Chapter 18
Berlin
Ask any Special Forces soldier what separates them from the rest of the army, and they will unanimously reply that it is their mental abilities. Nothing to do with strength, endurance or even aim, all these things can be gained given enough of the right training. The difference between those who make it and those who don’t is in the mind, and that is why out of every 100 applicants to the US Navy SEAL programme, 80 are sent home. The numbers for the SAS and GSG9 are entirely similar.
Recruits are subjected, not just to a battery of physical and endurance tests, designed to take them to the end of their willpower, and beyond, but to pretty much every psychological test known to mankind. These are designed to weed out those who are not suitable off the bat, and those who will not be able to handle the stress in the future. Given the amount of money the training costs, and the lethal skills it imparts, these are vital concerns. However, man’s ability to predict the future, despite the amount of effort he has put into it, is limited, and mistakes do happen. One of those mistakes was Axel.
Born on the wrong side of the tracks, his tendency to violence began to express itself during his teenage years. Joining one of the neo-Nazi gangs which sprang up in the aftermath of the Cold War, he rapidly rose to be one of their chief enforcers, harassing Jews and communists. His jobless frustration channelled into rage against those deemed to have taken away his opportunities.
However, the career of a teenage gang member is usually short, ending in either death or prison. It was the second which loomed ahead of Axel as he was caught attempting to burn down a jewelry store in Dortmund. One the cusp of legal adulthood, he faced a long stint in a prison. His lawyer, however, was creative, pointing out that he had yet to do his national service, and what the young man really needed was a couple of years of military discipline, instead of being sent to jail to be turned into a hardened criminal. The judge had agreed, giving him a suspended sentence, and Axel had reported for basic training two weeks later.
The experiment had succeeded beyond anyone’s expectation, the young man lapping up the cameraderie and training the army offered. The esprit de corps was similar to the gangs, but there were no policemen breathing down his neck, and there were three meals a day guaranteed. His skills, honed in the urban badlands, had given him a head-start over his more pampered companions, and he had quickly won the respect life had hitherto denied him.
Staying on after 2 years was the only choice he had, and steady progression through the enlisted ranks came until he decided to try out for the elite GSG9 unit. His CO had been sorry to see him go, but realised that it was the best outlet for what was his best soldier. The selection committee agreed, and Axel had joined the unit in August 2001.
Two months later he was in Afghanistan, part of the NATO forces sent to overthrow the Taliban. His unit had spent its time leading a band of Northern Alliance freedom fighters operating behind enemy lines. He and his colleagues had learned a lot from their allies, how to blend into the hostile environment, how the Taliban operated, and to take no prisoners. He remembered his first kill, a young recruit who had been forced to serve to stop his family being killed. The NA commander had little sympathy, and, having extracted the location of the enemy by torture, turned over the poor young man to his unit to be disposed of.
The number two in the NA group had seen Axel lurking around the camp and asked if he wanted to help. Something, and to this day, Axel could not say what it was, made him say yes, and a minute later, he was watching the young man choke on the blood pouring from his slit throat. There was something almost erotic about the experience, a buzz which Axel could not ignore. And from that point, he was always the one to volunteer for close combat, and after the battle, for interrogation and disposal duty.
If torturing and killing a man was thrilling, doing it to a woman was the best experience Axel had yet had. He had not had the opportunity often. Given the nature of Afghan society, it was a pleasure he tasted rarely, but when he did, as the Taliban began to recruit female suicide bombers, he had drunk fully of the gift offered.
It had been a while since the last time, and, unfortunately for Elena, Axel was determined to enjoy it to the fullest.
He moved behind her, leave her face to face with Simon. Her eyes were wide with fear, as were his.
Axel placed his hands on her shoulders and began to rub them. She was confused now. Seconds ago he had shown her the knife, and now he was giving her a massage.
The confusion did not last long. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “Relax inspector. There is nothing you can do to stop this. You may as well try to enjoy it. As much as you can.”
The next thing she felt was cold, hard and sharp. As he stroked the blade of the knife across the back of her neck. She tried to move, an involuntary reflex, but a large hand grabbed her hair and held her still.
‘Now, now, we can’t have that.”
