Echoes from the dark side
"Darkness waits. Everything comes to the darkness at the end" ---- from The Narrows by Michael Connelly
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Blood always leaves traces
Friday, January 27, 2017
Acceptance
Denial, Anger and Grief looked as if they were going to start something. Instead, they meekly walked away and were gone within seconds. Resilience and Hope felt the life returning into them.
Joy took his first deep breath in days.
Saturday, June 25, 2016
I Am A Voice - Concluding Part
Part I, Part II and Part III can be accessed here, in case you haven't read them
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THE END
Saturday, June 18, 2016
I Am A Voice - Part III
The story continues. Click for Part I and Part II
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Friday, June 10, 2016
I Am A Voice - Part II
Next part of the story. First timers requested to read Part I before this one.
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Monday, June 6, 2016
I am a voice - Part I
TO BE CONTINUED
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Urban Warfare
Friday, December 30, 2011
An Overt Op
Continuation to The Conversation. Readers requested to read the previous post first. Hope you all like this one
Loco looked at Gloria’s retreating figure and sighed. Then he leaned back in his seat and looked at the man at the next table.
The man looked back. They both nodded at each other. Then the man came over and joined Loco at his table.
“Latte duet, huh?” he said, sniffing Gloria’s cup.
“Thanks for waiting,” Loco responded.
“In deference to the lady.” Bane said. “When did you spot me?”
“Oh, you I spotted the minute you walked in. Your seven Expendables took me some ten minutes to find,” Loco’s eyes had narrowed to slits as he stared at Bane.
Bane grinned.
“Guess you haven’t been exactly idle all this while?”
Loco smiled and shook his head. His mind flashed back to a few minutes ago.
“Yes we are,” he leaned forward and for the first time, looking into her eyes didn’t affect him. His hand slowly reached over to his cell phone, which he had placed on the table.
“Seven years…” Bane reflected. “We’ve been doing this dance for seven years…”
“And I always flee after stepping on your toes,” Loco said, smiling his cheekiest smile.
“Yes, we are cold blooded, ruthless killers. But only with those who come to kill us.”
Surreptitiously, he unlocked the keypad and dialed 7 – the speed-dial number to call for back up in case of any emergency. His fingers moved quickly as he held Gloria’s gaze.
“Not this time. I’ve got you surrounded.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“With those who have killed scores and wouldn’t even look at us as numbers in their list of victims. With them, we are their worst nightmare.”
Accessing an application, he sent the co-ordinates of his location to the local cell in the city, all the time not even looking at his cell phone once.
A pulse began to throb in Bane’s forehead.
Loco pulled his legs closer under the table, ready to spring.
“Some of us have wives, some have kids, others ailing parents. And we tell them all we can tell them, and they understand. They have to.”
The backup would either be a team from the nearest police station or, if that took too long, anonymous men in unmarked cars.
Bane’s hand moved to his jacket. Loco stole a speedy glance at Bane’s men sitting a various tables and saw them follow suit. The sounds around him dimmed into a hum as his mind focused.
He jolted forward, grabbed Bane by his lapels and pulled him close. Bane, surprised and cursing, slid over the table towards Loco, knocking cups and cutlery off the table. The two men came to rest on the ground in an awkward bear hug.
“Shall we dance?” Loco whispered in Bane’s ear and started rolling. His men could only point their guns as the duo rolled toward the kitchen of the open-air café. Loco reached the kitchen door, drew his Desert Eagle, and shot one of Bane’s men nearest to him. The .44 caliber round crashed into the thug’s face at close quarters, taking away most of it.
The gunshot gave Loco the confusion he wanted. As customers sprang out of their seats and started running and screaming, Loco sprang up and rushed to the kitchen, firing a couple of more rounds in his wake, sending Bane crawling for cover. His men could only get a few shots off while trying to avoid hitting the civilians.
***
Three blocks away, Gloria heard the guns go off from the direction of the café.
‘Loco!’ she thought.
Hefting Gideon’s rucksack over her shoulder, she turned and ran back.
***
“Is there a back door?” Loco snapped at the frightened cook. The man could only nod as his helpers looked on, cowering.
“Well, get out then! All of you!” he roared as he slammed the front door behind him and pushed a stool against the lock, jamming it. He risked a peek out of the window while the men ran out and saw Bane and his men take positions behind overturned tables. He then rolled over to the back door and jammed it shut as well.
