Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3) Read online

  That must have been some kind of drug because he never moved or made a sound. Nick worried and checked his pulse. It still throbbed, though weaker than Nick would have preferred.

  “Let’s go, Truck,” he hollered to the man still holding security.

  Marcus looked up and checked the sky for any cloud cover and the possibility of rain, but stars flickered above them, mostly unobstructed. Red tightened a boot that had loosened up on him while a scuffing sound pulled Nick’s eyes up from the map he was stowing in his gear.

  Nick watched as Truck pushed himself to his feet. He then reached down, grabbed the RPK from off its bipods, and trotted up to the truck.

  “Let’s get ready to move,” Nick said.

  Truck handed his machine gun to Red, who climbed up in the truck bed. Truck would be driving since he was by far their most experienced driver. After all, the man hadn’t earned his nickname for just being a big, beefing machine with only one gear: forward. Of course, his infamous reputation hit its peak while driving a heavy truck as a contractor in Afghanistan. But he’d also been a tractor trailer driver in the States, after being fired by said contractor.

  Red lay the RPK down in the bed, and Truck passed up several seventy-five round drums to him. While they staged ammo, Nick said, “Red, put that gun on the cab of the truck on its bipods and stay behind it. We’re probably going to need it.”

  Marcus jumped up in the crowded truck bed, as well, and Nick asked if they had grabbed his Dragunov sniper rifle. Marcus pointed in the corner, and Nick leaned over the bed to see it placed snugly among the soft packs, its scope facing up and protected from the bumps they all knew would be coming.

  The truck bed was crammed pretty tight with their packs, the computer servers, and al-Habshi sprawled across the back.

  “You have enough room, Marcus?” Nick asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” Marcus replied, as he bent over to rearrange and organize things better. As Marcus created a firing position for himself at the back of the truck, Nick grabbed Red’s AK-47 from him. Red passed him all his magazines, and Nick stuffed them in pockets and pouches.

  Nick checked his gear one last time and checked the AK to confirm it was on safe. Truck jumped in the driver’s seat, bitched loudly about the seat being too far forward, and made adjustments to it and mirrors.

  Nick pulled the AK to his shoulder and aimed away from everyone at the wall of the compound. He repeated the maneuver several times and reacquainted his eyes to the notch open sights of the AK. He’d re-attach Red’s ACOG when dawn (and daylight) arrived.

  He lowered the weapon and looked back at his team.

  “Who’s ready to go home?” he asked with a grin.

  “I am,” Red replied. “I haven’t seen a single woman, beach, or beer on this side of the border. And that just ain’t healthy for a sane man.”

  Truck guided the Toyota down the hill closer to the compound’s front gate and stopped. Nick pointed to the dashboard.

  “Figure out where the lights are and rehearse flipping them on and off,” he said. “If we make contact, I want them instantly turned off so we’re not lit up like a perfect target. The last thing I want is to catch some rounds through the hood and into the engine block. I am not walking back.”

  Truck rehearsed flipping the lights on and off several times.

  “Good to go,” he said.

  Nick nodded, and Truck continued toward the gate, stopping five feet from it. Up close, with the light beams shining on it, they saw the “gate” was a gate by name only. In truth, it was a rotted, patched-up set of doors that weren’t heavy and daunting at all, but rather shoddy and flimsy.

  It wasn’t even chained closed.

  “Just hit it,” Nick said. “And be ready to douse those lights.”

  Truck edged forward until the bumper made contact. He eased the truck forward, and the gates half-collapsed, half-flopped open. As the driveway down the steep hill became visible, Nick rolled his window down and pointed his AK toward the front.

  “Be ready, Red,” he warned to the man above.

  Red leaned into his machine gun and braced himself. He pushed the wrap-around turban up on his head to keep it out of his eyes and took a deep breath. Marcus stumbled on gear as fought his way forward and took a position next to Red. He leveled his AK toward what could be a mess of trouble. After all, who knew how many men might be waiting for them?

