Chapter 2
The OH-Blackhawk touched-down at the foot of a very long mountain range in Iraq. Apparently Kareem Adid-Kabul wasn’t very good at finding ‘loyal’ henchmen. At the sight of a US gun barrel between his eyes, one rebel spilled everything he knew about Adid-Kabul. To make certain that the operation went smoothly Hunt and Whitman were sent on the mission. Just the two of them.
Hunt most certainly considered Whitman his friend, however he’d never tell him that. They’d been through a lot together and they had pulled through together, in many ways they were more like brothers. Hunt lead the way as the Blackhawk lifted off, and the two assassins went into the night. They moved quickly and swiftly. With their heightened senses they were aware of every mine, trap, and dangerous animal that lay in their path. For what seemed like hopurs, but in reality was only twenty minutes, the two stopped behind a boulder, only to peek over and see their destination.
“There it is,” Whitman said. He wiped his forehead. It was drenched in sweat. Hunt did likewise and loogied a three-footer.
“Would you like the honors, Mr. Whitman?” Hunt asked sarcastically.
“No, no, I insist, Mr. Hunt,” Whitman said. A wicked smile crossed his face. Hunt wanted to hit him every time that smile popped up. A good clock in the jaw ought to stop that smile. He never did though. Someday it would happen, just not today. Hunt pulled out a grenade, pulled the pin and threw it at the small hut on the mountain side.
KABOOM!!!!
Rocks and debris flew everywhere. Islamic rebels appeared from random crevices and caves to inspect the noise. The fact that their base had been discovered shocked them into a standing paralysis, because for the first few seconds pf the assassin’s fire, the rebs just stood in amazement. Then, gathering their wit, they opened fire as well. Whitman and Hunt took cover behind separate rocks. With their sensitive ears, they hears the clicks of a rocket launcher being readied. They looked at each other, and dashed.
Like lightning the two ran from over just as the rockets were launched and the space where the two assassin soldiers had been were nothing more than dark craters. The abilities of the two Americans stunned the rebels. Hunt pulled his .45’s and nailed his targets as he ran passed. Whitman emptied his M-16, and then pulled his hunting knife and ripped away at all threats in his way.
They moved way to fast for the twenty or so rebels to keep up with them in the confined area. As Whitman tore through their skin with his knife like he would a steak on a nice evening out with his wife, he could smell the fear they were experiencing. He could hear their hearts beat their lasts as he moved towards them. Hunt could hear the scraping of metals as his guns were constantly loading and unloading. He heard them whip through the air and penetrate the soft flesh of his enemies.
Chaos was everywhere. Dirt and sand flew up everywhere. The blood would have been enough to satisfy a family of thirsty vampires. As Whitman would blow past to slice at his enemies, a random cut would be made at his arm from the enemy lines. Such things only angered and frustrated him. Which only made him more determined to kill, and he got deadlier with each blow that hit him.
Hunt blasted away, and when his .45 lost all ammo, he dropped his guns and whipped out his hunting knife as well. He charged into the group and had his way with their putrid flesh. He and Whitman finished off the rest of them.. Soon only one rebel stood in their way of the really huge door they made with the grenade. Realizing he couldn’t possibly win, the only reble left, dropped his weapon and began to run away. Both Whitman and Hunt pinched the very point of their bladed as threw them at the target. Two knives penetrated the rebel’s back and he fell over, dead.
Whitman pulled his .45’s. “Let’s go,” he said.
Hunt swung the M-16 off of his back. He prepped it and said, “You’re on.”
The two marched straight into the hideout with every intention of getting the last kill.
Hunt most certainly considered Whitman his friend, however he’d never tell him that. They’d been through a lot together and they had pulled through together, in many ways they were more like brothers. Hunt lead the way as the Blackhawk lifted off, and the two assassins went into the night. They moved quickly and swiftly. With their heightened senses they were aware of every mine, trap, and dangerous animal that lay in their path. For what seemed like hopurs, but in reality was only twenty minutes, the two stopped behind a boulder, only to peek over and see their destination.
“There it is,” Whitman said. He wiped his forehead. It was drenched in sweat. Hunt did likewise and loogied a three-footer.
“Would you like the honors, Mr. Whitman?” Hunt asked sarcastically.
“No, no, I insist, Mr. Hunt,” Whitman said. A wicked smile crossed his face. Hunt wanted to hit him every time that smile popped up. A good clock in the jaw ought to stop that smile. He never did though. Someday it would happen, just not today. Hunt pulled out a grenade, pulled the pin and threw it at the small hut on the mountain side.
KABOOM!!!!
Rocks and debris flew everywhere. Islamic rebels appeared from random crevices and caves to inspect the noise. The fact that their base had been discovered shocked them into a standing paralysis, because for the first few seconds pf the assassin’s fire, the rebs just stood in amazement. Then, gathering their wit, they opened fire as well. Whitman and Hunt took cover behind separate rocks. With their sensitive ears, they hears the clicks of a rocket launcher being readied. They looked at each other, and dashed.
Like lightning the two ran from over just as the rockets were launched and the space where the two assassin soldiers had been were nothing more than dark craters. The abilities of the two Americans stunned the rebels. Hunt pulled his .45’s and nailed his targets as he ran passed. Whitman emptied his M-16, and then pulled his hunting knife and ripped away at all threats in his way.
They moved way to fast for the twenty or so rebels to keep up with them in the confined area. As Whitman tore through their skin with his knife like he would a steak on a nice evening out with his wife, he could smell the fear they were experiencing. He could hear their hearts beat their lasts as he moved towards them. Hunt could hear the scraping of metals as his guns were constantly loading and unloading. He heard them whip through the air and penetrate the soft flesh of his enemies.
Chaos was everywhere. Dirt and sand flew up everywhere. The blood would have been enough to satisfy a family of thirsty vampires. As Whitman would blow past to slice at his enemies, a random cut would be made at his arm from the enemy lines. Such things only angered and frustrated him. Which only made him more determined to kill, and he got deadlier with each blow that hit him.
Hunt blasted away, and when his .45 lost all ammo, he dropped his guns and whipped out his hunting knife as well. He charged into the group and had his way with their putrid flesh. He and Whitman finished off the rest of them.. Soon only one rebel stood in their way of the really huge door they made with the grenade. Realizing he couldn’t possibly win, the only reble left, dropped his weapon and began to run away. Both Whitman and Hunt pinched the very point of their bladed as threw them at the target. Two knives penetrated the rebel’s back and he fell over, dead.
Whitman pulled his .45’s. “Let’s go,” he said.
Hunt swung the M-16 off of his back. He prepped it and said, “You’re on.”
The two marched straight into the hideout with every intention of getting the last kill.