Disavowed (5 page)

Chapter 9

Helmand Province, Afghanistan

9:26am AFT, August 24
th

The goat herder and his charges took their time crossing the road. There had to be hundreds of scrawny goats meandering over the dust and gravel strip. Isnard hardly let off the horn. The sound did little to move the procession. The hunched Afghan didn’t even look up.

After what seemed like ages, the last goats ambled past. The lead pickup truck gunned its engine and started moving. No sooner had it gone fifty yards that the vehicle and the five men inside blew ski high. Unlike the movies, there was no fireball, just twisted metal and body parts flying. 

Isnard didn’t let off the gas, the delivery truck thumping along the debris strewn road even as half their security team landed twenty feet away.

“What the hell was that?” asked Andy, trying to look in the side mirror. The mirror had been destroyed long before, so he couldn’t see a thing.

“The convoy’s back,” said Isnard, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. He swerved their lumbering target left and right, reminding Andy of his basic training and hours of dodging left and right, saying “I’m up, they see me, I’m down,” as his squad maneuvered down the live fire range. But the hulk of a truck they were riding in couldn’t take cover. There was no ducking. Instead the spook jockeyed the wheel erratically, trying to make them a harder target to hit.

There was an explosion three car lengths ahead. They drove straight through the plume of dust. Another two explosions on their left, just where they’d been a split second before.

Andy could hear the rear security team answering with an endless rattle of machine gun fire. It was probably the only thing giving them time.

The PKM Isnard had was too cumbersome to hold and fire out the window, so Andy used the battered rifle instead. He couldn’t see much when he stuck his head out. Any shot he took might hit their own escort in the second pickup truck.

Just as he pulled his head back in the cab, a shadow passed overhead followed by the telltale sound of aircraft engines and propellers. Andy knew the sound instinctively: attack helicopter. He got confirmation a moment later as he watched a Marine Corps AH-1Z Viper, the recent replacement for the AH-1W Super Cobra, bank left and over and head back toward the road.

Loaded with ample 20mm ammunition for its M197 3-barreled Gatling cannons and a full compliment of 70mm APKWS II rockets, Andy knew from experience that their humble two-vehicle convoy was no match should the helicopter engage. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to shoot at fellow Marines, so instead he just watched as the helicopter turned and followed the delivery truck’s path.

+++

“You want me to take them out with the gun or the rockets, Skipper?” asked 1
st
Lt. Adam “Digger” Reeve, USMCR. He had a clear shot of the white delivery truck and the pickup behind it.

“Let’s see if your aim is any better than it was two days ago, Digger. Go with the cannon,” replied Major Donald “Brickhouse” Barricado, USMC.

“Roger that, Skipper,” said Digger, taking his time lining up a perfect shot. It was a little game they played. See how few shots it took to take down a target. Any idiot could do it with a heat-seeker. But the skipper was old school, a mustang who loved to extol the virtues of World War II era Marines flying their Wildcats over the Pacific, engaging the enemy with crude machine guns. One of his favorite things to do was explain how a pilot used to have to “walk” rounds into a target instead of the infinitely easier point and click of the modern age weaponry.

While some of the other squadron gunners groaned at the tales, Digger listened and practiced. He was getting to where it only took the briefest burst from the cannon to destroy lightly armored vehicles. He’d even pierced an engine block a couple weeks earlier, allowing the troops on the ground to capture the Taliban outlaws driving the small sedan.

But their orders were not to disable. This was supposed be a kill shot. Brief and painless. Well, at least for him.

Satisfied that he had a handle on the delivery truck’s movement, Digger reached for the trigger that would send a stream of 20mm rounds downrange, delivering the faceless enemy to hell in a heartbeat.

“Hold one, Digger,” said the skipper.

Digger exhaled in frustration. “Sir?”

“We’re getting an IFF signal from that truck.” The pilot’s voice was incredulous.

