The Veteran

I hadn't given myself time to think. In one week, my entire life had been turned upside down, and now I was on the run. They had information about me, and I had nothing on them. I had to leave town for a while until I wrapped my head around this.

With everything that had happened this evening, it was going on 2300, and the highway traffic was sparse heading north out of Tampa, most of it making its way in for the weekend nightlife. Thoughts of my wife and kids swirled about in my head, and I felt lost, almost helpless. This had, as one of my Master Chiefs used to say, turned into a major clusterfuck. This night was a prime example of why I had quit doing this.

I put some miles between home and me and the night enveloped us. The familiar darkness crept into my head, the emotionless void I had long since buried now began to permeate my thoughts. Jake must have sensed something. He moved closer and nuzzled his cool, moist snout into my hand. He had always been a good boy, calming me with his presence, even though he wasn't an official therapy dog. He had been my companion going on four years, and although he favored Mary and the kids more, he was always present when I needed him. Whenever something was wrong, he somehow knew. I found myself slipping back, starting to think like I had so many years ago, but found my mind wasn't built for it anymore. I wasn't sure how much more I could take, but Mary and the boys were counting on me. I had no choice but to handle everything thrown my way, as I had always done. I was alone in this fight. I needed help but had few people to turn to. I found a rest area ahead, not far from Ocala, based on the road signs.

Should be safe enough.

Only Agent Harper and our friend Jan were aware of what I was driving. I didn't believe either would tell anyone which would give me a higher level of anonymity. A few minutes passed, and I pulled the S.U.V. into the rest area, parking in the dark areas where the lights didn't reach well. Jake sat up and began pawing at the door.

"Of course, you have to pee. Right there with you, buddy."

With no leash, so I let him out the passenger door and followed him to the grassy area where he did his business. Watching him pee made me need to go more, and now here I was a fifty-five-year-old man, doing the pee-pee dance in a rest stop parking lot. I got Jake back in the S.U.V., cracked the windows and locked the doors. I checked my pistol and trotted to the bathrooms which were closed. Back to the grassy knoll. I found a tree and emptied my bladder with much relief.

Now that my head was feeling a little less cloudy, I reached into my pocket for my smokes.

Don't ever light a cigarette in the dark. The bad guys can see it up to a mile away.

My thoughts flashed back to my training. I hadn't smoked back then, but little phrases like that had been ingrained in our minds, and here it was again, right at the front. The months of training, pushing myself past points where I never thought I could go. The training was ten percent physical and ninety percent mental. After I finished, I realized it was ninety percent heart, because if your heart wasn't in it, you would wash out. Many quit. Of a starting class of eighty, fifteen remained. The months of rigorous physical exercise, pushing us beyond what we thought was the edge of human endurance, days upon days of no sleep, and the impossible pace at which we had to learn how to become the United States' most elite operators was close to overwhelming, but we did it together. It was about the team. It was the whole, the sum of all individuals, all integral parts of the machine, working together to complete the grueling tasks of shaping ourselves into the most feared warriors on the face of the planet. I remembered it all, every detail of those days, as the memories rushing past the now open floodgates in my mind, left me dizzy, overwhelmed by the past, coupled with the events of the past week.

Damn it, John. Get your shit together.

I steadied myself and walked toward the truck. Jake was staring out of the window at me. It was like he sensed something was wrong with me. Maybe it was my imagination, he was just a dog, but damn it, he was my dog.

I pulled the pack of smokes from my pocket and realized that in the craziness of the day, I hadn't stopped to grab more. I had one left. Shit. I pulled it out of the pack, straightened the crumpled stem and lit it, breathing in the nicotine that helped keep me a little more human. At least I wasn't an alcoholic like so many vets I knew. I had seen many friends waste away from drugs or alcohol, some succumbing to their own minds and ending their lives. I realized a long time ago I was either too vain or too scared to take my own life. I couldn't let down those who cared about me, but it still pained me every day to think of all the friends I had lost; those who weren't able to find the help they needed, or it became too much for them to deal with.

The pity party was over. I had shit to do. I fired up the S.U.V., patted Jake on the head and remarked, "Well, boy. Time to get down to business." I could've sworn he nodded.

The miles passed, riding the darkness like a surfer rides the waves, trying to stay ahead of the encroaching tsunami. We stopped at the first truck stop we came to a little less than twenty miles down the road. I bought a whole carton of smokes, a large cup of coffee, one of those energy drinks that's supposed to keep you awake, along with snacks for both of us. We hit the road and bypassed most cities, stopping for a quick bite, gas or bathroom break, when necessary. As dawn approached, I realized we had traveled 400 miles. Not as many as I wanted, but with Jake, we had to stop more often. Although still about 900 miles away from them, going to Mary and the boys was a bad idea.

