Project: Retribution

Prologue

"If we're going to lock the place down, we have to do this now," said Hans, adjusting the zoom on the recorder to get his target in better focus. It was dark, almost too dark to film by, but the halogen lamps overhead helped wherever they still shone; most of the others had died long ago already.
John Francis Miller stepped back, looked over his shoulder at the vault behind him, and cleared his throat.
"Is it on?" Hans nodded. "Good. Okay, here goes." John tried a weak smile and eyeballed the glass lens of the camera. "If you're watching this then you've found the vault behind me and the disc I'm going to leave along with the key to another vault..."
As he continued to speak, far above them, Piotr and Todd maintained a steady watch from just inside the doorway to the surface, their rifles trained on the darkened hillside before them. The scarred landscape of southern England was eerie at best, especially when the burned-out shells of cars or ruined buildings could hide any number of the American Navy SEALs tasked with hunting them down. So far, they'd managed to stay ahead of them long enough for John to complete the mission, but both Todd and the Russian knew that their luck wouldn't hold much beyond midnight – only two hours away now. The SEAL teams were some of the best, most highly trained soldiers in the world and Washington hadn't spared any expense in trying to stop what they were doing 3,000 miles away in England.
"Anything?" asked Todd. Piotr shook his head, his breath forming faint clouds before him.
"I see nothing," he replied barely above a whisper.
Todd wanted to move, to stamp his feet and get some warmth back into his body; the cold was killing him, yet he was more annoyed by the Russian's ability to effortlessly ignore it. Instead, he swept the scope of his rifle upwards again, staring through the night vision lens, seeing nothing.
"Have you ever fought SEALs before?" asked Piotr. Todd shook his head.
"It might sound crazy, but we don't make a habit of shooting our own side."
"That's not what I've heard," grinned the Russian and Todd cursed under his breath.
"The rules have changed," he said. "All the lines are blurred. Good guys. Bad guys. It's like someone switched the game we were all playing, and I didn't get the memo."
"In Russia, we expect nothing less. If we aren't changing the rules ourselves, we must be losing the war."
"That sounds about right."
A few minutes later, they heard the footsteps behind them and they stiffened; it was done.
"We're good to go," said John. "What's the situation?"
"All clear – for now," said Piotr.
"Let's get ready to move then." Turning to the boy standing in the shadows just behind him, John knelt and smiled. "How are you doing, son?"
"I'm okay, Dad," came the reply. "I'm cold."
"We all are," said John and Todd snorted.
"He isn't," he said, indicating the Russian with a tilt of his head.
"We're going now. Once we've dealt with these bad guys, we—"
"CONTACT!"
The gunfire tore the night apart and the boy dropped to his knees before his father who rushed to shield him with his own body.
"What have we got?" he roared over the answering shots from Todd and Piotr. Hans was clearing his RPK belt-fed weapon from its bag and as Todd strode forward, he followed, sending red-hot tracer fire into the night in rapid bursts.
"Six, no, seven Tangos in the field, moving to engage!" cried Todd over the radio. "Blowing the claymores now!"
He mashed the detonator in his hand and the hidden charges detonated in a brilliant flash of fire that lit up the darkness. The loud explosions made the little boy cry out in terror.
"Tango down," said Piotr. "Two on the right."
"I see them," said Hans. "Suppressing."
"Breaking left - watch my flank!" said Todd.
"Eyes left," said Piotr. "Just saw one drop."
John pulled the boy close to him and thumbed off the safety of his sub-machine gun with his free hand.
"Stay with me, son," he said into his ear. "Trust me and stay close, no matter what happens."
The boy nodded and he helped him onto his feet. Only 10 years old, the child was shivering both with cold and fear. Taking his small hand in his own, John led him to the doorway and took cover behind the wall there, pulling him close beside him.
"Hans!" he cried.
"Yes sir?"
"Cover and move; I need to get my lad out of here."
"Understood. Moving to a better position, hold fast."
The RPK chattered as Hans laid down a withering hail of fire on the hillside as several flashbangs detonated at his former position. Piotr continued to call in confirmed kills as Todd took up a covering position near to the doorway.
"Good to go, boss," he cried. "Move, move, move!"
John pulled the boy behind him, weapon up, and sped swiftly out of the doorway, into the darkness. To the east was their car and its driver who hadn't reported any engagements so far. That was good news and it meant that their exfil would be kept secret so long as they could shake the SEALs off their tail.
"Moving!" cried Piotr, peeling back with Todd and Hans covering him. When he took up a new position, he called it out and Hans was next to move.
"Go, go, go!" cried Todd as he changed magazines. "Don't hang around there, dude. These boys mean—"
A rocket flared up on the western flank, tearing through the air towards him along a drunken flight path. He had barely enough time to throw himself into the open as the RPG struck the vehicle he'd been hiding behind.
"TODD!" cried Hans.
"GO!" came the reply as the American belly-crawled away from the inferno. "Go, go, go!"
Lit up by the flames, he drew all the gunfire towards him as he scrambled onto his feet. Somehow, with uncanny good fortune, every shot missed and with a whoop, he began running towards John and his son.
"Burned my ass!" he shouted as he dropped to one knee to cover Piotr's retreat. "Fucking fratricide, brother killing brother and me nearly toasted. Remind me to stay home next time you come asking me to join you, Miller."
"Let's go!" roared John as they reached the safety of the tree line. "Break off and disengage."
"Aye aye," said Todd.
"Understood," said Piotr.
"I'm coming," said Hans.

As they melted into the night, the SEALs were forced to deal with their wounded and dead rather than hunt their targets down. The two fireteams that did follow stumbled straight into Hans' tripwire, setting off another claymore that killed one and wounded the others. A brief exchange of ineffective gunfire followed, then silence.
John and the boy reached the car and were relieved to find it still there, its driver waiting with a rifle on the hood, aiming at them.
"What took you?" asked Clara, relaxing.
"It's done," said John. "We couldn't have moved any quicker than we did."
The woman circled the front of the Land Rover and met her son with open arms. The young boy ran to her and she lifted him up off the floor with a grunt.
"I'm sorry, my little man," she said into his ear. "You're safe now."
"Not yet," said John. "Not until we clear the AO."
She nodded and, setting the boy on his feet, helped him into the back of the Land Rover.
"Are you sure they can't get inside?" she asked him.
"As sure as I am about anything anymore," he said. "I just hope the distraction worked."
"You and me both."
She fastened the boy in, pulling the seat belt across his shivering body and closed the door with a forced smile. Then she turned to John and reached for him. They embraced, their lips meeting in a long-held kiss.
"Is it over now?" she asked. He nodded.
"For us, anyway. The rest must play itself out, one way or the other."
Hans and Todd had climbed into the rear and now Piotr, taking up the mounted gun on the back, slapped his hand on the metal roof of the vehicle.
"We must be going," he reminded them both. "The plane will not wait for us."
Clara smiled and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Let's go then," she said, opening the driver's door. "Let's be rid of this place once and for all."