Chapter Eighteen

With less than 40 hours before they killed Viktor and little information about the compound, other than location and the approximate number of people, Diego and I had to come up with a plan without delay. We worked into the wee hours of the morning and then grabbed a few hours of sleep. As it looked, the next two days would be arduous.

We had enough firepower for seven or eight people, but we were two, and those weren't good odds even in the best of circumstances. We had to find a way to get into the compound unnoticed, create a significant disruption, and cause panic. If, and only if it worked, we stood a slim chance at rescuing Viktor. We both knew the way to do that was either convince someone to let us in, with our other options left at coercion, or sneak our way in. We were over an hour away from the compound based on the information Agent Harper provided, but only 30 minutes away from the town nearest the compound. We guessed and hoped someone from the compound would use the nearest town for supply runs, but we wouldn't know for sure until we got there. This was going to be a crapshoot at best. We were hinging our hopes on finding someone that came from the compound into that small town. When you are left with no options, you make them up as you go.

We got up at almost 1100. We had lost almost six hours, but we had both needed some sleep. We had some motel coffee, packed up the car, and drove the thirty minutes to the next town. It was a typical small southern town, two stoplights, a myriad of small mom-and-pop stores, a few fast food places, gas stations, a few redneck bars, and the little town square. The sign heading into town said it had a population of 1250 people. Getting closer to town, I doubted there were half that many people. In the last twenty years, there was a notable exodus from many of the small rural communities to the major cities, which made jobs easier to find for those who left. Losing many of their inhabitants, many of the small towns were brought to their knees financially. That was evident in this small town as the storefronts; streets and buildings showed the lack of maintenance and routine care. If the BelyyaPrava was using this small town to get supplies, it was helping the economy, and the townspeople would turn a blind eye to most minor wrongdoings to keep the business. A worst-case scenario was that the local law enforcement was in the pocket of the skinheads, and we might end up in a dangerous situation.

We arrived around lunchtime and decided to grab a bite at the local diner, which was busy and our best potential source of intel. It was a collection of townspeople, farmers, maybe a few people passing through. As we walked to the table, we spotted four men who appeared to be skinheads. Shaved heads were one thing, but the tattoos, of the white-supremacist variety, told us another story. They had sequestered themselves in the far booth closest to the back and spoke in soft tones as we sat. As with many small towns, there weren't a lot of people of color present. This diner was no exception. Diego was the darkest person there, and he picked up on it right away.

"Amigo, it's looking a little bright in here," he said in whispered tones, "if you know what I mean."

"I see that, bro. I guess we'll have to see how this plays out."

I wondered if his Central American heritage would arouse any activity of the negative sort.

We seated ourselves near the window, Diego with his back to the door, and me with my back to the restaurant. We had a tactical vantage point. The server approached us and in her sweet Georgia accent asked us if we would like something to drink. As we had done for years, Diego ordered coffee and orange juice, and I ordered coffee and water.

Diego was rarely bothered by people's prejudice, but we both got the feeling he wasn't too welcome at this diner. We got a few looks from the other patrons, and because we didn't have a local accent, the attention wasn't unexpected. The skinheads noticed us and began to take an interest.

The server returned a few minutes later with our drinks and a pad in hand. She asked us if we were ready to order. One of the skinheads, tall and lanky, jeans tucked into his calf-high boots, sporting a greasy ballcap, and wearing a ratty looking jean jacket got up and walked toward our booth. He spoke to her, "They won't be ordering anything here. Especially this dirty spic."

Diego hates being called a spic even more than he hated being called a dirty Mexican and made a move to come out of the booth, but I gripped his forearm. This gave the skinhead more ammunition.

"That's right; you better keep your boy in check, unless he wants to have trouble. We don't like your type around here."

"And what type is that?" I asked, sliding my hand to my pistol hidden under my shirt on my right hip.

"Spics and spic lovers," he said, almost spitting the words at us.

