Confirmed Kill Read online

  “You stay with us,” Kyle said. “We may need more information.” He also wanted the kid where he could watch him, and might need to shoot him. It was a cold thought. Meantime, he’d have to deal with fighting with one foot in a bucket.

  The platoon split for the last time.

  “Don’t forget to call,” Stephens said, grinning and batting his eyelashes. Kyle snickered. With that, the locals and the Aussies disappeared like ghosts. The local contingent was already on its way to the staging area. The Americans’ gear was with Bakri, who had detoured away to provide vehicles for exfiltration.

  Kyle felt very alone then. It was hard to find a more hostile area. At this point, anyone they met was an enemy. And some were putatively on the same side, which meant shooting at them was undesirable.

  Kyle sucked down water. He was going to be expending a lot of energy shortly. It was hot already. He’d be soaked in sweat, and wanted extra liquid on hand. Other than that, he had weapons, ammo, body armor, and technical gear totaling fifty pounds or so. There was nothing light about infantry work. He would feel much more secure in the armor and helmet. It was familiar, so it was psychologically protective, too. But he couldn’t wear the helmet and reach the scope properly. Given a choice between better defense and better offense, he chose offense. It was what he did, after all. But there was no point in lugging the helmet for later, So Bakri had it. Kyle would just have to be exposed for the duration.

  “Okay,” he said, and pointed. Wade slipped forward as point man. He walked carefully, lest his ghillie tangle in the brush.

  They slipped into a position from which they could cover the building where the hostages were supposed to be. The “supposed” was key. They might have been moved, if anyone noticed Faisal gone. They might have been killed. Or they might be there with a battalion around them. But doing nothing definitely meant they’d die.

  At a nod, Faisal moved out between them. He was painted with camo and covered in burlap rags that hung loosely. It wasn’t as good as a ghillie, but it was easier to move in, had been fabricated in a few minutes and still broke up his silhouette. Kyle had the suppressor on the SR25 and was prepared to dump a match round through his brain if there was any sign of dissemblance. The kid might be remorseful, but he’d also sawed somebody’s fucking head off. That wasn’t easy to forgive.

  Kyle followed along. He took tall steps to avoid kicking low growth, watching and feeling for his foot placement. He used no night vision equipment at present, relying on his natural sight. Once close enough to shoot, he had the night capabilities of the AN/PVS-10 scope. Ahead, Wade sunk back down into the growth. Faisal moved in behind and to his left. Kyle liked that position, and sat back a couple of meters, where he had a clear right-handed shot at the boy without risking Wade.

  “Lie down flat,” he told Faisal. That would put him in a position where a few seconds reaction time would be available, and he couldn’t reach both soldiers in that time, though he might reach one.

  “How’s the view?”

  “I’ve got a window, and an armed man,” Wade said. “Nothing else yet. Let me relocate a few meters.” He squirmed across the ground like a sidewinder, disturbing very little foliage.

  Once settled in, he took another look. Through the phone he said, “Chair, legs. Hold on.” One more move and he said, “Mel. Got him.”

  Faisal said, “The woman is to left, and the girl left of her.”

  “He’s right so far,” Wade said when Kyle relayed that.

  Kyle said nothing. It was reassuring, though. The boy had ratted out the scumbags, had given correct data and was doing as he was told. It seemed he was what he said.

  Kyle appreciated that. Given the choice between an unrepentant coward he’d have to kill and a kid who had a conscience and the guts to stand up when he knew things were wrong, the latter was a much better companion. No one said doing the right thing was easy. But it was often the judge of character.

  “We need to get closer,” Kyle said.

  “We’ve got about ten hours,” Wade said. “How close do you want to cut it?”

  “I want at least two hours leeway, in case they get eager or spooked. Sooner is better. Exfiltrating in daylight would suck rocks. Then there’s the government, who may just get out of bed and show up.”

  “I think I can get within one hundred meters in this growth. The problem is finding a good, clear field of fire I can move from in a hurry. Trees are handy, but these monsters are hard to climb and I’d be limited on field of view.”

