Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3) (11 page)

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 fucking 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.

Both sides
continued to exchange fire, but it seemed almost miles away compared to how
loud and violent it had seemed by the compound’s gate. Nick stopped twenty
yards from the wall and dropped in the prone to see further in the dark.

Nick hastily
searched his three sectors. Clear. He pushed himself up and again darted
forward, staying as low as his back and knees would allow.

At fifty
yards from the wall, he saw his first target. A man lay to his left, firing
toward the compound’s gate. Nick checked his right one more time to make sure
there were no flankers. He didn’t expect any, but these boys might be better
than he’d figured. Apparently, they weren’t though.

Nick turned
and made his way toward his target. He was in stalking mode now, and silence
mattered more than anything else. He eased forward, crouched and ready.

But it was
unnecessary. The man on the end of the line never saw or heard a thing. Nick
came up behind him and fired two rounds from his silenced .45 into the man’s
back.

Nick dropped
to the prone immediately after firing, not moving at all. After a few seconds,
he raised his head and checked behind the man to confirm he wouldn’t be
blindsided by some rear or flanking element. Still he saw no one.

He pushed
himself up and moved on to the next man, who lay ten yards further ahead. He
dropped that man, too, but by then the Pakistanis were grouped tighter, so he
stayed in the prone, crawling and sliding down the entire line.

He never saw
the leader behind the line, or anyone else, so he assumed the man had either
been gunned down or joined the line. As he progressed, a few of the men sensed
or heard something, but as each turned, Nick poured .45 calibers rounds into
them with barely a sound. TSK. TSK. TSK.

It was too
dark to use sights, so he’d point the pistol and trust his intuition. The
closest he came to dying were a few rounds that snapped by from his own team
members when he first started, but they quickly realized what he was doing and
raised their fire to well above standing height.

Nick
slithered, located a target, and downed him. Nick rushed forward, saw another
one reloading, and shot him in the back without hesitation. Over and over, Nick
knifed through the line of unsuspecting fighters, none of whom grasped that
they were being flanked by a man with a silenced weapon.

Nick burned
through four and a half mags before he was done, and when he finished, he
dropped to the ground. He tried to stand, but he couldn’t catch his breath. And
it wasn’t just from exertion. The insanity of what he had just done gripped
him. Panic sent his heartrate rocketing, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He
gasped on the ground, holding his chest. He got the shakes and looked down the
hill, expecting to see some fighter coming up to shoot the helpless American.
Nick put his pistol on the ground and slapped himself in the face.

Get ahold of
yourself, he thought. He breathed in as deeply as he could, but couldn’t pull
off taking a deep breath. He couldn’t regain control of himself, and there was
no point in hiding it and dying because of his stubborn pride.

He swallowed
and bellowed out, “All clear. Now get out here and fucking cover me!”

It took several
tries, but eventually his men ceased firing and left the compound in a wedge
formation, their weapons lifted and ready. Nick tried to stand, staggered a
bit, but finally found his legs. He wasn’t sure if it was fatigue from the
two-week mission, the fading effects of adrenaline, or about the worst case of
the shakes that he’d ever had, but his body felt weak and unresponsive.

Regardless
of the cause, he didn’t care. He wanted to get to the truck and get the hell
out of there.