Bullet Catchers

Chapter 3

Bullet Catchers

Three

"The three day hangover is real."

Tank wiped the last bit of vomit from her mouth and the mic on her headset. After getting word she'd be getting shipped out she stopped drinking promptly. Despite that, she spent the next few days essentially in detox mode. Pluto had offered her some pills to "ease the trouble" which she accepted. It was a f****d up decision on her part. Whatever he had given her had helped in the meantime, but the moment they landed in Guatemala she tensed up. Vomit had been spewing out almost nonstop and her entire body was covered in a cool sweat that did little to ease the burning of her skin. The Czech bastard is gonna be f****d when I get back, she swore to herself.

Unfortunately for Arai, she was partnered with him. This meant having to smell the putrid scent of her stomach acid as she heaved it all over the place. Somehow, he had managed to remain perfectly still as small bits splattered near him. When her puke-covered glove landed on his shoulder, his shiver nearly rattled the ground. It took everything in him not to gag.

The duo was crouched down about thirty meters from the route they were scouting. When Dingo mentioned that they'd be watching this particular pathway to the bay, Jibaro had immediately voiced concern. It was not the typical trade route. Dingo used his favorite slogan, "Don't worry about it!" in a cheerful tone. For Arai and Tank, this had alarmed them. Jibaro was tactical; Dingo was nuts. If she had misgivings about their plan, then everyone should. Regardless, they followed their de facto commander's orders and had positioned themselves accordingly.

It was dark - way too dark. Despite being inches away from each other, they could barely make out each other's facial features. Neither one had much for equipment. Tactical glasses, their headset, and a flak vest to cover their fatigues were the most they carried. Limited in what they could pack along, each had a beaten up M1911A2 pistol. Only Tank carried a rifle, a pilfered and modified QBZ-95 with very little ammunition.

Hours passed with nothing. Their legs had grown stiff and they were losing focus. Tank could've fallen asleep right there if Arai's guttural noise of excitement hadn't spooked her. The hand on his shoulder clenched down and she asked, "Got 'em?"

"HK G36s. Oh, yeah," he murmured. "Lead man's gotta HK XM320. Suh-wheat! We gotta pick it up after he's konked! I've wanted one of those suckers forever!"

Arai was the gun nut. He could identify a weapon based on a glance from quite a distance. He had perhaps the least amount of practical experience with guns growing up, but had studied military weapons and life since he was a child. Despite his obsession, he'd kept it quite over the years, developing a normal relationship with society and eventually having a family. However, due to circumstances beyond his control, he'd abandoned his normal life and jetted off to backpack the world, eventually stumbling into the arms trade as a way to make some money. It paid off well once he joined the Bullet Catchers.

"Interrogative. FO, Tango count?" Dingo asked over the headset. His voice was barely whispered into the mic. It seemed to echo when it reached Arai.

"Hmm, tally sixteen. Gassed up on three. Got the order?" he responded.

"Copy."

"Wait, are we here to prevent an attack or do an attack? Our positioning isn't catered to do anything other than ambush. Do they even know we're here?" Tank asked.

"Hot mic, Tank," Arai whispered. He swung his hand over his throat several times to signal she needed to cut it off. Confused, she grabbed her headset and checked the small button near the mic. Indeed, it had been pushed down and appeared stuck. After pressing it again, it popped back up.

There was no denying Dingo's amusement when he spoke. "Come on, you already figured it out? Boring. Yeah Uncle Sam isn't part of this at all. We're just here to disrupt the trade and line our pockets."

"You said earlier we were ordered by the U.S. for this," Jibaro's clearly annoyed voice broke through.

"Did I f*****g stutter?" Dingo asked.

"It's a good thing spec ops isn't here or you'd all be toast."

No one recognized that last voice. A few awkward moments of silence passed at a slow rate. Everyone felt their hearts stop and their voice catch in their throats. No doubt that was an American, but who was it? Goosebumps peppered Tank's arms as she felt someone watching her. Ever so slightly she turned her head to catch a look at their invisible stalker.

"Don't move," the voice ordered loud and clear. Tank obeyed the order. "You dumbasses really thought using walkie chatter while on a mission where spec ops might show up was a good idea? No wonder the Bastard Cunts screwed up in Malta."

"And who the hell do you think you are, coward? If using radios is so taboo, what are you doing?" Dingo asked. Both Arai and Tank didn't like the sound of their commander attempting to rile up this invader. Neither could move, fearful they'd get shot on the spot. Ever so slowly, the convoy they had come to intercept was creeping by. If they didn't act soon, they'd lose their chance.

"I didn't washout of OTC, greenhorn," the unknown man said.

There was no chance for any more words. A muffled shot from behind Tank and Arai whizzed by and struck the lead man in the head. As a chunk of skull the size of a softball flew into the air, the others of the convoy panicked. In quick secession, six more shots were fired from the surrounding area, each one expertly taking a man's life.

"FO report!" Dingo screamed, his voice loud enough to rattle the speakers of their headsets.

