The Final Shot

A sense of soundless vibrations beat against my left hand. I looked at my wristwatch. The Swiss branded mechanism pointed to glowing numbers reading forty-eight minutes after midnight. The S.W.A.T van let out countless thumps as it lay down invisible tracks of the rolling tyres over the black and blue tarmac road. The only lights to be seen were from the glaring headlights and the blinking reflectors dividing the road into two lanes.

A figure on the other side of the van, beneath the cloak of shadows, warmed his arms with his frosted fingers. Winter was getting close and the temperature was dropping. Visibility range was only less than five hundred meters. The mist got thicker and thicker with each passing minute in the unusually cold and heartless night. The roaring of the engine and the thuds at the back of the van were the only sounds to be heard. Other than that was the grim sound of pin drop silence.

The streetlights flickered. Beeping sounds were heard. My wristwatch illuminated in blue and red. Three minutes were estimated to be the only time left. Four S.W.A.T. personnel were in the back of the van, including me. No names allowed. We wouldn’t want any of our teammates’ names lingering in the back of our heads. Finest of the force, pride of the country.

“Lock and load,” said a man sitting beside me in a low and rough voice. The silent dreaming atmosphere was shattered. It was our team captain, the squad leader. We followed his orders. Bolts pulled, clips out and back in, followed by echoes. Safety switches altered. Firearms loaded. Guns checked. We had the finest weapons the country could offer. The widest range we had ever seen. The engine’s roars died down. Vibrations turned to still motion. Dust stopped picking up. We’ve reached our destination.

Five minutes after one. Everything was going as planned. We’re still a few blocks away from the target. Our feet will take us there. The steel binder thrust open. Unlocked. The back doors spread opened, allowing the moonlight to take mark on van’s interior. I jumped down first, followed by the squad leader, and then the rest. I took a deep breath and exhaled. Water vapour emitted into the air, and then disappeared. We are all dressed in black. Well armoured and well prepared, all except for my expectations and fear of death.

The streets were dimly lit by the streetlights. The moon was the primary light source for the night, giving life to the role-playing shadows. Other than that, we had to put on our night vision goggles. I switched it on. Everything was covered in the multiple shades of green. After much preparations and last minute briefings, our squad leader gave the ‘go’ signal.

We were up against a notorious terrorist group who were once part of the finest Special Weapons And Tactics force but rebelled after the government didn’t give them enough compensation during their retirement from the force. But the government wasn’t all to blame. After all, they’re facing a crisis. So are we. The terrorists were dealing in the black market weapon trade. They have weapons that were user-modified and weapons that cannot be found anywhere else in any of your nearby local stores. Illegal weapons. They were probably better and mostly able to take over anything.

The government had an agreement to give them five hundred million dollars in cash for the freedom of an important foreign minister of the state. Of course, the government wasn’t going to throw away a large sum of cash that easy. That’s why he chose us to take up the cup and carry the torch in this so-called hour of darkness. We have the permission to fire at will. One of us has to be the bait, meaning one has to carry an empty briefcase and make an exchange with the terrorist. Suicidal. Luckily, it wasn’t me. But I felt sorry all the same.

We arrived outside the designated point. It was an old and rundown warehouse. The front door was opened. We took it as an invitation. We knew that they wouldn’t kill the hostage, not at all because if they do, they won’t have the upper hand anymore. Senseless questions filled my head. Questions that I tend to ask myself during every mission. Whether I can see the light tomorrow. Whether I can hear the birds sing their serene melodies the next morning. Whether I can sense the splash of the falling rain on my skin in the coming day. Death was knocking on our very doorsteps at this very hour of the night. It’ll all come down to how we’ll answer it. Or just ignore it. We all expected this battle to be harder than what we’ve handled before and knew the odds were against us. We’re going in.

They’re in tactical positions. And they’re waiting for us. We slipped in quickly and got into positions except for the ‘bait’. A masked-man walked towards the man with the briefcase. They talked for a while. Foreign language. Way over my area of expertise for words. Then the television lying on the table beside them flashed on. Behind the small little screen was the foreign minister. Judging by his condition and his surroundings, he’s somewhere within the warehouse. The man handed over the briefcase to the other man. As soon as the briefcase was about to be opened, the SWAT personnel drew his weapon and fired his shots at the nearest terrorist while diving behind cover. The terrorists opened fire. We returned the favour.

The dark and gloomy warehouse was now lit up like a Christmas tree by all the raining drops of bullets and shells alike, accompanied by the splashes of flashing grenades. Triggers pulled. Flashes lit. Bullets flew. Shells dropped. Guns recoiled. Holes smoking. And the whole process was repeated again for the thousandth time and thousands more to come. The S.W.A.T personnel that used to carry the briefcase, was lying in a pool of blood, dead. He knew the risks involved when he accepted this mission. He knew what the outcome would be.


One by one, a terrorist fell soon followed by a S.W.A.T teammate. I manoeuvred from cover to cover until I was close enough to throw a high explosive grenade. And so I did. A large pillar of fire followed by the sound of explosion sent a terrorist flying into the air. Shockwaves followed. I killed one. A moment later, there was the sweet and soundless sound of silence. Nevertheless, the strong smell of death was present. Sounds of breathing were repeated and heard. Mine. I’m the only one in the team left. Alive.

I got up from behind my cover and secured my surroundings. Awareness took over me for the moment. After a while, I looked for the place where the hostage was locked up. The atmosphere seemed colder than before. Chilling enough to pierce right through. Maybe fear had gotten the best of me. My footsteps echoed one after the other in the vast space of the storage room. Not long after that, I finally found it. I shot the lock. The rusty metal object fell to the ground, shattered the concrete floor and broke into countless pieces. I slid open the door and freed the hostage.

I escorted the minister to the exit. I was running and running. Breath after breath. Non-stop. There’s no turning back now. There’s no need to. I was near the exit when I suddenly stopped and fell. I was forced to. My hands broke my fall. There was a sharp pain in my right leg. I turned my head, eying the source of the sound. A terrorist had pulled a trigger on me. Everything was in slow motion. The terrorist shot another bullet again. The sound struck deeply within me. I shouted out in agony. It hit my right leg again. I reached out my pistol and took aim. I pulled the trigger. The pistol recoiled. The terrorist fell to the ground, eyes wide open. Lying there, motionless. Headshot.

I got up with help from the minister and the support from my rifle. I was losing blood, fast. I managed to limp back to the evacuation point. Red and blue lights flashed on the walls. Screeching sirens sounded off. The cleanup crew has arrived. Police units and an ambulance were waiting. The minister and I were safe. The round had ended, with me alive…