Death is our work

Death is our work

Justice without lawyers.

We are a team, some will say we are “hit men” some will say we are mercenaries, others that we are the vilest sort of criminals but to us we are simply servants of our nation. Our bosses are government officials, admittedly ones who keep their work secret while drawing salaries for work that is not actually done. We are highly trained combat soldiers, who obey orders while applying initiative when needed. Our work style is is simple; we are told of an objective, we are told why this objective is important. We are given a time frame for resolution and details about our objective. The rest is up to us. We file no reports, our salaries are paid through the military as though we were still on active service in the regiment, which in a way we are. We just do not wear any uniform. The objective in this case were a group who head up the British part of a world wide Russian criminal organisation. They ran every sort of illegal activity from supply of narcotics, people trafficking, modern slavery, prostitution, extortion and though to procurement of children for paedophile rings. They were ruthless to an extreme and untouched by the courts since they killed any and all potential witnesses and informants. If we made any official reports of our work it would read like this----

We waited in the car, it was summer and so the engine was off and the windows open. As was our usual practice when working, we sat in silence. No radio, no conversation, just watching and waiting. Our guns were on our laps, safety off, they also waiting. From our windows on the off side and ahead we could see for miles, at our near side and rear were the trees and bushes that became denser the further away from the car you looked. This was ancient woodland a mixture of oak and ash, blackthorn and hazel, some of the oaks around two hundred years old and these proved the owls with nesting sites. From front and off side windows, the green hills rolled away, open farmland with no sign of people, just miles of empty but cultivated land. This was East Anglia, no mountains but with vast open skies, so a distant horizon seems to be a hundred miles away, but is not. As dusk fell and gradually became darkness, we still waited. A barn owl left its perch in the woodlands and drift silently across our vision, fascinated we both watched it as it searched for its prey. A bit like us it hunted and it killed. Also like us it was silent and deadly.

We waited until the darkness restricted vision, not completely total blackness, the open countryside in this part of England is never complete dark, very rarely so dark that you can not see anything. The stars showed brightly in the deep grey of the sky. The moon did not rise for an hour or so; which is why we chose this place and this time. We could see anything coming down the lane while only a countryman on foot could see us unless oncoming head lights picked us out. Those we waited for were not countrymen and by the time their lights shone on us it would be too late. Too late for them. At a distance of about two miles we saw the lights of an approaching car. The time checked, the directions checked, we needed no words. Our skills and methods are honed by years of practice. We left our car, making sure the keys were in the ignition, just in case we needed to make a rapid exit. For the same reason we left the doors just slightly open. The interior courtesy lights have had the bulbs removed long before we arrived at our parking place. The head lights were covered to prevent reflecting any light beams that came our way. The glass was all tinted dark and non reflective, even the registration plates had been covered with mud. We could not be seen until the viewer was close, If anyone got that close we had problems, bigger problems than being seen. Unlike the prey of the barn owl, our prey could shoot back, if given the opportunity. Our skill and success rate relied on never giving that opportunity. We took up our positions. Since we never want to shoot each other, we never fired from both sides of a target, we always worked ten feet apart but on the same side of the intended objective. As the lane was narrow and twisted and turned, following some long forgotten animal track formed when this had been wild land, the first humans had walked the animal paths and every succeeding generation had done the same until the Romans came and built in straight lines. This lane had never been Romanised, it still meandered about for no apparent reason. We each backed into the edge of the trees. Our wait would soon be over The car came closer. We snaked out a black painted chain of spikes across the road. This was especially made for us, it was light to carry, quick to flick out from its coiled up state. It was basically a whip with spines. We deployed this before the head lights reached us, We had chosen this spot for our ambush because of the bend in the lane, by the time the driver would see the stinger, even if his eyes were on the road close to the front of the car, which was unlikely. It would be too late for him. Driving on unfamiliar country lanes he would be focused on the next bed ahead not the ground ten feet in front of him and even if he did see it, he could not avoid it. They would be travelling relatively slowly since they were unused to country lanes, criminal chauffeurs are not rally drivers and even if there were, the passengers would not tolerate being tossed about in bucking sliding cars, unless being pursued by cops with all lights and sirens going. The stinger did it's job, both front tyres burst the run flat tyres ensured that the car could have kept moving but the sudden deflation slewed the car off the lane and on to the off side grass verge, even this we had planned for and why this corner chosen. The offside wheel sank into the soft mud that had been formed when the field had been ploughed, even a four wheel drive would not simply drive away from this situation. The occupants were all professional gangsters, well used to the violence of their trade but they were all city bred. The dark open countryside was so alien to them that they may as well have been on the moon. I flicked the whip like stinger back out of sight the moment the front wheels had passed over this. The trick, perfected with much practice, was to flick it back before the rear wheels reached it. The driver could not know that both fronts had blown, nor could he see what caused it but they waited and we waited, the sounds from inside the car were muffled, we made no sound, everyone waited. Eventually the driver started to leave the car, the moment the door was open far enough for him to step out I fired a single shot which dropped him, his body pushed the door fully open as if fell outward from the car. As he fell my companion took out the passenger in the front seat, firing through the now open doorway. We now had control of the situation since the passengers in the rear could not get to the steering wheel and drive off without exposing themselves to our weapons. We knew the target car had bullet proof windows and it would be a waste of time and ammunition to simply fire at the car. The car engine was still running but the vehicle was stationary and would remain so, we could not be seen by the occupants while we could see their every move. After another long delay, a courtesy light came on in the back indicting that they had opened the door on the far side from us. I crouched and fired under the car hitting the foot of the target who tried to leave the car, he screamed with pain and fell forward out of the car, leaving the door open. My companion and I both quickly moved to the rear of the car and round it, one disadvantage of a bullet proof car is that you can only shoot out of it by opening a window or door and thus exposing yourself to being shot. We shot through the open rear door and into the squealing cursing man with the smashed up foot. We each emptied a full clip and fitted new full ones to our weapons. We waited, no movement from inside the car, we waited longer and still nothing, so I approached and photographed the corpses; all 5 of them, we walked back to our car, wiped the dirt and mud from our shoes on the grass verge, closed the doors and windows and left driving gently leaving no skid marks or tyre tracks.

A job done; simple and clean, our weapons would be destroyed, no forensics had been left at the scene, our vehicle had false plates, we had no names, and officially we do not exist. The photos would be sent anonymously, to a newspaper. Posted in a London street box with no cameras anywhere near. Out bosses would see the evidence that the objective had been reached and so they could start to find the next job for us.