Star Metal: 1

 

I

           

            Adrian Morris stood silently over the ruined body of the young girl that lay at his feet.  Across her back showed the vicious ministrations of a cruel whip and the wrists showed the evidence of the tightness of the binding that had held the girl captive.  Crouching down to inspect the body closer his eyes narrowed to the keenness of a dagger, these men he hunted had not been content merely with wounding the girl’s shell but had ensured that the last moments that she had on earth were pure terror. Slowly he covered the ravaged hips with what scant clothing had been left on her. A low growl rumbled deep in Adrian’s throat as his knuckles turned white wrapping around the grip of his assault rifle under the iron grip of his hand. In a swift cat-like motion he stood and faced to the east, the slavers trail was painfully clear and would be all too easy to follow. As the first rays of the rising sun bled over the horizon, they glinted sharply off of a pair of blue eyes that were as hard and cold as arctic ice.

            “Slavers, even in this loathsome land they come,” Adrian muttered to himself. “I had not expected this-”

            Far to the east a column of oily smoke coiled in the morning sky.

            “Their own poor equipment will slow them and lead their doom to their heels” Morris commented coldly to himself. “Fear goes before these jackals and only death and fire follow in their wake. But still they are not so far gone that they are free of this hostile land.” He pulled the magazine from his rifle checked how many rounds were left and slammed it back into place. “Judgment is on you foul pack of Judas’s and not even your foul patrons will deign to intervene on your behalf. Know that this hell will be of your own making and every cry of pain you have inflicted on this girl will echo a thousand times from your own throats.”                       

            With one last glance at the young girl Adrian turned to follow the trail that his quarry had left in their haste. His long legs moved at a measured pace that he knew well and would ensure that he did not tire. The miles passed by under his booted heels and he thought back to the vision of that blasted village he had found not but two days prior. The raiders had put every man old enough to take up arms to death as insurance against an uprising on the road leaving the bodies to rot under the harsh African sun. The small pre-fab houses that the villagers had made their homes in stood smoldering and the vultures had already began to descend on the corpses. They were good people that did not deserve the fate that was in store for them.  When he had passed through a week before the villagers had been kind and supplied him with food and water from their meager stores so that he may continue to track a criminal that was wanted by the local warlord for a murder that had been committed. He had found and killed the fugitive intending to stop in the village on his way back to enjoy a night of rest before returning to his employer. Adrian left the bounty’s head in the village, for though it was a great purse he had right to, he felt he owed these peaceful people a debt.

            After four hours Adrian had come close enough to the caravan to hear the coughing of ill kept diesel engines and could easily taste the scent of pain and fear on the breeze. Slipping through the tall grasses and rock outcrop was simple for Adrian as he had learned his field craft in the unforgiving mountains of Afghanistan. Stalking close to the reavers was easy enough; they had no reason to think that they were being followed. The caravan had pulled to a stop and the front truck sat idle with its hood up, steam billowing from the exposed engine. Methodically he took in the scene, there were five trucks, each with armed Arabs milling around them. The back truck was guarded by four blacks who were both as broad and as dark as the deep jungles that had spawned them. Each carried a battered AK-47, not great equipment but solid weapons none the less. Stuffed in the back of one Adrian could see the protruding grips of a pair of Israeli made Desert Eagle pistols. Checking his own gear, he began to devise a plan. There was not much at his disposal as he had shed the majority of his equipment in order to keep a good pace but he still had one smoke grenade, the colt .45 which he had received as a gift from a Navy S.EA.L., an H&K MP5 with 20 rounds left and his razor edged buck knife.

            Cautiously, Adrian worked his way towards the rear of the caravan. If he could send his grenade far enough forward it would cause a commotion that would give him the drop on the blacks guarding the last truck and from there he would be able to use the same truck as cover against the Arabs as they moved towards him. This would be easier, he mused to himself, if he had not left the silencer for the H&K behind but he would have to deal with that oversight now. Lowering his long form behind a boulder not more than 30 yards from the blacks, he decided that he could get no closer without risking being spotted. He pulled the pin of the grenade let the spoon loose and counted to three before he hauled back and let the canister fly.  The throw was good and the blast of the detonation drew everyone’s attention as smoke began to billow from below the third ramshackle truck.

            As the Arabs scrambled to see what was going on Adrian leaned out from his cover noting that the blacks were not as shocked as their cohorts and were raising their weapons in a practiced fashion looking for the source of the ambush. Not wasting a moment Adrian squeezed the trigger of his rifle which barked sharply sending super sonic rounds into the nearest guard. Before the body had fully hit the ground, he had taken aim on another of the men and pulled on the trigger again sending him to oblivion alongside his comrade. Breaking from behind the boulder, Adrian began sprinting towards the third mercenary spitting death from his weapon as he went. The distance melted as his powerful legs propelled him forward and he smashed the composite stock of his rifle into the man’s left temple.  Spinning on his heel to face the last of the guards he felt a sharp pain as the butt of one of the Desert Eagle pistols hammered into his collar snapping the delicate bone. Dropping to his knee Adrian looked up to see the bore of the weapon aimed straight to his face and heard the hammer being pulled back. He wrenched his arms up to knock the gun aside as the heavy crack exploded in his ears bringing a terrible ringing to muffle his hearing. In the space of a heart beat Adrian hauled himself up and around the backside of his attacker then in one smooth motion drew his knife and rammed it through the side of the man’s neck. Withdrawing the blade caused the life blood of the thug to paint the rear of the truck in a deep crimson. Crouching down Adrian began to draw his pistol to affect the next stage of his plan, the smoke from his grenade sat like a cloud on the earth, and then he heard the crunch of gravel behind him as his world exploded in pain and he fell to the dirt unconscious.