Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2

BLACK TUESDAY By Alex Shaw

Heavy clouds hid the moon and made the night’s darkness absolute. Approaching, night vision goggles on and dressed in black Nomex assault coveralls, the assassins were invisible to the human eye. Here in the countryside there were no streetlights or headlights of passing traffic to give them away. The farmhouse had once belonged to an IRA enforcer by the name of Devlin who rumour had it had brutally tortured captured men from the hated British SAS in the very same kitchen where he ate and did the dishes. Now after almost a decade of disrepair the house was in use again. It had been rented to the American. The boyos, as their commander referred to the pair of assassins, had very explicit orders: take out the Yank as an example to all. This was their territory, the American could piss off.

Burke and Lowe had watched the house for a week to learn their target’s pattern. So far he had been a creature of habit. He didn’t leave the house until evening when he would go for a run. All the lights however would go off by two a.m. and then he would not be seen moving inside the house until late afternoon the next day. Dickers, local look-outs, had been stationed further out to monitor his movement. On his runs he never strayed from his route, which was a ten-mile circuit through the fields. They had identified one choke point in O’Bryan’s woods for a hit but had decided that the house was best. It was obvious to the PIRA cell that the American was there to prepare the house for the arrival of a team. The place was meant to look deserted hence no car in the driveway and no moving around during the day. In the chaos surrounding the Good Friday Agreement, when the IRA and the Provos had allegedly agreed to ‘give up the armed struggle’ old ‘black’ agreements between the CIA and the paramilitaries had been torn up. And now the cheeky sods had started to move in directly as if they owned the place. The new-PIRA cell that Burke was a part of could not accept this.

Burke held up his fist and Lowe stopped dead. They were about to leave the cover provided by the high hedgerows lining each side of the graveled road and go cross-country for their final approach to target. Both men were tough and had been taught by the best available at a training camp in northern Libya. As such they did not hesitate to get down in the mud and crap, and cutting a wriggle gap in the foliage, squeezed their way through into the potato field. With their noses in the mud, and wearing their NVGs the field looked like a green alien world. Its furrowed earth like some heavily cratered landscape. At one time there had been a shortage of potatoes, millions of Irish starved whilst others were forced to emigrate but now every man and his dog had fields full of thousands of the fuckers. Burke had been forced by his grandmother to peel potatoes every Sunday, usually as a penance and he resented them.

Still in silence, still close to the sticky earth the boyos closed the gap to their target. They moved now at a crouch as a light breeze picked up. Rain was promised before dawn but they would be away by then. Lowe was going to go home and bang his neighbour’s wife; she loved it especially when her husband was away on his sales rounds. Both of the men had a Heckler & Koch MP5SD in their gloved hands, the same that the SAS has used and the irony was not lost on them. Their assault plan was simple: approach the target, let the yank have it and then skedaddle. An unassuming old Land Rover Defender was parked up half a mile away at the entrance to another field. Once the target had been neutralised there would be no need for stealth so they would jog back to the road, using the driveway and then march happily to the Defender. They would be driving away in less than five minutes.

Burke went prone, Lowe copied and both men now crawled the last few feet towards a low wall that divided the hard-standing farmyard from the field. Their pulses started to soar and both men dripped sweat. It wasn’t fear that had excited them, just excitement. This was going to be their first kill for over two years and both had a bloodlust to satisfy. The two men exchanged glances, reading each other’s eyes, the only part of their faces visible behind their black three-hole Balaclava’s.

The layout of the house had been memorised even though both men in fact had been inside on numerous occasions over the years. This was their home turf and it was time for the American to ‘leave’. They waited for several minutes by the wall, listening to the night and tuning into their environment. If anything now moved inside or outside the house they would kill it.

