Combat Ops gr-2 Read online

  The trigger came down more easily than I had anticipated, and my round struck Zahed in the forehead, slightly off center. His head snapped back and he crashed back into the Mercedes and slid down to the ground, the blood spray glistening across the car’s roof.

  Bronco and Mike reacted instantly, drawing their weapons.

  I shot Bronco first, then Mike.

  But I didn’t kill them. I shot them in the legs, knocking them off their feet as I whirled and sprinted back toward the shattered window. My phone had stopped ringing.

  “You’re going down for this, Joe! You have no idea what you’ve done! No idea!”

  There was a lot of cursing involved — by both of us — but suffice it to say I ignored them and climbed back into the bedroom, where Hila lay motionless.

  I was panting, shaking her hands, gently moving her head. I panicked, checked her neck for a carotid pulse. Thank God. She was alive but unconscious. I dug the Cross-Com out of my pocket, activated it, changed the magazine on my pistol. I gently scooped up Hila, slid her over my shoulder, then started out of the room, my gun hand trembling.

  “Predator Control, this is Ghost Lead, over.”

  A box opened in my HUD. “Where you been, Ghost Lead?”

  “Busy.”

  “CAS units moving into your area, over.”

  “Got ’em. Can you lock onto my location?

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. I need Hellfires right on my head. Everything you got. There are no civilians here. I repeat, no civilians. We got a weapons and opium cache in the basement. I want it taken out, over.”

  “Roger that, Ghost Lead. I still have no authorization for fires at this time, over.”

  “I understand, buddy. Tell you what. Give me ten minutes, and then you make your decision — and live by it…”

  “Roger that, Ghost Lead.”

  With a few hundred Taliban fighters to defend the village, I had a bad feeling that they’d manage to either move or simply secure all those weapons and opium. Better to take the cache out of the picture — blow it all back to Allah. I wasn’t sure how committed Harruck’s Close Air Support was, either.

  I had considered for the better part of two seconds taking Hila straight outside and trying to link up with one of the choppers, but the place still swarmed with Taliban. I’d rather take them out one or two at a time in the tunnels. So I carried her back to the basement and descended the stairs.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Predator Control. I’ve just received an override order. I have clearance to fire. But I will lose the target in four minutes, fifteen seconds, over.”

  “Let the clock tick,” I told him. “But don’t miss your shot. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  “Roger that, Ghost Lead. Godspeed.”

  I nearly fell down the staircase near the bottom, caught my balance, then turned toward the tunnel at the far end. Judging from the sounds above, most of the Taliban were engaging the choppers or putting fire on the mountainside. I didn’t expect to encounter much resistance in the tunnel, so when I cleared the rock section and ducked a bit lower to enter the drainage pipe, I froze at the sound of voices.

  I doused the penlight in my other hand.

  Flashlights shone ahead. I set Hila down. I flicked the penlight back on.

  Oh, no. There was a long line of guys, maybe twenty, maybe more, coming right at us.

  I saw them.

  They saw me.

  They screamed.

  I reached into my web gear and produced a grenade.

  They screamed again.

  I pulled the pin and pitched the grenade far down the pipe, then threw myself over Hila as three, two—

  My satellite phone started ringing again.

  One.

  I cupped my ears as the grenade went off with a blinding flash and rush of air, as the men shrieked now, and I suddenly rose, damning my ringing phone to hell, and unleashed salvo after salvo through the smoke and gleaming debris.

  Then I screamed ahead, told them to run away or die, I think. Something pretty close.

  The pipe grew very quiet, save for my ringing phone. I cursed, pulled it from my pocket, and realized it’d been General Keating on the line.

  Aw, damn. I’d get with the old man later. I switched off the phone, picked up Hila, and eased my way forward as far ahead, footfalls sounded, though no flashlights lifted my way. I neared the area of the explosion, saw how the concrete had been blasted apart, then realized the earth above had nothing to support it. Below were a half dozen men shredded into bloody heaps.

  I reached up with my finger to check the stability of the ceiling, and that was when the entire section of earth came down on top of me. It all happened so fast that I didn’t realize how much dirt had fallen until I tried to move my legs. Trapped. I managed to bring up one arm and brush it from my face. I spit dirt, then glanced up… and there it was about a meter above, an open hole and the stars beyond. The gunfire popped and cracked, and two mortars exploded somewhere beyond.

  I started writhing back and forth, trying to free myself, when I heard more voices. I wasn’t sure which side of the tunnel they were coming from. I began to panic, shoving my arm more violently and trying to kick. The earth to my right began to give away, and suddenly I fell sideways and out of the pile, sliding down a hill of dirt that was spreading to Hila.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Predator Control. Thirty seconds, and you are still too close to the drop zone, over.”

  “Roger that,” I said, then coughed. “I’m moving out. You just do your job!”

  “Mitchell, this is Keating,” called the general as another video box opened in my HUD. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, son! Your orders have changed!”

  So I ripped the Cross-com off my head and turned it off. It was a little late for that shit.

  The passage through the pipe was completely blocked. I thought if I could get us up on top of the pile, I might be able to push Hila through the hole and up top.

  But I had no idea what we’d find up there. I needed to chance a look for myself. I climbed back up, pushing back into the dirt, and up through the hole until my head jutted out. I was facing the mountainside, muzzle flashes dancing across the ridgelines. I turned around to face the village and saw at least forty Taliban fighters racing directly toward me running behind a pair of pickup trucks with fifty-calibers mounted on the back, the guns spewing rounds.

  But then, from somewhere behind me came the hiss of rockets, and just as I turned my head, I saw an Apache roar overhead and the pickup trucks explode in great fireballs not thirty meters from my head.

  I ducked back into the hole. The Predator controller was about to drop his bombs. I hustled down and grabbed Hila. I moved her higher across the dirt mound and toward our escape hole. I shifted around to try to shield her from the blast, then took two long breaths and listened for the first impact.

  THIRTY

  I tucked in as tightly as I could, and the next few seconds felt like a lifetime.

  For a moment, I thought the controller had changed his mind or been ordered to abort.

  But then, just as my doubts were beginning to take root, twin detonations, somewhat muffled at first, originated from behind us, well off into the basement. Not three heartbeats later came a roar unlike anything I’d ever heard, followed by a massive tremor ripping through the ground.

  As the earthquake continued, a wave of intense heat pushed through the tunnel behind me, and I gasped and started dragging Hila higher toward the hole, fearing that all the air would be consumed before we escaped. That I moved farther up was the only thing that saved us from a wave of fire that rushed through the pipe. I kept groaning and dragging her higher, my boots slipping on the dirt, as dozens of smaller explosions began to boom, and I knew that was all the ammunition beginning to cook off. Then came a horrible stench as the opium began to burn. My eyes filled with tears, and for a few seconds I thought I’d pass out before someone grabbed my arm and began pul
ling me up.

  There was screaming, but I couldn’t identify anyone above the cracking and booming from below, as well as more booming from the village as I was suddenly hoisted out of the hole and plopped down in the sand.

  I blinked hard, saw Brown and Smith there, with Brown digging back into the hole and pulling out Hila. He was wearing the Cross-Com I’d given to Ramirez.

  Behind us, the helicopters were still engaging the Taliban fighters on the ground, but most of them were retreating back toward the walls.

  However, at least one machine gunner set up behind a jingle truck opened fire, and we all hit the deck a moment before the Apache gunship whirled around and directed a massive barrage of fire that not only tore through the gunner but began to shred the truck itself.

  “I’ve got her,” yelled Smith, scooping up Hila and gesturing toward the mountainside. “The tunnel’s up there! Let’s go!”

  Brown pulled me back up. “We locked onto your chip as soon as you got close to the top. You okay?”

