The Shack: Ladykiller

"I'll get out there, I promise." She gave me a slightly lopsided smile, pleased at the way her squad was falling into confusion over my presence.

A shadow fell across my plate and she suddenly froze, staring wide-eyed over my shoulder. So were the other soldiers on her side of the table.

"Shit. Is there a very large, very black man behind me? About the size of a grizzly? With scars like stripes on both cheeks?"

She nodded slowly.

"Never met the bastard. Jambo, William."

A large almost coal-black hand fell on my shoulder. His deep voice had the lilt of Swahili built right into it. "Sijambo. Hollywood. I knew I'd find you here. Just look for the Pretty Girl and there you are."

The "Girl" blushed, I doubt she'd ever been called pretty before. Out of the corner of my eye, further down the table, I could see a blonde PFC who was all-too-obviously used to being "the Pretty Girl" blink in confusion.

"This is our sister, William."

"Ah. My mistake. Greetings Little Sister, I am your long-lost Brother, William." I looked over my shoulder at him. He was grinning from ear to ear.

The girl looked up at him and managed to say. "Greetings... William. I'm..." She paused, thinking, then smiled. "Jinxy."

I shook my head ruefully. "With William it's 'jambo' and 'sijambo.' It's Swahili. William thinks we're all in a damn Tarzan Movie."

William nodded sagely. "I am Bwana's number one gun bearer." At the last of that he couldn't keep a straight face and chuckled.

"You're an ass, William." I rolled my eyes. "See what I put up with, Jinxy? Someday all this can be yours, even the jackasses."

I watched William's grin widen, he'd picked up on my little game of messing with her squad a bit. I tapped my tray with my fork. "We are trying to eat here, William. Get a plate and we'll find you a seat."

"I understand, Bwana. But time does not stop for us. We have, as Pogo used to say, places to go and people to kill."

"Pogo still says that every now and then."

"So I hear. Nonetheless, family gossip will have to wait. We must be off."

I held my hand up in surrender. "Sorry, Jinxy, I'll try to catch up with you later. No rest for the wicked."

She smiled with a little more confidence than I'd have expected. "See you later, Hollywood. Nice to meet you, William. Make sure you take some time to look at the stars, too."

As we walked away, William glanced back. "I'd say she's not your style, Hollywood, but you have no style."

"Not like that, William, just ran into her on the way in. Just a girl to say 'hey' to now and then."

"That's not like you. Hollywood talking to a girl and not playing her? You're not the kind to take in strays. Are you getting old on me?"

"I'm not the only one here with a couple of grey hairs."

He chuckled. "And a new grandchild, so let's do this right so I can get back to my wife and settle down. This is my last one, even for you. Took six months for my leg to heal after that shit in Nigeria."

"Leave it to you, Brother. Get shot at for six weeks solid and then get an infection from a thorn. That contract was your idea anyway. That was like being trapped in a fucking Tarzan movie."

William's low chuckle erupted into laughter. "It really was."

"I should have never bought you those fucking movies. I need to go down there and burn the damn things."

William slapped one huge arm across my shoulders. "Namono burned the VHS tapes years ago. So I bought them all on digital download."

"At least she has good taste. Except for marrying you, of course."

"Of course. Still, Namono was pissed that I took this contract, so you probably shouldn't eat any food she offers you for a little while. Maybe five or six years."

I laughed, William's wife Namono was a great cook and smart as hell, but she had a temper when it came to William getting hurt. "That was hardly my fault, but I'll keep it in mind. How is everything in Florida anyway?"

"It's good, we're finishing the new house, that's the only reason Namono let me take this one. Everything will be done and paid off."

William's family had maintained ties in Uganda and when he went back to visit one time, he'd run into Namono at a wedding. It was, he said, like being struck by lightning. Less than two weeks later, I'd flown out to be at his wedding.

We finally reached the office and sat down.

"Did Kimmi get you a target card?"

"No. They had her give me this." He held up a small smartphone.

"And what's that supposed to be?"

"An encrypted satellite phone. It doesn't have any memory, just displays what is sent to it. This is how they'll tell us where the target will be and when it will clear cover. And who it is." He shook his head. "The target was involved in the torture and execution of Russian POWs in 1985."

