High a top the cliff side, hidden beneath the high grass, Warren Clyde waited. He clutched his Springfield rifle, and peered down the scope onto the dirty gas station below him. Four local guards waited. They sat in plain sight, smoking both cigarettes and marijuana as they drank beer.
Warren brushed the sweat off his brow with his forearm. He had been waiting for almost an hour, and the boiling heat of the midday sun was beginning to wear him down. He had already been through three big bottles of water, just to stay hydrated. Despite this, he still felt dizzy and thirsty. He had only one bottle left, and had promised himself he would leave if his target didn't show after finishing that one. Thankfully his luck changed.
Through the scope, Warren could see a big trail of dirt being kicked up off in the distance. "Here we go." Warren said, cocking the rifle. Suddenly, the radio crackled.
"You see them? Out there in the distance?" A Brazilian accented voice said.
"Yeah," Warren replied, "I got 'em right in my sights."
"Alright, remember, nothing left. Marty out." The radio hissed briefly, before going silent. Marty Alencar, Warren thought, A real piece of work. Marty was Warrens Brazilian partner in crime. The two often took jobs together, or at least Marty joined in on the profit. It cost Warren some money, having to split the cash, but he owed Marty, being as the former marine had saved Warren's ass only a few days earlier. That wasn't to say Warren had to like the by the book Brazilian, in many ways the two often quarreled over how to perform a job. Marty, having been a grunt when he was younger, always preferred to get up close and personnel. This was opposed to Warren, who's Native American blood preferred to be unseen and swift in action.
But in this case, both thought it be best to take out the targets from a distance, with Warren on the cliff and Marty hidden in the field below. The current job on their hands was to eliminate a shipment of firearms and explosives coming into the valley region from beyond the border. It was good money, and the man who was paying the two even promised some fresh AK-47's if they destroyed the entire gas station. That was a big bonus to anyone inside the war torn country. Fresh weapons were hard to come by, and gave one an edge in a firefight, being as a new weapon wouldn't jam or break. Thus Warren and Marty were obliged to blow up the small gas station, ensuring that no further shipments would be able to come across the north passage. The reason being there would be no gas to fill up on when they entered the country, leaving the smugglers sitting ducks. Warren though there were holes in that logic, but wasn't going to bring them up. The promise of money and guns was all he cared about, and he was going to be sure to get both.
The deuce chugged into the gas station. Spewing smoke and steam it edged to a halt by one of the pumps. The guards at the gas station got up and greeted the driver with smiles and laughs as they offered him a joint or a drink. Behind the deuce, Warren saw a jeep roar into sight. It had three men in it, one of which was on a mounted machine gun in the back Those guys mean business. Warren thought. The jeep circled the gas station, twice before stopping behind the deuce. The driver and his passenger got out, leaving the man on the mounted gun alone.
The radio came to life, with Marty quietly saying, "Do you have eyes on the packages?"
"Yeah, I can see them in the bed of the truck." Warren answered, referring to the crates and barrels of explosives in the deuce. They were in plain sight, bad ideal.
"Alright, I'll take the guy on the machine gun out, you fire at those explosives on my mark," Marty ordered, "1...2...3...FIRE!"
Warren fired down upon the deuce. The bullet struck the crate labeled "Danger! Explosive!" It did not explode. He cocked another round in the barrel and fired again, right at the same target, but nothing happened. By then though, the guards began to scramble. They hid behind their vehicles, inside the small station and around it. They anxiously, if not madly, fired into the cliff sides around them. Marty was shouting something over the radio, but Warren didn't listen. He knew what to do.
Cocking the rifle again, he steadily, but quickly aimed at on the guards hidden behind the gas pump. The man nervously looked around, not knowing what to do. Warren, feeling no sympathy for the panicking man, fired. The bullet penetrated the guard's throat, splattering blood all over the pump as the man fell to the ground, clutching his neck. Warren watched as the man squirmed in his own blood and the filth of the road. He finally stopped, and Warren looked for another target.
This time it was the truck driver. He was sprinting for the deuce, almost to fast for Warren. The driver was nearly there when Warren decided to fire. He missed the kill shot, but non the less the bullet nearly blew off the driver's arm. He was still alive, on the ground yelping in pain, calling for help to no avail. After cocking the rifle again, Warren finished the job.
Amongst all the random fire the guards were laying down around them, the most prominent was the staccato of the mounted machine gun. Warren, zooming onto said weapon, could see the collected facial features of a white man as he shot in Marty' direction. The white man, probably a professional mercenary like Warren, had obviously seen Marty, or at least had an ideal where he was. Warren, despite having some problems with his partner, couldn't let him die. Cocking the rifle, he held his breath and aimed right at the machine gunner's head, when all the sudden, the man's skull blew apart. Brain, blood and bone splattered all over the place! Marty had pulled off the perfect shot, despite being under fire. That alone showed that Marty was a pro when it came to dealing with these types of situations, no doubt because of his military training.
But Warren didn't dwell on it. There were still five men to be deal with. After reloading the rifle, Warren scanned the station, seeing only two guards exposed. One was running towards the interior of the actual station, but Marty picked him off before he reached it. The other though was hiding calmly in the high grass below, much like Warren, and was also looking through the scope of a sniper rifle. Warren could see the man slowly looking over the cliffs, once again in Marty's direction. Warren wouldn't allow him to take the shot though, as he himself fired at the guard. The shot missed only by a few inches, but it was enough to startle the man, and send him dashing deeper into the grass. Looking away from the scope to cock the rifle once more, Warren heard the distinct sound of a sniper rifle. Whether it was Marty or the guard he did not know, so anxiously he looked through his scope, hoping to see the guard dead, which is just what he found. The guard that had been in the grass lay dead on his belly, his white shirt stained by blood. Warren let out a sigh of relief seeing this, he knew that Marty was alive and very well kicking.
