A Bullet to the Head (standard:action, 2652 words)
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: May 09 2004	Views/Reads: 4556/2648	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A revenge story, inspired by a UK TV documentary. (I've no military experience, so I'm wondering what an old soldier might think of this)

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

‘Never seen ‘em before.  The old guy walks like a soldier though...  Are
you sure Myers'll go home the usual way, Dave?' 

‘It's the shortest route... and that's the way he went when I followed
him two weeks ago...  If not, we'll have to improvise...  When's your 
leave over?' 

‘I have another week, but Sam's due back on Tuesday.' 

Scag and Dave watched as more customers left the pub, some on foot, some
by car.  And some of the drivers obviously the worse for wear; not that 
it stopped them from driving. 

‘Here they come,' said Dave.  ‘It's a good job Myers doesn't drink and
drive.' 

‘Yeah, well, we wouldn't want him to have any nasty accidents, would
we?'  It was a joke, but neither of them laughed.  Scag reached for his 
cell-phone and it chirped as he contacted Ryan.  ‘They're coming out 
now...  Shit!  They're staying together...  I'm going to follow on 
foot.  Dave, you stay with the car.  I'll call you when it's safe to 
follow.'  He climbed out of the Focus, leaving the door ajar, rather 
than slamming it, then followed, slowly, still holding the phone to his 
ear, and keeping to the shadows.  He hoped there were no muggers 
around. 

Half a mile away, in an old Vauxhall van parked beside a disused factory
building, Corporal Samantha Hastings and ex-Private Ryan Burns waited; 
Samantha in the driver's seat, and Ryan in the passenger seat with a 
cell phone held to his right ear.  They leaned toward each other, 
feigning a kiss, but not actually kissing, as a car sped past.  ‘Are 
they still together?' Samantha asked Ryan. 

‘Yes...' Ryan almost said ‘Corp,' old habits dying hard, despite the
pretended intimacy.  ‘Hold on...  Scag says they've split up.  His 
mate's gone left.  Looks like we're on.'  The two exchanged looks, then 
checked the van's wing mirrors. 

‘No sign of him yet,' said Ryan, into the phone. 

‘He's turning the corner now, Rye.  Get ready.'  Scag hung up on Ryan,
and called Dave.  ‘Okay, Dave, get moving,' he said, as he began to run 
stealthily along the pavement.  He stopped and peered around the corner 
of the building where the target had turned left, then turned back 
towards the sound of an approaching vehicle, surprised that Dave had 
responded so quickly.  But as he realised that the vehicle was a taxi, 
he stepped around the corner and walked on, hoping that Myers wouldn't 
look back in his direction, and relieved as he heard the taxi continue 
straight on at the junction.  Ahead, he could see the Vauxhall van 
parked on the left-hand side of the road, and Sergeant Myers about an 
equal distance between himself and the van, his assured stride 
unmistakable.  Scag turned as he heard another vehicle approaching, 
this time relieved as he saw Dave at the wheel. 

Dave passed Scag, driving slowly to get the timing right.  And as his
Ford passed Myers, he switched on the car's interior light and sounded 
the horn to attract his attention; and to give a prearranged signal to 
the others.  He slowed to a stop about ten metres behind the Vauxhall 
van, opened the electric widow in the passenger door, and as Myers drew 
level, he shouted: ‘Excuse me!  Can you tell me where Station Road is, 
please?'  He lowered his voice on the word ‘Station'. 

Myers stopped.  ‘Where?' he asked, taking a step towards the open car
window. 

‘Station Road,' replied Dave, holding a crudely drawn map towards the
window with both hands. 

‘There's no Station Road around here, Mate.'  Myers leaned closer, to
get a better look at the map, but suddenly the map was lowered, and as 
Dave activated the device in his right hand, Myers was on the receiving 
end of a large dose of pepper spray.  He jerked backwards and a cry of 
distress escaped his lips, and his hands went to his face; and at that 
moment, Scag ran into him with enough momentum to bring him down, 
winding him as he hit the stone paving. 