The sight got Tank amped up. "f**k it! Light 'em up!" she shouted as she rose from her spot off the road and proceeded to rush toward the convoy. The enemy was too busy searching the surrounding area of snipers, some even letting loose random bursts of bullets into the wilderness, to ever notice her approach. Her aim was nowhere near as precise, but she managed to hold the trigger down long enough to spray two unsuspecting enemies before they could even blink.

There was never an opportunity for her to take more down. From the shadows four soldiers swept in with pistols drawn. No shots were wasted. Each time one pulled the trigger, the crack of the muzzle meant somebody was dead. In less than thirty seconds, the sixteen enemies were no longer a threat.

Arai came huffing it out of the woodwork about seven seconds after the last shot was fired. Out of breath, he nearly passed out when he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. For a moment he just stared cross-eyed at the weapon, wondering when the flash would erupt to signal the end of his life. It never came. The gun was lowered but not put away, signaling no hostilities but a lack of friendly terms. Free of fear, Arai was able to focus his eyes.

"Oh, it's the Four-Eyed Fleet," Tank spat in disgust. The man that was threatening Arai seemed uninterested in the cheap insult.

"Four-Eyed Fleet" was a derogatory term for a private military company that originated in the United States. The name came from the fact that its commander, a former paramilitary officer for the CIA, wore glasses. The company's real name was never revealed to anyone that didn't need to know. Throughout the world they were known as "The Southern Bells," due to their involvement in much of South America. There was a small rivalry between the Southern Bells and the Bullet Catchers, but nothing had turned violent yet.

This man that was standing in front of them was no doubt the famous commander of the Southern Bells. Emotionless as ever, he asked, "Who contracted this move?"

"f**k off, Koala," Dingo said as he finally came out of hiding. Koala was the man's call sign; no one knew his real name. At the appearance of Dingo, Jibaro also came into view. She was a tad more hesitant than the others to rush into the fray.

"Um," Arai's voice squeaked out. Koala turned his attention back to the Asian in front of him. The irritated huff he did signaled to Arai he was sick of wasting time. Still, Arai had to ask, "Is that pistol an MK mod-aught?"

Koala lifted the gun up, ensuring his hand was not near the trigger and it wasn't pointing at anyone. "Here," he said. Hesitantly, it was snatched out of his hands. "Keep it."

"Are you serious?!" Arai squawked, his voice shrieking into obscene decimals.

"Don't forget the 320 you were obsessed with earlier," Koala said. Arai was so ecstatic over the casual attitude Koala had over the weapons that he near wet himself right there. Regardless of how much Dingo seemed to hate the guy, Arai certainly thought he was the greatest thing ever in that moment.

One step to the side was taken by Koala before a burst of gunfire was sent his way. Somehow, he managed to sidestep all damage. Whoever had shot didn't have good aim. Hurriedly and without regard to others, Koala disappeared from the road and back into the brush. His comrades followed suit, their guns tucked away as they opted for safety rather than a firefight. Dingo, however, found this as his best time to take a few shots at his rival.

A single stray smacked Arai right above the kneecap. A surge of pain rocketed up his entire body and his legs swayed at the sensation. Somehow, he stayed standing. His mind had shut off everything in an attempt to chill out and block the burning in his leg. A quiet whimper was all he emitted. Everything went chaotic after that. Jibaro was shouting at Arai to just get on the ground and get out of the way. Tank snatched up one of the bloodstained G36s and went wild with gunfire behind Dingo. As for their commander, he had ignored all of that and was chasing after the now long gone Koala and team.

"Dingo get back to squad!" Jibaro ordered. She was met with radio silence. Irritated but more determined to help Arai, she focused on grabbing him and shoving him into the dirt. The sound of bullets slicing through the air mere inches above their lowered heads would have set any novice off. Fortunately, Arai was unable to hear them and Jibaro was more than used to them.

"Ow f**k it hurts. f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k," Arai howled. The string of curses continued without lull, eventually lasting longer than any gunfire. Unable to contain himself any longer, he latched both hands over the wound and applied as much pressure as he could. For whatever reason, it seemed to ease it a bit. Involuntarily he rolled over onto his back and attempted to stretch his leg out. It didn't move.

"Jibaro, what's Arai's condition?" Tank asked over the radio. Her consistent firing had halted, a sign that either she'd subdued the threat, ran out of the bullets, or lost sight of them.

"Prepare for possible emergency EVAC," Jibaro responded. Still, Dingo did not say a word back, drawing concern from the others.

"No," Arai insisted. "No, I'm fine." Somehow, he managed to roll back onto his knees. The labored breathing he'd just exhibited was meticulously being brought under control. After a strong swallow to rid his throat of the built up anxiety, he asked over the mic, "Tank, tango status?"

"Neutralized," was her immediately and proud response. Assuming they were safe, Arai and Jibaro let out a relieved sigh.

Tank reentered the road, which considering how quickly their team and just been ambushed it probably wasn't the smartest idea. Behind her she dragged one of the bodies she recovered from her small shootout. She dropped it next to her comrades. The trio began to observe the body for any clues.

