The Seraphs Call - Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

 

0500 Hours March 04, 2049 – Twelve Miles from PLA 3rd Department Staff Headquarters - Fengtai, China

The Longreach Team skirted Beijing, barely avoiding detection on three occasions.  As they approached the outlying suburb of Fengtai, they saw the checkpoint.  A PLA Army regular stepped from the guardhouse, holding his hand extended to stop the truck, a second man followed.  The lights of the guardhouse backlit the silhouette of a third guard inside.

Sergeant Reginald Lee, dressed in a PLA Uniform, sat in the driver’s seat, his silenced MP8 at the ready, pointed at the cab’s exterior.  Captain Derek Madison lay crouched on the floor, his weapon also ready and keyed his microphone, “Zak, we’re approaching a checkpoint.  Three Charlie Tangos.  Lee and I have one and two.  Take number three in the guardhouse.”     

The two guards approached the truck and began talking.  Though not fluent in Chinese, Madison understood enough to know the guard was questioning Lee about their destination.  He moved himself into position at Lee’s feet, lying on his right side under Lee’s legs, pointing the barrel of his weapon at the door of the cab.  Lee’s motioned with his hand, holding up two fingers, and then pointing directly outside the cab and then to the rear of the cab.  Derek now knew the guards’ positions.

Quickly the conversation became heated, the guard’s volume increasing.  Plainly, he didn’t like Lee’s answer.  Through pursed lips, Lee whispered to Madison, “They want me to get out.  They want to search the truck.”  Derek looked up and pulled his fingers across his throat, mouthing, “No” in response.    This was Lee’s sign. 

Derek waited as Lee slowly opened the door, he hand tense on his weapon.  As Lee cleared the door, he jumped to the ground, pointing his weapon at the first guard’s, now only six feet away.  He quickly found his target, the laser sight now centered on the guard’s forehead, and fired.  The three round burst from the silenced HK caught the guard between the eyes, exploding the contents of the guard’s skull onto the ground behind him. 

The second guard reacted and brought his AK74 to bear on Lee.  Derek sighted on and fired, the whoomp whoomp of the HK echoed in the confines of the cab, the rounds finding their target and exploding the man’s brain from the inside.  The third guard didn’t have a chance. 

Lt. Jake “Zak” Zakowski, already in position on the right side of the truck, the flap covering the side of the truck pulled aside to give him a clear shot at the guardhouse.  He had sighted in on the guard in the guardhouse.  When he heard the muted clacking of Derek’s HK, he pulled the triggering, the single round from the silenced HK penetrating the man’s skull from 30 feet away.  Only ten seconds had elapsed and all three guards were dead.  Pulling the microphone from his pocket, Lee announced, “Three down, all Clear.”

Derek heard the all clear from Lee and responded, “Get those bodies off the road and strip ‘em.  We’ll need the uniforms”

Four of the team members filed from the rear of the truck, and quickly pulled the bodies to the side of the road.  There could be no evidence of this incident, and they quickly cleaned up the mess left behind, stripping the bodies of all possessions, and hiding them in the weeds on the side of the road. 

Four minutes passed and Captain Derek Madison glanced at his watch.  It was 0508.  That left them only thirty minutes to get to the PLA General Staff Headquarters, Third Department complex in the hills northwest of the summer palace.  This would give them only 15 minutes to get in position and wait until the military convoy arrived at the complex at 0630.  He spoke to the members over the comm. link, “Time.  Let’s roll.  Take what you can, and leave the rest.”

Derek heard the clump of four sets of feet hitting the bed of the truck as they board, and motioned for Lee to go.  Lee punched the accelerator, shifting through the gears, the truck quickly picking up speed as they flew past the small homes and business on the outskirts of Beijing. 

They made the Xiqiao road in ten minutes and advanced Northwest towards the complex, passing the small grottoes and villages that lined the road.  There was already activity on the road at this hour, some bicycle riders and pedestrians making their morning commute to the capital city. 

During the five miles that remained, Derek went over the mission plan with the other members. 

0515 Hours March 04, 2049 –PLA 3rd Department Staff Headquarters Complex - Twenty Miles Northwest of Beijing China

The final draft of his response to the President of the United States sat on the desk in front of him.  The People’s Liberation Army would not pull out of Taiwan.  The confrontation was a risk, but General Xiang Po knew the United States would either have to pull back their fleet or strike at the Chinese Mainland.  The People’s party was ready and would be victorious. 

