Hidden Threat (16 page)

“
I understand, sir.”

The helicopter climbed and banked for an hour. They flew mostly in silence. All lost in their own private thoughts, each with their own rituals for preparing for combat.

Matt closed his eyes and thought about his brother, Zach. Was he going out purely for revenge? Maybe. But he
could
defend the decision under the guise of an intelligence-gathering mission. He wasn’t having second thoughts at all. He was just making sure he could cover for the others if things went bad.

The aircraft bucked and swayed heavily once as they did the first in-flight refuel. The MH-47 yawed as it was tethered to the refuel aircraft before it.

“
Five minutes!” The crew chief hollered. He was wearing an oxygen mask and helmet. They were attacking a cave complex fifteen thousand feet high in the Hindu Kush Mountains just across the Pakistani border in an area called the Northwest Frontier Province.

The four men pulled back the charging handles on their M4s. Sergeant Eversoll licked his lips. For all the time he had been working with Colonel Garrett, he had never been on a mission like this. He had always minded the store. Sure, he’d been in a few firefights, and had acquitted himself well. He was a good shot and a brave young man, but this was different. They were launching into the heart of Al Qaeda territory. He was glad to be in on it, for sure.

The two men to his left looked like mercenaries, even though they wore subdued American flag patches on their right shoulder. Hobart had dark hair, a long face, and broad shoulders. Van Dreeves was blond, more boyish looking. He could fit in on Sunset Beach in Hawaii.

“
One minute!” The helicopter began to flair. Eversoll could tell the pilots were struggling with the altitude as the Chinook yawed back and forth. A loud bang rapped into the side. They were hit, but they kept going.

The ramp to the back of the aircraft opened. The crew chief shouted, “Go! Go!” as he pointed to the yawning hole. He was on one knee, holding an M240B machine gun on his hip. Suddenly the machinegun roared to life, spitting flame and lead at the enemy.

Sergeant Eversoll let Matt Garrett, Hobart, and Van Dreeves exit the aircraft, in accordance with the plan, before he charged out the back. They were in thigh-deep snow with green tracers whipping all around them. The MH-47 shot straight up, pushing snow everywhere, obscuring the team on the ground, and providing them a moment to maneuver. Eversoll watched as two rocket-propelled grenades left smoking trails on their way toward the helicopter.

“
The fight’s down here, son,” Matt Garrett shouted to him. “Let’s go.”

The Chinook dove quickly as the grenades missed their mark, exploding into the mountainside.

The four men ran to the rock wall, shuffling as best they could through the snow. When they reached the entrance to the cave, Hobart and Van Dreeves tossed grenades into the opening and then peeled around the corner, firing their weapons.

Hobart broke left while Van Dreeves broke to the right, their shoulders rubbing the sides of the tunnel. Matt Garrett stayed about ten feet behind Hobart, aiming his weapon between his lead team.

Sergeant Eversoll turned his back to Matt, reaching with his hand to ensure he was close. Walking backward slowly, Eversoll saw two men run into the mouth of the cave, one holding a rocket launcher, the other an AK-47. Weapon at the ready, he fired two quick shots at the Al Qaeda carrying the rifle, and then he trained his weapon on the man with the grenade launcher.

He squeezed the trigger, knocking the enemy backward, but not before a rocket-propelled grenade launched from the tube. Eversoll yelled, “RPG!” The entire team ducked as the grenade flew high over their heads into the top of the cave. Smoke filled the tunnel to their immediate front.

His heart was pounding, adrenaline surging through his body. His mouth dry, he counted out, “Two AQ down!”

“
Good job. Keep moving,” Garrett said calmly.

The team reached a four-way intersection. Hobart peeked around his corner at the same time Van Dreeves looked to the right. Green tracers flew from left to right, chipping the rock around their heads.

Eversoll turned briefly and saw Garrett motion to the left. They were there to kill the enemy. Move to the fire. He calculated in his mind that, as the team turned to the left, he would have to quickly cover in three directions for a few seconds. He committed to watching the long axis to the right.

