SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (9 page)

He checked around his immediate surroundings, but the only enemies in sight were all dead. Some had escaped. The attack had involved large numbers of insurgents, and the body count wasn’t high enough to account for them all. It would be good to think they’d killed the Taliban commanders, but he knew those guys would have stayed at the back when the bullets were flying. The higher their rank, the louder they shouted, and the further back they stayed. He remembered Saddam Hussein, exhorting his troops to fight and die, in the ‘Mother of all Battles’, and Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gaddafi, Colonel Gaddafi, the dictator of Libya. His long harangues were famous, sending his minions out to do battle. Until the bullets started flying, and then he ran like the yellow rat he was.

He started to walk back through the wrecked fence and toward Captain Mariko Noguchi. As he strolled along, he reflected that but for her intervention, he’d be dead. It felt strange. One moment he’d been preaching about the need for training and combat experience, the next, a rookie officer saved his life.

Weird!

* * *

He’d have given anything to avoid the ceremony. Politicians turned his stomach, especially these people.

“Chief Petty Officer Nolan, we are in your debt. My advisors tell me that without your heroic efforts, the insurgents could have come close to killing me.”

Nolan looked at the man stood in front of him. Fifty-five years old, spare and lean, with a sparse gray beard, wearing the trademark Karakul hat and the long, traditional Afghan ceremonial cloak, the Chapan. Hamid Karzai, 12th President of Afghanistan, darling of the George W Bush administration, despised by the fundamentalist Muslims, and mortal enemy of the Taliban. Next to him was the Pakistani politician the Foreign Minister, Chutani Muhammad. He was plump, almost obese, a short man with a round face, supporting at least three chins, and a potbelly thinly disguised by his expensively cut coat. Both men had hugged him, which made Nolan cringe, and Karzai insisted on saying a few words of thanks. He looked the Seal in the eye.

“I assure you, Chief Petty Officer, we will remember your service to this country, and I will make it my business to ensure you receive the appropriate recognition for your bravery under fire. This is not the first time my life has been protected by the United States Navy Seals. I am indebted to all of you brave men.”

There didn’t seem to be any reply needed, so Nolan nodded at both men and eased back before they put him in another politician’s half nelson. Colonel Weathers and Lieutenant Boswell came to his rescue and led him away. For some reason, the meeting had been held in a large office in the building beneath the control tower. Probably it was easier to defend from the attacks mounted on a regular basis by Karzai’s Afghan electorate who didn’t seem so happy with what their votes had brought them. Bravo Platoon was waiting outside, and they gave him an ironic cheer as he came out.

“They’re proud of you,” Colonel Weathers beamed.

“Not really. They know I’ll owe them a few beers next time we wind up in a bar,” Nolan corrected him.

“To celebrate your victory, killing those insurgents?”

“To celebrate staying alive. That’s what it’s all about.”

He nodded to the Platoon. “I’ll catch you guys in the bar later.”

“Yeah, don’t forget your billfold, Chief. We’ll see if we can lighten it some for you.”

The Colonel grunted in irritation. War was serious business, too serious to make jokes about. Maybe the guy should have been a cavalry officer about two hundred years ago, leading epic charges against the redskins, armed with bows and arrows; although the rules were no different back then. Dead soldiers didn’t live to get back up to fight and defeat the enemy.

They walked back to the Marine Intelligence Department building. Crews were still clearing the damage, although the casualties had long been removed, dead and wounded, friendlies and hostiles. The acrid tang of smoke still assaulted the nostrils, a combination of spent nitrates, burning rubber and wood, and the sweet, disgusting stench of burnt flesh. Weathers’ HQ had only sustained minor damage during the attack. Mariko Noguchi was back in the office where he’d seen her earlier. She’d taken the opportunity to wash up, put on a clean uniform, and tidy her hair. She looked ravishing, and the Chief was reminded of the filth that covered him, that he’d still not had time to wash off.