Po, in a bold move, used non-encrypted communications to order the Army’s missile command to a high state of alert, ready to launch the intercontinental ballistic missiles, targeting every major city on the west coast of the United States.  He knew his communications would be intercepted by the U.S. spy satellites constantly overhead, translated, and laid out before the President.  He would receive the document of defiance in a short time.

Po had played this game many times, but not with the likes of Theodore Porter.  He reviled the man, but respected his methods, almost fitting for a Chinese warrior; only giving ground to draw your enemy closer for the kill. 

Po placed the document in the special diplomatic envelope and sealed it.  He would personally deliver this to the U.S. Consulate General.  They would watch and document his every move, and he would exaggerate his actions and speech, acting out in open contempt of Theodore Porter.

The knock on his door startled him.  Who would be at his door this early in the morning?  He called out, “I am busy.  Come back later!”

The voice from the behind the door seemed frantic, “General Po, we have just received word that someone has infiltrated the Long Bin Radar Station. Five are dead and one truck is missing.”

Po jumped from his seat and ran to the door, “Why wasn’t I told about this sooner?” As he grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, pulling him to within inches of his face.

“General”, the man said cowering, “We just received the word.  I came as soon as possible.  They think the truck is heading for Beijing.”

Po pushed the man backed with a force belaying his age, and shouted, “What are you still doing here.  I want two helos in the air immediately searching for that truck.  It must be the Americans.  Now go!’ Damn you, Porter.

He ran back to his desk, and picked up the phone.  He quickly punched up the number for People’s Liberation Army Special Forces Brigade.  The face on the other end of the videophone derezzed quickly and spoke, “Yes, General Po?”  Po nearly shouted, “I want two squads deployed.  Someone has infiltrated the RADAR station at Ling Bin, killed five men, and stolen a truck.  It can only be the Americans.  They are on their way to Beijing.  I want them intercepted and caught if possible.  If not, then eliminate them.”

“Yes Sir.  We will be on our way in ten minutes.”  The line went dead.

***

0520 Hours - March 04, 2049 – Outside PLA 3rd Dept Staff HQ Complex

Lieutenant Jake Zakowski hunkered motionless against the wall of the compound.  His nose wrinkled in the constant state of someone who smelled something foul.  His brown eyes searched every centimeter of open space between the enclosure and the street beyond for any sign of movement. He keyed his short burst transmitter twice.

From the cover of shadow behind him a member of his team belly crawled up to his position, Sergeant William Frost a longhaired Native American who always seemed to wear an insoluble smile on his red brown features.  He jerked his thumb at the wall, and Frost’s grin widened as he mouthed “Time for some real fun.” 

Frost stood and spooled the nylon climbing line from his pack.  With quick noiseless movements, he tied the line off on his waist.  He unslung the grappling gun from his bandoleer and loaded the three-pronged projectile in one smooth motion, the protruding end of the hook secured to the rope on his waist.  Stepping back to provide a better arc at the top of the wall, he steadied his aim across his arm and fired.

The line sailed over the wall.  Frost slowly pulled on the cord until it caught and then gave it one firm tug to test its hold—no give.  He pulled up the slack as he braced himself against the wall.  Within a few seconds, he climbed to the top.   

Two short bursts came over the com. Zakowski crawled to the rope, and took rear guard as the remaining members of his team clambered up.  His nose still wrinkled, he took one last look at the deserted street—no movement.  He grimaced, making his face look more dour still, as he climbed the rope after his men.

 

0530 Hours - March 04, 2049 – Outside PLA 3rd Dept Staff HQ Complex

Captain Madison waited.  He disliked inaction and waiting on the floorboards of the truck cab for Zakowski to complete his mission rankled him further.  It had been ten minutes since they had let the other team out a block away, and the truck had stopped in front of the thick metal security door of the service entrance. 

“Don’t fall asleep down there Captain….”  Lee yawned and patted him on the head.

“You’re the one who’s yawning, a*****e.”  Madison batted the hand away, irritated.

“I don’t like this mission, Captain, this is bullshit,” Lee said.  “It’s like we are on the President’s personal hit squad.”

“China invaded Taiwan, we’re friends with Taiwan, I’m sure you can make the connection here.”  Madison curtly dismissed the notion.

“Yeah, it’s not as if America has ever invaded another country, though we supposedly do it for their protection or liberation.  Remember, we never left Baghdad.”

“We have a base there, that’s not the same as China’s doing.”

“Captain, again…that’s bullshit and you know it.  We put that base in Iraq and never left.  Explain to me what the difference is.”

“What does that have to do with Taiwan?”

“We’ve never put up with someone standing up to us.  What makes you think China is any different?”  Lee sighed.  “Let’s say all the Chinese Americans took up residence on an island off the coast of America, say Hawaii, and decided to declare their independence, and then called themselves the Chinese Republic of America.  Would we stand for it?”

“No.  We proved that wouldn’t work with the civil war.”

“You’re right.  We wouldn’t.  So why are we doing this?  We’re mad because we don’t get cheap semiconductors anymore?”

“Hey, whose side are you on anyway.”

“Ours…but I know why I’m doing this…why America sent me into another country to kill and perhaps be killed.”

“And why is that oh enlightened one?”

“It’s business, Man.  Pure and simple.”  Lee smiled sadly.

Lee glanced out the window of the truck, looking for any sign from the compound.  His expression turned solemn as a light rain began to fall, his mood matching the darkness of the clouds bringing in a storm.  A storm they might not survive.

0540 Hours - March 04, 2049 –PLA 3rd Dept Staff HQ Complex

Lt. Jake Zakowski surveyed the layout of the compound from his position.  He reached in to his vest-pocket, pulled out the data cable, and plugged the jack it into NNI Interface at the base of his skull.  The compound layout derezzed into his vision, allowing him to see the blueprint overlay

To his right, lay the six buildings used for vehicle maintenance and storage. To his far left, lay the main administration building, and directly in front, beyond the cover of the trees and hedge growth, lay the parade grounds and viewing stand.  The members of the team inside the compound were shown as blue dots, grouped closely.  He could see the red pinpoints of light in his vision as the overhead satellite fed in the position of the Chinese troops moving about and one was moving very close to their position.

He crouched motionless, nearly out in the open, glancing quickly at each of the team members around him.  There was too much light for night vision goggles, and too dark to see clearly.  Twilight was the most dangerous time.  He jabbed two fingers at his eyes and pointed.  The PLA guard was nearing their position.

Sergeant Kassie Wilkes and Corporal Toby Anderson took their cue.  They moved slowly toward the guard, using their elbows.  They were both carrying magnetically accelerated flechette rifles, the new definition of combined stealth and power in a rifle.  All the sound the weapon made was a loud puff of air when fired, yet its needlelike projectiles would tear hundreds of tiny holes in the target at close range.  They would have to put a spread of the razor sharp projectiles in the guard’s throat before he could make a sound, but the tactic required them to be spotted first.  It would be a tight squeeze between the enemy’s awareness and his reaction, but they were trained to react that quickly.

They stopped behind buildings to either side of the approaching guard and waited.  Anderson wrinkled his nose in disgust.  An unpleasant smell wafted from the building he had settled near.  His eyes had started to water fitfully before Cassie gave him the signal.

She stepped out from behind her building and whispered in mangled Chinese, “Pssst, over here.”

The guard turned her direction and Toby fired, hundreds of tiny bleeding holes appearing in the guard’s neck and back.

            “Hey watch it,” Cassie whispered fiercely.

            “Duck next time.”

            “No you duck.”

            “Now wait a second.” Toby lifted his hands as she pointed her rifle his direction.

“No I mean duck, Moron.”

Toby hit the ground as the door to the building behind him banged shut.  The guard, who exited the latrine, opened his mouth to yawn, but found his could not take in breath.  He slumped to the ground, looking surprised, as hundreds of holes suddenly appeared in his chest.

Toby got up and brushed himself off.  “It doesn’t seem right to kill a man just after he takes a s**t.”

“Would you rather I let him surprise you next time.”  Cassie grinned, her white teeth a startling feral contrast to her coal black skin.

“No guess not.  Thanks, Cassie.”  He looked down at his feet sheepishly.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t” He flashed her smile and trotted off to rejoin the group.

“A*****e.” She muttered still grinning and followed.

0545 Hours - March 04, 2049 –PLA 3rd Dept Staff HQ Complex

It did not take Zakowski’s team long to find and eliminate the rest of the guards in the storage area of the complex.  There were no more surprises.  The tricky part came in getting into the building atop the security gate of the service entrance. 

