Combat Ops gr-2 Page 11

  All I said was that I’d been serving in the Philippines and been stabbed with a very interesting sword shaped like a Chinese character. The weapon was now resting comfortably in a glass case at an old friend’s house.

  After all these years, the scar still itched. And I could still see Fang Zhi’s eyes as he’d thrust the blade into me. I was just a kid back then. And the missions seemed crystal clear. Ironically, Fang Zhi had questioned his own commanders’ orders and become torn over his duty versus the lives of the men in his charge. Though I don’t regret killing him, I better understood his position after spending time in Afghanistan.

  Back in our billet, most of the guys were sitting on their bunks, staring blankly or rubbing the corners of their eyes and trying not to lose it. We’d been a closely knit team for the past two years. We’d lost a family member.

  “We need to get out there tonight and get some,” said Ramirez, just after I entered. “They need to pay for killing Matt.”

  The response was natural, rudimentary, entirely human, and I felt the same — despite its sounding like a knee-jerk reaction of less experienced soldiers.

  Hume, Nolan, and Brown began nodding. Treehorn joined them. Jenkins, the biggest, most intimidating guy on the team, started crying. Smith, who was near him, offered a few words of encouragement.

  Master Sergeant Matt Beasley had hailed from Detroit, had tooled around the ’hood in a Harley Sportster, and was a latchkey kid who’d made a name for himself in the Army. I don’t expect my words to do him justice, and you’ll never know him the way we did, but you need to understand how important he was to us.

  In recent months Ramirez had become more of my right-hand man, but Beasley had been the first guy to help out, had treated me with respect and had welcomed me into his fold. NCOs could make or break you, and much of my success was due to his experience and guidance. We always had Alpha and Bravo teams, with Charlie team being our “one-man” sniper operation, and Beasley always led Bravo for me. I never once doubted his abilities and knew that if I was ever injured or incapacitated, my guys were in his more-than-capable hands.

  I could tell myself that if I hadn’t sent the minesweepers out there, then Matt would still be alive. But I wouldn’t have made that decision. I would have sent them no matter the risk. Of course, I’d seen a lot of guys die in combat — and a lot of guys die just getting blown up while they were on their way to the latrine. Sometimes I took the blame and just buried it. But I’d been working with Matt for a long time, and though I couldn’t help but feel the guilt, I could already hear him telling me not to worry about it. Sorry, Matt, that’s easier said than done.

  The guys, no doubt, wanted payback. So did I. And not just against the Taliban.

  Before I could speak, a big Chinook rumbled overhead, shaking the hut with its twin rotors.

  “That was fast,” said Ramirez, his gaze shooting up to the ceiling.

  “Well, that might not be our bird,” I said. He was referring to our having Beasley’s body shipped back to Kandahar.

  He nodded. “So, are we game on for tonight?”

  I raised a palm. “Take it easy. I’ve got no actionable intel.”

  “They’ve been poking around, trying to feel out our new defenses in the defile,” said Treehorn. “There are some foothills in the back with a couple of tunnel entrances — or at least they looked like entrances from where I was at.”

  The door swung open, and in walked Captain Warris.

  No one spoke.

  “Guys, I’m deeply sorry about the death of Master Sergeant Beasley. I just wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know that I’m a Ghost, too. I’m on this team. Not anyone else’s…”

  Ramirez raised his hand. “Sir, can we talk off the record?”

  Warris showed his palm. “Let me stop you there. I already know where this is going.”

  I glanced sidelong at him. “So do I.” There was no mistaking the threat in my tone.

  “What’s going on here, people, is a philosophical difference between commanders that’s playing out in the ditches, and we got stuck with the raw deal. I need to be in the loop on everything because I’m supposed to smooth things over between us and the CO. I don’t blame your captain for being upset over what’s transpired here, but for now, we just make the best of it until higher gets its head out of its ass.”

