Assassin (John Stratton) (2 page)

All he cared about was that there be no surprises to put his men at risk.

He made his way back to his hut and lay down on his bunk. An hour later, after an unsuccessful attempt to sleep, he walked back through the village with his rifle, webbing and backpack, leaving nothing behind. The teams wouldn’t be returning to the village on completion of the assault. They were to be picked up by helicopter on target, after it had been secured, and taken back to Camp Bastion. The HQ tent and everything else would be dismantled and the place evacuated as soon as they moved out.

Other squadron members were vacating their huts at the same time and making their way towards the ops HQ. There was little banter. The men had been active since the early hours of that morning and, other than any sleep they might have managed to grab in the previous few hours, they would be looking forward to thirty hours straight by the time they got back to base. They were all used to long hours and short naps. They’d spark up once they were walking with their heavy packs and weapons towards the objective.

Stratton saw Captain Burns in a clearing beyond the HQ tent, tooled up and camouflaged and ready to go. He put his pack down on the spot where he wanted to
form up his own team and within a few minutes his men were with him.

‘You get some rest?’ he asked Jones, his second in command, a Welsh lad he had known for several years. Jones was a sound operator who he liked working with.

‘A bit,’ Jones said, in a lilting Snowdonian accent. He dumped his pack down on the floor. ‘Not quite enough, mind you. But barely enough, if you know what I mean.’

To those who didn’t know Jones he might sound as if he were a habitual complainer. But that was not the case by far. Like every other badged member of the Service, Jones could put up with an ungodly amount of discomfort. He merely liked to point out the detailed facts as and when he saw them. That included the negative as well as the positive. And he often repeated himself – not necessarily because he thought he’d not been heard. He liked to ensure those he was talking to were fully informed and had not missed anything. What’s more, he couldn’t care less what anyone else thought about his ways.

The rest of Stratton’s lads arrived, four operators in their early twenties and keen as you like.

‘We’ve got a couple of cling-ons,’ Stratton said to Jones.

‘Is that right? Who would that be, then?’

‘Yank spooks.’

‘Spooks?’ Jones said, looking around for them.

‘They never said as much but they bear all the hallmarks.’

‘Interesting. What are they doing here then?’

‘They want first look at the intellectual spoils.’

‘Intellectual spoils. Of course. Have you told ’em they’re required to walk ten metres in front of us and look for mines?’

‘I don’t think they’re the type,’ Stratton said. ‘Here they are.’

Wheeland and Spinter made their way through the growing muster point towards Stratton and his team. Both men carried small, light packs on their backs, which clearly indicated they were not equipped for any extended time in the field beyond the operation’s expected termination time early that morning. Stratton wondered what they would do if for some reason the op was postponed and the teams had to wait it out in the hills for a day or so longer. Or if a weather front were to close in unexpectedly, which was not an unusual event in that part of the world. A storm. A torrential downpour. A sudden blizzard even. It was getting cold enough. Anything like that could prevent a helicopter extraction. They would be forced to share the lads’ kit. They were either supremely confident no such event would occur or they were seriously inexperienced field operators. But then Wheeland claimed to have been Stratton’s opposite number. Clearly it was confidence that drove them.

‘Hey, guys,’ Wheeland said as he arrived, looking about the whole team. ‘How ya’ll doin’?’

The younger members of Stratton’s squad, who generally preferred to remain low profile and tight-lipped among superiors, simply nodded a hello and otherwise ignored him.

Jones was far less shy, having been more exposed to the social side of the business. And he was never intimidated by the variety of mysterious personalities that populated the world he operated in. ‘We’re fine, lads,’ he said. ‘Thanks for asking. Welcome aboard.’

‘You guys enjoying everything so far?’ Wheeland asked.

‘We are indeed,’ Jones said. ‘I see you’re travelling light. I hope that blizzard warning for later this morning doesn’t happen. Otherwise you’ll be sharing sleeping bags with one of us.’ Then
sotto vocce
, ‘I’d avoid Tim here if that’s the case. He has a terrible case of bottom-bugle, if you get my meaning.’

Wheeland forced a grin.