  “More than okay. I got Zahed.”

  Brown was all pearly whites. “Hoo-ah! Mission complete, baby. Let’s roll!”

  The three of us ran back toward the hills, with the choppers covering our exit. Brown was in direct contact with them, and he said that he’d sent the others off toward two rifle squads that had come up through the defile. They were bringing back one Bradley to pick up the girls. We took a tunnel I hadn’t seen before, which Brown said led up to one of the mountain passes.

  As we neared the exit and emerged onto the dirt road, we looked down toward Senjaray and saw the Bradley pulling away. The girls we’d rescued were, I later learned, safely onboard.

  We were almost home.

  “Hold up,” I said, as we crossed around some boulders. We squatted down. “We need to get her out of here faster than this.” I looked to Brown. “Can we get a Blackhawk to pick her up?”

  “I’m on it. But we’ll still have to get down to the valley over there.”

  “All right.” I dug into my pocket, switched on my satellite phone, and saw there was a message from General Keating. I took a deep breath, dialed, and listened.

  And my heart sank.

  “I repeat, son, we need to pull you off this mission. Abort. Abort. Stand down…”

  He’d said a lot more than that, but those were the only words that meant anything. Bronco hadn’t been bluffing.

  At that moment, though, I was glad I hadn’t heard the message, but I wondered whether I would’ve shot Zahed anyway, despite the order to stand down.

  I wondered.

  I’d like to think that my experience and honor would’ve led me to make the right decision. But the politics and grim reality were far too powerful to ignore.

  “Captain, you don’t look so good,” said Smith.

  “The order to stand down came in, but I, uh, I guess I missed it. Zahed’s dead anyway.”

  “Good work,” said Brown.

  “Ghost Lead, this is Hume, over.”

  “Go ahead, John.”

  “Jenkins and I got on the Bradley, but we got cut off from Warris and Ramirez in the tunnels. We figured they’d link up with us down here, but they didn’t show up, over.”

  “Roger that, we’ll find them.”

  “Paul, you get her down there to link up with the chopper?” Brown asked Smith.

  “I’m on it.”

  “Then I’m with you, Captain, let’s go!”

  We rose and jogged off, back into the tunnel, while Smith carried Hila toward the valley.

  “I’m afraid of what we’ll find,” said Brown.

  We linked up with another section of tunnels, ones we’d already marked with beacons, and we stepped over four or five bodies of Taliban fighters.

  Brown and I spent nearly an hour combing the tunnels. No tracker chips were detected during those moments when I’d slip outside to search for a signal, so we had to assume both men were still underground.

  Sighing in disgust, I told Brown we needed to get back and see if we couldn’t get a search team in the tunnels by morning.

  “You think they got captured?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I told him. “But we can’t stay up here all night.”

  We hiked down from the mountains and toward the village. The firing had all but stopped, and the gunships had already pulled out and were heading toward Kandahar.

  As Brown and I reached the defile, we were met by a horrible sight:

  Anderson and Harruck were standing in the smoking ruins of the school, shattered by Taliban mortar fire. The once tall walls of the police station, whose roof was about to be constructed, looked like jagged teeth now, with more smoke coiling up into the night sky.

  Anderson was crying. Harruck glared and cried, “Thanks a lot for all your help!”

  Fifteen minutes later I was getting my gunshot wound treated. All the girls had been taken back to the hospital as well, and they were all staring at me, as if to say thank you. Hila had been rushed into surgery.

  I was patting my fresh bandage when Brown came running into the hut and cried, “Captain! Get out here! You’re not going to believe this!”

  I rushed away from the nurse and made it outside, where Warris was being helped out of a Hummer. He was ragged and filthy and still reeked. His eyes were bloodshot and he just looked at me vaguely as I rushed up to him.

  “Fred, where the hell were you?”

  It took a few seconds for him to focus on me. “They found me down in the valley.”

  “Where’s Ramirez?”