“You feel it yet?” Gideon’s voice whispered his ear.
“I’m getting there, buddy,” he growled as he body slammed into autopilot.
Take position under window ledge. Check ammo clip. Five rounds. Check for spare clips. Two in each ankle holster. Whirl around. Find target. Fire. One down.
Swivel. Find target. Fire. Missed. Fire again. Got him.
Two rounds remaining. Fire them at Bane trying to crawl over to the door. Send the bugger scampering back.
Eject. Draw clip from left ankle holster. Reload.
***
Gloria pushed against the throng of people trying to run out of the square and came to a stop meters away from the gunfire. Five men had taken positions behind tables turned on their sides, and were firing at the kitchen. A quick glance told her that Loco was not among them.
‘Damn!’ she thought. ‘They’ll kill him!’
***
Aim. Fire. Fire twice again. Four down, four to go.
Gideon’s ghost ever present.
“Aim and fire, soldier!” always chuckling, always mocking.
Peek out of cover. One of the Expendables drawing an Uzi from the bag. Duck.
The hail of bullets chipped at the window ledge and the door. Loco had a feeling that the door wasn’t about to hold up against the barrage very well. He waited for the man to run out of bullets. His window would be when he stopped to reload.
Wait. Gauge direction of the Uzi. Focus.
He’s out. Spring up. Fire.
The man took the bullet in the chest, the Uzi falling out of his hands. The second slug rammed straight into his head. narrowing the score down to three, including Bane.
Just as he turned his gun on Bane, one of the remaining mercenaries fired his pistol. The bullets slammed into the wall in front of Loco’s face, sending chunks of concrete flying into his eyes.
“Shit!” he yelled, the gun falling from his hands. It clattered over the kitchen counter and onto the sidewalk outside. Loco crawled back inside, eyes hurting. Managing to keep one eye open, he found a jug of water and started rinsing his eyes.
Behind him, the door started falling apart under a series of kicks. Loco pulled his stiletto dagger out of the sheath beneath his jacket. Just as the door finally gave way, Loco rolled forward. He came up on his knees just as one of Bane’s mercenaries entered, and stuck the stiletto straight in his throat.
“Punctured the bugger’s throat,” Gideon chuckled in his head.
In the same movement, he grabbed the dead man’s gun out of his hand and rolled away from the door, coming to a stop with his back against the wall.
Stop. Breathe. Ready? Go.
Turn and rise. Aiming…what?
Bane’s last mercenary, who was advancing with his finger on the trigger, suddenly pitched forward. Loco saw the back of his head spout blood as he fell.
Loco stopped, confused. If that was the back up, why couldn’t he see them?
Bane stopped too. He turned around, his gun halfway up, not sure what to point at. Then his knees buckled and he fell down. Loco looked carefully. One of the legs was bleeding. Bane raised his gun at a dark alley across the street.
Loco raised his gun to stop him. However, Bane’s gun flew out of his hand. One more jerk and Bane lay still.
Loco cautiously raised himself to his full height just as the two unmarked cars slid to a halt at the café. Men in suits, guns drawn, poured towards the café. Loco recognized the leader, the chief of the local cell. Two more cars arrived, blocking his view of the alley completely.
As the men in suits surrounded him in a protective perimeter, Gloria slipped the silenced pistol inside her shoulder bag. Quietly, she picked up Gideon’s rucksack and left the alley as the crowd began to gather.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
The Conversation
“I never did understand what exactly it is that you guys do,” she said, as Loco looked into his glass of iced tea. His chair afforded him a view of all those who passed by or approached the open-air café. However, a potential threat was the least of his worries right now.
“Apart from the fact that you’re soldiers, of course. Apart from whatever little you have told me about your work, I’ve noticed that all you guys ever talk about is guns, battlefields, maps…” she broke off.
Loco tried hard not to let his voice affect her. Once again, his mind flashed back to the time Gideon had introduced them, three years ago. They had acknowledged each other with polite greetings. As always, Loco offered a firm nod, looking straight into her eyes. That had been his first mistake.
“Covert ops,” Loco said. “Operations,” he clarified quickly. “We basically work on top secret missions for the government, in close co-operation with other governments. It’s ultra-classified. We don’t even know if there are other units like ours.”
