Pete, don't sue me, please.

Before I begin, this IS NOT, my work, this is the sole work of PrivatePete, from a community that's been around since 2010.

Pete, please don't sue me. I mean well, I'm only showing nice people on a Mongolian basketweaving forum the heterosexual relationship between brothers in arms and all that gay shit that goes along with that.


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I
Endex


   Corporal Donovan Paulsen came to with a crippling headache, dry mouth and no memory of the night before. And a slow dawning, revelation that made his heart stop.

   He couldn’t move.

   He fought back the panic and he tried to gather his wits and work out what the Hell was going on. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room he was in. The only oppressive light that stung his eyes came from the TV in the corner of the room. With it he could make out the grotty sofa he was sat on. The cords that were bound tight around his combats. And the man beside him with the Kalashnikov cradled in his lap. He couldn’t make out any features on the man; his head was slumped forward and covered by a balaclava. Asleep.

   The gag pressing down on his tongue and the splitting headache made him want to vomit but he forced himself to remain as still as possible. The last thing he wanted was this guy to wake up on him. He twisted his head round though when a muffled cry escaped a gag behind him. He looked over the back of the sofa to see another captive, like him bound and gagged dressed in ACU fatigues. Another muffled, “mmph,” betrayed the presence of a fellow captive placed in the opposite corner of the room. What the fuck had…

   He tried to ease his heart rate and breathing as he looked around. He could make out the silhouette of a man leaning in the doorway with an M16 in his hands. To his right at the side of the room two guys sat at a table with their guns hung over their chairs taking their time at a card game. The cherry glow of the cigarette being smoked by the one on the left did nothing to light his face.

   So three of them were tied up in this dark room. Four guys with guns. He thought back through the last things he could recall in his murky and confused mind. There was… something about… On night guard duty and… And then… Oh God he couldn’t remember anything.

   So all he knew was that he was in God knew where, trussed up and in the same room as men with guns who did not look friendly.

   Oh Christ.

   The others must have been thinking the same thing because they were crying out for help and thrashing about on the floor. He forced himself to stay still. Hope that these guys would tolerate their noise for as long as possible as he tried to find a way out of here. What was it they always said in hostage situations? Be the grey man? Do what they say and hope that they ignore you. And then maybe, just maybe, you’ll live to see your family again.

   Jackie…

   His train of thought was shattered as an ear shattering bang hit his ear drums in the confined space and he cried out in pain and shock. BANGBANGBANG. BANGBANGBANG. He turned to see a blinding light illuminate the guy in the doorway. His head exploded in a red mush. And then his world exploded into white.


   The Maglite afforded Nick a perfect view of his target’s head as it exploded into glistening chunks of red. The rifle kicked into his shoulder as the two rounds left the end of the suppressor and the casings clattered against the wall to his right.

   “Room left!” he yelled. The words were echoed back three times as he removed the flashbang from its pouch. Pin out, handle released. A heavy tap on his shoulder was the que to toss the grenade in through the open doorway. He went in on the magnesium explosion, ignoring the ringing in his ears as he swept the rifle left and stepped right. In a microsecond he identified the two x-rays at the table and one on the sofa. An before the second was over he had swung the weapon to point at the two card players before they had a chance to react. A hail of bullets spewed out from the rifle, the suppressor reducing the report from a deafening bang to something more reminiscent of knocking on wood. Either way, the splatter of red matter could not be heard above it. To his left another rifle fired, stitching a series of holes in the back of the sofa, slotting the player who had been sitting there. Then the room darkened as another burst was fired into Bill O'Reilly’s forehead, shattering the television screen in a burst of sparks and static.

   “ Room clear!”

   “Corridur clear!” came the reply from somewhere else in the house. Three shapes dressed in digital grey ACU were strewn carelessly across the room and Nick took half a second to be appreciative of the fact that these fuckers had put all their eggs in one basket. In the next half, he’d stepped forward to grab the closest ranger and drag him to his feet.

   “Moving!” he bellowed. He gave the ranger a yank to make sure that he knew they were moving too. Down the corridor, boots slamming into the concrete and echoing off the walls, sounding almost like the gunshots seconds ago. Through the doorway.

   And out into the freezing Oklahoma morning.

   The other three emerged a few seconds later behind him as he let the ranger slip to the floor, two of them carrying their respective ‘hostage’. And Mac bringing up the rear.

   “‘ow  wor that?” Nick asked as he pushed in the safety catch of his rifle. The clean shaven man leaning against the Humvee glanced down at his watch and mused for a second.

   “About eighteen seconds,” Jack replied, “Give or take a few miliseconds.”

   “Fuk off it wor eighteen seconds,” Nick snorted, “Thee wor dead in't fust twoa.”

   “Would 'ave 'elped if mac 'adn't tripped in the doorway,” Gaz murmured.

   “Och aye?” The hairy Scotsman retorted as he reached for the blade of a knife, stowed in the sheath on his thigh, “An' who shot th' tv?”

   “It was Bill O’Riley,” Gaz replied with a shrug, “I felt 'e posed a threat ter me, the 'ostages and national security in general and took appropriate action.” A snort from Mac was his only response.

   The Ranger on the ground once more claimed his attention as he tried get to his feet without his hands. “Aye give me eur secon' lad,” he said as he too drew a knife.

   “Still, eighteen seconds in and out,” Jack said and looking so deep in thought Nick was worried that he might get lost in there. “Seems rather speedy to me.”

   “Just seemed shorta than tha',” Nick replied as he cut the ranger’s binds. That said, it had been a long night. A long two weeks actually, but with this short op that was all over. Almost anyway.

   “The fuck was that about man?” The ranger spluttered now he was free of his binds. A mister Corporal Paulsen.

   “Nowt ta worry yer pretty lahl 'ead abaht sunshine.” Long story short the three of them had been dossing about on stag thinking the exercise was over. Granted, officially it was, but after two weeks of playing opfor the four of them needed to feel like the goodies again. And the fastest way to do that was to save some helpless hostages from the evil watermelon insurgents. Evil watermelon that was currently splattered over Paulsen’s face.

   “Jack, yer want ta tek these three back ta thea unit?”

   “My pleasure,” the officer nodded. He glanced back at the Humvee and, as if an afterthought added, “Though I’m afraid there won’t be enough room for you chaps.”

   “No worries. wi've got’t LUP ta clear up anyweh.”

   “Ah. Righto.” There wasn’t much else too it. Once the Americans had been released back into the wild, Jack took them onboard the Humvee and drove off in the direction of civilisation; or as close to as prefabricated barracks came to being classified as civilisation. Leaving the four of them behind.

   “Should’ve told the bastard we had all our kit,” Danny muttered.

   "'e wouldn't av believed us," Nick shook his head, "'e nos gaz tooa well."

   “Aw fuck off,” the stout Londoner spat as the other three chuckled. It was years ago and a one time occurrence that Gaz had managed to forget the contents of his bergen in all its entirety. Granted it had been recovered later, but the others had made sure that it was another story that wouldn’t be lived down. And as one of the older hands, Mac had considered it his civic duty as Glaswegian and soldier of Her Majesty’s armed forces, to immortalise the cock up amongst the younger members of the regiment like Danny.

   “Nay worry mucker,” Mac said with a glint in his eye, “I'll gie ye a shit if ye forgit yer kit. Hoo abit 'at?”

   “'a abaht I stick me rifle up your arse?”

   “Wouldn't mek much difference,” Nick spoke back over his shoulder, “Naw which o' you muppets are carryin't spare watermelons?”