Diego was fuming at this point, and I could see he was getting ready to explode. I looked at the server and said, "I think we'll forego the food. How much do we owe you for the drinks?"

I could tell she didn't like the situation. "Don't worry about it, honey. It's on me."

"Thank you. I think we'll be going now. We have things to do, and we should get to it."

I pulled on Diego's arm to get him to go. He slid out of the booth, squeezing between the skinhead and the booth, saying excuse me through gritted teeth. I was surprised Diego didn't shoot him, but he somehow managed to exercise restraint.

I escorted Diego outside and to our car, where we hopped in and pulled away from the restaurant. As I expected, the four skinheads left the diner and got into an SUV as we were pulling away. We had gotten their attention, and it was time to use that to our advantage. We knew that staying in town wasn't a good idea, so we headed out of town in the direction of the compound. If we were lucky enough for an opportunity to speak with one of them, we didn't want to have to double back through town.

After we left the town limits, we picked up our speed, and they were quick to match. The further we went out of town, the closer they got. We knew we had to find a side road and the GPS showed us a road up ahead we could detour off to get to the compound. Diego was driving and slammed on the brakes and made a hard right onto the gravel road. They weren't expecting it and slid past the intersection with their brakes squealing. Diego punched the accelerator, and we rocketed down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust in our wake. We slowed to make sure they were still following and came to a tee in the road where we took a left. According to the GPS, we were about six miles from the compound and decided it was close enough. By now, they were flashing their headlights and honking their horn to get us to pull over. It was four against two, and I liked those odds.

I realized I was becoming who I had promised Mary I would not. There was no going back now, and I knew it. I pushed those thoughts from my mind for now; I would deal with them later.

Diego slammed on the brakes, and I snatched my pistol from my waistband and jumped out, circling around the back. They pulled up behind us and jumped out, two with ax handles, one with a baseball bat, and the fourth with a crowbar. I guess they hadn't learned to never bring a knife to a gunfight. It was going to get ugly quick.

Diego jumped out of the car with pistol drawn, aimed, and dropped the first guy with the ax handle who was closest. After the other three saw their friend's head explode all over them, they started backpedaling. I took out the second guy with two shots to the chest, and the other two started running back toward the SUV. Diego nailed batboy, who was the lanky one who insulted him, in the legs; he dropped to the ground screaming, and I got crowbar man in the back of the head. Good, we left one alive to talk with.

We approached the tall skinhead, who was now cursing and screaming from the two shots to the back of his legs.

"Fuck you, assholes. You fucking shot me. Just fuck you!" he yelled, trying to crawl to his truck

Based on the amount of blood coming from the wounds, I knew he wouldn't bleed out, but he was in a lot of pain. We had to work fast if we were to get any information out of him. Diego stomped on the back of his right leg, at the bullet wound behind the right knee, causing him to let out a gut-wrenching scream.

He was cursing and spitting, "Fu..Fuck you! You're going to die for this."

Diego grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and forced the barrel of the pistol in his mouth. This seemed to quiet him down to a whimper. Around the barrel of the pistol, he asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

"I probably should. What do you think, amigo? Do you think I should? You know how much I hate racists, especially skinhead racists."

We were playing the good cop, bad cop routine with this guy, who was maybe thirty at most, but just a punk to us.

"Oh, I don't know, bro. Maybe you should. Seems like a waste of air."

Diego pulled the pistol from his mouth, shoved the tip of barrel in his nose, and he started begging for his life.

"No no no, please don't kill me. I'll do anything. I'm sorry I called you a spic and you a spic lover. I love Mexicans."

That was the wrong thing to say, and Diego shot him in the right foot. "I'm not a fucking Mexican, asshole. I'm Colombian," he shouted.

The skinhead thrashed from the sudden hole in this foot and screamed until I put the barrel of my pistol against his forehead. His screaming turned to broken sobs.

