Hospital Fighter Ch. 9 Shadow Ops

Updated on September 12, 2019
Paul Garand profile image

I write classic "good vs evil" creative writing pieces with smart twists inspired by vintage action cinema, gaming, and heavy metal.

Was I thrown against a wall radiator multiple times? It sure felt like it since my upper body felt like wet paper and I didn’t see what they did to me – it was pitch black. I do, however, recall the commander maintaining control over the punishment; stopping his men when required. These people needed me alive but severely crippled – apparently I am worth more alive. It feels like weeks of sitting with my hands cuffed behind my back.

“Stand him against the wall!” I heard the familiar voice of the commander as I felt forced up once again with a hard hook to the face; effective way to restore vision and consciousness albeit painful. I saw 3 men before me; all dressed as no Soviet military personnel ever did – no markings or ranks. The commander, however, I saw him clearer and he didn’t look Russian or like any Soviet (Kazakh, Uzbek, Chechen, and Georgian, etc.) people I met. The man even had an accent that while barely noticeable, still gave him away not being a native Russian speaker.

“You are foreign,” I said trying to gather my strength while bracing for another possible punch. “What did you forget here?”


Shockingly, the man didn’t lash out; he maintained his cold, calculated demeanor and replied, “That information is not for your ears or competence.” His voice sounded exactly like what I’d imagine a teletype would if they had a voice. “You are detained for terrorism.”

“I am looking for a man named Baryga.” Maybe I could sway his motivation since I am in no condition to fight, especially a highly trained professional, “He is the drug lord and criminal authority here.” I added to my statement.

“There is no Baryga anymore.” He gestured towards another wall where another silhouette lay squirming against its restraints only to pull out a handgun and turn the silhouette off. Not only did the gun look sleek and otherworldly but the way he executed my unfortunate cell mate was so fast one may assume he willed the silhouette to die. “He thought he was clever and attempted to escape from our arrangement – even changed his name, passport and bought a plane ticket.”

The revelation felt like diving into cold water on a hot peak summer day; my entire crusade against the green poison came to a sharp, abrupt end after what appeared to be a futile crusade. “What will I do now?” I asked myself in disbelief while desperately brainstorming my future; for the first time in years, I felt helpless. “What about the drugs?” I asked the commander.

“Those are getting removed as we speak; unfortunate side effects included.” He replied, “That facility you raided, for instance, was swept clean of the junkies and condemned.”

“What about the hospitals carrying them?!” I enquired.

“This is where you come in.” the commander responded, “That or die in a prison from hard labor if you refuse.”

“What should I do?” I asked feeling my life regaining meaning.

“Go in, kill everyone and get out – don’t worry, those hospitals don’t have civilians or innocent patients; like I said, we have a list of dirty hospitals with said status confirmed by stakeout ops and insiders.”

“Are you aware that I have no military background?” I asked protecting myself from more demanding hence easily screwed up tasks not meant for untrained civilians.

“I know you are good with your hands and thinking on your feet so, that’s good enough for me.” The man reassured me, “Your ability to pull the trigger and hit a target is competent for the job too.” He finished as he untied me; gesturing to his escorts:

“Take him to Angel and patch him up!” he ordered.

The men picked me up and helped me walk towards the room’s exit, my entire body moved on its own since I didn’t feel any of my limbs.

“What about weapons?” I asked with my last breath.

“Hyena is working on them right now, he will issue them to you when you are back at full strength.” The commander finished pointing at Baryga’s dead body for his idle subordinate to dispose of.

It wasn’t a long walk but it felt like miles fighting through the pain at every step as my escorts carried me to a well lit room with a red cross by the entrance. The room was well lit and well stocked; I saw a proper operating theatre, pristine tools on the tables and a cabinet with medicines, tablets and tourniquets.

“This would be extremely painful but it’s the best option for the circumstances; Angel would fix you in minutes so, be glad” one of my escorts warned as he and his partner set me down onto the surgical bed. As I lay on the bed, I watched them walk away as another commando walked in; putting on rubber gloves and a face mask as he moved. He looked better and calmer than any civilian surgeon I saw during my hospital worker times – clearly saw the worst within the worst situations.

“Lay still, I need to study your injuries.” The man ordered in a professional yet calming tone; he also had a foreign accent that sounded similar to the commander’s but his grasp of Russian was more firm and fluent. I complied as he felt around my limbs and finishing at my head – lucky for him I always shaved my head.

“Turn over.” He commanded.

Struggling through the pain, I complied as he continued to feel around.

“On your back.” He commanded again, “I need to X-Ray you.”

The technology these commandos had was incredible, so far from home and yet they managed to conjure a fully-stocked hospital with an armory and a place bigger than a standard Soviet apartment. I thought about all that as he scanned me thoroughly.

“Nothing serious, just minor fractures.” Angel finished, switching off the machine, “I am just going to give you something to accelerate recovery but, it would hurt so much you would be puking blood and feeling like your veins are exploding”

Angel was already tapping a syringe full of the mysterious substance, “Relax, I gave this to many through the years; be thankful I don’t have to operate – God knows I thought I did.” Honestly, I won’t mind if he did, the man had an aura you could trust. Guess that’s how he got his codename. Bracing myself, I watched the substance enter my body through a plastic syringe; didn’t take long before my entire body started to warm up. My heart began to race and all my limbs began to burn intensively. The pain kicked in and the burning upgraded to a feeling of every pressure point getting ripped out with a blunt knife – pain of striking a nerve and the following pain of ripping it out.

Angel just stood calmly, studying me, “It would be over soon!” he added.

He was right, a moment later it began to subside – the pain from before was gone and I felt not only better but a lot healthier.

“We are done here.” Angel concluded, “Go see Hyena about your gear; he lives to the right of here once you leave.” I almost leaped from the bed and before I knew it, I was looking at another commando who was assembling another futuristic firearm. “Good timing, just finished with your gear.” The man said turning towards me. “We work with the most advanced firearms – your confiscated gear just won’t work for us.”

Hyena slammed an empty magazine into the catch, pulled the charging handle and tapping the body, he squeezed the trigger; testing his handiwork. “This gun is the West’s answer to the Soviet AK; the M16A1.” He unloaded the empty magazine to test the release action, “Get a feel for it,” Hyena said proudly, handing me the unloaded rifle. I looked at the gun, tried aiming down the sights and sizing it up while imagining assaulting those hospitals with it.

“However, there is one very important rule you have to follow!” Hyena went down to a very serious tone, “NEVER lose your rifle! After the mission, you return it to my armory.” The commando’s seriousness made me shiver so I didn’t think of asking him needless questions.

“Go see the commander; you got everything you need now.” Hyena finished handing me a chest carrier, extra magazines and what looked like a respirator.

Questions & Answers

    © 2019 Jake Clawson

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