He moved the knife round to the front of her throat and gently sawed it across. He was as light as possible, but even so, a thin line of blood appeared on the left hand side.
“Look at that, you’re bleeding. Well, we can’t have that” he said, feigning concern. Reaching down, he ran his tongue across her throat, licking up the thin tine of blood. Elena was revolted, and tried again to move away, earning herself another slap.
The knife moved down to her chest. Elena was wearing a black blouse, fasten by three buttons. Slipping the knife under the first, Axel cut through the thread, the sharp knife making short work of its job. Carrying on downwards, it disposed of the other two. The blouse hung open, revealing far more than Elena would have liked.
Axel pulled it roughly down over her shoulders, leaving it half way down her exposed arms.
Despite herself, Elena was sweating. Fear caused beads of perspiration to break out on her forehead. Axel noticed the moisture.
“Sweating Inspector? And on such a cold day. We’ll have to find some way of cooling you down.”
He moved towards her forehead, licking off the sweat before it dripped down on to the bruise forming on her cheek. She had learnt from last time and made no attempt to resist, even as his fetid breath made its way down to her nose.
“I prefer the blood myself.” He announced. “But we must try and keep you cool, Inspector. I think you are wearing too many clothes.”
Straightening again, he moved the knife towards her shoulder, slipping it under the bra strap. Elena’s eyes opened as she realised what he was about to do. Slicing cleanly through it, he moved on to the other, leaving her bra hanging with the minimum of coverage. Even this was too much for him though, and he slipped the knife between her breast and the bra cup. Twisting his weapon slowly, he moved the bra off her flesh and let it hang down towards her stomach.
Standing back to admire his handiwork he leered. Hundreds of thoughts flooded through Elena’s mind, none of them good.
“I had an Afghan woman once, in just this position. I cut her tit off. She fainted. Let’s see if you’re made of stronger stuff, shall we inspector?”
Bound tight, there was little she could do has he ran the flat surface of the blade over her exposed breast. Gently, he circled her nipple with the point of the blade, fear, and the cold steel making it erect, despite her best efforts to control herself.
“I knew you’d enjoy it” he laughed, standing back to admire his handiwork.
Simon had been quietly watching Axel go about his task. With the enemy’s attention focused exclusively on Elena, he had tested his restraints both arm and leg, but Axel was nothing if not thorough, and he could gain no purchase. Desperate now, he looked around the room, seeking anything which could help, or even give inspiration.
About to give up, he noticed a red dot on the back of Axel’s jacket. Initially, writing it off as a bit of fluff, he was surprised when it started to move up towards his head. Dancing around in a centimetre-diameter circle on the stubbly head in front of him like a child’s sparkler on Bonfire Night, Simon found the effect almost hypnotic.
His reverie was interrupted by a sharp retort from over his right shoulder, a hot breeze rustling past his cheek.
The Sierra Matchking hollow-point bullet buried itself in Axel’s brain, expanding to six times its original size. Designed to minimise collateral damage, the projectile slowed and stayed within his skull, sending out a concussive shock-wave which pulverised his brain into a grey mush. Banned by the Hague Convention of 1899 from being used in war, hollow-points were in fact a favourite of hostage rescue teams the world over. Designed to stay inside the target and create more damage than an ordinary bullet, they had the advantage of increasing the chance of a kill, and lessening the likelihood of an innocent bystander being hit by a ricochet.
The bullet worked perfectly in Axel’s case, the massive damage caused by the shockwaves utterly destroying his brain. Death was instant, the giant dropping to his knees, his head coming to rest on Elena’s lap.
Across the courtyard, Mark hastily disassembled his rifle and placed it back into its case. He had been waiting in the room opposite, rifle at the ready as Axel had started his fun. The curtains in the other room had distracted him, blowing in the air conditioning, preventing him from having a clear shot. When Axel had stood up, he had moved into a gap between the curtains, allowing Mark the chance to take a shot. Stowing the rifle under the the trolley, he adjusted his bow-tie in the mirror, and headed out the door.
In Elena’s room, the remaining occupants looked at each other in shock, relief at their escape flooding through them. Elena turned her attention to trying to remove the Axel’s remains from her lap, while Simon turned his to trying not to look at her naked chest.