But Myers had spent most of his adult life in the British Army, and his
soldier's instincts took over.  He lashed out, his right fist making 
contact with Scag's forehead.  But almost immediately Dave and Ryan, 
who had leapt from their vehicles, joined Scag, and their combined 
weight was enough to hold Myers down.  Ryan produced a roll of wide 
masking tape, and after a violent struggle Myers was bound hand and 
foot and dragged towards the rear of the Vauxhall van, which Samantha 
had now reversed towards them. 

The three men bundled Myers into the back, and Ryan and Scag, whose
right eyebrow was bleeding, climbed in and lay on top of him.  Dave 
slammed the rear doors then looked around, relieved to see that there 
were no witnesses.  ‘Go!' he shouted to Samantha, before returning to 
his own vehicle and following the van as it sped away into the night. 

*** 

Sergeant Myers sat bound to a chair at one end of an ancient and
isolated barn.  He was gagged and a sack covered his head.  Several 
hours had passed and the effects of the pepper spray had mostly worn 
off, but as he struggled once more, trying to free himself, he received 
another kick in the left shin for his trouble.  At the other end of the 
barn, the two vehicles used in the kidnapping were parked, one beside 
the other.  The Vauxhall's headlights switched on and eerily 
illuminating the inside of the barn. 

‘What shall I do with these?' asked Ryan, holding up the number-plates
he had just removed from the Ford Focus. 

‘Put them in the van,' said Dave, as he stooped to fit the first of a
second set of false plates to his car.  ‘They'll not be missed, will 
they?' 

‘No, no problem there, Dave.' Ryan worked for a garage, and had made up
the plates himself.  He had also acquired the old Vauxhall van, which 
no longer carried serial numbers or identifying marks of any kind. 

Samantha came in from outside carrying a torch.  ‘Everything's quiet. 
It'll be light in about two hours though...  Do we have enough petrol, 
Ryan?' 

Ryan nodded a reply as he helped Dave fit the second number-plate, then
the three of them joined Scag and their prisoner at the other end of 
the barn.  They were more nervous now than they had been all night. 

‘Ready when you are,' said Scag.  His right eye was blackened and an
Elastoplast covered the eyebrow.  The others nodded and Scag pulled the 
bag from Myers' head. 

Myers struggled again, making what sounds he could through the balled
cloth that was held in his mouth by masking tape.  His eyes and face 
were red, and as he squinted at his kidnappers, seeing all of their 
faces for the first time, his fear turned to scorn.  He looked at each 
of them in turn: The older one, the one who had tricked him by asking 
directions, was a stranger to him, but the other three he knew.  They 
were three of the scum that passed for soldiers these days.  And he 
would make them pay for this night's work. 

He winced as Scag pulled the tape from his face, and then as the cloth
was pulled from his mouth he coughed and spat into the dust.  ‘You 
won't get away with this,' he said.  ‘This is kidnap...'  Myers' head 
was knocked sideways as Ryan swung the back of his right fist against 
his jaw.' 

‘Shut up and listen,' Samantha advised him, as she shone her torch in
his face.  ‘We don't have long.  This is a court-martial, and you are 
the accused...  And I accuse you of rape!' 

‘You lying bitch...  I never raped you!' 

‘Only because I fought you off, you bastard...  But what about Private
Sandra Shepherd?' 

At this, Myers' eyes changed, giving him the look of a hunted animal. 
‘I never raped her neither.' 

‘That's not what she told me,' replied Samantha, with disgust. 

‘Look,' said Myers, ‘this is no court-martial!' 

‘Well let's call it a murder trial then,' said Dave, gently moving
Samantha to one side with a touch of his hand and then stooping to look 
Myers in the eyes. 

‘Murder?' exclaimed Myers.  ‘I don't know what you are talking about... 
Look... I need a piss.' 