Quickly, they were already moving into the left section of the cave. They moved in a tight-knit diamond, like synchronized swimming, Eversoll thought. An RPG flew past them, this time from right to left, before anyone could say anything. Eversoll hit the dirt, sighted his weapon, and fired repetitive bursts into the darkness. He flipped on his night-vision goggles and saw one body on the ground, a rocket launcher next to him. Looking to his rear, the team had continued to move. They were about fifty feet from him now.

He was out of the four-way intersection and gaining on the team, quickly looking back. He kept his PVS-14 night-vision monocle on. Hobart and Van Dreeves were using flashlights which cast enough light to allow his goggles to work better. More shots from the front of the team echoed through the cave. Those sounded like M4 muzzle blasts to Eversoll.

Eversoll had caught up with Garrett. He was about ten feet from him.

“
Doing good, son.” Garrett’s reassuring words were a boost. He continued to scan the rear of the formation. More shots from up front.

“
RPG!” Hobart called out. Again, the team dove into the dirt. Eversoll felt the heat from the rocket lick at the back of his neck. He quickly pushed his goggles atop his helmet to prevent whiteout. The explosion was deafening. In its brightness, Eversoll saw three men running toward them. It was one flash of a strobe light. They were there, and then they were gone. He flipped his goggles back down, but his eyes were having a hard time adjusting. Smoke was billowing and pieces of rock were falling everywhere.

There they were, coming right at him. He resisted the urge to spray in machine-gun fashion, and instead fired well-aimed, double-tap shots at the enemy. His PAQ-4C laser aiming light shone directly onto the chest of one of the Al Qaeda as he pulled the trigger. He hit the next man as well.

The third was on top of him, screaming. Eversoll rolled to his left, pulling his knife from his boot. Arcing it upward, he caught the man in the stomach and felt warm blood pour across his hand. The man’s face was close enough for him to see it in the dark. It was the face of an insane zealot. His eyes were wide open, a toothless grin locked on his face, stale breath engulfed him. Blood began to seep from his mouth as the man muttered, “Die.”

Eversoll looked down and saw a grenade roll from the man’s limp hand. The spoon popped off, flipping into the air in what seemed like slow motion. Eversoll shouted, “Grenade!” He suspected, though, that the team had continued to move and was safely away. He mustered his strength and rolled toward the grenade, holding tightly onto the Al Qaeda zealot. As he completed his roll, the grenade exploded, sending him five feet into the air.

He waited. He was still alive. The man’s body had absorbed most of the grenade. A few flecks of burning metal protruded from his body armor.

“
Eversoll, you okay?” It was Matt Garrett. “Let’s move.” Garrett’s hand was under his arm, lifting him.

“
Yes sir. I’m good.” Eversoll got to one knee, took a second, and then stood, Matt’s steady hand helping him up.

They continued to move, catching up with Hobart and Van Dreeves.

“
We’re at an open area,” Hobart said. “Looks like a circle. A fire is still smoldering.”

“
Okay, we’ve been here long enough. It’s time to call in the aircraft. Everyone put on their SPIES seats.” The team took a minute to wrap a twelve-foot section of rope around their chests and then insert a metal climbing snap link into the loop.

Hobart moved left while Van Dreeves went right. Machine-gun fire pushed them back into the tunnel. Van Dreeves loaded a grenade into the M203 grenade launcher, stowed beneath the muzzle of his M4.

Stepping into the circle, he fired directly at the muzzle of the machine gun and stumbled back. He was hit. A flurry of machine-gun rounds had pelted him in the chest. The only question was whether his body armor had dissipated the bullets’ energy at such short range.

The grenade worked its magic, silencing the gunner. Hobart took a knee next to Van Dreeves while Matt and Eversoll trained their weapons upward at the lip of the opening. One man looked over the edge, and Matt quickly fired into his forehead. Then another came from the other direction. Eversoll shot him.

“
We’ve got to get up there. We’re ducks in a barrel here,” Eversoll said.

“
Roger. How’s Van Dreeves?”