  Oh, he was a clever bastard, all right, I thought. He’d let me have it, then had softened his tone to try to win over the hearts and minds of my guys. He had no idea who he was dealing with…

  “That’s right, everyone,” I said, widening my gaze on them. “And as I just told you, we have no actionable intelligence at this time, so we’ll continue in our holding pattern. Meanwhile, I’ll be in close touch with the colonel to see if they can get us something.”

  “Very well,” said Warris.

  We all stood there. You could cut the awkwardness with a bowie knife.

  “Uh, yeah, one other thing,” I said. “I always bunk with my team, and this billet is full. I’m sure Harruck has room with the other officers.”

  He snorted. “Right. I’ll work that out. And one more thing. Captain Harruck has decided to turn over that weapons cache to the local police chief. Kundi has agreed. They’ll use those weapons to begin arming a new police force.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “And where are they recruiting this new police force?”

  “From the local villages,” Warris answered.

  “Which includes Sangsar,” I pointed out. “Zahed’s hometown.”

  “I think it’s a good compromise, rather than simply confiscating the weapons.”

  “Before these COIN ops, this wouldn’t have happened,” I said. “The weapons would be gone. No chance of them falling back into the enemy’s hands.”

  He sighed. “It is what it is.” And with that, he hurried out, the door slamming after him.

  Not three seconds after he was gone, Treehorn looked at me and said, “All right, Captain. Let’s plan this out. Time to rock ’n’ roll. And that fool there? He ain’t invited to this party.”

  FOURTEEN

  That night after dinner I agonized over an e-mail to Matt Beasley’s parents. I would send the message once the Army notified them of his death. He’d never married and was an only child, but he stayed in close contact with his mom and dad, who still lived in Detroit. I’d written letters like that before, but this one was particularly hard because of the admiration and respect I’d had for the man and because of the growing futility — and anger — I felt about the mission.

  He died for something. I must’ve told myself that a million times. He died while protecting his comrades. I was citing him for a Silver Star for distinguished gallantry in action against an enemy. That had to be enough. But it wasn’t. My bitterness only made me feel more guilty.

  I wanted to get drunk. I knew Harruck had some booze, but I wouldn’t go to him now. I even entertained the idea of paying Bronco a visit to see if he had anything stashed.

  The boys were going over our gear with a fine-toothed comb. We were heading out for the big show. Guns would boom. Grenades would burst apart. Blood would spill.

  That first chopper that’d come in had brought medical supplies and was not scheduled to pick up Beasley’s body. A second Chinook finally landed at sundown, and the transfer went off with a very brief prayer service. Warris was there. He never met my gaze.

  Now, while we prepared to saddle up, Brown came over as I was packing magazines. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, sir.”

  “Second thoughts?”

  “Not about the mission or being short one man. It’s just… we were talking while you were on the computer. No one wants to see you take any more heat.”

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s part of my job description. They create officers so they know who to hang when the mission goes down the toilet. I live in the fire. We all do. If Zahed’s got some tunnels he’s using to move troops forward so they can attack our defen
ses, then it’s our job to find them and destroy them. It’s a nobrainer. We’re not just out here to get payback for Matt.”

  “I know. And I don’t want to piss you off, but you keep saying this could all be pretty straightforward, and they keep telling us it ain’t that simple.”

  I hardened my gaze. “Maybe we just have to open our eyes a little more and stop convincing ourselves that this is so complex. What if it’s not? What if these people are just playing us all for fools? Turning us against each other, so they can get what they want? Maybe… it’s as simple as that.”

  He shrugged.

  Yes, I was trying to convince myself more than him. He didn’t buy it, and really, neither did I. But we needed to trick ourselves into thinking it was good guys versus bad guys, especially in the hours before we committed. If we started thinking about the millions of dominoes we might kick over with every move, we’d become paralyzed.

  I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for having my back. You always do.”

  He gave a slight nod. “What’s the plan to get off the base?”

  I beamed at him. “We’re Ghosts. I think we can come up with something.”

