Knife (9780698185623) (25 page)

The CO nodded.

“Points of weakness within compounds. Vulnerable points most likely to collapse an entire structure with concentrated explosives.”

“A boom consultant,” Dalonna said. “And he said he didn't know what they did with the information after that. Did they press him to take a guess?”

The CO smiled.

“I'm sure they had some colorful photos, probably with some children in them, to show him. We know of at least one or two bombings Scar1 orchestrated, so I'm sure they showed him pictures from those. Let Stag1 know what his expertise really bought.”

He paused and then brought out another picture of a compound set among a small cluster of buildings following an arced ridgeline. It sat at the base of a hill that gave way to the same mountain range where they had killed the boy. The small group of buildings formed a ring around the compound and the compound sat like the pupil of the village eye.

“Stag1 said the last person he spoke to about ‘structural knowledge' lived here,” the CO said. He pointed to the large compound. “He said it was four to five weeks ago. We're going to monitor it for a couple days and see if we should pay a visit. We'll put up tape drills and be off the green until further notice in case we get reason for a 1.”

Hagan spoke up.

“They letting Stag1 go, sir?”

“I think they might hold on to him for a little while longer.”

They all nodded and the CO left. Shaw and Cooke gathered the images and went outside to set up the tape.

•   •   •

T
he next few days were so sunny they could hardly see the white tape laid out on the gravel outside the war room. They moved through the drills constantly, stepping lightly around the imaginary doorways, cabinets, and dressers they knew they would have to avoid. Shaw and Massey visited the CASH again and saw their bomb boy. He had recovered well. He smiled wide despite the missing teeth, and his black hair shined bright in the light. He clung to his mop tighter than the Snickers bar they had given him. It seemed to anchor him to the floor. They went into the children's bay and there was a whole new set of kids with new injuries that would leave behind new scars. Shaw and Massey didn't have a lot of candy to give out so mainly provided high fives and smiles. Shaw even hugged a little one just before they left.

“I'll have a bunch of Christmas cookies sent over,” Massey said, when they were walking out. “Maybe Penelope can write the kids some letters or something.”

“That's a good idea,” Shaw said. He wondered if he knew anyone who could bake worth a shit, but he didn't.

The teams watched the pupil compound on the monitors in the TOC when they weren't shooting, working out, or running tape drills. Intel identified the target of the pupil compound as Iris1. He seemed to be the leader of the group occupying the dwellings, because he was followed the most and people always ran off after speaking with him. Intel thought Iris1 might be a Syrian transplant who hopped the border during the early years of the war after spending time in Africa and Southeast Asia, dodging international sanctions for his involvement in smaller bombings during the early 1990s. But they weren't entirely sure. He wore glasses under a large turban and had a mass of gangly hair spilling out of it like a ball cap set on top of a permed Afro. If he was the Syrian transplant, he didn't have any known children even though he had at least four known wives. His infertility was something rival cells and international watch groups liked to play up, so he countered by calling his followers his sons and targeting embassies and the children of other cell leaders. Intel got excited and wondered if he might be the leader of al-Ayeelaa, given the sensitivity of his infertility. A man who couldn't conceive might call his cell his family.

Intel monitored Stag1's house for the entire week he was being interrogated. They let the teams know that the home hadn't received any visitors, nor had the family left since they took him. They monitored the phone lines and didn't notice any irregular activity. The Iris1 compound, however, had been active constantly since they began monitoring it. Intel watched FAMs running hurriedly around the smaller structures and carrying things into the larger pupil. The pupil seemed to function as a life source for the revolving structures in its orbit. Men with rifles strapped to their backs brought supplies, cases, and munitions to and from the pupil to the surrounding structures, and everyone seemed to settle in the larger compound during the nights. Jeeps would be loaded up and roll over the hills and disappear into the mountains and plains behind the hill. Intel chalked up the activity and remote location to a likely cell training ground or supply center, so Shaw added tape layouts of the smaller structures around the pupil they already had on the gravel. It seemed more likely that they would make a move on the compound.

