Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3) (27 page)

Chapter 78

Two hours
later, the beginnings of a plan were shaping up for S3. The four officers had
all agreed on what was the most dangerous place in Kabul. It was a part of the
city occupied by the most fanatical and religious fundamentalists. And it had
the highest number of mosques per square mile of any part of the capital.

And like
Neza-Chalco-Itza, the Afghan police had stopped trying to patrol it after
getting involved in numerous heavy firefights. The imams of the local mosques
wouldn’t allow the police to search their premises for weapons, and despite the
aerial footage of fighters hiding in their sanctuaries, the Afghan president
had decided it was a fight not worth dealing with in the near term.

Nick had
asked the four Afghan police officers attached to his unit to request
permission from their superiors for S3 to patrol through the area. That had
been promptly shot down by the mid-level police captains who declared it too
dangerous.

And Nick
couldn’t seem to convince the police captains that S3 didn’t give a shit how
dangerous it was. Unable to pierce the language barrier, he had gone around
them and had Mr. Smith talk to the highest ranking officers.

They, too,
had denied the request. But not because of the dangers, but because of the
limited number of Afghan speakers in S3. They -- rightly -- knew that with so
few members in S3 being able to speak the language, a lot would die in such a
patrol. And the leadership of the police wasn’t in a hurry to go pissing off
the religious fanatics of Kabul and creating a potential uprising from the
city’s most dangerous sector.

The final
word to Mr. Smith from the Afghan government was that S3 couldn’t conduct any
raids or attacks of any kind unless given express permission.

“In fact,
I’m worried they’re going to soon require S3 to stop operating,” Mr. Smith had
said. “The president truly believes he’s ended the threat with the attack on
the hill, and when added to the reduced number of attacks by the Taliban across
the country, he’s almost convinced he’s won the whole war.”

“It’s
exactly like Tet, 1968,” Nick replied. “Our generals thought the lack of enemy
activity by the Viet Cong proved we’d nearly won the thing and next thing you
know, you have 80,000 enemy attacking more than one hundred cities.”

“It appears
to be the same situation here,” Mr. Smith agreed. “The Taliban is certainly
staging for their big attack, but the servers weren’t the honeypot we hoped
they’d be, and our intelligence and satellites are failing to see any patterns
or buildup. Bottom line, all that S3 can do is wait for the trap to spring and
until then, you’re only authorized to defend yourself if you come under fire.”

And with
those words, Nick found their plan and his way around all the bullshit. Not
that he informed Mr. Smith of that. Better to apologize after the fact than ask
permission and be told “no.”

He ended the
call then smiled up at Marcus with the biggest smile he could muster.

“Uh oh, I
know that look,” Marcus said.

“You heard
what he said. We can defend ourselves if fired upon. We’ll just go for a little
drive tomorrow, get a little turned around, and end up where we’re not supposed
to be. And if they fire on us, then it’s on. Ironically, it’s the same damned
idea you had when you suggested Red as bullet bait.”

“Smith is
going to be so pissed,” Marcus laughed.

“What else
is new? Our job is to succeed, and sometimes you have to ruffle some feathers
to make that happen.”

Marcus
dropped the smile, slipping into a thoughtful expression.

“Okay, so if we’re doing
this, then we should go ahead and get Dr. Julia down here. I’ll go make the
call.”

Marcus had already started
toward the door when Nick stopped him.

“And you’re absolutely
sure that she can handle this? She can do her job while up to her neck in the
action?” Nick asked.

The comment resulted from
a thought Nick had been chewing on.

In the hours after his
initial discussion with Marcus about Dr. Julia Clayton outside the weapons
room, Nick had returned to his room with the intention of embracing the change
(the one that’d been forced down his throat by Mr. Smith) and moving forward.
It took an hour and a half for him to finally submit to the concept and work
out how he wanted to proceed. He had then called Marcus to meet with him and go
over things.

There might have been some
disagreement between the two about how much the good doctor might be capable of
taking on. But eventually, Nick settled and promised to take all of Marcus’
generous suggestions under advisement. The biggest point of contention had been
on whether or not Dr. Clayton would be serviceable in a combat situation.

