Chapter 2
Delaney’s heart skipped several beats, and she schooled her face before turning to the man outfitted for battle. "I believe we’ve met."
"O’Connell?" Tuck’s grin lit up his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I suppose the team that trains together plays together." She wanted to say a whole lot more, but refrained. "Who’ve you got with you?"
"Reaper, Big Bird, Fish, Dustman, and Gator." He shook his head. "I didn’t know you’d be here, much less taking us out on this mission."
She stiffened. "Does it make a difference?"
His smile disappeared. "Not to me."
Delaney nodded. Some men had dumbass superstitions about females being part of a mission. They believed having a woman along would jinx them, spelling out trouble from the get-go.
As the only female pilot allowed on a trial basis into the 160th with the specific purpose of flying combat missions, Delaney wanted to be treated like any other male pilot. She was as good, if not better and she had to prove it, over and over, while proving she wasn’t bad luck to a mission.
Tuck gave Delaney a brief rundown of her role in what was about to go down.
The team was infiltrating a small village reported to be harboring Amir Khan Muttaqi, one of the Taliban leaders the U.S. had been after since the war in Afghanistan had begun. They were to infiltrate, capture him, and get out before the Taliban knew what hit them. Small footprint, minimal casualties.
Delaney was to set them down on the other side of a hill from the village under cover of darkness. The men would move in, find and secure the target, then she’d fly in to retrieve them.
That would be the sticky part. Helicopters weren’t known for their stealth abilities, and the distinctive sound of rotor blades beating the air alerted people on the ground before the helicopter came within firing range. Delaney understood the danger.
Tuck laid a hand on her shoulder. "You got this?"
Delaney knew he didn’t doubt her ability to understand and perform the mission. His unspoken question was, could she handle it?
A flash of anger fueled her response. "Got it."
Tuck returned to his seat in the back.
"Let’s do this." Delaney checked her controls, fuel levels, and took off, swinging north toward the small village located in the hills. As darkness cloaked the desert, she switched to NVGs, flying at an altitude high enough not to be seen from the ground below, and out of range of Taliban-controlled rocket-propelled grenades or RPGs.
The mission proceeded like clockwork. Delaney hovered on the opposite side of the hill where the village was located. The men fast-roped to the ground and hustled toward the hill.
Delaney and her crew stayed long enough to provide cover, then flew south a couple clicks to a wide open, deserted location and landed to await word from the team.
Delaney sat behind the controls, wishing she could pull off her gloves and bite her nails. Waiting had never been her strong suit. The guys on the ground would see action before the night was over.
Question was, would they live to tell?
Tuck took point, and the rest of the team fanned out in a V to his sides and behind. Armed with M4A1 rifles with the SOPMOD upgrades including sound suppression and night vision devices, they moved through the darkness like cougars stalking prey.
Treading silently over the rocky terrain, Tuck eased to the top of the hill and checked for posted sentries. He spotted one twenty yards from where they hunkered low. He pointed to Reaper and motioned for him to take out the guard.
Reaper slipped away from the others and, within minutes, dispatched the man with the point of his knife. Quick, quiet, and efficient, Reaper rejoined the others before they descended the hill toward the village. Halfway down, Tuck held up his fist and the group of men stopped. He pointed to Reaper and Gator to join him.
Through his NVGs, Tuck picked out the bright green signature of a man standing guard on top of a building at the south end where the road led into the village. Tuck dispatched Gator to take him out. Not long afterward, Gator signaled from the top of the building, with one flash of a red lens light up at the hill.
The team moved into the village, Tuck counting mud-brick, fenced compounds until he reached the sixth one on the left, set back a little from the main dirt road. Inside the walls would be a house and storage buildings, all looking very similar, like mud boxes, either square or rectangular. Until they crossed over the fence made of large stones stacked, chinked, and covered in a mortar-like mud, they couldn’t see into the structures.
Tuck was first to pull himself up over the wall and drop to the ground on the other side. Reaper was right behind him. Gator and Dustman brought up the rear while Big Bird and Fish remained on the other side of the fence, positioned at the far corners to watch for anyone attempting to go in or out. They’d provide back up, should the team need it.
