They halted at a small circular clearing, and their point man beckoned for the major to join him beside a fallen evergreen trunk. Colin Stewart did so, and set his eyes on a good-sized arched manor house sitting at the crest of the hill. There was a large barn behind it.
“That’s it,” whispered Stewart.
“Yet it doesn’t look like there’s anyone home.”
“They’re there, all right, Major. I can smell ‘em,” returned the sandy-haired private.
As the squad gathered together, their CO presented his plan of attack.
“If Sean Lafferty’s up there, chances are he’s inside the manor. Since he’s our primary objective and there’s no telling what kind of security is present up there, we’ll initiate a two-pronged attack. Private Campbell and I will approach the house by way of the south wall. We’ll use one of the ropes to enter the structure by way of its second-floor window. Meanwhile, Corporal Duncan will lead the rest of you around the manor by way of the barn. If no opposition is encountered, you’ll then take up positions beside the south wall while we finish our sweep of the manor’s interior.
“Now, Private Campbell seems to think that we’re not alone out here. I’ve certainly seen no signs that would indicate this, but that only means that we’ve got to proceed only that much more cautiously. So re274 member your training, and if we should get into a scuffle, use whatever force is needed to protect yourselves.
With that said, I can only wish you good hunting. Go get ‘em, lads!”
With a coil of rope wrapped around his shoulder, Stewart led the way through the forest to the hill’s summit. At this point, the squad split up. While three of his men began a wide, circular route around the back of the estate, Stewart and Private Campbell darted across the meadow in front of the manor.
They were nearly halfway across this wide expanse when the first gunshots sounded. Both commandos immediately dived to the turf-covered ground as they heard the sickening whine of bullets whizzing overhead.
Semi-protected by a shallow gully, Stewart spotted the muzzle flash of a rifle from one of the upper windows. After pointing this out to his young associate, the veteran deactivated the safety of his rifle and shouted out.
“I’ll keep you covered, Private, while you scramble up to the south wall. If the firing from the second floor continues, see if you can lob a grenade up there.”
“Will do, Major,” returned the enlisted man.
As Stewart angled the barrel of his assault rifle up toward his target, he hit the trigger and cried out, “Go for it, lad!”
A deafening barrage of semi-automatic gunfire followed.
As the second-story window shattered, the private stood and went sprinting over the remaining meadow, dodging and weaving like a professional football player. He didn’t stop until he reached his goal and waved that he was all right.
Colin Stewart emptied his clip and cursed angrily when the sound of gunfire once more exploded from the window. While he reached for another clip, a bullet smashed into the turf only a few inches from his right shoulder. Instinctively he pressed his body deeper into the ground in order to make the smallest possible target.
He had just put a fresh round of his own in the chamber and was preparing to answer the sniper with another volley when there was a single deep crackling blast. He cautiously peeked over the lip of the depression and saw a thick column of black smoke streaming from the same window where the sniper had been.
Knowing full well that this smoke was the byproduct of one of Private Campbell’s grenades, Stewart stiffly stood and scrambled to the manor’s south wall.
“Nice going, Private,” remarked the out-of-breath veteran as he climbed over a low stone fence and crossed over a vegetable garden to get to the wall itself.
“It looks like we can get the grapnel into that wood siding that lines the window ledge, sir.”
“How are you at climbing?” asked Stewart.
“I’m like a squirrel, Sir,” boasted the enlisted man.
“Well, we’re soon enough going to see if that’s the case.” Stewart slid the coil of rope off his shoulder.
Just as he prepared to loft the hooked grapnel upward, an assortment of exploding gunshots sounded in the distance.
“Looks like the rest of the lads are getting a taste of some action themselves,” said Stewart, who needed two tosses to get the grapnel set properly.
Private Campbell took the nylon rope in hand and wasted no time beginning his climb. It was a bit awkward as he reached the ledge where the grapnel was set, and he had to lift his leg up to pull his body over the sill. As he tumbled into the open window, Colin Stewart grasped the rope and began pulling his own way upward. Though it took just a bit longer for him to complete his climb, he succeeded in reaching the sill, where his associate waited to help him the rest of the way.
Inside, they found themselves in a bedroom dominated by a large canopied bed. A poster of Che Guevara was tacked to the wall behind it. Though his hands still stung from the climb, Stewart readied his rifle at his side and whispered, “We’ll search this floor first. And don’t take any chances. I’ve got a feeling that this place is just crawling with surprises.”
Noting that the sound of gunshots continued outside, Stewart led the way out into the hall. One by one they proceeded to check each upstairs room. They found only one of them occupied, by a longhaired, fatigue-wearing young man who had apparently taken Private Campbell’s grenade blast full in the chest.
“It’s never a pretty sight,” reflected the veteran as he kicked the body aside and spotted the Armalite rifle that the terrorist had been using to keep them pinned down with.
“I doubt if he’s carrying any ID. We won’t know if he was our man until we can run a fingerprint check on him. Meanwhile, it looks like we’ve got a whole nest of rats to root out here. Shall we try downstairs?”
offered Stewart.
The veteran commando led the way down a spiral staircase. As he prepared to step out onto the landing, a sudden movement on his left side caught his practiced eye, and he raised up the barrel of his rifle, swiveled, and fired. A single return shot ricocheted overhead, causing Stewart to hunch down and look on as another fatigue wearing terrorist stumbled into view in an adjoining corridor. There was a pained look in his face as his Armalite clattered to the floor and his blood-soaked torso followed soon afterwards.
Without stopping to check his condition, Stewart signaled Private Campbell to follow him into the nearby parlor. Two doorways bisected this comfortably furnished room, and beckoning Campbell to check out the one on the left, Stewart turned to the right.
A short, dark corridor brought him to a closed wooden door. He pressed his back up against the wall and gingerly reached out to try the iron doorknob.
The door was locked, and Stewart slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his pistol. He clipped a 9-mm round into its short barrel and took a deep breath. Then, with a swift, lightning-like movement, he stood back and barreled into the door with the side of his body. As the latch tore out of its flimsy frame, the door swung open with a blistering crack and Stewart’s forward momentum sent him tumbling inside.
The deafening sound of exploding bullets greeted him as he smacked into the carpeted floor hard on his right shoulder. A thick leather sofa provided his only cover, and he listened as a dozen rounds smacked into it with a heart-stopping thud.
Slowly the numbing pain that had temporarily paralyzed his entire right side lessened and he was able to firmly grasp his pistol. It was then that the strained voice of a woman cried out to him.
“You’re just a bit too late, comrade. This skirmish signals the beginning of a revolution that will soon have the entire planet in its grasp!”