Ambushing them softly

(Well that was embarrassing. For whatever reason I appear to have been signed out when I posted these two. If you've already read this, don't bother reading through it again unless you want to, there's no changes that have been made)

‘Come to daddy,’ the pale, lanky Yorkshireman cackled, shadows cast by the camp fire dancing across his face as he scooped up his winnings; which consisted primarily of cigarettes, but also a few other goodies – an old Rolex watch, a couple of dirty magazines, and even a bar of chocolate.

‘Fucking ridiculous,’ one of the four men groused, folding his arms in disgust.

‘Easy there Burke, Chalkie was lucky that’s all,’ soothed another man.

The fourth said nothing, opting simply to glower at the winner of their little poker tournament.

‘Okay you guys are done now let me play! I’m bored! Come on Charlie, you said I could,’ whined a bare-legged teenaged girl with dark hair and a pair of wide brown eyes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a puppy. She had stood watching the four soldiers play for almost an hour now, acting primarily a spectator and partly as a referee to ensure no cheating.

The winner, Chalkie, so named for his rake-thin build and unhealthily pale skin, gave the young witch a lecherous grin. ‘I can think of a few ways to–’ he started.

‘Finish that sentence you northern bastard and I’ll bury you alive,’ the fourth man, the one who had thus far remained silent, growled at him.

‘Lighten up Clint it was just a joke; I prefer my women a little older.’

Charlie ‘Clint’ Rider, the Sergeant in command of the section, frowned but decided to let it slide. If he caught the man checking out his kid sister’s arse one more time though, he decided he’d punch him then and there. For all his talk, Chalkie was an oily fucker who Charlie wouldn’t personally trust with a burnt out matchstick, much less the L85A1 he lugged about most days; and it was a sentiment shared by many of those who knew him. Irritatingly enough, however, the knowledge of his unpopularity only made him even more insufferable. It was like the rat got off on making the lives of everyone around him miserable.

‘All right then boys,’ Charlie said after taking a brief moment to remove all his pent-up aggression against the lanky prick and compose himself, ‘shall we let the young lady play?’

‘I’m /seventeen/ Charlie, I’m not /that/ young,’ Julie Rider complained but took a seat next to her older sibling. ‘So what are we playing?’ she asked eagerly.

The four troopers eventually decided on Gin Rummy in the end as Julie didn’t understand the rules for Poker and no one felt much up to explaining them to her this late at night. They played through that for another half hour, though there were no wagers. Charlie didn’t think anyone would be dumb enough to suggest Julie bet her lingerie while he was around in person, but after almost an entire month in the middle of chuck a fuck nowhere without much in the way of entertainment, he knew that soldiers grew bored, and boredom, more often than not, led to them doing increasingly stupid things to alleviate said boredom.

Like asking the younger sister of the Sarge for her bra for instance.

Charlie roared with indignant fury and tackled the joker – surprisingly it /wasn’t/ Chalkie – to the ground and immediately started wailing on him. He reined his blows in, but at the same time he wanted to teach the little shite a lesson. After throwing a few jabs and overhand blows, he wrapped a thick, meaty arm around the neck of the offender and began to squeeze, just enough to make breathing distinctly uncomfortable. The laughter of the rest of his section echoed through the forest; Chalkie laughing the loudest with his shrill, hyena cackle.

‘You just couldn’t fucking help yourself could you?’ Charlie seethed at Burke, who was more or less resigned to his fate as a punching bag as his resistance grew increasingly token.

‘It was a fucking joke,’ Burke choked.

‘Hope you thought it was fucking funny then,’ Charlie growled and finally released his man before shoving him roughly over. Burke took in several gulps of air and gave the other two soldiers sat by the fire – Chalkie and a usually level headed Welshman by the name of Lewis – a glower that would have been much more threatening if Charlie hadn’t just stomped him. Julie simply sat there, looking unsure of what exactly to feel, her face flushed bright crimson.

‘Lot of help you bastards were,’ Burke gasped and picked himself up. ‘Whatever, I need to take a leak anyway.’

‘Don’t go off on your own,’ Charlie warned him.

‘Oh ease up Sarge, this part of Poland’s seen fuck all in the way of Reds even since the war started. I bet we’re the only people on the planet who know this place even exists,’ Burke replied dismissively and began to trek into the forest with a torch, the beam of light cutting a path through the impenetrable inky darkness that surrounded their camp.

Charlie wanted to remind him that they were still on the frontline, so to speak, but eventually decided it was too much hassle and sat back down by the fire, shaking his head and sighing instead. ‘Okay now, where were we?’

Chalkie opened his mouth, a twinkle in his eyes.

‘Don’t.’

Chalkie shut his mouth and raised his hands in mock surrender, returning his attention to their game.

It was twenty minutes before they realised Burke still wasn’t back.

‘I bet the silly bugger’s just caught his dick on his fly or something,’ Chalkie reasoned, sounding utterly unconcerned as to the potential fate of his squadmate. ‘Either that or he tripped and dropped his torch.’

