HKs held one-handed now, relaxed as there was no way that the target could have survived, the boyos knew they had to see the American’s face close up and enjoy the look of peace they had etched into it with lead.
Burke reached for the duvet and roughly pulled it back. He froze. “What the…”
“What is it?” Lowe stepped forward.
“It’s a pig!”
“What, a copper?”
“No a real, fucking, bacon pig!”
“Oh shit!”
Hurriedly both men dived to the floor and slammed new magazines into their HKs. They had been played. The target knew they were coming. Now fear did start to kick in, a feral fear of the hunter turned hunted.
Burke slapped Lowe on the cheek. “Ready?”
Lowe nodded. “Fuck it!”
The element of surprise now gone, all they had left was speed and aggression. The boyos leapt to their feet and as fast as their legs would carry them, exited the room. They reached the landing and each shot a three round burst through the other bedroom doors. If anyone had been waiting to ambush them that would have kept their heads down, if not shot them off. HKs arcing wildly, the pair bounded down the stairs and into the hall. The front door was a too obvious escape route so they made for the kitchen. The house had become eerily silent again and if he hadn’t known better Lowe would have sworn the place was haunted. They reached the kitchen and then Burke saw him. The American was standing wearing only a pair of boxer shorts in the middle of the kitchen. He had a large serrated kitchen knife in his hand and his eyes were wide as he attempted to see in the dark. He turned his head this way and that as he desperately sought out the sounds of the intruders. Lowe brought his HK up but Burked pushed it down and shook his head. If the Yank had wanted to escape he could have just run out of the back door and been away. No, this guy wanted to stay and fight. Burke smiled and then tapped the edge of a cupboard with the muzzle of his HK. The American like a child playing blind man’s bluff took a half step and shakily thrust out the knife. The boyos tried not to laugh. Some people really were eejits. Burke selected single shot on his HK and raised it into the firing position. He’d take out the Yank’s kneecaps first.
A quick smile spread across the American’s face. His eyes narrowed and he looked directly at Burke. “Your flies are undone.”
“W…what?” Burke stammered momentarily taken off guard.
“He can see us!” Lowe blurted out.
Milliseconds later Burke sent a 9mm round rocketing the three meters across the room at the American. Almost instantly there was a spark as the round was batted away by the Sheffield Steel blade of the kitchen knife. Before Burke could fire again the knife embedded itself into his stomach. Burke dropped his weapon as he fell. Lowe depressed his trigger and a burst of 9mm rounds ripped the air where a moment earlier the American had been standing. Lowe felt a huge impact and was then lifted off his feet and hurled through the air. His head collided with the iron AGA and he went limp. Burke tried to pull the bread knife from his stomach; he could feel himself getting dizzy. The American crouched in front of him and looked into his eyes. “Who sent you?”
“Fuck you.”
“No thank you, I prefer my women with breasts.” The American replied.
Burke said nothing as he held his left hand over the puncture wound. He knew it was serious, but he also knew that there would be a day when he would die for the cause. If he didn’t get medical attention he’d bleed out and today would be that day.
As if reading his mind the American spoke. “Tell me who sent you and I’ll get you a doctor.”
Burke was no grass and his unit was no normal PIRA cell. They were the hard-core remnants who were bringing the fight back out into the open again. If he grassed he may save himself but he’d be ending the lives of his family. “What is it you Yanks say, bite me?”
The American allowed himself a smile. “I fully intend to.”
Burke frowned as he saw the American’s mouth open and long canine teeth protrude from his gums. Before he could think or say another word the American was at his neck and his world became black.
As Lowe opened his eyes he felt daggers of pain stab his temples. Gingerly he looked around. His NVG goggles lay broken by his side and his Heckler & Koch MP5SD too was useless, its barrel had been bent sideways. Lowe had no recollection of how this may have happened. His last memory had been shooting at the American and then being lifted into the air. He felt his head; there was a large lump, which was painful to touch. Using the AGA for purchase he pulled himself to his feet as a severe pain hammered at his skull and down his spine. He saw Burke. Lowe drunkenly moved towards his partner who had been laid on the wooden kitchen table. Lowe gaped at Burke’s face with its staring lifeless eyes. The skin was white, devoid of any colour. Then he saw the man’s neck. Two puncture holes neatly sat on the jugular vein. Lowe frowned, what were they…bite marks? He had no time to think about it now. Through the kitchen window Lowe saw that although it was still dark the sky had become a shade of midnight blue and the clouds were just visible overhead. So far the rain had kept away. He did not know how long he had been unconscious but knew that it was time to move. He picked up both of their HKs and put the straps around his shoulders. He then collected the NVGs and secured them to his webbing. He shuddered as he lifted the cold corpse of Burke away from the table and onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The body felt much lighter than he had expected and Lowe found his own energy starting to return. Fuck the Yank, he could have killed them both yet had let him live. Lowe was not going to look a gift-horse in the mouth and barged the backdoor open. He staggered across the farmyard, down the drive and to the road beyond. Someone would pay for this; he would make sure that they did. Using his anger to power his legs, Lowe was able to almost jog with Burke over his shoulder. Just under five minutes later he was manhandling Burke’s body into the Land Rover. Lowe sat behind the wheel and saw himself in the rear-view mirror. His eyes were red-rimmed. He exhaled heavily and started up the Defender.
The diesel engine was loud in the deserted lane. He pulled away quickly, tyres scrabbling in the mud before they gripped the tarmac and propelled the vehicle forward. On the horizon in front of him the orange glow of dawn had appeared.