//------------------------------//
// Chapter ten: Boots on the ground 
// Story: Soldier of Equestria 
// by Silver-Spirits-and-Ales 
//------------------------------//

Listen up, Brian," said Jennings, walking into the room, and placing a dossier on the table amidst the neatly organised equipment. But Brian was nowhere to be seen. He looked around the room. "Brian?" Then, he laid his eyes on a cardboard box, which was sitting in the corner of the room. "Found you," he said, bemused.

Brian emerged from under the box, and sat down on his chair, trying hard not to laugh at his own joke. "Oldest trick in the book," he sniggered. 

"Uh-huh," said Jennings, sitting in front of Brian. "Right. We're finalising the preparations for this op, and we'll be ready to go in about a week. So I'm gonna brief you."

"Go ahead," said Brian, picking up his Colt 1911 and practising his reload technique.

"Alright. This op is going to be a bit like Operation Toccata, back in '05. You remember?"

"Yeah," said Brian, ejecting an empty mag and quickly inserting another. "Five of us jumping into the AO to recover a VIP before extracting via helicopter." He pulled back the slide.

"Precisely," responded Jennings. "The only catch is that you're going in solo. The politically sensitive nature of this mission means that backup isn't an option. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"So we'll be dropping you into the AO, about five miles south of Bachmeyer's base. You'll be getting in, killing him, and heading out. Understood?"

"Yeah," said Brian.

"The finer details are in this dossier," said Jennings. "The broad strokes are as follows: first off, Bachmeyer is more connected, armed and dangerous than his father ever was, so security will be tight. Impossibly tight. Secondly, he knows we're coming, he's expecting you, and he's probably studied you. Your strengths, weaknesses, everything. Don't underestimate him. Thirdly, I can't stress how important this mission is. My fate, yours, the director of the CIA's fate... maybe even the Queen is relying on you."

"No pressure, eh?" asked Brian.

"You know what they say... pressure can turn coal into diamonds," retorted Jennings.

"Really?" asked Brian, surprised.

Jennings was about to crack a disdainful remark at Brian, but remembered that the man had barely been to school in his life. "Well at least, I think so... but anyway, about your request."

"I'm all ears," responded Brian, expectantly.

"I worked a few favors, and we were able to fulfil it. She's waiting outside. Whenever you're ready..."

"Alright," said Brian.

Jennings opened the office door, and stepped aside as Rose Havelock entered, before leaving the room..

The girl looked at her father. "Hi, dad," she smiled.

"Hi, Rose," answered Brian. He got up from the chair, and went to embrace his daughter. "How are you?"

"Fine, I guess."

"That's good."

"Look," said Rose. "That man- the one who just left. He told me what happened, before he sent me to the place. He told me about mum."

"I didn't want to hide it from you," said Brian. "So I told him to tell you."

At that point, Rose sat down in the extra chair. "I know we haven't talked much, recently. And, I mean... you know how it is."

"I know it all too well," said Brian. As he did whenever he didn't have anything else to add, he got a cigarette out from his pack.

"Can I have one?" asked Rose.

"Sure."

Brian's daughter took a cigarette from the pack and had her father light it. "So anyway- thanks- who is that guy? Friend of yours?"

"Not really," said Brian. "I used to work for him. I guess I'm working for him again."

"You hate each other, huh?"

"Nah." Brian flicked the ash into the ashtray. "He's a good man. He's just... into his job, if that makes sense."

Rose nodded. She stayed silent for about ten seconds, taking short drags on her cigarette. "You know, I'm surprised that you decided to see me yourself," she said. "Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, it's just that as far as I can remember, I was almost always the one to initiate the dialogue. I mean, I'd have asked to see you myself, if I'd known who to speak to."

"I'm very sorry about that," said Brian,casually.

"There's something I've always wanted to ask you, dad," she said, finally. "What did it feel like? Leaving us, knowing every time that you might never come back?"

"Horrible," answered Brian. "But at the same time, I wouldn't trade these times for the world. I suppose that I was comforted by the fact that your mum might find someone else if ever I kicked the bucket."

"Not that you'd be together in heaven?" asked Rose.

"It's more like hell, for me, with the things I've done," retorted Brian. "Heaven was never my kinda place anyway."

"Mum always said you were melodramatic, dad," remarked Rose, somewhat amused. That was something that had always shocked everyone about the Havelock family: they could be talking about anything horrible, even about the most horrible thing ever, and one of them would still find a way to poke fun at something.

"Oh, shut up," sniggered Brian. The father and his daughter laughed together for a few seconds before regaining their serious faces.