‘We’d hear him shouting if that was the case though, right?’ Lewis wondered, his eyes still on his cards. The man hadn’t won a single time but none of his many, many defeats seemed to have soured his desire for victory.

‘He’s right,’ Charlie murmured in assent. ‘Chalkie, take a torch and go look for him.’

‘Why me?’ Chalkie protested. ‘It’s his stupid fault he’s–’

‘Um, guys?’

All eyes turned to Julie, who had laid her cards down on the small, folding table and had cocked her head to the side as if listening for something.

‘What is it Jules?’ Charlie asked.

‘Is it supposed to be this quiet?’

The three soldiers blinked at her, and then craned their heads around, listening for what Julie had noticed.

She was right.

The forest was completely silent.

‘Sarge…’ Lewis murmured, his eyes flitting about, trying to discern whatever the trees might be hiding. He sounded uneasy.

‘Keep calm and listen carefully,’ Charlie said slowly, ‘here’s what we’ll do…’

Then the night exploded.

A brilliant explosion of pure light and a wave of crushing sound blasted over them. Charlie fell screaming, pawing at his sightless eyes and clawing at his bursting ears. He was blind and deaf and terrified and all the while he was kicking himself. He’d spent far too long in the arse end of nowhere and he’d started slacking and now they were all dead for it. Burke was probably dead too, and soon they’d be joining him in wherever–

There was a sudden pressure on Charlie’s throat. It felt like someone was stepping on his neck with a boot and he flailed wildly, attempting to lash out against his attacker in the hope that he might at least take one with him into the afterlife.

A savage blow to his cheek knocked all the resistance out of him and he fell still; dazed, disoriented and utterly defeated. Gradually his sight and his hearing returned, and he was treated to the view of two arseholes in black standing over him and his boys, guns pressed into the backs of their heads. Two others stood a little more distance away, rifles held at the ready and trained on…

His eyes widened with realisation and he turned his head as much as the boot pressed to his throat allowed him to.

His heart almost stopped in his chest.

Julie, his baby sister, stood not a metre away, her L7A2 machinegun in both hands and aimed squarely at the head of the spooky bastard with his boot a few centimetres shy of crushing his Adam’s apple. She didn’t appear at all disoriented or effected at all by the effect of the stun grenade, and then he remembered – her magic! Julie specialised in a very specific brand of shield magic; it offered barely a tenth as much physical protection as regular witches shields provided, but it completely nullified concussive force as well as the effects of flashbangs. The clever young girl had put up her shield and sprung for her weapon in an effort to defend her family.

It was tragic then, that it was utterly futile.

Charlie knew exactly how strong her shields were; under sustained fire at this range they’d last all of a second before being overwhelmed. She knew this. She had to have known it, and yet she still kept her weapon trained on the big bastard towering over her brother. Her gaze was fierce but there was underlying fear in her eyes, and her legs were trembling. Charlie realised that this was probably the first time she had ever seen the enemy in person.

Worse, this was the first time she was seeing Spetsnaz in person. Charlie was sure it had to be them; no other unit could possibly have taken them this quickly and this efficiently.

The figure standing over Charlie pressed his boot lower, beginning the gradual process of strangling him. Through all this, he stared blankly at Julie through his balaclava, a pistol held loosely in one hand. He said something in Russian, which no one understood, least of all Julie, who shook her head slightly but kept her gun on him. She licked her lips nervously and looked down at her brother – and blanched as she realised what the Russian was doing.

‘D-don’t touch him!’ she yelled, her voice breaking as panic began to set in. ‘G-get your foot off him or I’ll shoot you! I mean it!’

The Russian cocked his head as if amused by the tiny witch’s threat. He glanced down at Charlie, then back at Julie.

‘Grace?’ he said, in heavily accented English, ‘would you mind?’

‘Wha–?’ Julie began, and then stiffened. But not because the man had spoken English.

The man who was progressively crushing the life out of Charlie was Scottish.

Moments later a witch materialised behind Julie, pressing a handgun into the back of her head. She looked to be in her early thirties or late twenties and was disturbingly pretty, with bright brown hair that fell just above her shoulder line and storm grey eyes so cold it made Charlie shiver. She regarded both Julie and Charlie with a cool expression.

Julie looked back at the witch and then down at Charlie, confusion all too clear to see. She shared a look with Charlie, who understood what she was going to try to do almost immediately. He tried to shake his head, to tell her to stand down, but the boot was pressed too tight and his vision was starting to go dark.

So Julie Winters went for it.

And failed, as Charlie had known she would.

It was over before Charlie even knew it had begun – Julie whipped one leg back in imitation of a kicking mule to offset the stealth witch while diving for the Scot holding her brother down. The stealth witch moved, and when she did, she was so damned /fast/. She had swayed aside, out of the way of the clumsy kick and grabbed Julie by the back of the head. Then she slammed the young witch into the ground face-first. The only sound Julie had time to make was a surprised, terrified squeak as the witch forced her down.

Charlie wanted to roar, to scream and shout for the psycho bitch to get off his sister but the boot pressed further and Charlie began to see little dark spots. Then the pressure vanished and he could breathe again, but he barely had time to take a greedy gulp of air before he was roughly hauled to his feet by the Scot in black.

