Juggernaut

Gaunt crouched beside a toppled column. He zipped his leather jacket and turned up the collar. Too cold to stay in the open. He needed to find shelter.

He took off his right boot and examined the sole. A penetrator round had split the heel.

He looked across moonlit rubble. He could see movement in the far distance. A shadow sliding clumsily against a high wall. One of Jabril’s monstrous legion drawn towards light shafting from the temple entrance.

Gaunt crossed himself. He shouldered his backpack and hurried deeper into the citadel precincts.

He sat on a granite slab. He pulled the sat phone from his backpack and extended the antenna.

Function switch on. 5kHz narrowband. He keyed the encryption code.

‘Brimstone to Carnival, over.’

It took him twenty minutes to get a response.

Koell’s voice:

‘Authenticate.’

‘Authentication is Oscar, Sierra, Yankee, Bravo.’

‘Go ahead, Brimstone.’

‘Requesting immediate exfil, over.’

‘Have you acquired the package?’

‘Negative.’

‘No case, no ride.’

‘Our transport is down. The choppers are out of action.’

‘How? What happened?’

‘An accident. A technical fault.’

‘You want to be a player? Stop bleating for help and do your damn job. Make shit happen. Find the case. Call me at oh-six-hundred.’

The line went dead.

Gaunt tucked the phone into the side-pocket of his backpack. He pulled a steel cross from his shirt collar. Army issue, strung on a dog-tag ball-chain. He mumbled the Lord’s Prayer.

He dug a hand-drawn map from his pocket, took bearings, and began to pick his way through the labyrinth of tumbled stone.

Voss crouched behind the quad bike, sniper rifle resting across the saddle. His eyelids drooped. His head nodded as he fought sleep.

‘Hey.’

Lucy slapped his shoulder.

Voss shook himself awake and alert. He cracked knuckles and flexed to restore circulation. He rubbed his eyes. He took a pair of black-framed spectacles from a chest pouch, wiped the lenses on his sleeve and put them on.

‘How long have you needed those?’ asked Lucy.

‘Got them last month. My eyes get tired. No big deal.’

He scanned the ruins through the SIMRAD nightscope. Half-collapsed buildings. Pillars and courtyards. Turrets and domes.

A flicker of movement. A shadow passing across stonework. One of Jabril’s undead battalion. The stones of the citadel precincts glowed green with residual warmth, but the emaciated creature dragging itself through the avenues and arches had virtually no heat signature. It was an absence, a living shadow, a stumbling silhouette.

‘Contact.’

‘How many have we got?’

‘Just one.’

He pressed his face to the cheek-piece of the rifle and centred the reticules. Cross-hairs zeroed on the creature’s forehead. Slow-squeeze of the trigger. Four pounds of pressure. The whip-crack gunshot echoed through the citadel compound. The revenant’s skull shattered like porcelain.

Voss worked the rifle bolt and chambered a fresh round.

Lucy sat with her back to the quad. She faced the temple interior. Ready to snatch up her assault rifle in there was any movement from the cash truck.

She dug inside a plastic bag.

‘What’s that?’ asked Voss.

‘Shit from Toon’s pockets.’

A wallet with a few dollars and dinar. His passport. His provisional pass. A thumbed copy of Soul on Ice. A tobacco tin with medal ribbons and badges. Purple heart. Beirut. Combat Infantry. Jump wings.

‘He left a bag back at the hotel,’ said Voss. ‘Socks and stuff. He always travelled light.’

Amanda wiped perspiration from her eyes. She took off her Stetson and fanned herself.

‘Do you really want to die?’

Jabril shrugged.

Amanda had an open box of gold at her side. She raked her fingers through rings, bracelets and pendants.

‘There’s a ton of gold in these boxes,’ said Amanda. ‘Enough for everyone. You want to burn that missile, be my guest. Then why not head back to Baghdad with us and spend some money?’

Jabril shook his head.

‘I don’t deserve to live.’

‘Why?’

‘Many reasons, none of which I wish to share. I feel I have reached the end of a long, hard road.’

Jabril held the grenade between his knees and flexed cramp from his hand.

‘How about you? Have you thought what you will do with the gold?’

‘Retire,’ said Amanda. ‘Somewhere green.’

‘With Lucy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And your friends?’

‘We’ve got unusual résumés. Played gun-for-hire on every continent. It’s been fun. Twenty years on the bullet-end of war. But sooner or later you wake up old. We’ll split the cash and head our separate ways. We’ve been family. But I guess it’s over.’

Lucy’s voice:

‘You guys all right?’

Amanda picked up her radio and held the earpiece.

‘We’re okay. How’s it going out there?’

‘Can’t say much over an open channel.’

‘Okay.’

‘Can Jabril hear what I’m saying? Answer yes or no.’

‘No.’