"There's something else I wanted to bring up with you," said Rose.

"Yeah?"

"You know, whenever you headed out. On one of your... assignments? You know, the kind that..."

"Yeah."

"Sometimes, you'd just leave for a day or two. Sometimes, you'd leave for weeks. Sometimes, for months. Once, you left for... for a long time."

"I remember that," said Brian. He sniggered. "Yeah. I spent most of that year sleeping in a ditch on the road between Kabul and Helmand. Fun times..."

"Anyway," resumed Rose. "Whenever you'd come back, you'd hide somewhere inside the house. Upstairs, under my bed, or inside a cardboard box... And when I'd be there, unsuspecting, you'd creep up behind me, hug me from behind and say..."

"And say what?"

"You'd always say 'Kept you waiting, huh?' And then you'd take us out to eat. Or we'd play something together. You remember?"

"Yeah."

"Well... can you say it again?"

"What?"

"Can you say these words again? One last time?"

Brian took a deep breath, and said "Kept you waiting, huh?"

Rose smiled, and shed a few tears. She leaned over, and hugged her father. She hugged him, as if she knew that this would be her last chance to do so. "I'm going to miss you, dad."

"I'm going to miss you too, kiddo."





"Altitude, thirty-thousand feet. Approaching enemy airspace."

"Solid copy, Flyfish. Equipment check. Arming main parachute. Ten minutes to drop-off. Commencing interior depressurisation."

"Drop zone is still showing high-pressure mass... CAVOK! We've got high visibility."

"Roger that. Opening rear hatch."

"Solid copy. Operation LUNA is a go."

"FOXHOUND, move to the rear."

"Ten seconds to drop off. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Status all green. Jump!"

"Godspeed, FOXHOUND."

Brian fell through the clouds. He could feel the wind brush past his skin, almost slapping him in the face, in spite of his heavy mask.

Falling.

Falling.





Brian saw the basin approach at an alarming pace. He placed himself in a diving position and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact. But all of a sudden, he felt himself glide upwards. He opened his eyes. He was still going at break-neck speed, but almost horizontally. He could feel two arms holding him under his own, and realised that the rainbow mare had chased him down and was holding him.

The pair hit the water. Brian tried making for the surface, but the mare seemed to have fallen unconscious, creating a dead weight on his back. He finally managed to wrestle himself to the surface. Ggrabbing the pony's hoof, he dragged her towards the shore. He hoisted the unconscious mare onto it before pulling himself up.

He looked at the soaking wet and lifeless pegasus. He couldn't just leave her there to die. He placed her on her back, and gently turned her head to the side. A great deal of water spilled from her muzzle out onto the grass. Then, Brian brought her head back to its original position, and firmly clasped it between his hands. He held her mouth open, and after a short moment of realisation that he was about to use mouth-to-mouth resurrection on an equine, he placed his mouth on hers. He breathed into her mouth for a second, pulled out to spit fur out of his mouth, and did it again, three times. Then, he placed both hands on her heart, and gently thrusted them. He counted thirty times, and repeated the cycle.

Brian didn't lose his calm, even though the more he did that, the more he started thinking that the mare wouldn't make it.

But after a few repetitions, the mare gargled, spluttered, and coughed. With a mighty heave, she opened her eyes and mouth wide, apparently shocked. She breathed heavily for a few seconds.

"Are you alright?" asked Brian.

Rainbow Dash took one look at the operative who had just saved her life, jumped to her hooves, and readied herself to pounce. Instinctively, Brian adopted his close quarters stance, knees bent and hands guarding his face. The mare's eyes twitched a few times, looking at the soldier's smile that seemed to be daring her to come at him. She yelled, and jumped onto the soldier.

In a split second, Brian grabbed the mare, and forced her to the ground. Then, he climbed onto her, restraining her hooves. "You lose," he said, clamping her to the ground.

"What the-" spluttered Rainbow Dash. "Get off."

"If I get off, you're just going to pounce on me again, aren't you?" asked Brian.

"No!" responded Rainbow Dash, defensively. "I promise."

Brian grinned. "Pinkie promise?"

Rainbow Dash said the chant. Brian let go of her, not leaving his stance. "Thanks," she said, facing the captain.

"Anyone can use their fists. Or hooves," said Brian. "What you've got to learn is how to use your head."

"I guess you're right," said Rainbow Dash, sitting down and massaging her back. "I'm Rainbow Dash."

Brian didn't answer. For all he knew, she was supposed to be his executioner.

