Overwatch Page #5

A Tier One short story

• Fiction
• Short story
• Action and Adventure

								

After looking around the now empty street, Mason saw the Pakistani attacker lining up a shot on his right; he dived to the left behind a canvas tent that sold bread before the vendor sprinted away due to the gunfire. 
Fully automatic gunfire boomed, and holes pockmarked the tent as the 7.62 rounds ripped through the fabric, causing Mason to drop to the floor to avoid catching a round to the skull. Mason didn’t return fire as he didn’t want to risk hitting any civilians; they were a no-go. As were the Pakistani police, and the fact that the wailing sirens were getting louder meant he didn’t have much time. 
He hooked round to the middle of the deserted street, and saw the man was running in the centre of the road, firing off fully automatic one-handed bursts in hopes to keep Mason at bay. 
Mason dropped to a knee on the baking hot tarmac, switched the safety lever to semi-automatic and fired four rounds, each one hitting his attacker squarely in the back. 
He stood up, rifle still tight in his shoulder, and approached the body lying in the road, a pool of red spreading around the bloody holes.
Mason flipped the man over, finding him to still be breathing.
“Hamza?” Mason asked, gesturing up the road with his AK barrel.
Hamza’s bodyguard shook his head.
Mason shrugged, before killing the man with a 7.62 round to the skull.
He unloaded the AK, dropped it, and slinked out of the back of one of the many shops seconds before the local police arrived.

Mason arrived at the flat five minutes later, peeling off the shemagh and looking in the bathroom mirror at the large cut in his forehead.
“Fu-uck,” Mason groaned as he cleaned it.
“What the f*ck happened out there?” Leopard shouted from the living room. 
“I got ambushed,” Mason said, having cleaned his wound. 
“They made you?” Leopard asked.
“Must’ve done, I looked in a mirror and saw one of the bastards about to pull a gun on me. I fought off him and three others, using their weapons.”
“Right,” Leopard said. “Peshawar station will lose their shit, but I back you.” 
“Mason was in the right,” said Scott, from behind his HK417, before shouting so loud it made Leopard and Mason jump.
“Hamza’s back!” 


 
Chapter Six
Hamza stumbled into the apartment, his chest hurting from the most physical exercise he’d done in years. He’d started sprinting when he heard the gunfire, just as he’d been instructed to do. He’d also been told that he would meet the guards in the apartment after the killing was done.
He looked around, but the studio was empty apart from a wide-eyed Rayan on the sofa.
“What was all the shooting?” Rayan asked.
“Oh shit,” Hamza replied.
Rayan stood up.
“What was all the shooting?” 
“Have the guards come back?” Hamza asked.
“What? No. Hamza, what was all that gunfire about?”
Hamza’s phone rang. He picked up the call.
“Pakistan station reported a lot of gunfire near your address. Did your guards do the job?”
“I-I am unsure. They are not back yet.”
There was no response.
“Hello?” Said Hamza.
“Torch the flat. Destroy the evidence. I’ll arrange you passage to Afghanistan where you’ll be safe.”
“What about my parents?” Hamza asked.
“They’ll be fine. Do it now, call me after.”
The informant hung up the call, and Hamza made Rayan fetch canisters of petrol from their store cupboard. They picked up two Jerry cans, and emptied them over the bomb-making equipment, drenching it all.
Still shaking, Hamza took a lighter off the desk and struck it, he saw his younger brother to his side, scared.
Would Hamza be in this mess if it weren’t for him? Probably not, but would certainly not be as rich. And besides, someone had to do the job, to make all the money.
Why would it not be them?
He felt some comfort in the fact that his parents would be taken care of, they would be crippled without the money the brothers provided.
He allowed himself a smile.

“We do have eyes on both targets, yes,” Leopard said to Mrs Rook over the phone, before placing the phone on the table with the speaker function turned on.
“Mason, Scott, can you confirm that Hamza and Rayan Shahid are burning the evidence that they are involved in the production and sale of IED’s?”
“Yep,” Mason said, holding his SR-25 in his hands and staring through the optic. He was kneeling on the sofa, whilst Scott was prone on the table. He had Hamza in his scope, whilst Scott had Rayan.
“Okay, your mission has changed. Due to the earlier gunfight and the fact any evidence is literally going up in flames, plus the fact we will lose the pair forever if they escape, your objective now is to kill the two bomb-makers.”
“Understood.” They all said in unison.
“You both have a shot?” Leopard said.
“Yep, window is closing though,” Scott said; the pair were heading to the door.
“Execute.”

Hamza was a few feet behind Rayan when he heard the window shatter. He had barely registered the sound when his little brothers head snapped to the left; red spraying from the top of his head as the 7.62x51 millimetre round tore through his skull. He dropped to the floor, like his lights had been flicked off.
The last thing Hamza felt was a mix of horror and deep sadness, before his own world turned black.
 
Chapter Seven
“That was a short-lived op,” Mason said, packing away his rifle into the rucksack. 
“The guys on the assault team are gonna be fucking fuming,” Scott said, unloading his HK.
“Is that it then, we’re going home?” Asked Mason.
“Yep,” said Leopard.
“Make it to the exfil point here in two days, a Chinook will come in and exfil us all. You’ll get some leave when you’re home.”
“Thank f*ck,” Mason thought, his mind drifting over to England. He had not seen his mum in months, he knew he owed her a visit. He bid Scott and Leopard goodbye, before putting on his dusty Pashtun clothing and stepping out of the apartment.
The heat stifled him at once, especially when he went outside. He made sure to avoid the wandering police patrols, even though he knew he had gone unrecognised from this morning’s events.
The pressure of his pistol against his hip comforted him. Comforted him more than a hot cup of tea, more than the soothing words of a mother to her crying child, more than the soft touch of a woman. 
Such was his life in Task Force Solace. 
He knew as he walked through the streets on a surveillance detection run that he would never be thanked by those he had saved, he would never get looked at twice. His job was to be unrecognisable, to do what most could not.
He was a killer of men, protecting his country from the evil that wished harm upon it, he had done that perfectly today. He’d killed five people this morning, each with no hesitation and extreme violence. 
Nothing new to him.
Just like walking through an unfamiliar environment with dozens of armed people looking for him, ready to kill him.
Nothing new.
After an hour of walking through department stores and back alleys, he had become satisfied that no one had followed him; no one had even noticed him. 

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes