Combat Ops Read online

  I told Nick I’d call him back. I drifted outside like a zombie and just stood near the door. I closed my eyes and thought of my father’s workshop, filled with the heavenly scent of sawdust. And I pictured his handmade coffin propped up on those sawhorses. I was also certain he’d left detailed instructions about his funeral.

  I could take the emergency leave. Just bail out on all the bullshit. Maybe not even come back. Maybe just go AWOL and let them arrest me. I was entertaining every crazy thought I could, thinking of ways to self-destruct to hold back the tears.

  My father had taught me how to be a man. I owed him everything. He was gone.

  I don’t know how long I was standing there when Harruck and the XO rushed up and Harruck just looked at me. “Have you heard? They put Warris on TV!”

  The terms for Warris’s release, presented by the man himself in the video, were quite simple: Stop all construction in Senjaray. Pull the U.S. Army company out. Pay the equivalent of five hundred thousand American dollars. Release nearly a dozen captured Taliban fighters and leaders.

  I was sitting in the comm center on a conference video call with General Keating, Lieutenant Colonel Gordon, and Harruck’s battalion commander.

  “We’re not going to negotiate with these bastards,” said Keating. “And I’m going to make sure we step up our timetable. I want a full-scale raid to happen within the next seven days. I want to make that happen. I don’t care what it takes.”

  Gordon just shrugged.

  Harruck’s boss was a yes man.

  I shook my head in disgust.

  “Mitchell, you got a problem with all this?”

  “Sir, you told me I wouldn’t have any air support for this mission, and unless that’s changed, we’ll be moving in much too slowly with a large force. Zahed’s got spies planted all over this district. He’ll see our ground forces coming in, and he’ll be out of there long before they arrive. You won’t get him, and I doubt you’ll get Warris. We need to be dropped by chopper. Shock and awe. That’s the only way it’ll work.”

  “I’d have to agree with Mitchell,” said Harruck. “We can’t afford to blow this. We can’t afford any counterattacks down here. We’re making great progress so far.”

  I sat there, debating whether I should tell them about Burki and my plan to have a face-to-face meeting with Zahed. Part of me considered the idea that if I managed to bring in the guy alive, I’d be a hero and they could call off the whole offensive and save the taxpayers a lot of money. The other part of me, the realist, said, no, that probably wouldn’t happen; the offensive would go on because Keating was very upset now, and the old man would have his blood. So nabbing Zahed wouldn’t affect that outcome.

  But I was intrigued by the idea of talking to Zahed. Perhaps I was suicidal, but the fat man had caused so much trouble in the area, created so many headaches, that I just wouldn’t be satisfied until I met him in the flesh.

  And if I presented that cup of soup to “the committee,” they’d all want to pee in it, thinking it’d taste better. A crude but accurate metaphor.

  Perhaps, I quipped to myself, we should change our name to Rogue Recon.

  Then I realized once again that if I didn’t tell them what I had in mind, we’d be digging ourselves deeper graves. So I just took a breath and spilled the beans:

  “Gentlemen, I’m in the process of setting up a meeting with Zahed.”

  “Are you serious, Mitchell?” asked Keating.

  “Yes, General, I am. One of my contacts in the village works for the water man, who wants me to kill Zahed. My contact has a cousin who works for the fat man himself. Let me go in there and talk to them.”

  “No, not you, Mitchell,” snapped Harruck. “We’ll send in a professional negotiator.”

  I started laughing. “I’ve got the translator, and they’re setting me up as an opium smuggler, so once I get in there, we’ll spring the trap on Zahed. There won’t be any negotiations.”

  “Now that sounds like a plan,” said Keating. “We don’t sit around and chat while they’re about to chop the head off an American soldier. What do you need, Mitchell?”

  I faced Harruck and the others on their screens. “I just need to be left alone so I can do my job, sir. And I need evac when the fireworks begin.”