"Why did you escape?" asked Rainbow Dash.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't have?" asked Brian. "I was headed for the chopping block anyway... or however you execute your convicts."

The blue mare looked confused. "What?" Brian pulled out the note from his butt pack, and threw it to Rainbow Dash. She looked at it, even more confused. "I don't know who sent ya this," she said. "But I don't think it's true."

"Yeah, right," said Brian. He didn't trust her, but she seemed sincere.

"You don't believe me?" she asked.

"I suppose it's more convenient if I do," said Brian. "But you're on a short leash."

"And maybe one day I'll be on a long one?" joked Rainbow Dash. "A gal can dream, I guess."

Brian sniggered. "Fluttershy told me about you," he responded.

"So what are you, exactly?"

"A man," answered Brian. "A soldier."

"No hay," retorted Rainbow Dash, eyeing Brian's Tiger Stripe uniform. "Well I'm an airpony," she said, proudly. "A Wonderbolt," to be precise.

"A reserve one?" asked Brian.

"Yeah. How did ya guess?"

"Oh, I don't know..." said Brian. "Fragile ego, thinks she's better than anyone because she's got a fancy title... you just fit the type."

"What!" exclaimed Rainbow Dash, feeling herself getting very hot in the face. "I don't have a fragile ego!"

Brian just chuckled. "Of course you don't."

"Anyway, why d'you save me?" asked the mare.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't have?" responded Brian.

"Well..." Rainbow Dash hesitated. "No offense, but you struck me as kinda... savage."

Brian chuckled again. "Don't worry about offending me. To answer your question... you're in the military, right?"

"Yeah."

"And is the role of a servicepony to protect, to help, and to put the life of others before theirs? Or is it to mindlessly kill, destroy, and let die for a tactical advantage?"

"To... help..."

"Then you have your answer."

"But... what about in Ponyville? You didn't seem very helpful then."

Brian sighed. "I was thrust into a world that isn't my own, I'm alone and confused, and Fluttershy rekindled a traumatic experience. I lost control, thus making your folk hostile to me. Simply put, I made a mistake. You make mistakes too, right?"

"Yeah," chuckled the mare. "Yeah, it makes more sense, now. I'm sorry if I misjudged you. That does bring the question though: why are ya here?"

"That is something I'd like to know myself," said Brian. "I guess I just... appeared. Without a reason."

"Huh... well maybe there is a reason."

Brian laughed sardonically. "And what would that be?" He sat down at the root of a tree, and grabbed his canteen.

"Well... maybe you didn't just appear," said Rainbow Dash. "Maybe you have a purpose in Equestria. Maybe it was your destiny to turn up here."

The operative took a moment to think about what Rainbow Dash had just said. Given what he'd said to Fluttershy and Twilight just a few days prior about his destiny, which he considered to be something along the lines of "No goal, no point, just go forward until you die", maybe he was to do so in this world. Maybe that this world would give him purpose. But that last suggestion quickly disappeared from his irrational mind. He thought that his purpose... was to have no purpose.

"But, whatever your destiny is," said Rainbow Dash, "I don't think it's my business to worry about it. You came here with a reason, and you probably escaped with one too. Now, maybe you should go and look for it."

"Well good thing her job isn't guarding POW's," he thought. "Maybe it's their destiny to escape too," he joked internally. "So you're just going to leave me alone?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Rainbow Dash. "You saved me when you didn't have to, I guess I owe you a favour."

"If that's what you think," said Brian. "Can I just ask you for directions?"

"Sure," smiled Rainbow Dash. "Where d'you wanna go?"

"I dunno," answered Brian. "Somewhere far away. Where I can't be bothered."

"In that case, just go South," said Rainbow Dash. "Follow the river downstream, and eventually you'll end up in the Everfree Forest. It's wild, but you look like you can handle yourself."

"Thanks," said Brian, still eyeing her suspiciously. "Well, I guess we'll be parting ways, now."

"Yeah," said Rainbow Dash. But she approached Brian, and extended her right hoof. "Brohoof?" she asked.

Brian bent down, and fist-bumped the mare. "Brohoof," he repeated.





Doctor Splint wrapped one last bandage around the guard's head. "That's a severe concussion he's given you," said the doctor. "I'd say at least two weeks of bed rest." He levitated a fountain pen and a piece of paper, and wrote down a prescription. "I'm also prescribing some painkillers."

"Thanks, Doc," mumbled the guardspony, before lying back on the bedsheets.

"I think we'd better discuss this outside," said the doctor to Princess Celestia, the Guard Captain and Mayor Cole Slaw, who were standing behind him.