  He swallowed. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

  I raised my voice. “What do you mean?”

  “I MEAN, I DON’T KNOW! NOW GET OUT OF MY GODDAMNED FACE!” He shoved me aside and headed toward the hospital.

  I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “You’re going to talk right now.”

  “I’ll talk, all right. No worries about that!”

  “Where’s Ramirez?”

  “We got separated. I don’t know what happened. I looked for him, and he was gone. That’s all I know.”

  “Where is he?”

  He glared at me, then turned and walked away. I started after him, but Brown grabbed my shoulder. “Don’t…”

  I talked to one of the doctors, who told me Hila would pull through just fine. They’d removed the bullet. The doc did take me aside and tell me she’d found evidence of rape on all the girls. I explained the situation, and she said, as I already knew, that none of the families would want these girls back, and if we revealed what had happened to them, their fates could take an even sharper turn for the worse.

  “We’ll see if we can get them to an orphanage,” I said. “The woman who’s in charge of the school project, Anderson? We’ll see if we can get help from her.”

  I still vowed to find Shilmani and tell him I had gotten his daughter out of there. I wanted to tell the man how bravely she’d fought and how she’d literally saved my life. I wasn’t sure if that would change anything, but I wanted him to know.

  However, the fan was dialed up to ten, and the camel dung was about to hit it and fly for miles.

  I was ordered to Harruck’s office before I even returned to my billet.

  When he was finished cursing his head off and sucking down his drink, he looked at me and said, “I hope to God you think this was worth it. At least give me that much. At least let me know that you still believe in what you did, because if you don’t…”

  “Zahed needed to die. I’m sorry about the consequences. He’s dead. Maybe things will change here. Maybe not.”

  “Well, I’m done here. I’m out. That’s a change. You win. I lose. We did nothing here. Nothing.”

  I might’ve stolen two hours of sleep before I dragged myself back up and fought with the guards at the gate, who wouldn’t let me and Brown leave the base.

  “I have direct orders from the CO. Your team is confined to the base. You’ll have to take that up with the CO,
sir.”

  I did. Harruck was sleeping, but the XO spoke to us. “Word came down. There are some boys from Kandahar flying in to talk to you guys.”

  “Army Intel?”

  He shook his head. “Spooks.”

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Bronco screamed, and that was the edited version of his question, which in truth had contained curses and combinations of curses I hadn’t heard before.

  He and his sidekick had escaped from Sangsar, gotten treated for their gunshot wounds, and linked up with their superiors. The group of four decided they would interrogate the hell out of me all morning. I’d grinned at the crutches both Bronco and Mikey had used to get into the room.

  With arms folded over my chest and a bored look on my face, I repeated, “I don’t have to talk to you, and I won’t. So piss off.”

  Bronco attempted to describe the length and breadth of their operation, and he leaned forward and told me that I’d ruined years’ worth of work, murdered an unarmed man, and that the agency would see me hang. Blah. Blah. Blah.

  I told them all where to go, then stormed out. They couldn’t hold me. They couldn’t do jack. I went back to Harruck and told him I was going to see Shilmani and that if he tried to stop me, I’d have him brought up on charges.

  He started laughing and just waved me off. His laughter sounded more unbalanced than cynical.

  Brown and I caught up with Shilmani at the shacks on the outskirts of town. He was loading water and would not look at me as we approached.

  “Listen to me, please,” I began. “We got Hila. She’s in the hospital. She’s okay.”

  He froze at the back of his truck and just stood there a moment, his breathing ragged before he began to cry.

  I looked at Brown and turned away. I was choked up myself. I could barely imagine what Shilmani was going through. He had to convince himself that his daughter was dirt now because his culture dictated how he should think. In fact, if we didn’t get the girls to an orphanage and simply call them “war orphans,” they would all be arrested and sentenced to prison. That’s right. The system did not distinguish between victims of rape and those who willingly had relations outside marriage.