Chronicles of War Part 1: Way of the Storm ------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So I came too far/ To end up this way/ Feeling like I'm God/ Feeling there is no way." - Korn, "No Way" ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 14: When it Hurts ------------------------------------------------------------------------- James and Ed walked down the main hallway with their guns drawn and ready. Their eyes searched every nook and cranny within their sights, as they moved towards the center of the mall with quick and sure steps. Coming within a few dozen meters of the junction of three hallways that opened into the food court, they ducked into a store full of various bathing oddities. Ed dropped into a crouch next to James, peering into the hallway through a rack of shelves filled with twenty dollar bars of soap. He had never really thought much about this store--what it sold, how it was decorated, how it smelled--and he suddenly realized that was how he felt about every store now. That was how he felt about everything. He couldn't look at his family the same way. "Here's the plan," James said softly. He pulled out his pistol and checked the clip as he spoke. "They've either got backup or shooters behind those two plants at the corners. Since no one sniped us at the other junction, I'm betting backup. Now, all we do is get behind that low wall there, and I'll move ahead. When I'm taken hostage, I'll drop my gun. They'll stay away from me and demand you surrender. You drop your gun and they'll close in a bit on both of us. When I move, you use your backup to shoot anything that moves and isn't me." "You lost me," Ed said truthfully. "Okay, a backup is a guy right in the action. Let's say you've got some property your protecting, and some people are sneaking onto it. So you have one of your men--" "I have men?" "For our purposes, yeah. A couple of men; some real bad-asses." "Okay. Cool." "So, you have one of your men get out there and sit behind some cover. He pops up and draws a bead on one of the invaders once all of them are in your guy's kill zone. While one guy sets up with a sniper rifle, the rest of your men come out and disarm the other guys on your property." This sounded familiar to Ed. "So it's like an ambush, huh?" "An ambush is supposed to catch your enemy by surprise. The point there is to attack them when they least expect it. Here, you attack them when they are prepared, ready, and invading your territory, but still manage to surprise them. Small philosophical difference, major combative difference, since you've go the home field advantage." Ed nodded, not entirely following. "So...why is your guy called 'backup'?" "Well, plan A is to shoot the trespassers with a machine gun from a defensible position, preferably behind cover." Now the plan made sense. "What is it now?" James asked. "Nothing. I just...like that line of thinking." James pulled the two-way radio from his pocket. Ed did a double take. He had completely forgotten James had the walkie-talkie. The last time James had used it was when they were evacuating the mall, just one hour and a lifetime ago. He spoke into the device, "Kat, this is James." He let off the talk button and the radio chirped obligingly, indicating that his slice of time spent talking was over. "About time you called, asshole," came out of the radio. A chirp from the other end followed her last word. James smirked. Ed noted that his eyes never left the hallway. "I love you too, honey. Could you be a dear and tell me what the cops had to say about JC Penny?" "They think there's a bomb in it. According to your map, you do too." James stared in shock at the radio for a minute. Ed fought back the urge to poke him to see if he could start breathing any time soon. Finally, James pushed the talk button once more. "Did they have nothing else to tell you when they gave you that list? They just rattled off a bunch of place names and had you write them down?" Chirp. "Sorry. I remember...they said something about the ceiling of the entrance." Ed's mouth moved, words coming out of it before Ed himself was thinking about them. "They're doing construction on it." "I don't know if that helps, James." Chirp. James glanced at Ed, then at the radio. "We'll look their next. Thanks, Kat." "And just leave us here?" "I'll send Ed over when I'm done with him. Besides, we have them off-balance right now and I'm going to ruthlessly take advantage of that fact like a politician in October." It only took another thirty seconds to get her to actually stop talking over the radio, which James then turned off and returned to his pocket. "JC Penny's?" Ed asked. "After I'm done shooting people here, we'll take a little detour. Catch 'em off balance." "Just don't shoot me, okay?" James smiled, a savage and twisted thing that made him look like the cold-blooded killer Ed was beginning to think of as the real James. "That wouldn't be any fun." James waited another second, then waved Ed forward. The two dashed into the main hallway, closing in on the food court. The massive Christmas tree that occupied most of the