First Strike (2 page)

Connor leaned forward and studied the photo of a tall, bearded man. He had scarring down the left side of his face. “Do we know where and when the meet will take place, sir?”

“No. If we did there’d be no need for me to talk to you, major. Instead, I’d be arranging an air strike.” Rogers returned to the map of the Hindu Kush mountains and pointed vaguely. “Most likely, they’ll get together somewhere around here. There are lots of old silver mines. Perfect for hiding out.”

“So, just let me get this straight, sir,” Connor interrupted. “You want Delta Force to locate Mullah Khan and find out when and where the meeting will take place, so you can then arrange a targeted air strike.”

Colonel Rogers nodded. “Got it in one, major. Radio us the co-ordinates and let our F-16s do the rest. Naturally, if the opportunity arises, feel free to take out Khan yourselves.”

It sounded so simple, but Connor knew nothing could be further from the truth. “I foresee one or two problems, sir.”

“Thought you might, major. Fire away.”

“Firstly, how do we get even close to them? Blocked by snow, most of the mountain roads are still impassable by vehicle, and it would take days on foot. Also, the only ground entry point is via the Panjshir valley. And that means going through the gorge at Dalan Sang. We’d be spotted and picked off like sitting ducks, just like the Russians were back in the 1980s. Alternatively, if we helicopter in they’re bound to hear us coming, especially as the region is supposed to be crawling with Taliban.”

“There is a way, major.”

Danny groaned. “I think Colonel Rogers has a HALO jump in mind, sir. It’s the only way in.”

Connor shuddered. HALO, or high-altitude-low-opening, parachute jumps were extremely hazardous at the best of times. The lengthy freefall phase could carry you way off target, and if you left it a second too late to open your chute you’d hit the ground with such force that two broken legs were almost guaranteed. But Connor knew Danny was right. It was the only way in.

“Then what?” Connor countered.

“We’re going to insert you on the trail to the Khawak Pass, major,” Rogers explained. “There’s a small village that’s been largely deserted for the last fifteen years. There, you’ll rendezvous with our local contact. His name is Hamid. He should be able to assist you.” The colonel introduced one of his team. “This is Lieutenant Bradley. He’s an ex-navy SEAL and is Hamid’s liaison officer. He will accompany you on your mission. Like you, Major Connor, he speaks the lingo.”

Connor exchanged nods with Bradley, but couldn’t resist asking the obvious question. “If you’re in contact with this Hamid guy, can’t he find out the location of Khan?”

“I lost contact with him a week ago,” Bradley responded. “But that’s not unusual. I left him a coded message about our rendezvous. If he can make it, I’m sure he will.”

“When do we go in?” Connor asked.

“In four days, major.”

“And tactical support? Can we call in reinforcements? What if we have a man down? Evac by helo may be difficult.”

“Almost impossible, I’d say,” Colonel Rogers replied. “I’m afraid you’ll be on your own. My advice to you is to not get shot.”

The initial briefing was wrapped up. Connor went to find Lieutenant Bradley with a question that needed an answer.

“Are you sure you can trust Hamid?”

Bradley shrugged. “As far as you can trust any of them.” It was not the response Connor was hoping for. Bradley saw his concern and added, “Hamid comes from a family who have worked the silver mines up there for years. Most mines aren’t even marked on our maps, so having someone who can point us to them will save a lot of time. And, anyway, I’m useful to Hamid. It’s in his best interests to keep in my good books.”

“Explain,” said Connor, frowning.

“Hamid’s branched out. Silver isn’t the only precious thing up there. Years back when the Russians bombed the hell out of the region, they revealed seams of emeralds in the rock. Hamid’s family stockpiled munitions left behind when the Russians went home, and ever since they’ve used the explosives to blast the emeralds out. Their problem, however, was smuggling the gems out and getting a decent price for them.”

“And that’s where you come in?”

Bradley nodded. “I pay Hamid ten times what he could get from the usual unscrupulous middlemen willing to smuggle them into Pakistan. We’re overdue a deal, too. I’ve got the cash stashed ready. In return he feeds me intel.”

“Then we’d better pray nobody’s made him a better offer.”

The Hercules C-130 climbed to 33,000 feet over the mountains of the Hindu Kush and levelled out. Connor sat alonside his men, still running the mission over in his head. Even after four days there were big gaps in the intel, and no contact from Bradley’s man, Hamid. Bradley remained unconcerned, but Connor had to consider the possibility that either something had happened to Hamid or, worse, that his collaboration with US intelligence had been rumbled by the Taliban. If so, Delta Force might be walking into a trap.

Turbulence caused the plane to jolt, rattle and shudder. Lit by a single dim red lamp, everyone sat in silence, the engines droning in their ears. Connor studied Lieutenant Bradley, who was clearly relishing the mission. At least he had something to be grateful for. Rogers could have lumbered him with someone without the necessary combat experience.

The jumpmaster tapped Connor on the shoulder. “Five minutes, major,” he shouted through his oxygen mask. “Get ready.”

Connor indicated for his team to carry out final checks.

