Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3) Page 17

  Finally, four hours later than expected, the “dawn” convoy showed up just a bit before lunch. Four trucks eased their way down a rocky, dirt road, which cut through a valley flanked by long ridges on both sides. No civilization existed in either direction for better than five miles. This was Taliban country, and the men bouncing about in the trucks appeared relaxed.

  Nick pressed a push-to-talk button on the front of his gear and whispered into his throat mike.

  “This has to be them. Government troops, even local police from the nearest village, would be nervous as hell this deep in enemy territory.”

  A sniper team came on the net.

  “We confirm weapons in the back. Break. Thirteen men visible. Break. Light weapons. No heavy machine guns present, over.”

  “Roger,” Nick said.

  S3 was deployed in a classic L-shaped ambush formation. Above the road, the six members of Nick’s Primary Strike Team lay in hiding. They waited in a horizontal line, paralleling the road. To the front of the ambush site, the six members of 1st Squad concealed themselves. They formed the short part of the L-shape, intersecting the road. They had equipped themselves with two M240 medium machine guns, which sat on tripods and were placed low near the road for maximum coverage. They’d be firing knee-high along the ground, their two beaten zones overlapping in an “X” approximately where Nick wanted to spring the ambush.

  Adding to this destruction were two sniper teams perfectly hidden on high ground of their choosing. The thirteen Taliban didn’t stand a chance against the six shooters on the hill from the Primary Strike Team, the six shooters to the enemy’s direct front, and the two sniper teams who never missed.

  Fourteen Americans in near-perfect positions against thirteen men riding in the open. Worse, thirteen men who were overconfident, tightly compacted, and about to be surprised on their “home” turf.

  Nick liked the odds, but he’d stacked them further in his favor by having 2nd Squad on the hill behind them. That would keep anyone from walking up on the Primary Strike Team with their backs turned. Additionally, 2nd Squad’s six men were prepared to come over the hill and assist if any unexpected Taliban reinforcements arrived.

  And if things got incomprehensibly ugly, 3rd Squad sat a half-mile up the road guarding all their vehicles. But they could always leave a man on site and deploy down the hill as an additional reserve element. Nick slowly eased his scoped M14 and watched the convoy cover its final distance.

  The men in the trucks weren’t even looking up at the hills. They were that confident. It’s been awhile since they’ve had much to fear, Nick thought.

  The vehicles entered the kill zone, and Nick pressed his mic button, “Contact. Contact. Contact.”

  A single sniper shot cracked the silence, followed by a fusillade of M240 machine gun and M4 rifle fire. Nick hoped that first shot had been one of the sniper teams taking out the front driver. The most important thing was stopping the first truck, to keep them from driving through the ambush site.

  Nick noticed with glee that probably three-quarters of the ambushers were focusing their fire on the front truck. Nick centered his scope on the front truck’s cab and saw that the two men in it had been riddled with bullets. He decided to avoid taking any chances and quickly fired once into the passenger and driver. At barely two hundred yards, both were easy shots.

  As the truck rolled off what passed for a road, it slammed to a halt in a ditch, its bumper crumpling against a massive boulder.

  Nick shifted the scope left into the bed of the truck and saw a man springing into action, trying to stand and bring his AK to bear against the massive machine-gun fire coming up the road from the two M240s in 1st Squad. Since Nick was shooting laterally from up the hill, he aimed at the man’s shoulder and pulled the trigger.

  The M14 bucked, the man dropped. At such close distance, Nick wouldn’t be missing today. Nothing else moved in truck one, but fighters were scrambling out of truck two. The Taliban planned to fight their way out of this, it seemed. Not a terrible strategy in most cases.

  Nick followed a bearded man running forward, waited for him to stop behind a rock, and put a 7.62 round through his head. Nick tracked the next man through his scope, but the young man stumbled and landed hard from someone else’s bullet before Nick could pull the trigger. Nick put a round into the man’s prostrate body, but it was probably unnecessary. Someone had hit him hard.