  There had been shots, explosions, and shouts in the compound, which was presumably a well-known Taliban site. Surely the sympathetic locals would respond. It was more a matter of how many men down the hill might have climbed up to investigate in the minutes they had been in the compound.

  Chapter 32

  Truck pushed the clutch in and braked to a stop a mere ten feet past the gate’s entrance. No one was waiting on the other side -- or, at least no one that they could see within the thirty yards of their sight limit in the night’s darkness.

  “Hold up here a minute,” Nick said.

  He pulled his AK back inside the window and lifted his night vision goggles. The brilliant devices perfectly showed the terrain to their front.

  Ahead, the ground angled down the mountain in a smooth finger roughly one hundred yards wide. Like the land they’d crossed getting here, the finger lacked any kind of cover or concealment. It was nothing but a barren, dusty slope speckled with a few rocks scattered here or there. The ground dropped off on each side of the finger fairly smoothly.

  By Afghanistan and Pakistan’s hilly and mountainous standards, this was prime property.

  Nick worked the NVGs across their front, the Toyota truck’s quiet engine the only sound in the night. A voice from the distance called out. Nick feverishly moved the NVGs back and forth, but could see nothing.

  The voice repeated itself, but louder this time.

  Nick finally realized what was happening beyond their sight.

  “Truck, someone is coming up the hill to investigate. They aren’t firing yet because they can’t possibly know that it’s us in this truck. They must think it’s al-Habshi or some of his guards. Let’s back the truck up behind the wall before it gets shot up.”

  Truck pushed the clutch, placed the truck in reverse, and pulled back quickly. He turned the wheel and backed the truck behind the cover of the thick, foot-deep wall of the compound.

  The truck stopped, and Red grabbed the machine gun and jumped down. He moved to the corner of the gate and took a prone position behind their primary support weapon.

  Marcus leapt from the bed, as well, while Nick told Truck to wait with the vehicle and keep it running.

  “I want you ready to pick us up the moment we need it,” he said.

  Nick turned and jogged to the compound’s only opening, joining Marcus and Red.

  “Red, hand me your NVGs,” Marcus said.

  Red withdrew the goggles from his gear and passed them to Marcus. The two leaders of S3 glassed the area down the hill while Red covered them from the prone.

  Now, through the green light of the night vision, numerous men could be seen. Five or six had formed a line about fifty yards away. Below these men, a line of armed fighters ran up the hill in a column that stretched for almost a thirty yards.

  Nick guessed there were twenty-five in the column.

  “Shit,” Marcus said.

  “How many you figure?” Nick asked.

  “Thirty, worst case.”

  “Damn,” Red said from below. “Next time, I’m bringing my helmet and body armor.”

  Nick would have been happy with some body armor right now, as well. Level four.

  “You think,” Marcus asked, “we can make a break for it? Keep the lights off on the truck, floor it, and go fifty miles per hour down the hill? Maybe even collect a few of them on our bumper along the way?”

  “I have no doubt we could do it,” Nick replied, “but getting the truck down the hill is only half the problem. It needs to be running perfectly when we reach the bottom, and I’m not willing
to bet that nearly thirty guys won’t manage to get at least a round or two into the engine. It’s not like they’re carrying bolt-action rifles.”

  A yell from below in Pashto carried anger and urgency with it up the hill.

  Marcus and Nick identified the man in the green light of their NVGs. The man stood and looked down the hill, ordering the men to hurry. As each arrived, he directed them left or right into the line of men forming up to face the compound.

  “This isn’t good,” Marcus said.

  “We can’t go back up the hill,” Nick said. “I’m not walking back. And we need to transport both al-Habshi and the computer gear with us.”

  “If we’re not walking out, then that rules out taking off left or right down one of the sides of this finger,” Marcus said.

  “Agreed,” Nick replied.

  The mob of men below them organized into a tighter, more effective line. They formed a cordon around the front of the compound, and with every passing moment, the line adjusted and constricted.

