I was at a jogging pace by now, pushing my way hastily through throngs of people in
a bustling city market. Every step I took seemed to take me further away from the person I
was chasing, who was somehow slipping in and out of the crowd with ease and grace. I, on the
other hand, was making such a commotion just trying to keep up that more then a few eyes were
turned my way as I pushed and shoved my way deeper and deeper into the gathering.
"I'm so done with this shit.." I muttered to myself under my breath, vowing to quit
and move on with my life after this. Of course I've told myself the same thing about a
hundred other times, knowing full well that I couldn't stop even if I had the choice. The
money was just to good, and I could never see myself being a desk jockey at some corporation
or working in a factory. Although this kind of work had it's downfalls, it also had it's
perks. Seeing new sights constantly for one, not to mention experiencing all the cultural
differences first hand. Beijing, been there, Moscow, done that. Being physically active
constantly also helped me stay sharp and not wither away in boredom.
Finally my ocelot 'friend' stopped, allowing me to catch up. I breathed heavily
through my mouth trying to catch my breath as he said, "That's him over there" through his
thick white hood, not even bothering to look in my direction. Somehow he ended up looking
like he had just taken an evening stroll, back straight, peering into the crowd. I looked
up from my panting to see him nod his head towards a thin furred greyhound, who appeared to
be captivated by one of the street vendors goods. "Ready?" he said, looking towards me in
a nonchalant manner. I put on my best 'ready' face before nodding in acknowledgment, pulling
the Kalashnikov from its sling on my shoulder.
I checked my weapon with practiced precision, clicking the safety off and pulling
back the bolt revealing a fresh round in the chamber. By the time I returned my focus to the
cat he was already upon our target, pulling the canines arm back until you could almost hear
his shoulder pop, slip ties on his wrists.
"Everyone get back, now!" I barked, raising my gun up high and letting a few rounds
off to show we were serious. Instantly the previously cramped space opened into a wide circle
around us, nobody wanted to risk being shot over their place on the street. I had my rifle
shouldered now, ready and alert to anybody trying to make a move. After a few tense minutes
my partner tapped my shoulder, holding the suspect by his wrist cuffs. "ETA 5 minutes, gray
armored SUV. Looks like we won't be walking the target out for once." I breathed a sigh of
relief, the last time I had to capture a 'High Value Target' me and four other men ended up
walking two and a half miles through a red zone in Afghanistan, I don't think I've ever sweat
so much in fear in my life.
The crowd was keeping its distance for now, people slowly starting to get back to their
business, but still giving us a wide berth. They were used to this by now, gunfire in crowded
areas and un-uniformed privately contracted militia taking captives or fighting it out in the
streets. America isn't the same place it was only a few years ago, the second Civil War had
taken its toll on the previously peaceful country. Seeing a Mother walk around with a handgun
strapped to her hip and a child in her arms wasn't uncommon, and bombed out buildings were
nothing out of the normal. The police stopped doing their jobs, to afraid of going back to
their homes to find their son or daughter dead in their crib and their wife raped and murdered.
People had to fend for themselves now.
The age of 'NATO' and the 'UN' were over, almost every major super power had been
turned into a 3rd world country or were forced to deal with their own problems. Every day places
like England and Germany were starting to look more and more like Africa or the Middle East.
I couldn't help but think to myself that I was lucky to have gotten out early, glad that I had
a chance to grow up in the US before everything went downhill.
"Don't look so serious.. They will get here in a few minutes, I'm sure you've seen worse
then this." The Feline woke me from my thoughts, his back turned towards me keeping an eye on
our prisoner. It was the first time I had heard him say anything that wasn't involved with the
mission, and he sounded surprisingly compassionate, probably taking me to be one of the FNG's
(Fucking New Guys)."Yea.. I just can't believe what this place has become.." I replied absentmindedly while scanning the crowd, glad to be able to drop the whole Grunt act for a few precious
moments. The entire reason I had taken this job was that I was told I would be partnered with
a fellow American, something far and few between in the work I do. I had hoped that having that
in common would make working together easier, having been in situations where me and my comrades
didn't even speak the same language had made things difficult in the past. His papers had showed
him as being more then fit for the job, and his ID picture showed a grinning, young, attractive Ocelot.
I couldn't help but admit to myself that part of the reason I had wanted him for the job was
the fact that I thought he was cute, but my military training destroyed those thoughts the second
they had come into my head.
Unfortunately any chance at a decent conversation with the feline was minimal from the
beginning. The first time I met him was in a 'Mission Control and Assessment's room, where we would
get some information on our target and plan out the best way to take him captive. The cheerful
looking cat I had seen in the picture was now a serious and driven combatant, and anything I
had tried to get in that wasn't related to the task at hand was taboo. From our first meeting
to the mile and a half jog into the crowd all I had managed to get out of him was his name
(James, which I had already known from the beginning and was just a formality) and where he came from
(Southern California). Even though he wasn't the 'Social Butterfly' I had somewhat hoped he
was going to be, I still had an English speaking partner who was if anything overqualified for
the task at hand. I couldn't help but wonder if the only reason he had done this job was the
same reason I had. Either way, he definitely lived up to his image on paper, managing to look
more then attractive in our ACIG (Armored Civil Issue Garb; Teflon reinforced civilian clothing
for keeping a low profile while still keeping safety at a maximum), which was by no means an
easy task.
