Jake yelled, “Contact right.”
The sniper fire came from somewhere along the path on our right flank. Jake took a knee and returned fire at the flash location. The rest of the squad leapfrogged forward to the cave opening.
We stacked up at the entrance and Ollie tossed a flash-bang in the opening. Four SEALs and a dog charged in, ready for a fight. Nothing. Not a soul in the place. Another tip off?
A highly agitated Spirit headed to the back of the cave while Jake, Trad and Ollie set up security watch at the entrance.
“Spirit's onto something, guys. I'm following her.”
“Roger that, Hawk. We got a clear view of the trail. All quiet.”
A clatter of automatic weapon fire echoed down from the ridge. Not just a sniper.
“Not quiet anymore.”
I returned to join Jake, Trad and Ollie.
“Ollie, lock and load the Gustav. We're not aborting this time.”
Ollie unsheathed the recoilless rifle and shouldered it. They had a dozen HE rounds capable of vaporizing an armored Humvee. Two SAWs with a couple thousand rounds apiece added to our firepower.
Ollie drew a bead on a phalanx of Taliban fighters jogging en mass toward our position. He fired the first HE round. Result...several dozen dismembered bodies scattered along the trail. The gunfire ceased. Momentarily.
Ollie whispered, “Another column is forming behind the first. Fanatics don't learn very quickly.”
He cut loose another HE round. Same devastating result.
“I don't believe this. They’re reforming another column. Are they nuts?”
“Reload and hit them again. Trad, take a flank position with your SAW. We'll hit them from two sides. Pincer maneuver.”
There must have been a few hundred dismembered bodies lying along the path leading to the cave. Not a single survivor.
Jake summed it up. “We still have nine HE rounds for the Gustav and a thousand 5.56mm rounds for each SAW. Not FUBAR anymore.”
I headed for the back of the cave. “I'm going to see what Spirit is onto.”
9: DAD
CHARLEY TOOK A DEEP BREATH and held it. His strength sapped, each submersion felt like his last. Was it time to give up? No, SEALs never give up. Unless they are dead. He drifted in the shithole while his mind wandered back to the day his dad returned from a mission missing an ear and three fingers.
~~~
THE FRONT DOOR SLAMMED. Eight-year-old Chuckie Manner hopped up from his train set and raced to the front living room.
“Daddy, Daddy. You're finally home.” He hopped into his father's arms for a bear hug. The hug lasted just long enough for him to see the bandages on his father's ear and hand.
“Daddy, you're hurt.”
Catherine Manner rushed into the room, wiping her hands with a towel. “John, I wasn't expecting you till next week. What happened to your ear?” She lifted his hand. “And your hand?”
Major John Manner took her into his arms and planted a passionate kiss on her lips. “You know I can't talk about it, Honey. DIA security.”
She looked at the bandages on his head and said, “Does this mean you’ll stick around longer than a week, John? Chuckie’s Little League team has made the playoffs. All the fathers will be there. He misses you.”
“I’m afraid not. I just heard from the brass in Virginia. The thugs that did this to me have been located. Payback time. Got to leave Tuesday night.”
Chuckie ran from the hallway, back to his trains. His Mom ran after him. “Chuck, come back here. Your Dad wants to speak to you.”
Chuckie sat on the floor, staring at his trains. The Major marched in and stood towering over his son.
“Son, I know it's tough when I'm gone, but some day you'll understand what duty to your country is all about.”
“John, he's just a little boy.”
“There's no time to be delicate, Cath. He's got to learn this now.”
“Learn what, John? What's more important than your children?”
“Not more important. But still important enough to go back. You see my wounds? They're nothing compared to my teammates' lives. I can't elaborate but you should know that five men died. And one more is still out there. I've got to go back. It's about honor and commitment to a fellow soldier.”
He sat on the floor next to Chuckie and wrapped his arm around him. “You know I love you, son. Man up for your mom. I'll be back. I promise.”
“I hate you!” He yelled. “You don't love me. You're never around.”
“My job involves travel to dangerous places, Chuck. When you’re older you will understand. You don’t really hate your Dad, do you?”