“A transponder?” asked Digger. Only aircraft carried the IFF (identification friend or foe) transponder that allowed military aircraft to ID each other. But not just anyone could use them. The U.S. military, NATO and their allies, used an encrypted system that had to be fed secure validations daily in order to be considered legit. “Is it one of ours?”

“Apparently.”

“You think some jihadi got their hands on one of ours?”

“I don’t see how they could. Call it in will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

+++

A moment earlier, Isnard had reached under his seat and fiddled with something. “That should give us a breather.”

The helicopter was still shadowing them, but apparently whatever the spook had done was giving the pilot and his gunner pause.

“What did you do?” asked Andy.

“On the off chance that some flyboy thought we were a juicy target, I brought along my lucky transponder so they’d know we’re not the bad guys.”

“But if the real bad guys are controlling them, what’s to stop them? You know they’ll override anything we do.”

Isnard grinned. “Stick your hand all the way under your seat. I brought something else, just in case.”

+++

“Sir, higher says to engage.”

Maj. Barricado easily kept pace with the two-vehicle convoy. Something didn’t feel right. He’d engaged countless insurgents over multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. It didn’t matter if they were on the run or not, if they could see you, they fired at you, even if you were a speck on the horizon. It was human nature. Try to shoot down the thing in the sky before it blows you to bits.

But this target wasn’t firing at him. And then there was the thing with the transponder. Unless the driver and his pal had paid a king’s ransom for U.S. military equipment earlier that day…

“I’m moving in for a closer look,” he announced, already having pushed his aircraft’s nose forward.

“You sure, Skipper? We’ve got the go-ahead.”

Maj. Barricado ignored his co-pilot. He wanted to see this for himself.

+++

Andy shook his head when he held up what he’d found wedged behind a fire extinguisher under his seat.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Isnard shrugged, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t you learn the KISS rule at OCS, Major Andrews? Besides, I never leave home without it.”

Despite the situation, Andy chuckled and stuck the object out the window with both hands.

+++

“Are you seeing this?” asked Maj. Barricado.

“I’ll be damned.”

Now being held up just outside the passenger side door, fluttering from the breeze but unmistakable to the career Marine, was a red flag with yellow fringe, the United States Marine Corps’s Eagle, Globe and Anchor prominently displayed in gold in the center. Next to it was a man’s face. Dirty and gaunt, but recognizable enough to see that the man wasn’t of Arabic descent.

It took a moment for Barricado to speak.

“Tell higher we had an engine malfunction,” he said as he pulled the aircraft violently to the right, as if overcorrecting or dodging something he’d just seen in the air.

“Skipper?”

“Just do it, Digger. Oh, and why don’t you lob a couple rockets between those two convoys.”

It must have finally dawned on his sometimes naive co-pilot what was happening, because a moment later Major “Brickhouse” Barricado watched as four rockets leapt from their positions and screamed to their destination. “Semper Fi, boys.”

Without waiting to see the outcome, trusting Digger’s gunnery skills, Barricado banked right and headed for home.

+++

Andy held his breath as the rockets left the Marine attack helicopter and blazed toward their mark.
Two, one
…

The projectiles didn’t follow the delivery truck. He heard the explosions behind them and said a quick thanks to whoever the Marine aviators were. Maybe some day he would find them and buy them a beer. Hell, he’d buy them a damn brewery for what they’d done.

“Looks like our friends stopped,” Isnard announced, grabbing another cigarette from his endless supply. The Marine aviators had stopped the pursuing vehicles cold.

“You’re one crazy bastard, you know that?” said Andy. He was smiling, but a sheen of moisture threatened to turn into tears.

“Don’t thank me yet, jarhead. I’m sure that won’t be the last of it.”

As they reached the road that would take them away from the protected village cluster, Andy wondered how many lives he had left, and if he would get to see Cal in Kandahar.

Chapter 10

The White House

Washington, D.C.

2:39am, August 24
th

The president was waiting in a blue bathrobe and Travis was wearing PT gear when Cal entered the residence. Their conversation stopped when the Marine walked in.