  Harruck was shaking his head. “General, with all due respect, sir, don’t you think an ambush operation like this can do more harm than good? If Mitchell fails, they’ll behead Warris on TV, and they’ll all be gone before we can launch our offensive. It’s a lose-lose, if you ask me.”

  “We didn’t ask you, Captain. And Mitchell will not fail.”

  Keating looked at me.

  I gave him a curt nod. “My team is heading up into the mountains tonight. There’s a small cave network they’ll try to use to get down into the valley and attack the school and police station. We’re going to blow it up.”

  “Maybe we should delay that operation until you meet with Zahed,” said Gordon.

  “Colonel, I’d prefer to take care of that first.” I gave Gordon an emphatic look.

  “All right, Captain, understood.”

  I wanted to blow the caves first in case I didn’t make it back. Maybe I was growing a soft heart, but I kept imagining Anderson standing out there with those construction workers and those school kids and all of them dying under a hail of bullets. The cave network, like the bridge we’d blown, was an avenue of approach that needed to be eliminated.

  After the meeting, Harruck pulled me aside and said, “I’ll have a Bradley and rifle squad ready for you.”

  I softened my tone. “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry, Scott, but this is, as far as I’m concerned, the beginning of the end for you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “If you do get that meeting with Zahed, I don’t think you’ll come back. I think you’re making a huge mistake. I don’t know what this is about . . . your ego . . . you trying to prove something to higher. You should’ve been relieved.”

  “And that’s the difference between you and me.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got faith in that fat old bastard.”

  “Zahed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got something he wants—all that water from the new well. He’s been cut off. He won’t like it.”

  “So what you’re saying is you are going to negotiate with him.”

  “Not exactly . . .”

  I grinned because I couldn’t believe I’d used those words, but I had.

  TWENTY

  About an hour before we were set to leave on the demo mission, Harruck came out to our billet, and the expression on his face didn’t look promising. The guys groaned, figuring the mission was off and that higher had more politically correct plans in mind.

  But it turned out that my sister had notified the Army of my father’s passing. I wasn’t going to say anything, not even to the team.

  “Scott, I’m very sorry to hear about your father.” He then explained how he’d heard.

  “It’s all right. Thanks.”

  “You should have told us. You need to go home. You need to pay your respects.”

  “Would that make it easier for you?”

  He tensed, glanced away a moment, then faced me. “Forget all this bullshit. I’m talking to you as a friend.”

  “I thought our friendship was over.”

  “I’m trying to keep this professional. Not personal.”

  I couldn’t repress my sigh of disgust. “Good luck with that. Well, thanks for coming out, then.”

  “So, you’re not taking a leave?”

  I snorted. “I e-mailed my brother. I’ve already told him I can’t come.”

  “You’re putting this in front of your father’s funeral? Are you sure? Are you sure you won’t regret this for the rest of your life?”

  “Simon, I lost a guy here. I’ve got another guy who was captured. One of your men got killed
while up there with me. I’ve got a young captain trying to help a village. I just can’t walk away now. I won’t regret it. My family understands. My dad would understand.”

  He took a deep breath, gave a curt nod. “All right. Good luck, then.”

  I’d missed more births, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and even funerals than I could remember. It didn’t get any easier. In fact, it got harder, and every time I spoke to my brothers or my sister on the phone, I had to reassure myself that the life I’d chosen was the right one because the distance between me and “the real world” grew larger every year.

  And yes, I’d lied to Harruck. My brothers and sister would not understand. They would never tell me, but I could see it in their eyes, quite clearly. My sister once told me that I never did anything for myself. That wasn’t true. But as I stood there, watching Harruck go, I couldn’t help but resent some of the sacrifices, and I surrendered to the guilt of not attending my father’s funeral because yes, I’d put my job first. I’d given a lot to the Army, to the Ghosts, but missing Dad’s funeral . . . maybe that was too much.

