Shadow squadron rogue ag.., p.7
Shadow Squadron: Rogue Agent, page 7
The man with the AK-47 turned away from Howard and Jannati and took aim at the unexpected sound. He squeezed off a long, surprised burst of fire. The shots were wild and missed the truck altogether.
Cross’s shot, however, was right on the mark. From his prone shooting position, Cross shot the man in the chest. He dropped in a heap on the ground, and his AK-47 clattered away into the gutter.
Arash Barzan wasn’t quite as nervous as his passenger had been. When he heard Cross’s horn, he’d dropped to a knee behind his car. He could still see into the garage but had the entire length of his vehicle between himself and the unknown threat Cross represented.
Barzan took a couple of shots toward Howard and Jannati. Suppressing fire from Cross’s M4 forced Arash back.
“Jannati, talk to me,” Cross said between shots.
“Howard caught one in the leg,” Jannati replied. “We’re in the pit under the truck, but our weapons are up top. There’s one guy still up behind that car. He’s got his phone out. Looks like he’s texting somebody.”
Cross cursed. “All right, give us a minute. Out.” He switched channels and called the Wraith pilot. At the same time, he silently signaled for Lancaster to get moving down the block and around the corner. She nodded and hurried away. “Change of plans,” Cross told the pilot. “We need you.”
“Fire support or evac?” the pilot asked.
“Evac,” Cross replied. A second later, he had to fire another shot at Barzan as the gangster moved to grab his fallen comrade’s AK-47.
“Two minutes,” the pilot said. “Out.”
Fortunately, two minutes was all it took. When Lancaster was out of sight around the corner, Cross popped up into a crouch and moved diagonally into the nearest bit of cover he could find. He squeezed off two more shots to keep Barzan pinned down. The gangster stuck his Desert Eagle over the trunk of the car and fired blindly. Except for a ricochet that buzzed past Cross’s ear, none of the shots were anywhere close.
Cross took a breath, calmed himself, then burst out of cover again to move forward, squeezing off a little more suppressing fire along the way. Barzan fired around the side of the car this time and managed to dig up a chunk of pavement between Cross’s feet, but that bullet was the last in the clip. When Cross heard the hand cannon’s magazine slide free, he charged across the last bit of distance and took cover on the opposite side of the car.
Barzan slammed a fresh magazine in place and racked a bullet into the chamber. But what he didn’t realize was that Cross’s approach was just a feint to keep him distracted. As the gangster stood to take aim at Cross, Lancaster popped out from an alley behind him. She shouted a warning, but rather than stop and surrender, Barzan turned his gun on her and fired.
His shot hit Lancaster just below the shoulder, but she managed to keep a grip on her rifle. In response, Lancaster nailed Barzan with a three-round burst. The gangster spun and collapsed on top of the car and slid onto the pavement. Cross kicked the gun out of his hand. Barzan sighed, lay on his back, and coughed up blood.
“Sergeant?” Cross called over to Lancaster.
“Bullet just took some meat with it,” Lancaster said. She walked over to Cross with one hand clamped down over her wounded shoulder. Her voice was tough-guy low, and she was steady on her feet, but her skin was pale. “I’ll be all right.”
Howard and Jannati emerged from the garage, Howard leaning heavily on Jannati with Jannati’s wrap tied around Howard’s bleeding thigh. “Pretty sure I’m dying, if anybody’s interested,” Howard said. Except for a grimace of pain, however, he looked better off than Lancaster did.
“Ask him where his cousin is,” Cross said to Howard, glancing down at Arash Barzan.
The gangster was still alive, but only barely. Howard asked him where his cousin was, which earned him a raspy reply from Barzan followed by a hoarse, gurgling laugh. The laugh turned into a cough, which tapered off into an eerie rattle. Then he died.
“Of course you did, you slick rat,” Howard said softly when Barzan was dead. Through his pain, a faint smirk was just visible.
“Well?” Cross asked.