  “Right. Any high ground? How much elevation do you need?”

  “Three meters would do it. I see a rise over to our right. Might work. There’s a downed tree with a root ball, too. If the angle is good . . .”

  “Right, do it.”

  It took an hour of maneuvering to get good positions. Wade was standing, leaning through a root bulb and prepared to do so for hours if need be. He was effectively invisible from any direction, from more than a few meters away. Faisal was lying down where he wasn’t visible and couldn’t move fast. That was the lot of turncoats—no one ever trusted them completely. He seemed mature enough to know this and didn’t complain. Kyle was on the rise, in a bush, carefully picking leaves off to clear his field of view slightly without letting the bare patch show.

  Kyle phoned Stephens and gave him an update. “We’re in position, we’re checking objectives. Information is correct so far, say again, correct. We have visual contact.”

  “Roger. Say when. We’re standing by, close and ready.”

  “Roger, out.” He clicked back on to Wade, ten meters away on land and 48,000 miles away by phone, to avoid talking above a whisper. “Any time we decide, we’re on.”

  “Roger. What are we looking for?”

  “Fewest threats in the building. You have the door?”

  “I can see the door. Anything coming through dies.”

  “Roger. I can cover right front approach. That leaves a blind left.”

  “So we’ve got at least a fifty-percent reduction in threat.”

  “Yeah, but we need one hundred.”

  “I know.”

  They really needed an entry team as well. They also needed satellite TV, couches, and hot dogs. They weren’t getting those, either. The rule was to use the resources at hand.

  “I don’t think the conditions are going to get better,” he said. “So let’s wait and see if the traffic level drops.”

  “Roger. Right now there’s six people in there. They’re setting up the video and making sure the victims know.”

  “Cocksuckers. Just fucking cocksuckers.” Kyle trembled with rage. He wasn’t sure words existed for his state of mind.

  Faisal started crawling. Kyle waved him over.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “They will set up camera and lights, then count down the time, praying for Allah’s help. They will shoot through the heart and then dress in clean clothes to hide blood. Then they cut heads with large knife.”

  “Understood. Tell Wade,” he said. He handed over the headset. He was nauseous. This was worse than the corpses under Castle Bran, almost as bad as watching Nasima get shot in Pakistan.

  Faisal spoke through the phone to Wade, then nodded. “He knows.”

  “Good. Wait some more. We do a lot of waiting in this business.”

  “I understand. I hope you can save them.”

  “We’ll do everything we can.” Though he wasn’t sure what that could be.

  “It’s not going to get better that I can see,” Wade said. “They come and go. Averaging six assholes in the latrine.”

  “Another distraction would be nice. A quiet one. Sports? A bar fight?”

  “I can distract them,” Faisal said.

  “What?”

  “I can distract them? Draw attention?”

  “Oh, I heard you,” Kyle said. “Are you sure?” He realized he’d let the boy get right up behind him. Then he realized he wasn’t concerned.

  “I ca
n walk down and distract them. They know me.”

  “They’re going to be very suspicious about you leaving and showing up.”

  “If I can get any outside, you have less inside. If I’m in the way . . . just shoot me, too. Save the girl.” The boy trembled, took a breath, and nodded confirmation.

  “Son,” Kyle said, “I can pick a fly off a cup. You’ll be fine. You get them out, I’ll nail them. Do it.”

  “Then I go now.”

  “Clean up first.” Kyle soaked a bandage in water and handed it over. Faisal scrubbed his face, and dumped the ersatz ghillie. He was still dirty and grubby, but might pass.

  “Clean enough?”

  “Your face is, yes.”

  Faisal nodded faintly and stepped forward, an aura of calm around him.

  “Allah be with you, son,” Kyle said to his back.

  “Thank you.” He nodded again and slipped away.

  “Brave kid,” Kyle said into his phone.

  “Yeah, I heard your side of it. I hope he can do it. A few seconds will make the difference.”

  “Yup.”