“Could I have a minute with Captain Noguchi, Colonel?”

Weathers nodded. “Sure thing.”

He went across to Noguchi. “Captain, that was a brave thing you did back there. Without you, I might be dead. Thank you.”

She nodded gravely. “Without me, you would definitely be dead, Chief Nolan, but you’re welcome anyway.” Her expression broke into a smile. “You can buy me a beer later if you like. We’ll call it quits.”

“Ma’am, that is a promise.”

“Good. I’ll take you up on that promise, Chief. I’m glad you’re still with us. I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

He looked at Boswell and Weathers. They stared back implacably. What was there to argue about? She’d handled herself under fire like a seasoned vet, and it was one hell of a test of her abilities. He was old-fashioned enough not to want such an attractive girl on a live mission, but he was also savvy enough to know that his objections about taking a female rookie into the field had been answered.

“Sure. What about Admiral Jacks, Lt, what does he say?

“He’s gone along with the mission,” Boswell replied. “The Pentagon put pressure on him, and there are no objections there. So we’re green-lighted. We’ll be going in tomorrow night, recon only. Colonel Weathers feels we need a good night’s rest before we go back into the field.”

“That’s kind of him.”

Captain Noguchi managed a small smile. Weathers didn’t smile as he interrupted.

“I want you to go into Abbottabad, confirm the existence or otherwise of the target, and investigate any other terrorist infrastructure that exists in the city.”

“Sir,” Nolan interrupted him. “To be clear, I assume the principal target is intel about Riyad bin Laden?”

Weathers nodded. “That’s pretty much it. I want you to confirm the existence of this man, and his location, of course. So far, all we have is the word of that Pakistani you brought back, and there are people here who are still pretty doubtful. I doubt you’ll actually set eyes on him, if he’s anything like as reclusive as his late brother. But someone in the area will know something, one way or the other, so try and bring back a prisoner who may have something for us. We need confirmation. Your job is to bring back any intel that confirms or denies this. Naturally, if by some miracle, you did happen to run into the guy, who may or may not be the new head of al Qaeda, we’d like you to deliver a heavy-caliber greetings card from the American government.”

“Naturally, Colonel.”

“But assuming you don’t, we need to start building an intel packet on this character. If you’re careful, you’ll be in and out without anyone being the wiser.”

“Things can always go wrong, Sir. If you recall Neptune Spear, one of the helos clipped the compound wall when they hit turbulence, and they had to destroy it.”

Weathers nodded. “I know that, Chief. But let’s hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. Captain Noguchi will go in with you, disguised as a Northern Pakistani in the burqa you saw earlier. She’ll be able to circulate freely in the town, and maybe pick up useful info. It would help if one of your team could dress up as a local and accompany her. They’re a bit sensitive about women going out on their own inside Waziristan.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Boswell interrupted. “I’ll ask for a volunteer, someone who can pass as an Arab without too many problems.”

“They’re not Arabs, Lieutenant.”

He looked at Captain Noguchi. “They’re not?”

“No. Arabs are a Semitic race of people who hail from the Mid East and speak Arabic. Pakistanis don’t fit that bill. They’re not Semitic, and they mostly speak Urdu. In Waziristan, they also speak a local dialect of Pashto.”

“Okay, but they’re all Muslims. I thought they all spoke Arabic. It’s a kind of religious thing.”

She looked amused. “Are you Catholic?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I am.”

“And do you speak Latin?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“I thought not. It’s the same for Pakistanis. It would be best to bear it in mind. It’s important to know both your allies and your enemies.”

He looked irritated, uneasy to have been corrected by a woman. “They sure are our enemies.”

“Allies.”

“What?”

“They’re our allies, Lieutenant, the Pakistanis. I know it’s hard, but that’s the official view.”

“Is that right? An ally wouldn’t harbor a wanted terrorist like bin Laden. I still see them as the enemy, until they prove otherwise.”

