Diving into “Goshawk:”
“Layla again wearily surveyed the pile of supplies on the frozen ground in front of her, which included a small, waterproof black plastic pouch of emergency rations, a larger canvas bag, and her own AK-47. The weapon leaned on the stack of six spare magazines of bullets for the automatic weapons, each slug with an X carved into its tip so it would fracture into many tumbling shards at first impact, enhancing damage. There were also four hand grenades, Fatima’s coil of blue-and-white nylon rope, Fatima’s Chinese-made AK-47, and two pair of tree spurs for climbing telephone poles and trees. Her own climbing rope was slung over the shoulder of her own Gore-Tex jumpsuit. Nothing missing!
She poked Fatima in the shoulder. Once the subordinate finally turned to face her, Layla drew her left index finger sharply across her own throat. Fatima looked anxiously from the mound of equipment to the rapidly receding motorboat, then to Layla and back to the increasingly distant craft. The younger woman kept gnawing the knuckle of her right index finger, looking back and forth from boat to shore.
“Now, FATima! Finish it NOW, RIGHT NOW!”
“Where is thing?”
“Worthless bitch,” Layla muttered, ignoring the question, as she jerked a tiny black box from a single waterproof pocket inside the larger canvas bag and pointed it toward the slowly accelerating powerboat. Without hesitation, she squeezed the solitary red button atop the black plastic box. A bright flash blossomed under the retreating boat’s cowling, silencing its engine. Then a slight grumble reached the women’s ears as a burst of orange fire swallowed up the small craft, engulfing its cockpit and the hapless pilot. Layla and Fatima could see his arms flailing frantically in terror above the fierce blaze. Feverishly slapping at himself to put out his burning clothes, he leaped into the choppy water. Struggling ever slower near the rapidly disintegrating boat, he screamed in a language neither Layla nor her accomplice could understand as he sank deeper into the nearly black water. Even a competent swimmer would have been dragged down by his sodden winter clothing and rapidly swallowed by hypothermia in this frigid water. This Kurdish refugee probably couldn’t even swim.”
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