"You said you'll do anything. Anything?"

I had to give him credit. He was trying to handle the pain but was failing miserably. Most people would. Through his sobs, he begged, "Yes, I'll do anything. Please..please don't shoot me anymore. I'll do whatever you want."

"First, apologize to my friend for calling him Mexican."

He stammered out an apology, I...I'm sor..sorry for calling you a Mexican."

He would say anything to save his ass but now came the questions I knew would be hard for him, if he had any semblance of loyalty to his group.

"You live in the compound?"

I could tell he realized what we were asking, and he hesitated in answering. I looked at Diego, and I said, "I'm going to ask him again, and if he hesitates, shoot him."

He didn't waste any time. "Yes, yes. I live in the compound."

"How many people are in the compound?" I asked the second question.

He was quick with his response. "About 25-30 people, depending on who's in town or out."

"How many guns do you have there?"

He hesitated, and Diego shot him in the left foot causing him to scream and pass out. I looked at Diego and shook my head. "I need him conscious to answer questions, asshole."

"Sorry," he replied and smiled.

I walked back to the car and grabbed the first aid kit and pulled out one of the ammonia ampoules. I stepped over skinhead and popped it in front of his nose. That brought him to consciousness, which was followed by moans of pain. He now had two bullets in his leg and a hole in each foot. My pistol convinced him to calm down.

"I'm going to ask you again. How many weapons do you have there?"

"A lot of weapons, pistols, shotguns, ARs, AKs, a 50 cal, and an M60," he muttered, he was having a hard time remaining conscious.

I waived the ampoule in front of his nose and slapped him in the face. He jerked upright.

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"Wake up, sunshine. We're not done yet. What else?"

"Huh, what?"

"What else is at the compound?" I tapped him in the ribs with the toe of my boot.

"Grenades, Symtec, flares, a few claymores and nothing else."

"How many guards on the road to the compound?"

He was starting to fade from the pain, and I stepped on his left foot, which caused him to scream. "Focus. Tell me how many guards on the road."

"Four. There are four." he sobbed, "Two when you get on the road and two at the gate by the compound. No guards after that."

"How many people are there today, as in now?"

"Twenty-five, maybe. Some are out getting stuff."

"Twenty-five? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You gotta help me here. I'm bleeding really bad, and it hurts," he cried.

I glanced at Diego. "Who's in charge at the compound? Give me their names."

"I can't. I can't tell you that. They'll kill me," he pleaded.

"You won't have to worry about them. If you don't tell me, I will kill you," I yelled, "so fucking tell me now!"

"Ivan, Urial, and Alexia. Those Russian guys."

"See, that wasn't so hard. One last question. Is there a tall guy there, speaks Russian and English, about 6'4 and really big? Is he being held at your camp?" I asked.

"Yeah, Yeah. His name's Viktor. We kidnapped him for ransom. Will you let me go now?"

"Sure! That's all I needed to know."

I turned and walked back to the car.

Diego caught up with me, "Bro, what are you doing? We can't leave him alive. No witnesses. Remember?"

"He's a scared punk, Diego. At this point, if I told him to shit himself, he'd fill his fucking pants."

"Yeah, I know. I get it, bro. I don't care if you've got the FBI in your pocket or not. If he talks, we're toast."

I tried to find a way to walk away and leave him alive. I walked toward the car, and then I heard the report of Diego's pistol. I looked at Diego and shook my head. "You'll thank me for it later, bro. It had to be done."

We stopped talking, dragged the four bodies, threw them into the back of the SUV and drove as far into the woods as we could. There we dumped the bodies. It was far enough where nobody would find them for a long time, if ever. We weren't worried about the gunfire since it was common in the Georgia backwoods.

We had to go in as soon as possible, since we were sure they would notice their four guys missing at some point, so we decided on nightfall. If they started asking questions, someone would tell them what happened in town. We didn't want to rouse their suspicions and have them send out search parties while we were getting ready to enter the compound.