  Systematic, well-aimed shots continued from the Primary Strike Team, while the M240s continued to roar in a talking guns manner -- left machine gun, pause, right machine gun, pause, no different than if they were practicing on the range. Nick scanned his sector for targets but saw none. He looked up from his M14 and observed that all four trucks were shot up. Bodies lay slumped, piled, and broken throughout the ambush site.

  It was a little surprising with how fast all their targets had been dispatched. Nick pulled his weapon down and keyed his mike, “1st Squad, cease fire.”

  As the machine guns from 1st Squad stopped firing, Nick stood and saw his Primary Strike Team members standing, weapons at the ready and aimed on the kill zone.

  “Snipers,” Nick said into his radio, “keep your eyes peeled for reinforcements. We’re going in.”

  Nick hand-signaled the Primary Strike Team forward. They’d clear the ambush site, stack the RPG munitions, and blow them in place. They’d hang onto the currency for S3’s use in future operations since turning it over to the Afghan government would only lead to it lining someone’s pockets.

  Chapter 56

  Nick’s Primary Strike Team, the other three squads of six, and his six man sniper squad pulled back into Bagram Airfield following the mission. S3 was renting massive MRAPs, or Mine Resistant Ambush Protected trucks, from the Afghan government. These vehicles featured a v-shaped bottom to protect troops from IEDs and mines.

  Marcus had worked out a lease for enough MRAPs to transport all four of S3’s squads, plus an additional four vehicles to replace any that broke down or became damaged.

  Just the thought of the sixty thousand dollar lease made Nick sick to his stomach. He hated how big S3 had already grown. The unit was now just shy of a hundred men, with only twenty four of those folks being actual shooters on active squads.

  The management and coordination of S3 had become a nightmare before the group even deployed, so Nick and Marcus brought on Dean, a logistics expert to combat this. They promptly put him in charge of dealing with supplies and organization -- the beans, the bullets, and the Band-Aids.

  S3 also now had its own internal security element. Nick and Marcus had learned in Mexico that having no additional security meant one of the squads was constantly on duty, something that cut down the sharp edge of these units since guard duty was boring and tiresome. Worse, it affected operating tempo, since squads lost time that could be spent training or resting -- or even operating.

  Nick wanted four squads of trigger-pullers ready to go at any time, so S3 had grown even larger and hired additional shooters to serve as its own internal security element. It, too, had a leader in charge of it -- an expert in physical security who was a former Marine Staff Sergeant that had helped protect several embassies around the world.

  Nick didn’t like how big S3 had grown, but he appreciated the fact that he and Marcus could focus solely on going after bad guys without having to worry about trucks needing maintenance or if the perimeter was secure.

  Once back inside the perimeter of Bagram Airfield, the convoy of MRAPs pulled to a nearly abandoned part of the base. This area had also been leased by S3, and around the small installation, the team’s security expert had built their own fortifications: HESCO earth-filled defensive barriers, loads of concertina wire, and anti-vehicle barriers, not to mention cameras, optics, and defensive towers.

  It might have been overkill since the base had its own defenses, but Nick didn’t want an internal attack from Taliban infiltrators. The Taliban regularly infiltrated the Afghan army, as well as placed fighter
s inside the large number of local manual laborers. These workers had almost free rein over the base while the Afghan soldiers were armed for bear in full-fighting gear. Already more than one hundred and fifty Americans had been killed by insurgents who had infiltrated the ranks of the Afghan army.

  The trucks halted outside the S3 perimeter. A member of the security force removed the anti-vehicle barrier and waved the MRAPs into the smaller perimeter.

  The squads dismounted, and everyone felt tired, as was always the case after a mission. Unfortunately, there was a lot to be done. The MRAPs needed to be refueled and have basic maintenance done on them. The squads needed to be debriefed. Marcus needed to check in again with the CIA analysts digging into Ahmud al-Habshi’s computers while Nick checked in with the intel experts on the latest moves made by Rasool Deraz and the Taliban.

