Covert Kill: A David Rivers Thriller

Cancer was still kneeling, looking through his rifle optic at the road ahead as he replied, “We can’t stop every crisis in Africa, but we can stop this one.”

David withdrew his Android phone, holding it up to the woman as he zoomed out to reveal the imagery of her village.

“We are here,” David said, pointing to the lower left edge of the screen. “How many bad guys, and where are they located?”

Tolu translated, and the woman took only a moment to orient herself before responding.

Ian watched her point to the road on the southern edge of the village, explaining through Tolu that the enemy trucks and motorcycles had parked there before their occupants corralled the villagers into a clearing in the north that served as a soccer field. How many enemies there were or what was happening now, she didn’t know—she’d been retrieving water from a local well when the attack occurred, allowing her to escape.

David cut his eyes to Ian and asked, “What’s happening in the field?”

Ian frowned. “They’re probably dividing the families up. Men who resist are being killed, women and girls restrained for forced marriages or use as suicide bombers. Young boys, kidnapped as new recruits.”

The rest of the team was clustered around him, pulling security outward as David announced, “Outskirts of the village are three hundred meters ahead. We’re conducting an emergency assault. Cancer, get over here.”

The sniper turned and knelt beside David, analyzing the phone screen as his team leader said, “Soccer field is our kill zone. I want you setting up at the southwest corner; hold your fire until the assault is ready and then your field of fire is northeast to southeast edges of the field. Get moving, I’ll brief the rest en route.”

Cancer raced toward the brush north of the road as David called Worthy and Reilly over.

Both men dropped to a knee and directed their attention to the phone screen as David continued speaking, keying his mic so Cancer could remain apprised of the proceedings.

“You two are the assault element. Haul ass to the northwest corner of the soccer field; sectors of fire are the northern field boundary to the southeast corner. I want stationary shots from covered positions—the goal is to flush them back to their vehicles. Anyone who flees north or east gets a free pass. Once the field is clear, move back down the west side to link up with me and Ian.”

Worthy asked, “Where will you and Ian be?”

“Isolating the western edge of the village, maintaining fields of fire east down the road to pop any enemy fleeing to their vehicles.”

“Got it,” Worthy said. “Anything else?”

Holding up a finger so they wouldn’t leave, David asked Tolu, “Ask her for a building in the village that can fit a lot of people. Someplace that every resident knows.”

After Tolu relayed the question in her native dialect, the woman pointed to a comparatively large structure on the screen, located alongside the road near the center of the small village.

“The mosque,” Tolu said.

David nodded. “Reilly, the mosque will be our CCP. Go.”

The medic and point man moved out into the treeline, leaving Ian with his team leader, driver, and the woman as David grabbed Tolu by the arm.

“I want you to stay here, with her. When I give you the all-clear, pull the van right up to that building and cut her loose. Then the two of you will direct any casualties to the mosque where we’ll have a medic waiting. Got it?”

“Yes,” Tolu replied. “I understand.”

David pushed himself to his feet, then looked at Ian. “Let’s go.”





Worthy threaded his way through the low trees and scrub brush, periodically referencing his location on the Android phone imagery as he led Reilly toward the northwest corner of the soccer field. This part of the assault was a delicate balance—engage too soon and the enemy would scatter; too late, and innocent civilians would be killed. And if Cancer had to take the battle’s first shots from the southwest corner, he’d risk sending the enemy north into the woods where they could disperse before flanking the team, turning an already bad situation into an unwinnable one.

The only solution was for Worthy and Reilly to begin firing from the north side, driving the bad guys first into Cancer’s line of fire, then David and Ian’s. Because if they botched this, they could easily be overrun—hell, the odds of that were already high enough considering the single dirt road they’d have to take back to the highway.

That reality was brought into sharp focus as Cancer transmitted, “I’ve got eyes-on. I count nine enemy manhandling a few dozen civilians. Looks like five or so have already been executed. The young are being divided: young women and girls in one group and the boys in another.”

“Shit,” Worthy transmitted back, “I’m almost there. Suicide, do I have control to initiate?”

“In every sense of the word,” David replied. “Me and Angel are getting set in the isolation position, ready to intercept any runners. Bunch of abandoned motorcycles and a few trucks, only one lookout that I can see. As soon as you have clean shots, start taking them.”

“On it.” Worthy quickened his pace along his assigned vector of approach.

Reilly moved to his rear right, maintaining a loose echelon formation as their small assault element proceeded toward the target.

Cancer reported, “Gunfire is them intimidating civilians. But it looks like they’re lining up an old man to execute, so you better hurry.”

“Coming into position now, stand by,” Worthy replied, catching his first glimpses of the clearing as the vegetation began to thin out.

Dropping to a knee beside a tree at the last stand of bushes, Worthy brought his rifle optic in alignment with his line of sight as he swept from left to right to scan the field.

The sight was even more horrifying than he’d imagined—a row of dead bodies was lined up face down, all men, while the screaming girls were being herded into a prisoner file at gunpoint. Then there were the boys, some as young as five or six, being kicked and thrown into a separate group while enemy fighters stood scattered in a loose perimeter around the atrocity.

The last thing he saw before taking aim was that the old man Cancer had noted wasn’t being executed at all, though that fate may have been preferable over what occurred in the next half second.

With two enemy fighters holding him down and forcing his arm outstretched, a third kneeling man swung a large machete in a savage arc, severing the man’s hand as he cried out in a bloodcurdling wail.

Worthy pivoted his rifle to the north edge of the field, toward a pair of enemy fighters standing less than ten meters distant.

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