The hint of a smile crossed her face.
“Even the comic books you read are all about war.”
Loco had to grin.
“Graphic novels,” he said.
She nodded.
“Which is just another way of saying comic books with nudity.”
Loco remembered arguing with her on this point for hours.
A ray of sunlight fell across her face, bathing it in a glow. Loco tried not to stare.
Over the next three years after their first meeting, Gideon had been instrumental in making them meet again several times. Loco had come to realise and accept the fact that there was definite attraction, which he could neither define nor try to deepen.
“Are you guys ever afraid?” she asked. There was genuine curiousity in her voice, like she’d always wondered but had never asked.
Loco shook his head. “Guys who’re afraid aren’t selected for our unit.”
“You mean they look for the crazy ones like you?”
“Something like that.”
“But you must feel something, if your jobs are so high-risk.”
Sierra Leone. 2002. Search and destroy mission.
“You feel it yet?” Gideon asked.
Loco knew what he meant. That feeling which begins at the base of your spine without your knowledge and creeps steadily up to your head when you see possible death coming your way.
“I’m getting there,” Loco replied.
“It’s hard to define. But yes, we do feel something.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“And you’re sure it’s not fear?”
“I know what fear feels like. I used to feel it a long time ago. Now, every dangerous situation is just another situation.”
Ethiopia. 2004. Assassination mission gone wrong.
“Is that a LAW I see on that hulk at the back?” Gideon muttered. The M72 Law was an anti tank rocket launcher. Both warriors knew only too well what it could do if fired at their crumbling single storey temporary shelter.
“Sitrep: ten men, eight M16s with grenade launchers, one LAW and one Barrett,” Loco counted off, looking through his binoculars. The sniper was already setting up his Barrett, aiming for the building. Within seconds, he would be ready to pepper the building with .50 mm rounds.
“And how do you guys deal with it?” she leaned forward, and Loco had trouble to make sure he didn’t look into her eyes directly.
“We get used to it, eventually. After a point, it’s just another feeling.”
Darfur. 2007. Flash raid.
“Guard’s down,” Loco whispered into his earpiece, laying the guard’s body down and pulling the knife out of his neck.
“This one too. Punctured the bugger’s throat,” Gideon chuckled from his end.
“We have 60 seconds to get the rest of them before the squad moves in.”
“Bet you we won’t need more than 45.”
“Don’t you feel like confiding in someone? All that killing…? Or does it become a habit as well? Do you talk about it amongst yourselves like we’d discuss shoes?”
The rise and fall of her voice was sending shivers up his spine. For the hundredth time, he told himself to get back in control.
Congo. 2008. Sabotage mission with faulty intel.
“I’ll take the two lookouts and the two sentries,” Gideon said, readying his Dragunov.
“I’ll take the patrol vehicle, then bust inside and C4 the fuel dump,” Loco responded.
“I’ll cover you. I counted at least five of them patrolling the inner area. Draw them out and I’ll cap their asses.”
“And I’ll deal with any remaining inside.”
“What’re you asking me?” Loco said.
“I’m asking you if you’re all cold blooded killers beneath this…this façade of professional soldiers!”
“Yes we are,” Loco leaned forward and for the first time, looking into her eyes didn’t affect him. “Yes, we are cold blooded, ruthless killers. But only with those who come to kill us. With those who have killed scores and wouldn’t even look at us as numbers in their list of victims. With them, we are their worst nightmare. Some of us have wives, some have kids, others ailing parents. And we tell them all we can tell them, and they understand. They have to.”
Afghanistan. 2010. Chase and kill.
“I’m going for the fuel tank. Let’s blow them to bits!” Loco roared into his earpiece over the sound of the Hummer’s engine, leaning out of the back seat through the open door.
“Hang on, get back in.” Gideon shouted. “I’m gonna ram the two bikers first; drive them right into that truck!”
“And then, one day…” her voice was a little more than a whisper.
Loco looked away and leaned back.
“Your luck runs out,” he said heavily. “It always does, sooner or later.”
Libya. 2011. Rescue mission.
“What, no false hopes for me?” Gideon was coughing blood.
“You know me better than that.”
“A lifetime of successful covert ops, and it’s a Libyan with a good throwing arm that gets me.”
Loco removed Gideon’s earpiece and opened up his shirt.
