Russian Roulette - A Mike Ducane Adventure: Shadow Force Series

by Sean Wilson

  The trucks were getting closer, raising clouds of fine dust in their wake. So much for the great alternative escape plan. Mike breathed deeply as his finger held the firing trigger steadily and the sights confirmed lock on. ‘On my command!’ he shouted. The sights were targeted on the exact centre of the truck’s radiator grill, the explosive head intended to power through the engine block before exploding in the cabin and turning the vehicle and its passengers into a smoking ball of white hot fragments and vaporised body parts. Closer. Ideal range approaching. Mike’s finger increased pressure on the trigger. ‘Stand by! On my command!’

  Everything seemed to slow down. The seconds extended and Mike’s breath became completely still as his senses absorbed a thousand fragmentary details from the weapon’s electronic sights.

  ‘Stand down! Stand down! Mike leapt up, engaging the missile’s safety lock. ‘Friendlies! Stand down!’

  In a moment of surreal detachment, he’d glimpsed a flag fluttering at the back of the truck, a billowing pennant partially obscured by the clouds of dust and grit that obscured almost everything behind the vehicle’s radiator grill.

  ‘You sure, boss?’ Shane shouted from behind the sights of his missile launcher. ‘They’re fuckin’ close if you want to change your mind!’

  Mike breathed heavily and lowered the missile launcher carefully to the ground. Standing in clear sight, he waved his hands slowly up and down, as if he was signalling to a helicopter. The trucks pulled up around fifty meters in front of Mike’s position and the team watched as uniformed men scrambled into the back of the vehicles and unwrapped heavy calibre machine guns from their tarpaulin dust protectors. ‘Stand down, everyone! Lower your weapons. The cavalry’s just arrived.’

  With his hands held out to his sides, Mike walked forwards slowly, noting that the machine guns were not aimed at his men. They were pointing upwards, looking for aerial targets.

  A burly uniformed figure stepped forward with an AK74 assault rifle in one hand and Mike smiled. He knew who these guys were. He hadn’t expected to meet them this far west of their positions but he wasn’t complaining. He spoke enough Kurdish to be able to offer polite and deferential greetings to the Peshmerga leader, who smiled back and waved with his free hand. He spoke excellent English. ‘We have to move quickly. Everyone in the trucks. Now!’

  Mike signalled to the team and they moved forwards in some confusion towards their supposed rescuers.

  ‘Get in the trucks, guys. Let’s move it. These are the guys we were looking for. They’re Kurdish regulars. Your sorry asses have been saved!’

  The Peshmerga soldiers quickly covered up the machine guns and the trucks roared off towards the rocky outcrop where they’d been concealed. The sun was rising and they’d be way too easy to spot if a Russian drone happened to make a fly past. Mike wasn’t too surprised to discover a larger force waiting to escort them to the Peshmerga camp. Two vehicles were equipped with short range surface to air missiles. The Kurds knew they couldn’t conceal such a large force during the day so they opted to make a rapid run across the desert and rely on speed rather than camouflage. Mike was smiling. Exhausted, thirsty, hungry, bouncing around in the back of a lightly armoured truck with three of his men and a small group of serious-looking Kurdish soldiers. They might just make it. The Kurds had handed over bottles of water and offered some kind of dried fruit that Mike found surprisingly tasty. But then he was famished so he’d didn’t need world class cuisine to show his appreciation of the welcome calories. A medic checked the wounded man’s leg and got a saline drip into him as he stretched out on a wide seat inside one of the trucks.

  The frantic race took just under an hour and everyone was too tired to recognise how lucky they’d been to avoid being spotted by a drone. The plumes of dust and grit left an obvious marker that clearly betrayed their position as they cannoned across the desert floor. But they just kept going. Every bump and vibration brought them closer to the main Kurdish forces, to greater protection, to an army that had devastated ISIS and stopped them in their tracks. Even the Russians had been wary of facing the highly-experienced Peshmerga. It was one thing to bomb and strafe civilians, to remove potential competitors in the drugs trade, to bolster the Syrian government’s position and secure the Russian naval base at Tartus. It was something else entirely to face a ferociously tenacious and well-trained army that had been fighting for independence for decades.

  When the team had painfully dragged their weary and bruised bones off the dust-covered trucks, Mike had shaken hands with the Kurdish officer who’d found them. The DIA team looked pretty ragged in their torn militiamen uniforms and worn boots but they were alive and, as Mike smiled at the officer, that counted for a lot!