‘Who the hell is in command of this circus?’ he hissed.

Charlie didn’t see any point lying to him, ‘I… I am,’ he wheezed.

The man in black cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘Hm. Smart,’ he said.

Then he punched Charlie – very hard – in the face.

It was a solid, heavy punch that almost knocked him out in his breathless state, but Charlie clung to consciousness, groaning as he clutched his pounding face with both hands.

He was hauled up again by the lapels of his fatigues, a hand impatiently tore Charlie’s own hands away from nursing his jaw and Charlie saw the Scot was up in his face again.

‘This…’ the Scot said, indicating the scene around them with one arm; ‘was far… /far/ too easy.’

With that he released him and shoved him onto the ground.

‘Oi boss,’ one of the other men in black piped up. He sounded as English as they came, ‘these jokers are Royal Anglians.’

‘They’re fucking…’ the Scot breathed. His tone was incredulous, as if he could scarcely believe what he was being told. ‘How in the name of all that is good and fucking holy, did you absolute fuckwits get through Phase One? Actually, no, better question: who the hell in High Command has such a hate-boner for the Royal Anglians that he’d send /you/ to them? Who had the audacity – the sheer fucking stones – to say “yeah, these arseholes are Army material, give ‘em rifles and tell ‘em all to play nice you hear?”’ He made a disgusted noise.

‘If we were Ruskies, /Sergeant/,’ he said, leaning on the word, making clear his impression that Charlie was thoroughly undeserving of the rank, ‘you and your three Muppet buddies would be maggot-food and your kiddie witch over there would be on her way to one of Uncle Stalin’s Happy Camps. I mean Jesus Bleeding Christ the fucking /Conscript/ regiments gave us more trouble than you worthless pissants did. If this is the sort of quality we can expect from the rest of the British Army then we might as well all just pack up our bags and start waving little red hammer and sickle flags around back home and save ourselves a whole lot of time and grief.’

‘Place has been quiet for a month,’ Chalkie groaned, ‘we thought–’

‘Oh this is beautiful! Hear that gents? The grunt /thought./’ The Scot turned away from Charlie and stalked towards Chalkie, who had propped himself up on his elbows. ‘Listen you ugly, fuck-faced failed abortion; when better educated – and better looking – men than yourself with fancy looking pins and uniforms tell you to set up a listening post, you put up your tents and you fucking well /listen/. It doesn’t matter if it’s tedious or if it’s dull, because sure as the sun rises over beautiful fucking Britain the /one/ time you morons decide “hm, we’ve done this before and nothing’s turned up, I’m sure it’ll be all right if we don’t bother just this one time,” is the day every Guards Regiment in Soviet Russia turns up on your doorstep with an eviction notice in one hand and a bazooka in the other.’

‘But… but we–’ Chalkie attempted to defend. The Scot was having none of it, and Charlie burned with humiliation and embarrassment as he realised that the burly operator was completely in the right.

‘Do you shit-smears have /any/ fucking idea what was headed your way? Any at all? I’ll tell you: an entire platoon of spooky Spetsnaz scouts with murder in their eyes and mayhem on the mind. If we hadn’t picked their trail out on our own way back, you stupid cunts would all be dead. That’s D.E.A.D. /Dead/ with a capital “D”.’

Charlie couldn’t speak. A /platoon/ of Russian Spetsnaz? The men – almost certainly SAS – had completely demolished them and they were barely… what, six men and women strong? A platoon would have certainly rolled over them. He was so stunned by the revelation that for the next twenty minutes of the operator’s fuming; he was as receptive as toilet paper to anything said.

‘Oi,’ the Scot said and Charlie snapped out of his stupefied daze.

‘Wakey wakey sunshine. Good news: we’ve got to roll out; already suffered a few delays and I think Allied Command will very much want to hear the intel we’ve brought back with us. The bad news is that you idiots are still going to be stuck here for a while longer, which, if it keeps up as it was when we got here, is /really/ bad fucking news for the entire fucking war effort. Shape the fuck up Sergeant; if I hear one day that the Reds have broken through this section of the line I’ll know who to blame and mark my fucking words I will /end/ you. So you set up a proper watch; keep your heads low, and you make sure you’ve an ear open for /any/ sign of Ivan or what he might be up to.’

He paused, taking a quick breath, before continuing, ‘And if you ever start getting bored, or start falling back into old habits, you remember this night; you remember me standing over you with my boot on your neck and a gun at the back of your witches head and you think to yourself how lucky you were that it was us who were here and not the Russians.’

With that, he stood up, turned to regard the rest of the section, and sniffed derisively.

‘Let’s go gents. Courtland!’ he called. The stealth witch pricked her ears and turned to regard the operator. ‘You’re on point. Keep quiet and keep low, don’t want to take any chances,’ he said, giving Charlie and his mob a pointed look.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he grunted, and the squad of elite troopers stalked off into the forest, melting into the darkness like they had never existed to begin with, leaving Charlie and his stunned, embarrassed command in their wake, never to forget the humiliation suffered, or the lesson learned.