“
Alive, but not ambulatory. We have to carry him.”

“
Okay, Eversoll and I will secure the ridge, and then one of us will come down to help you.”

With that, Eversoll quickly climbed the steep slope, his weapon slung on his back. Garrett covered him. At the top, he slid on his belly and then pulled his weapon to the ready. He could see clearly through his goggles. Two men were about fifty meters to his front climbing a steep slope. He shot them both. Another group of about ten men was at the top of the next ridge, maybe two hundred meters away. Inaccurate fire from that location swung wildly overhead. He didn’t return fire.

“
Secure,” he called down to Matt. In an instant, Garrett was next to him on the ledge.

“
Go help Hobart. I’m calling the helicopter.”

“
See there,” Eversoll pointed. “About ten of them.”

“
Got it.”

Eversoll slid back down the ridge and knelt next to Hobart. “How bad?”

“
He’ll make it. Let’s go.”

His knee pad had slid down around his ankle, and as he knelt, something crunched into his knee.

He looked down as he was reaching for Van Dreeves. A piece of paper or something plastic was under his knee. He grabbed at it, pawing at it with his gloved hand, unable to pick it up.

“
Come on, let’s go, Eversoll.” Hobart was impatient. Eversoll heard the whirring blades of the helicopter as it approached.

“
Hang on.” He slipped his glove off, reached down, and picked up the piece of plastic, slipping it into his pocket.

“
Let’s go, damn it!”

“
Come on.” Eversoll helped Hobart, pulling Van Dreeves up the ledge as Hobart pushed.

The helicopter hovered. Matt fired randomly at the retreating enemy to keep them at bay. A rope dropped from the middle of the helicopter’s underbelly. Each man hooked into a metal loop affixed to the rope. Hobart was first, then Van Dreeves, then Eversoll, and finally Garrett. The three capable men fired their weapons at the Al Qaeda as the helicopter lifted off and slung them away from the cave complex.

Bullets whipped past Sergeant Eversoll as he tried to return effective, aimed fire, but it was nearly impossible as he circled from the rope. As they swung below the helicopter tethered by the hoist cable, the winch slowly pulled them upward into the three-foot by three-foot square in the bottom of the helicopter known as the “hell hole.”

They were flying so fast that water seeped from Eversoll’s eyes. He looked up. Hobart was in the helicopter helping pull Van Dreeves in also. A moment later, it was his turn. He was in and helping Garrett before he knew it.

The crew chief gave them all a thumbs-up and walked around hugging them. They had made it.

The helicopter wove through the steep valleys of the Hindu Kush at one hundred fifty miles per hour. They had killed a bunch of Al Qaeda, and, if nothing else, that felt pretty good.

After about thirty minutes, once the adrenaline had slowed, Eversoll removed his glove and reached into his pocket. He had nearly forgotten about the piece of plastic he had retrieved. Any intelligence was useful, he figured. Expecting to see Arabic writing, he held up a plastic sleeve with a photo on one side and a small medallion on the other.

Speechless, he stood and walked over to where Matt Garrett was sitting, his head in his hands.

“
Sir?”

“
Not now, Eversoll. Now’s not the time.”

He imagined what Matt Garrett was going through. He had just exacted the very revenge he had come to Afghanistan to seek. Now there was nothing left, or so he thought.

“
Sir, I don’t know how to say this, other than I think your brother’s still alive.”

CHAPTER 17

Charlotte, NORTH CAROLINA

Tuesday Evening (Eastern Time)

The man waiting for Melanie Garrett, whom he knew well, called himself Del Dangurs. Of course, it wasn’t his real name, but a worthy nom de plume, perhaps even nom de guerre. He had arrived at the restaurant early, picking the perfect table sequestered away from the flowing throng at Ripster’s high-end steak house. He had his back to the wall, like always, and watched as Melanie entered, checked with the maitre d’, who nodded in his direction. Their eyes met, and he gave her a slight nod. They knew each other well and he was going to enjoy this new phase of their relationship.