“Thanks for seeing me,” said Cal, still not sure what he was going to tell his friends. On one hand he trusted them both without question. On the other, his buddy Brandon was the President of The United States and Cal’s cousin was the president’s chief of staff. Anything they knew would be scrutinized. It was one hell of a position to be in considering the level of responsibility and the parties they had to keep happy. What Cal had in mind would ruffle more than a few feathers. Part of him had decided to leave without saying a word, but Daniel had convinced him otherwise.

“It sounded urgent,” Zimmer offered, his look sharp despite the early morning wakeup call and the bags under his eyes.

“It is.” Cal took a seat in the armchair across from the president. “I heard from Andy.”

Both Zimmer and Travis sat up straighter. Zimmer spoke first. “Where is he?”

Cal debated holding back the whole truth. What if the information got back to the CIA? Who knew what those bastards were hiding?
Screw it
.

“He’s still in Afghanistan and it looks like he’s with Rich Isnard.”

The president and Travis looked at each other, a silent thought passing between them.

“What?” asked Cal.

The present leaned forward. “Right after you called, I got an update from the CIA.”

A chill ran up Cal’s spine. Was he too late?

“What did they say?”

“They’ve placed Isnard on administrative leave, indefinitely.”

“What did they say he did?”

Another look passed between the president and his chief of staff. Travis answered this time.

“Apparently Afghan forces were in pursuit of a person of interest and had called in Marine close air support. The Marines were given the go-ahead to take out the target. It didn’t go exactly as planned, and somewhere in the mix an IFF transponder was used that was traced back to Isnard.”

“I don’t get it. What does this have to do with Isnard?”

“As it was explained to us, Isnard always lugs this transponder around when he’s in the field. His boss said it wasn’t sanctioned by the Agency, but Isnard’s a pretty convincing guy. Gets most anything he wants. Anyway, he takes it in the field just in case one of our birds decides to tag his incognito mode of transport. You know the kinds of people he deals with. I don’t blame him for protecting his butt.”

“I still don’t understand why the CIA is going after him for this,” said Cal.

Travis exhaled. “As part of our agreement with the Afghan government, our forces support their forces. Instead of blowing up the bad guys, our Marine Viper had some kind of malfunction and almost destroyed the Afghan convoy. The Afghans think it’s bullshit, some kind of conspiracy. They’re pissed and want to know who’s responsible.”

“Let me guess, the Marine pilot’s been grounded too.”

Travis shrugged. “Pending the investigation, yes.”

The story sounded like a convoluted mess. As Cal digested the news, a thought dawned on him. What if the Afghan army was involved in Andy’s kidnapping?

As if reading his mind, Zimmer said, “Someone’s playing games here and I’m afraid Isnard and Andy are stuck in the middle.”

“What is the CIA doing about it?” asked Cal.

“They’re giving me a briefing at nine with a detailed action plan. You’re welcome to listen in, remotely, of course.”

Cal shook his head. “I can’t, but you can fill me in.” He stood up from his chair. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait, where are you going?” asked Zimmer, rising from his seat.

“Afghanistan.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cal.”

The president grabbed Cal by the arm. Cal looked back.

“Unlike the CIA, I’m not one to leave my friends behind.”

Zimmer let go of Cal’s arm and nodded.

“Officially, I should tell you to wait and let…”

Cal’s eyes hardened. “You sanctioned The Jefferson Group to…”

Zimmer put up a hand. “Let me finish. I was going to say that as the president I should let the CIA do their job.”

“And?”

Zimmer’s eyes softened. “As your boss and as a friend, I wanted to say good luck and be careful. I’m afraid you won’t know who to trust when you get there.” The two men stared at each other for a moment, and Cal finally nodded.

“Thanks.”

“I know I don’t have to tell you that if you go, you and whomever you take with you are on your own. I can’t officially know about this.”

Cal grinned. “Don’t worry, Mr. President, we’ll be in and out before you can say
Chesty Puller at the Chosin
.”