“He said he gave his cousin up to the People’s Mujahedin in 2012,” Howard said. “He used the money they gave him to buy the guns he was going to use to overthrow his boss in the Persian Knights. He was going to use this opium to flood the market and undercut his old boss’s prices. I guess he was planning to drive us out somewhere to ‘meet his cousin’ and put bullets in our heads.”
Jannati helped Howard sit on the hood of the gangster’s car and then moved to help Cross get a bandage around Lancaster’s shoulder.
“What changed?” Cross said. “What happened over here?”
“I miscounted,” Howard said with a frown. He looked over at the man Cross had shot. “See that guy? He was part of my cell. He went with us to meet the Pakistanis. He got away during your little ambush, but I didn’t realize it. Evidently, he came back afterward and saw us all talking and making our little plans. After that, he must’ve called Arash directly and fingered me for a traitor. As soon as I realized that’s who Arash had in the car, I knew we were blown.”
Howard paused and looked at Jannati. “Sorry about your ribs, by the way,” Howard said. “Didn’t really have time to explain everything in the heat of the moment.”
“Plus,” Jannati grunted, “if the Commander had seen you just dive for cover without a word and leave me standing there to get shot to pieces, he might have jumped to the wrong conclusion, you know?”
Howard laughed, then winced as a jolt of pain went through his wounded leg. “Jannati’s a sharp kid,” he said.
When the Wraith was a mere couple of blocks away, Cross finally detected the quiet whine of the helicopter’s rotors. He tapped his canalphone and told Williams to have his medical kit ready to treat the wounded. Williams acknowledged just as the Wraith set down in the garage’s deserted parking lot.
Yamashita, Paxton, Shepherd, and Williams jumped out of the Wraith and hurried over to help the others inside.
“What’s your plan now?” Cross asked Howard, slipping an arm under his shoulders to help him hobble to the helicopter. “Your credibility’s pretty much blown with Jundallah now.”
“That it is,” Howard said. “I don’t suppose you know of any cushy desk jobs in Belize, perhaps?”
Cross chuckled. “Sorry, no,” he said. “However, I do have a slightly less attractive offer for you. Like I said before, my team’s a man down, and the JSOC hasn’t been very forthcoming with a replacement.”
“Is that a fact?” Howard said. “You can make that happen?”
“Maybe,” Cross said. “I’ll have to pull some strings and scratch some backs, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
Howard dropped his guard. “Interesting,” he said warmly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Take all the time you need,” Cross said. “It’s a long trip home.”
CLASSIFIED
MISSION DEBRIEFING
OPERATION
PRIMARY OBJECTIVES
- Locate Carter Howard
- Question him
SECONDARY OBJECTIVES
- Destabilize relationship between Al-Qaeda and Jundallah
STATUS
3/3 COMPLETE
CROSS, RYAN
RANK: Lieutenant Commander
BRANCH: Navy SEAL
PSYCH PROFILE: Team leader of Shadow Squadron. Control oriented and loyal, Cross insisted on hand-picking each member of his squad.
Well done, soldiers. Lancaster’s autoguns performed admirably, and Carter Howard’s quick thinking and selflessness might’ve saved the life of one of our own.
Yeah, we took a few bullets in the process, but everyone’s recovering well. Considering the circumstances, we should all be pleased with the outcome: success and a new team member we can trust.
- Lieutenant Commander Ryan Cross
CLASSIFIED
MISSION BRIEFING
OPERATION
We’ve received video footage of a terrorist claiming responsibility for some heinous acts. It’s more of a propaganda piece intended to rally the terrorist troops, but despite that, the JSOC wants answers. We’ve therefore been tasked with dropping in, grabbing the terrorist, and getting him out alive.
Getting in will be easy, but we’ll have to get creative with the exfiltration.