  Kyle watched as the boy picked his way through the growth. Kyle mostly trusted him. At the same time, the kid might, just might turn his coat again, now that everyone was brought in. It wouldn’t make sense to blow cover like this . . . but at the same time, these weren’t sensible people. And if they knew they were going to get nailed, they might decide to hold ready on the hostages and invite a firefight. If they could kill a bunch of troops and the hostages and pin the blame on “overeager soldiers” they just might. It was the kind of complex plan that appealed to amateurs, and did sometimes work.

  But Kyle didn’t believe it. The boy—man—seemed honest, and had given far too much intel for something like that.

  But there was still a chance of fear taking him, once he was face to face again. Impressionable age.

  Kyle was willing to take the risk. Even if the kid did waffle back like a second-rate politician, he’d still be a momentary distraction, and Kyle had trained for years to exploit those. That would be all the time he needed to start blowing away any threats inside.

  Faisal reached the edge of the clearing, far back from the road, and stepped onto the ground. He wasn’t seen at once.

  “He’s down,” Kyle reported to Wade. Then he called Stephens.

  There was a tension in the air. It was eagerness, fear and alertness, seasoned with a little bit of hate and cynicism. No matter what happens, you gutless fucks aren’t getting out alive, Kyle thought.

  “So let’s do it. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Ready,” Kyle lied, and called Stephens. “Commence in exactly three minutes. One eight zero seconds from . . . mark!”

  “Three minutes, one eight zero seconds, understood. Six, seven, eight. . .”

  “Confirmed. Out.” He redialed. “Wade, in one six five seconds, one six four, one six three...”

  “Roger. I will commence fire two seconds prior. Two seconds.”

  “Two seconds roger. Rangers’ Bullets Lead The Way.”

  “Amen to that.”

  They stopped talking and got ready to shoot. Kyle wanted to peer inside, but Wade had that. He’d chosen to cover any approaching targets from outside. That meant faster but less-precise shots, so Wade would have fewer incoming threats. They had to hope for some slight confusion inside to keep the hostages alive for a few seconds. Once threats were minimized, they were storming the building and shooting everything except the hostages, with the explosives as distraction to give the impression of overwhelming force.

  Wade’s first shot was a muffled bang from back where Kyle had paused earlier. Kyle thought he heard a second one, but it was lost in a cacophonous roar from the front of the compound, diagonally from both sides of the road. It was nicely done, and four figures dropped.

  “Three down,” Wade reported. “Two more not in range.”

  “Damn. Get them.” Kyle rose and moved. Wade was hidden and wouldn’t be traced. So Kyle was now acting as a decoy for him, should anyone follow the shots back. He was also getting closer so he could pour out some fire.

  “I think they’re ready to do it,” Wade said. “Oh, sonofabitch. We’ve got a roomful of scum and three hostages. That frontal assault has convinced them to do it now as a fuck-you gesture.”

  “Plan fast,” Kyle said. “Save the girl first, mother second, Wiesinger third. I wish I could say it was personal, but he is a soldier on a mission. He’s last.” Dammit, they’d come from off to the left. He’d had no shots.

  “Roger,” Wade said from behind his scope. “I count eight targets. Cameraman should be last. The new knifeman is wearing khakis and a ball cap."

  “Yeah, got it. Can we get closer?” He took a careful look through his own scope as he snuggled up to a tree for cover and support.

  “I don’t think so. Better angle here, unless we get right up close or inside. If you shift a few meters left, I think we can create a fire zone around the hostages and just shoot anything that steps into view.”

  “Roger that. Anyone with a firearm has to be first. Once we have them down, we need to leapfrog in.” He started moving in a crouch, quickly but stealthily.

  “Yeah. Going to be rough.”

  “Faisal is out front,” Wade added a few moments later. “I damned near bagged him by accident. He was talking to one of them.”

  “Dammit, why did he have to wait until now to choose the right side?” Kyle asked softly while he waited. He didn’t realize it was aloud until Wade answered.

  “Young, idealistic. The problem is there’s no challenge and no army for kids like that. They imprint on the first powerful figure they meet, and in much of the world, it’s a self-serving asshole. Get them to a recruiter and they turn into something else.”

