by Matthew Rief
MATTHEW RIEF
REDEMPTION IN THE KEYS
A Logan Dodge Adventure
Florida Keys Adventure Series
Volume 5
Copyright © 2019 by Matthew Rief
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
THE END
About the Author
Logan Dodge Adventures
Gold in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 1)
Hunted in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 2)
Revenge in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 3)
Betrayed in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 4)
Redemption in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 5)
If you’re interested in receiving my newsletter for updates on my upcoming books, you can sign up on my website:
matthewrief.com
PROLOGUE
San Fernando de Atabapo, Venezuela
1999
I stood on a muddy precipice and looked out over the Orinoco River and the flat, dense jungle surrounding it. It was dark, but the cloudless sky above allowed the waxing gibbous moon to cast a humble glimmer over the untouched landscape. After standing by for two days in the heat, humidity, and rain of the Amazonas state, our chain of command had finally given us the green light.
The brief had been long, and I was playing over upcoming events in my mind. At face value, it was relatively simple. Members of a Colombian rebel operation had been bribed by undercover government insurgents to give up the position of one of their facilities. Our intel verified that this was the same group of rebels who were planning an attack on the US embassy in Bogota. Our mission was set: recon and infiltrate.
“Logan,” I heard a voice say behind me. I turned and saw Kyle standing with his hands on his hips, his body half glowing from the dim light of the bungalow at his back. “We’re moving out.”
I nodded and stepped over alongside him. Petty Officer First Class Kyle Quinn was the leading petty officer of our four-man fire team. He stood just over six feet tall, with a lean muscular build and black skin.
“What is it?” I said.
He seemed off, like there was something important on his mind.
He shook his head. “Come on.”
We moved side by side into a dimly lit room where the two other members of our team stood beside a table covered with various weaponry and ammunition. Manny Estrada, a short Hispanic second class, was our team medic. Beside him was Lieutenant Nathan Brier, who was command controller, having replaced my good friend Scott Cooper just three months earlier.
We were all dressed in our light combat gear, which consisted of flat jungle khakis and Oakley assault boots. The first part of the mission was primarily recon, so we’d be traveling light. We loaded ourselves up with roughly forty-five pounds of gear each. We grabbed M4 rifles, MP5 submachine guns, Sig 9mms, pig stickers, combat knives, ammunition belts, and our medical and comm gear. I grabbed eight thirty-round magazines for my M4 and stowed them in my belt. We also grabbed some sustenance for the mission: MREs, beef jerky, and canteens filled with water.
Once everyone was set, Nate motioned for us to move out. We moved down a steep hill to the riverbank, where our mode of transport was waiting for us. Down at the end of a short old dock, we boarded a Special Operations Craft—Riverine, or SOC for short. It was a thirty-three-foot-long boat designed for insertion and extraction in shallow-water areas. It had two 440-hp diesel engines that each drove water pump-jets, which meant the thing could haul ass on the water and you didn’t have to worry about breaking a prop on the bottom.
The craft, along with two others, had been flown in on the same C-130 Hercules we’d been on just two days earlier. Once in Venezuela, the boats had been rigged to the bottom of MH-47 helicopters with slings and transported to their drop zones. The four of us were to take the craft up the Orinoco River, then head west up the Guainía River roughly twenty-five miles to perform reconnaissance on a Colombian government compound that had recently fallen to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC as they’re called. The rest of our sixteen-man platoon would be standing by on the Inirida River, a tributary just ten miles from our target, ready to provide backup in case we ran into trouble.
I moved into my position at the helm. Manny took control of the fifty-cal machine gun, Kyle manned one of the GAU-17 miniguns, and Nate stood beside me, looking through a night vision optic device, or NOD as we called them. I started up the diesel engines and rocketed us upriver. After less than a mile, I turned us to starboard, crossing over the border to Colombia into the mouth of the Guainía. The night was quiet, dark, and still.
Roughly twenty miles upriver, after cruising a series of wide turns, we spotted a small village of raggedy old houses clustered in a field just a few hundred feet from the shoreline. As we came closer, we saw piles of dead bodies sprawled out in the mud.
“Ease up, Logan,” Nate said quietly. “Take us to that patch of sand.” He motioned towards a small beach in front of the village. “Eyes up. Be ready for anything.”
I slowed us to just a few knots, then slid the bow up onto the sand enough that it would stay in place against the steady flow of the river. After killing the engines, I took a quick look at the area surrounding the village. We were in the middle of a dense jungle, making it difficult for us to spot nearby enemies. There was a small hill to the north, but other than that, the horizon was perfectly flat.
