SEAL Team Bravo, page 27
They were three klicks away when it happened, a force beyond anything they’d experienced. A shockwave hit them like an express train, grabbed the powerful, heavy aircraft, and shook it like it was a ragdoll. They battled to regain control, still clawing for height, and from the cabin, the SEALs looked at what they’d left behind. As if a volcano had exploded, the top blew off the mountain, and the once proud, massively built stone fortress became as dust. The rocks, massive boulders, cascaded down on the village, and in seconds, wiped it out. In the sky, a cloud slowly reached up, as if grasping at the heavens. At the top, it was mushroom-shaped.
No one said a word. They were watching what few men would ever witness, and live. Providing the crew managed to keep the Osprey in the air, and they were doing a valiant job. It was like riding a bucking bronco. Each man had to hold onto something solid to stop being tossed around like a cork on rough seas. Slowly, the power of the blast reached its limits, and the power began to dissipate. The crew regained control, and they flew on in silence. Each considering what they’d left behind, and if they’d left a few minutes later.
Nolan grimaced.
Life’s full of what ifs. What matters are the ones you walk away from. We’re walking away from this one.
* * *
“Sir, radar shows aircraft inside our controlled zone. No IFF.”
Lieutenant Feroz Noon had been glancing through the technical manuals for the Spada 2000 Air Defense Missile System. Since they’d failed to activate the tracking system, he’d sent men scurrying everywhere to replace the missing module. So far, it had worked perfectly, but he still wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to make sure he understood every troubleshooting procedure, in case of a future failure.
When our radar picks up the next aircraft not showing IFF, I’ll shoot it down, no hesitation, and no mistakes. Any unauthorized aircraft in my air defense zone is going to hell.
He leaned over the shoulder of Corporal Nazir, and it was there, a glowing dot on the screen. No electronic tag to show is was one of theirs, so he must assume it hostile.
“Activate missile tracking, bring the systems on-line. Hurry, man!”
Nazir punched buttons, and this time it worked.
“All systems on-line, everything in the green.”
The missile screen showed ‘Active, Missile Tracking.’ When they glanced outside to look at the launcher, the sleek projectile was already turning to lock onto the distant target.
It works. At last, I will make the foreigners pay the ultimate price for invading Pakistani airspace.
“Continue tracking, range?”
“Twenty-five kilometers, Sir.”
It was on the extreme limits of the Spada 2000 range. He should wait until it closed to within twenty kilometers, so the manuals stated, except he wanted to make sure.
“Wait until it’s closer, Corporal. As soon as it’s within fifteen kilometers, fire.”
“Fifteen kilometers? That’s close, Sir. If it’s a ground attack fighter, it could hit us with an anti-radar missile.”
“Fifteen kilometers. Do as I order, Corporal Nazir. Or is it Private Nazir?”
“Fifteen kilometers, yes, Sir.”
They watched and waited. The aircraft was slow moving. Too fast for a helicopter, so it must be fixed wing.
I wonder if it is flying slow in an attempt to appear less warlike, or is there another reason? Perhaps it’s a transport, about to drop paratroops on the sovereign soil of Pakistan. Yes, that must be it. Lieutenant Noon is about to teach them a lesson. The Pakistani air defenses are ready for anything.
* * *
The Predator drone watched and waited, unseen by anyone on the ground, and unmarked by air defense radar. The coating on the fuselage was effective in confusing the radar return. If they did get a radar return, it would be so faint they’d assume it was a large bird, of which there were many in this region. Communicating by satellite with Bagram Airfield, and to a nearby drone controller, they picked up the radar emissions and flashed a warning. The controller leaned forward and flicked a switch.
“We have an active radar, and it’s acquired a target. Only aircraft within range is that Osprey you sent in to pick up those SEALs.”
Jacks acknowledged and stared at the repeater screen in front of him. Intel had reported a single surface-to-air missile installation in the area, close to the town of Landi Khotal. A quick scan of the map showed the V-22 would pass close to the site, too close.