As the clock approached 0500, I texted Mary on the burner phone to see if she was awake. A few minutes later, the phone rang from an unknown number. I answered. It was Mary.

"Where are you?"

"It's best you not know. They were waiting for me at the house. Before you say anything, I'm ok. I had to leave town. It was just too dangerous for me to stay." I couldn't bring myself to tell her I had killed them in our house; she had a hard enough time with the first two. I didn't need to add any more fuel to that emotional fire.

Silence filled the line for a few seconds.

"What do you mean, waiting for you in the house? They were in our house?"

"Yes, they were in our house. Jake was outside, thank God."

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine, tired is all. I've been driving all night and needed sleep. The FBI is handling things at home. They thought it best that I leave town and find someplace safe until they can put together a protection detail."

"Ok. The kids and I are fine; Diego stopped by and has been checking on us. Mom and Dad are fine, and we're not leaving the house for anything. The neighbors have been bringing us groceries and anything else we need, and we're as safe as we can be."

"I'm glad and would love nothing better than to come to you and the kids, but you need some time," my words trailing off, not knowing how far I could go.

"You aren't just saying that, are you?"

"No, Mary, I'm not. Whether you believe me or not. I understand. This shit has gotten way out of control, and it's been hard for you. This whole situation caught us off guard, and I guess I expected you to handle it like I would have and that was wrong,"

"If it makes you feel any better, Diego and I had a talk about this stuff, and I understand a little better now. I don't like it, and I don't think I'll ever get used to it, but I kind of understand it now. You do what you have to do. The boys and I will be here until then."

Whatever Diego told her, I owed him. Most of the time, he stuck his foot in his mouth, but I was glad this wasn't one of those times.

"I'm going dark and getting as much information as I can about these guys. I'll be doing things I haven't done in many years, and I'm not happy about it."

"I understand. He explained it to me."

I hadn't expected Diego to run interference for me, but I was glad he did. I told her I loved her, ended our call, and called Diego.

"Diego, this is John."

"What's shakin, amigo? Where you at?"

"I'm Oscar Mike, and I can't tell you that. Thanks for keeping an eye on Mary and the boys for me. I really appreciate you talking with her. Things seem a little better."

"I told you, man. She needs some time. This shit hasn't been easy for her to wrap her head around. She's a smart girl, and once I explained a few things. She doesn’t like this shit at all, but she understands a little better. And yeah, thanks aren't necessary. I got your six."

"Always and likewise. What's the situation, old friend?"

"Who the fuck are you calling old, you grumpy bitch?"

"Fuck you, asshole. So, what's going on?"

He chuckled. "Everything is cool. Mac and I have been on overwatch since you called me. All clear. Not a peep."

"Good and I hope it stays that way. I've got some major tango problems on my end. Russian Mafia and skinheads. Neck deep in shit, Diego."

"Fuck, man. For those motherfuckers to be up your ass, you had to have stepped on someone's dick. What about the feds? Are they involved yet?"

"Yep, the bureau is looking into it, and after tonight, I had to shake and fuckin bake out of town. I can't trust anyone for now...except you and Mac, of course. I'm going to need some help. I got plenty of cash and firepower, but no base to work from. I'm flying blind and have no intel whatsoever on any of these guys. I'm like a blind man at a fuckin peep show. I'm sending you some pics of the Tangos. Let me know what you can come up with."

"Ok. Let me make some calls and try to pull something together for you. I still have some contacts at the NSA and if anyone knows anything, they will. I'll call you back in a few hours."

"Copy that. Talk to you then."

If Diego hadn't been there, my options would have been severely limited. He was one of a handful of people who were able to help. I glanced at the clock, and with the sun reaching a few notches above the horizon, the tiredness hit me. I had been driving most of the night, and I needed sleep. The road signs showed lodging a few miles away. I exited the interstate and found my way to a little hole in the wall motel a mile or so off the highway. What a dump, but they didn't ask any questions. I paid in cash and asked for a room on the back of the property where prying eyes wouldn't interfere. I entered the room and threw my backpack on the bed. I wanted to relax, but I couldn't have curious eyes finding what I had in the back of the S.U.V., so I used a blanket from the room and covered it.

Jake was waiting for me by the door, and a man approached. It was the clerk.

"You didn't say you had a dog. We don't allow dogs here."

I reached into my pocket, pulled out five twenties, and handed them to him.

"Is that enough for you not to see this?"

"See what?"