The trio went outside, and Doctor Splint closed the door behind them.

"So, Spearhead was the only casualty?" asked the mayor.

"Apparently so," said the captain. "Well, I can't see any other wounded serviceponies in the infirmary."

Cole Slaw looked confused. "A bloodthirsty savage, let loose among us, you'd have thought he'd kill us all!"

"You sound disappointed," said Luna, coldly. She had just arrived.

"Well, no!" spluttered the mayor. "But I-"

"I don't think we need to hear anymore of what you have to say, Lord Mayor," interrupted Luna, coldly. "Have a little respect for the human. There is more to him than meets the eye." 

"Either way," said Celestia, "I don't think we can leave him on the loose. He is armed and dangerous. Also, Doctor, I think this means we'll have to cancel tomorrow's fundraiser. If we cannot provide sufficient security..."

"What?" exclaimed Splint, aghast. "But, we can't cancel it!"

"I have to take the doctor's defense, here," said the mayor. "We cannot postpone the event again. All of the guests are in town, and we-"

All of a sudden, Fluttershy and Twilight Sparkle made their appearance from behind a corner. "What happened?" asked Twilight."Brian's escaped," answered Celestia.

"What?"

"He's escaped. Gone."

Twilight couldn't believe it. Why had he escaped? "We have to find him!"

But at that precise moment, Rainbow Dash came zooming into the hall. She skidded to a halt in front of the group. "I'm back," she panted.

"What happened?" asked Twilight.

"It's Brian, he's, erm..."

"He's what?"

"He's... dead."
Everypony fell into silence. Fluttershy's eyes and mouth were wide in shock. "But... H-how?"

"He just..." started Rainbow Dash. She hadn't really thought all of her cover story through. "... burst into flames."

There was an awkward pause. After a few seconds, Fluttershy started to slowly walk away, trying to hide the fact that she was about to burst into tears. Rainbow Dash felt guilty about lying to her friends. "Well," said the mayor. "I think this clears that up. We'll be hosting your fundraiser, Doctor."

Celestia silently acquiesced, and the group dispersed.

The Lord Mayor disappeared into a hall, and cantered to the broom cupboard he knew was empty. He entered, closed the door behind him, and shot a spell at his pocket watch. Soon enough, the quadrant became black, and he spoke. "My Liege," he said. "It is done."

"The human won't bother us?" asked the voice coming from the watch. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes, he has been set free."

"Good. Good. And the guests?"

"Assembled at an inn, just outside town. Your moment has finally arrived, My Liege. You will finally be able to dominate this land."

"Excellent. Simply Excellent."





The two paramilitary men were walking through the jungle. As a roll of thunder made itself known, the point man extended his hand to feel the rain. A few droplets hit his hand. "I hate this weather," he said in Serbian.

"Tell me about it," responded the other. "Hey, why don't we just sit here, and then call it a day?"

"Oh, God, yes," said the former, relishing in an opportunity to slack off.

The pair sat down at the foot of a tall tree, overlooking the massive valley they were patrolling. "Cigarette?"

"Yeah."

The two patrolmen sat there, smoking for a few minutes.

"So who is this guy anyway?" said the first one, pulling a picture out of his pocket. It was a picture of a grizzled man, in his late thirties or early forties, with a beard and a mullet, wearing a sand-coloured beret.

"Fucked if I know. And that's the guy we're supposed to look out for?"

"Yeah. I don't know about you, but his face seems... familiar."

"Now that you say it... wasn't he in like... Bosnia?"

"I have no idea... maybe he was one of the Scorpions? Or... no... no, I think he was one of the peacekeepers."

"And did the boss say why we should be looking for this guy? Why would he be here in the first place?"

"I don't think he did." The patrolman took a drag on his cigarette, and sniggered. "Then again, the boss is a bit of a loon."

"You've got that right. But he pays well."

"Heh. Bosnia was more fun, though, wasn't it?" he asked, a perverted smile on his lips.

The pair laughed.

All of a sudden, the first guard keeled over. The other got up, and scanned the woods, looking for the attacker. He was about to reach for his radio, when he felt an hand grab his arm, and send him flying onto the tree trunk. Stars dancing in his eyes, the patrolman looked up, and saw a tall, menacing figure: it was the man from the picture, holding a dagger. The man knelt down, and held the guard's throat. Terrified, the sentry could not do anything else than look into his aggressor's mad eyes.

