Despite his agitation, or maybe because of it, he was starving, and he knew he had to fuel his body before going out on their planned five-day mission. He knew he needed more food after shifting, but could stress also require more calories?
He grabbed his chow and went to join the rest of the team, who were busily shoveling in the Salisbury steak main course or the ever-present burgers and dogs.
“What did your boyfriend want?” Cree asked before suggestively sliding his hot dog in and out of his mouth.
“He wanted to know why I hung out with dicks like you and offered me a job as a contract killer at $300k per year,” he responded before sitting down.
He’d been around long enough to dish it out stronger than it came in. Anything else was a sign of weakness and would only invite more shit.
Inside, though, he was worried sick. Just what did they know, and who knew it? It was bad enough that half of the Council wanted him dead, but if the US government, his own government, was after him, too, then he was up shit creek without a paddle. Major Ward seemed to be on his side, but that didn’t mean those over him had Aiden in his best interests.
He kept looking around, and as expected, Hozan somehow felt Aiden’s anxiety and came out of the galley, where he’d been working. He caught Aiden’s eye, and Aiden nodded, their signal that he needed to talk to his friend. He had to tell Hozan what had happened. This was all too much for Aiden, and he couldn’t handle it alone.
Chapter 20
It had been a quiet two weeks without any contact. The team had gone out continuously but had observed nothing out of the ordinary. The infantry company had been more aggressive in its patrolling, and they’d had no action, either. Despite this, Aiden was antsy as they sat high on a mountainside, eyes observing the pass below them. He didn’t know why his nerves were crawling. He couldn’t sense anything, nor had there been any reports of Taliban activity. But something had him on edge. The team had been in position since the night before, and Aiden had felt fine then. It was only sometime during the day that he’d started feeling anxious.
“Your friend up there see anything?” Aiden asked Manny.
The two Marines shared an outcropping of rock that gave them a good view of the pass below. Manny had out his MVR III, the small handheld video display from which he could see, in real time, what the orbiting A-10 Warthog had on its own systems. Whatever the pilot could see was relayed down to Manny’s MVR III as well.
“Nothing since the last time you asked, what five minutes ago?” Manny told him. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. I just feel something’s not right out there. Call it my gut,” Aiden told him.
“It’s not like anyone can sneak up on us, Aiden,” Manny said.
That was an understatement. The team was spread out over a small ledge that ran alongside the mountain. Below was a drop of almost 500 feet. Above them, the mountainside got steeper as it rose another 300 feet to the summit. No one was going to be assaulting them from below or above. They wouldn’t be assaulting anyone themselves, either. This was strictly observation. An Army platoon was below them and a klick to the east, searching a tiny hamlet for a weapons cache that Intel said was there. If the Taliban moved to strike at them, the team would see that and call in for air. With an A-10 on station and a flight of B-1’s on call, no one was getting through the pass without the team’s approval.
This was an easy mission, a low-stress mission.
So why am I so freaked out about it?
He concentrated on calming himself. He couldn’t function if he let the stress get to him. Despite Hollywood movies to the contrary, a hyped-up or angry soldier was a liability rather than an effective fighter.
“What the fuck is that?” Manny muttered.
“What?” Aiden asked as his nerves came alive.
“This,” Manny said, swinging around his laptop so Aiden could see. “We’ve got some movement, but something’s fucked up. Whatever’s down there is moving pretty fast.”
Aiden looked at the video screen to the image of where the orbiting A-10 had its FLIR[91] camera trained on some trees. Shapes moved on the screen, but it was hard to make them out. Manny was right, though. They were moving fast.
“Where is that?” Aiden asked, his foreboding getting stronger.
“Uh, about, let’s see, about 200 meters from M22, moving east to west.”
“M22” was one of the reference points Manny had on his map which made it easier to call for air support. In a village, the reference points were typically buildings easily identified from above. They were out in the mountains, though, so in this case, most of the reference points were unusual rock formations or mountain peaks.
Both Manny and Aiden automatically looked up and across the valley to the high ground on the other side. They were too far away to see anything, but as Aiden looked back to the screen, something seemed to click in his mind. He looked farther to the northwest, to where the varg village was just below the peak barely visible to their position.
“What are they? Deer? Do they have that many deer here?” Manny asked.
Suddenly, he knew why he’d been uneasy. The shapes were not deer. They were vargs, and they were moving to the village. This was not a social call. The Council had decided to take action on what they considered a feral tribe. Aiden was positive about this.
“Manny, can you call air in on them?” Aiden asked.
“What the fuck? Call air on a herd of deer?”
“Those aren’t deer. Those are Taliban, and they are going to double back and hit the platoon. We need to stop them now while they’re on the plateau over there and before they get into the canyon walls.
“Shit, Aiden, are you crazy? How the hell do you know those are Taliban?”
“Look at them,” Aiden said, grasping at anything that would make sense. “I saw an RPG right there on your screen. You didn’t see it? And do those look like deer?”
The FLIR used infrared as a source and could show shapes, but seeing a specific weapon was problematic. The shapes, though, did look more like humans than quadrupedal deer.
“Nah, I don’t see any weapons,” Manny said. “And how do you know they’re going to come back? I mean, look at their direction. They’re going away from Charlie One down there.”
“I . . . well . . . look, I can’t tell you everything, but I am privy to some classified shit, and, uh, Intel knows the Taliban are massing,” he said, scrambling for a reason. “I kid you not, this is a no-shit HVT.[92]
“I don’t know. Let me ask Norm,” Manny said, not convinced.
Aiden beat him to it, raising Norm on the squad radio. “Norm, this is Aiden. We’ve got a large group of Taliban spotted on the FLIR. They’re moving to attack Charlie One. We need to request an air strike, over.”
There was a pause, then “Give me the details.”
Aiden took the positions from the laptop, then confirmed a positive ID of armed Taliban. Manny started to key in when Aiden smacked his shoulder and held up his hand to stop many from transmitting that there was no positive ID.
“From what you’re telling me, they’re moving away from Charlie One. What makes you think they are going to come back to attack, over?”
“You need to trust me on this, Norm. Please, over.”
There was a long pause, then, “Call it in. Well let the CP decide, over.”
Manny was shaking his head at Aiden. “Positive confirmation? What the fuck, Aiden?”
“Just send in your nine-line,[93] OK? I’ll explain later. ‘Warheads on their foreheads,’ that’s what you keep saying, right?”
Manny looked at Aiden for a moment as if contemplating something else, but he sighed, and then passed his nine-line. Then it was a waiting game. Air missions were not just made and executed by the ground JTAC and the pilot. The mission had to go back to the CP, where it would be vetted with the area commander or his rep. The ROEs in the theater were pretty stringent, and each mission had to get a command OK.
/> “What the hell?” Manny asked as they waited. “That was a fucking dog there. Since when did the Taliban start using dogs?”
That was a valid question. In the Muslim world, dogs were considered unclean animals, and the Taliban did not use them in the same way as western forces used combat dogs.
Aiden knew that the “dog” had to be a lycan, but he couldn’t very well tell Manny that.
“They just probably scared up a fox or something. They’re running pretty fast, after all, not trying to go stealth-mode.”
Manny grunted, obviously not mollified. The A-10 continued to orbit, training its FLIR on the ground from 20,000 feet. Aiden hoped it wouldn’t come lower where the resolution on its FLIR would be more precise. He didn’t need anyone seeing exactly what was running through the forest out there.
Manny’s radio finally came to life. He listened for a moment before giving a roger.
“No go on the air. The command says there is no proof they are Taliban and that they’re going to attack Charlie One.”
“Fuck no! We’ve got to hit them!” Aiden exclaimed.
“Sorry, no go. Look, I love you like a brother, but this is some iffy shit. I sent in the nine-line, but that’s all we can do. I’m going to tell Norm.”
“No! Send it again!”
“Shit, Aiden! Why’s this so important to you? They’re just going to refuse it again. Hell, those could be friendlies, and you know what happened up in Bala Murghab when the air was called in on those SOF.”
Aiden stared at the mass of images continuing west to the village. He had to do something, and he had his ace in the hole.
“Look, tell them to get Major Ward on the hook.”
“That one-legged major? What the hell’s going on here?”
“Just do it. Trust me. I’ll fill you in later on what I can,” Aiden said, leaving the last purposefully misleading.
If he could use the veil of ‘classified information,’ he would.
Manny didn’t want to place the call, and Aiden watched the emotions play across his face, but finally, he relented. Then it was another waiting game while the varg pack kept closing the distance to the village. They were less than four klicks now, the best Aiden could figure.
It was 12 minutes before the major made it to the CP and came on the line. Manny handed his headset to Aiden.
“Major, this is Corporal Kaas. Please listen. There is a Taliban force moving to attack Charlie One, and we need to act immediately to stop them. The CP has refused to authorize the strike, but that is a mistake, over.”
“Uh, Corporal Kaas, I’m not sure what you want me to do. That’s a command decision, over,” the major passed.
“If the decision was made by the Charlie Six,[94] you can override that if you were up front with me, over.”
“And why would I want to, corporal?” the major asked, his voice quieter as if he had stepped to the side so as not to be overheard.
“Major, you told me that some people thought there was something, uh, different about me. Well, there might be, and I’ll brief you on what I can when I get back. Please trust me that the Taliban have to be hit, and I don’t have time to go through proper channels. I need your help, and I need it now. You told me I can count on you for anything. Trust me, please, over.”
Fuck! Where am I getting this bullshit? he wondered. I’ll worry about that later.
There was silence as Aiden impatiently waited for a response. Finally, the radio keyed in.
“I’ll see what I can do, but you and I are going to have another talk when you get back. Ward, out.”
“You are either seriously connected, or you are in deep, deep shit, my friend,” Manny said as Aiden handed him back his headset.
“Just don’t say anything to the others, OK?” Aiden asked before lapsing into silence.
The two sat and waited for a decision. Manny was in comms with the pilot, who was getting low on fuel and would have to leave the station soon. The vargs were getting closer to the village, and soon it would be too late. Aiden had to restrain himself from shifting right then and there and rushing off.