  After a hot shower and what could only be described as a typical Kurdish feast, Mike was drinking coffee with the senior Kurdish commanders, and gracefully accepting their congratulations on successfully blowing up the Russian base. They knew all about the heroin. It was the worst kept secret in the entire Middle Eastern theatre of operations. They knew exactly why the mission had been selected. They appreciated the value of striking an economic blow at Russian plans to dominate the region. They also recognised that the DIA men had volunteered for the mission despite the low probability of escape.

  ‘It was wise of you to appraise us of your mission, Michael.’ The Kurdish general sipped his coffee slowly and watched Mike carefully over the top of his cup. ‘And now for the bill.’

  Mike nodded. ‘The missiles are yours, General. I didn’t know how many we’d need but they’re a small price to pay for your help.’

  The General smiled and nodded politely.

  ‘But I thought you might appreciate a further gesture of my thanks for your help.’

  Mike reached into the cargo pockets of his new Peshmerga fatigues and drew out two tightly-wrapped packets, each brick weighing exactly one kilo. ‘These are for you, General.’

  Ducane placed the packages on the low table next to the brass coffee pot and leaned back.

  The General nodded. ‘Michael, I accept your gift with thanks and I can assure you that we will find a very good use for the money.’

  The Kurdish army alerted DIA Central within hours of bringing Mike and his exhausted team to their base. The Kurds wanted to be sure that Mike still had the portable missiles that had been agreed as payment for the rescue. Mike had calculated that it would be a fair trade. The US government could afford it. The two kilos of pure heroin had been taken along as additional insurance in case the team had been obliged to fire the missiles. But that would’ve meant that their chances of survival had been cut to something just above zero. Still, offering the heroin had made Mike a firm friend of the Peshmerga. They appreciated these gestures of generosity.

  Three days later and the DIA team was being transported to a secure pick up point in Kurdish territory, carrying their assault weapons and bags of fruit, honoured guests of a proud fighting people who recognised courage when they saw it. The military transport chopper arrived with a heavily armed escort of attack helicopters and the DIA brass was both surprised and concerned at the team’s unorthodox and unauthorised escape plan.

  Mike wasn’t too concerned. He was sure it wouldn’t damage his career prospects too much. As far as the official record was concerned, the team had accomplished its mission without losing a single man. That was something to celebrate. They’d used up their stock of missiles in the close-quarter fire fights with the Russians and survived to live and fight another day. No one knew about the two kilos of heroin and Mike wasn’t about to advertise the fact that he’d planned to secure his rescue with a couple of kilos of the purest smack to be found anywhere in the northern hemisphere. The guys would collect their bonuses and Mike was planning to enjoy some well-earned down time. Yeah, he’d have to be debriefed Stateside but he was totally ready for that. He still had unfinished business with the Spetsnaz troops who’d killed his team. He still harboured visions of rows of wooden stakes topped with
the heads of his enemies. He still had unfinished business with Fatima Trigo, the Russian agent who’d come so close to getting him killed. Not that he bore grudges. No. He just needed to settle accounts and that meant some seriously medieval payback. When the Company shrink interviewed him back in Washington, Mike’s smile and the cold look in his eyes had made the psychiatrist reach for his secret stash of tranquilisers. Some days, you had to be grateful that Mike Ducane was on your side.

  About The Author

  Former special forces operative and private military contractor, Sean Wilson is the creator of The Shadow Force novels. He has fought in some of the bloodiest wars in the Middle East, Africa, Latin America and, of course, Afghanistan. Now his experience as a combat veteran adds depth, excitement and gritty realism to the adventures and characters he describes in his gripping stories. Every shot, move and action has been honed in the crucible of combat. Join The Shadow Force and breathe in the excitement of deniable black ops in the heart of the world's most dangerous trouble spots.

  Sean is happily married and has three children. He and his wife live in the lovely city of Portland, Oregon, and he is always happy to receive E-Mail from his readers.

  By the Same Author

  CLICK TO DOWNLOAD

  SPECIAL FREE GIFT

  Get your free copy of

  OPERATION DOOMSDAY

  Book 3 in the Shadow Force Series

  I am so delighted that you have chosen this book and it's been a pleasure writing it for you. Thank you for staying with me and for reading it through to the end. I really hope that you have enjoyed the contents and that's why I appreciate your feedback so much. If you could take a couple of minutes to review the book, your views will help me to create more material that you will enjoy.

  I am always delighted to hear from my readers and you can email me personally at seanwilsonauthor@gmail.com if you have any questions about this book or future books.

  Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I really look forward to reading your review.

  Click to the Product page to complete your review