  “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

  At about two A.M. we piled into a Hummer and drove straight for the main gate. I had no clever plan. I just told the sentries we were relieving a security detail at the construction site. I showed him the fake credentials that identified us as regular Army personnel. We weren’t on the guy’s list. I argued. At the sound of my first four-letter word, we got ushered through. It wasn’t as glamorous as sneaking off the base, but it did work.

  Or at least I’d thought it had.

  After we left, the son-of-a-bitch guard called the XO, who in turn woke up Harruck.

  We left the truck and driver at the edge of the construction site and talked to the rifle squad posted there. I told them we were on a classified operation but if they heard gunfire and explosions, they were welcome to join us. The sergeant in charge grinned and said, “Is it bring your own beer?”

  “Hell, no. We supply everything.”

  He smiled. “I like the way you guys roll.”

  We hustled off into the desert, the sand billowing into our eyes, the sky a deep blue-black sweeping out over a moonless night.

  The foothills lay directly ahead, cast in deep silhouette, and I strained to see the tunnel entrances that Treehorn so fervently believed were there.

  At the base of the first hill, with our boots digging deeply into the soft, dry earth, Ramirez called for a sudden halt, and then we dropped to our bellies, tucking in tightly along a meandering depression. Someone was approaching.

  Actually two figures.

  I whispered into my boom mike to activate my Cross-Com. The hills lit up a phosphorescent green as the HUD appeared and the unit made contact with our satellite. Within the next two seconds my entire team was identified by green diamonds and blood types via their Green Force Tracker chips.

  So, too, were the two men approaching, and I gave a deep sigh as I read the names. Warris had come along with a private, probably his driver.

  “Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Friendlies approaching. Hold fire.”

  “Roger that,” said Ramirez. “But are you sure about that?”

  I grimaced over the remark, but yeah, I understood how he felt.

  Warris, unbeknownst to me, was wearing a Cross-Com and had linked to our channel. He’d been clever enough to research the access codes. He’d heard Ramirez’s remark and suddenly said, “Ghost Team, this is Captain Warris. I’m coming up. And if I were you, I’d be sure about holding fire.”

  Ramirez shifted over to me, covered his boom mike, and issued a curse.

  I saw his curse and raised him two.

  Warris, crouched over, slipped up to the depression and dropped down beside us, with his private doing likewise.

  “Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Turn off your Cross-Coms and huddle up.”

  They immediately complied. I didn’t want anything recorded at this point.

  “How you doing, Scott?” my former trainee began, as though he were about to offer me a beer. I sensed, though, that he was speaking through clenched teeth.

  “What’s up, Fred?”

  “Harruck sent me out here to relieve you of command and bring the team home.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear him. “Maybe we shouldn’t’ve slipped off the base, but you know what? I’m just too lazy and just don’t care anymore. We’re heading up to find, fix, and destroy the enemy. We’ve got enough actionable intel to justify this raid. If we let ’em keep moving in and doing overwatch of our construction site, they’ll set up their offensive, and all of Harruck’s work will go to hell. So you need to go back now and tell him that. Tell him we’re out here to save his ass.”

  “You can tell him yourself. We’ll contact him right now.”

  “I don’t have time for this—”

  “Captain, I’m here to relieve you of command.”

  “Okay, but can you give me about an hour?”

  Warris’s voice came in a stage whisper, but he would’ve shouted if he could: “This is serious shit, asshole! I’m relieving you of command!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Ramirez, butting in and ignoring my glare. “But we don’t recognize your authority here, nor will we obey your orders.”

  “You think you speak for the rest of them?” Warris asked.

  Ramirez looked at the others. “Oh, yes, sir. I know I do. We won’t follow you. Trust me.”

  I shook my head. “Freddy, the problem is you’re trying to play by the book with people that don’t exist.”

  He looked lost for a second, then said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “That’s fine. You can wait for us.”

  “No, I’m coming on this mission.”

  “Negative. I need you to return to the FOB, and bring your driver along.”