He turned and walked away, stuffing the money into his pocket.

This place was too cheap for the electronic locks, for which I was glad. I put the key in the door, and then snapped it off in the lock. Nobody would get in unless they broke the door down, and I didn't plan on leaving until I was ready. I closed and locked the door. Although the place looked like something from the '50s on the outside, the room wasn't bad. I moved my backpack to the chair and stripped down. I hadn't showered in two days, and I reeked to high heaven. I think Jake appreciated my shower more than I did.

I stood under the hot water as the steam filled the bathroom. The exhaust fan didn't work, but I didn't care. The heat helped me relax, and I felt the aches and pains of the past few days start to let up as the water pounded my skin. How long I was in there, I couldn't say, but I began to drift off. One moment I was standing under the spray and the next, my head slammed into the wall.

Idiot...

I was exhausted. I stepped out and into the dressing area, looking at my worn and tattered body. I had put on a few pounds but was in decent shape. A little bulge around the middle, but I still looked pretty good, at least that's what Mary told me, and she was the one that mattered. I stared at the scars, from wounds past, the years of running and living hard showing their marks on me. I was a warrior tapestry, woven together with sinewy muscle fibers, healed broken bones and scar tissue, all intertwined to make this old body still function. I needed sleep.

Before I dozed off, I texted Mary and Diego to inform them I was crashing, and I was safe. Everyone else would wait. Jake curled up at the foot of the bed and fell asleep before I did, his snoring somehow a comfort to me.

I didn't sleep long, roused by Jake pawing at the door. That damn dog had to piss more than any animal I ever had. At least he didn't piss on the floor. I threw on a pair of shorts, and with my Beretta in hand, I went to open the door and let him out.

The force of the blast threw us across the room, and Jake took the brunt as he was slammed into my torso. The impact dazed me, causing me to drop my weapon. Jake was lying on the floor, not moving and I had a hard time focusing.

What in the hell happened?

Then I realized. Shape charge on the door.

Two figures came rushing in, both with compact submachine guns and they opened fire. I had no time, and I rolled into the bathroom, watching the rounds slam into the wall where I had been.

How the fuck did they find me?

I dove into the tub, hoping it would shield me as the bullets penetrated the wall and struck the tile above, sending shards of sharp tile raining down. I knew they were close but would need to reload. I scrambled from the tub, ripping the metal towel rack from the wall. I would make it work. I lunged into the room and was met by a huge dude, who outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, and I was no small guy. I love old hotel rooms. Their fixtures are solid, and I came down across his knee with the towel rack. He cried out in pain, crumpling to the floor, dropping his weapon. The second guy wasn't so dumb, keeping his distance, and fired. He got lucky. One round tore through my left bicep, sending blinding tendrils of pain up my arm, which coalesced in my brain, taking me to the edge of blacking out.

Son of a bitch, that hurt.

I put the big guy between his partner and me, snatched the fat man's weapon from the floor, and unleashed a hail of bullets across the room. Talk about spray and pray.

I got lucky. I didn't care how many rounds hit that asshole, but he crumpled to the floor. The big guy was still very much alive, and I put the gun to his head and fired, spraying his brains all over the room. I slumped to the floor and looked over at Jake. He was breathing, but otherwise not moving. I pushed fat ass out my way and crawled to him, my arm protesting from any pressure I put on it. I checked his body, and with nothing seeming out of whack, I hoped he would be ok.

Someone's phone was tapped, and they had used it to find me. I would need to find the source, but the first order of business was my arm.

My arm throbbed, like thousands of tiny needles digging into my flesh. It didn't look too bad, but I was no medic, knowing enough not to kill people. I couldn't afford to take any chances with a wound like this. I stepped back into the shower and let the water run in the open wound. That was a huge mistake. My knees buckled, and I saw bright flashes as the water hit the exposed flesh. After I was sure I wasn't going to pass out, I looked at the wound. The round had gone all the way through. I needed to make sure no infection set in. I didn't have a first aid kit and needed medical supplies ASAP. I was sure the headlines would read, 'Man pursued by Russian Mafia and skinheads - killed by sepsis.' Nope, not today. I had to make a quick exit. I was sure someone had heard the explosion.

I stepped from the shower and dried off. I used one of my t-shirts and tied a makeshift bandage around my arm. A few minutes had passed, and I was relieved to see Jake moving, looking at me with one of those, 'what the fuck hit me' kind of looks.

"I know what you mean, old buddy. I feel like shit too!"

I pulled the numbers I needed out of the phone and smashed it to pieces, dumping them in the trash.