wide hallway, just as it met the open court, was perfect temporary cover. James ducked under the ropes marking it off from the hallway and stopped right next to the pile of presents sitting under the tree's lowest branches. James didn't sit around. The pine needles of the monstrous evergreen that effectively hid them from view would not stop bullets; a quick glance around and they were moving again. Around the tree they went, under the ropes of the opposite side, and to the west of the decorative fountain that marked the southern corner of the food court. The food court was shaped like a diamond, with a four foot high, two foot thick reinforced concrete wall establishing the perimeter of the eating area from the rest of the court. The restaurants covering the two northern walls met not at a plain corner, but at the entrance to a small hallway that led to the restrooms. It was much smaller than the larger hallways that left to the east, west, and behind the two armed men, south. Ed made a mental note to remind James that the hallway to the restrooms contained the backup fire alarm control panel and several storage rooms. They stopped only a few yards up the west wall, crouching low and pressing their backs against the cold white tile that made up the wall. Another several yards to the west, along the wall, was an entrance to the open area that had all of the tables and chairs left for the patrons. All three entrances were flanked by massive plants growing from pots set into the top of the perimeter wall, and helped both mark the entrance and obscure most of it from view. Ed knew that blind spot well. The fountain behind them, he noted with an unnecessary snort of derision, was decorated with plastic holly that did nothing to improve its looks. It was quiet until James unexpectedly shouted, "Give up and we'll go easy on you!" A bullet skipped off the top of the wall above his head in response. He turned to Ed, "I guess they're still upset." "Really?" Ed remarked. To his own ears, the words sounded oddly conversational. More bullets hit the wall while he reflected on this. "Yeah, really," James answered in kind, "I'm an expert on this. Now remember, don't shoot 'til you I make my escape." Ed took a deep breath. He was getting used to this, and shouldn't that bother him? He pushed the question out of his mind and answered, "Okay." ---------- James ran down the wall as well as one could hope to run while hunched over, trying to be two feet shorter than they really were. He supposed it looked funny to see a grown man with a gun running around a five year old playing hide and seek. Or was that cowboys and Indians? In any case, he'd seen enough of his targets do this very run, that it had stopped being funny long before he bowed graciously out of the business of-- "Freeze!" James obeyed the command, but put a bright smile on his face and let his mouth start running. "So, now that you've shown yourself, do you want to go through the long, painful, humiliating beat-down, or should I just knock you out, take your weapon, and save the day real quick like?" The soldier before him was wearing thick body armor that covered him in angular chunks of olive drab. His face was a mess of odd angles mashed together like someone had stuffed his head into a vice when he was a little kid. His mouth was hung permanently crooked, a twisted leer and evil smirk, promising pain and violence. He held the business end of an M16 at James' face. "Put the gun down and I'll consider leaving you awake while we kill your friends and escape with you knocked out and tied up in a bag?" Nice guy, James thought sarcastically, and good looking too. He took a second to file the ugly soldier's words away for future reference, and let the MP5 clatter to the floor. "Kick it this way," the man said tersely, keeping his eyes on James as the assassin complied, then raised his hands into the air. "And your friend, too." "Ed!" James bellowed, "get out and drop your gun! The gig is up!" "God damn it!" Ed shouted, obviously too late for the expository swearing. At least he was letting James know he was following the plan. Had their been silence, James would have found a way to shoot his friend and keep from standing up and putting his head in the path of a bullet. Once Ed was unarmed and looking down the barrel of another M16, the soldier in front of James seemed to relax slightly. He stepped further away from the wall to let another man appear. The new soldier was taller than the ugly one, with an instantly forgettable face and huge orange sideburns. Was the Army letting people dye their hair on active duty now? The soldier pulled out a set of metal handcuffs and slid them across the floor to James. "Cuff yourself," the ugly one demanded. James raised an eyebrow. Normally the military would pin him and put on plastic cuffs--the kind one couldn't put on oneself. Why were they even carrying around this police equipment? "Kinky. Are you sure you're okay to do this? You look a little nervous..." "Do it!" The soldier demanded, jerking his gun towards James threateningly. Sideburns just stood by like a