  “We have to go down the hill, taking that truck and following this road,” Nick said, pointing ahead. “It’s our only option.”

  “And yet we can’t afford to fight numbers that are six times our size,” Marcus said. “We don’t have the ammo for that, and the last thing we need is an all-out siege.”

  “Plus, the longer we wait, the more will come,” Nick added. “Especially once the shooting starts.”

  “What do we do?” Marcus asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Nick said.

  Chapter 33

  Nick saw no easy solution. They were trapped, and their only reprieve to this point was the darkness that kept their enemy from seeing them.

  More shouting from outside the compound added urgency to his thinking. Marcus stepped closer and put his hand on Nick’s shoulder.

  “Sometimes there is no easy solution,” he said. “You just have to fight.”

  Nick nodded.

  “Plus,” Nick added, “if we don’t do something soon, they’re going to rush us, and we can’t stop that many men from breaching the gate. They’ll start tossing grenades and eventually break through.”

  Nick knelt by Red, who faced their direct front.

  “Red, slide back, get behind some cover, and aim toward the opposite side.”

  Nick started to say the same thing to Marcus, but he had already moved to the opposite side of the compound’s gate and aimed out the other direction in the prone, as well. Now, the two men were protected by the wall and would be firing out in an “X” pattern again to prevent their muzzle flashes from being seen from their direct front.

  Nick pulled his NVGs back up to scan his front. The line of men advanced up the hill, creeping forward while hunched over. Their weapons pointed toward the compound’s gate; they were fifty yards away, but closing steadily.

  “Shit,” Nick said. “Here they come. We’ve got to stop them before they rush us.”

  Nick turned and ran for his pack. Truck opened the door and stepped out.

  “How can I help?” he asked.

  “Help me grab some illumination flares,” Nick said, reaching for his pack.

  The flares were metal, foot-long tubes that were a couple of inches wide. They fired a small rocket that propelled to several hundred feet before stopping, deploying a chute, and igniting a massively bright flame. The flares wouldn’t make it daylight, but they’d allow you to see your target and roughly point your weapon -- something all elite troops had practiced.

  Nick and Truck rushed back to the compound’s gate and prepped a flare to fire.

  “Be ready, guys,” Nick said to Marcus and Red. “And, Truck, make sure you aim well behind them.”

  Nick pointed his flare sixty degrees to their front and hit the back of it, firing it. The tube slammed backward into his hand and fired its rocket far into the sky. Truck launched his tube, as well.

  The flares took a couple of seconds before they hit their full height and exploded with a harsh, bright light in the sky. The moment they erupted, the ground around the compound lit up as if it were dusk and not four in the morning.

  The flares delivered forty thousand-plus candlepower, and would do so for more than thirty seconds. The flares caught the Pakistanis by surprise and with the darkness ripped from the night, the members of Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter could clearly see their enemy without the need for NVGs.

  Best of all, the illumination rounds floated down behind the Pakistanis, so while the enemies were quite visible as silhouettes, Nick and his men would remain concealed. And that was assuming they could be seen within the compound’s opening. With Nick and Truck behind the wall and Marcus and Red in the prone fifteen feet back and angling away from those who might be able to see them, the team remained invisible and protected by the thick walls.

  Marcus shot into his oblique line of fire, his AK-47 exploding the relative quiet of the night. Red followed, firing a burst from his light machine gun toward the other diagonal direction. The two men engaged targets methodically, as return fired snapped through the opening.

  Nick and Truck prepped the next two flares, firing them before the first two struck the ground and completely burned out. This scene repeated itself several times while Marcus and Red worked their way through at least four magazines and drums.

  The enemy fire continued, remaining steady and undeterred.

  Marcus looked back.

  “We can’t keep doing this,” he yelled. “They’re staying down, and there aren’t many good targets left. Plus, either we’ll run out of ammo or this will turn into a siege soon.”