The truth was that neither
Nick nor Marcus was very familiar with the lingo or details of the medical
world, let alone the specifications of the Army Medical Department. But the CIA
had cleared her for the job and she’d successfully convinced Marcus of her
ability. And now that Dr. Clayton was officially on S3’s payroll, none of the
lingo, the details, or even the specifics really mattered anymore. They would
just have to carry on with what they had and hope it worked out.

But once they had pulled
together some kind of job description, Nick had sent Marcus to officially
welcome Dr. Clayton on behalf of S3. He had also specifically requested that
Marcus brief her on the company and its structure. Nick had hoped Dr. Clayton’s
realization of his leadership role in S3 would inspire her to change her mind
on joining the team. But no such luck there.

And now back in the small,
moldy, warehouse office, Marcus stepped closer to Nick. He looked Nick directly
in the eyes and gave a speech almost identical to the one he’d given before.

“As I’ve already told you,
I have a gut feeling about her,” Marcus said. “Now, do I know,
for sure
,
that she’s got this? No. But you and I both know how stuff like this works. The
only thing to do is give her a shot and see how it goes. If things get hairy,
then we pull her back and adjust from there.”

Nick knew Marcus was
right, and honestly, he had no good reason to doubt the man. Marcus had
practically hand-picked every recruit of S3 since the beginning. Of course,
Nick had reviewed and approved them all, but Marcus had done most of the work.
He seemed to have a special gift for seeing a person’s true potential.

Nick mustered a small
smile and patted Marcus on the shoulder. “You’re right,” he said. “Go make the
call. Send a squad to escort her here. Make sure she knows she can bring whoever
and whatever equipment she wants, but we’ve got to get this done quick. We
still don’t know when or how the Taliban plans to strike.”

“Got it,” Marcus said as
he turned to leave the room.

“And, Marcus?”

The tall drill instructor
stopped, just having opened the office door and turned back.

“Thanks for pushing me on
this. It’s the right move,” Nick admitted.

A crooked smile creeped up
on the big man’s face.

“When you gonna learn,
boss, that I got all the right moves.” And then, in his best Michael Jackson
impression, Marcus squealed, “Hee, Hee!” and moon-walked out the door.

Chapter 79

Dr. Julia Clayton arrived
at the warehouse in Kabul after 8 p.m. She was thankful to have met many of the
S3 members earlier, as that made it less nerve-racking.

It had been a bittersweet
feeling leaving Bagram Airfield. It had been her home for a long time, and the
base hospital had been her purpose and motivation for getting up every morning.
She had put, not just a lot of her life, but
all
of her life on hold for
that purpose. She had outworked and outlasted almost every doctor that had
stepped foot in that hospital, and now she was leaving.

And although the
exhaustion, the emotional strain, and the constant personal sacrifice had made
the decision to move on easier, her record of service was still hard to give
up. Of course, she’d be back there at some point in the near future, cleaning
out her quarters, saying goodbye to familiar faces, and tying up loose ends.
That would be the real goodbye, but Julia couldn’t help but feel like this was
the moment where she truly had to let go.

Stepping away from Bagram
to go on this mission had felt like the first big and scary step forward that
she’d taken in a long time.

And now she had a new job,
with new co-workers and new challenges to face. So while she was nervous about
the hours ahead, the simple factor of a changing scenery promised a new and
fresh start.

Julia stepped down from
the hulking Cougar MRAP, both hands carrying supplies and gear. Exiting behind
her followed a couple of her best PAs (Physicians Assistants). Though neither
of them would probably be able to stay on with S3 permanently, she was glad the
base commander had agreed to allow her to bring them at least temporarily. Both
Naomi and Ryan had served in combat, so in the light of things to come, their
experience would probably prove both valuable and comforting.

The very second Julia
stepped into the warehouse she was greeted with excitement and smiles. While
the squad that had escorted her continued to move in more medical equipment
from the vehicles, several S3 members came to relieve her and her PAs.

The large, beefy man they
called Truck had marched up, and with one hand easily grabbed a fifty-pound
case of vials she’d been lugging with both hands. The case was locked and built
to military grade specifications (meaning extra, extra heavy-duty). He had then
set the case down and bent over to pick up a large, cumbersome footlocker that
Julia could have sworn would have taken two or three people to carry in. But
Truck hauled the massive box underneath one arm, carrying it like it was a
football. Then he topped himself by bending carefully down to retrieve the case
he’d taken from her.

