A Cold Day In Mosul (33 page)

"Let's go!" Ethan exited the Humvee and raced around to the passenger side; William was already helping Sam from the vehicle but Ethan dismissed him. "I got her. Get your ass aboard."

William reluctantly obeyed. Doug covered their rear, loaded RPG launcher in hand.

The ATVs headed for the remaining Black Hawks, two per helo. The bird crews had manually lowered makeshift steel ramps for the ATVs, and the small vehicles drove right inside the cabins. The troop seats had been removed to make room for the quads.

William made his way toward the crew cabin of their own Black Hawk. Crouching in the downwash, Ethan followed just behind him, acting as Sam's crutch.

The corpsman left the cabin and raced toward Ethan.

The closest gunner, probably the crew chief, screamed: "Let's go you sons of bitches! Go go go go!"

The corpsman reached Ethan and together they helped Sam.

Ethan heard the loud bang of Doug's RPG going off behind and to his left, followed by a distant explosion.

"Don't fuck with JSOC!" Doug yelled. Then: "Urgh!"

Incoming gunfire ricocheted from the steel hull of the war bird.

"Goddamit!" the gunner yelled. "I said go!" He swiveled his six-barrel M134 toward some target behind Ethan and fired 7.62 mm rounds at a rate of fifty per second, the tracers creating long threads of light. Almost lost in the loud, continuous thunder from the minigun was another detonation somewhere far behind Ethan.

William had turned around. "Doug!" He raced from the cabin.

"Will, wait!" Ethan said, but William plowed past him.

Ethan let him go. His first concern was Sam. Once he had her safely aboard, he would aid his friends.

He lifted Sam into the cabin with the help of the corpsman and then, crouching, turned back.

The gunner swore at him again, though his imprecations were lost to the deafening M134, its long threads of light drilling into the approaching vehicles. The nearest enemy Humvee burst into flames.

William had shoved his shoulder under Doug's left armpit, and was slowly making his way back to the helo. Doug pressed a hand to a large, widening red spot in his clothes above the hip.

Ethan joined them, taking Doug's right side.

An RPG exploded nearby. Dirt and gravel whipped Ethan's face.

A near-miss.

"Too damn close," William muttered.

The other birds were airborne, and the gunners strafed the incoming vehicles with their miniguns. Another Black Hawk Ethan hadn't seen before joined the fray. This one was equipped with ESSS stub wings installed above the crew cabins, with clusters of Hydra 70 rockets and AGM-114 Hellfires mounted to the hardpoints. It launched those munitions at will, lighting up the encroaching vehicles.

But the enemy kept on coming.

All of the helos were at risk, Ethan knew. A lucky hit from an RPG could easily take a bird down. The chaffs and infrared countermeasures employed by the Black Hawks were useless against such dumb weapons.

Ethan heard the characteristic keen of bombs, followed by a thunderclap. The air shook, vibrating his lungs.

Another airstrike. Would it be enough?

Ethan and William finally loaded Doug aboard the helo. Ethan closed the rearward sliding door behind him.

"Up up up!" someone shouted.

The vehicle took to the air.

Ethan took a seat beside Sam and glanced outside. Large clouds of smoke dotted the landscape, courtesy of the recent airstrikes. He saw several enemy vehicles emerge from those plumes.

The helo banked sharply to avoid incoming fire, and then headed north, staying close to the ground. The gunners pivoted the M134s backward and continued firing for long moments before at last letting up. The cabin didn't get much quieter: even with the sound reduction panels installed throughout the compartment, the engine and blade noise proved damn loud.

The corpsman finished treating Sam and focused his attention on Doug next. He injected what must have been an analgesic, because Doug's pain-tense features abruptly slackened.

Ethan watched helplessly, worried for his friend.

As the man worked, Doug shouted: "So what's the verdict, doc?"

The corpsman didn't answer immediately. "Want the truth?"

"Nothing but the truth," Doug said above the helo noise. "So help me God."

"I'd put your chances at fifty-fifty."

Doug smiled widely. "Okay, maybe I didn't want the truth. You could've humored me, doc."

"Sorry."

"Doesn't matter. I've overcome dirtier, rotten odds. Do your worst, doc." He glanced at Ethan. "Hey, you were wrong motherfucker."

Puzzled, Ethan regarded Doug uncertainly. "About what?"

"You said we were going to make it."

Ethan didn't know what to say to that.

"We didn't just make it," Doug continued. "We owned it!"

Ethan reached out and clasped his hand. "We owned it, brother." He released his friend and told the doc: "If you need any help, tell me."

The corpsman nodded absently.

Ethan had no doubts in that moment about Doug pulling through. None whatsoever. The man was a fighter.

William shifted beside him.

Ethan glanced at him. His friend's eyes were wet. Distant.

"You okay, bro?" Ethan asked him.

"Yeah. Just..." William hesitated. "I can't believe we're finally out. Goodbye Iraq, you goddamn sandpit of the world you. I never want to see this place again."

"Didn't you say that the last time?"

"Probably."

Ethan regarded Sam, who sat on his other side. She, too, wore a somewhat dazed look. She forced a smile when she realized he was looking at her.

"Thank you." Sam gazed at Ethan, William and Doug in turn. "All of you. For everything."

Ethan nodded. "Just doing our job. It is what you pay us for, after all."

Her expression momentarily darkened. "So this is just a job to you?"

Ethan stiffened. "Hell no. If this were just a job, the three of us would have hightailed it out of the entire damn region when you were taken prisoner. No, this is a vocation."

The grin she wore next finally touched her eyes. "It is, at that."