We stepped onto the shore and had a look around. It was an awful sight. There had to be around a hundred dead civilians, including women and children. Whoever had come through hadn’t left anyone alive. The thing that amazed me was that their bodies were still warm, meaning that they’d only been dead for a couple of hours at most.
Suddenly, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It had come from up on the nearby hill, and within a second I had my M4 raised and was looking through the night vision scope. For a moment I caught a glimpse of a guy looking straight towards us. He was there and then he was gone, vanishing into the dense jungle.
“What is it?” Kyle said. He moved beside me and aimed in the same direction as I was.
“Saw someone,” I said.
“FARC?” Kyle asked.
I shrugged. There was no way of knowing for sure, but he hadn’t looked Hispanic. He’d been far
away and discolored by my night optics, but his features had looked more European than anything else. And he’d been wearing a black leather jacket.
Who in the hell would wear a black leather jacket in this heat and humidity?
“I don’t think so,” was all I said.
We regrouped, then Nate gave the order to head back to the SOC and continue upriver.
“I don’t like it,” Kyle said. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’ve read detailed reports on every case of FARC activity in this region within the past six months. They don’t act like this. They don’t slaughter entire villages. Their whole motive is to liberate the people and redistribute wealth. Though civilians have been killed by their attacks, military assets are almost always their intended targets.”
“You’re humanizing barbarians,” Nate said. “Why would you ever give these assholes the benefit of the doubt?”
“I’m not,” Kyle fired back. “It’s just that this whole thing doesn’t make any sense. It’s out of character for them. This village didn’t matter strategically. These guys aren’t stupid; they wouldn’t do this just for the hell of it. Also, their infrastructure would have picked up on US movement in the area. If anything, they’d be lying low or drawing back. Especially considering that they’re having peace talks with Colombia’s president.”
Nate’s eyes grew wide. “Where did you hear that?”
“Talked to a friend of mine in the Colombian government,” Kyle said. “He said that Sureshot was meeting with President Pastrana in the next couple of days. They’re having a ceasefire and—”
“Does this look like a ceasefire to you?” Nate said. He motioned back to the boat. “We continue with the mission. We do our job.” He eyed Kyle and added, “And we let our chain of command and intelligence officers do theirs.”
We boarded the SOC, then I started up the engines and we cruised farther upriver. We came to a big horseshoe turn, and as we finished rounding it, we spotted our target about a half a mile away, nestled into the jungle in a place called Sesema. I hugged the riverbank, then brought us up onto a small stretch of beach surrounded by overgrown jungle. We disembarked, then moved slowly towards our target.
We stopped at a location that had a good visual of our destination and looked around. The compound didn’t appear to be very big. It was brick and mortar, two stories above ground, and was surrounded by tall chain-link fences with razor wire. One dirt road led out towards a dock farther upriver, and another road cut northwest through the jungle. Combined, we spotted four bored-looking guards, two up on top of the structure and two at the ground level, walking in circles along the outer fence in opposite directions. All four were carrying AK-47s.
Nate grabbed the radio and relayed the situation to command. We received a quick and decisive order to begin our assault on the outside of the compound.
“That wasn’t the plan,” Kyle said, looking at Nate like the guys on the other end were crazy.
“Captain,” Nate said into the radio, “can you repeat that order? You want us to begin the assault prior to waiting for the rest of the platoon?”
“They’re on their way now,” Captain Holt said. “Secure the perimeter and begin moving in, Lieutenant.”
Nate looked as stunned as the rest of us. It didn’t make any sense for us to move in without the others.
“Aye, sir,” he replied, then handed the radio back to Kyle.
Nate looked at each of us for a few seconds, then said, “Alright, you heard Holt. Let’s move.”
“You can’t be fucking serious,” Kyle said.
“We’re moving,” Nate said sternly.
Slowly, we began moving down into the jungle. Everyone except Kyle. He stayed frozen in place. Nate turned, stepped back towards him and stood right in front of him.
“What the hell’s going on with you?” Nate said.
Kyle paused a moment, collecting his thoughts.
“A few days ago, I overheard Holt talking on the phone,” Kyle said. “I wasn’t sure I’d heard what I thought I had, but now I know it’s true.” He let out a deep breath. “It’s an ambush. If we go into that compound, we’re gonna be surrounded and killed.”
Nate shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Look, I don’t have all the specifics,” Kyle said. “But I do know this: if we go down there, we’re gonna die.”