We talked about how we would get into the compound and realized the SUV was the best way. Diego took the car, and we drove a few miles down the road, loaded the weapons into the SUV and hid the vehicle on a small dirt road that looked like it had seen little use.

It was 2:00 pm by the time we ditched the car. We sat parked close to six hours, made ready our weapons, and waited for the sun to go down. A few cars passed, but none stopped, taking little notice of our presence. Diego prepared the blocks of C4 with detonators, and we packed our weapons and mags for easy access. Dressed in all-black-clothing, we applied the camouflage paint to our faces. Although we were a little more weathered and worn, it was like old times. We would go in after sunset, using the cover of darkness. I pointed out the black clouds rolling in and smiled. No words were necessary as Diego returned with his own evil grin.

For most people, storms were a problem, but as we had always done, and for what we were about to do, the storm would be our friend. It would provide us with the cover of darkness and noise, and the worse the storm, the better. As it stood, we didn't think they would suspect anyone trying to get into the compound with a storm coming in. As the sun started to dip down below the treetops, the wind started picking up, and small droplets of rain began to hit the windshield. With the cloud cover, there was no moonlight, and our sounds were muffled by the wind and rain, we had gained the element of surprise. With the odds the way they were, we would need every advantage we could get. A couple of hours rolled by, and I smoked the last cigarette of the night, picked up the phone, and called Phil Harper. "We're going in. It's game time." I hung up.

The storm was now coming in hard, the rain almost sideways, and we drove toward the road to the compound. With this wind and rain, the sound of gunfire would not carry far. We didn't have suppressors for any of our weapons and needed that noise. As we approached the first gate, two armed guards, both young, maybe thirty to thirty-five, stepped in front of the SUV. They recognized the vehicle, one approached the left side, and the other, the right. The guard on Diego's side was yelling for us to kill the lights, we didn't, and he and the other guard approached the doors. We didn't wait. Diego fired at the guard on his side and me at the guard on mine. Both dropped from rounds to the head. We were still efficient, even if we were past our prime. We stepped out and dragged the bodies into the brush, tossing their weapons further. There were two more left, according to the lanky dead boy, before we hit the compound. Now it would start to get tricky.

Driving down the road, we came upon another gate. This one was lit and had security cameras. We couldn't shoot these guards and had to think fast. Either way, we might alert someone with what we were about to do. There were lights to the left and right of the gate, both pointed toward the road. If we didn't take out the lights simultaneously, the mission would be over, and we would fail. As we neared the gate, we rolled our windows down and killed the SUV lights. They couldn't see into the SUV, and we had a clear view of them. As they stepped closer to the SUV, Diego and I both fired at the spotlights, they both blinked out. Diego flashed the high beams in the guards’ eyes, and I took out both of them with two shots each. We killed the lights to the truck and jumped out. As dark as it was, we hoped their cameras didn't have night vision capability, which would make us as visible as a sunny day, but even idiots had night vision. We would need to go in on foot from this point, so we'd know soon enough. With our bags in hand, we headed in the direction of the compound.

About a hundred yards in, we could see the lights coming from various buildings. They were made of wood and had corrugated metal for the roofs. We counted seven buildings with five having lights. The compound itself wasn't well lit, and we assumed it was either running off a generator or they had shitty lighting. Either way, the crappy lighting was in our favor. The rain started coming down harder, reducing our visibility to about twenty feet in front of us. That also meant they couldn't see us, and any cameras they had would be useless, even with night vision. The rain would cause refraction, negating the night vision.

Diego carried an AR15, and I brought my SCAR, and we both carried eight extra magazines, two pistols with spare magazines, and I had a sawed-off pump shotgun while Diego had an AK74 slung across his back. Both of us carried four fragmentation grenades and two flashbangs each. We couldn't toss a fragmentation grenade in the building where they were holding Viktor. He would have to suck it up and take the flash bang like a big boy.