I finished dressing and stuffed all my shit in my bag. I pulled out my good phone, snapped some pictures of their faces and tattoos; I would use the images later. I searched their bodies, gathered my belongings and their weapons, and with Jake close behind, headed out to the S.U.V. I would need to cut off all communication to make sure I wasn't tracked.

I scanned the parking lot, and with no abnormal activity, I loaded the SUV and Jake jumped inside. He was acting skittish, and I wasn't comfortable either. Staying in one place too long was a luxury we couldn't afford. I hit the interstate, heading northeast, needing to put some distance between the hotel and me. I didn't even stop by the office. I guess I'd lost that room deposit. I made a note of the address and called Agent Harper.

"Harper, John Hunter. I need your help," as pain shot through my bicep, attempting to keep the phone to my ear.

"What happened, Mr. Hunter, and where are you?"

"I'm about three hours southeast of Atlanta. I had stopped at a hotel for some rest, and two guys blew the door off my room and tried to kill me. I'm pretty sure they're Russian. They winged me, but I can manage it. I left their bodies in the room and had to bug out. I'm the road again," I said.

"What's the address?"

I gave him the address, and he said he would contact the local P.D. to tell what happened, and he would send someone from the Atlanta office to check out the scene. He wanted me to go back and talk to their agent, but I refused.

"I can't do that, Harper. That's twice in two days they found me. Somebody's phone is bugged or tapped, or they're finding me some other way. I can't risk it. I'm going dark for a few days, but I don't need the police on my ass for something I didn't do. I hope you can help."

"I'll do my best. You're in a shitty situation, but there's not much we can do if you don't come in to talk to us. I can pull only so many strings before my bosses start asking questions. I need you to work with me on this."

"I appreciate what you're doing Harper, but I can't do that. The first thing I need to do is patch up my arm. I'm injured and need to stop the bleeding. If I go to a hospital, they'll ask a lot of questions. Questions I don't have time for. If they've found me once, going to a hospital would be like drawing flies to shit. I'll contact you after I've had a chance to find someplace safe."

I was losing blood, and although not arterial, if I was to remain coherent, I couldn't afford to lose more.

"I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises. Keep me in the loop," he said and ended the call. He was following his regulations, and I was following my instincts. They weren't lining up, and I sensed the frustration in his voice.

We drove for about ten miles, and there were signs for a small country hospital. They would recognize gunshot wound and ask a lot of questions, and I couldn't risk the exposure. So, a bigger city was my best bet; more people, more anonymity.

We left the interstate near Perry, Georgia, and I found one of those chain drug stores, the one Mary and I shopped at back home. I bought some wound seal powder, some bandages, painkillers, alcohol, peroxide and some other first aid shit, and remembered I had an unfilled prescription for antibiotics. I asked the pharmacist if I could refill it, knowing it might give my position away. The pharmacist looked up the record and stated two refills remained. I asked if he could do both because I was traveling to remote areas and wouldn't have access to a pharmacy for a while. With much reluctance, he agreed, and fifteen minutes later I had the antibiotics and popped half the bottle, hoping to stave off any infection, as I walked to the S.U.V.

I pulled the S.U.V. over to the far side of the parking lot and removed the makeshift bandage. It reopened the wound, reigniting the smoldering embers in my bicep. The wound showed the first stages of infection, redness around the edges. Not a good sign. I had lost a fair amount of blood needed fluids. Stopping the infection was my first priority. I couldn't risk letting it get out of control and hoped the antibiotics would be effective.

Gritting my teeth, I poured the alcohol into the open wound. The words "Fuck me" flew out of my mouth, and I bit down on my bottom lip, letting out a muffled scream, trying to push back the darkness that threatened to overcome me. As the pain subsided, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least the wound was clean. I applied the wound seal, which should stop the bleeding, and used the new bandage. Not the best job I had ever done, but it was my own fucking arm. I needed rest and had to find someplace to hole up. I was in no shape to do any good for anyone, including myself. I must have been hallucinating. I could've sworn Jake looked at me as if I was an idiot.

We hit the interstate and continued driving, but the combination of pain and lack of sleep threatened to overcome me. It wasn't long before I found another rest area, ten miles up the road, the safest locations thus far. My body begged for sleep, and I pulled the S.U.V. between two big rigs, hoping to avoid any detection. I popped a few Tylenol and drifted off to sleep. I wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but the sun was starting to set as I woke, and Jake laid there next to me, waiting, exhibiting the patience of a saint. The burning in my arm wasn't as severe, which meant the infection had slowed. I needed fluids, the dryness in my mouth and cramps in my muscles indicating severe dehydration wasn't far off.