statue. "We haven't even kissed yet," James persisted merrily. "Cuff your fuckin' hands behind your fuckin' back!" James cuffed himself as instructed. "Party pooper." "Lay face down on the floor!" "I see," James said, following the soldier's directions. "You want me to show off all of my fancy tricks." "You pull any fancy tricks right now and I'll pump you full of lead," the ugly one growled. James watched sideburns approach out of the corner of his eye. The soldier had his back to the wall, well out of his partner's cone of fire. He let his ears follow the man's movement. Step, step, step...he heard something plastic slide clear of a cheap nylon holster. A stun gun? That made a scary amount of sense. Next would come the decisive moment. The time to act. James waited just less than half a breath, and moved. ---------- Ed looked at the handcuffs sitting at his feet. The soldiers were behind him, one pointing an assault rifle at his back. Simple, right? He was already disarmed, right? James' plan seemed utterly, utterly mad right now. James said to wait for the signal, and with nothing better to do, Ed would follow those orders. He stooped to pick up the cuffs when someone started shooting. Time to move. He changed direction without a second thought, turning the bending movement into a sharp roll to his left. Coming up, he pulled out his backup pistol and shoot the first soldier where he stood--idiot hadn't even moved. His partner was frozen, staring Ed shot the second man, trying not to look at the mess he'd made, then took a glance at the action himself. ---------- To James, the hard part was not hitting a vital point on an unseen target with his hands cuffed behind his back. The hard part did not happen to include dodging Taser prongs and a falling body while getting to his feet without the use of his hands. The hard part was not avoiding a wall of 5.65mm ammunition in the process. The hard part, in James' humble opinion, was doing all of the above...with style. In one movement, he knocked the Taser aside and yanked one foot under his body. Forcing as much strength out of his leg as it would give, he rose and dashed forward, moving in a zig-zagging line that he'd practiced countless times. He flicked up one shoulder as he met the ugly soldier, knocking his M16 aside. The look on that mug was priceless. James knew it well; how could someone move so that they were just out of your sights? He could they all but dodge bullets, then dance right into your blind spot to deliver a knockout blow? Money could not buy this kind of entertainment. James grabbed the M16 from the falling body with his hands still behind his back, prayed the safety was off, while aiming at the wall, and pulled the trigger. The first burst of fire tore the gun out of his hands, and he let it fall away. It had served its purpose. He jumped into the air. Bringing his knees to his chest, he swung his hands under his feet, then he charged at the sideburns soldier. His target had one hand on the wall, using it for support while shock washed his face white. James' shots with the M16 had missed the man by almost a foot. James took him down with a running knee to the chest, even as the soldier reached for a backup gun. Both men crashed to the floor. James heard two gunshots nearby--that had better be Ed--as he used the sharp edge of the handcuffs to smash in his opponent's nose. His opponent blinded for a moment, James spared a glance at the guard and his smoking gun. Good old Ed, his buddy, standing in the open where the snipers could see him. "Sniper!" James screamed. Sideburns put out a hand, following James' voice. His other hand drew back for a punch. Filled with rage, James arrogantly slapped the hand and let the familiar calm fill him. He took a deep breath, dodged the punch casually, and stepped in, standing right next to the soldier. In the next second, sideburns was on the floor, dead. The assassin looked around. Ed's ass was disappearing over the wall. James grabbed his MP5 from the floor, passing over the heavier M16, and mounted the concrete wall. ---------- Ed heard James' warning and was over the wall without another thought. There was surely greater moments of tactical brilliance throughout history, even throughout Ed's life, but anything was better than standing out in the open with his mouth agape and a stupid blank look on his face. James didn't look concerned when he shouted the warning. For all the emotion that declaration contained, he might have been asking Ed to pick up a six-pack of beer while he was at the store. The high volume level did not bring high emotional content as well. Then he turned back to the lean soldier with the big sideburns that was nursing a horrible broken nose. Ed was over the wall the next instant, listening to his heart beat and his breath rush in and out of his lungs. Great, he noted dryly, I'm still alive. He wished, fervently, for his heart to slow from the mouse-on-crack pace to something it was more accustomed to. He noticed then that he was pointing his gun threateningly at the dozens and dozens of metal chairs and tables that filled