“This is SOCOM control, Bagram. That drone you have overhead, what ordnance does it carry?”
“Hellfire missile, Sir.”
“A Hellfire, right. Do not go active on the targeting radar yet, but prepare a Wild Weasel strike on that missile radar.”
A pause, “Sir, that’s Pakistani territory. Aren’t they supposed to be our allies?”
“Allies don’t target missiles on their friends. Do it. Tell me when you’re in a position to fire. If they shoot down our aircraft, do you want me to tell you how many of our people will die?”
“No, Sir. This’ll take less than a minute.”
“They may not have a minute, son. That aircraft is closing to within their fire zone.”
“I’ll make it quick, Sir. Confirm your order, Wild Weasel strike on Pakistani surface-to-air missile site close to Landi Khotal.”
“Confirmed, do it!”
He punched buttons, and the Predator altered course a fraction to the east. Inside the guidance mechanism of the Hellfire missile, the computer began to receive targeting data. In a fraction of a second, it prepared the sequence to ignite the motor and send the weapon on the way to the target. The next half minute blurred into a split second for some men, and a lifetime for others.
* * *
The pilot of the Osprey noticed it first, and his co-pilot shouted in alarm.
“Missile lock, missile lock. Radar signature is a Spada 2000. No launch detected, but it’s imminent. They’ve gone active, and they’re tracking us. Launch considered imminent. Skipper, you want me to punch chaff and flares?”
Major Kevin Christie prided himself on the ability to stay calm under fire. A veteran of the Iraq War, and numerous missions inside Afghanistan, he knew from experience the value of sound decision-making. Which meant weighing the options, provided you had the luxury of time. So far, they hadn’t launched, giving them that luxury.
“Negative, we’ll wait.”
He glanced ahead and mouthed a silent curse. They were heading down a long, shallow valley, and the missile site was as good as within visual range. If he attempted to fly higher to cross the high plateaus and disappear over the other side, the missile would have them before they made it halfway. Better to stay in the ground clutter and take their chances. He thumbed the transmit button.
“Bagram, we have a situation. Enemy radar site, emanating Spada 2000 tracking signature, they have target lock; repeat, they have target lock.”
The reply came back a second later. “We have the situation in hand, Major. We also have target lock.”
“You what?” He glanced around, looking for air support, and then he understood, “Oh, yeah. I didn’t know.”
“Watch the fireworks, Major. We’ll see you back here soon.”
He glanced at his co-pilot. “You hear that?”
“I did, yeah. What do you reckon, a drone?”
“Has to be, and it’s loaded for bear.”
* * *
“Range is seventeen kilometers, Sir. Target is maintaining course, flying straight and level.”
“Understood, stand by to fire.”
It was all wrong, and Lieutenant Noon frowned as he watched the screen. The enemy aircraft must have detected their radar lock, and according to the rules of air combat, should be starting to take evasive action. Granted, they’d started to head to a lower altitude, but it didn’t look like they’d panicked. Nothing to suggest they were trying to get away. Almost as if…”
The Corporal’s voice was a panicked scream.
“We’re picking up a new radar, Lieutenant. It’s a targeting radar, like our own, but it’s…different. I haven’t seen anything like that. Where is it emanating from? Wait, it’s very close and flying low. It’s a…” He got closer to the screen, and his jaw gaped, “Missile launch, missile launch! Lieutenant, they’ve fired a missile, and it’s pointing right at us. What is it?”
He knew already, had worked it out, too late.
Why didn’t I allow for a drone to be somewhere overhead? The Americans have hundreds of them, some say thousands, and many armed with missiles.
He mouthed the word without realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Hellfire.”
Nazir stared at him in shock. “You mean…they’ve fired on us! How could they?”
Because they knew we were about to fire on them. I made a mistake. I underestimated the enemy.