Red came galloping behind
him, grabbed both the bag on her back and the oversized duffle slung over her
shoulder. He seemed to stagger a bit, but righted himself quickly, and shot
Julia a huge smile. And most likely hoping to win back a little of the
collective pride that Truck had sucked from every other male in the room, Red
then stepped past Julia and all but demanded to take Naomi’s equally large
duffle bag as well.

Julia started across the
warehouse to where the team was neatly stacking her gear. She returned a wave
to Preacher who stood off to the right, clearing cots to help move the gear in.
Suddenly, Julia caught a blur of movement as Lana darted behind and up around
her, matching Julia’s stride while walking backwards. “Oh, now it’s on,” Lana
said, holding her fist out. Julia bumped the woman’s fist with her own and
smiled as Lana quick-stepped into a spin and dashed off to help the others.

Julia glanced to the left,
looking over the space, and saw Nick Woods far off along the wall beside a very
odd-looking table. He was dressed in his Afghan police uniform, and had both
hands on his hips, his right one resting atop his holstered Glock. The man
watched her blankly as she moved across the room and offered her a single
polite nod of recognition. Julia wasn’t fazed at all by the man’s behavior. If
he thought he was the first or even the worst stubborn veteran she’d met, then
he was beyond mistaken.

If building a peaceful,
working relationship with Mr. Woods was easier for him with distance, then
Julia was more than happy to oblige. She understood that for men like Mr.
Woods, trust was probably not something given lightly. And for that reason,
Julia hated that she’d let him get under her skin when they first met. She
certainly understood how her reaction might have set her a step back with him.

Scarred souls are terribly
skittish in nature, and tend to wear the most armor. But Julia believed, that
with time, they could work it out. Nick Woods was honestly the least of her
worries, so she raised her hand in a stationary hello, letting a small smile
show on her face as she nodded back respectfully. And then pushed on ahead to
help her PA Ryan sort through the growing stacks of gear.

But before she made it all
the way there, she felt Marcus’ shoulder brush up against hers as he walked
alongside her. The gentle giant of a man pulled her into a tight side hug.
“Welcome to paradise, my lady,” he said playfully. “Now can I get you anything?
Mai Tai, Margarita, a Bay Breeze, perhaps?”

Julia smiled. “Just give
me the rum, matey. And keep it coming,” she said baring her teeth and squinting
an eye.

“Aye, aye,” Marcus replied
with a chuckle. He quickly squeezed her again and released her to move onward
to her station.

“Oh, I really do hope he
brings back some booze,” she said to herself, looking gloomily at the piles of
cases and supplies. “‘Cause I’ve got an assload of unpacking to do.”

Nick hadn’t actually
decided on how he’d greet Dr. Clayton when she arrived. If just one of the
warehouse offices hadn’t been so damned disgusting, then he would have been
happy to hole up in there and avoid her arrival altogether. But as he was a
little concerned for the health of his lungs while hunkered in what was
essentially a closed and spore-riddled closet, he decided against that plan. Eventually,
he had settled on the plan of aloof and subtle acknowledgement of her
existence.

The only direct contact
Nick had experienced with Dr. Clayton since their disastrous introduction was
when he’d called the whole of S3 to attend a special briefing before their move
to the warehouse in Kabul. She’d slipped in right before the meeting began and
stood along the back wall. Nick noticed several members of S3 give the doctor a
wave or head nod in silent greeting. She had smiled at all of them and even
offered a nod of hello toward Nick when she’d seen him looking at her.

Nick had been actively
staring at her, but mostly because he hadn’t initially recognized her since she
had her hair down and traded the scrubs for civilian clothing.

When Nick had called for
the all-hands mandatory meeting, he hadn’t actually realized that such a
meeting would require the attendance of the official S3 physician. Thankfully,
Marcus was, as usual, on his A-game. He somehow managed to read Nick’s mind --
because he certainly wasn’t able to understand the whispered, stuttering
gibberish that came out of Nick’s mouth -- and stood to open the meeting,
introducing the team to the newly hired Dr. Julia Clayton.

Nick was glad he’d thought
to suggest it, even though it was quite possible that Marcus had planned to do
it himself anyway. But Nick was proud of himself regardless, and that little effort
to play nice helped him quickly move past his surprise at her being there. He
then gave the team their orders.