They were running out of gravel.

•   •   •

T
hey got a 4 the day before Thanksgiving. They walked through the sunlight to the war room and their CO stood in front of images of Iris1 and the pupil compound at the base of the ridgeline.

“We're moving on this tonight. They're staging for something and we're not going to let them ambush some coalition convoy and blow them all to hell or set up cells across the border and infiltrate any more cities.”

The teams talked about the hill that sat as a backdrop for the structures and how on the earlier op the Scar3 intelligence had directed them to the empty village with the nest of tunnels leading into the mountains. The CO nodded and answered eagerly.

“We'll put teams around likely exit points behind the hills and send breach and assault teams through any tunnels we find on the village side. We're not letting anyone slip away.”

“Conventional-force add-ons?” Cooke asked.

“Yes. They'll set up blocking positions behind the hill and try to catch anything we flush into the mountains.”

Hagan raised his hand. “Sir, why not just bomb the hell out of them?”

The CO sucked air between his teeth. “We could, but we don't know exactly who we're hitting yet. We need a positive ID on any bodies and if we send in drones there will be nothing but rags and blood on the rocks.”

Hagan shrugged. “Lucky ducks.”

The assault would be carried out with six teams from the two squadrons, thirty men. Shaw's and Mike's teams drew duties for clearing the pupil compound and the small shacks. They would move on and help the remaining teams breach any tunnel entry points they might find in the hillsides afterward. They agreed to hit the pupil and the smaller shacks simultaneously to maximize surprise.

While they were waiting to get spun up Intel told them they had released Stag1. Apparently he'd put on a good show during the days since he spoke about Iris1—crying and offering information readily—and they figured he was significantly scared shitless. They wanted to release him while he was still scared of them but before he started channeling his frustrations into anger that would lead to blowback. Revenge. They figured he'd be more willing to cooperate in the future if his fear hadn't had time to calcify into hate. They planned on watching him and keeping tabs on his movements.

•   •   •

T
he teams sat in the war room long after the sun set. They'd take the Black Hawks out to the ridgeline and start their infil a few clicks from the group of structures, then walk in to maximize surprise. Intel gave them briefings every hour. They reported a gathering of five to ten men in the pupil compound and mentioned smoke trailing from its roof for hours. For days, actually. The teams taped down their banger and frag pins and loaded mags, topped off water, and checked batteries and NODs. Then they sat in their kits as a group on the floor and waited.

“Big knockers or booty?” Dalonna asked after a while.

Hagan lit up.

“Both. Real men don't have to choose.”

Everyone laughed.

“Bullet or bomb?” Dalonna asked.

They all answered
bullet
in unison.

“Catch a round in the nuts or lose both arms or legs?” Dalonna asked.

“Take my legs,” Hagan said.

“Screw that,” Cooke cut in. “Take my nuts. Intercourse is overrated.”

Massey looked at Dalonna.

“If the beans are out, is the frank still good?”

“Sure,” Dalonna said. “Why not?”

“Then take my nuts, too,” Massey said. “I want my arms and legs.”

“What have you guys got against your nuts?” Hagan said. He put a hand on his crotch like it had been burned.

Cooke shrugged and looked at the ceiling. “Guess we don't love nuts as much as you do, Hog.”

Hagan flicked him off and threw a granola bar at him and they all laughed.

Dalonna leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “Win the lottery or peace in the Middle East?”

They were all quiet and busy making colorful, confused faces. Hagan looked like he had lost something on the floor and Dalonna was smiling wide. He seemed to be getting off on his own private genius.

“What's the trade-off, Donna?” Shaw asked.

Dalonna waited. He laughed and turned up his palms. “Either way, we won't have to work.”

Everyone smiled.

“Nice,” Shaw said.

They all answered
Lottery
one by one.

Dalonna himself took the longest to answer. He looked at the picture of his kids on his locker after he did. “Hell, the lottery, I guess. What else would I do?”