the dining area of the food court. He studied their shape and style, noted their height, and guessed their weight. Then he spent a moment begging his breathing to slow down. "Ed?" Ed just managed to not squeeze the trigger of his gun as he flinched in surprise. James had jumped the wall and walked up to Ed in a crouch without making any noise to give himself away. And he was still wearing his handcuffs, bastards. He wanted to ask how one man had learned to be so silent, but settled for asking "What?" James set his gun on the floor and held out his hands. "Can you shoot these off for me?" Oh, of course. Shoot things. Out here in the open. "Wouldn't that alert them to our position?" Ed asked politely. "Earth to Ed, I think they know we're here. Shoot the cuffs off, please." Ed set the business end of his gun against the short chain, pointing it carefully away from himself and James, and pulled the trigger. "Yay! I'm free! And we still have our eyes! Yay!" James looked ready to jump to his feet and dance a jig. Fortunately, he just threw a fist triumphantly into the air. Ed felt his ear with one hand, wondering if it had been hit with shrapnel. He was indeed lucky to still have his eyes--that was fucking dangerous. Whey hadn't James warned him? Speaking of James, the assassin took advantage of Ed's distraction to scoop the big guy up in a bear hug. He paused when the warm business end of Ed's gun touched the tip of his nose. James looked down the black frame of the killing machine impassively. "Yes?" "Don't do that, please." Ed's voice shook while his hands remained still and his grip stayed firm. James pulled back and stuck a hand in the air. It was jerked back twice as quickly, as if he'd been burned. No bullets followed in its wake, and James smiled. "Smart." Ed was beginning to see the pattern. Only he wanted to know... "James?" "Yeah?" "What was that thing you did back there, on the floor?" The assassin paused in his little charade and gave Ed a secretive look. Ed was still waiting for James to grab his shoulder, hold up a cupped hand, and whisper into his ear when he finally spoke. "I practiced that move thousands of times, correctly, until I could do it perfectly. I figured that I would be in that position if I screwed up, and so it was my backup plan." Well, that made sense. "And the running thing where that guy couldn't hit you?" James' smile had a hint of melancholy. "Yeah, that too. A lot harder than it looks, since you have to pay attention to the person's stance, grip, how they were taught, and what gun they're holding to predict where and how far they'll over-correct." Ed figured it was time to ask the question. Maybe his friend could make sense of this, and maybe not. Regardless, it was time to ask. "So, I thought assassins were meticulous planners. The take people out at long range, stay out of trouble, keep an exit on hand at all times..." "I'm not sure what delusions you're operating under, Ed, but assassins kill people. It's a messy business, and I've met damn few marks who stood still when you were about to pull the trigger, or who stuck to their routines when they suspected someone was out to bag them." Ed filed that away for later reference. "So you fought a lot of people?" "Killed. I killed a lot of people, and I didn't tousle with their bodyguards for fun. I bagged the mark and got away using whatever means were available." James' eyes glazed over in reminiscence. "Sometimes it gets messy...any way, I'm going to run out there in the open and draw the snipers' fire. You take them out if you feel like it. If you don't want to chance your life, just stay put. We'll consider this our beach head." "If there's guys over there," Ed pointed at the north corner of the diamond, where a blue restroom sign hung. "Then our flank is open." "Sometimes we don't pick our battles," James said, checking the action of his gun and moving into a runner's crouch. "On three?" The man was either a lunatic with ungodly luck, or a genius in the art of combat. Either way, they were alive and kicking. Ed nodded and moved into a shooter's crouch. "On three." ---------- James sprinted towards the far corner of the diamond, all pretense of stealth forgotten. As for dealing with the snipers he knew were watching, he would just have to improvise. His environment would be his defense. The tables around him were built of cast iron and probably weight seventy pounds a piece. He'd seen the style before, with a recessed square in the top that had been filled with ceramic tiles designed to look like traditional Mexican decorations. The sniper rifles would be M24 SWS outfits firing 7.62mm ammunition. No commercial dining table would stop such bullets, but the thick, cast iron edges of these bruise-inducing beasts might be able to deflect one or two. Might. If they didn't, he'd better be elsewhere. About halfway across the diamond, he altered his course on pure instinct, and hear the satisfying ring of a bullet ricocheting off of something metal. He slowed, and tipped over one of the tables--at least seventy damn pounds, he noted--then faked a dash to the right. He