"The Badaber uprising?"

William shrugged. "They didn't say, but that makes this a good target for 'The Russian,' doesn't it? The only other info is that this is about preventing transfer of some kind of special weapon to a terrorist organization."

I nodded. "We don't need more than that."

"Like Kurt always says, 'I'm a hammer, not a carpenter.'"

"Exactly. We just have to bide time then. I have a whole list of units that have requested training."

He grinned. "That's always enjoyable anyway."

***

"Shooter, by eye, go to pinnacle rock." William's low voice only carried the few short inches to me.

"Contact."

"From pinnacle rock go to six o'clock, approximately ten mils."

"Contact."

"Go to glass."

"I have target kneeling under red rock overhang, carrying AK-47 and handset. Brown cap. Clump of brown grass at the six o'clock..."

"That is your target. Check parallax and mil."

"1.63"

"Check level. Holdover 2 point 5."

"Ready."

"Right. Point 6." The wind call was the command of execution and a second later, with no anticipation or expectation, my rifle fired and the figure tumbled from his perch.

"Center hit."

Two more targets were designated and the bomb emplacement team was eliminated.

The Afghanistan National Police sniper team next to us watched carefully. The next target we hit would be theirs.

We'd been training them for two weeks, and they'd finally began to understand that the easy part was pulling the trigger. Sniper-spotter communications is always where the team can increase lethality.

Most people think snipers are all about individual shooting skill, but the reality is that there's a lot more to being an effective sniper than being a good shot. Among other things, William designated targets, calculated the variables that changed the ballistics and made the wind call.

As the ANP team went down to collect information from the dead guerrillas, William and I provided overwatch.

"We need to get the Russian out again tomorrow while we have the chance, the special could clear cover any day."

I nodded. We scouted locations ourselves and used the opportunity to dial in the Russian under different conditions. At long ranges, every change in temperature, humidity and air density makes a difference. Every specific known change could be plugged into William's ballistic calculator making it more and more accurate for that rifle with that type of round.

"The spooks say there's a couple of ridgelines fifty miles to the south with a jump in activity, they can put us on the ground there." We got free rides in exchange for acting as scouts on oddball activity, some kind of behind-the-curtain deal someone had struck for us. A two-man team scouting alone in hostile territory sounds riskier than it really is; with gunships only minutes away most of the time, we always had the cavalry on call. At least for now. It wouldn't be that way with the "special."

We watched the ANP team picking their way back up the ridgeline to us. "If it's a good target zone, we can take this team out in three days."

***

The next day, I glanced along the row of vehicles waiting to head out the gate as we waited to be passed onto the airfield. It was a convoy of trucks with an escort of a few up-armored vehicles, mostly M1114 HMMWVs with armor and turrets. It was obviously a bit of a cluster fuck as their inexperienced escort crew did their last few checks prior to rolling out. Diesel fumes made the roiling air nearly unbreathable.

A fraction of a glimpse keyed me on the lone figure, standing slightly apart from her squad near the middle of the convoy. She was awkwardly holding her M16 and her helmet was way too big; it made her look like a thumbtack. Whatever the squad was discussing, it was clear nobody wanted her opinion. Eventually I saw her trudging alone toward the lead vehicles. It didn't look like anybody there wanted her around either, but they eventually waved her aboard the second vehicle from the front, some kind of hillbilly armored abortion of a truck and a pile of boiler plate

I shrugged to myself. Jinxy had to go out sooner or later, and the convoys only rarely encountered anything besides harassment IEDs, those nasty roadside bombs everyone had started using. She'd almost certainly be fine. Something scratched at the back of my skull, but I reminded myself that strays weren't my problem.

The scratching at the back of my skull was still there as William and I loaded up on the helicopter.

*****

It'd been several hours since insertion and we hadn't even made contact; the intel had pointed at an infiltration route that had been in use steadily for the last several days, but we'd found no targets.

Plenty of sign, and all of it very recent, no more than a few days old, but no targets.

"Looks like everything was headed over the ridge here." William pointed out tracks. "That's a lot of movement, maybe a couple hundred men, but it's been over most of the day."

Something about it bothered me. "There's nothing worth hitting here, not with those numbers. Hard to supply that many for very long. No villages, no wells..."

"There's the main highway in that direction, maybe a half mile or so."

A sudden series of sounds, ominous and hollow blasts, punctuated his statement. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I was already three steps along the trail before the echo died. I could sense William's shock, but there was no time to stop; the scratching in the back of my skull was suddenly frantic.

Lesser, popcorn-like sounds built in front of me as I hurtled along the trail, tracing the highway from the base in the map in my head. It was perfect timing for an inexperienced escort leading a convoy. It took seven long minutes, but I crested the ridge over the highway and looked down into the valley.

The convoy was stretched around two steep turns, nose up against an almost hairpin bend to my left that I couldn't see around. Most of the guerrillas were on the other side of the road, where the steeper incline made it difficult for the men firing up from the trapped convoy. There was really one good firing position on my side occupied by two guerrillas who were firing steadily down at the convoy. For them, the 800 meters to the convoy was a very long shot. They were wasting their ammunition and yelling thankful prayers when they should have been keeping the "back door" shut.

The door I'd just come through. I pulled my M9 and fired twice, once into the back of each skull. Deafened by their own gunfire, none of the other attackers noticed. They were focused downward, where columns of smoke rose from each end of the convoy. Daisy chains IEDs had been used to hit the front and the tail of the line of vehicles, trapping it in the narrow steep walled valley.

At first I couldn't see the guerrillas' strategy. Even unable to move, the crew served weapons of the convoy would be able to hold them off until gunship helicopters arrived to end the attack. There'd, no doubt, be casualties, but certainly not enough to offset the losses of the attackers once the helicopters arrived.

Then it dawned on me. They were trying to exterminate the whole convoy. It'd been a favorite tactic in their war against the Soviets; pin the convoy, swamp it with gunmen, slaughter the convoy, and withdraw into the hills before relief could arrive.

That hadn't worked particularly well with NATO forces. More air support, with faster reaction time, had made the operations uncertain, and the American tactic of turning, engaging, and pushing directly into the ambush at full speed had made it virtually suicidal.

But this time the convoy couldn't do that; it was trapped, hemmed in on both sides by steep valley walls. And the number of attackers was wrong, there couldn't be more than a hundred out there on the opposite wall of the valley, which made me look back at that bend very closely. If the remaining men pushed down the length of the convoy from there, they could engage each crew at point blank range, preventing the gunships from engaging. I could see a man high up on far side, overlooking the bend talking into a handset. The deference of the guerrillas around him and the way he was gesturing made it obvious he was in charge of the operation.

I looked at the head of the convoy where the lead vehicle sat smoking against the valley wall, a body slumped in the turret, the M2 machine gun slewed up towards the sky. Further back, the second vehicle had come to rest with tires blown and radiator fluid spilling darkly into the dust, hood crumpled. A lone scrawny figure in an oversize helmet was crouched by a blown tire, trying desperately to shrink on itself. Alone, with only the dead for company.

I could feel the storm inside me. Jinxy was just a girl who didn't belong here, and I'd told her she would be fine. I'd told her that nothing would happen to her.

It wasn't even a lie. It was just a bullshit statement tossed off without thought to make my day a little easier. I'd done it without any thought of consequences.

I snapped the bipod down and shoved the body of the guerrilla down the slope.

William dropped in beside me, pushing the other body out of the way and setting his spotting scope up rapidly and precisely. He wasn't sure what I was doing, but William would always have my back, just as I had his.

I glanced through the scope at her. I could see her lips moving, talking to herself again, terrified almost beyond reason. She was praying. I could tell, I'd been there myself. When everything goes wrong and you know you are about to die, you pray. You pray to God like you learned in Sunday school.

When no answer comes, you start praying to anyone that will listen. And sometimes they do. Sometimes it isn't a Jehovah or Yahweh that hears you. Sometimes the Old Gods do. Sometimes the Old Gods answer.

People always get it wrong. The Old Gods in the myths we read in school are always made out to be slightly silly, a little goofy. But they were actually sources of sheer terror. Poseidon brought raging storms and crashing waves. Ares was a bloodthirsty killer who reveled in death, battle, and the stench of blood. Frightening, monstrous beings with immense power, unspeakable rages and towering jealousies.