Tuck pointed to Reaper and indicated he should sweep the left, while Tuck took the right and they rounded the main structure within the wall. No one stirred. Tuck stopped in front of the back door, tested the handle, then slid his knife into the gap, and pushed the lock open.
He slipped in and Reaper followed.
Once inside, they moved room to room, passing a living area and then a bedroom where three adult women crowded on a sleeping mat on the bare floor with small children tucked against them.
In the next room, the heat signature of a man lying on the floor caught Tuck’s attention. He appeared to be an older man, not the Taliban leader they were supposed to find. Either he would be found in another building on the compound, or they had the wrong home.
Tuck motioned Reaper ahead of him and out of the home, pulling the door closed behind him.
Reaper moved on to the next building, similar in size to the first. Gator followed, the big guy so quiet, he was one giant shadow in the night.
Tuck joined them against the building. He directed Dustman to be the lookout at the corner, while Tuck, Gator, and Reaper stood beneath a window where they could hear the low hum of voices through a narrow opening.
Tuck made out some of the words in Pashto. They were talking about crops and the amount of money they could get for the current poppy harvest. When the man speaking mentioned how many weapons that would buy, Tuck’s adrenaline shot up. This had to be the place. He nodded to Reaper and they ducked around the other side of the building to the entrance.
Tuck led the way, pushing against the door, hinges squeaking slightly. He waited before entering, gauging whether or not the men in the back room had heard. When the Afghan’s voice droned on, Tuck crossed the threshold and slipped past darkened rooms. Women and children slept inside some of them. He pulled doors closed and moved on, determined to make this extraction as quick and painless as possible. Where the hallway split at a T-junction, he sent Reaper to the right and he and Gator took the left, toward the sound of talking men.
As he reached the room, a scuffle at the end of the hallway behind him made him stop short, weapon at the ready. He shot a glance over his shoulder. A man had emerged from the room at the end of the hallway, adjusting his robes with one hand, carrying a gun in the other. When he spotted Reaper, he raised his weapon. Reaper swung the butt of his M4A1, catching the man on the chin so hard, a loud crack echoed against the dried mud walls. He slid to the floor.
A shout sounded from the men in the room in front of Tuck. Before the men inside made it to the door, Tuck dove through the opening, weapon ready.
Armed with AK47s, and handguns, five of the eight men in the room opened fire.
Tuck nailed two of the shooters.
Gator popped two others.
The last armed man flattened himself on the floor behind one of his dead buddies and fired wildly at Tuck and Gator.
One bullet hit Tuck in the chest, his flak vest protecting him, but the force of the bullet knocked back against the wall. By the time he steadied himself, another round nicked his left shoulder. He dropped to the prone position, aimed, and shot the man between the eyes.
Two of the other men grabbed the weapons of their dead compatriots. Before they could pull the triggers, Tuck and Gator fired, dropping them where they stood, leaving the last man alive. He stood tall, his black beard and mustache shaggy, unkempt, his head swathed in a black turban. He spat on Tuck and cursed him in Pashto. The man looked like the one in the photos from his mission briefing. They’d found Muttaqi.
More shouting out in the hallway pushed Tuck to action. Their team didn’t have time to waste before the entire village descended on this location. When Gator grabbed the man’s arm, Muttaqi fought back.
Tuck hit the Amir in the temple with the butt of his weapon.
The man fell to his knees, then flat on his face.
Digging a zip-tie out of his pocket, Tuck secured the man’s wrists behind his back.
Gator slapped duct tape over his mouth, then flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Tuck emerged into the hallway to spot Reaper cornered by two men, a third man in the process of pulling the pin on a grenade.
He lobbed the grenade at Reaper and dove into a room.
Tuck couldn’t get to him fast enough and watched in horror as Reaper grabbed the grenade and flung it into the room after the retreating man. With no time to spare, Reaper dropped to his belly and shaded his eyes.
Tuck and Gator only had time to fling their arms over their eyes.
The grenade exploded.
