Hide and Seek
Hide and Seek, Digital Edition
Based on Print Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Jeff Struecker
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
978-1-4336-7142-5
Published B&H Publishing Group
Nashville, Tennessee
Jeff Struecker is represented by Wheelhouse Literary Group
1007 Loxley Drive, Nashville, TN 37211
www.WheelhouseLiteraryGroup.com
Dewey Classification: F
Subject Heading: ADVENTURE FICTION \ MYSTERY FICTION \ MILITARY INTELLIGENCE—FICTION
Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holman Christian Standard Bible® Copyright © 1999, 2002, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Holman Christian Standard Bible®, Holman CSB®, and HCSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers.
Publisher’s note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarities to people living or dead are purely coincidental.
“DOD Disclaimer”—The views presented are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of the Department of Defense or its components.
Dedication from Jeff:
For Abigail,
You are beautiful, you are good, and you are brave to me.
Dedication from Alton:
To my daughter Chaundel and her husband Travis, and to my daughter Crystal and her husband Brad, all for bravery in the face of great difficulties. Like the men in this book, they showed grace and strength when “under fire.”
From Jeff:
Thanks to Christ my King and Dawn my queen for being the two great loves of my life. Thanks to Don, Ricky, Mark, and Norman for helping me make the transition. Thanks to Donna June and Jonathan for keeping me on track. And thanks to Calvary Baptist Church in Columbus, Georgia. I am honored to be one of this family of faith.
From Alton:
An author gets his or her name on the cover, not so for the hard working, skilled professionals who work behind the scenes. There would be no books without editors and publishers. My thanks to all the great people at B&H who make a difficult task possible.
Military Acronyms/Abbreviations
AIT—Advanced Individual Training
ICM—Improved Conventional Munitions
ECH—Enhanced Combat Helmet
ANA—Afghan National Army
SAW—Squad Automatic Weapon
CBU—Combat Battle Uniform
SERE—Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape training
PTSD—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
USACIC—United States Army Criminal Investigation Command
NVG—Night Vision Goggles
RPV—Remotely Piloted Vehicle
CQC—Close Quarters Combat
UO—Urban Operation
DA—Direct Action team
ECT—Explosive Cutting Tape
Exfil—Exfiltration (the opposite of infiltration)
DARPA—Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency
Master Sergeant J. J. “Boss” Bartley, team leader.
Master Sergeant Aliki “Joker” Urale, assistant team leader.
Sergeant First Class Mike “Weps” Nagano, sniper and explosives.
Staff Sergeant Pete “Junior” Rasor, communications.
Sergeant First Class Jose “Doc” Medina, team medic.
Sergeant First Class Crispin “Hawkeye” Collins, surveillance.
MASTER SERGEANT J. J.
Bartley was nervous. More than nervous; he was scared. Wet palms, short breathing, heart-pounding-like-an-airplane piston scared.
It was an unexpected feeling.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” The captain was tall, trim, with a strong jaw and close-cut brown hair. His tan ran deep. When J. J. first met him he wondered if the bronzing percolated to the man’s internal organs.
Of course I’m ready. I’m always ready. This is nothing. Can o’ corn. Piece o’ cake.
“Master Sergeant?”
I was born ready. I’ve endured a danger close bombing to be spared from a brutal killing by terrorists in Afghanistan. Bullets have raced by my head. I’ve disarmed an explosive device while it was still attached to the suicide bomber. I took a bullet in the leg and nearly bled out. I live for the smell of spent gunpowder. My hands have always been steady. I am Army trained. Of course I’m ready.
This was different. What were mortar shells exploding a few meters away compared to this? What was parachuting to foreign soil in the dead of night, leaping from a perfectly good airplane at high altitude compared to this? What was this compared to being captured and tortured in a South American country?
This was nothing. Nada. Zilch. Less than zero.
His stomach flipped.
“I’m only going to ask once more, soldier.”
“I’m good to go, sir.” He meant to sound more certain, more cocksure.
“Finally.” J. J. avoided the gaze of the man who spoke.
J. J. closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at the others in the room. He had been staring at the monitor but the image made no sense to him.
“Outside plumbing.” The Army doctor smiled.
“What?”
“It’s a boy.”
“YES!”
“Easy, Cowboy.” Tess Rand Bartley reclined on the exam table while the doctor continued to run the ultrasound sensor over her round belly. “Would you have been disappointed if our firstborn were a girl?”
“No. Of course not. I’d be just as happy.” He paused for a moment then shot his fist in the air. “Dude! A boy!”
Tess’s smile widened. “Did you just call me, ‘Dude’?”
“Uh oh.” The doctor continued to stare at the image.
“Something wrong?” J. J.’s heart kicked up a gear.
“Inside plumbing.”
“I thought you said it was boy—I mean, HE was a boy.”
“I did. It appears I was right. I was hearing two heartbeats.”