This rest area was one of those information centers that had round-the-clock service and with a gift shop and complimentary coffee. I poured a cup of coffee and bought a half-dozen bottles of water. I was sure Jake was thirsty and let him drink as much as he wanted from one of the bottles before we headed back to the S.U.V. I popped six of the antibiotics and washed them down with the rest of one of the bottles of water. Neither of us had eaten in over a day, and I poured some of his food on the ground. He gulped it down which reminded me of how hungry I was. This would mean another, but necessary stop. I would need all the energy I could muster to heal from this wound.

We climbed back into the S.U.V., and I reached for the other burner phone as we pulled out of the rest area. I had to exercise caution calling people. Two numbers were safe, Jones' and my wife's burner phone. The rest were suspect until proven otherwise. I called my wife, and she answered.

"Mary, it's me," not giving her a chance to talk.

"John, where are you? Are you ok?"

"I can't tell you and not really, but I will be. I need you to do something for me. You need to tell Diego to lose his phone, ASAP."

"Why, John? What happened?"

I didn't want to tell her what happened, but the whole "never lying to her" thing kept me honest. Truth can be painful. She knew something was wrong.

"They found me at a hotel, and they got me in the arm, and Jake got pretty banged up, but we're ok and were able to make it out intact. If they can find me, they can find you and Diego, which is why you must destroy your phones now. You have this number, so write it down, call Diego, and then destroy your phone. He'll buy you a new one. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Yes, I understand. I'll do it, but what you do you mean, they got you in the arm?"

"They got off a lucky shot and hit me in the arm. I'm alright for now."

"They shot you?" Her voice took a sharp crescendo.

"Yes, but I'm fine. It could have been worse, but I got this, Mary. I need you to contact Diego and turn those damned phones off."

I tried to downplay my wound, but she wasn't buying it.

"John, are you sure you're ok? Shouldn't you go to the doctor or a hospital?"

"I said I'm fine, honey. I stopped the bleeding and got some antibiotics, but I can't risk going to a doctor and having this reported. There'd be too many questions I don't have answers for, and I don't want to get the local law enforcement involved. I spoke with Agent Harper, and the FBI is looking into it. He said he'll help as much as he can, but I don't trust anyone except for you and Diego."

"Can you do one thing for me?"

"Sure, anything."

"John, I don't care what you have to do anymore. If it means you have to kill them to stay alive, you do it. Those bastards ever hurt my dog again; I want you to hunt them down and make them regret they even met us."

Her dog? Well, damn, and I thought it was all about me, and I chuckled, the movement reminding me of the hole in my arm, and I winced.

"What the hell is so damned funny?" I could tell by her tone she was irritated at my laughter.

"You. Your dog? Really? What the fuck am I?"

"You know what I mean. Do what you have to do and stay alive."

The stress of this past week's events caught up with us, and the tension eased in her voice, the laughter providing a brief reprieve. It was something I hadn't done in a long time. We couldn't risk staying on the phone too long, so I told her I would check in with her every so often.

She agreed to contact Diego, buy another burner phone, and text me from the new one. She was frightened and worried, but I didn't want to end our conversation on a bad note, which had been happening too much. I told I loved her and that I would call back later after I got her message. I didn't wait for a response and ended the call. It wasn't long before I received a text from a new number. It was Diego.

I was still at a disadvantage, lacking information on my pursuers. I sent the pictures of the guys from the hotel to Diego's new number and then called.

"Hey bro. What's shakin?"

"I sent you some pics. I need you to find out who they are. They ambushed me in my hotel room. I'm not sure how they found me, but I think someone's phone is tapped. They used a shape charge to blow open the door to my room, so they're not amateurs. They got me in the arm, but it went straight through."

"Ok. I got the pics. I'll see what I can do. You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Hurts like a bitch, but not the worst I've ever had. I need to stay Oscar Mike. The bureau's looking into it, but I'm not sure how much help they'll be. That Harper guy is trying though. Any word on the other two?"

"Yeah, but not much. Russian skinheads, both did time in Attica for some heavy shit. Both spent time in Russian prisons, so they're hardcore. They weren't fucking around when they sent those two. You've got yourself mixed up with some bad people, amigo, but I got nothing else. We're hearing rumors, but that's it. The Russians are tight-lipped about this."

"Anything else you got that can help?"

"I got nothing, bro. My contacts at the NSA can't pull anything up except the standard shit, so we're out of luck, but I'll keep trying. "

"Thanks, Diego. Gotta run."

He was right. I now had intel on what I was up against, as much as that didn't help. If they found me once, chances were high they would find me again. I had to get back on the road.