  And at some point, they’d need to find time to shower, eat, and rest up before they went out again. Just another lovely day in Afghanistan, Nick thought. And it was a pattern hundreds of thousands of Americans had gone through and mastered on deployments lasting up to a year or longer in this harsh country.

  Chapter 57

  Rasool Deraz felt a deep sense of foreboding. A fear that left him feeling sick to his stomach. He and his main security man and confidant, Mushahid Zubaida, had been enraged by the raid into Pakistan.

  They had felt personally insulted that four men had brazenly entered their sanctuary and executed a raid on one of their compounds. It was scary enough that the Americans had known which compound to hit but even scarier that so much had been taken from their outpost. The stolen computers had given them great concern, specifically because they had no idea what all might have been on them.

  Neither Rasool nor Mushahid had ever even used a computer -- Rasool too old to want to learn, and Mushahid having lived the life of a Mujahideen fighter in Afghanistan, a place where electricity was mostly non-existent in the countryside. And since the Taliban’s primary computer expert had been snatched, as well, it wasn’t like they could ask him what was on the computers.

  And so Rasool and Mushahid had been extremely worried about the new developments. Both the unprecedented deep strike into Pakistan, which had required them to beef up security along the borders, and the intel they had lost presumably to Americans.

  Still brooding on the developments several days after the raid, Rasool had said to Mushahid, “We need to move our timelines up.”

  “Agreed,” Mushahid replied.

  Mushahid preferred aggressiveness over timidity anyway, so it wasn’t a tough decision for him. Rasool, on the other hand, was a patient and cautious man. His prudence was about the only way a male fighter ever made it to old age in Afghanistan.

  Back when the Americans first invaded, Rasool had been content to be composed and even-tempered as he had fought the Americans. It was the same strategy his elders had employed when they led him against the Soviets. Small hit and runs. No major offensives. Use IEDs and ambushes. Never get pinned down. Keep your forces dispersed. Win over the people, and spread misinformation and fear.

  But clearly something had changed. Perhaps with so much pressure on the Afghan government, they had asked for more help from the Americans. In some ways, that was good. It was harder to get the Afghan people to fight the government when it was composed of (and controlled by) Afghans who were known and respected. However, the Americans brought almost unprecedented competence with them.

  The recent battle between the villagers and the Americans on the hill, as well as the vehicle battle that occurred near the border was evidence enough of that. And clearly, not only had the Afghan government brought back in some Americans, they had taken the leash off this unit. Perhaps it was a CIA group? Or maybe some of their Delta Force or SEALs?

  Rasool had read about each of the groups, looking for an edge against them. Whoever it was, he didn’t really care. But he needed to deal with this new wrinkle before the group pulled apart his organization piece by piece, no thanks to all the information that was probably stored on Ahmud’s computer.

  Rasool and Mushahid plotted and planned over an entire day, interrupting their plans only with meals and prayers. In the end, they came up with a three-part plan that would not only deal with the new unit but would also once and for all finally topple the Afghan government.

  Chapter 58

  The day after the ambush on the Taliban convoy, Nick and Marcus scheduled a full-on training day. The four squads of S3 were to rotate between four training stations. At one station, they’d work on hand-to-hand combat. At another, a circuit course with weights. At another, a weapons range. And finally, a fire and maneuver course. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do any firing on the last one, due to the size of the range at Bagram Airfield, but rehearsals were still possible.

  The four squads formed up with full-battle gear on, and Nick and Marcus led them on a jog down to the range. The run covered a couple of miles, and that proved pretty challenging since they were wearing vests, helmets, and gear. Plus, running in boots isn’t fun, even on a good day.

  At the range, the other squads broke off to continue to their stations. The Primary Strike Team took the weapons range first. Still breathing hard, they inserted hearing protection and locked and loaded their weapons. Nick put them in a line and slapped Red on the helmet.