Suddenly I was in outer space again, only coming back down to earth after a sharp jab
on my shoulder from the very person intruding my thoughts. "They want us to meet them on 56'th
and Rogers a few blocks down". I muttered a quick response before leading him and our target
down the road, weapon up and ready. I heard the hammer being cocked on James USPc, the muzzle
of the compact pistol in the air while he dragged the bound and gagged prisoner behind him.
After a few silent minutes we arrived at our pick up, A humming gray Escalade with bulletproof
windows and thickly armored doors. I helped my partner force the greyhound into the vehicle and
sat him down in between us. Suddenly our driver revved the engine and we were off, going 60 down
a suburban road.
All was silent spare the muffled grunting sounds coming from our gagged captive, who was obviously not pleased with his conditions. My Ocelot friend did nothing to help this, staring out the window to try and spot IED's or ambush spots up ahead. I tried to break the uncomfortableness by checking my weapon again, a habit I picked up as a grunt in the Marine Corps. It never hurt to always make sure your firearm was cocked and locked, nothing was worse then putting your sights on a enemy combatant and hearing that hallow "click" of your firing pin dropping on an empty chamber. It's the loudest sound you'll ever hear, although in reality it's barely loud enough to scare a mouse, it sounds like mortar rounds exploding in the ears of the rifleman. Round in the action, check. Full magazine, check. Safety off, check. Spare magazines in an accessible location, check. Sidearm ready to go, check.
I sounded off the rest of what was drilled into my head from boot camp to myself, making sure I was prepared for the worst. The best scenario would be us making it to the nearest barracks safe and unscathed, the worst.. well.. I'd rather not think of the worst.
"There's the bunker, make sure the target is still tightly bound up so were ready to go when we get there." James said, not an ounce of expression in his voice. "Yea I got it.." I replied grudgingly, a little pissed that he was ordering me around like a recruit. After making it safely through the checkpoint and in front of the holding bay we pulled our bound up friend from the SUV, dragging him through the double doors to the receiving bay. A few MP's (Military Police) took him from our custody. That would be the last he would see of us, but his journey was far from over. Next for him would be one of the bases numerous interrogation rooms, a 20x18, white walled, windowless room with lights so bright there wasn't a corner to cast a shadow on. From there one of our "specialists" would come in, using anything ranging from a car battery and jump kit to a power drill and handcuffs to get what he wanted. Eventually he would talk, spewing his crimes and connections faster than we could take the information in. His crimes could range anywhere from armed robbery to organized terrorism, and everything in between. Even the most hardened war criminals and thugs talked, it just took a little.. motivation. If he was lucky he would be stripped of his belongings and thrown back out into the dirt he came from. If he wasn't so lucky.. execution, being sold off to rival gangs or terrorist cells, whatever the captor saw fit.
"You daydream a lot..".
I was a million miles away again. I sat there feeling stupid, watching the cat glare at me through fluorescent green eyes, beautiful and yet sharp. His eyes cut right through me, making me lose any confidence I previously had. I tried a meager response, " Yea.. we should probably go check in..". I looked away, glad for an excuse to lose his gaze. We walked together down the hall and out of the complex. As we walked I dug through my pockets for my cigarettes. It would give me something to do and help me relax, I was always tense and strung out after a mission, the comedown effect from adrenaline was not exactly pleasant. I slipped one of the Marbro's from the pack and into my muzzle, my hands returning to my pockets for a lighter. "Here... I've got you." James produced a chrome Zippo from his pocket, flicked it open and let the flame touch the end of my smoke. I took a deep drag off it before replying, "Thanks.. want one?". He declined, shaking his head at me. The short trip to the armory was uneventful, as was us checking in our weapons and gear. A few minutes later we were in the locker room, stripping off our ACIG uniforms and putting on base regulation clothing, a pair of jeans or sweatpants with your choice of an undershirt or a t-shirt. The smalltalk between us was minimal at best, we talked a little about where we came from and what we did before being PMC's. I could tell he wasn't really interested in our conversation so I finished getting dressed and started to leave. I figured I had to say awkward goodbyes, so as I was turning to go I muttered, "Yea, it was great working with you, but I think I'm gonna-"...
He cut me off before I could finish, grabbing me by the paws and slamming me into a row of metal lockers roughly. Taking me by surprise he pressed his mouth against mine, kissing me long and deep. Before I could grasp what was happening he pulled away, leaving me still backed against the lockers, muzzle slightly agape. His eyes locked with mine, still sharp as a razor, burning into them. "I hope we can see each other again some time.." he said, putting extra emphasis on hope, before turning and walking out of the locker room. It all happened in less then a few seconds, but the effect lasted much longer. Once again I was left standing there, feeling stupid, staring at the floor. I realized I had something clenched in my hands, still feeling dazed. I unraveled the small piece of paper, which had the felines room and phone number. I sighed deeply before tucking the note into my pocket, pulled out another cigarette and lit it up. I let my head bang back against to locker, breathing a thick white cloud of smoke out of my muzzle. "What a great fucking day...".