  We hitched a ride aboard one of the supply Chinooks, and we had that pilot drop us off about a kilometer east of the mountains. We set down in a well-protected valley not far from our FARP (Forward Arming and Resupply Point), used by gunships, Blackhawks, and Chinooks alike, so our bird was not a curious sight in that zone. We would hike in with less chance of being detected by Taliban fighters posted along cliffs that overlooked the village. Their gazes would be trained on the more obvious lines of approach, and we’d be coming up on their flank.

  Ramirez and I wore the two Cross-Coms so we could easily detect friend from foe, but the others were blind because of the last HERF gun blast, so our Alpha and Bravo teams would need to stick together. Treehorn, our one-man Charlie “team” and sniper, would be posted outside the main exit tunnel we’d chosen, ready to pick off anyone who pursued us. We chose not to wear body armor to move more swiftly through the tunnels. Again, my plan was to avoid all enemy contact.

  Yes, that was the plan. Would it survive the first enemy contact? Of course not.

  A remarkably cool breeze tugged at our turbans and shemaghs, and if you spotted us hiking along the ridges, you would swear we were drug smugglers or Taliban.

  Ramirez was more quiet than usual, but I think he appreciated my business-as-usual attitude, even if it was a disguise. The mission took priority. We both knew that.

  But I would still keep a sharp eye on him. He led Jenkins, Hume, and Brown, and I’d told Brown in private that because Joey wasn’t feeling good I wanted him to look after the sergeant. He said he would.

  I kept Smith and Nolan close, and as we approached the first cave entrance after about sixty minutes of rugged and slow climbing, I sent off Bravo team to the second entrance, about a quarter kilometer west of ours and located about two hundred meters higher up the mountain. The caves and adjoining tunnels were roughly shaped like two letter Ys attached at their bases, with pairs of entrances on either side of the mountain. When my team got into the first tunnel and reached the cave area where Warris had been cut off, our lights revealed a fresh passage dug through the debris.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Treehorn. I’m in position, over.”

  “Roger that. What do you got out there?”

  “Nothing. Not even any guards. Weird.”

  “All right, hang on.”

  I gestured for Smith and Nolan to start planting the first set of charges, while I crept off farther down the tunnel, toward the starlight at the end of the jagged seam in the rock. I paused at the edge and stole a look into the valley below. Sangsar lay in the distance, a few lights flickering, the majority of the homes blanketed in deep shadows.

  Warris was down there, somewhere, perhaps in some dank basement, being questioned, having battery cables attached to his genitalia, having insects shoved in his ears. Was he man enough to keep his mouth shut? Was he willing to die for his country? Had I taught him enough?

  I grinned over a strange thought. Maybe his hatred for me would help keep him alive. He’d tell himself, I need to survive this so I can burn the bastard responsible. I accepted that. And even wondered, were I to rescue him, if he would change his mind, keep quiet, tell me that was his thank-you for pulling him out of hell. But no, the world was hardly that simple, and Warris’s moral high ground was pretty damned high. Rescue or not, he’d want to hang me.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Blue Six, in position, over.”

  “Roger that, Blue Six, stand by,” I told the Bradley commander. Harruck had come through and our ride home was waiting.

  I slipped just outside the cave and pulled up the satellite imagery in my HUD. The monocle covering one of my eyes flashed as the data came through.

  Glowing yellow lines that represented the series of caves and tunnels moved through a wireframe image of the mountain chain. The diamonds indicating Bravo team flickered on and off, and the signal grew weaker the deeper they moved. That I even got some signal was surprising. So far, no red diamonds within the mountain or outside.

  Had Zahed just called back all of his guards? Were they all just tired? Why had they left the tunnels completely unprotected?

  My hackles began to rise, and that smell I detected was not the dampness of the tunnel but an ambush.

  “Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. I don’t like this. No defenses here. Plant your charges and let’s get the hell out as fast as we can.”

  “Roger that,” said Ramirez.

  I was beginning to lose my breath. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I ran down the tunnel, back to where Smith and Nolan were working.