Stratton noticed a general increase in activity in the centre of the rendezvous point, around Captain Burns. Men were pulling on their heavy backpacks and preparing to move out. He checked his watch. It was time to go.

‘Mount up!’ the squadron sergeant major called out.

Jones pulled on his heavy pack. ‘You happy for Charlie to do point for this stretch?’ he asked Stratton.

‘All the way?’

‘Why not? He’s keen as mustard. And you love it out in front, don’t you, Charlie? First in the contact and first to find those mines.’

Charlie, a squat, fresh-faced redhead, smiled as he pulled his pack onto his shoulders, then picked up his rifle, cradling it in his arms.

‘OK,’ Stratton said. ‘You happy with the route?’

‘Basic,’ Charlie said as he checked the compass that was
attached by a line to his jacket breast pocket. ‘I thought I’d take an angle downhill. That way.’ He pointed. ‘Reduce the steepness a bit. Then at the bottom head along the river.’

‘We like a point who cares about those who follow,’ Stratton said. He looked over at Wheeland and Spinter. ‘We’re going to take the lead,’ he said to them. ‘If you don’t mind being in front of Jones. Team Bravo will be behind us. The other two teams will fall in behind them. No gaps.’

‘Whatever you say, big guy,’ Wheeland said.

Charlie made his way to the departure point at the edge of the village, three quarters up the side of the mountain. He looked out over the dark expanse that was all his to lead through and took a moment to check the GPS as well as his compass and tightly folded map inside its waterproof sheath. Technology was great but one always had to back it up with the fundamentals. Leading the squadron on an op was a hefty responsibility and he couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong. He was young and this task was very much a part of building his reputation.

‘Space it out, Charlie,’ Stratton said.

Charlie acknowledged the command by setting off down the hill. He paused after thirty or so metres to wait for the rest of the squadron to form up behind him. They were going to move in single file, the safest and easiest way to move through the terrain, especially at night.

Stratton stepped in directly behind Charlie. He liked to hand down responsibility, but he preferred not to stray far from the sharp end either.

Jones took up the rear of Stratton’s team. Wheeland and Spinter did as they were asked and lined up in front of him.

‘Move when ready,’ Stratton said to Charlie, who set off at an easy walk down the rocky incline.

In the dark the grey landscape resembled the moon. The jagged mountain the SBS squadron was traversing was part of a range that curved away and around their front. It was like walking on the edge of a massive asteroid crater. Stars were packed into the sky. The men snaked down the slope towards a vast, colourless plain and the parched riverbed that ran through it like an ugly scar. They walked among rocks of every dimension covering the mountainside, from pebbles to boulders the size of cars. Here and there tufts of brittle grass clung to dark crevices, blowing in the light wind.

Charlie took a meandering path, his aim, other than to get the squadron to its destination, to find a route that reduced the noise of the thirty men – as well as the chances of any of the more heavily loaded of them losing their footing. Among the teams they had four medium-sized machine guns and four thousand rounds of ammunition. Each man carried a couple of HEAT rockets plus his own weapon, ammunition, grenades and field equipment. Two sniper teams carried their complete weapons systems including a heavy half-inch gun, a metre-long silencer, a
large scope and wind and distance calibrating accessories. From a long way off they would resemble a heavily laden foot caravan of nomads.

A couple of hours after leaving the camp Charlie stepped off the foot of the mountain and onto the valley floor. The plain spread out in front of him. In the furthest distance the snow-capped peaks looked like shark’s teeth. As they walked into the plain they left the hard terrain behind. There were fewer obstacles, the larger rocks disappeared and the ground beneath their feet turned powdery.

A kilometre out from the bottom of the slope Charlie reached the edge of the broad, dry riverbed they had seen from the village. He paused the snaking patrol once again, as he had done several times along the route. It was always wise to stop and listen, even when there was no sign of an enemy. It kept the snake organised and allowed gaps, caused for whatever reason, to close up.

But this stop was slightly different.