  “Excuse me? I’m here to relieve you.”

  “I am not relieved.”

  “You’ve got no authority to refuse me.” He glanced around at my team. “Captain Mitchell has been relieved of command and will be returning to the base with my driver.”

  “Guys, just ignore him. I’m in command. Prepare to move out.”

  “Scott—”

  Now I was talking through my teeth. “You listen to me, and you listen good. Each one of my guys has got two rifles. One’s their favorite toy. The other’s an AK confiscated from the Taliban. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “That I could accidentally get shot? You gotta be kidding me. You don’t threaten me with that. We’re on the same team, and you just need to suck it up. I’m in. You’re out.”

  He told the private to hold his position and wait for us.

  Ramirez whispered to me, “The hell with it. Let him come. We can babysit. He could get hurt…”

  I lay there, panting. If I abandoned the mission, I’d still go home to be hung. So the hell with it. We were going.

  Biting back a curse, I got to my feet. “Guys, you will ignore any and all commands from Captain Warris. Moving up. Let’s roll.”

  I looked at Warris. “What’re you going to do now, Freddy? Phone a friend?”

  “No, I’m still coming along. I’ll document all this insubordination, and by the time I’m done, you and this entire team will go down.”

  Then he told me to fuck myself and broke off with Jenkins, Hume, and Brown, our Bravo team. I took Ramirez, Nolan, Smith, and Treehorn. I put Treehorn on point. Bravo shifted off to the north side. I told them to activate their Cross-Coms and to watch what they said — we were being recorded.

  Ramirez looked back at me, as if to say: Oh my God, what’s happening now…

  I just steeled my gaze and got back on the horn. “Brown, this is Ghost Lead, over.”

  “Here, Ghost Lead,” he said, as I patched into his Cross-Com’s camera and watched them scurrying along the foothill, climbing higher along a lip of g
ravel and dirt.

  “Stay in touch.”

  “Roger that.”

  Warris didn’t know it, but Brown was in command of that team. He would be reporting to me, and I knew that Hume and Smith would fall in line.

  Ramirez hadn’t lied. The military might have been full of backstabbers and ass-kissers, but my men were fiercely loyal — every last one of them. They would do anything for me. I mean anything.

  I kept close to Treehorn as we ascended, hunched over, our computers scanning the mountainside for enemies. Clear so far. We climbed for another fifteen minutes, making good progress, when Treehorn called for a halt, and I zoomed in with my camera to see the ragged depression in the mountain, like a bruise against the stone.

  “Cave entrance, right there,” reported Treehorn.

  “We got one, too,” said Brown.

  “I’ll report that,” cried Warris. “We’ve got a tunnel entrance. Can’t get a good read on it, but I’m guessing it runs deep. Could connect to your entrance, over.”

  “Roger that. If we get in too deep, we might lose contact with the satellite.”

  “Understood. Recording. Let’s do it.”

  I hadn’t mentioned anything to Warris about our Cross-Coms’ being knocked out during our first night raid, but I’d assumed he’d read it in my report. I wondered if being inside the tunnel would protect the gear from whatever the Taliban was using against us.

  The answer would come shortly.

  As in the second we entered the caves.

  It all went dead. Again. Everything. High-tech gear reduced to crap.

  We’d taken along some old MBITR radios, standardissue stuff as backup, and strangely enough they still worked. Maybe they had thicker casings and were better shielded from EMP waves or other countermeasures.

  We had penlights taped to our rifles. Even as I turned mine on, the first wave of gunfire stitched across the mountain. They were coming at us from outside, from above the entrance.

  “Move, move, move!” I screamed, driving the group into the tunnel.

  Treehorn rushed forward. He hadn’t taken along his sniper’s rifle; instead he had a terrifically loud shotgun, and when it boomed, sending pellets into the face of the Taliban guy rushing toward us, I dropped to one knee and crouched tight to the dusty rock wall at my shoulder.