Noguchi gave up.

 
Besides, maybe Boswell has a point. Not that the Pakistanis haven’t tried to rid Waziristan of the Taliban, but they’ve had even less success than ISAF achieved in Afghanistan. The Islamist terrorists are tough nuts to crack,
Nolan mused.

“I want you all to get some rest,” Weathers continued. “I’ll work with my staff to make the arrangements for infil and exfil, and I’ll mark the mission down to jump off tomorrow night. Wheels up immediately after nightfall. We’ll plan for two hours on the ground. Any more than that and you’ll run the risk of exposure. We’ll go over the details first thing tomorrow.”

“How do you plan to get us in there?” Nolan asked, staring at the Colonel intently. “You know they’ll be at heightened alert after Seal Team Six’s attack.”

“HAHO drop,” Weathers said promptly. “We’ll use a Chinook to drop you inside Pakistan, and you’ll be able glide down to a landing site to be determined outside of the town. Remember, this isn’t a kill mission. We only want intel about what these gomers are up to.”

Boswell interrupted him. “I’m not happy about a Chinook, Colonel,” he exclaimed. “The Paks were sore the last time we went in. They’re likely to shoot first and ask question afterwards, and a helo makes for a mighty easy target. We need a C-130, Sir. Quieter, and we can jump from much higher. They won’t even know we’ve come visiting.”

Weathers looked faintly irritated. “I already put a call through about that Chinook. It’s being serviced out on the field right now, and they’ve arranged for refueling facilities at Jalalabad on the way. It’s pretty late to make a change to the infiltration platform, Lieutenant.”

Nolan was surprised; the platoon commander was standing his ground. Boswell’s face took on a stubborn expression. “That’s too bad, Sir. We need a fixed wing. It’s the only way. It’s the quiet way.”

“We have a V22 Osprey on the field. That’ll fly fixed wing.”

Both Seals laughed out loud. “What did I say?” Weathers asked, trying to hide his annoyance. Nolan put him right.

“The V22 Osprey is one of the noisiest aircraft I’ve traveled in so far,” Nolan replied, trying to control his laughter. “You can forget any ideas about stealth. Dropping from an Osprey is a bitch, and the downdraft from the rotors is like being caught in a hurricane. If you’re looking for a quick, quiet infil, it’s the wrong aircraft. The Lieutenant is right, Sir. We need a C-130 or something similar.”

“They tell me we don’t have a Hercules available at Bagram, Chief. It’s not that easy.”

Noguchi caught his eye. “Sir, the Air Force has a couple of C-17s on the ground right now. One of those would be perfect for this mission.”

Nolan nodded his agreement. They’d used them many times for high altitude infiltration. The C-17 Globemaster could carry up to a hundred and thirty four troops and even an M1 Abrams tank. Her four Pratt & Whitney turbofans gave the aircraft a cruising speed of 515 mph, a range of 2,785 miles and a service ceiling: 45,000 feet. For a SpecOps clandestine HAHO insertion, it was the ideal aircraft.

Colonel Weathers nodded. “Very well, I’ll talk to the Air Force. The Marine Corps doesn’t own any of those babies. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“We’ll be able to drop from 40,000 feet, using oxygen,” Boswell continued, “They’ll assume it’s a Pakistani air force transport. It won’t even raise any eyebrows.”

“Good, consider it done. Anything else?” He stared at each of them. “No? Good, I expect you guys want to get cleaned up, you can report to me here at 0700 tomorrow, and we’ll start your mission briefing and final checks. Chief Nolan, would you remain here. I want to speak to you about another matter.”

Here it comes. Is this where my troubles start again? I thought I was rid of my problems with those damn blackouts, and now they’re coming back to haunt me, like a kick in the butt from a spooked stallion. Carol Summers reckons I blacked out when that rape was committed, but there’s no way I could have done it. No way! Except they’ll want proof, and I can’t provide it. Whose side will this Colonel be on?