“Twins?” Tess turned to the monitor.
“Yep. Two for the price of one.”
Tess turned her face to J. J. “What do you think of that, Stud?”
“I think I’d better sit down.”
ALIKI URALE SHOOK HIS
head. Then paused. He shook it again, his lightweight Enhanced Combat Helmet rocking on his head. He took satisfaction in being aware of that simple fact. The AK-47 round that had just bounced off his headgear left him shaken and his thinking a tad slow.
“Joker! Joker! You okay?”
Something was wrong with the voice. It poured into his mind through an earpiece connected to his radio. The voice was familiar. He knew it well. He should, Mike Nagano had been his friend since high school.
“Joker. Talk to me.”
Mike didn’t sound right. He was distant, muted, fuzzy. That couldn’t be right. The voice came over his ear monitor. The sound couldn’t be distant. He rolled to his side and tried to pull his thoughts together. The sound of automatic weapon fire hung in the air but not with the same sharp report as usual. Had the Taliban started using suppressors on their weapons? No. That wasn’t it. It was the ringing in his ears that dulled the noise.
He blinked a few times. At first he saw mud, then a portion of the hillside, then several men in uniform a short distance away. Different uniforms. American military. What was the other? That took another moment to figure out. There was more green in the camo. More green in the Combat Battle Uniform. Army. Afghan Army. Afghan National Army.
Memories washed back into Aliki’s brain. His team was providing support for the Afghan National Army and the 101st Airborne near Kunar not far from the Pakistani border. This was a training mission and a show of strength for resurging Taliban in the region.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, then snapped them open.
“Joker. Talk to me, man.”
Aliki shook his head one more time then keyed his mike. “I’m here, Weps. I’m good.”
“You sure? It looked like you took a shot to the head.”
Aliki touched the right side of his helmet and found a depression. “Gotta love these new helmets, dude—”
Several rounds zipped by his head. He pressed himself to the ground. A quick glance brought the rest of his memories to the surface. They approached a village a few klicks from the border. They were told the area was safe; that the Taliban left a few weeks before. The assessment was wrong. The three-sided assault caught them by surprise. A group of armed terrorists fired on them as they approached the village. Shortly after, a barrage of bullets came from a hill a short distance to the east. Another from the northwest. The area around him was littered by soldiers from two armies.
A movement to his right caught his eye. Several men in robe-like garments raced forward, AK-47s raised. In a fluid move no man Aliki’s size should be able to make, he turned his MK-17 rifle their way and let loose a hail of 7.62 millimeter rounds. Three of the men dropped without a sound. The fourth man screamed, fell, and continued to scream.
The sound of his weapon lacked the zip, the pop he expected. His ears felt full of wet cotton.
An explosion a dozen yards away brought with it another memory: an explosion a dozen meters from his position. RPG? Mortar? At the moment, it didn’t matter. It knocked Aliki on his can and left his head fuzzy and his ears ringing. The bodies of soldiers surrounded the disrupted ground. Two were missing limbs; one was missing his face.
“Where are you, Weps?”
Nagano answered by firing a blistering stream of bullets from his M-249SAW. The Squad Automatic Weapon was capable of puncturing the air—and anything else—at a rate of 750 rounds per minute. Twelve bullets a second demanded respect. The muzzle flare revealed his position: an outcropping of rocks a dozen meters to Aliki’s left.
“I’m coming to you.” Aliki didn’t wait for a response. He was on his feet a second later and sprinting down the hillside.
A hand from the ground reached for him as he sprinted by. It made Aliki think of a zombie movie and he leaped to the side with a yelp. Then he did what no soldier in his situation should: he stopped. The hand belonged to Bryan Genet, his team leader, a short man who was tall on courage and leadership.
“Boss!”
Genet tried to speak but the blood bubbling from his throat made it impossible.
More memories flowed into his skull. He got a glimpse of his leader racing to his position after that explosion. Men were injured and Genet was just the kind of guy to run toward the problem. That was Boss, always running to the sound of gunfire when the rest of humanity was looking to run the other way. A bullet found the team leader’s throat.
“Go.” The word was indistinct but Aliki had no trouble understanding the order.
“Negative, Boss.” He set his weapon down. Two rounds hit the moist earth next to him. “Sorry, Boss, but this is gonna hurt.” Aliki slipped his fingers between Genet’s chest and his body armor and clamped his big fist shut. He pushed himself up, lifting Genet to his feet, then threw him over his shoulder. Genet grunted and writhed in pain. Aliki squatted and seized his MK-17.
Gunfire. Hot. Long blasts. Muted but still recognizable. A scream of anger pounded Aliki’s eardrum. The voice belonged to Nagano, who stood to provide cover fire, the SAW spewing copper-jacketed heat. Nagano swept the area in front of him and to the sides. Aliki took advantage of what was certainly his only opportunity to live a few more minutes.
