Extensis Vitae - By Gregory Mattix Page 0,7

Reznik’s double tap.

The sound of gunfire rang out from somewhere outside the farmhouse. Shouts and curses tore through the quiet of the night, and then an explosion nearby.

“Clear,” Combs said over the radio.

Reznik surveyed the hostages briefly. They were dirty and looked like they had been beaten, but were now alert after the sudden commotion. He heard a grunt and a crash behind him.

“Nash?” Reznik asked. Spinning around, he barely held his fire as he saw Nash wrestling with a jihadist up against the wall.

The attacker had a large hunting knife almost at Nash’s throat and clearly had him off-balance. Reznik had started toward them when they staggered sideways onto a flimsy table, which collapsed beneath their weight. The jihadist’s knife came up and Reznik saw the blood on the blade.

“No!” he shouted as he leaped toward them. Before the jihadist could stab again, Reznik caught his wrist in an iron grip. He let the MP-5 drop on its sling as his other hand pulled out his KA-BAR. He drove the wickedly sharp blade into the base of the man’s skull and up into the brain stem. The life instantly left the attacker, and he dropped like a rag doll.

“Everyone okay?” Combs and Jefferson came through the doorway from the front room.

Reznik leaned over to check on Nash. He could see pain on his friend’s face, but his mouth was a hard line of determination.

“It’s nothing. Fucker got me in the shoulder. Son of a bitch! I’ll be laid up for a month from this shit!” Reznik offered Nash a hand and pulled him to his feet. Nash kicked his dead attacker in anger and muttered some more curses. “Thanks, buddy,” he said to Reznik.

“No problem. Although it looks like you’ll be buying the first round this time!” Reznik slapped him on the back, making Nash wince. “How many did you two get?” he asked Combs.

“Just the one in the front room. Looks like there’s some intel for DOCEX to pick up. Laptop and a couple cell phones. Bunch of papers, too.”

“Nice.” Reznik looked around. “Awfully quiet outside. Guess the show must be over, huh?”

“All clear in here,” Nash called into the mic. “What’s your status, Sarge?”

“All clear. HVT secured and tangos down. What’s the status on the hostages?”

“They have a little wear and tear, but all six should be good to go.”

“Roger that. Everyone fall in on the farmhouse except over-watch.”

After that, it was just clean up. The hostages were untied and tended to, the house was cleared of any possible intel, and the Black Hawk was called in for extraction.

As they were waiting for the chopper, the squad sat on the porch of the farmhouse. Nash took a big pinch of dip and stuffed it in his lip. The medic had bandaged his shoulder despite his complaints.

The captive High Value Target sat against the wall nearby, his wrists zip-tied behind his back and a black hood over his head. An operator stood facing him in case he tried anything. As soon as they made it back to base, the CIA would probably whisk him away and make him disappear into their black prison system. Either that, or the bastard would be stacked naked in a terrorist pyramid by some corn-fed reservists out of West Virginia, Reznik thought. Either way, he wouldn’t feel badly about it.

“Went pretty smoothly, I’d say,” Combs said.

“Yeah, except for dipshit here getting his ass jumped by that raghead in there,” Jefferson taunted.

“Screw you,” came Nash’s reply.

Reznik was more interested in the hostages than the banter. Although they all wore uniforms, two of them were clearly civilians from their looks and mannerisms. The four soldiers sat silently in a circle while the two civilians talked in hushed tones. The older man was clearly in charge, the younger civilian nodding and occasionally offering a reply. The older man got to his feet as the platoon sergeant called out, “Chopper will be here in ten mikes.”

The man made his way over to where the four of them sat. “Gentlemen, I’m Gerald Black, DARPA Special Projects.” He was probably in his late fifties, with a beard and bent glasses that hung crookedly on his nose. “I’d just like to thank you all for saving our lives.” His face was bruised and dried blood was on his chin from a split lip, but his blue eyes burned with sharp intelligence. He extended his hand.

Reznik and the others shook it and muttered their replies.

“If there’s ever anything I can do