We crept to the first lighted building, checked the perimeter, but didn't find a fuse panel. This one was hard-wired to the light pole. I stood a few feet from the door, and Diego yanked on the power line, plunging the interior into darkness. It didn't take long before we heard shouting and then scrambling toward the door, which flew open and five tangos stepped out. I opened up with the SCAR in short bursts, cutting down three of the tangos. The other two made it out the door, and Diego shot them from behind. We checked the interior and found no one. Diego rigged a block of C4 in the center of the far wall facing the other building and set the timer for twenty minutes. We would need to finish clearing the other buildings by then.

We crossed an open clearing to the second building, the rain hiding our noise as we approached the door. Out stepped a large man, about Viktor's size. We couldn't tell who he was, but he was big. He didn't see us approaching, and Diego pulled his Kabar from his waist and snuck up on the man's left side. With a hard-slashing motion, Diego came across the man's throat, slicing his windpipe open, he was unable to make a sound, and Diego jumped on his back, wrapped his arm around the man's head from behind, and drove the knife into his chest and abdomen multiple times, lowering him to the ground as he bled out. They would miss him. Diego peered into the window and held up five fingers, indicating five tangos inside. I pulled a fragmentation grenade and showed it to Diego. Had Viktor been in the room, he would've said no, but he nodded and pulled open the door. I tossed in the grenade, and he slammed the door shut. The explosion was muffled because of the storm, and we stepped in and fired at anything moving. That was eight tangos down with a possible twenty more to go. I was getting tired. We scanned the room, broke the weapons and tossed them out into the muddy ground, making sure we left no one alive. Diego rigged another block of C4 and with five minutes elapsed; set the timer for fifteen minutes. We had to move fast.

The nearest building was about twenty-five yards away, and the open area between was lit by a flood light. We could either go around or risk darting across in the hope no one would see us. We couldn't risk Viktor's life, so we moved fast, following the shadows at the edge of the light and approached the third lit building from behind. In this storm, the loss of electricity was always a possibility, but we couldn't kill all the power since we didn't know where the source was or where Viktor was held.

The third building had a breaker on the back wall. Diego managed to get a look inside and saw three large men and Viktor. Viktor was tied to a chair, slumped over, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, his face black and blue from I could only assume was his torture. Nobody does that to a friend of mine. He was well guarded, and the three tangos inside looked like Russians. I stood near the side of the building to avoid being seen. Diego pulled the breaker and then headed to the other side, opposite of me. One of the men stepped out and looked around. He wasn't an amateur. He raised, what looked like an AK and scanned the compound and said something in Russian. He was one of them.

He walked toward me, and I waited. As he stepped around the corner, I fired my pistol point blank at his chest, knocking him back a few feet but he didn't go down. Damn it, he had body armor. He regained his footing and charged at me, swinging the butt of his AK at my head. I was too slow, and he grazed my temple, disorienting me. He was bigger and stronger and swung the butt again, connecting with my ribs, and I felt a crunch. I doubled over in pain. He raised his weapon to shoot me, and two shots rang out. The side of his head exploded from Diego shooting him at point-blank range. The sounds alerted the other two inside who came out firing. They didn't know where we were, and their rounds missed. I knew I had at least one broken rib, if not more. This was going to suck.

I came around the corner, dropped to one knee, and fired at the tango closest to me, taking out his knees. Diego returned fire at the other, putting a round through his neck. I finished my tango with a couple of rounds to the head. By now, we were sure we had alerted others in the camp. Twelve minutes remained until the C-4 in the first two buildings blew so we'd have to hold them off for at least that long. We ducked into the room and found Viktor, semiconscious but alive. They had worked him over hard, and we had a difficult time moving him, considering the condition I was in and how big he was. With the lights off and our eyes adjusted, we could see across the compound. We didn't see anyone coming yet, but it was bound to happen. Someone would notice the lights out and investigate.