- Lieutenant Commander Ryan Cross
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE(S)
- Locate target
- Secure him and exfiltrate
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE(S)
- Avoid contact with insurgents
MISSION THREE
LONG SHADOW
Nine years ago …
The MH-53J helicopter’s cabin was tense and near-silent, the air thick with anticipation. The only sounds were the chopping thrum of the engine and the low grumbling conversations of soldiers preparing for bitter business in hostile territory. Then a thunderous explosion tore the world apart, hurling the men into a nightmare from which most would never wake.
The world spun as the soldiers tumbled around the cramped interior of the helicopter. Alarms yowled like injured animals. A dozen voices overlapped each other, making it impossible to tell who was shouting or what they were saying. The only voice Chief Petty Officer Alonso Walker could make out was the pilot alternately cursing and praying as he fought to keep his bird in the air — and his passengers alive. Walker focused on that one voice. He blocked out all the panic, anger, adrenaline-fueled insanity, and the unexpectedly childlike terror.
Like the rest of them, Walker knew the chopper was going down. There was nothing anyone could do about it. A secondary explosion from the rear kicked the helicopter around in the other direction, setting the rear cabin on fire and ripping the tail off. Through a ring of flames and billowing smoke, Walker saw nothing but hints of rocky canyon walls growing ever closer.
Then the black, starless sky closed in on him.
* * *
The acrid burn of smoke in the back of Walker’s throat awoke him. He didn’t know how much time had passed. He tried to cough out the smoke, but it was everywhere, blinding and suffocating him.
“Chief …”
Something lay on top of him. It dug into the bottom of his ribs and made it hard to breathe. His right arm was twisted in a Gordian knot of tangled harness straps. When he tried to free himself, white-hot pain exploded in his shoulder. He’d dislocated the same shoulder several times while playing football in high school. It had never hurt this much before.
“Chief …”
His left arm was pinned beneath his body, but he managed to wiggle it free. Somehow he managed to lift whatever it was that lay across his chest. His trembling fingers felt Kevlar body armor sticky with drying blood.
One of the men, he realized.
Walker couldn’t tell who it was through all the smoke. All he could do was follow the arm to the wrist.
No pulse, he realized.
With an awkward left-handed push that made his shoulder burn with agony, he shoved the dead man off him. Now he could breathe, but that just let the smoke in easier.
“Chief.”
Walker held his breath and listened, trying not to cough or choke on smoke. He could hear the crackle of distant fire but nothing else nearby. Then he heard a ragged, hissing whimper like the sound of an animal in awful pain. It took him a few moments to realize that the noise was coming from his own mouth.
“Chief!”
The fact that his mind felt disconnected from that pain was a mixed blessing. It was likely he was going into shock. Or paralyzed. Or dying.
And why does my shoulder hurt so much? he wondered.
“CHIEF!”
Walker’s eyes opened again. He’d come dangerously close to passing out. Now the smoke was thin enough to see through. He saw the new kid coming toward him, the medic. The team’s little brother and mascot. The kid hated how the others treated him like one. Walker was the only one who showed him respect.
“There you are, Chief!” the medic said. “Glad you’re alive!”
“Medic,” Walker coughed the word out. He pawed over to the left with his free hand, trying to touch the soldier who’d been lying on top of him. “Over here. No pulse …”
The medic shoved the dead soldier out of the way with his boot. He crouched next to the Chief. Walker half expected the young medic to be panicked or frantic, but all he saw was a blank mask of concentration.
The kid gave his head a quick toss to keep blood from a cut on his forehead out of his eye. “Can you move?” he hissed.
Walker realized he must have blacked out. He made an effort to focus. “My arm,” he croaked. “Hand’s caught. Shoulder’s out. And my back … I think it’s broken. Hurts.”
“If it hurts, then it’s probably not broken,” the medic said.
“Wise guy,” Walker croaked.
