Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Combat Ops (14 page)

I’d just lost a guy, and I’d be damned if it was for nothing. I seized the shovel and began digging like a maniac, sand arcing through the air, while Ramirez came over to me, wanted to know what I was doing.

“Grab the other shovel! Dig now! Dig!” “Matt’s gone! He’s dead!”

“I know. Dig!” I cursed at him, kept digging, going down another two feet when my shovel hit something. I dropped to my hands and knees, dug around with my hands, found wood. Maybe a hatch. “Got something! Help me out!”

My gaze was torn between clearing away more dirt and the approaching vehicles.

And now came the heavily armed and armored Hum- mer carrying Harruck himself, streaking across the sand. I found the edge of the hatch, a rope pull, and tugged on it. Nothing. Just a creak. Still too much sand holding 
it down.

Ramirez leaned over and began clearing sand with his hands, and within thirty seconds we began to pull free the wood. It finally gave and we came up with it: a rectangular piece of plywood about three feet by four.

As dirt poured down into the hole, sunlight revealed a wooden ladder and a chamber at least two meters deep. I stole one more look at the pickup trucks and Harruck’s ride, then descended the ladder. I turned around and in the shadows saw that the chamber extended another two or three meters to my left and was filled with cardboard boxes and crates.

No, it wasn’t some Afghan wine cellar, that was for sure, and what I’d uncovered was both significant and alarming. A creak from the ladder drew my gaze, and Harruck reached the bottom, turned, and let his gaze drift past me.

Another man I didn’t recognize reached the bottom of the ladder. He was middle-aged, had a thick mus- tache, and wore a green uniform with red insignia on the shoulders: A
FGHAN
N
ATIONAL
P
OLICE
.

“It’s all American,” I said, my voice cracking. “Probably 
a hundred rifles or more. Thousands of rounds of ammo. Grenades, gas masks . . . all stuff that was meant for the national army and the police.”

“I agree,” said the man in uniform. He looked at me. “I am Shafiq, the new police chief here in Senjaray.”

Harruck spun around, his eyes now glassy, his cheeks turning red. “Mitchell, get your people back to the base. We’ll take over from here. I’ll work this out with Captain Warris.”

“Yes, sir.”

He blinked hard, coughed, then looked at me, as though to say,
No argument?

But then, as I ascended the ladder, he threw a verbal punch that I could not ignore: “I’ll find out why the minesweepers were here, Mitchell.”

“Look around. Kundi’s been letting the Taliban store weapons. They figured we wouldn’t look here, right out in the open—unless of course we wanted to drill a well. And that’s why the old man got so bent out of shape. He was protecting his little cache here.”

“He is right,” said Shafiq.

I gave Harruck a final look and climbed out, where I shouted for my men to rally back on our Hummer. Nolan had already removed a body bag from the truck, and he and Ramirez had just finished zipping up Beas ley. They carried his body to the flatbed and eased it onboard.

The fires were still whipping in the breeze behind us, the scene now like an anthill that had been disturbed. Kundi was out near the hole, throwing his hands in the air, along with Burki, as Warris, Harruck, and the new police chief faced them.

Warris turned away from the group and looked at me, and for just a moment, I thought he longed to be in my boots, not having to deal with any of the crap.

But then, suddenly, he waved me over.

I looked over my shoulder, then back to him.
Me?

He nodded.

Harruck turned around and cried, “Mitchell? We need you over here right now!”

I liked how he called me Mitchell around everyone else.

“You wanna just take off?” Ramirez asked me. “Screw them all. Screw all these assholes.”

“No. You guys take Beasley back. Then get to the hospital and get everybody else checked out. If these idiots want to talk to me, then they’d better strap in and get ready for the ride . . .”

I took a deep breath, winced over a shooting pain in my leg, and marched toward them.

I wanted to beat down at least three of the four men in front of me. I already saw them lying unconscious and bloody.