“Damn efficient chinks,” Zakowski muttered. “We need a way to make them come to us.”

“Better not let Lee hear ya say that Luuutenant.”  Jackson purposely drawled out Zakowski’s rank.  The demolitions man of the team was a tall skinny black man who had a tendency to poke at authority. 

His attitude meshed perfectly with the Lieutenant’s.  “No certainly not…” Zakowski feigned embarrassment sarcastically.  “That f****n chink says chink every other word.”

“We could just blow them up…that would save a lot of problems.”  Jackson joked almost wistfully.

“Yeah and awake the rest of the compound in the process.”  Zakowski turned to the rest team.  “You know your assignments.”

“Come on Frost,” Jackson chuckled “You get to help me set up the big boom.  Or watch my back while I do it Injun bro”

Making humor of this bloody business was fine was Zakowski, but time was wasting.  “I mean f****n now Ladies.”

The massive Indian and the tall skinny black man crept off silently.  A truly odd pair, Zakowski thought darkly.

“Walker?” Zakowski looked around perplexed. “Where there f**k did that hick go”

“He left as soon as you said the “you know your orders part” I believe.”  Anderson said slyly as he leaned up against the building trying to look the innocent farm boy in his night camos.

“F****n no speaking, silent mother for a communications guy f****r.”  Zakowski swore.  “I wish he wouldn’t do that.”

“What?  Follow orders?”  Anderson turned to Wilkes and motioned.  “I guess we’re up again my fine dark chocolate sister.”

Wilkes jabbed him in the ribs with the muzzle of her HK.  “Lead the way white bread.  A hunting we shall go.”

Shaking his head ruefully over the day he was saddled with this bunch, Zakowski waited.  He watched from the shadows as they crept under the dimly lit window of the guardhouse towards the door.  He heard the door open, and within moments, there were sounds of a muffled scuffling, glass breaking and the heavy sound of a body hitting the ground.

“All clear Lieutenant.”  Wilkes whispered from the darkness.

Zakowski stepped over the corpse of the Chinese guard in the doorway, and into the control room for the gate.  Anderson was bent over the control panel trying in vain to decipher the Chinese labels.  Wilkes reached over his head and pushed a button.  The security door began to rumble upwards.

“How do you know that wasn’t the alarm, Damnit?” Anderson snapped at her.

“It was big shiny and green, so I took a chance.  Besides I think the big red one on the wall with the words caution alarm on it cuts out that.”  Wilkes said.  “You should have learned to read some Chinese before the mission.  You know, just the important stuff like “alarm” and “caution.””

“Settle down Ladies.”  Zakowski snapped.

“You keep using that term to refer to him too and I’m going to start feeling insulted,” Wilkes muttered.

Zakowski shot her a threatening look as the truck rumbled into the gate. It halted in front of Zakowski, and the cab door swung open.

“It’s about time you got here and opened the door for us.”  Madison said, leaping from the truck.  “It’s been twenty minutes.  One could think you are losing your touch.”

“I’m just not going to be appreciated for my fine work today, am I?”  Zakowski huffed, his disdainfully wrinkled nose making him appear even more offended. The twinkle in his eye that finally broke his dour expression was the only thing that stopped Madison short of stammering an apology.  “Come on Captain, we’re wasting time with chitchat…we’ve got a mission that’s not waiting on our sweet f****n time.”

“Yes sir.”  Madison mock saluted and turned to Lee who climbed out of the cab behind them.  “You heard the Lieutenant, roust those lazy bums out of the back of the truck.”

Lee scurried into the back of the armored ATV and seconds later the dark clad  group huddled in a circle like a secretive sports team, closed in to keep plays from the other team.

“Vasquez and Reyes, you are staying with the truck.”  Madison said. 

Vasquez, a short muscled Mexican man and the team transport specialist, paused from picking at the permanent grease embedded in his nails and nodded. 

Reyes a dark Hispanic woman of indefinite origin, or its none-of-your-f****n-business-pendejo, as she would often say to unwelcome Hispanic male suitors, gave Madison a thumbs-up.  A red medics cross was barely obscured by her black cover patch.  As she tossed the pack she had been checking, back into the truck.