The medic examined Walker’s trapped right arm and moved to that side. Shoving a mangled seat out of the way, he found the mass of canvas straps cinched tightly around Walker’s wrist. They were cutting off circulation and binding his arm. The medic dug a knuckle into the center of the knot, trying to loosen it, but that only put more tension on the strap and made Walker cry out in pain.
A breeze pushed more smoke in on the two of them, making them cough and flail until the wind shifted. When Walker could see again, the medic was holding an old Ka-Bar knife and looking at Walker’s trapped arm with a grimace.
“I won’t lie, Chief,” the medic said. “This is gonna hurt.”
Before the medic was halfway done, Walker screamed and passed out.
* * *
When Walker came to, he didn’t know if it was still night or if daytime had come and gone again. He found himself lying on the hard, rock floor of a small cave. A chemical glow stick provided weak, sickly illumination.
Walker tried to sit up. A throb of pain ran through his right shoulder, but it wasn’t anywhere near the intensity it had been before. A moment of panic swept over him as he remembered the last thing he’d seen: the medic trying to cut his hand off with a Ka-Bar blade. He stretched his neck to look at the damage, and his panic turned to confusion: his arm was wrapped tightly in a makeshift sling, and his bruised hand was bandaged. He couldn’t make sense of it. Had the medic cut his hand off and then … reattached it somehow?
“Good news,” came a familiar voice from across the cave. It wasn’t the medic. “The kid says your back’s not broken.”
“Temple? Is that you?” Walker croaked. His eyes had trouble focusing, but he managed to make out the face of the team’s psy-ops expert.
Temple’s eyes were glazed over. He lay propped up on one side, his legs hidden behind him in shadow, staring at nothing in particular. His Kevlar jacket was gone, revealing a thick mummy-wrap of bandages around his torso. The entire left side of his face was covered as well.
“Looks like you got off easy, Chief,” Temple said, wincing with every word. “You shot?”
“I don’t think so,” Walker said. “You?”
“I wish,” Temple muttered.
“Am I drugged?” Walker asked.
“A little,” Temple said. “You probably slept off the best part. Don’t expect more, the kid loaded me up before he left.”
Walker could feel clarity seeping back into his mind, bringing with it a thousand dull aches and bone-deep throbs. He also realized why his hand was still there: the medic had cut the straps that his wrist had been trapped in. It was probably just sprained.
“What happened?” the Chief asked, not sure if he wanted to know.
“Stinger missile,” Temple said. “Blew our tail off when we dropped into the valley. Shooter was probably hiding in a cave just like this one. Waited for us to fly over, then bang. Little coward was waiting for us.”
“How many of us made it?” Walker asked.
“Five that I know about,” Temple said. “Well, five plus you. Five total if the kid doesn’t come back.”
“Who were the other three?” Walker asked.
“The Rangers,” Temple said, spitting the words out. “Not a scratch between them, if you can believe it. Lucky bums.”
“Where are they?” Walker asked.
The hate blazing in the Green Beret’s eyes was so hot that Walker flinched. “They left us,” Temple snarled.
“They wouldn’t,” Walker said. No soldier with any sense of decency would abandon their teammates. Especially not the top-tier, elite special ops soldiers the Joint Special Operations Command had pulled together for this program. “They must not have known anyone else survived.”
“They knew, Chief,” the medic said as he entered the cave. “They helped me get Temple here and stood guard while I got him patched up. After that, Major Edmonds convinced Whitney and Jacobs that they had to finish the mission. I told them we had to finish looking for survivors and get out of here alive, but he wouldn’t hear it.”
“What he said,” Temple hissed, clutching his chest with one heavily bandaged hand. “And then Edmonds said that the rest of us were as good as dead anyway, and if the kid here wanted to stay and die, too, that was his choice.”
“They just left?” Walker asked.
The medic nodded. “The Taliban is combing the area for survivors of the chopper crash. Edmonds said somebody had to slip through the net before the terrorists caught all of us. The mission has to come first.” He paused. A shadow of a scowl crossed his face. “You know how Edmonds is.”
