Tiger, Bear, Shark. Some typically macho shit like that, but the choice had proven a canny one, generating a belly laugh among the team and helping to dissipate some of the tension that had built up in the hours after they had learned they were to leave the safety of the base on what was, none of them liked to admit aloud, probably a suicide mission.
All s ix of them had followed the Captain’s lead and picked their names with heavy irony once they boarded the chopper. The pilot, Ash, went for Butterfly. In addition to Mouse and Hound (“Sounds like a pub name,” Butterfly had giggled, sending another roar of laughter through the group) there was Flea, the smallest of them; Rabbit, named for what he declared were his usually successful attempts to fuck anything that moved; and Panda. John had made the mistake of calling himself Cat, because he was the quickest among them. Clearly not quick enough however, to realise that the name would inevitably be amended to ‘Pussy’.
The Captain’s shoulders slumped, almost impe rceptibly.
“Looks like we’re doing a foot search then lads.”
“Shit, Cap,” Rabbit mumbled glumly. “You’d think the assholes in charge might have left us some form of communication as a contingency you know? They really have to dump all the GPS satellites? Sent us back to the damn dark ages here.”
Panda snorted. “You reckon those assholes know what they are doing Rabbit? We wouldn’t be here if they did. Hell, we’re meant to be tucked up safely, guarding nerds and bastards sitting on solid gold chairs, rig ht? And yet here we are: ‘safety’ lasted less than a week and we’re out in this shit already. And given who we’re looking for, I’d say the satellites are the least of their problems. They fucked up mate, big time. And he got out years ago, I heard. This is a fuck up that’s been a long time in the making.”
John nodded. He wasn’t alone then, they all felt it, that unease deep in the gut. They had been sent here out of desperation. Their presence was a dice roll. John had gambled on infrequent occasions. Never won.
Mouse was letting them get it off their chests, John knew it. He had been a highly decorated soldier, a devout believer in authority and the chain of command. He had been a leader, but he didn’t strike John as a thinker. He would lead the team to the gates of Hell itself.
Orders .
“Alright lads, stow it. We’re here, we have a job to do and we’re doing it. We know the bastard is underground someplace, and we know it ’s close, close enough that he popped up to empty a few thousand bullets into these miserable fuckers. Either he’s part of this mess, or he has returned to his little nest. We move out, five metre spread, and we move quiet. We all know what noise means.”
John thou ght back to the chopper landing with a shudder.
The town had been almost entirely dark as they had circled overhead, only a faint glow from the embers of a huge fire that had nearly burned itself out in the centre of town providing any illumination. The streets appeared still. It had looked to John, face pressed up against the chopper windows, cheeks numbed by the heavy vibration of the engine, like something from a museum, like one of those historical towns preserved by some well-meaning charitable society or other to give intrigued onlookers a glimpse into the past. It was true of St. Davids as well, he had supposed. True also that this place was now just another piece of history, a relic of a time that, although it had passed only recently, certainly did not look like it would be coming back.
It was different to the bombed- out, crumbling settlements he had seen in the desert. Different and the same.
The chopper had circled three times, the men inside searching keenly for movement and seeing none in the dark land far below, finally settling down on farmland a mile or two from the town.
They came from the trees before the rotor had even begun to slow, ten, perhaps
All s ix of them had followed the Captain’s lead and picked their names with heavy irony once they boarded the chopper. The pilot, Ash, went for Butterfly. In addition to Mouse and Hound (“Sounds like a pub name,” Butterfly had giggled, sending another roar of laughter through the group) there was Flea, the smallest of them; Rabbit, named for what he declared were his usually successful attempts to fuck anything that moved; and Panda. John had made the mistake of calling himself Cat, because he was the quickest among them. Clearly not quick enough however, to realise that the name would inevitably be amended to ‘Pussy’.
The Captain’s shoulders slumped, almost impe rceptibly.
“Looks like we’re doing a foot search then lads.”
“Shit, Cap,” Rabbit mumbled glumly. “You’d think the assholes in charge might have left us some form of communication as a contingency you know? They really have to dump all the GPS satellites? Sent us back to the damn dark ages here.”
Panda snorted. “You reckon those assholes know what they are doing Rabbit? We wouldn’t be here if they did. Hell, we’re meant to be tucked up safely, guarding nerds and bastards sitting on solid gold chairs, rig ht? And yet here we are: ‘safety’ lasted less than a week and we’re out in this shit already. And given who we’re looking for, I’d say the satellites are the least of their problems. They fucked up mate, big time. And he got out years ago, I heard. This is a fuck up that’s been a long time in the making.”
John nodded. He wasn’t alone then, they all felt it, that unease deep in the gut. They had been sent here out of desperation. Their presence was a dice roll. John had gambled on infrequent occasions. Never won.
Mouse was letting them get it off their chests, John knew it. He had been a highly decorated soldier, a devout believer in authority and the chain of command. He had been a leader, but he didn’t strike John as a thinker. He would lead the team to the gates of Hell itself.
Orders .
“Alright lads, stow it. We’re here, we have a job to do and we’re doing it. We know the bastard is underground someplace, and we know it ’s close, close enough that he popped up to empty a few thousand bullets into these miserable fuckers. Either he’s part of this mess, or he has returned to his little nest. We move out, five metre spread, and we move quiet. We all know what noise means.”
John thou ght back to the chopper landing with a shudder.
The town had been almost entirely dark as they had circled overhead, only a faint glow from the embers of a huge fire that had nearly burned itself out in the centre of town providing any illumination. The streets appeared still. It had looked to John, face pressed up against the chopper windows, cheeks numbed by the heavy vibration of the engine, like something from a museum, like one of those historical towns preserved by some well-meaning charitable society or other to give intrigued onlookers a glimpse into the past. It was true of St. Davids as well, he had supposed. True also that this place was now just another piece of history, a relic of a time that, although it had passed only recently, certainly did not look like it would be coming back.
It was different to the bombed- out, crumbling settlements he had seen in the desert. Different and the same.
The chopper had circled three times, the men inside searching keenly for movement and seeing none in the dark land far below, finally settling down on farmland a mile or two from the town.
They came from the trees before the rotor had even begun to slow, ten, perhaps
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