The man brought his face ever so close to the guard's ear, and whispered three Serb words: "Setite se Srebrenice."1

And then, without warning, the demon that had manifested himself before the sentry jammed a dagger into the guard's ribs, several times. The last things that the guard saw before dying were his blood spilling onto the mud and the massive aggressor standing over the dead body of his comrade like an avenging angel. with a last, hopeless gasp, the mercenary's head lulled back, his eyes staring and his mouth wide.

It had been a long time since Brian had taken another person's life. But he just didn't care. He simply wiped his blade, and re-sheathed his dagger. Then, he crouched down, and pushed the switch on his radio.

"Husky, this is FOXHOUND," he said, in his gravelly tone. "I've made contact with an enemy patrol. They're down. Over."

"Excellent, FOXHOUND," answered Jennings, on the other end of the line. "Satellite imagery indicates that there should be several guardposts, heading North. Remember, this is bandit country. Shoot everything that moves. Out."

Brian firmly grabbed his M16 rifle, and moved forwards. He constantly stayed behind cover, checking his six o'clock every so often, just to make sure no-one was around. The operation's dossier stated that Bachmeyer was holed up in a manor house, at the highest point of the valley. Past a river and a waterfall.

The easiest and most obvious way to the manor was from the west. There was an winding uphill dirt road going all the way up to the manor. That road was naturally the most covered by the Commando Sombra. They had several AFV's on constant patrol, a few jeeps, and a platoon-sized unit covering the road at all times. If someone was making their way up to the manor, Bachmeyer and the paramilitary commanders were convinced that the intruder would make his way up there.

The other way to access the manor was from the South, through the valley. The valley and the manor itself had once been the last bastion of Spanish control during the country's war of independence. The local general and his men had resisted for a long time against the separatist rebels, before eventually losing control of the area. And as soon as control of the region was lost, some wild rumours circulated amongst the locals. The two-hundred-year-old legend stated that the general who had fought and died during the final assault- and his men- were still haunting the vicinity. These rumours, plus the fact that the place had no real strategic value, caused the independent government to vacate the place. But during the Cold War, after a CIA-sponsored coup, the new military dictatorship leased the manor to the American intelligence agency, who ran it as a black site. Then,after the end of the conflict, the manor had once again lost its value. it had changed owners several times, before falling into Bachmeyer's lap. He considered the rumours to be guarding the place against the locals, and the dense jungle was more than enough to prevent anyone from accessing it that way. However, he had deployed several guardposts in the valley, just to be safe. Even so, security from that angle was relatively light, and that was because he wanted Brian to reach the manor. He wanted a little chat with the British operative.

After a few minutes of walking, evading several booby traps, and constantly checking all angles, Brian heard some rushing water. This was one of the natural barriers that kept the Comando Sombra complacent about defending the valley. That branch of the river was situated in some sort of miniature ravine, large enough for the average man to be unable to jump across, and deep enough for someone to break their legs if they fell down it. That branch joined the main one downstream, creating a moat of sorts. There was a bridge down stream, to allow patrols to move between the two areas. But Brian wasn't stupid enough to risk going through a chokepoint. Instead, he elected to attempt the jump. He stepped back for some clearance, and ran towards the river. He jumped across, and caught himself on the other side, just barely. He pulled himself up, and ran to the cover of the trees.

Soon enough, the waterfall came into view. And on Brian's side, a field tent had been put up. The operative brought his binoculars to his eyes and examined the three guards who were stationed there.

From what Brian could see, and from what he had read in the dossier, the Comando Sombra had come a long ways since Bronco's days. Salvador Bachmeyer's enforcers now truly resembled a paramilitary group as opposed to the mishmash of gangsters that it had been under Bronco. They now wore woodland camouflage fatigues, boonie hats, and chest-rigs. They also carried M16A1's and FN FAL'S. More than a simple protection unit, the Comando Sombra had also become a venture of sorts for Bachmeyer: they were deployed all over Latin America to assist local police and military units. And the paramilitary force didn't just look the part; they had skills to match. The core of the group had cut their teeth in special operations groups from armies all over Latin America. Quite often, they were hand-picked by Bachmeyer and his henchmen, who had enough weight inside governments to be able to pick and choose soldiers. They had also been supplemented by elements from Brazilian anti-gang task forces, the French Foreign Legion (which Brian often jokingly referred to as 'French people who don't surrender'), and even some ex-Yugoslavian soldiers.

But what truly united the Comando Sombra wasn't their experience or even their lust for money (although there was plenty of that involved). It was their record. Their reputation. For behind these professional-looking uniforms lay the hearts and souls of callous, merciless thugs. They were no soldiers, in Brian's eyes. They were simply murderous fiends, working for a man who promised to satisfy their violent hard-ons.