It was time. Forming a two man stick, American style, Lowe had his left hand on Burke’s shoulder as they moved to the back door. Their rubber-soled boots should have made the slightest of sounds on the concrete but Lowe’s boot had collected a small stone in its tread. The tapping of the flint striking the floor to him sounded like a hammer on an empty steel drum. At the door Lowe went left and Burke went right, both ducking below window ledges. Again they paused and listened before Burke nodded and turned the handle. If it was locked they would use a key appropriated from the letting agent and hope that a bolt or chain hadn’t been fitted. The door was unlocked. Carefully and stealthily Burke pushed the old, burgundy painted, wooden door inwards. Lowe was back at his shoulder now, but both hands were on his HK. They crossed the threshold and swung their weapons in arcs. Clear. The kitchen was empty. Switching their NVGs to IR Torch mode they would be able to see their way around inside the house as though it were day. They waited once more for any hint of noise before advancing into the hallway, which dissected the farmhouse. Doors led off to the lounge and dining room before the passage opened up into the entrance hall, front door and the stairs. Burke was sentry as Lowe quickly, but quietly opened the under-stairs cupboard and turned off the electricity. Gaining in confidence they crept into the lounge and each man taking a different arc confirmed that it was clear. They did the same for the dining room before moving into the entrance hall. Taking the steps in slow strides, two at a time and sticking to the sides to avoid the telltale sounds of complaint from the floorboards they had their HKs angled upwards. This was potentially the most dangerous time. On the landing there were three bedrooms and one bathroom to clear. Their Intel placed the target in the master bedroom at the end of the landing, but to get there they had to pass the other bedrooms. Burke moved tactically along the corridor; Lowe tapped his shoulder as they drew level with a bedroom door. Burke shook his head, they were going to the master bedroom first: this was where they had witnessed the American close the curtains and later extinguish a reading light. The door was ajar and Burke smiled as he heard the soft and rhythmic breathing of a sleeper. The target was dead to the world and soon would be forever. Burke entered the room; if it had not been for the IR torch beam he would have seen nothing. The room was in complete darkness with heavy curtains at the windows. The only ambient light was a faint glow that came from the face of a wristwatch, which lay on the bedside table. In the bed, on the side nearest the window was a human sized lump, and it was still breathing without a care in the world. Lowe stepped to the left of Burke. The boyos counted to three before firing controlled bursts into the target. They kept firing with their suppressed HKs until their magazines emptied and cordite fumes clawed at their throats. The rounds had ripped the American to pieces. Lifting their balaclavas, Burke and Lowe shared a smile of satisfaction. It felt fucking great to kill.

HKs held one-handed now, relaxed as there was no way that the target could have survived, the boyos knew they had to see the American’s face close up and enjoy the look of peace they had etched into it with lead.

Burke reached for the duvet and roughly pulled it back. He froze. “What the…”

“What is it?” Lowe stepped forward.

“It’s a pig!”

“What, a copper?”

“No a real, fucking, bacon pig!”

“Oh shit!”

Hurriedly both men dived to the floor and slammed new magazines into their HKs. They had been played. The target knew they were coming. Now fear did start to kick in, a feral fear of the hunter turned hunted.

Burke slapped Lowe on the cheek. “Ready?”

Lowe nodded. “Fuck it!”

The element of surprise now gone, all they had left was speed and aggression. The boyos leapt to their feet and as fast as their legs would carry them, exited the room. They reached the landing and each shot a three round burst through the other bedroom doors. If anyone had been waiting to ambush them that would have kept their heads down, if not shot them off. HKs arcing wildly, the pair bounded down the stairs and into the hall. The front door was a too obvious escape route so they made for the kitchen. The house had become eerily silent again and if he hadn’t known better Lowe would have sworn the place was haunted. They reached the kitchen and then Burke saw him. The American was standing wearing only a pair of boxer shorts in the middle of the kitchen. He had a large serrated kitchen knife in his hand and his eyes were wide as he attempted to see in the dark. He turned his head this way and that as he desperately sought out the sounds of the intruders. Lowe brought his HK up but Burked pushed it down and shook his head. If the Yank had wanted to escape he could have just run out of the back door and been away. No, this guy wanted to stay and fight. Burke smiled and then tapped the edge of a cupboard with the muzzle of his HK. The American like a child playing blind man’s bluff took a half step and shakily thrust out the knife. The boyos tried not to laugh. Some people really were eejits. Burke selected single shot on his HK and raised it into the firing position. He’d take out the Yank’s kneecaps first.

A quick smile spread across the American’s face. His eyes narrowed and he looked directly at Burke. “Your flies are undone.”

“W…what?” Burke stammered momentarily taken off guard.

“He can see us!” Lowe blurted out.

Milliseconds later Burke sent a 9mm round rocketing the three meters across the room at the American. Almost instantly there was a spark as the round was batted away by the Sheffield Steel blade of the kitchen knife. Before Burke could fire again the knife embedded itself into his stomach. Burke dropped his weapon as he fell. Lowe depressed his trigger and a burst of 9mm rounds ripped the air where a moment earlier the American had been standing. Lowe felt a huge impact and was then lifted off his feet and hurled through the air. His head collided with the iron AGA and he went limp. Burke tried to pull the bread knife from his stomach; he could feel himself getting dizzy. The American crouched in front of him and looked into his eyes. “Who sent you?”

“Fuck you.”

