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Troy's J.O.E. verse
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12-28-2009, 10:39 PM
Troynos
#voteblackjack
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Posts: 35,754
In The Company of Ghosts pt 2
Mercer listened to the new arrival speak. He was a blond man, carried himself with confidence and attitude. Nothing about the man said “don’t mess with me” but Mercer had met enough people like him to know, he was not someone you easily messed with. You might come out on top, but it would cost you. How had Chuckles described these people? “The ones that toe the line”. Mercer had a feeling that the newcomer was one of the ones that would cross it if need be and not look back.
They called him Norseman, or at least the ones that could talk. The masked man, the one called Snake-Eyes, never uttered a word. Mercer stole a glance at him. Couldn’t even see his eyes as he calmly ran the whetstone over his sword, sharpening it. That black knight’s visor did a good job hiding his eyes and the mask didn’t betray any expression. That was a man that Mercer wouldn’t mess with even if his life depending on it because he knew his life was over either way.
“My contact at the airport said a private plane arrived an hour ago,” Norseman was saying. He had been out in the nearby town when Mercer and the others had arrived. “He couldn’t see who got on or off. Plane’s flight path was registered out of Quebec but that’s most likely false. “
“What name was it filed under,” Chuckles asked.
Norseman sat at the end of the couch, a map of the surrounding area on the coffee table that had been hastily cleared of weapons. Chuckles was on the other end. Snake-Eyes and the red headed kid, called Kamakura, were standing up near the fireplace. Low-Light was on the floor in front of the picture window. He had gone upstairs and retrieved a large and dangerous sniper rifle and was in the process of cleaning it and putting it together. The one that Chuckles had called QK, his name was Quick-Kick, and he was back outside giving the perimeter another quick look. Jinx leaned up against the doorframe into the kitchen. Mercer found himself isolated by the rear window, leaning against the wall watching the others.
“Arbco,” Norseman replied. He pointed at the map. “The airport is here, we’re here.” He indicated two spots about 6 inches apart on the map.
“Name ring a bell to you Mercer,” Norseman asked looked up.
“Arbco?,” Mercer shrugged. “Never heard it before.”
“Rearrange the letters,” Jinx suggested.
Mercer thought a minute, working it out in his head, all eyes were on him, even Low-Light that had looked up from his work.
“Cobra,” Mercer said figuring it out.
“Bingo,” Norseman said. “The info we set out that you were here seems to have worked.”
“What’s earliest warning,” Low-Light asked putting the final piece, the silencer, onto the rifle.
“I put the motion detector at the start of the drive,” Norseman replied. “I figured that was far enough that they wouldn’t start looking for it yet.”
“So what’s the set up,”Low-Light asked.
“Low-Light, Snake-Eyes and Quick Kick outside,” Norseman said folding the map up. “Kamakura upstairs. Chuckles and Jinx in the dining room across the hall. Mercer and me are here.”
“Yo,” all the others, except Mercer, replied getting up and heading out to grab their gear.
“Come on,” Norseman said indicating Mercer. “Let’s get you some gear and then we get to wait.”
“Joy,” Mercer said sighing. Why did I defect, he asked himself, following Norseman.
*************
Low-Light looked thru his site, zeroed in on the houses front door. He was up in a tall pine, with clear fields of vision in all directions. It had taken awhile, from when they had first arrived a day prior to Chuckles and Mercer, to find the perfect spot and set up his tree stand in such a way that it wasn’t visible, and he wasn’t visible well on it, from anywhere, especially from down below, the one position he was most vulnerable from. But he had his own surprises set up down there, just in case.
Sight zeroed in, now came the fun part. The wait.
He clicked a button on the side of his goggles and the lenses polarized, changing his vision to the greenish tints of night vision. The scope was clearer, but this was good for getting a wider view. Without moving the rest of his body he did a slow scan or the areas of the house and barn he could see. He could just barely see Quick Kick moving into the barn, shadows moving around upstairs and Norseman taking a look out the front curtain. Of Snake-Eyes there was nothing to be seen. He knew he wouldn’t see Snake unless he was supposed to.
“They’re here,” He heard Norseman say over the radio.
Shifting his body, but leaving the sniper rifle pointed towards the house, he turned to look down the drive and the arrival of the hit squad.
************
“They’re here,” Quick-Kick heard Norseman over the radio.
About time, he thought to himself, all this waiting is killer. Killer, his thoughts wandering. Wonder how many this Mercer guy killed as a Cobra. He stopped himself, that line of thinking wouldn’t lead anywhere. Killing was part of the job, being a soldier, just mattered which side you were on. And which side was the right side was normally up for grabs.
He reached behind him and undid the tie on his sword’s sheath at the small of his back and then reached down to the holster strapped to his upper thigh and undid the clasp so the pistol was ready to draw when needed. Assault rifle in hand he crept to the back of the barn, hiding in the shadows, pulling a mask over his face and the white strap he had wrapped around his head, hiding the red symbol stitched on it. Holding the assault rifle in one hand, by the barrel, he got into position and starting his stretching routine. The night was cold, he’d need to be loose and free.
Quite a distance from being a stunt man, he thought. Time to saddle up and ride.
***************
Snake-Eyes crept thru the dark, moving from shadow to shadow, a part of the night. He tapped the knight’s visor he wore and lenses slid into position, giving the night the greenish tint of night vision. He could hear Quick-Kick moving quietly thru the barn and knew that Low-Light was looking his way, but wouldn’t see him.
“They’re here,” came the voice of Norseman thru the headset.
It meant a car, or a person or group of persons, was walking down the driveway. But they wouldn’t all come from that one direction. Where and how many? The drive was on the north side of the house. South, east and west were all forested. There was that stream to the south. Too noisy and easily trackable. East? Nothing. West? Nothing.
Remembering the map he mentally traced the route the hit squad would have come from the airport, assuming that’s where they came straight from, but he had nothing else to go on. Chances are they would have geared up at the airport, going somewhere else would have made them too noticeable and made the risk of detection greater. Airport was to the northwest, road came straight that way. One of the reasons they had chosen this farm, proximately to the airport and it was off a direct access road. If smart, the hit squad would have stopped and dropped off some of the assailants to cut thru the woods. West it is then.
He ran as quickly and as quietly as possible to the west and into the woods, angling to the south and then heading straight in, planning to come in and behind the approaching attackers.
**********
Low-Light heard the car before he saw it. He never did see it. The engine, engines he corrected, stopped. No lights, must have turned them off as soon as they got onto the drive. One of the engines sounded louder and beefier then the other. Car and truck? Van probably. They had stopped about 100 feet from where the trees stopped. Keeping quiet he saw the group approaching. Ten of them, all dressed in black, no identification, nothing about them or their equipment would indicate who they were. They spread out across the road, keeping enough space between them. Slowly they made their way.
It seemed like an eternity to Low-Light, hardly daring to breath. Just ten? Must be more. In the woods. He was right.
The noise, barely a noise, came from below him. Another to the left and the right. More men in the forest. Directly underneath him he heard a twig break. Slowly he breathed, thru the nose, holding himself perfectly still.
Move, he thought to the man below him.
He hoped there was no more behind this one, but as long as this one was there, he was out of the op, unable to do anything to help the others.
He looked towards the farmhouse, shapes moving slowly towards it. Coming from the drive and the west of the house. Perfectly timed. Then movement by the barn. Risking it he turned and looked that way.
Two shapes. Different from the others. Completely covered, head to toe, but the dress was different. Gis. Martial arts gis.
Crap, he thought the hitman still below him.
Ninjas.
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