollywood" was the team heavy machine gunner Robert "Doom&Gloom" Murphy. As soon as the brawny otter entered he went down the opposite wall from "Hollywood" engaging all targets on the wall opposite the door. Shortly behind the first two operators came Ben and the team medic Frederick "Doc" Herrmann. They each went to the left and right of the door (respectively) and picked up their kill-zones leaving no refuge for the terrorists. Speed, surprise, and violence of action...the terrorists never stood a chance.
"Clear."
"Clear."
"We're all clear sir."
"Roger that," Ben responded snapping back to the present.
"Doc, secure the informant," Ben continued, taking a moment listening to the kind German shepherd as he helped the informant to his feet.
"Sahlam Aleikum" the team medic said to the shaking man.
The informant, eyes filled with grateful tears could only sob a response to the traditional Arabic greeting.
"Wah Aleikum es Sahlam."
As the medic helped the man outside Ben turned to his remaining men and said, "Alright guys, let's secure this area and get the hell outta here."Each downed terrorist was then searched for valuable intelligence and shot, if they were still alive. A morbid practice to be sure, but the team had to ensure their anonymity.
Ben walked over to the terrorist he had shot and found his gaze drawn to the dark blood oozing from the two holes in the man's chest.
"Man is stretching it," Ben thought, "he might pass for 16."
Suddenly, the boy's eyes snapped open and locked on Ben.
Ben jumped visibly. "Christ, he's still alive. Well...not for much longer," Ben thought with a grimace, again eyeing the growing pool of blood. Ben stared into the dying boy's eyes which radiated hate, shock and fear back at him. Ben didn't have a problem with killing men, it was what he was trained to do and he was good at it. Yet, staring at the boy he couldn't help but feel pity for him.
"Poor kid. No future. No education outside the anti-western propaganda feed to him in the mosques. Raised knowing only hatred of the things he didn't understand. Poor kid never stood a chance."
"Fuckin' sucks to be you dude," Ben whispered as he smoothly placed his sights on the boy's head and, without another thought, blew his brains out onto the rough cobblestone floor.
His grisly deed done Ben turned back to his men in time to see "Hollywood" placing a small C-4 charge on the still running video camera. Ben nodded his assent before stepping outside into the cold night air. The wolf/border collie mix glanced upward at the millions of beautiful stars as his men loaded themselves into two waiting vans. He couldn't suppress his grin as the C-4 charge detonated turning the camera into a useless pile of junk.
Ben keyed his throat mike and was instantly connected to a secret bunker, thousands of miles away, deep beneath the Pentagon. The home of the team's Tactical Operations Center (TOC).
"TOC this is Spartan 0-6, over."
"Roger that zero-six, go ahead."
"TOC, the package is secure and all tangos have been neutralized. We are moving to the LZ (Landing Zone) for extraction, over."
"Roger that zero-six, come on home."
"Copy that TOC. Zero-six out."
Ben smiled as he stepped into the lead van.
"One informant saved and eight terrorists killed. All performed secretly and illegally inside a friendly country. Just another day at the office for Spartan 0-6."