Page 43 of Duty Bound

There it was again.

Footsteps.

The trees and foliage had a way of distorting sound, so it was hard to pinpoint their exact location, but he thought there were two of them. Two distinct voices talking in Pashto. Careless and unaware, a sound out of place amongst the natural melody of the forest.

In these mountains, there were many rural communities and tribes. Of course, the most likely scenario was they were Taliban fighters, or sympathizers, but they could also be local farmers who felt it was in their best interests to assist in the search for two westerners on the run.

Slowly, Blade got to his feet, his weapon ready. He held it with practiced ease, the barrel pointed safely toward the ground but ready to be brought to bear in an instant. His finger rested alongside the trigger guard, but the safety was off.

He was ready.

He inched forward, his movements deliberate, keeping to the denser foliage. It offered heavier camouflage but also obscured his view.

Another rustle, louder now. The adversary was moving closer.

There!

He was right.

Two turbaned men in flowing robes having a smoke. He crouched down and watched for a while, thinking if they moved on, away from their hiding place, it might be okay.

Unfortunately—for them—they didn’t.

As they turned, Blade noticed an AK-47 hanging off the one man’s shoulder. It had been hidden amongst his robes, escaping immediate notice.

His mind cleared with only one thought present.

Neutralize.

Blade slunk through the undergrowth, not making a sound, until he was directly behind the two men. He could gun them down right here, right now, but the noise would be deafening. It would alert anyone else nearby that something had gone down.

One of the men flicked his cigarette butt on the ground, said something to his friend, and disappeared around a tree to take a leak. Blade watched as he leaned his weapon against a tree.

Big mistake.

In a fluid motion, he drew his knife. He’d always preferred it as a weapon. Silent, efficient, deadly. It was his proficiency with the weapon that had earned him his nickname in the unit.

With a swift motion, he was upon his enemy, one hand clamping down on the mouth to silence any potential outcry, the other drawing the blade across the throat in a swift, merciful action.

The man made a soft gurgling sound then crumpled to the ground. Blade supported his weight to prevent any noise, then he melted back into the forest.

The second guy was easy to locate. He paced back and forth, clearly agitated, weapon over his shoulder, no thought to the noise he was making.

He called for his friend but got no reply, so after making an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, he went looking for him.

Blade followed.

Before the man reached the lifeless body of his friend, Blade pounced. There was no warning, no prelude. His knife found its mark with a precision that was almost surgical, slicing through flesh and sinew with ease.

This time, no sound. Not even a gurgle.

Blade laid the second man to rest beside his comrade, then pulled some foliage over them to prevent anyone finding them soon. He buried the two rifles inside a dense, prickly bush, where it was unlikely they’d be found.

The forest was silent again.

Still, their position had been compromised. These two might be missed, and he didn’t want a search party of fighters combing the woods near his and Lily’s hiding spot. It was time to move on.

He went back to the camp to wake her.

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