You have to give me some credit for my honesty. The new police chief hadn’t earned my hatred yet.

Kundi and Burki were shouting at Harruck, pointing to the ground, and then gesturing back up to the foot hills.

Shilmani was there and came over to me. “The guns belong to Kundi. He says he bought them from the Tal iban.”

“Do you believe that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is that you can’t take them away, but I know you will.”

“He speaks English?” Harruck called out to me. “Yes, he does. His name’s Shilmani. He works for 
Burki.”

“Then come over here and help me translate,” said Harruck. “They’re talking way too fast for me.”

“Do you really need me here?” I asked Harruck. “Yeah, I do,” he said.

Behind us, the rifle squads had finished up with their extinguishers, and the pickup trucks and Hummer were still smoldering. I’d grown far too used to the stench of burning rubber.

While Harruck went back over to Kundi and the water man, with a tense Shilmani forced to go along, I pulled Warris aside. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah, I was tell ing you that if you think I’m going to filter my plans through you, you’re dreaming. Okay?”

“Looks like you’ve got some good plans here, too. Pissed off the locals. Got a whole sweeper team killed, one of your own guys killed.” He gasped. “All right, that was too far. Sorry . . .”

“Wow, when did you grow a pair?”

He puffed air. “The situation has changed. They brought me in here to clean up an old man’s mess. I’m hating it. I resent you for putting me in this situation. And every time I set eyes on you it’s an instant replay of that ass-chewing you gave me back at Robin Sage. I still hear about it to this day.”

I balled my hand into a fist and drew it back.

He kept calling me by name in front of everyone, but who was I to argue at that point? They were going to dump it all on me anyway. I staggered over there like a drunk and didn’t realize I was favoring one leg until another pain needled up the hip and into my spine.

“Why were the minesweepers out here?”

I played dumb. “Uh, you told me you were going to find out.”

“They had specific orders to sweep the other part of the field.”

“Wish I could help you.” “No, you don’t.”

I stood there, my gaze traveling a thousand miles away.

“Scott?”

I finally looked at him. “What?” “I want an answer.”

“I don’t know why the sweepers were here. And I guess you can’t ask them. Maybe they got lost. Or maybe they wanted to check out this side of the field, too. Who knows . . .”

“You sent them here, didn’t you?”

“Guys, let’s get this under control,” said Warris.

Harruck looked at him, cursed, then told him to shut the hell up.

Warris recoiled, stunned.

“I need to be with my men,” I said, my tone growing even more sarcastic.

“And I need an answer,” snapped Harruck.

“All right, let’s cut to the chase, then,” I said. “I got a four-star behind me and my mission. And I was per fectly within my mission’s envelope when I ordered the field searched. I was defending my perimeter and pro tecting my men. The problem here is mission conflict. All three of us are doing exactly what we should be doing—which is why we’ve got a problem.”

“Why didn’t you notify me of what you did?” Har ruck asked.

“I would have . . . eventually.”

He gave a slight snort. “Well, I got the entire United States Army supporting my mission, Scott. And it
will
take precedence.”

Kundi drifted over to me and raised his finger. “You went with Bronco. You talked to my father. You know the right thing to do now. These weapons belong to us. Don’t let anyone take them.”

“What’s he talking about?” Harruck asked.

“I don’t know. They smoke a lot of opium here. They forget things.”

“This isn’t over, Scott. It’s just begun.”

I winced in pain. The leg again. “I hear you.” “I’ll get with you later,” said Harruck.

“So will I,” Warris added.

I made a face. “I’ll be at the hospital if you need me.”

I took a detour before getting treated. I went back to the comm center and called Gordon. I updated him and asked 
for anything he could dig up about Bronco and any con nection the spook might have to Zahed and the technol ogy industry. “I think he has something to do with the EMP knocking out our Cross-Coms—if it’s EMP at all.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, and oh, yeah, Warris tells me he’s in command.”