Warren returned to looking about the station. He knew the remaining guards were still down there, but couldn't see them. Deciding to test his luck again, Warren though it be best to fire at the explosives in the truck bed. He wanted to see whether or not they'd ignite. If so, it would not only blow the munitions up, but also the fuel in the gas pumps and tanks around it. This catastrophic chain of events would destroy anything within 20 feet. Including the pesky guards.
Aiming carefully, Warren shot once more at the cargo in the truck, and once more nothing happened. Sighing he radioed Marty in.
"Hey big man," Warren began, "I think it's time we move in there to finish the job."
"Negative." Marty replied formally, "I'll move in, you stay up there and cover me."
"Alright, whatever you say soldier." Marty looked through the scope in Marty's direction. He couldn't see the Brazilian, but he did see some of the high grass moving as though the wind we're blowing it. He knew it was Marty. By the time the former Marine had gotten into clear view, Warren could see he was clutching a rusted old AR-15, and that bothered him. Marty was capable and battle smart, but an old weapon was unreliable and with three guards left there was no room for mistakes.
Warren could tell the guards were most likely hidden inside the actual station, out of his view. But thankfully there was only one way in and out of said building, and that was a choke point for both Marty and Warren to pick them off at. That was if they could get them out of the station. Just by looking back at Marty, Warren could tell he too had the same ideal. Marty was already pulling a grenade off his belt, and while still hidden behind the cover of the jeep, threw it into the station. At first nothing happened, but than the men ran out.
Warren blew the first one away with a perfect shot to the chest. Marty made quick business of the other guard, as he put three rounds in his skull, but than a problem arose. Through the scope, Warren could see Marty was fiddling with the rifle. Already Warren knew it was jammed.
Fortunately the last guard zoomed by Marty at a speed in which only a cheetah could have matched. The man, who just kept running into the field, didn't seem to know what to do. Warren, for a split second felt bad for him. He could imagine the terrified African not knowing what to do. Either die in a fiery explosion, or die from gun fire. After seeing all his buddies being picked off by Warren and Marty, he knew he too was next. But all he could do was run, try to escape. In fact the guard had dropped his weapon and started screaming in his local language. His hands in the air, outstretched to the heavens, called for something, something Warren did not know.
Warren could kill the man, but he didn't. Instead he lowered his rifle, and watched as the man dashed into the cliffs and into what appeared to be a small mine or cave. But Warren was soon distracted as a thundering explosion caught his attention. Quickly whipping his head around, Warren watched the small station exploded in a ball of fire and smoke. It was a smaller explosion, not enough to the destroy the deuce, but non the less a brilliant sight. It was fast though, and soon the fire ball had disappeared, leaving burning remnants of the structure behind.
Warren could see Marty come out from behind the jeep. He had dropped the AR-15, and was left with only his pistol. He looked around the gas station, as if to make sure no one was left. There was none though, so he swiftly threw his last grenade into the bed of the truck and dashed into the field just as the man before him had. Marty was fast, and slick. He ran to the cliff side and hid behind a mound of rocks. He sat, pistol in hand and waited. Warren, despite wanting to watch the explosion, kept watching the entrance to whatever the guard had ran into. He didn't regret not shooting the man, but wanted to be sure he wouldn't come back out and find Marty.
Once more, a loud explosion, followed by an even louder explosion boomed through the area. Warren didn't need to see the explosion to know what was going on. The deuce, it's cargo and the gas pumps had all ignited. The explosion must have been huge, for as Warren stared at the opening of the cave, he could see the grass being blown back from the shockwave. Than, the crackling and popping sound of bullets being set off filled the air. Along with the explosives and oil, the ammunition inside the truck had gone too. They we're probably springing all over the place down below Warren. Even he himself moved away from the edge, as to not be hit by any stray shot. This went on for at least a minute, before finally, there was no sound at all. Except for the wind blowing and the fire burning.
"Jesus, there must have been a lot," Marty said over the radio, "Thought it would never end!"
"Yeah," Warren answered as he stood up and stretched, "Great job though, we kicked some ass."
"Yeah no doubt. I'll see you back at Mike's right, we're going meet there before going to the dealer?" Marty asked, referring to Mikes Bar, their favorite hang out.
"Yeah be there be nightfall...hey wait a second, you got no guns! How are you going make it?" Warren asked abruptly.
"Oh I'll make it, I'm going go scavenge around the blast site for any workable rifles. Besides I have my pistol."
"Bullshit man, that's not enough!"
"Don't worry I'll be fine."
"It's a long way to go with just a pistol," Warren said, "How's about you wait down there, I'll come pick you up in about an hour?"
"Takes you that long to get down here?" Marty quizzically inquired.
"You'd be surprised...oh wait a second." Warren picked up his rifle, and looked through the scope. He thought he had seen some a vehicle off to the distance moving towards them, and he had.
A small rusted pick up truck, loaded with rebels was moving towards the pillar of black smoke that arose from the remains of the gas station. Even though they were still far, Warren could see they were heavily armed. All sorts of automatic rifles and even what looked to be a flame thrower. "Jesus." He said to himself, and hastily radioed Marty.
"Buddy we got a problem!"
To be continued...