•   •   •

T
he 1 beeped through around 2200 hours and they all got to their feet, relaxed and loose. Nobody's nuts got stomped or mashed in a flailing mass of limbs and no one had to pop diet pills to stay awake. They were ready. They racked their weapons and stretched to the floor and squatted in place. Shaw raised his knees to his chest and had Hagan crack his neck.

“Shaw, could you really go on without your nuts?”

Shaw told him he could.

“Crazy, man,” Hagan said. “Y'all aren't right.”

Shaw patted him on the back and they walked into the dark. The birds were all spun up and waiting for them on the tarmac when they got to the airfield. The operators grabbed their seats and waited to be carried away.

Flying to the objective, Shaw had his NODs down. A bright beam of green light split the clouds and dropped to the earth a few klicks out on the horizon. It looked like a green rope anchoring the sky to the earth. They flew on and after a minute or two a large white flash erupted where the green rope hit the ground. Whatever lay at the bottom end of the green rope had just been blown away. The empty plains below them swallowed the sound of the explosion and Shaw thought of the follow-on team, just like them, being sent in to survey the damage. He imagined them stepping over the skeleton of the compound and finding their target all blown to hell—an arm here and a leg and piece of torso there. Then he imagined them finding the target sitting peacefully in his bed with a smile on his face, small rivers of blood draining out of his nose, mouth, and ears—the runoff of his organs blown out inside him. Then he thought maybe the target wasn't even home, maybe his kids and wife were there instead. Maybe one of the kids had a buddy sleeping over. Then the green light shut off from the bird circling thousands of feet above and the sky was all black again. He tried to find the birds approaching the blast sight in the distance and the dark, looked for the team just like them flying through the night, not sure of what they'd find on the ground. He saw a flicker here and there and thought he had the strobe pinned down, but the stars were too thick to see anything else.

Five mikes out
came over the comms, and Shaw gave up on trying to find the bird. He cracked his knuckles, then his neck, and rolled his shoulders back and then forward. He shook out one leg into the open air, and then the other. He breathed out and then opened his pouch and took out a big chaw. He wanted a real jaw buster for some reason, so he got a golf ball–sized wad and set it in his cheek. Hagan hit him on the arm and gave him a thumbs-up. Shaw handed him his pouch and Hagan grabbed a huge chaw and couldn't fit it in his mouth, so the flecks caught in the air and blew into the sky, disappearing in the dark.

“Did you see that hit?” Shaw yelled over the noise of the bird.

“What hit?” Hagan yelled back.

Shaw thought of the long green rope and the white flash.

“Some house just got blown away over there.”

Shaw pointed toward the horizon.

Hagan shook his head. “I was sleeping.”

Shaw nodded and Hagan started pressing his rifle in front of him and above his head.

“Getting the blood moving,” Hagan yelled.

Shaw gave him a thumbs-up and then the birds dropped them into an opening a few klicks from the Iris1 compound. They took a knee and let the birds blow the snow into their faces, and then the birds lifted off and left them and it seemed like the whole world got put on mute.

The walk was nice. They had to look out for deep holes of snow, but only an inch or two covered most of the walk. The sloping earth gave way to mountains to the west and boulders as big as cars were strewn every few meters. The land made for poor farming so they got to walk between some trees. Shaw smelled pine and sap and the stars seemed to watch over them quietly. They could've been buddies on a hunting trip back home in Minnesota.

Shaw always remembered reading about Vietcong and Japanese snipers gathering food and ammunition and tying themselves into the nests of tall trees. It had stuck with him as a boy. Patrols would wade through the rice paddies and beachheads with their eyes and weapons to the front, only to get one between the eyes from the trees they walked under. Then flamethrowers would come in and burn everything down. As the teams made their way to the compound and the wind blew, Shaw would feel a cool breath on his neck and wonder if it was the first kiss of a bullet coming down from the trees. It made him shiver.