  “Are we set?”

  Nolan looked up at me. “Remotes good to go. Need to finish up at the entrance where you just were.”

  “All right, let’s go,” I said.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Ramirez! I just got out of my tunnel. Scanning the village now. They got mortar teams setting up just outside the wall. They got tipped off again!”

  Just as we reached our exit, a shell hit the mountain just above us, the roar deafening, a landslide of rock and dirt beginning to plummet. “Back inside! Ghost Team! Fall back! Fall back!”

  Two more shells struck the mountainside, the ground quaking beneath our feet, the ceiling cracking here and there. The bastards would seal up the caves for us—but their plan was, of course, to bury us alive.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Treehorn! The Bradley has come under attack. I don’t know where they came from! They might’ve been buried in the sand the entire time! They got at least twenty guys down there! More in the mountains coming down. Should I engage?”

  “Negative, negative! Don’t give up your position yet!” I cried.

  He’d said more were coming down from the mountains. Why hadn’t the satellite picked them up and fed that data into my Cross-Com? Was it just interference from the terrain?

  I gritted my teeth and led Nolan and Smith back to the main tunnel and exit. As we neared the intersection where the cave-in had occurred, shouting echoed, and I threw myself against the side wall, with the guys just behind me, then rolled to the left, my rifle at the ready, as two Taliban fighters came through the newly dug passage through the cave-in. I gunned both of them down before I could finish taking a breath.

  They hit the ground—and so did a grenade tossed at us from their comrades on the other side.

  As I turned back, I raised my palm, screaming for the guys to hit the deck. We all started toward the floor as the grenade exploded behind us, the concussion echoing, and what sounded like a million tiny rock fragments pelted my clothes—

  Just as I crashed onto my belly.

  The terrible and expected ringing in my ears came on suddenly, and when I looked up, I couldn’t see anything. I lost my breath. I thought maybe I’d died, but then I realized my turban had fallen down across my face. I shoved it up, rose, and found hands pulling me to my feet.

  “You okay?” Smith asked
, his angular face creased deeply with worry. I couldn’t hear him; I’d just read his lips.

  I indicated that my ears were ringing. He nodded and mouthed the same thing. Nolan was next to him, waving us onward as he drew a grenade from the web gear hidden beneath his shirt. He tossed the grenade down the intersecting hall, and we all bolted ahead as the seconds ticked by and the grenade exploded, just as we neared the more narrow exit.

  And two Taliban fighters rolled toward us, rushing in from outside.

  Nolan was on point and opened up on them, but they’d started firing as well, their rounds ricocheting off the ceiling just past us. Smith and I, caught in the back, had no choice but to drop away. We couldn’t fire with Nolan in our way.

  The gunfire was strangely muffled but growing louder as my hearing began to return.

  With arms flailing, the two fighters fell on top of each other.

  Nolan turned back to me, his eyes wide.

  Then he just collapsed himself.

  “Cover us!” I shouted to Smith, then rose and rushed to Nolan. I slowly rolled him over onto his back. He looked okay. I began to pull back his shirt, and then I spotted them, one near his shoulder, and one much lower, near his heart. Nolan’s trademark spectacles had been knocked to the side of his head, and he was blinking hard, trying to see.

  The blood was gushing now as he struggled for breath, and I struggled to get past his web gear.

  “In my pack, I got some big four-by-four gauze,” he said between gasps.

  I ripped off my shemagh and shoved it beneath the web gear and applied pressure. My first instinct was to get on the Cross-Com and shout, “Nolan, got a man down!”

  “Captain, tell John not to feel bad. Tell ’em we’re buddies forever. Okay?”

  “I will, Alex,” I said, applying more pressure as he began to shiver violently.

  Nolan was referring to John Hume; they’d become best friends, fighting hard and playing hard. Guys would tease them about being “too close,” but they were more like brothers. I knew losing Nolan would crush Hume. Crush him.