  “Me,” Kyle said. He recalled having the exact same thought a few days before.

  “And me.”

  “Roger,” Kyle said. “Get forward.” Wade was a few meters closer. But Kyle couldn’t move from his position until he knew there were no threats to his charges, or until Wade had a good, clear field of fire from a different angle. The lights went out in the building, which was a good sign. He clicked the scope to night vision and let his eye adapt to the monochrome.

  Once they’d killed the lights, it took a few seconds to get reoriented. People were scrabbling about on hands and knees, slowly rising. Kyle chose one and put a bullet straight through the top of his head.

  I know what the last thing to enter your mind was, asshole, he thought with a grin. He scanned for another and settled on an exposed hand that was just visible at the edge of the window. His shot shattered metacarpals and blew through the wrist. Now if he could find another wrist and the ankles, he’d crucify this motherfucker twenty-first century style.

  I’ve got to calm down, he realized. He was taking too much pleasure. One should enjoy one’s work, but not to this level under these conditions.

  Maybe some of it was just relief over being able to shoot at last. He hoped so.

  “I’m good,” Wade said. “Move.”

  “Roger.” He came off the scope and slipped forward again. He couldn’t see Wade, which was good.

  The noise up front continued. Rifle fire in two calibers was joined by machine-gun bursts and the occasional slam of explosives. He picked out an RPG burst and what was probably an Australian grenade. Then there was the sound of blasting gelatin in small charges. Good. They should think the entire Indonesian Army was down on them.

  “If you see a threat on the hostages, shoot ASAP,” Kyle said. “And if I think you can get one of them through Faisal, I’ll do it. I hate like hell to say it.”

  “He knows the risk.”

  “Yeah. So did Nasima. Doesn’t mean I like it.” Though Faisal had his own crimes that Nasima hadn’t. Still, he was taking a big risk to do the right thing, and it always sucked to watch good people die.

  “I know.”

  “We’ve got t
o advance. Cover them. I’m moving twenty meters. You follow.”

  “Roger.”

  Kyle stood and rushed.

  It was a very unsniperlike tactic, but it was an infantry tactic. He took distance off with meter-long strides and slipped up behind a tree, leaning as high and far forward as he could to get some kind of field of view.

  He really should ask about police work, executive protection, or Secret Service when he retired, he decided. This was exactly the type of work they did. The muzzle of his rifle was describing little circles. But the little circles here equaled large circles at one hundred meters, circles that encompassed the hostages. A figure stepped into the path of the circle, and Kyle didn’t jerk or twitch. He simply let the muzzle drift around on its orbit, not forcing it, and snapped the trigger as it passed the appropriate part of the arc. He’d led just enough, and the bullet smashed through the back and shoulder blade of the threat.

  There, movement, and it wasn’t female or Caucasian. He snapped off a shot and watched to make sure he’d hit. “Go, Wade!” he said.

  Moments later, a bush with a rifle sprinted past. Wade took up position lower and closer. But they were losing angle while they gained proximity. A mucky depression behind the buildings was for runoff or sewage and would make advance and shooting awkward.

  Kyle started his next run and caught a glimpse of movement just as he lowered the weapon and began to sprint.

  There was no time to try to recover. He had the headset on and said, “Shoot now!” in a whisper.

  Wade took the shot. Kyle didn’t know how it worked, but he was momentarily in his next position, barely forty meters away. Wade would take another twenty on his next advance, probably to that corner there. Then they’d go around.

  And he could just see a man with a raised pistol, chambering a round. His intent was obvious.

  He shifted imperceptibly, bringing the reticle over the man’s head. A squeeze of the finger and the window imploded in an instant before the man’s brains blew out, scrambled by a 180-grain boattail match .308 bullet. Even suppressed, the report clapped Kyle’s ears, followed at once by another report from Wade’s weapon as he came past at a run. The muzzle blast was contained, but these were still supersonic bullets with a healthy crack. It wasn’t deafening, but there was enough noise to be obvious.