The Phantoms

Prologue 

23:00 hours, IMS Royale, The Red Sea 

I grabbed hold of the anchor chain, shimmying up it like a snake through the grass; slow and methodical. The water glistened over my black lightweight Kevlar, and my Honey Badger carbine glittered like a black gem. As I climbed, I waved down to my ride, a simple rubber and metal affair, to get out of here. I'd get him back when the op was done.  

I reached the top, and I paused, listening. My ears were like a bat's, because I could hear the guards perfectly clearly. 

"How's your girl?" 

"She's good. We're still young, but I'm sure we'll last." 

"She's a pretty thing, ain't she?" 

"Yeah." 

"Be careful, sonny boy. The pretty ones are often the whores." 

"I know that already, sir." 

"An educated one, eh? Good lad." 

I climbed over the precipice, sliding onto the deck. The two guards had their backs turned, and they were at least 20 meters away. I pulled my fighting knife from its holster, the large blade twirling between my fingers in anticipation. As I closed, they were beginning to leave to head to their bunkrooms. I followed the older, more masculine one. 

He looked about 40 years old, and had the look of a bodybuilder. He and I were both fellow mercenaries, so I felt a pang of guilt when I plunged the blade into his spinal column. He was about to yell for support, but I covered his mouth, and then slit his throat. His blood speedily left his body, and he collapsed, unconscious and dying. I moved forward into the engine room. 

My employer wanted to destroy the vessel. This thing was a target for the Triage, a tribunal of three armed American satellites. Their names were MJOLNIR, EXCALIBUR, and GROND. The Israelis were at war with America, after an accidental firing of MJOLNIR on the city of Nazareth. It had been taken over by terrorists known as the Nemian Lions. They fired upon Nazareth, killing over two million people. 

The engine room was occupied by five engineers. The first one looked at me, and I threw a kunai from my belt into his temple. He fell like a ragdoll, his wrench clattering against the floor. I shot the remaining four with quick, accurate, suppressed three-round bursts. Blood spurted all over the machinery, like paint over a wall. I ran over to the control board, looking for the switches. I found the right one, and flicked. The engines turned off. I then rushed aft, past all the sleeping soldiers, who hadn't heard the clattering. I found the engines. 

I stood there, placing the charges on it, when another man dressed in my gear entered the room. He was bulkier, stronger, and more physically fit than I was. He aimed his assault rifle at my head, saying, "On your knees, by order of the President." He was Special Forces, carrying an M4A1 instead of my smaller, higher-caliber rifle. He worked for the same man as me. I obeyed his order, kneeling and placing my hands on my head. He walked over, taking my rifle and pistol. They clattered to the floor. He took his own pistol, and placed it against my head, saying, "A pity. You were a good soldier. A very fine merc. I'm sorry." 

"Your apology ain't worth shit," I said as I turned, twisting his wrist, and he dropped the gun, grunting in pain. I threw a punch into his face, shattering his nose. My follow-up was countered, and he launched an assault that even made me hurt. I landed a couple feet from where I was standing, and he walked over with a knife. He thrust downward. 

I blocked his wrist, turning so his knife slammed into the deck. I kicked him away, and carried myself to my feet. He lunged with his other blade. I dodged to the side, and used my arm to sweep his legs out from under him. Before he hit the ground, I punched him square in the jaw, and he hit the deck, headfirst, unconscious. I picked up my weapons, and I ran over to the evac point. I saw the boat, and before the running guards could get close to me, I jumped off the ship.  

The distance between me and the cold Red Sea decreased with every passing microsecond. I hit the water with a splash, and water filled my mouth. I swam to the surface, bullets peppering the water around me. I paddled to the ship, and we sped off. 

"That was too damn close!" shouted Pax, my boat captain. 

"YEAHOO!" I shouted like a madman. I pulled the detonator, and the ship exploded, fragments of metal flying everywhere from the blast.  

As we sailed, I said, "Good job, Pax. Thanks." 

"You're welcome Scythe," he responded, as we came upon shore. We saw a village in the distance, and we set out under the cover of darkness. 

Suddenly, I heard the beating of helicopter rotors. The behemoth of a helo squatted in front of us, Gatling guns primed to fire. It was a dangerous beauty. 

"Operative codename Scythe, you are under military arrest from the US. Surrender, and we will not harm you or your friend." 

I knew that these were soldiers sent by the man who'd hired me to put me down. I was too "insane" to be allowed to live. But then, the President himself leaned his head out.  

"Just as confirmation that this isn't your boss," said Elias Rodgers. He and I had served in Pakistan and Iraq. My, how the tables turn. I kneel, and put my hands behind my head, as the spotlight shines on my face, with my one good eye. My eyepatch is a reminder never to trust, and never to surrender. They rappelled down onto the tiny vessel, and surrounded me. Another soldier hit me in the back of the head, and everything went black.