Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Combat Ops (15 page)

The guys, no doubt, wanted payback. So did I. And not just against the Taliban.

Before I could speak, a big Chinook rumbled over head, shaking the hut with its twin rotors.

“That was fast,” said Ramirez, his gaze shooting up to the ceiling.

“Well, that might not be our bird,” I said. He was referring to our having Beasley’s body shipped back to Kandahar.

He nodded. “So, are we game on for tonight?”

I raised a palm. “Take it easy. I’ve got no actionable intel.”

“They’ve been poking around, trying to feel out our new defenses in the defile,” said Treehorn. “There are some foothills in the back with a couple of tunnel entrances—or at least they looked like entrances from where I was at.”

The door swung open, and in walked Captain Warris. No one spoke.

“Guys, I’m deeply sorry about the death of Master Sergeant Beasley. I just wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know that I’m a Ghost, too. I’m on this team. Not anyone else’s . . .”

Ramirez raised his hand. “Sir, can we talk off the record?”

Warris showed his palm. “Let me stop you there. I already know where this is going.”

I glanced sidelong at him. “So do I.” There was no mistaking the threat in my tone.

“What’s going on here, people, is a philosophical dif ference between commanders that’s playing out in the ditches, and we got stuck with the raw deal. I need to be in the loop on everything because I’m supposed to smooth things over between us and the CO. I don’t blame your captain for being upset over what’s trans pired here, but for now, we just make the best of it until higher gets its head out of its ass.”

“That’s right, everyone,” I said, widening my gaze on them. “And as I just told you, we have no actionable intelligence at this time, so we’ll continue in our holding pattern. Meanwhile, I’ll be in close touch with the colo nel to see if they can get us something.”

“Very well,” said Warris.

We all stood there. You could cut the awkwardness with a bowie knife.

“Uh, yeah, one other thing,” I said. “I always bunk with my team, and this billet is full. I’m sure Harruck has room with the other officers.”

He snorted. “Right. I’ll work that out. And one more thing. Captain Harruck has decided to turn over that weapons cache to the local police chief. Kundi has agreed. They’ll use those weapons to begin arming a new police force.”

“Interesting,” I said. “And where are they recruiting this new police force?”

“From the local villages,” Warris answered.

“Which includes Sangsar,” I pointed out. “Zahed’s hometown.”

“I think it’s a good compromise, rather than simply confiscating the weapons.”

“Before these COIN ops, this wouldn’t have hap pened,” I said. “The weapons would be gone. No chance of them falling back into the enemy’s hands.”

Not three seconds after he was gone, Treehorn looked at me and said, “All right, Captain. Let’s plan this out. Time to rock ’n’ roll. And that fool there? He ain’t invited to this party.”

That night after dinner I agonized over an e-mail to Matt Beasley’s parents. I would send the message once the Army notified them of his death. He’d never married and was an only child, but he stayed in close contact with his mom and dad, who still lived in Detroit. I’d written letters like that before, but this one was particu larly hard because of the admiration and respect I’d had for the man and because of the growing futility—and anger—I felt about the mission.

He died for something. I must’ve told myself that a mil lion times. He died while protecting his comrades. I was citing him for a Silver Star for distinguished gallantry in action against an enemy. That had to be enough. But it wasn’t. My bitterness only made me feel more guilty.

The boys were going over our gear with a fine-toothed comb. We were heading out for the big show. Guns would boom. Grenades would burst apart. Blood would spill.

That first chopper that’d come in had brought medi cal supplies and was not scheduled to pick up Beasley’s body. A second Chinook finally landed at sundown, and the transfer went off with a very brief prayer service. Warris was there. He never met my gaze.

Now, while we prepared to saddle up, Brown came over as I was packing magazines. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, sir.”

“Second thoughts?”

“Not about the mission or being short one man. It’s just . . . we were talking while you were on the com puter. No one wants to see you take any more heat.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s part of my job descrip tion. They create officers so they know who to hang when the mission goes down the toilet. I live in the fire. We all do. If Zahed’s got some tunnels he’s using to move troops forward so they can attack our defenses, then it’s our job to find them and destroy them. It’s a no brainer. We’re not just out here to get payback for Matt.” “I know. And I don’t want to piss you off, but you keep saying this could all be pretty straightforward, and 
they keep telling us it ain’t that simple.”

I hardened my gaze. “Maybe we just have to open 
our eyes a little more and stop convincing ourselves that this is so complex. What if it’s not? What if these people are just playing us all for fools? Turning us against each other, so they can get what they want? Maybe . . . it’s as simple as that.”

He shrugged.

Yes, I was trying to convince myself more than him. He didn’t buy it, and really, neither did I. But we needed to trick ourselves into thinking it was good guys versus bad guys, especially in the hours before we committed. If we started thinking about the millions of dominoes we might kick over with every move, we’d become para lyzed.

I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for having my back. You always do.”

He gave a slight nod. “What’s the plan to get off the base?”

I beamed at him. “We’re Ghosts. I think we can come up with something.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

At about two
A.M.
we piled into a Hummer and drove straight for the main gate. I had no clever plan. I just told the sentries we were relieving a security detail at the construction site. I showed him the fake credentials that identified us as regular Army personnel. We weren’t on the guy’s list. I argued. At the sound of my first four letter word, we got ushered through. It wasn’t as glam orous as sneaking off the base, but it did work.

