EndWar e-1 Read online

  EndWar

  ( EndWar - 1 )

  Tom Clancy

  David Michaels

  A new phenomenon begins.

  Created by #1 New York Times bestselling author Tom Clancy

  Based on the bestselling video game, this new series will take readers onto the battlefields of World War III with the technical savvy and explosive action that Clancy fans have come to expect.

  Tom Clancy, David Michaels

  EndWar

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The author would like to thank the following individuals whose assistance and support made this book possible:

  Mr. Tom Colgan

  Mr. Chris George

  Ms. Sandra Harding

  Chief Warrant Officer James Ide, USN (Ret.)

  Major Mark Aitken, U.S. Army

  Master Sergeant Randy McElwee, U.S. Army (Ret.)

  Major William R. Reeves, U.S. Army

  Major Craig Walker, USAF

  FROM UBISOFT:

  Joshua Meyer

  Richard Dansky

  Alexis Nolent

  Olivier Henriot

  Cedrick Delmas

  The Ubisoft legal department

  John Gonzalez

  Audrey Leprince

  Nathalie Paccard

  Michael De Plater

  FROM BLACKHAWK PRODUCTS GROUP:

  Mr. Mike Noel, U.S. Navy SEAL (Ret.)

  Mr. Tom O’Sullivan, U.S. Army (Ret.)

  Mr. Michael Janich, U.S. Army (Ret.)

  Mr. Steve Matulewicz, Command Master Chief (SEAL) (Ret.)

  Mr. Brent Beshara, Canadian Special Forces (Ret.)

  Mr. Michael Rigg, Paladin Press

  Mr. Darrel Ralph, custom knife maker (www.darrelralph.com)

  Dr. Rudy McDaniel, University of Central Florida

  Mrs. Carole McDaniel (carole.mcdanieldesign.com)

  Nancy, Lauren, and Kendall Telep

  EPIGRAPH

  And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

  — REVELATION 6:4

  I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.

  — ALBERT EINSTEIN

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  JOINT STRIKE FORCE (JSF) LEADERSHIP — U.S.

  David Becerra, President (“American Eagle”)

  Roberta Santiago, National Security Advisor

  Mark Hellenberg, White House Chief of Staff

  General Laura Kennedy, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS)

  General Rudolph McDaniel, Vice Chairman of the JCS

  Major Alice Dennison, USMC, JSF Tactical Operations Specialist (“Hammer”)

  Charles Shakura (lead interrogator for JSF)

  JOINT STRIKE FORCE, ODA SPECIAL FORCES

  Team Sergeant Nathan Vatz (“Vortex”; “Bali”)

  Captain Tom Gerard, Detachment Commander

  Chief Warrant Officer 3 Douglas Barnes, Assistant Detachment Commander

  Sergeant Zack Murrow, Weapons Sergeant (“Volcano”)

  Captain Mike Godfrey, Detachment Commander (ODA 888, “Berserker Six”)

  Captain Manny Rodriguez, Detachment Commander (ODA 897, “Zodiac Six”)

  Chief Warrant Officer 3 Samson, Assistant Detachment Commander (ODA 888, “Black Bear”)

  Sergeant Jac Sasaki, Senior Medic (ODA 888, “Band-Aid”)

  Staff Sergeant Paul Dresden, Assistant Medic (ODA 888, “Beethoven”)

  JOINT STRIKE FORCE, MARINE EXPEDITIONARY FORCES

  Colonel Stack, Company Commander

  Staff Sergeant Raymond McAllen, Force Recon Team Leader (“Outlaw One”)

  Sergeant Terry Jones, Assistant Team Leader (“Outlaw Two”)

  Corporal Palladino, team scout/sniper (“Outlaw Three”)

  Corporal Szymanski, team scout (“Outlaw Four”)

  Lance Corporal Friskis, radio operator (“Outlaw Five”)

  Navy Corpsman Gutierrez, medic (“Outlaw Six”)

  Sergeant Scott Rule, New Assistant Team Leader (“Outlaw Two”)

  F-35 DETACHMENT, NORTHWEST TERRITORIES

  Major Stephanie Halverson, USAF (“Siren”)