“No thank you, I prefer my women with breasts.” The American replied.

Burke said nothing as he held his left hand over the puncture wound. He knew it was serious, but he also knew that there would be a day when he would die for the cause. If he didn’t get medical attention he’d bleed out and today would be that day.

As if reading his mind the American spoke. “Tell me who sent you and I’ll get you a doctor.”

Burke was no grass and his unit was no normal PIRA cell. They were the hard-core remnants who were bringing the fight back out into the open again. If he grassed he may save himself but he’d be ending the lives of his family. “What is it you Yanks say, bite me?”

The American allowed himself a smile. “I fully intend to.”

Burke frowned as he saw the American’s mouth open and long canine teeth protrude from his gums. Before he could think or say another word the American was at his neck and his world became black.

As Lowe opened his eyes he felt daggers of pain stab his temples. Gingerly he looked around. His NVG goggles lay broken by his side and his Heckler & Koch MP5SD too was useless, its barrel had been bent sideways. Lowe had no recollection of how this may have happened. His last memory had been shooting at the American and then being lifted into the air. He felt his head; there was a large lump, which was painful to touch. Using the AGA for purchase he pulled himself to his feet as a severe pain hammered at his skull and down his spine. He saw Burke. Lowe drunkenly moved towards his partner who had been laid on the wooden kitchen table. Lowe gaped at Burke’s face with its staring lifeless eyes. The skin was white, devoid of any colour. Then he saw the man’s neck. Two puncture holes neatly sat on the jugular vein. Lowe frowned, what were they…bite marks? He had no time to think about it now. Through the kitchen window Lowe saw that although it was still dark the sky had become a shade of midnight blue and the clouds were just visible overhead. So far the rain had kept away. He did not know how long he had been unconscious but knew that it was time to move. He picked up both of their HKs and put the straps around his shoulders. He then collected the NVGs and secured them to his webbing. He shuddered as he lifted the cold corpse of Burke away from the table and onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The body felt much lighter than he had expected and Lowe found his own energy starting to return. Fuck the Yank, he could have killed them both yet had let him live. Lowe was not going to look a gift-horse in the mouth and barged the backdoor open. He staggered across the farmyard, down the drive and to the road beyond. Someone would pay for this; he would make sure that they did. Using his anger to power his legs, Lowe was able to almost jog with Burke over his shoulder. Just under five minutes later he was manhandling Burke’s body into the Land Rover. Lowe sat behind the wheel and saw himself in the rear-view mirror. His eyes were red-rimmed. He exhaled heavily and started up the Defender.

The diesel engine was loud in the deserted lane. He pulled away quickly, tyres scrabbling in the mud before they gripped the tarmac and propelled the vehicle forward. On the horizon in front of him the orange glow of dawn had appeared.

The Land Rover drove on for another minute or so until the light suddenly made Lowe wince. He reached up for the sun visor and then he saw that he had his own puncture marks, but his were on his left wrist. He stared at them for a moment trying to comprehend what had happened to Burke and him at the farmhouse. Sunlight now crept into the Defender and Lowe’s nose started to twitch, something was burning.

He rounded a bend and the fiery dawn sun rose unobstructed from behind the distant hills. He felt his hands shake and then he saw flames dancing on the steering wheel. Lowe shook his hands violently in panic as he caught a glimpse of himself again in the mirror, his eyes were blood red and his skin had started to brown. And then the flames spread all over his body as the full force of the sun’s rays touched his skin. Lowe screamed and involuntarily pulled the wheel to one side. Travelling at almost sixty miles an hour the Land Rover left the road and hit a tree. The impact was horrific and Lowe was pinned in his chair as he burned up. In under a minute the flames reached the petrol tank and the vehicle exploded. The fireball destroyed all evidence of the boyos existence and their encounter at the farmhouse with the American.

BIO:

Alex Shaw spent the second half on the 1990s in Kyiv, Ukraine, teaching Drama and running his own business consultancy before being head-hunted for a division of Siemens. The next few years saw him doing business for the company across the former USSR, the Middle East, and Africa.

He is the author of the #1 International Kindle Bestselling ‘Aidan Snow SAS thrillers’ HETMAN and COLD BLACK and the new DELTA FORCE VAMPIRE series of books. Alex, his wife and their two sons, divide their time between homes in Kyiv, Ukraine and West Sussex, England. You can follow Alex on twitter: @alexshawhetman, on facebook: alex.shaw.982292 or contact him via his website: www.alexwshaw.com

DANGEROUS, DEADLY, ELITE - The third Aidan Snow Thriller will be available later this year.