At first, Nick had at
first assumed that Dr. Clayton had hung back to shake hands and greet the rest
of the team as they left the meeting room. But, as he still hadn’t planned on
her being there, it wasn’t until the room had cleared, leaving her, Marcus, and
Nick behind, that he’d realized that he hadn’t actually covered her orders.
Nick braced himself for several things as she moved to meet them: harsh
threats, a smart-ass comment maybe, possibly a physical impact of some sort.

But the woman simply
offered a polite smile and extended her hand to Nick. Nick hesitated long
enough to remind himself to “never let ‘em see you sweat” and shook the lady’s
hand.

She had then looked at
Marcus, who responded with a bright smile. Marcus, the rat-bastard, had then
turned that damned grin on Nick, a blatant (and smug) refusal to help him
negotiate this conversation.

“Uhh,” Nick said. “I guess
you’re wondering about your orders, then.”

“Well, yes,” she replied.
“But I also just wanted to sincerely thank you for the job, Mr. Woods.”

Nick was honestly a little
stunned, not just because of what she’d said, but because she really appeared
to have meant it. Shake it off, Nick told himself.

So Nick did his best to
press on and save the analysis for later if he felt like worrying about it.
After that, the three of them briefly sat to quickly run through the initial
plan of her involvement and the possible contingencies that might come up. She
had accepted the orders without complaint and simply responded with a couple
surprisingly insightful questions.

They’d then stood,
everyone shaking hands, and she’d thanked them both. But she’d suddenly stopped
inside of the door and turned to look at Nick.

“How’s your shoulder, Mr.
Woods?”

Nick just looked at her,
feeling lost for what should have been an easy answer. And after a painful four
seconds, Nick’s brain finally caught up, and he managed to croak out the reply,
“Doin’ better.”

“Glad to hear it,” she
responded, smiling lightly before making her exit.

Unfortunately, even with
the additional and overall positive interaction, Dr. Clayton had not managed to
improve Nick’s personal opinion of her at all. And while Nick could not put his
finger on the specific problem, he was quite frankly tired of thinking about
it. Sometimes you just don’t like people, he had assured himself, doesn’t mean
they’re bad people. It just means what it means: you simply don’t like them.

However, Dr. Clayton had
done enough to momentarily persuade Nick that professionally she might have
potential. So as long as the doctor remained cooperative, Nick was willing to
give her a shot. Besides, he honestly didn’t have many doubts about her abilities
per se. He mostly worried about the probability of her inspiring a mutiny
against him. Or something less dramatic, but still to the effect of being a
ripe, old pain in his ass.

And so, Nick watched as
Dr. Clayton arrived. He watched as his fighters fussed and celebrated her
coming. A bit excessive, Nick thought. Well, at least it was over with, and he
could get back to doing what he excelled at.

Nick leaned back and
propped his knee against the wall.
Crossing his
arms, he observed the various squads as they prepared for tomorrow’s dangerous
mission.

The Primary
Strike Team joked and laughed as they prepared their gear. They displayed the
levity and lightness of experienced troops that you might find in the SEALs,
Green Berets, and MARSOC. Something about shooters at that level kept them from
having to act and maintain the posture of hard-asses, more commonly found in
regular infantry units.

The other
three support squads had a more serious and determined look. Each of the
six-man squads was off in their own small areas they had claimed in the
warehouse. These men packed gear and checked weapons same as the Primary Strike
Team, but they had a different look. They appeared more serious and focused,
wearing tougher demeanors. Nick knew every member on each squad would go out of
their way tomorrow to attempt to impress Nick or Marcus and earn a spot on the
Primary Strike Team.

And off in a
far corner, all by themselves, was the sniper squad. The three teams of two
wiped down scoped, long rifles and inspected ammo bullet-by-bullet as if each
round was a precious diamond. Nick knew they were looking for the smallest
possible deformities, despite the fact they were already using expensive,
hand-loaded match ammunition.

Snipers will
be snipers, he thought with a smile, remembering his day of being one himself.
He walked to his office and grabbed his M4. He decided to walk the perimeter
and make sure the S3 security element was wide awake and doing its job. The
unit only had a small perimeter and chain-link fence protecting them from
whatever might come, so this wasn’t a time for anyone to be dropping their
guard.