  Captain Jake Boyd, USAF (“Ghost Hawk”)

  Captain Lisa Johansson, USAF (“Sapphire”)

  STRYKER BRIGADE COMBAT TEAM

  Captain Chuck Welch, Company Commander

  Staff Sergeant Marc Rakken (“Sparta Six”)

  Sergeant Timothy Appleman, Vehicle Commander

  Private First Class Penny Hassa, Vehicle Driver

  USS FLORIDA SSN-805

  Commander Jonathan Andreas

  “Jack” (Operations Officer)

  Senior Chief Radioman Sheldon

  Chief Electronic Technician Burgess

  “Dan” (Communications Officer)

  JSF NAVY HIGH COMMAND, HONOLULU

  Admiral Donald Stanton, Commander, Pacific Fleet (COMPACFLT)

  Admiral Charles Harrison, Commander, Submarines, Pacific

  “Smitty” USS Florida’s Submarine Squadron Commander

  RUSSIAN FEDERATION

  Vsevolod Vsevolodovich Kapalkin, President

  General Sergei Izotov, Director of the Glavnoje

  Razvedyvatel ’noje Upravlenije (GRU)

  Colonel Pavel Doletskaya (GRU)

  Major Alexei Noskov, Tactical Operations Officer (“Werewolf”)

  Colonel Viktoria Antsyforov (GRU)

  Commander Ivan Golova, commander of the Ulyanovsk

  Captain Pravota, Ka-29 chopper pilot

  Captain Second Rank Mikhail Anatolyevich Kolosov, commander of the Romanov

  Alexi Vasiliev, aka William Bullard, Russian mole

  EUROPEAN FEDERATION

  President Nathalie Perreau

  General Amadou Bankolé, EF Enforcers Corps

  Capitaine Ilaria Cimino, EFEC Executive Officer

  CANADA

  Robert Emerson, Prime Minister

  “Khaki,” chopper pilot and ex-Canadian Special Forces

  TERRORIST

  Green Vox (symbolic head of the Green Brigade Transnational)

  MAPS

  Map concept by James Ide Graphic design by Carole McDaniel

  Map by Carole McDaniel

  Map by Carole McDaniel

  ONE

  “He’s coming around! Everybody get—”

  Team Sergeant Nathan Vatz never finished his sentence. The Russian T-100 main battle tank on the opposite end of the intersection finished it for him.

  Vatz slammed onto his gut, sliding across the rain-slick pavement as the office building fifty meters ahead exploded with a thunderous boom.

  Shards of concrete, glass, and mangled metal arced into the cold night and fell in a hailstorm on the blackened remains of the HMMWVs and a pair of eight-wheeled Stryker infantry combat vehicles, behind which Vatz’s special forces team had taken cover. A black rose of smoke backlit by fire bloomed across the intersection, driven by a wind thick with the stench of cordite.

  With a sudden lurch, the fifty-ton tank rumbled closer, its 152mm smoothbore main gun swiveling menacingly, tracks grinding over the bodies of the rifle squad — the tank’s first victims — who’d been hit as they’d dismounted from one of the Strykers.

  Vatz wiped sweat from his eyes, cleared his throat, and spoke into the tiny voice-activated boom mike at his lips: “Victor Six, this is Vortex, over?”

  His voice had cracked. Calm down. They just had to get the hell out of here. That was it.

  But now their exfiltration had gone to hell. No bird to swoop in, land on the rooftop helipad, and whisk them to saf
ety. No nothing.

  And that tank wasn’t operating alone. The rest of that platoon had to be nearby, with dismounted forces from the BMP-3 infantry fighting vehicles parked outside the gate.

  “Victor Six, this is Vortex, over?”

  Where was the rest of his twelve-man team? They’d been right behind him, and the captain had been holding up in that doorway, which was now empty.

  Vatz bolted to his feet, darted back behind the still-burning hulk of a Mercedes SUV, and suddenly raised his pistol, about to fire—

  When he realized the men down the alley were friendlies, his team, easy to mistake because of their Russian Spetsnaz uniforms.

