Cold Hatred (Book 2 & 3 of the Damned of the 2/19th) -Updated and Rewritten

Cold Hatred Part: 17

"To my shame I admit two facts about how I fought.

Make them hurt as bad as life had hurt me.

Hurt them quickly, horribly and savagely so their friends

can see what I'm going to do to them in seconds.

Both rules caused fear and the split second hesitation

I needed to start on them too."

2/19th Special Weapons Group

Restricted Area, Alfenwehr West Germany

Late Winter- January, 1986

Day 12 of Repairs

Day 4 of the Second Incident

Early Morning

The guy stepped over my cousin, still silent, a large man, taller than me but leaner. He was dressed in Soviet camouflage, his face blackened and his hair hidden by a cold weather cap. He wore gloves, and his country's version of the LBE was taped down for silence. He broke into a smile when I yelled my cousin's name, taking another step forward, halving the distance between us.

...never fight fair in combat, son... My Father's voice.

My left hand shot out, grabbing the vodka bottle, and I shattered it against the edge of the counter. His smile grew larger and I knew he hadn't seen the knife in my hand. Thought I was unarmed except for the broken vodka bottle.

A track of thought tried to emulate his thought process. He was taller than me, might not realize that I probably outweighed him by at least 10 pounds or figured that because I was American I was probably fat. He knew he was Soviet Special Forces, where NBC Warfare wasn't a line MOS and didn't train extensively for combat operations in most cases. It didn't matter if he'd read my file, even if he'd seen the picture that was clipped inside my 201 file according to unit SOP, the picture inside my file was from spring, before the growth spurt that left me 6' tall, before Atlas had put heavy muscle on me. He had a knife that he'd undoubtedly had extensive training in using, specializing in silent takedowns and close quarters combat.

He was Vympel. I was just some Army scrub.

He figured he had me.

I jabbed the broken bottle at him, the last of the vodka in it splashing at his face. He turned his head and I finished the movement by letting go of the broken bottle. He raised his left arm up to block the bottle, twisting at the waist, and brought back the knife.

...first rule of a knife fight, son, is you're gonna get cut...

Before he even finished keeping the broken bottle top from hitting him in the face, I came in fast, using my bandage wrapped left forearm to push his arm out at the wrist, and stabbed him hard just under the sternum.

"Up! Get up! Get up! Ambush!" I bellowed out as I started moving, using my best battlefield voice. "Two Nineteenth, alert alert alert!"

I drove my forehead into his face as I yanked out the knife. He started to scream and I stabbed him again in the same spot. Something crunched under my skull, blood spattering my face, and I twisted the knife as I brought up my knee and slammed it into his crotch.

His scream went high pitched and he fell back, off the knife, his knife falling from his hand and bouncing across the tile floor. I grabbed Cass' weapon as I moved forward. I kicked the enemy soldier in the underside of his jaw as I moved forward, still bellowing.