“You’re saying that Holt is—”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I stood still, my mind racing as I listened to the two guys speak. Kyle had been open with me about his reservations regarding this mission from the beginning. I’d known Holt for years. He was a respected Naval officer with fourteen years of service under his belt. I’d heard of military personnel being involved in corrupt dealings before but couldn’t imagine Holt playing a part in it. Especially one that would unnecessarily endanger American lives.
Nate didn’t budge an inch. If he was conflicted, he didn’t show it.
“We’re moving,” he said again, stepping just a few inches away from Kyle and staring him down.
Just as Nate turned around, I heard the click of a pistol and watched in utter shock as Kyle raised his Sig and aimed it straight at our command controller. Nate froze when he heard the sound, then slowly turned around.
“What the hell are you doing, Kyle?”
He motioned for us to move back to the boat. “I’m saving our lives,” he said flatly.
The four of us stood frozen for a moment. I’d never felt more conflicted in my entire life. I too had felt something was off about the mission, but I’d never expected Kyle to do what he was doing.
“You’ll rot in Leavenworth for this,” Nate said in a tone that was more worried than angry. “You know that, right?”
“Probably,” Kyle said. “But we’ll all be alive.”
Kyle kept his Sig aimed at Nate for another minute.
When Holt called in for a mission update, Kyle answered, telling the captain that we were heading back downriver and that he could shove his orders where the sun didn’t shine.
Holt grew furious, but before he could get a full sentence out, Kyle switched the radio off. Manny and I exchanged glances. Suddenly, we heard the sounds of engines far off in the distance. I lifted my NOD, looked out towards the sound, and saw a group of five large trucks thundering towards the other side of the compound. To the south, I also saw four boats cutting across the surface of the water, heading in our direction. They were far away, but it was clear that they sure as hell weren’t fishermen.
“Back to the boat,” Nate ordered, his eyes wide.
Kyle lowered his Sig and we booked it as fast as we could through the jungle, heading back towards the riverbank. By the time we reached our SOC, the three boats had closed to within a quarter mile of us. We jumped aboard. I had the engines running, and in seconds we were cruising downriver.
As we accelerated, the guys on the boats behind us opened fire, their automatics rattling across the night air and sending streams of bullets all around us. A few managed to strike the hull of the SOC, but most splashed into the water. They were far away but closing in fast. I brought us up to our top speed and maneuvered to avoid their attack as best as I could.
“Fire!” Nate said over the sound of the bullets.
Manny let loose with the fifty-cal, sending a loud storm of massive rounds exploding back at our assailants. I kept my eyes forward, focusing downriver as I brought us back around the long horseshoe. Only occasionally did I glance over my shoulder to see the status of the gunfight. Manny had taken down one of the boats with the fifty, but the other three were still right on our six.
As the turn sharpened, Kyle manned one of the side-mounted M240Bs and let loose. Bullets continued to fly in both directions. A few managed to hit the armored hull of the SOC, but the well-designed craft continued strong, seemingly unaffected. I turned the helm sharply to the left, then weaved around a thick patch of trees for cover. We were flying do
wn the dark river, not a light or sign of life around us for miles. The humid jungle air slapped violently against us.
For a moment, the gunfire ceased on both sides. Then I brought us out from the trees, and Nate, Manny, and Kyle let loose a torrential downpour straight into the bow and cockpit of the closest enemy boat. I glanced over my shoulder and watched as one of the rounds struck the pilot in the face, causing him to fall forward onto the helm and turn their boat out of control. Trying to perform such a sharp turn at such a fast speed caused the boat to flip and tumble violently, sending the guys on board hurtling through the air.
The two other boats turned sharply to avoid the wreckage, then opened fire on us again. I dropped to the deck, keeping my hands secured to the lower part of the helm as bullets pelted the SOC.
“Ah shit,” I heard Manny yell over the sounds of bullets exploding out of chambers and striking all around us.
I glanced back and saw that Manny was hunched over slightly, his right hand pressed to his chest.
“Manny!” I yelled.
Pushing through the pain, he grabbed the fifty-cal with both hands again and let loose a barrage of gunfire with reckless abandon. Kyle and Nate kept to cover and kept firing as well. Looking back, I spotted one of the tangos holding an RPG over his shoulder. I cursed under my breath.
“Hold on!” I yelled just as I turned the helm hard to the right.
The force was brutal. Turning the SOC so sharply at full speed was a risky move, and it almost knocked all of us out into the water. I heard a loud explosion followed by a split second of screeching as the rocket tore through the air and exploded in the part of the river we’d been cruising over moments earlier. The explosion jostled the SOC, nearly toppling it over as I fought to retain control and keep us moving forward.
I heard a loud cry and looked over my shoulder to see that Manny had been struck again.