  Weapons Sergeant Zack Murrow had already shouldered the Javelin antitank missile they had recovered from one of the dead infantrymen and was moving toward the street, about to lie prone and get a bead on that tank.

  Vatz rushed toward Zack; never breaking cover, he said in perfect Russian, “Don’t miss.”

  The sergeant answered in English. “Right. But forget the Russian, Nathan. Our cover’s been seriously blown.”

  Vatz and his colleagues were Joint Strike Force soldiers wearing enemy uniforms. They would be considered spies. They would not be taken prisoner. There would be no diplomatic negotiation for their release.

  Hurrying farther along the wall, Vatz found the detachment commander, Captain Tom Gerard, and the assistant detachment commander, Chief Warrant Officer 3 Douglas Barnes, speaking softly, Gerard working an index finger over his pocket PC. Next to them were the team’s two commo guys, and farther back were the two engineers and assistant weapons sergeant, Russian Varjag heavy pistols drawn as they covered the end of the alley. One of the two medics was positioned at the near side.

  Somewhere in the distance voices lifted. The Spetsnaz dismounted forces were drawing closer. And the drizzle was beginning to get heavier, promising a downpour.

  “Hey, Vatz,” grunted the captain. “Heard you calling, but I was on the Shadowfire with higher.”

  “Bad news?”

  Barnes, a round-faced man with more than twenty years of service, smiled broadly. “We have to fall back another half klick. Our friends across the street have pushed too far forward, and our bird can’t get in here. She’s already found a secure spot behind a parking garage near the old municipal airport.”

  “Couldn’t be easy, huh?”

  “Vatz, we’re a Joint Strike Force team in the middle of Moscow. Operational Detachment Alpha. Special Forces. The world is at war. Damn. If you wanted easy, you should’ve joined the—”

  “My cousin’s in the Air Force.”

  “I was going to say the circus.”

  “We got one right here. What the hell happened? They were waiting for us.”

  Gerard and Barnes just shrugged.

  Vatz swore under his breath. “Let’s move.”

  As team sergeant, Vatz was responsible for the fighting men during combat situations, which freed up Barnes and Gerard to maintain close contact with their company commander and coordinate team movements within the larger battle plan.

  At the moment, Vatz was all about giving one order: Run!

  He called the others out of the alley, just as Zack announced that his missile was locked, his eye pressed tightly against the command launch unit’s night-vision sight. A heartbeat later, he fired.

  The missile ripped away with a terrific whoosh while a massive chute of fire extended from the launcher’s tail.

  Like a star in the night, the missile streaked up into the dark mantle of clouds. Even as Zack ditched the launcher and scrambled to his feet, the projectile abruptly changed course, coming straight down in top-attack mode. It struck the tank’s turret with a powerful explosion that shattered nearby windows and, in turn, tore into the ammo compartment, creating several more explosions, white-hot shrapnel fountaining from the wreckage.

  As more tongues of fire rose from the dead tank, Vatz signaled the others on down the avenue, then stole a glance at his wrist-mounted GPS. The captain had already programmed in their destination. All they had to do was leap over the debris and bodies, connect the dots, and they’d be home.

  If you wanted easy.

  The two medics, Patterson and Eck, were in charge of keeping the “package” in good shape, said package being one Pavel Doletskaya, a special forces colonel working for the Glavnoje Razvedyvatel’noje Upravlenije (GRU), or the Main Intelligence Directorate.

  According to intel intercepted by the European Federation Enforcers Corps (EFEC), Doletskaya worked for the big man himself, General Sergei Izotov, the director of the GRU. The two were planning a covert operation with mention of the Amundsen Gulf region up in Canada. The EFEC had tipped off the Joint Strike Force, and the team had gone into isolation until the opportunity arose to abduct the good colonel. Weeks of planning had resulted in a clean snatch as Doletskaya was leaving “The Aquarium” (the nickname for GRU headquarters) and heading home for the night.