jerked his body to the left, jumping into the air, and came to a stop in just two steps. Then he dashed forward again. Another bullet went though the top of the table behind him with the ear-splitting crack of shattering cast iron. Good so far. He slowed enough to tip over another table, still nearly ripping his shoulder apart, and sped up. The sniper waited. James had to concede then, that he was up against trained snipers, and not ammunition-wasting morons. His only advantage, and one he was taking ruthless advantage of, was the fact that hitting a target rapidly changing directions at a close range, was best taken down with a shotgun. A precision shot took time to make, and since they were aiming for his legs...well, he wished them good luck. He skidded to a halt between two tables and grasped their rolled edges. His fingers almost slipped over the black enamel this time, but he up-ended both. They hit the floor with the ring of metal on ceramic. For some reason, the sound reminded of a ringing bell. He then reversed course, leaping onto a chair and from there bounding to a standing table. He reversed direction again, feeling the table slide an inch or two as it took up his inertia. The next leap landed him at the edge of the adjacent table as another bullet went through his previous perch. His legs, they were aiming for his legs. James resisted the urge to throw a few insults at his attackers and faked another jump, dropping to the floor instead of hopping to the next table in line. Once his boots hit the tile, he sprinted directly for the wall and vaulted it. In the air, with only his hand touching something other than air, he both felt and heard another round slam into the wall. He was home free. All he had to worry about was the third-string guys on the other side of the wall. Fortunately, there was only one of them. And he was directly underneath James. The soldier was another young man, probably not even nineteen. He looked panicked but resolved, wide-open green eyes watching James descend upon him. James noted the air Taser in his hands, the model that fired tiny darts and could be used at range. Focusing, he closed his body into a ball. Everything seemed to slow down as he approached, his eyes watching only the string of vital points on the soldiers neck that he would have to strike with timing defined by very tiny parts of a second. Then the Taser fired. James didn't feel anything, so he assumed that one of the darts had missed. It was known to happen, but it surprised him nonetheless. Kids, he lamented. He came down on the soldier like a wrecking ball. His hand flashed out, a blur to even his trained eyes, and struck the boy soundly in the neck just before landing. The soldier jerked back, his mouth opening in a silent scream while his eyes unfocused. James didn't spare the soldier a second glance as he rotated on the spot and vaulted the metal counter to Dairy Queen, his feet missing the till by inches. Once more behind cover, he paused to consider his options, and take a peek in the large canvas bag sitting next to him on the grimy--calling this place a restaurant was a stretch--floor. It was large and sturdy, with no identifying marks on the olive drab material. The top was closed with a pair of brass zippers that parallel down a six inch wide flap. James listened to a few more bullets skip around the fast food joint, then heard sprays of automatic gunfire. That was Ed. He opened the bag on a hunch, and grinned when he saw the M79 laying on top of a pile of various weapons and explosives. "Why would anyone just leave all of this stuff lying around," he muttered with a dangerous smirk, "If someone happened along and picked this up...why, they might get themselves hurt." James pulled out the grenade launcher, the distant sounds of Ed's gun battle urging him to move with all due haste. He checked the safeties, loaded an HE round, and peeked over the counter for a split-second. To his right, opposite the far walkway, was a store selling what appeared to be clothing for pre-teen girls. Someone and pushed several of the freestanding metal racks together for a sniper to lay across. Perfect. James moved over a step and readied the launcher. He popped up again, drawing and bead on the store and firing the instant it was sighted. His eyes barely registered the blur of the flying round--at barely subsonic speeds, no doubt--before the entire store turned itself into a tornado of debris and fire. James was over the counter in the next breath, the huge bag slung over his shoulder, doing his best to sprint towards Ed. No one was shooting at the moment, thank god that M79 was a good...distraction. He spared at glance at the ruined store and noted that while there was no Hollywood fire, thick smoke was pouring out of the gutted entrance. His gaze shifted back to Ed, crouched behind the wall and dropping a clip and his presumably empty MP5 on the floor. His pistol was in his other hand and looked a little worried. Okay, he looked more than a little worried. Raw panic was just beginning to enter his eyes when he saw James... And grinned savagely.