Diego turned to me, "The only way out is the SUV. You can't even walk well, let alone run. I'm going to get it. I'll be back in less than five." He handed me his grenades and took off running into the shadows. I kept an eye on the clearing between the buildings, and I had been right. Someone had seen the lights off in the building we were in and were walking across the clearing. I checked my watch. Ten minutes until the C-4 exploded. Viktor was beginning to come to, but still lethargic.

I turned to him, "We're going to get you out of this. Just hang in there, buddy."

"Da," he said, "I knew you would come," and smiled through swollen lips and bloody teeth, even more, missing than before.

Eight men were making their way across the clearing, and all were armed. Even if I took them all out, there could be ten more out there. I didn't have a choice and tossed two fragmentation grenades in their midst and opened fire on the group. I took out three with the grenades and caused severe wounds to two more, but the other three returned fire, peppering the front of the building, sending rounds all around Viktor and me. I pushed him to the back corner of the room and lay prone to lower my profile. With no flash suppressor, they would know where I was, so I had to make my shots count. I took out one, but the other two fired, one round hitting me in the calf and another grazing my shoulder. Both wounds hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but I couldn't let up. I tossed another grenade in their direction but was off with my aim. It was enough to disorient them which gave me enough time to aim and fire, hitting but not killing both.

The noise of the explosions and the gunfire was enough to rouse the other men, and they started coming in our direction. The remaining two in front were still sporadically firing. I could tell they were wounded. I had the advantage of the dark room, and they didn't, being in the open, but I had no exit and no option but to keep firing. Magazine after magazine fell to the floor until I was down to the last two. I tossed two more fragmentation grenades and made my way to the back wall off to the side out of direct sight of the doorway. I was losing a fair amount of blood from my calf, and my shoulder felt like hot coals had been poured into the wound. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes.

Time slows when you are in combat. What feels like hours, is minutes, and what feels like minutes is seconds.

Two figures rushed door and fire into the room. The rounds missed me, but one hit Viktor in the upper left chest. I fired at both, emptying my magazine. I took one out with a headshot and wounded the other. I had one magazine left. I glanced around the room and scooped up an AK lying on the ground and checked the magazine. It was full, and it gave me a little boost. I crawled toward the door, staying far enough back for them not to see me and began squeezing single rounds, making my shots count. I managed to take out three more before the group decided to bum rush me. I had one grenade left and lofted it out into the clearing after waiting almost too long. It exploded, sending shrapnel down on the men below it, causing several them to cry out in pain. The group stopped but continued to fire. I glanced at my watch. Less than three minutes and still no Diego.

I watched as they made their way toward me. I pulled one of the flash bangs and tossed it outside, closing my eyes and covering my ears. Although inside, I still felt it, but it was worse for them. Two of them dropped in pain, another two were disoriented, and the bright flash of light and loud explosion shook the others. As I started to fire, I heard the engine of the SUV revving high, and the headlights lit up the clearing as Diego came flying in at high speed. Diego ran over three of them and sent another two flying through the air from the impact of the bumper. He jumped out and fired at anyone moving. When he was finished, all the bodies were still, and he came into the building.

"We gotta go, amigo," he said and helped me to my feet. He grabbed Viktor, threw him over his shoulder and we headed for the SUV. I snatched our bags from the floor, limped to the SUV and managed to pull myself into the back seat, bleeding like a stuck pig. We had about forty-five seconds before this place would go up and rain hell down upon us. With Viktor now in the back, Diego jumped into the driver's seat and punched the accelerator, and we flew out of the clearing, sliding in the muddy ground. He almost lost control and corrected himself, shooting us straight onto the gravel road. We made it almost to the gate when the C4 charges exploded, sending two fireballs high into the sky.

If this weren't a good enough sign for Agent Harper, nothing would be. I hoped he had done what he said he was going to do.