  Moreover, the team had done a fine job of wrapping their package. They had bound his wrists, taped his mouth, and placed a ballistic assault helmet with full visor over his head. They needed to protect that head. What he had in it could prove extremely valuable. They had also fitted him with a Dragon Skin armored vest composed of silver dollar-shaped pieces of silicon carbide ceramic. The pieces overlapped like fish scales to help dissipate a bullet’s kinetic energy. Doletskaya was far better protected than any member of the team and, of course, worth a lot more to the JSF than they were.

  Rifle fire suddenly erupted behind them, rounds burrowing into the wall just a meter behind Vatz.

  He wanted to scream for the others to move faster, but that incoming was more than enough motivation.

  They charged forward, Barnes and Gerard in the lead, the medics and Doletskaya and the rest right behind them. Vatz pulled up the rear.

  Vatz raced to the next corner, dodged behind a wall, then rolled back and opened fire as Zack arrived at his side, adding more suppressing fire.

  Six Spetsnaz troops were hustling across the road about a block away, muzzles flashing as they cut loose another salvo.

  Vatz and Zack fired a few more rounds that sent them into crouching positions; then Vatz urged Zack back and the sergeant nodded and took off.

  The wind picked up and the rain finally came, hard and heavy, in time with Vatz’s pulse.

  Meanwhile, the team ducked right down another alley, heading for the next street, and a glance at his GPS told Vatz that the captain was taking a shortcut, probably getting word from Detachment Bravo. That Special Forces team was back at the tactical command post, monitoring their Blue Force Tracking screens and informing the captain that more soldiers were beginning to surround them.

  Vatz got on the radio. “Victor Six, this is Vortex.”

  “Go ahead, Vortex.”

  “We have a squad in pursuit. Maybe more coming, over.”

  “Roger, there are at least a few guys coming from the west, along with a vehicle from the north.”

  “I figured. We’ll break off and intercept the dismounts. Buy you a little time, over.”

  “Do it.”

  “On our way. Vortex, out.”

  Zack, who’d been listening over the channel, slowed as Vatz caught up with him. They continued straight up the street, toward a two-story warehouse or factory.

  As they reached the corner, they jumped down a meter into a loading bay area, where collected rainwater nearly reached their knees.

  Zack swore, slipped, fell face forward, and Vatz seized his arm and dragged him up. They trudged forward, out of the puddle, toward where flashlights — three to be exact — shone across the street from an alley that divided another two factory buildings in half.

  Vatz tipped his head in that direction, and they sprinted off, able to reach the wall near the alley before the Spetsnaz troops emerged.

  There they paused, and in the seconds it took to catch his breath, Vatz tapped his GPS, zooming in on his location to see if th
ey should circle around the alley and come in from the back side or simply try a frontal approach.

  A man’s voice, low and heavily burred, echoed off the walls. The Russians were right there.

  Zack’s expression grew emphatic with the need for orders.

  Vatz motioned Zack to crouch down, then whispered into his mike: “I got the first one.”

  “Okay.”

  The soldier reached the end of the alley, and Vatz already had his BlackHawk Caracara knife in hand, a black talon of steel that would cut silently and effortlessly through flesh.

  The soldier came forward, waving his light—

  Vatz sprang on him, drawing his blade across the soldier’s neck in one fluid motion while cupping his hand over the man’s mouth.

  Even as the blood gushed from the Russian’s severed carotid artery, Vatz gave the soldier a second punch — the kill shot to the spinal cord. He grew limp and crumpled.

  One of the troops called out to his buddy.

  Zack’s eyes could not grow any wider.

  Vatz nodded, and Zack whirled forward, into the alley, just as the second soldier drew near—

  Yet even as Zack fired point-blank into the man’s head, the third and final soldier fired before Vatz could.

  It all happened so fast that Vatz wasn’t sure what had happened until…

  The two Spetsnaz soldiers collapsed to the puddles.

  Followed by Zack.

  “Aw, no…”

  A hollow pang struck Vatz as he rushed to his friend, dropped to his knees, eyes already burning.

  Zach had taken a round to the head. He was already gone.

  Vatz froze. In shock. No time now. Just nothing. Emptiness. And suddenly, he thought of the day he and Zack had been sitting in the barracks and had heard the news about the nukes going off in Saudi Arabia and Iran, destroying both countries. People always asked: where were you on the day the nukes went off?>