Gordon’s expression turned guilty. “Not exactly.” “Good, then I’m
exactly
in command. Does that 
make sense to you, sir? Two officers, one in command, the other not exactly in command?”

“Mitchell, we knew how difficult this job could become. That’s why we picked you for it. And you’re the last guy on earth I thought would be bothered by the politics. Everyone’s a bad guy there.”

“Even me?”

He nearly smiled. “Even you.”

“And you still believe that Zahed is the target and I need to capture or kill him?”

“Absolutely. Without any doubt.” “And what will that change?” “Say again?”

He’d heard me. He couldn’t believe I was asking. I sharpened my tone. “Sir, I asked what will capturing or killing Zahed change?”

“Yours is not to question why but to do or die, sol dier.”

“Well, if we get him, then that’s one less terrorist here, right? Oh, I forgot, we don’t have confirmation that he’s actually a terrorist.”

“I did. But frankly, sir, there are too many people attempting to undermine my mission. I’m losing confi dence in my ability to complete it and I’m concerned about our contribution to the overall effort here.”

“What the hell is that?” he cried. “The Ghosts fear no one! Don’t throw that crap at me. You will complete your mission—but if you’re telling me right now you want out, I’ll relieve you on the spot and give it to Warris.”

“He’s a yes man for Harruck, so you won’t get jack if you give it to him. He’s not playing for us anymore, sir. Somebody got to him.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, sir. And now I’m supposed to go through him before making a move. I’m letting you know right now that I can’t do that.”

“I understand. Unless your OPORDER changes, you stay on target, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any more news about your dad?”

I told him about my conversation with my sister. We were waiting to hear more.

Most of my guys picked up minor wounds, as I did, and the doctor was able to remove the pieces of shrapnel from my legs and stitch me up. He’d asked about the scar on my chest, as I suspected he would.

All I said was that I’d been serving in the Philippines and been stabbed with a very interesting sword shaped like a Chinese character. The weapon was now resting comfortably in a glass case at an old friend’s house.

After all these years, the scar still itched. And I could still see Fang Zhi’s eyes as he’d thrust the blade into me. I was just a kid back then. And the missions seemed crystal clear. Ironically, Fang Zhi had questioned his own commanders’ orders and become torn over his duty versus the lives of the men in his charge. Though I don’t regret killing him, I better understood his position after spending time in Afghanistan.

The response was natural, rudimentary, entirely human, and I felt the same—despite its sounding like a knee-jerk reaction of less experienced soldiers.

Hume, Nolan, and Brown began nodding. Treehorn joined them. Jenkins, the biggest, most intimidating guy on the team, started crying. Smith, who was near him, offered a few words of encouragement.

Master Sergeant Matt Beasley had hailed from Detroit, had tooled around the ’hood in a Harley Sport ster, and was a latchkey kid who’d made a name for him self in the Army. I don’t expect my words to do him justice, and you’ll never know him the way we did, but you need to understand how important he was to us.

In recent months Ramirez had become more of my right-hand man, but Beasley had been the first guy to help out, had treated me with respect and had welcomed me into his fold. NCOs could make or break you, and much of my success was due to his experience and guid ance. We always had Alpha and Bravo teams, with Charlie team being our “one-man” sniper operation, and Beasley always led Bravo for me. I never once doubted his abilities and knew that if I was ever injured or incapacitated, my guys were in his more-than-capable hands.

I could tell myself that if I hadn’t sent the mine sweepers out there, then Matt would still be alive. But I wouldn’t have made that decision. I would have sent them no matter the risk. Of course, I’d seen a lot of guys die in combat—and a lot of guys die just getting blown up while they were on their way to the latrine. Some times I took the blame and just buried it. But I’d been working with Matt for a long time, and though I couldn’t help but feel the guilt, I could already hear him telling me not to worry about it.
Sorry, Matt, that’s eas ier said than done.