‘Go ahead,' said Scag.  ‘I'm used to the smell of your piss.  You pissed
on my bed once, remember?  Just before the inspection you held.  And 
the next day you beat me up and put me in hospital for three weeks.' 

Myers swallowed hard.  ‘It was for your own good.  To toughen you...' He
was about to say more but he thought better of it as he saw Scag's fist 
bunch. 

‘I want to know the truth about Philip,' said Dave, quietly. 

‘Phillip?' asked Myers, his voice gravelly. 

‘Private Philip Butler,' said Dave.  ‘He was my son, and I want to know
why you murdered him.' 

Myers tried to swallow again but his mouth was too dry.  ‘I didn't... 
It was suicide...  I need water,' he managed to say. 

Dave nodded to Samantha, and she handed the torch to Ryan before walking
over to the Focus and returning with a bottle of water.  She held it to 
Myers' lips and let him drink. 

‘We'll make a deal with you,' she said, as she screwed the cap back onto
the bottle.  ‘You tell us about the murder, and we'll turn you over to 
the authorities.' 

‘You'll turn me over?  I've done nothing.  You're the...' 

This time it was Dave who lost his temper.  He gave Myers a right hook
and he toppled over.  Ryan and Scag pulled him upright again and 
checked that he was still securely bound to the chair. 

Dave rubbed his right knuckles with the palm of his left hand.  ‘Just
tell me why you murdered Philip,' 

Blood trickled from the corner of Myers' mouth.  ‘It was suicide, I told
you...  The army said it was suicide.  The investigating officer...' 

‘Was lied to, by you!' 

‘No, I...' 

‘My son was about to be married.  I saw him three days before he died. 
He was very happy.  He did not commit suicide!' 

‘We're wasting time,' said Scag.  ‘Let's kill him and have done with
it.' 

‘Okay... if he's not willing to deal,' said Samantha.  ‘Get the petrol,
Scag.' 

‘What are you going to do?' asked Myers, his tone becoming frantic. 

‘If you won't deal, then you have to die,' announced Samantha, without
emotion. 

Myers watched Scag as he walked to the back of the Vauxhall van and
lifted out an obviously full, bright red, fuel canister.  ‘Okay!  It 
was an accident...  I was inspecting his riffle and it discharged.  It 
was...' 

‘You were inspecting his riffle at three in the morning, in the dark,
beside the perimeter fence?' said Dave. 

‘Like you inspected my riffle by cracking three of my ribs with it?'
added Ryan. 

As Scag approached with the petrol canister, unscrewing the cap as he
got nearer to Myers, Dave and Ryan and Samantha stepped back a few 
paces. 

‘Okay!' screamed Myers, smelling the petrol fumes.  ‘I killed him!  But
he was no good.  He wasn't fit to be a soldier.' 

‘So you killed him,' said Dave.  ‘You judged his performance, you found
him wanting, you sentenced him to death, and you executed him with a 
bullet to the head?' 

‘But...' 

‘But what?' asked Dave.  ‘But it was for his own good?'  He walked over
to the wall behind Myers and reached for a tape recorder that was 
sitting on a dusty ledge, hidden under a rag.  He pressed rewind button 
and then the play button. 

‘...beside the perimeter fence?  Like you inspected my riffle by
cracking three of my ribs with it?  ... Okay!  I killed him!  But he 
was no good.  He wasn't fit to be a ...'  Dave pressed the stop button. 


‘Shame we can't use this,' said Dave.  ‘Though it might be enough to
sway a jury, if we're caught.'  He reached up to the ledge again, and 
as his companions turned their backs and looked away, he held a 
silenced pistol to the back of Myers' head and pulled the trigger. 

*** 

As the four of them drove away along a deserted country lane, only Scag
looked back.  A mile behind them the barn was well alight, and there 
was an explosion as the Vauxhall's petrol tank blew. 


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