THE HIT BACK SERIES (Order From Chaos)

Chapter Twelve

Chapter twelve

“I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for.”— J.k. Rowling.

Out of the ashes of the debacle at Buckingham palace couple of weeks, back sprung a Phoenix. An order from chaos. Section Zero; a sub rosa unit of the British military intelligence elite team and Russian GRU's Spetnaz had been quite effective ever since its inconspicuous formation. Zero as the name implies meant they never existed beyond the shadows, but otherwise, existed to a few circles and had proven essentially useful.

Over the cycle of a week and some days, the special outfit—Section Zero had been able to nab at least seven prominent names of the Real-IRA through their under wraps sting operations. And more sadly, they have been unable to retrieve something worthwhile from any of them.

On this young, clear morning, however; they’re out on another sting, combing through uniformed, crammed tenement rows of red-bricked, washed-out buildings on a densely populated district of Manchester.

They had a major tip earlier today about a major cell of RIRA in the district, and given that Manchester had a major population of Irish people, they had set up a wide net to follow the new scent.

  The squad—consisting of nothing less than twenty field operatives, dressed fully in combat gears and AC [Advance combat] helmet, like those of a SWAT team stopped short by their target, signaling to themselves through hand gestures.

“Now!” The team leader breathed into his comms, watching as two of his men rushed toward the doorway and plastered plasticized RDX on the metallic door.

In the split seconds that followed, an explosive sound boomed through the cramped alley of the street, accompanied by the loud clanging of the door as it caved in hard against the hard, concrete floor.

Seizing the moment, the squad stormed into the building, sifting through the strait hallways in waves, knocking on doors, and apologetically urging the rooms’ occupants to stay indoor while the operation lasts.

After furtively combing half the sections of the building, and arriving at nothing of substance. The team ultimately landed a jackpot at a door bearing a green plaque, with the number ‘29’. After several knocks on the door and no answer from within. Having no other choice, they made a forced entry, knocking down the door and bursting through the doorway in a stream.

In a sudden flash, the deafening crackle of gunshots spread through and through every inch of the building, as the team traded unbroken strings of volleyed shots with their all-too-ready tangos.

At that momentous twist, things spiraled out of hands, with glass shards and wood splints flying everywhere under the rain shower of pellets, which riddled almost everything on contact. Bodies and things alike.

And while their smattering oppositions’ resistance only lasted but five minutes, the team’s mission seemed anything but a victory as there were no survivors on the resistance’s end. The eight men cadre of the cell now lay crumpled in a puddled lake of their own blood.

Things were going south, until, they heard a wispy sound from within the inner chambers of the apartment, and at the signal of the team leader three operatives acted on cue.

As lady luck would have it, upon dashing into the room from which the sound emanated, the operatives caught the only survivor of the cell on the rusty rungs of the fire escape that zigzagged around the building, like the snake in the medieval staff of Mercury.

Having discovered late what dicey strait he was in, he’d decided right on to hightail through his only shot at safety—the fire escape. But had found to his own dismay that the building was surrounded by menacing, trigger-happy operatives, armed almost to the teeth.