Chapter 4

What the hell was Alan doing there? He was supposed to be on leave, so why was he walking with Mike? Ah well. His mission was to take out Shenton, and then wait for further instructions. He didn't have to shoot anyone else, so Alan was safe, for now at least. Bill breathed out and pulled the trigger. The kick at his shoulder told him he had fired. There was an impressive silencer on the rifle. That would bruise though; he never had been a good sniper. He always preferred the close approach, which usually meant an assault rifle to the gut and an empty clip. Now all he had to do was wait for his next phone call…

Alan was famous in his squad for being the joker. That, and his awful taste in heavy metal music. Physically, he was the largest out of everyone in his squad but anyone who thought him fat would be on the wrong end of a fist that had 14 stone of pure muscle behind it. He was popular and respected in his unit. High Command had registered his potential and it was common knowledge he was being earmarked for promotion. He would go far…

…Michael had asked Alan to walk to the park with him. He had no idea why. He had just muttered something about a special mission and that he was the only one he could trust. And now he was dead. They were totally out in the open, the sniper could be anywhere. So this was it. He was dead. He always hated Spec Op bullshit. It always ended nastily.

Why was he still alive? The commander still lay there. The bullet had passed straight through his skull. He never stood a chance. A woman screamed and started to run. "Wait. Are you alright?" Alan didn't know what else to do. He was just as stunned as she was. "Get away from me you bastard, you killed him!"

"It wasn't me. I don't have a gun." That was a lie, his Beretta was snug in his pocket, but she didn't have to know that. The woman just continued to scream and run away. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't kill her, then he would be a murderer. He had to find the killer. He ran away from the park.

Alan stood shaking in his apartment. A man had just been killed before his very eyes. He had been standing there for the past hour. Not even moving. And that woman, she had seen him. She would know who he was and thought he had done the murder. Sirens flashed outside. "Fucking hell. They are quick. How the fuck had they got here so quickly?" Alan had to react fast. "We are coming in, we suggest you put your hands up and lay down your weapons. We will shoot." Armed Response. God maybe they had got the wrong end of the stick. Alan really had to think fast. He cocked the Beretta.

He didn't have much time to prepare a proper defence. Normally he would stick some grenades to a wire, and connect them to a door. Or maybe rig up some C4 next to the windows. He didn't have enough time for that though. He was just going to have to improvise. These Armed Response guys were supposed to be good. He had faced Russians before but never his own team. However, he could hear their footsteps coming up the stairs. Alan quickly upturned his dining table and knelt behind it.

The door burst open and a flash-bang grenade was thrown through. "Amateurs." Alan thought and ducked his head and covered his ears. Once the grenade had gone off, he knelt up again and caught the first guy through the door with a 9mm slug. He fell back as if hit by a sledgehammer and tripped over the next guy to enter the room. That one got two slugs, one to the head and one to the chest. Another grenade was thrown through the door, this time not a flash-bang. "Oh shit!" Alan dived out of the way as his makeshift defence was blown to pieces by the frag grenade. Alan now scrambled into his kitchen just as automatic rifle fire sprayed his position. He popped his head over the counter just in time to squeeze two shots off at an approaching ugly looking man with an MP 5. He took one of the slugs to the head and went down like a sack of potatoes. There were at least two other men in the room with Alan now. One was behind his sofa and the other behind a chair.

Clunk Clunk "Shit. Why the fuck are they throwing more grenades?"

Alan dived over the counter as his kitchen exploded behind him. A cabinet door blew off and hit him in the back. As he hit the floor one of the men stood up. Alan must have fallen at a weird angle because the man stood up and fired at nothing, he must have thought he had fallen into another place. That was all the time Alan needed to put a bullet into his skull.

The other assailant in the room was not so stupid and reassessed the angle, pointed his ugly submachine gun at Alan and pulled the trigger.

Alan felt a terrible pain in his hand, the worst pain he had ever felt. It was followed by another shooting pain in his thigh. The idiot had missed. That was funny, Alan was sure he heard more than 2 shots fired off. The pain in his wounds was increasing and he was losing a lot of blood. Alan's head lolled to one side and he saw David standing at the door like some angel of death. The guy was totally calm. "Just rest man, I'll look after you now."

And with that, Alan blacked out.