There were techniques that would mask the emissions from their radar, like intermediate switching. He’d forgotten all of them in his eagerness to make the kill. He watched the tiny dot tearing toward them at a speed of Mach 1.3. They had seconds to live. Corporal Nazir was waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry, Nazir. There’s nothing we can do.”
“You stupid bastard. You stupid, fucking…”
They were the last words he would speak. Almost ten kilos of high explosive struck the command shack at a speed of nearly a thousand miles an hour. The explosion was devastating, and if there was a single compensation, it was that it was mercifully quick.
* * *
Inside the cockpit of the V-22, they relaxed as the threat warning alarms subsided.
“We’ll chalk one up for the good guys. Go into the cabin, and give them the good news.”
He hit the transmit button, “This is Major Christie. Radar shows enemy radar has gone off the air. Looks like you boys did a good job.”
“We did nothing, Major. Repeat, nothing, you got that?”
He got that. “Yessir. Thanks for doing nothing. We’re real grateful.”
“Anytime.”
In the cabin, the anonymous Lieutenant Colonel finished administering the anti-radiation drugs to Sammy Borowski. Nolan watched him intently. “You think he’ll be okay, Sir?”
After a short pause, he replied, “The poisoning was over a short period of time. He’s a fit man, so yes; I think he’ll recover. A brave man, by all accounts. Then again, he would be. He’s a Marine.”
“You’re in the Corps, Sir?”
“Used to be. Nowadays, I spend much of my time with a different organization.”
“I’m guessing that wouldn’t a million miles from Los Alamos.”
He grinned. “I’m not accepting any bets on that one. Do you want me to take a look at that hand?”
Nolan pointed to Khan. “He needs your attention first. It’s a shoulder wound. I think he may have lost a lot of blood. His name’s Kamal.”
“Okay, I’ll look at it now. Kamal, let’s get your shirt off.”
The Afghan glared at him, but the medic gently unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. He began inspecting the wound, and idly, Nolan watched the medic work.
Something’s odd with Kamal. He looks different.
He’d seen the pointed direction of Nolan’s gaze. The expression on his face changed. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky man who couldn’t give a shit about Islam. It was the face of a different man, a fanatical face.
He worked it out in a flash.
He’s not Kamal. On that snow-covered mountainside, the body we found was not Javed. He knew of the suspicions against him, knew he had one more throw of the dice, and killed his brother. Tried to sabotage the operation by telling the Islamists we were inside the coffee bar, except it all went wrong when we got away. The ace in the hole, he didn’t know about Amber. Didn’t know she was in the village, sent in advance of our operation, and helping us get clear of the search.
He grabbed for the pistol in his belt and realized he was still wearing Pakistani clothes. A stinking sheepskin coat, and underneath a cotton robe. No gun. He made a grab for his AKM rifle, but Javed was ahead of him. He pushed the medic to one side, and the assault rifle was in his hands like magic. He sneered at Nolan.
“So you finally worked it out. Well done, Lieutenant Nolan. Unfortunately for you, it came too late. Don’t try it, or I kill her!” Will had moved to grab his rifle, but Amber was close to him, and he pointed the muzzle of his weapon at her body.
They stared at him, frozen in indecision, knowing to make a wrong move would result in the death of Amber Chase. Nolan had to keep him talking until they could find a way to disarm him. He left it too late. Javed edged forward, gripped her collar, and dragged her toward him, away from the SEALs. He screwed the muzzle of his rifle into her belly and stared at Will.
“Tell the pilot to turn around. We’re not going back to Afghanistan. He is to land in Abbottabad.”
He shook his head. “Who do you think you are, pal, Osama the Second? You think you’re going to take over the rental of his cozy little compound? You can forget it. Our orders say we go to Afghanistan.”
“Then the girl dies.”
Nolan tried to reason with him. Working to gain time, time they could use to do something. Make a move on him.
“You may kill her, Javed, but you won’t kill us all. Let her go. We can talk about this. You have the gun. There’s no need to kill her.”