Brian thought of what to do. Of course, he could just ignore the guard post and go onwards. But if he was to dispose of the guards, it would be a problem less to think about. Besides, the Comando Sombra were nothing but bloodthirsty criminals. Brian killing them would only be bringing justice. He grabbed his suppressed M16 rifle, brought the sights to his eye, and aligned them with one of the guards, who was standing at the edge of the cliff, looking at the river below. Brian pulled the trigger, and watched the sentry's body collapse and fall over into the abyss. The second guard that Brian aligned his sights on was peaceably maintaining his rifle, sitting on a portable chair. Brian shot him once in the head, and watched him keel over. The third sentry violently turned around at the sound of his comrade falling on the ground, and was going to start looking for an intruder, when a bullet whizzed straight into his temple.

Brian vaulted over his cover, and rushed towards his three victims. He dragged each one over to the edge, and threw them down, to make sure they wouldn't be found. That way, instead of causing immediate alert within the Comando Sombra, he'd cause confusion.Once he was done disposing of the bodies, Brian turned to face north, and saw the opulent villa, towering over him, just a few hundred yards away. He had an almost undisturbed view of it.

"This is where it really begins," thought Brian. Out of his pack, he produced his long, black bandanna. It was old. It was the one that his mother had bought for him when he'd started tending to Grace's family's horses, so that he could see clearly while he scrubbed hooves. It had served as a sling for Grace's broken arm on the fateful night they had fallen for each other. He'd worn it all the way through his Special Air Service and MI-6 field days. The operative placed it around his head, and tied a knot at the back. He hesitated before pulling on both ends to finish the knot, as if pulling them was going to somehow seal his fate. But he did so, an expression of utter determination on his face.

"Husky, this is FOXHOUND," he repeated into the radio. "I'm in front of the target's residence, I am about to head in, over."

"Brilliant, FOXHOUND," answered Jennings. "Age hasn't slown you down one bit. God be with you. Out."

From where he was, Brian observed the house with his binoculars. He was looking at the mansion at an upwards angle, so he couldn't take in the security that they had on the ground. There were some stairs that connected the stone terraces found at every level, and they seemed relatively unguarded. So the plan was fairly simple: go upstairs, and then...

"You're just making this up as you go along!" said a voice in the operative's mind, clearly disappointed.

"Oh, but I do it brilliantly..." Brian mumbled back.





The single guard was standing in front of the painting, looking at it with a 'I wonder if someone would miss it' kind of way. As far as oil paintings went, it sure was a masterpiece: it was a portrait of the Spanish General who had held out against the hordes of separatists during the country's war of independence. He looked majestic, with his dark blue tunic, gray hair, and bi coloured sash. The brush strokes looked as though they had been aggressively slapped onto the canvas, revealed an almost savage energy. In truth, everyone would miss the painting. It had been there for two centuries, and it had never changed place. As a mark of respect, neither the independent government, the CIA, or Bachmeyer had moved it.

The sentry was almost jealous of the painting. For he too had dreams of power and conquest. He too wanted to make a mark on history. He was mesmerised by it. But all of a sudden, he felt something tighten around his neck, and saw his patrol cap fall off his head. He tried clawing at his throat and shouting for help, but only low, desperate gasps came out of his mouth, as he felt the wire dig into his flesh. His eyes were popping, and he heard his breathing stop. And soon, he was nothing but a lifeless corpse.

Brian dropped the body onto the ground, and folded his garrotte before putting it back into his pouch. The operative dragged the corpse over to a nearby broom cupboard, and shut himself in with it. About a minute later, Brian had disguised himself as his downed foe. The disguise would most certainly let him get around the place unmolested. Because of the blood, maybe snap his neck instead.  He donned the patrol cap, and lowered the brim to cover his eyes. As a last precaution, Brian got a toothpick out of one of his pouches, and placed it between his teeth. He also stuck his chin out, to give his whole jawline a different shape.

Holding his rifle, Brian exited the closet, and made his way to where he knew the staircase was. According to the dossier, the room that had been the commander's office was on the floor below, and that was where he was most likely to find Salvador Bachmeyer. He was fluent in several languages, including Spanish (even some of the South-American dialects), so he'd be able to maintain a decent cover. He found a discarded clipboard on the shelf on a table next to the door, and elected to take it with him. The Comando Sombra had been noted to be a very organised and deadly organisation, comparable to a professional army. And if one thing was true, it was that in the army, if you carry a clipboard around, people won't fuck with you. 