Berlin
Ask any Special Forces soldier what separates them from the rest of the army, and they will unanimously reply that it is their mental abilities. Nothing to do with strength, endurance or even aim, all these things can be gained given enough of the right training. The difference between those who make it and those who don’t is in the mind, and that is why out of every 100 applicants to the US Navy SEAL programme, 80 are sent home. The numbers for the SAS and GSG9 are entirely similar.
Recruits are subjected, not just to a battery of physical and endurance tests, designed to take them to the end of their willpower, and beyond, but to pretty much every psychological test known to mankind. These are designed to weed out those who are not suitable off the bat, and those who will not be able to handle the stress in the future. Given the amount of money the training costs, and the lethal skills it imparts, these are vital concerns. However, man’s ability to predict the future, despite the amount of effort he has put into it, is limited, and mistakes do happen. One of those mistakes was Axel.
Born on the wrong side of the tracks, his tendency to violence began to express itself during his teenage years. Joining one of the neo-Nazi gangs which sprang up in the aftermath of the Cold War, he rapidly rose to be one of their chief enforcers, harassing Jews and communists. His jobless frustration channelled into rage against those deemed to have taken away his opportunities.
However, the career of a teenage gang member is usually short, ending in either death or prison. It was the second which loomed ahead of Axel as he was caught attempting to burn down a jewelry store in Dortmund. One the cusp of legal adulthood, he faced a long stint in a prison. His lawyer, however, was creative, pointing out that he had yet to do his national service, and what the young man really needed was a couple of years of military discipline, instead of being sent to jail to be turned into a hardened criminal. The judge had agreed, giving him a suspended sentence, and Axel had reported for basic training two weeks later.
The experiment had succeeded beyond anyone’s expectation, the young man lapping up the cameraderie and training the army offered. The esprit de corps was similar to the gangs, but there were no policemen breathing down his neck, and there were three meals a day guaranteed. His skills, honed in the urban badlands, had given him a head-start over his more pampered companions, and he had quickly won the respect life had hitherto denied him.
Staying on after 2 years was the only choice he had, and steady progression through the enlisted ranks came until he decided to try out for the elite GSG9 unit. His CO had been sorry to see him go, but realised that it was the best outlet for what was his best soldier. The selection committee agreed, and Axel had joined the unit in August 2001.
Two months later he was in Afghanistan, part of the NATO forces sent to overthrow the Taliban. His unit had spent its time leading a band of Northern Alliance freedom fighters operating behind enemy lines. He and his colleagues had learned a lot from their allies, how to blend into the hostile environment, how the Taliban operated, and to take no prisoners. He remembered his first kill, a young recruit who had been forced to serve to stop his family being killed. The NA commander had little sympathy, and, having extracted the location of the enemy by torture, turned over the poor young man to his unit to be disposed of.
The number two in the NA group had seen Axel lurking around the camp and asked if he wanted to help. Something, and to this day, Axel could not say what it was, made him say yes, and a minute later, he was watching the young man choke on the blood pouring from his slit throat. There was something almost erotic about the experience, a buzz which Axel could not ignore. And from that point, he was always the one to volunteer for close combat, and after the battle, for interrogation and disposal duty.
If torturing and killing a man was thrilling, doing it to a woman was the best experience Axel had yet had. He had not had the opportunity often. Given the nature of Afghan society, it was a pleasure he tasted rarely, but when he did, as the Taliban began to recruit female suicide bombers, he had drunk fully of the gift offered.
It had been a while since the last time, and, unfortunately for Elena, Axel was determined to enjoy it to the fullest.
He moved behind her, leave her face to face with Simon. Her eyes were wide with fear, as were his.
Axel placed his hands on her shoulders and began to rub them. She was confused now. Seconds ago he had shown her the knife, and now he was giving her a massage.
The confusion did not last long. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “Relax inspector. There is nothing you can do to stop this. You may as well try to enjoy it. As much as you can.”
The next thing she felt was cold, hard and sharp. As he stroked the blade of the knife across the back of her neck. She tried to move, an involuntary reflex, but a large hand grabbed her hair and held her still.
‘Now, now, we can’t have that.”