  Marcus returned his focus on his weapon and fired three more rounds. He turned back again.

  “And if we slow our rate of fire too much, trying to save ammo, they’ll rush us,” he said. “Then hit us with grenades.”

  Nick looked down, feeling hopeless. He glanced over at Red and saw the little Marine from Ohio still in the fight. Resolve and focus pouring from every fiber of his body.

  Nick wished he was behind a rifle right now, instead of holding another parachute flare and thinking so hard his head hurt. Leadership wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  Marcus glanced away from Nick and fired again toward his sector. Nick focused on Red once more and racked his brain for some solution.

  Red stopped firing, yelled he was reloading, and twisted behind him to grab another drum. Truck stepped forward and fired his AK from the standing position above Red’s head. They had to keep some suppressive fire going.

  As Red fumbled for the next drum, Nick saw the pistol on the point man’s hip and had an idea.

  Chapter 34

  Red completed his reload and returned to firing the RPK. Nick stepped closer to Marcus and yelled, “Slow down your rate of fire. Nice and slow, sustained fire.”

  Marcus nodded, never looking up.

  Nick sprinted across the compound’s opening, dodging several bullets in the process. He slid to a halt and grabbed Truck by his harness and pulled him close.

  “No more flares. Use your AK to cover any reloads Red needs to do.”

  “Roger,” Truck said.

  Nick bent down by Red and slapped him on the shoulder twice. Red stopped firing and looked back. Nick yelled, “I need every pistol mag you’ve got.”

  Red searched his gear for every pistol magazine he could find. Truck saw the pause in firing and stepped to the left, lifting his AK. He fired single shots toward the opening, as the two remaining flares drifted and swayed to the ground.

  Red had three magazines, and Nick knew he had two. It would have to do.

  He threw three flares by Truck’s feet.

  “Only use these in a worst-case scenario. Hold the gate at all cost and don’t you dare try to follow me.”

  Truck gave a questioning look as it dawned on him what Nick was about to do. He didn’t seem inclined to follow the orders.

  Nick grabbed the front of Truck’s web gear, shook him hard, and screamed, “I fuckin
g mean it! Don’t you even think about it.”

  Truck shook his head in begrudging agreement, but he didn’t look happy about it. Nick didn’t have time to worry about anyone’s feelings.

  Nick thought of the hole at the back of the compound made by Marcus and Red, but a hundred-yard dash was out of the question. Time was of the essence, so Nick spun toward the truck and sprinted up to it.

  He yanked the door open, leaped in, and threw it in reverse. It was running as he’d ordered, and he slung dirt as he floored it and raced backward. Nick didn’t slow until he was sixty or seventy yards away from the front gate. He yanked the truck close to the wall, grazing it a bit, and slammed on the brakes.

  He opened the door before it fully stopped. He put the parking brake on, but in his haste, forgot to take it out of gear. The engine strained against the brake for a moment, then died.

  Nick barely noticed as he spun out of the truck. He certainly didn’t care. His men were chewing through their final stores of ammunition. Losing one of them wasn’t an option, he thought, as he sprinted to the back of the truck. He jumped on the bumper and hurdled into the bed. He dodged packs, computer gear, and the body of Ahmud al-Habshi, who was still completely unconscious.

  Nick stepped up on the side of the truck bed and reached for the wall. He found a purchase with his fingers and kicked away from the truck. He yanked himself up and threw his leg over the wall. He slowed and eased himself over it, staying low and noting with satisfaction that the final flare had hit the ground and darkness was returning to the night.

  He dropped and landed as easy as he could, staying low in the kneeling position. He pulled his Glock .45 out and checked the suppressor to confirm it was still screwed in tightly. For a moment, he waited. He checked the sector to his left, front, and right. He saw no one within the thirty yards that he could see.

  He stood and rushed away from the wall, leaning forward and running hunched over. He would have preferred to low crawl, but he didn’t have the time and felt it worth the risk.