Caucasian, male, dressed in the best tactical gear money could buy. Tank's fatal bullet had sliced his throat, the others unable to penetrate the bulletproof lining of his gear. Significant amounts of blood stained his clothing, but there were no markings of any kind on the garments regardless. A lack of insignia and patches meant it was either someone way above their skill level or someone way below them. Tank dug through all the pockets and even inside the pants in search of identification. There was nothing.

"Well, he's not an operator because we'd be dead if he was," Jibaro commented. There was simply no mercenary force she was aware of that stood a chance against Special Forces, especially them.

"Ah, my leg. Um, you think with the Four-Eyed Fleet being here, this guy is part of another Circuit member, too?" Arai asked. It took much of his energy to stay focused on the conversation as he tended to his wound. He'd already ripped the fabric of his pants and was trying to clear away the blood to pinpoint the entrance wound. With the bullet still lodge inside, he had to fish it out. There was no way in hell he was going to try that, however.

Lifeless wide eyes kept staring back at them. Even in the darkness of the night, the white of the deceased's eyes were clear as day. Sick of gazing at them, Tank nudged the body and rolled it over with her foot. There were a few bullets left in her gun, so she aimed it at the back of his skull and pulled the trigger. The small bits of debris that came from the close range shots rained on Arai and Jibaro.

"That felt good," Tank said with a satisfied smile.

Silence invaded. Even wildlife was absent, the previous gunfire more than enough to scare things off. It was peaceful. Stars were brilliant and bright, as the moon was hidden in shadows and the lights of humanity were too far to reach them. The air was cool and the breeze crisp. If it wasn't for the mud and smell of blood, it might have been considered peaceful.

"Can… can we get an EVAC, now? I think…"

Arai slumped over. He'd official given up on pretending he was alright. The ability to speak left him and he focused on keeping his teeth clamped shut as a way to channel his pain. The burning sensation had been replaced with a harsh, sharp ache that was throbbing.

"We have to locate Dingo," Jibaro said.

"Ah, f**k, that's right. Can't we just leave the fucker to rot out here? What was with that BS about this being a U.S. contracted mission, anyway? I can't stand f*****g liars," Tank said, her eyes scanning the brush for any sign of their lovely leader. Her eyes landed on the two trucks they'd just raided. "The f**k are we supposed to do with all this? We can transport it all back home. Did he even have a f*****g plan?" She grabbed her mic and screamed, "Hey Dinghat! Get your ass back to squad so baby Arai can get some stitches and I can get some booze! Stop wasting my f*****g time, bastard!"

There was a crackle followed by a weird silence. His voice came back calm and cool when he said, "I'm already at the port. Where are you dumbasses? Still on the road, huh?"

"The f**k are supposed to do with this s**t?!" Tank screamed. The button on her headset was stuck again; her scream was heard loud and clear by Dingo.

"RTB ASAP. Four-Eyed Fleet's not the only hotshots in the area. I got a plan. Got the joke?" he assured them.

"Copy," Jibaro said for all three.

Tank could only shrug and sigh. The now empty gun was discarded as she went to assist Jibaro in carrying Arai. Each little movement they forced him to make, Arai would curse at them. They ignored every word and cheap insult. After all, he was the dumbass that got hit. Whoever had tried to ambush them and the Southern Bells were something of a terrible shot.

Moving through the brush they were doing their best to remain on the correct path. They weren't paying attention to their surroundings, missing important little details. This gave the last person they wanted to see an opening to surprise them. Like a shadow passing through, a figure slipped into their vision mere inches from their being. There was no time for any of them to react, not even a murmur of shock.

"Shh," he ordered. It was Koala again. He tapped his ear and made a motion to signal they should remove their gear. Tank refused to respond; Arai simply couldn't respond; Jibaro followed his order out of pure instinct. "Greenhorn said over radio you were not contracted here. Who contracted you?" he asked. Although his voice was stern, it was oddly quiet.

"Unknown," Jibaro answered.

"You should clear the area. We're pulling back, too," he said.

"You mean you want us to leave so you can secure the dope," Tank accused.

For a moment Koala did nothing more than stare Tank down. Their eyes locked; through his tactical glasses she could see the distinct colors of his eyes, one about four shades lighter than the other. After he blinked harshly, she mimicked his action. It gave him an opening to grab her before she could react. With a thumb pressed against the center of her throat, nobody dared to move.

"We are not thugs. I do things to secure peace not drugs. If that means crushing your throat I'll do it," he threatened. The sensation of the leather glove as he lightly stroked her skin was enough to rile her up.

As she went to counter he disappeared. It took not even a full heartbeat to pass before he had faded from their view completely. His movements could only be achieved through vigorous training and plenty of experience. The Bullet Catchers would never achieve that level of greatness. Knowing that their rivals had such talent sent chills down their spines. Veterans of fear, they were able to bury their misgivings and get back to moving quickly. After all, they didn't want to keep Dingo waiting.