Charlie knelt and gave a signal to Stratton, who dropped down onto a knee several metres behind him. Stratton passed the signal back to the man behind him, a twirling motion with his hand above his head, before getting up and moving to the riverbank a few metres from his point man. The next man came to the opposite side to Charlie, the next to Stratton’s side, but a few metres back from the edge of the bank. Jones guided Wheeland and Spinter in. The rest of the men continued the process until the squadron had formed a large circle, their backs to its centre. Some chose to remain on one knee while others lay down.

The tail-end operative reached the circle and turned around to face the way he’d come before lowering himself onto a knee. In the centre of the circle, with the sergeant major and signaller, Captain Burns crouched on a single knee, quietly looking over the riverbed.

The radio operator leaned close to him. ‘Ops is acknowledging our location, sir.’

The operations HQ in Bastion had seen the satellite transponder markers carried by the team leaders come to a halt on their map monitors.

‘Tell them all’s good here and we’re moving out in fifteen,’ Burns said.

They were entering enemy territory. From this point on, the chances of running into the enemy was greater. So it was always wise to pause. Have a long listen. Get into the right frame of mind. Make any adjustments to weapons and equipment that were needed before pressing on.

The men remained like statues. The wind blew gently between them. A fine dust was constantly in the air and most had their scarves over their mouths. Afghanistan’s dust was infamous. It got everywhere. A gentle cough broke the silence, followed by another.

The minutes clicked by. It seemed like they had been there an age. Several times Wheeland fidgeted with something in his pocket or adjusted his position. Stratton looked around at him. The spook looked over his shoulder towards Burns. Stratton had no doubt that if things were up to Wheeland they’d all be on their way by now. He wondered how long ago it was since he’d been in the SEALs. He’d
certainly lost his field edge. Being a spook would do that to a person.

Burns got to his feet alone and made his way to the riverbank between Charlie and Stratton. ‘All good, Stratton?’ he said softly.

‘All good, sir,’ Stratton replied.

‘Move off when you’re ready then,’ Burns said before stepping back to his radio operator.

Stratton figured they’d waited long enough. He gave Charlie a nod.

The soldier got to his feet and headed down a gentle slope onto the riverbed. When he reached the middle he turned upstream and headed along at an easy pace.

The river was bone dry as per usual for the time of year. On one side, to the left of the squadron as they walked, in the direction they had come from, the ground seemed to rise more steeply than it had felt while they walked down it. The peaks were ice-covered. On their right stretched the vast expanse of open land. Low, smooth rolling hills occupied the middle ground before the distant mountains. Clouds had begun to move in from the south, threatening to cover the night sky. Stratton hoped so. They would block out the moon and stars and reduce the light. Complete dark was good.

The going was rocky and treacherous underfoot. It would have been a smoother walk on either of the banks. But the riverbed was several metres lower. Anyone in the distance on either side would not see the silhouettes of the line of men.

The concealed approach was also important because that night’s target was a hamlet on the open plain just a couple of hundred metres from the right side of the river. The attack was planned for an hour before dawn. That gave the teams ample time to move into position.

After another two hours of easy marching, Charlie went down on one knee and gave a signal. The entire squadron halted in its line and most of the operators went to ground. Everyone knew precisely where they were. They all had the coordinates on their GPS. After a minute of watching and listening, Stratton and Jones got up and broke from the line towards the right bank. Another pair left the snake and went to the opposite bank, where they would remain and observe the approaches to what would soon become the rear of the fighting patrol.

Stratton and Jones eased their way up the bank just enough to look onto the plain. In front of them, a few hundred metres away, they saw a line of buildings. The two of them observed the area carefully using thermal imagers. They saw no movement around the buildings. But some figures had gathered near a vehicle, one that had recently arrived or had been running for some reason. Most importantly, the movement they saw was concentrated around the hamlet and not anywhere near the river.

‘This is Stratton,’ he said into his throat mike. ‘You’re good to move in.’

Burns acknowledged receipt of the message. A signal went down the line in both directions to move into position. Every man turned to his right as he got to his feet
and the extended line moved slowly out of the bottom of the riverbed to the bank where Stratton and Jones lay. The men didn’t look above the sides and made themselves comfortable below the bank, while the team leaders climbed up to take a look at the target.