Ethan donned a pair of noise-canceling headphones taken from a box beneath his seat and then lay back to stare out the cabin window. He watched the rolling hills and lush green pastures of Kurdistan speed by.

It was a beautiful day out there. Gorgeous.

epilogue

V
ictor Bogdanov exited the vehicle near the passenger departure entrance of Turkey's Gaziantep International Airport.

He could scarcely contain his excitement. He was going to make so much money when he landed in Istanbul, it was ridiculous. He'd already sent out the invitations, and representatives from the interested parties would be waiting eagerly for his arrival.

When the sale was complete, he planned to use a portion of the proceeds to return to Iraq with a fresh batch of money-hungry mercenaries. And if Dmitri, who was missing and presumed dead, happened to show up, the former employee would be the first target of his new team.

Victor approached the terminal with a bounce in his step. He planned to start the auction at one million dollars. It was a low reserve, but he hoped the frantic bidding war that must follow such a price would spur irrational, competitive behavior. If he was lucky, the price would spiral into the hundred million dollar range.

Because of the sensitive nature of what he was selling, he had already hired a small security force. Its members escorted him even then, and more such men would be waiting for him in Istanbul. If they proved themselves, he might bring them onto his team full-time after the sale, because the DIA would want his head when news of the transaction leaked. It was a small price to pay for being a criminal mastermind.

One of the men opened the glass door to the terminal. Another went inside to lead the way. Victor stepped forward to follow and, distracted by the dollar signs floating through his head, he didn't notice the distant glint of the muzzle flash reflected in the glass.

It wouldn't have saved him anyway.

Bystanders screamed as Victor toppled to the pavement. The security team dropped, drawing Makarov pistols, but it was too late.

Victor Bogdanov lay dead with a single bullet wound to the head.

* * *

Ethan leaped down from the shack in the pistachio field. He shoved the TAC-338 sniper rifle into the trunk of the getaway car, a black Audi A8. The vehicle was the "Security" model—bulletproof windows, emergency pyrotechnic blow-out doors, fire extinguisher system, interior smoke extractor, run flat tires. The B7 ballistic armor was capable of defeating multiple armor piercing rounds fired from sniper rifles such as the M24 and Dragunov. It was the kind of car he would've liked to have had in Iraq. The only downside was the tight trunk—even when he positioned the sniper rifle diagonally, the weapon barely fit.

Ethan started the engine, switched into gear, and accelerated through the bumpy field, squeezing the vehicle between the evenly-spaced pistachio trees. The thin trunks occasionally scraped the left and right mirrors. Didn't even dent the armor.

He reached the service road and moments later turned onto Gaziantep Airport Way. He accelerated until he hit the D850 highway, and then moderated his speed, matching the flow of the other traffic.

White and blue Hyundai Accent police cruisers suddenly approached in the opposite lane, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

Ethan tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He prepared to floor the accelerator.

But the cruisers raced by, headed toward the airport.

Ethan slumped ever so slightly. He watched the police vehicles recede in the rearview mirror. He caught his reflection. Clean-shaven. Closely-cropped hair. Moderately bronzed skin. Casual white T-shirt. Black blazer. Just an average Turk returning from business abroad.

When he reached Gaziantep proper, he stopped in a parking lot near the stadium and switched to a more inconspicuous Honda Civic. He left the sniper rifle in the trunk of the armored Audi.

He grabbed the throwaway cellphone situated on the dash of the Civic, navigated to the "recent calls" menu, and dialed the only number in the list.

The line connected.

"It's done," he said, and hung up.

He tossed the phone into the open window of the Audi and drove off.

Ethan left behind the streets of Gaziantep for the pistachio farms that clung to life on the dry steppe outside the city. The plan was to drive to Istanbul, where he would spend a week browsing the local souks and sampling the cuisine. Then he would depart for his next assignment, whatever that might be.

He touched the thick, ugly scab above his eye. He'd had the stitches removed yesterday. The scar from the Russian's handiwork would probably be fairly prominent. Not that Ethan cared. Well, maybe a little.

He activated the car radio and tuned to a station playing some Turkish pop song. Though he didn't understand the words, the track was kind of catchy. He cranked the volume way up, drowning out the incessant ringing in his ears. The tinnitus had abated somewhat since the airstrike, but it hadn't gone away entirely. Probably never would, no matter how many specialists he saw. He already had a baseline level of tinnitus from his previous deployments, so it wasn't something entirely new to him. The stronger ringing was just something he'd have to get used to.

Six hours later he topped up the Civic at a roadside gas station near the town of Aksaray, halfway to Istanbul. He snacked on a
simit
, the Turkish equivalent of a bagel. The place also had a pay-as-you go Internet kiosk, and after he connected a certain USB stick to the computer, he checked the draft folders of a few email addresses he monitored.

He smiled wanly when he saw a message from Alzena waiting in one of them. He clicked the blank subject. Inside, the text proved unencrypted—a single sentence that required no answer on his part.

Fight where you are needed.

This is the end. Thank you for reading!

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—
   
Isaac

postscript

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about the author

USA Today
bestselling author Isaac Hooke holds a degree in engineering physics, though his more unusual inventions remain fictive at this time. He is an avid hiker, cyclist, and photographer who resides in Edmonton, Alberta.

His experimental genre-bending action novel
The Forever Gate Compendium
was an Amazon #1 bestseller in both the science fiction and fantasy categories when it was released in May 2013, and was recognized as Indie Book of the Day. His military science fiction novel,
ATLAS
, became a similar bestseller one year later.
ATLAS 2
came out in December, 2014, and
ATLAS 3
in June, 2015.