After we left, the son-of-a-bitch guard called the XO, who in turn woke up Harruck.

We left the truck and driver at the edge of the con struction site and talked to the rifle squad posted there. I told them we were on a classified operation but if they heard gunfire and explosions, they were welcome to join us. The sergeant in charge grinned and said, “Is it bring your own beer?”

“Hell, no. We supply everything.”

He smiled. “I like the way you guys roll.”

We hustled off into the desert, the sand billowing into our eyes, the sky a deep blue-black sweeping out over a moonless night.

The foothills lay directly ahead, cast in deep silhou ette, and I strained to see the tunnel entrances that Treehorn so fervently believed were there.

At the base of the first hill, with our boots digging deeply into the soft, dry earth, Ramirez called for a sud- den halt, and then we dropped to our bellies, tucking in tightly along a meandering depression. Someone was approaching.

Actually two figures.

I whispered into my boom mike to activate my Cross- Com. The hills lit up a phosphorescent green as the HUD appeared and the unit made contact with our sat ellite. Within the next two seconds my entire team was identified by green diamonds and blood types via their Green Force Tracker chips.

So, too, were the two men approaching, and I gave a deep sigh as I read the names. Warris had come along with a private, probably his driver.

“Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Friendlies approach ing. Hold fire.”

“Roger that,” said Ramirez. “But are you sure about that?”

I grimaced over the remark, but yeah, I understood how he felt.

Warris, unbeknownst to me, was wearing a Cross- Com and had linked to our channel. He’d been clever enough to research the access codes. He’d heard Ramirez’s remark and suddenly said, “Ghost Team, this is Captain Warris. I’m coming up. And if I were you, I’d be sure about holding fire.”

Ramirez shifted over to me, covered his boom mike, and issued a curse.

I saw his curse and raised him two.

Warris, crouched over, slipped up to the depression and dropped down beside us, with his private doing likewise.

“Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Turn off your Cross- Coms and huddle up.”

They immediately complied. I didn’t want anything recorded at this point.

“How you doing, Scott?” my former trainee began, as though he were about to offer me a beer. I sensed, though, that he was speaking through clenched teeth.

“What’s up, Fred?”

“Harruck sent me out here to relieve you of com mand and bring the team home.”

“You can tell him yourself. We’ll contact him right now.”

“I don’t have time for this—”

“Captain, I’m here to relieve you of command.” “Okay, but can you give me about an hour?”

Warris’s voice came in a stage whisper, but he would’ve shouted if he could: “This is serious shit, asshole! I’m relieving you of command!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Ramirez, butting in and ignor ing my glare. “But we don’t recognize your authority here, nor will we obey your orders.”

“You think you speak for the rest of them?” Warris asked.

Ramirez looked at the others. “Oh, yes, sir. I know I do. We won’t follow you. Trust me.”

I shook my head. “Freddy, the problem is you’re try ing to play by the book with people that don’t exist.”

He looked lost for a second, then said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s fine. You can wait for us.” “No, I’m coming on this mission.”

“Excuse me? I’m here to relieve you.” “I am
not
relieved.”

“You’ve got no authority to refuse me.” He glanced around at my team. “Captain Mitchell has been relieved of command and will be returning to the base with my driver.”

“Guys, just ignore him. I’m in command. Prepare to move out.”

“Scott—”

Now
I
was talking through my teeth. “You listen to me, and you listen good. Each one of my guys has got two rifles. One’s their favorite toy. The other’s an AK confiscated from the Taliban. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“That I could accidentally get shot? You gotta be kid ding me. You don’t threaten me with that. We’re on the same team, and you just need to suck it up. I’m in. You’re out.”

He told the private to hold his position and wait for us.

Ramirez whispered to me, “The hell with it. Let him come. We can babysit. He could get hurt . . .”

I lay there, panting. If I abandoned the mission, I’d still go home to be hung. So the hell with it. We were going.

Biting back a curse, I got to my feet. “Guys, you will ignore any and all commands from Captain Warris. Moving up. Let’s roll.”

“No, I’m still coming along. I’ll document all this insubordination, and by the time I’m done, you
and this entire team
will go down.”

Then he told me to fuck myself and broke off with Jen kins, Hume, and Brown, our Bravo team. I took Ramirez, Nolan, Smith, and Treehorn. I put Treehorn on point. Bravo shifted off to the north side. I told them to activate their Cross-Coms and to watch what they said—we were being recorded.

Ramirez looked back at me, as if to say:
Oh my God, what’s happening now . . .

I just steeled my gaze and got back on the horn. “Brown, this is Ghost Lead, over.”

“Here, Ghost Lead,” he said, as I patched into his Cross-Com’s camera and watched them scurrying along the foothill, climbing higher along a lip of gravel and dirt.

“Stay in touch.” “Roger that.”

Warris didn’t know it, but Brown was in command of that team. He would be reporting to me, and I knew that Hume and Smith would fall in line.

Ramirez hadn’t lied. The military might have been full of backstabbers and ass-kissers, but my men were fiercely loyal—every last one of them. They would do anything for me. I mean
anything
.

I kept close to Treehorn as we ascended, hunched over, our computers scanning the mountainside for enemies.