He moved the knife round to the front of her throat and gently sawed it across. He was as light as possible, but even so, a thin line of blood appeared on the left hand side.
“Look at that, you’re bleeding. Well, we can’t have that” he said, feigning concern. Reaching down, he ran his tongue across her throat, licking up the thin tine of blood. Elena was revolted, and tried again to move away, earning herself another slap.
The knife moved down to her chest. Elena was wearing a black blouse, fasten by three buttons. Slipping the knife under the first, Axel cut through the thread, the sharp knife making short work of its job. Carrying on downwards, it disposed of the other two. The blouse hung open, revealing far more than Elena would have liked.
Axel pulled it roughly down over her shoulders, leaving it half way down her exposed arms.
Despite herself, Elena was sweating. Fear caused beads of perspiration to break out on her forehead. Axel noticed the moisture.
“Sweating Inspector? And on such a cold day. We’ll have to find some way of cooling you down.”
He moved towards her forehead, licking off the sweat before it dripped down on to the bruise forming on her cheek. She had learnt from last time and made no attempt to resist, even as his fetid breath made its way down to her nose.
“I prefer the blood myself.” He announced. “But we must try and keep you cool, Inspector. I think you are wearing too many clothes.”
Straightening again, he moved the knife towards her shoulder, slipping it under the bra strap. Elena’s eyes opened as she realised what he was about to do. Slicing cleanly through it, he moved on to the other, leaving her bra hanging with the minimum of coverage. Even this was too much for him though, and he slipped the knife between her breast and the bra cup. Twisting his weapon slowly, he moved the bra off her flesh and let it hang down towards her stomach.
Standing back to admire his handiwork he leered. Hundreds of thoughts flooded through Elena’s mind, none of them good.
“I had an Afghan woman once, in just this position. I cut her tit off. She fainted. Let’s see if you’re made of stronger stuff, shall we inspector?”
Bound tight, there was little she could do has he ran the flat surface of the blade over her exposed breast. Gently, he circled her nipple with the point of the blade, fear, and the cold steel making it erect, despite her best efforts to control herself.
“I knew you’d enjoy it” he laughed, standing back to admire his handiwork.
Simon had been quietly watching Axel go about his task. With the enemy’s attention focused exclusively on Elena, he had tested his restraints both arm and leg, but Axel was nothing if not thorough, and he could gain no purchase. Desperate now, he looked around the room, seeking anything which could help, or even give inspiration.
About to give up, he noticed a red dot on the back of Axel’s jacket. Initially, writing it off as a bit of fluff, he was surprised when it started to move up towards his head. Dancing around in a centimetre-diameter circle on the stubbly head in front of him like a child’s sparkler on Bonfire Night, Simon found the effect almost hypnotic.
His reverie was interrupted by a sharp retort from over his right shoulder, a hot breeze rustling past his cheek.
The Sierra Matchking hollow-point bullet buried itself in Axel’s brain, expanding to six times its original size. Designed to minimise collateral damage, the projectile slowed and stayed within his skull, sending out a concussive shock-wave which pulverised his brain into a grey mush. Banned by the Hague Convention of 1899 from being used in war, hollow-points were in fact a favourite of hostage rescue teams the world over. Designed to stay inside the target and create more damage than an ordinary bullet, they had the advantage of increasing the chance of a kill, and lessening the likelihood of an innocent bystander being hit by a ricochet.
The bullet worked perfectly in Axel’s case, the massive damage caused by the shockwaves utterly destroying his brain. Death was instant, the giant dropping to his knees, his head coming to rest on Elena’s lap.
Across the courtyard, Mark hastily disassembled his rifle and placed it back into its case. He had been waiting in the room opposite, rifle at the ready as Axel had started his fun. The curtains in the other room had distracted him, blowing in the air conditioning, preventing him from having a clear shot. When Axel had stood up, he had moved into a gap between the curtains, allowing Mark the chance to take a shot. Stowing the rifle under the the trolley, he adjusted his bow-tie in the mirror, and headed out the door.
In Elena’s room, the remaining occupants looked at each other in shock, relief at their escape flooding through them. Elena turned her attention to trying to remove the Axel’s remains from her lap, while Simon turned his to trying not to look at her naked chest.
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