The operative made his way down the stairs and into a corridor, maintaining a brisk pace, and nodding at the guards that he saw. Clearly the disguise was working. At the very end, there was a door, with sentries placed on either side. Brian approached, and lifted his clipboard to show it to the guards, without uttering a word. Both acquiesced, and nodded at him. Brian pushed the door open, and entered the wolf's den.

The guns were all pointed squarely at Brian, who was rooted to the spot. Seven guards, forming a half-circle around the operative. The door to the office opened a second time, and Brian felt the cold barrel of a Browning Hi-Power press against the back of his skull. Brian dropped his clipboard, and raised his hands.

"You fell right into the trap," said someone from behind the formation of guards. Grinning, pompous, and about a head shorter than all of his cronies, a skinny, white-suited man appeared: Bachmeyer.

Brian didn't utter a word. Defeated, he stared at his captor with an expression of utter loathing on his face.

"Captain Brian Havelock," said Salvador Bachmeyer, grinning. Triumphant. He came close to Brian, and looked up at the operative's face. "I've been waiting for you."

Brian, arrogant and defiant as always, spat in Bachmeyer's face. The guards tightened their grips on their guns, ready to shoot. But the leader raised his hand in a 'hold your fire' motion, and the sentries relented. Instead, he just said "I'm going to have my fun with you..." and without warning, one of the guards pistol-whipped Brian, who fell to his knees. Half-conscious, he felt himself be dragged across the hall, and down the stairs to the unknown.





"Wake up!" shouted Bachmeyer.

Brian couldn't see anything, and had some difficulty breathing. A bag had been put over his head. He could feel a rope tied around his wrists, and he couldn't move his arms, which had presumably been tied to the ceiling. The operative tried standing up straight, but someone hit his leg, and he thought better of it.

"You've got a nice body," said Salvador sadistically, running a hand across Brian's pectorals, giving the operative goosebumps. "Nice scars, too." He punched Brian hard in the armpit, causing him to wince.

A guard ripped the bag off, revealing Brian's face. The operative looked around the room. The walls were made of concrete, and there were no windows. Only splats of coagulated blood broke the grey monotony of the walls, and the dampness of the room suggested that they were underground.

Two sentries were standing besides the door. And in front of him, there was Bachmeyer, staring at Brian with his black eyes, a perverted grin on his lips. Another man was standing in front of a table, where several 'tools' were placed: knives, hammers, and what looked a lot like a car battery.

Brian spat in his captor's face again, who blinked. "I'm warning you," he said. "Once I get out of here, I'm gonna fucking gut you!"

"Petty threats aren't going to save you," answered Bachmeyer, coolly. His English was superb. He kicked Brian's shin, but Brian didn't give in to the pain.

The operative just looked into Bachmeyer's eyes, as if daring him to hit him. "Go on, kill me," he ordered.

"Oh, but I don't want to," answered Bachmeyer. "Not yet, anyway. I just thought we might have a little chat."

"What do you want from me?" asked Brian.

"Well I thought it would be obvious," answered the druglord. "You killed my father. I would have killed yours, but you don't have one. So I had to settle for your wife..."

"Bastard."

"Aren't we both?" asked Bachmeyer. "I mean, your father... died by some revolutionary's hand. Killed, like a dog. Mine was killed by an MI-6 operative. I know it seems somewhat... 'cliché' to say something along the lines of 'we're not so different, you and I'... but let's be honest. It just fits, doesn't it? We're like a reflection of each other. Same in many different ways, but fundamentally opposed."

Brian didn't answer.

"I mean, when you think about it," continued Bachmeyer, "your mother. How did she die? Cancer, wasn't it? Breast cancer, brought on by years of drinking to drown her sorrow. The doctors told me that you were there, almost every single week, to guide her through her agony. My mother... my mother died in exactly the same way. After my father died, she was distraught. We moved, far away, and... well, she died from alcohol poisoning. Not exactly the same, but, well... the last thing she ever said to me, was... 'kill them. Kill them all.'"

"Your father was a criminal," retorted Brian.

"Oh, spare me your sense of righteousness," answered Bachmeyer. "Call him what you will, at least my father understood capitalism. You pay for a product, and you get exactly what you pay for. And, come to think of it... yes, my father killed. I kill too. And you know who else kills? You. Your government."

"You're delusional." 

Bachmeyer laughed. "It's funny, isn't it... you know how my father got to where he was?"

"He just replaced Escobar," answered Brian. "He just took the place of the leading druglord. He was an opportunist."