“The rest of you, I want speed and precision.  The rest of us are going home from this mission.”  Madison made a sign of the cross as he rose from his knees.

The dark shapes sped away from the truck into the gloom of the dawn, intent on their mission that was anything but holy.

0555 Hours - March 04, 2049 –PLA 3rd Dept Staff HQ Complex

Sergeant Johnny Walker, the team communications specialist and the youngest member of the team, age 23, worked his way to the North entrance of the administration building.  The twilight hour had shielded his approach along the North wall of the compound, the hedgerow blocking his movement from view of the guard tower to the south.

Two guards remained between him and his objective; setting up the satellite uplink and watching the road through the open main gate for the convoy to arrive.  Silently he sat, watching the guard in the Northeast tower.  The distance from the edge of the hedgerow to the door was too far for him to cover without being seen.  The entranceway lit by two overhanging lights and he couldn’t hit the guard from where his present location, two large trees obscuring the view.

He unslung the HKMP-Assault rifle from his shoulder and slipped the portable SatCom unit from his back, pushing both deep within the hedges. He eyed the guard, and quickly scanned the compound for any movement.  Seeing none and the guard’s attention turned to the street outside the gate, he dashed to the first tree, his thin wiry frame now hidden by the massive oak.  Crouched, he heard the guard cough and waited.  The light rain became heavier, the noise hiding his movement as he crawled through the grass to within the shadow of the second tree. 

The guardhouse was only 10 feet away, but might as well have been a mile.  He could see no access to the guard tower within the compound meaning the only way in was outside.  An entrance he couldn’t risk.  His only alternative – the tree.

The bark of the giant oak tree provided him little traction.  He gripped the bark with his leather-gloved hands, but kept slipping.  Any more noise and he would attract the guard’s attention.  Pulling the gloves from his hand, he jammed them into his belt and shoved the tips of his fingers into the crevices of the bark.  The sharp edges cut into his flesh as he slowly pulled himself up the distance to the first branch, level with the guard tower ledge. 

Five agonizing minutes passed, his feet slipping many times, scrapping the bark, drawing the guards attention three times and three times he held on, his entire body suspended by the his fingertips waiting for the guard’s attention to be drawn to the street outside.  The rain now heavy was making his grip intolerable, his fingers aching from the pain, the blood beginning to flow into his palms, further loosening his grip.  In a final attempt, he swung his legs up, wrapping one around the branch above and pulled himself onto the limb. 

In the rain-darkened twilight, he could see the damage he had done to his hands and pulled the gloves from his belt, wincing as he forced them over his fingertips, now swollen from the torturous climb.  Their care would have to wait and he didn’t mind Reyes looking at them either, as he smiled in the dark.

The guard paced back and forth, his subconscious aware of the threat his conscious failed yet to realize.  Walked gripped the trunk of the tree and slithered around its diameter, his feet coming to rest on the opposite branch.  The branch extended from the tree to within two feet of the tower, its girth, from what he estimated would support his weight.  It had been trimmed back, leaving a sturdy portion at the end.

He lowered himself to the branch, encircling it with his arms and crossing his legs on the top to provide him balance, and began to pull himself to the end, ever mindful of the guard only a few feet away.  As he reached the end of the branch, he loosened the strap holding the Japanese tanto assassins knife in the sheath on his side.  The blade, honed to a razor’s edge, could cut through bone.

He could not wait.  Perching on the edge of the branch, his only support the tips of his swollen fingers and toes, he launched himself through the air, pulling the tanto from its resting place, and landed on his feet within the walls of the guard tower.  The guard heard the noise and turned.  No sounds came from his lips as Walker leapt, slashing across the guard’s throat, the blade cutting through to the spinal cord, nearly severing the man’s head from his body. 

Without hesitation, Walker jammed the tanto back within its sheath, grabbed the edge of the tower and jumped, back within the compound, hitting the ground and rolling.  He welcomed the heavy rain as he ran back to the edge of the hedgerow and recovered his stashed equipment, putting it back into place and scooping his weapon from the ground.

Time was short and he ran across the open area, stopping by the tree closest to the door.  He pulled the MP8 to his shoulder, aimed at the lights and fired, putting out each one with a single round and sprinted to the door. 