Fifteen minutes later, Manny received the response. He looked at Aiden in surprise.
“The mission is approved,” he said to Aiden’s relief.
The pilot had received the same word, so Manny passed it up to Norm as the two Marines watched ten klicks away and across the valley.
“No way they’re trying to attack Charlie One,” Manny said.
Aiden ignored him.
A streak of fire, barely visible against the backdrop of the far mountain, plunged to the ground. The A-10’s GAU-8/A Avenger 30mm automatic cannon rained 50 rounds within the first second before reaching its max of 70 rounds every second. Aiden tried to imagine the big armor-piercing depleted uranium rounds pulverizing the varg pack. Some seconds later, the roar of the gun reached the Marines. The Warthog made four runs before backing off
“What about the Mavericks?” Aiden asked, referring to the air-to-ground missiles the plane carried.
“Low on fuel,” Manny told him. “But in for a penny. We’ve got a B-1 waiting to hit them. You had better be right about all of this is all I can say.”
The B-1 would be orbiting at 30,000 feet or so. When the A-10 cleared the area, it started its run. The Marines were too far away to hear the plunge of the 2,000 lb JDAM. There was no doubt when it impacted, though. A huge gout of smoke reached into the sky, and a few moments later, the sound wave reached across the valley.
“Warheads on their foreheads is right. Well, do we ask for another strike? This is your ball game, not mine,” Manny asked.
Without eyes on target, there was no way to know if the varg pack had been hit, or hit hard enough to stop their planned assault.
“Yeah,” Aiden said with sudden conviction.
As Manny had said, “in for a penny.”
“Another strike, a little farther west.”
“Away from Charlie One, sure. A grunt corporal overturning an Army commander. What could be more normal?” Manny asked, but he sent in the nine-line.
It took awhile for the big B-1 up there somewhere to turn around for another bomb run. But it dropped two bombs this time, and it seemed as if half of the high ground on the target area simply disintegrated.
Whatever had sent his nerves twisting and turning before disintegrated as well. Just as assuredly has he had known that it was a varg pack going to wipe out the village, he now knew the threat was gone. As tough as a varg is, it just can’t stand up to the best the US Air Force could throw at it.
Aiden felt at peace. Personally, he could be in deep kimchi, even facing brig time. He had just essentially commandeered two aircraft for something other than a Coalition mission. But he was OK with that. He’d scramble to explain himself to the major and hope the senior officer could cover him, but if not, so be it.
Given the same situation, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Chapter 21
Nikolai Borisov was livid, and it took all of the self-control he developed in his 72 years of life to keep from shifting and running berserk among those unlucky enough to be near him. It was bad enough that he’d lost so many of his fighters, but the entire Council would soon know, and that could ruin him. This would cost him prestige, but it could also cost him his life. And if no one on the Council challenged him, then one of the young cubs in his own tribe might feel confident enough to challenge him for his position as the alpha.
Not that he thought anyone in his tribe could take him. He’d been careful to arrange for “accidents” or other means to remove those he thought could pose a threat later as they gained in maturity. The danger in that was that he was now surrounded by incompetents, the very ones he deemed incapable of ever posing a threat.
He simmered with suppressed fury as he waited for his lieutenant, for Rustam, that incompetent worm, to make his way to him. How that piece of slime managed to survive the debacle was something Nikolai dearly wanted to find out
.
Finally, the ancient cedar doors swung open and Rustam, along with two others, made their way down the long empty room to where Nikolai sat on his chair like some ancient king. He even had the requisite attendants on either side of him.
Nikolai wrinkled his nose as the smell of fear hit him. Even in human form, the worm reeked of it. Nikolai was amazed that Rustam could even stay on his feet, the panic was so evident.
This is one of my trusted lieutenants? he wondered. Maybe I’m paying the price for getting rid of all my good ones.
“So tell me,” he began without bothering with any niceties, “how did you manage to lose 80 vargs and human fighters to a pack of mongrel ferals?”
“But I told you, Nikolai, it wasn’t the tribe. We were attacked from the skies. It rained fire on us. Only ten of us made it out alive, and two of them were humans.”
Nikolai didn’t have to ask what happened to the two humans.
“And somehow, you managed to be one of the survivors?”
“I was in the front, Nikolai, and the planes hit us from behind. All of us who survived were leading the pack,” he protested, barely getting it out.
Nikolai let that go, instead switching to, “A plane attacked you. Why, and how was a plane so effective against you?”
“I don’t know. The first time, it was gunfire. Some of us fell, but not all. We thought it was over, and we started to continue, but then the whole world exploded. I was thrown into the air and suffered broken bones. Almost all of us who survived were hurt, and the rest, those in back of us, some we couldn’t find anything left of them,” Rustam said, stammering through most of it.
“You had ten left, and you didn’t press on?” Nikolai asked, disdain dripping from his words.
He wouldn’t have expected the small force to continue with the attack, but he needed to cement his expectations to the rest of his tribe. He would accept nothing less than total success.
“No, Nikolai, we were hurt and needed to heal. And we didn’t know if the enemy would return. We . . . I . . . we needed to let you know what happened,” he said hurriedly.
The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy Page 32