Everything they needed had to be carried: body armour, weapons and ammunition, comms equipment, ration packs, first-aid field kits and sleeping bags, plus the breathing gear they were wearing to survive at this altitude. Together with their parachutes, each man could barely stand under the weight and, despite the cold, they were sweating in their grey-white alpine-style camouflage uniforms.

“One minute!”

The jumpmaster pushed the button to lower the rear cargo door. The howling rush of ice-cold air nearly knocked Connor off his feet. He steadied himself and looked out into the night, hoping to see moonlit, snow-covered peaks, ridges and valleys of the Hindu Kush spread out below. Instead, all he saw was cloud.

“Drop zone ahead! Thirty seconds!”

Connor looked back along the line. Each one of the team gave him a thumbs-up signal in turn, speaking into their throat mics to confirm their checks were complete. In the cockpit the navigator monitored the plane’s position closely, waiting for the GPS co-ordinates to match those chosen for the drop. The moment they coincided he flicked a switch and the red light next to the open door changed to green.

“Go… Go… Go…”

Connor hurried down the ramp, launched himself out, and used his arms and legs to control his free fall. Air roared in his ears and rushed past his face. It was so cold it felt like being in a blast freezer. Suddenly, he broke through the cloud base and saw the ground rushing towards him. He reached for his chute’s release cord, but didn’t pull it until he was as low as he dared.

The chute snatched Connor from certain death just two hundred metres from impact. He peered down, looking for a decent spot to land. He tugged on the lines to adjust his position. Seconds later his boots sunk into a two-foot drift. Knees bent, he rolled and got a face full of crisp snow.

Dragging in and folding his chute, Connor knew the first task was to find somewhere to bury it. While hastily unclipping his webbing straps he looked around, keen to see where the others landed. Despite the ice and snow casting an eerie paleness in the dark, he could barely make out a thing. “Everyone down OK? Check in, over.”

“Sparks here, sir. I’m with Jacko and Sam. We saw you land. We’ll be with you in five, over.”

“Danny here, sir. I can see Ben. Where are you, over?”

Connor studied his wrist-mounted GPS device and read out his location.

“We’ll be with you in ten, sir, over.”

Connor waited, listening intently.

Nothing.

“Bradley, do you read me, over?”

Silence.

“Come in, Bradley, over… Listen up, guys, I’m not getting a response from Lieutenant Bradley, so keep your eyes peeled, over.”

As his Delta Force team made their way to his position, Connor repeated his calls to Bradley. Grabbing his thermal-imaging binoculars, he scanned the steep valley floor, hoping to detect the lieutenant’s heat signature.

“Still nothing?” asked Sparks as he arrived with Jacko and Sam.

Connor shook his head. “Where the hell is he?”

As they waited for Danny and Ben, Connor feared the worst, picturing Bradley unconscious or dead, or maybe crippled on landing. Equally worryingly, Connor knew that a river ran through the valley. He could hear it. It was fast flowing with notorious rapids. Although some parts were covered in thick ice, elsewhere it would be too thin to support a man’s weight at this time of year. If Bradley had landed there, he would have punched a hole through it and got swept away. Carrying such heavy kit, he’d stand no chance.

Danny and Ben arrived. Ben was limping heavily. “You OK?” Connor asked.

Ben desperately tried to ignore the shooting pains. “Yes, sir. Twisted my ankle but I reckon I can walk it off.”

“Good.” Connor glanced at his watch — zero three fifteen. It was time for him to take some tough decisions. “Sparks, contact CENTCOM and inform them that we’ve lost Lieutenant Bradley. We’ll proceed without him. We have to get to that deserted village and conceal ourselves by dawn. There’s simply not enough time to search the whole area. If he’s OK and just lost comms then he knows where to head for. If he’s in trouble, well, there’s not much we can do for him, anyway.”

They buried their chutes and set off in single file, Danny taking point duty. Connor said nothing but knew all his team were thinking the same as him. If Bradley was dead or injured, it was only a matter of time before the Taliban found him and they would know ISAF was coming. Connor dismissed the thought as it began to snow — hard.

They’d landed far up the ninety-six kilometer-long Panjshir valley, well beyond the wide expanses of snow-covered fields and leafless mulberry and walnut groves. Ahead lay a barren, desolate landscape and the steep trail to the Khawak Pass, a route across the Hindu Kush to the fertile northern plains. At over 3,500 metres, Connor was relieved he didn’t need to cross it. Even so, he could tell the air was thin — breathing was harder, and his backpack felt even heavier than usual. His team scuffed through shin-deep snow, which sapped more energy. The wind had picked up too, and drove the heavy snowfall into their faces. It felt like being sandblasted.

They paused as Sparks held a map in front of Connor’s face and shone a small torch onto it.

“Sir, despite landing about a kilometre from where we intended, we’re making good progress. The abandoned village is half a kilometre further up the valley. We should leave the trail here to get to higher ground. With luck we’ll locate the hidden crevice in the rocks and can sit it out until the meeting with Hamid.”

At Camp Delta they’d studied recent satellite imagery and old footage taken by drone flights and spotted the crevice on a boulder-strewn ledge overlooking the village. It was ideal. They needed to observe the village before risking entering it. And even if they were sure it was still abandoned, they could only go in during daylight because it was highly likely the Taliban had planted IEDs (improvised explosive devices).