Cautiously he pulled the door ajar, only a slight creaking coming form the hinges, and looked down the hall.  Midway down in the opening of the foyer to the main entrance, he spotted a guard, leaning back on the two rear legs of the chair, watching the main entrance foyer.  According to intelligence, this was the last one.  He opened the door enough for his body to fit, and slipped inside.

The interior of the building was dimly lit, only enough lighting for nighttime watch rounds.  At two hundred feet long, the hallway was twenty feet wide with six doors on the Walker’s side, on the left of the hallway, and another four to the right, with the foyer separating the four.  The main entrance faced the Parade grounds to the west.  All of these offices served as the headquarters for the PLA’s 3^rd department, the special intelligence branch of the People’s Liberation Army.  He was to setup communications in the first office on the right after the foyer.

Walker slid to the left along the North wall into an alcove, and stepped across the opening to the south wall of the alcove.  Peering around the corner, he watched the guard, still sitting in the chair, and stepped out of the alcove, and began walking silently, but purposefully toward him.  Raising his MP8 to his shoulder, he sighted on the guard’s head, pulling the trigger only halfway, keeping his pace as he closed on the guard’s position. 

Walker passed the second door on the left and stopped.  With the guard still sighted in, Walker whispered, “Psssst!”

The guard turned his head quickly towards the noise and nearly fell out of his chair.  As he tried to scramble to his feet, the chair pushed back along the hard floor, the sound of the legs screeching in the hallway.  He grabbed for the AK74 lying on the table in front of him. 

Walker saw the look of surprise and horror on the guard’s face seeing the man dressed in black, the laser firmly sighted in on his forehead.  As he cleared the chair, Walker fired a single round from the MP8.  The nearly silent recoil echoed through the hall, as the 9mm hollow-point round exploded the guard’s skull, sending shards of bone and blood over the table behind him. 

The impact of the round snapped the guards head back, slamming his body to the floor. Walker trotted over and nearly slipped on the blood, now pouring from the fist-sized hole in the back of the man’s head, as it began pooling on the floor.   He quickly checked the man for papers, and not finding anything of value, stood and grabbed the guard’s feet and dragged him down the hall, confident now he was alone in the building.

He glanced over his left shoulder and saw the door only 25 feet away.  The slick linoleum floors made dragging the body easier, and he covered the distance quickly, stopping only to open the door with his left hand and he pulled the body in with his right. 

Releasing his hold on the guard’s boot, he let if fall to the floor and turned his attention back to his mission.  Quickly pulling the SatCom unit from his back, he set it on the floor, expanding the dish and pointed toward the sky.  Within seconds, he received uplink confirmation and keyed in the encryption code to activate the unit.  He keyed his microphone, “Leader, this watcher, I am in position.”  He received two clicks answering his transmission and began his lookout through the open gate down the road beyond, waiting for the arrival of the convoy carrying their targets.

 

0600 Hours - March 04, 2049 –PLA 3rd Dept Staff HQ Complex

A dull thud from outside his office startled Xian.  Sodden Oafs, how can you repel the Americans if you destroy the compound?  He ran back to his door, preparing to lambaste the first person he saw.  Another thud and a subsequent crash followed.  He balked in mid-reach for the handle of his door, and drew his sword.  He edged the door open, peering through the crack into the dim hall. 

A darkened shape flitted past the edge of his vision, something surreal, not even a true form.  He squinted in an attempt to adapt them more quickly to the poor light, and peered into the hall.  It appeared empty. 

He took two steps and nearly slipped.  Something was on the floor.  Glancing down, he could barely make out the dark liquid pool from the black tile floor.  He bent over and quickly swiped the liquid with his finger, bringing is closer.  In the dim light from the desk lamp, he could see it was blood. 

As he slid along the wall to avoid the pooling blood, he heard a noise coming from the office two doors away.  At first, he couldn’t make it out, but as he drew closer, sword at the ready, the noise became clear.  It was a voice, barely above a whisper.  A voice in English. 

The Americans are here! 

Xiang raised the ancient double-bladed Jian sword, holding the ornately designed pommel tightly in his hands, poised to strike the intruder.  Though he could hear the muted voice, he was unable to distinguish individual words.  He continued towards the open doorway, moving silently like a panther stalking its victim.

No light came from the room, making it difficult to see.  Three feet before the opening, he stopped and closed his eyes.  He envisaged the room, mapping its contents, including the location of the intruder.  Slowly opening his eyes, he was able to make out more shapes, the hallway more visible, his pupils now adjusted to the darkness. 