He smiled. It was a stretching of the lips, no more. The eyes were cold, those of a medieval torturer. The eyes of a man who’d stood in front of Sammy Borowski, applying pain for pain’s sake, for amusement.
“It was you. In the fortress, you wore a scarf over your face.”
A nod, “Perceptive of you, Lieutenant. Too late, but never mind. Order the pilot to turn around.”
“No.”
“Then she dies.”
They could see his finger whiten as he took up pressure on the trigger. Nolan poised, ready to spring, and Ryder acted first. He snatched out a knife as if by magic and threw it. Javed saw the movement, jerked aside, shifted the muzzle a fraction, and fired a short burst. At least two bullets smacked into Ryder’s body, and the knife clattered uselessly on the aluminum fuselage. Javed smiled with satisfaction, his victory assured. He opened his mouth to order them to alter course, and the smile faded.
The knife didn’t hit the floor. In a move that would have done credit to a baseball catcher, Nolan dove and grabbed the hilt of the dagger while it was still in the air. His grip was solid, using his uninjured right hand. The momentum carried him forward to Javed, and he struck, stabbing him in the belly. As he howled with pain, he ripped out the blade and stabbed again. This time to the chest, and the blade sunk all the way, until no more than the hilt still showed. The Afghan toppled, dead before his body rolled on top of Amber Chase, blood pumping out of his ruined heart.
He reached forward to move him off her. “Amber, it’s over. He’s dead. You can relax.”
She didn’t move, and with a feeling of dread, he pulled the dead man off her. The blood wasn’t all from the corpse. One of the bullets he’d fired had entered her head, just above the hairline, and blood had poured down over her face. It was smeared red. The Colonel pulled him away and examined her. He gave a gentle headshake.
“I’m sorry, she’s dead. Died instantly, a shot to the brain. I have to take a look at the other man, attend to his wounds.”
Nolan hugged her to him, never wanting to let go. When they landed at Bagram, he was still holding her, but he allowed them to persuade him to release her body. They carried it away, but still he stayed inside the cabin of the Osprey, watching the Corpsmen take Ryder away on a gurney. He wasn’t badly wounded, but had lost plenty of blood. Will crouched next to where he was curled up in a ball on the aluminum floor.
“Time to go, Boss. They want to service the aircraft. The maintenance crew is here. Why don’t we grab some chow? We haven’t eaten in an age.”
He stared at his Master Chief, and somehow he seemed like an alien, a face from another life. “I’m finished.”
He smiled. “That’s right. Let’s get out of here. Look, I’m sorry about Amber, but occasionally the good ones get killed. That’s the business we’re in. It’s called protecting the free world from tyranny.”
“I meant I’m out. This is it, Will. I’m resigning my commission.”
“Now don’t do anything hasty. Kyle, listen to me.” He never called him by his first name, unless he was about to say something very personal, “She was good people, the best. If you want to honor her memory, do it by carrying on the work she’d chosen to do, not by running away.”
He climbed to his feet, and Will led him from the aircraft. A medic waited to treat his injured hand, but he waved him away. Bryce protested he needed treatment, and he gave him a bleak stare.
“I don’t want any more of this, Will. I let her down once before. I don’t remember much about how. It was a long time ago. But that’s how she saw it. Now I’ve done it again, and this time she’s dead. I can’t take anymore. I’m out.”
He shook the big Master Chief’s hand and walked away.
* * *
Sheikh Umar al-Aziz ordered his driver to halt the Mercedes when they were still ten kilometers from Hisnul ibn-Jannah, the impregnable fortress, and the seat of his power inside Lashkar-e-Taiba. They’d learned about the destruction during the conference, and his fellow commanders had laughed at him. One asked if he planned to live in a tent now his home was a pile of rubble. Even worse, he’d outlined his plan to use the warhead to bring about a war between Afghanistan and Pakistan, except he no long owned the warhead.