  Since the logistics element of S3 had put up some flimsy cardboard walls stapled to some 2x4s, no one knew what to expect on the range beyond the walls, which extended twelve feet high. Red entered the make-believe hallway and pushed forward. He followed the “hallway,” turned the corner, and then moved on.

  They heard the sound of gunshots from his M4. Finally, Red yelled, “Clear,” and exited the range from the right side. Marcus went next, wasting no time. And once he finished, Lana, Truck, and Preacher took their turns.

  Nick heard Preacher yell “clear,” and he raised his M4 up from its assault sling. His shoulder wound burned, but he blocked the pain out as he walked down the hall, heel-to-toe, his rifle barrel steady. He twisted right, cleared the next hallway, and took the obvious left. It was obvious, because they were, after all, on a range and the targets had to be in the expected direction with the berm behind them.

  As Nick entered the kill room, he realized the logistics folks had done a hell of a job, given the fact they were forward deployed. They had somehow found a couch, a chair, a wall locker to resemble a closet, and numerous targets. Nick flushed the thought from his mind as he concentrated on the task.

  Five targets loomed before him, each realistic picture silhouettes. Nick scanned them, looking for weapons. One had an AK pointed at the entry, and Nick put two rounds in his chest and a kill shot in his head. He twisted and nearly fired on a burqa-wearing woman. But her hands were empty and he moved to the next target.

  The next two had weapons, as well, and Nick quickly engaged each with three shots. The final one was another burqa-wearing woman, and Nick lowered his weapon until he noticed the left hand had a detonator in it. He cursed, yanked his weapon up, and put three rounds straight into her head -- ignoring the two, typical, center mass shots.

  Damn it, he thought. He hoped the others had momentarily botched it, as well. He’d know soon since the logistics team always recorded the squads from an elevated camera. They’d review how the team members entered and cleared their sectors, as well as examine how long it took.

  Thankfully, they wouldn’t be scoring shots today, unless someone missed a shot. Today, hits on target were all that mattered. Hits and how long it took. If someone missed, they’d review the tape to see when the misses showed up on the target.

  Nick walked off the course pretty sure he could feel his shoulder bleeding. But as his team members watched him exit the range, he knew he wouldn’t be standing on the sidelines for the upcoming stations in hand-to-hand, circuit course, and fire and maneuver.

  Chapter 59

  “Crap!” Nick spit angrily, realizing he’d just popped the stitches in his shoulder. T
he slobbering curses he threw in his head, however, were much more vicious and colorful.

  Despite all the effort he’d put into avoiding another trip to the base hospital, he was now headed straight back since, for some damn reason, he couldn’t manage a hair of self-restraint.

  The training had started off simple enough, and Nick had been doing well up until it came time for some hand-to-hand combat practice. Now, in hindsight, Nick could see how Truck had goaded him into it, but that really didn’t help much now. At least Truck had learned a little bit better not to mess with him, because “old man” or not, Nick could whip some ass. Nick smiled, only to curse himself more, as the split on his lip stung and began to bleed again.

  And now here he was in another exam room, waiting for a doctor to stitch him up. As soon as Nick realized the walk of shame he’d have to make back to the hospital, he’d started prepping himself for another showdown with the pretty lady doctor who’d stitched him up before. He drew lines in the sands of his mind and decided that if she nudged a single toe over, he’d become really uncooperative.

  But all his preparation appeared to be unnecessary as a tall, bespectacled, and straight-faced man entered the room.

  “I’m Dr. Blair, Mr. Woods,” the man said in an informative manner, as compared to a greeting.

  “Alright there, Dr. Blair.” said Nick, “And is my regular doctor not coming?”

  The robotic Dr. Blair, who’d been watching Nick expressionless, while maintaining a slightly unnerving level of steady eye contact since he’d entered the room, was suddenly overcome by a brief series of fluttering eyelids. He then sharply cleared his throat and responded in a voice sounding a bit higher than before, “Uh, no. Mr. Woods, I’m sorry. But your regular doctor is unavailable, as she is presently in surgery.”