Xiang knew the layout of every room.  He realized immediately why they had chosen this room, the Office of the Minister of Education, small, but offered a view of the road into the compound, one of the few with outward windows.  He could picture the man crouched near the window, immediately to his right was a desk, where the secretary sat, and to the left, a small couch for visitors.

Within arms reach of the doorframe, Xiang paused. The man, still unaware, continued to speak into the radio.  He was reporting to someone, the voice more audible the closer Po approached. 

Po stepped into the opening and saw a body on the floor and the man crouched, looking through the window.  With silent steps, Po approached, his muscles tensing for the strike.

The man must have sensed his presence.  He turned, but Po was already on him.  Po sprung the last two steps, swinging his sword in a diagonal arc.  The man was fast, spinning on his feet, bringing his weapon up to block Po’s attack.  The razor sharp blade struck the HK MP-8, and deflected, the force sending it down weapon’s length, slicing the fingers off the man’s right hand just below the knuckles.  The man did not scream, and swung the weapon with his left hand to bear, on Xiang Po. 

Po was surprised.  He had severed all four fingers, and the man barely winced from the pain, the blood spurting from his hand, but there was no reaction.  He watched, everything slowed, the man’s weapon pointing at him, ready to fire. 

He swung the pommel of the sword to his right, deflecting the barrel of the gun as the man fired, sending rounds in the ceiling.  The blade again whistled through the air as Po brought it down through the man’s arm, cutting it off below the elbow, the gripped weapon still firing, falling to the floor.  Still there was no sound from the man. 

Po could not believe what he was seeing.  He had cut off the man’s fingers and arm, and yet there was nothing.  Almost robotically, the man tried to stand, the blood now pumping furiously from his arm.  Po lashed out with a well-placed kick, driving the heel of his right boot into the man’s solar plexus, forcing him back against the wall.  Before the man could react, Po spun and with his back to the man, drove the entire length of the blade through the man’s body, just below his heart, into the hard wall behind. 

The hand on his shoulder startled him and Po leapt forward and turned around.  He watched in amazement as the man reached out and pulled himself forward along the blade, trying to grab Po with what remained of his left hand.  Even in the darkness, something caught Po’s attention.  The man’s hand had stopped bleeding. 

Po reached out and dislodged the blade from the wall, pulling it back through the man’s body, watching him sag, but not fall.  What was keeping him alive? Maybe he had missed the heart.

Po, focusing, lunged forward and again drove the sword into the man, just below the breastbone where he knew the heart was.  The man still did not die and grabbed the pommel of the sword, trying to wrench it from Po’s hands.  Po pulled with all his might, freeing the sword, and kicked again at the man’s sternum, sending him careening off the wall to the floor.  Stepping forward, he spun the swords in his hands, and gripped it tightly, point facing down.  The man tried to rise from the floor.  Po’s boot caught him in the neck, driving him back down.  The General drove the first third of the blade through the man’s left eye, cleaving the skull, and into the floor below.

Po could not believe what had happened.  The injuries he had dealt the man would have incapacitated any other person, but this one would not die.  Po had cut off his arm, pierced his heart twice and it wasn’t until the he impaled the man’s head, did he finally die. 

Po crouched down, and laid his hand on the handle of his sword, steadying himself as he nervously peered in the open eyes of the man on the floor.  Who are you, better yet, what are you?

The flesh on the pallid face seemed to crawl.  A ripple of movement, barely perceptible in the darkness, ran from the multiple wounds on his chest to the sword blade still embedded in the corpse’s skull. 

Maybe it’s just a trick of my old eyes.  Po wedged his boot on the corpse’s face, and grasped the handle of his sword.  His shoulders bunched with the effort, but still he failed to remove the blade. 

Scouring his hands raw with the strain, Po felt an explosion of agony that bit through every finger and spread swiftly into his cramped arm muscles.  Wave upon wave of indefinable force surged through the sword into his body.  He tried to let go, but his hands held rigidly locked-in place as the fire continued to spread.  With each spike of energy that convulsed his body his consciousness began to ebb. 

Only by an effort born of desperation did he tear his grasp from the pommel.  Release of the tension threw him several feet into the oaken desk.  The force of the impact drove the breath from him, and he slumped stunned to the floor.  His brave fight to remain cognizant failed.