The force of the explosion knocked Tuck and Gator backward, Muttaqi’s body landing on top of them, the concussion making Tuck’s ears ring and his head spin. As he pushed his way out from beneath their prisoner and sat up, his vision blurred, then came back into focus and his heart skipped several beats.
The entire wall where Reaper had been standing had crumbled onto Reaper and the three Taliban members. Dust choked the air.
Tuck staggered to his feet, off balance, a sense of urgency hard to grapple with when he could barely stand. He grabbed Gator’s hand and pulled the man to his feet. They teetered together until they could stand on their own.
Muttaqi groaned through the tape on his mouth, thankfully still alive for interrogation later.
Tuck helped Gator load the man over his shoulder and shoved him toward the exit.
Dustman met them at the door, took Gator’s load, and ran to the back wall of the compound, shoving Muttaqi over the top.
With Muttaqi out of the compound, Tuck went back for Reaper.
Two Taliban members, still alive but bruised and bleeding, had converged on Reaper and were digging him out of the rubble, cursing, something about ripping him apart.
Tuck aimed at the one nearest to him. "Hey!"
The men dropped Reaper’s arms and lunged for Tuck.
Two bullets ended any discussion, and Tuck raced to where Reaper stumbled to his feet.
"About time you got here." He pressed his hands to his ears. "Can’t hear a damned thing."
Reaper’s voice came to Tuck muffled and almost unintelligible, effects of the stun-grenade’s explosion. Though temporary, the condition didn’t make for clear-headed thinking when they needed it most.
With Reaper leaning heavily on him, Tuck ran from the building into the night.
Shouts sounded all over the village, and the popping of semi-automatic weapons indicated other Taliban members were closing in.
Tuck grabbed his handheld radio. "Razor, extraction point B. Now!"
Her answer came quickly, "Roger."
They had less than two minutes to get to their rendezvous point alive. At the west end of the village was a flat field where the locals grew poppies. Most likely the crop the Taliban had been counting on to fund the purchase of additional weapons.
Gator and Dustman, with Muttaqi dangling between them, followed Big Bird and Fish along the road between high walls.
Tuck brought up the rear, a bad feeling twisting in his gut. The walls were like canyons, trapping them in and funneling them through like mice in a maze. All it took was one enemy soldier with a machine gun to take out all six of them. Weapons aiming upward, the team ran through the streets as fast as they could, carrying the dead weight of an unconscious Muttaqi.
If Tuck had it his way, he’d shoot the murderous Taliban leader and get his team out before they became numbers on some congressman’s tally of the cost of Operation Enduring Freedom and the Global War on Terrorism.
He prayed the village inhabitants didn’t have an RPG anywhere nearby. Not with Delaney on her way to collect them.
The report of rifle fire had them slamming against the walls shadowed from the moonlight. Fish took a bullet to his leg, hit the ground, and rolled back to his feet.
Big Bird made Tuck proud when he locked in on the sniper on the rooftop and expended one bullet on the man. The Taliban soldier tipped over the edge and crashed to a heap in the street in front of them.
The sound of rotors beating the air pushed Tuck forward, yelling, "Move! Move! Move!"
The six men and their prisoner burst into the open and ran, stumbled, or limped toward the field of poppies.
Machine gun fire peppered the ground behind Tuck. He didn’t slow or stop. The helicopter appeared overhead and the door gunners laid down suppression fire until all the men were on board with Muttaqi.
The last one in, Tuck barely had his foot on the skid when the helicopter rose into the air.
A parting shot pinged against the side of the Black Hawk as it rose higher, headed back to Camp Leatherneck where they were to hand Muttaqi into the care of military intelligence officers for interrogation processing.
His ears still ringing, Tuck pressed the headset to his ear.
"Tuck?" Delaney asked.
"Yeah, Del, I’m here."
"Cory?"
"On board."
"The others?"
"All present and accounted for." Tuck’s heart still beat like a snare drum at a rock concert.
"What the hell happened?"
"We can talk later."
Silence for a moment.
"Tuck?" Delaney’s voice filled his head.
"I’m still here."
"I’m glad."