Bachmeyer slapped Brian. "Don't you talk about my father like that!" he spat, holding Brian's throat, looking at his captive like a madman. He let go of the operative's throat, and went back to his smug face, as if nothing had happened. "Well, actually, I guess you might be right. He saw an opportunity, and he seized it. You see, when he heard that the Americans were looking for Pablo, he saw it as his time to shine. He helped the Americans track Escobar, through one of his friends in MI-6. And that friend's name... was Jennings."

Brian, though surprised by this revelation, didn't display a face of shock. In the end, it was just the thing that he'd expect Jennings to do.

"Not surprised?" asked Salvador, expectantly.

"Nope," answered Brian.

Bachmeyer punched the operative in the abdomen, enraged by Brian's lack of surprise, as if he was a spoilt kid who hadn't received a Playstation for Christmas. And, as that didn't provoke a reaction, he punched again. And again. Even the sentry in the corner of the room looked shocked.The kingpin straightened his jacket and regained his sneery expression. He reached into his pocket, and from it he produced a Walkman, which was loaded with a cassette tape.

"So what's in there?" asked Brian. "Your dance mix?"

"That's for me to know, and you to... earn. If you behave, you can listen to it."

"Don't really care, at this point," said Brian. "And if you don't want to kill me, what do you want?"

"Well, I am a man of simple taste," said Bachmeyer. "And after a long day riding a desk... I just want to be entertained." He pulled a chair, and sat down in front of Brian. He looked at the sentry, and nodded.

The guard, who had been preparing his tools for the past three minutes or so, approached Brian, and slapped him across the face once.

"Again," said Bachmeyer.

The guard slapped Brian again.

"Again."

The cycle repeated four or five times. Brian couldn't really feel his right cheek. "Do it again," he said, turning the other cheek towards the torturer. "I like tough guys."

The guard grabbed Brian's face, twisted it towards him, and punched him in the nose.

Brian could taste the blood run down his throat and into his mouth. He spat it out, and grinned at his torturer. He laughed. "Go on. Do it again. I dare you."

The sentry punched Brian in the abdomen, and then, he grabbed the operative's thighs, and tried to spread his legs apart. Brian, who realised what the torturer was trying to do, swung back, raised his legs, and kicked the man back.

"You know, you're tough," said Bachmeyer, visibly impressed. "And contrary to what you may think, I have no illusion as to who really killed my papa. Before killing you, I was planning on getting Rose over here. Maybe show her a bit of what I could do, and then... kill her. And then, it'd be Jennings. I know that he was the only man who could know where my dad was, and I know that he was the one who gave you the mission. And... when you come to think about it, whose fault is it if you're here now? I'm just punishing you because you took the mission. And you're not a madman. You knew fully well what you were doing. Here, as a sweetener to the deal, I'm not even gonna go after your daughter. So what d'ya say? Do you want some real revenge?"

Brian didn't buy into what his captor was saying. "It was my fault," he answered, through a mouthful of blood and saliva. "It's my fault. I shoulda killed you properly. I should have killed you like the dog you are!"

"Shame," answered Bachmeyer. Then, he turned towards his sentry, and nodded again.

The man grabbed the crocodile pincers, turned on the car battery, and walked towards Brian. Grinning in a vindictive and sadistic fashion, he sparked the shockers. Brian closed his eyes, and...

The operative yelled. The shock went on for a good ten seconds before the sentry relented. The agonising process repeated about five or six times, under the happy eyes of Salvador Bachmeyer. He laughed as he saw Brian convulse, and heard him pant whenever a shock ended.

"Enough," sighed Bachmeyer, once the novelty of seeing someone get electrified had worn off.

Brian looked at his captor murderously. But just a few seconds later, he regretted that decision.

"Cut out his eyes," said Bachmeyer to the guard. "I don't like those blue eyes of his... those nordic eyes."

The torturer nodded, and went to pick up a knife from the table, and took his time advancing towards Brian. "I'm gonna love this," said the paramilitary man, raising the knife, and placing it mere millimetres away from Brian's right eye. The operative didn't move, and just stared at the guard's knife, which was ever so close.

And then, in an 'all things considered' kind of way, he raised it, placed it on Brian's forehead, just above his eyebrow, and begun slowly pulling it downwards.

"ARRRRGH!"

The knife cut through Brian's right eye like a spoon would cut through Jell-O.

The druglord's lapdog was about to raise the knife a second time, when Bachmeyer simply said, "enough. Leave the other... for another time..." and, laughing like a maniac, he left the room with his sentry.