“Never saw the grenade coming. Bet I don’t look very pretty right now,” Gideon rasped.
“You ARE a freaking sight. Does it hurt?”
“Those kids get on the chopper?”
Loco could never be sure if Gideon saw him nod yes before dying.
She drained her cup and pushed it away. For a full minute, they both just sat there, trying to think of something to say. Then they both gave it up.
She pushed her chair back and slowly stood up.
“Your husband died a hero,” Loco said, not looking at her. “He was the best soldier I ever knew.”
She bent forward and picked up the rucksack containing Gideons’ personal effects.
“I know he was,” she said before walking away.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Flashback
“ENCORE!!”
They always called for encores when Loco fought. It was some thing to watch, the way he let his opponents tire themselves out, blocking and evading their attacks and then, in one unexpected moment, start raining attacks of his own. But most of all, they loved it that he seemed to be always smiling and laughing, even when taking hits. It was like the more he fought, the happier he was.
Loco smiled and grabbed a spectator’s handkerchief, wiping the sweat off his face and throwing it back. The man didn’t seem to mind.
“Bring it on!” Loco roared and the cheering intensified. His seventh opponent of the evening stepped into the ring.
The two men circled each other, eyes locked. His opponent, an immensely built man nicknamed Feather, moved first.
The punch would have made a small hole in a concrete wall. It missed Loco’s face by centimeters, who quickly stepped farther back. Feather came forward and threw another punch, which Loco again evaded and danced away.
Loco was getting bored already. But he knew that people paid a lot of money so they could watch these fights, and wasn’t about to end this one so quickly. He began stealing quick glances around the basement, which was only one of the several venues of the fights.
Sensing a drop in the decibel levels, Loco threw a look at the entrance while dodging a kick to the ribs. What he saw almost made him forget to duck as Feather aimed his next blow.
Twirling out of harm’s way at the last minute, he ran his eyes over a grinning Leone, a bemused Bellona and a shocked Celine.
He fell to the ground to avoid Feather’s swinging fists, then started rolling away as the bigger man tried stamping on his face. As he reached the end of the ring with nowhere to escape, Loco quickly threw both hands forward, palms out and caught the coming foot in his hands. The impact sent waves of pain through his arms, which he ignored and twisted, felling the tree-like man to the ground. Loco was on his feet and hopping before Feather could pick himself up.
Risking another glance at the three new entrants, he deduced what must have happened. Leone, in his enthusiasm to surprise Bellona and Celine, must have offered to take them to a place they had never seen before. He knew it would surprise them to see Loco fighting there, and that it would surprise Loco to see Celine and Bellona. Surprises all around.
As Feather came at Loco with more caution this time, Loco wondered how Leone would react if he had any idea what he had really done.
If only you’d known, buddy, he thought.
As Feather’s fist shot toward him, he stopped hopping and took it fully in the chest. Sound started dropping in the basement as Loco stumbled backward but regained his footing before he could fall. Even Feather was surprised.
A film seemed to fall over Loco’s eyes, and his mind went into flashback.
He was mustering the courage to talk to her the first time when Feather landed another punch in the chest.
He was trying to break her cool, distant demeanor when Feather followed up with a third punch, this time to the stomach, making him bend over.
He was smarting after being told off by her, his attempts at friendly flirting having been rebuffed when Feather grabbed him by the hair and straightened him.
He was finally detecting some warmth in her behaviour when Feather drove his fist into his face. Loco hadn’t tasted his own blood for quite some time now.
He was garnering hope from her warmth, trying to steel himself to ask if she would like to go out with him sometime when Feather drove his knee into Loco’s abdomen. This time, he let Loco fall to the ground.
He was learning from her friends that she was committed to someone else as Feather kicked him in the ribs.
He was discussing her boyfriend with her when Feather grabbed his throat and pulled him to his feet.
“It’s knock-out time,” Feather gasped.
“Gladly,” Loco responded. His hand shot out, palm open and outwards, and the heel of his palm crushed Feather’s nose. The hand quickly folded, and the elbow crashed sideways into Feather’s jaw, breaking it. The other hand followed, the closed fist ramming into the side of Feather’s turned head.
Feather dropped to the ground with a thud that resounded across the silent basement. Loco spat blood from his mouth.
Then he smiled a bloody smile and walked out of the ring before they could call for an encore.