The most terrifying of all the Gods was Zeus. Striking from the top of Mount Olympus, hurling bolt after bolt of deadly lightning, against which there was no defense, no chance of survival.

I felt myself settle in, cold calculation trying to layer a blanket of calm over my thoughts.

I'd lied to her. She was just a Girl and I'd told her she would be fine.

The howling sound in my ears suddenly broke into the silence of a true storm.

Fear me, for I am a Wrathful God.

The first shot took the obvious commander down at nearly 1200 meters, his body tumbling down the rocks toward the convoy. It took a second, the cacophony of explosions and gunfire all but covering the voice of my weapon, but this sound, this rifle, was different, and some of the older, more experienced, guerillas began to turn and scan the ridgeline.

I am Zeus, Wielder of Lighting, and this Girl is mine

The next shot disintegrated the head of an insurgent who had been trying to line up an RPG on the vehicle where The Girl huddled crying. The warhead spiraled crazily up into the air, eventually coming down, but where it hit didn't matter to me, so long as it was not near The Girl.

William realized what I was doing, who I was protecting, and began to feed me targets.

Fear me, for I am an Unforgiving God and this Girl is under my protection.

Another insurgent, trying to lead a rush too close to my Girl, lost his heart and much of his chest for his trouble. She saw his breast erupt in a spray of blood and looked up, searching. I could see her fear was giving way to something else, a tentative feeling that she probably didn't even understand.

A sign. She needed a sign. I could do that. That's what Gods do. Another old man, loudly rejoicing to his own God was within her line of sight. He was clearly a True Believer. I waited until her eyes settled on him. Hoping. Waiting.

Fear me, for I am a Jealous God.

My round took him through the side, spinning him around and sending his body crashing to the road. Wrong or right in his Faith, the True Believer would know for certain now.

The Girl's chin came up and I could see her jaw set through my scope. She looked at the bend, listening, then glanced down at the rattletrap M16 at her feet and shook her head once, leaving the useless thing there. She unsnapped the too-large helmet and let it fall to the dirt, fixed me with her stare for an eternity, then turned and sprinted towards the feebly smoking hulk of the lead vehicle. Part of me feared for her, but part of me understood. She had to prove herself worthy; this risk was her offering.

Odysseus offered a ram to Zeus in vain, but it was done for selfish reasons. I would not ignore this offering.

Two more gunmen, designated by William, went down as they tried to fire on her, the movement and recoil barely registering as I watched her run, fleet footed and sure. Another died as she leapt up on the vehicle and climbed to the cupola.

I struck down another gunman, but I could sense more, many more, of them massing around the bend where I couldn't reach them. A few desultory rounds were thrown our way, but the insurgents recognized the pointlessness of firing at me at this range. If their plan worked, I wouldn't matter. They could afford to lose a few men for this prize.

The Girl spared a quick glance at the bend as she struggled to pull the body from the gunner's seat then redoubled her efforts. Finally she succeeded, using all her 95 pounds to drag the Soldier's body up and dump it down the armored face of the vehicle. She slid into the cupola and began to frantically swing the M2 around.

And so they say, was born into that Dark Night, Adrestria, daughter of Ares and Aphrodite.

The wave of men broke around the bend less than 300 yards from the burning vehicle. Too many, by far, to stop with a sniper rifle. Some would fall, but in minutes they would overrun the line.

Intent on that goal, they ignored the smoldering metal beast on the far side of the road, certain that it was dead.

Some call her Nemesis. Goddess of Retribution and Revenge.

There's a very specific word in the military lexicon.

Enfilade: A volley of gunfire directed along a line from end to end.

The guerrillas, intent on closing with the still-coherent defense at the other end of the line, intent on "hugging" the US forces to neutralize the expected arrival of helicopter gunships had made a horrible mistake. In their eagerness, they had grouped up into a tight, dense mob as they rushed around the bend.

It was a momentary lapse, a single mistake in an otherwise well-executed plan.

She is the punisher of Hubris, of the Arrogant and the Self-Righteous.