“I guess not, Dad. I just wish you could be with me like my friends’ dads.”
“You’re a strong boy. You must know I think of you every minute I'm away. I know you can do it without me. You have to try, son. For me and for your mom. Can you do that? Just try?”
The eight-year-old thought about it and dried his tears. “Okay, Dad. I’ll try. So when will you come back home?”
“Soon, son. Soon.”
~~~
CHARLEY PUSHED with his elbow to rise to the surface, gasping for air. He remembered that day. The day his father had said goodbye but promised to return. He never did.
Fuck this shit. Duty and honor to country? Okay, I get it. But Dad, look what it got me.
Charley heard a familiar chuckle he hadn't heard since he was a boy. A bright light spilled over the edge of the hole. John Manner leaned over and said, “Chuck, we all have to make sacrifices. Where you are now is a good example. Man up and take it.”
“Dad, is that you? You said you’d come home. You never did.”
“I’m with you forever now. You're a SEAL and I'm proud of you and I love you. You can do this.”
A lump formed in Charley’s throat. “Is this the end?”
“No, son. You can do this. Don’t give up.”
Charley took another deep breath and submerged in the muck. I'm a SEAL. I will not give up. Dad, I'll make you proud. Hawk. Come get me, man.
10: RESCUE
CHARLEY CAME UP for air. I'm still alive. He squinted in the darkness. What's that? Light spilled over the edge of the hole. He froze.
He heard staccato breathing followed by a snort and low-pitched whine. Am I dreaming?
“Spirit. Is that you, girl?”
A booming voice answered, “CJ, you're alive. Man, this hole stinks.”
Charley managed a smile. “Try swimming in it, Hawk. Drop a line. I'm hogtied, so make it a loop.”
Charley wriggled into the lasso enough for it to catch under his arms. Hawk pulled a slime-slicked SEAL over the edge and held his breath against the fetid miasma.
“Man, you stink like a cesspool. Where are your clothes?”
He cut the zip-ties off and scanned along the cave wall where Spirit sniffed.
“Good girl. Hey, CJ, Spirit found your skivvies and camos. No armor or weapons, just your boots.” He looked around the edge of the tunnel leading deeper into the mountain. “And here's a bucket of water.” He smelled it and coughed. “I think its water. Smells almost as bad as you.”
“Dump it on my head, Hawk. Gotta get this shit off me. I'm gonna need antibiotics for sure. Come here, Spirit, but no licking. I'm dirtier than a toilet bowl.”
She walked over with a slight limp and Charley wrapped a hand in her scruff and shook. “That's my girl.” Spirit pressed her head into his hand and chuffed.
Charley put his clothes on and they joined Jake, Trad and Ollie at the cave entrance.
Jake motioned for everyone to freeze and whispered, “There's movement about a hundred meters down the path.”
Spirit held her nose high and stiffened her tail. Hawk looked through the night vision binos for a closer view and spoke softly. “Well, look here. A Mullah and four bodyguards.”
Jake said, “They must have heard all the gunfire. And there's plenty of Taliban body parts on the trail. Maybe t
hey don’t know we're still here.”
Charley perked up. “Bastard's come back to check on my health spa treatment.”
“Let's not disappoint him. Quick, move to the back of the cave. We want him alive. Anderson should have no beef if we bring back a prize. Hawk and CJ, take Spirit and move closer to either side of the opening behind that rock. Forget the bodyguards. They're dead men.”
Jake asked, “Are you up for this, CJ?”
“Time for payback. BUD/S and SQT were a lot worse, Jake.”
Spirit sprang as soon as Kareef entered the cave, sank her teeth into his man-jammied leg and shook till he screamed. The four bodyguards were sent to meet seventy-two virgins—a bit bloody from the SOG knife jammed into their necks but the virgins shouldn’t mind.
Charley called off Spirit and grabbed his SOG and pistol from the Mullah's belt while Hawk planted a knee in his back.
Kareef hissed, “I should have sliced your throat, Frogman.”
“You snooze, you lose, Mullah. I hope you haven't donated blood recently.”
“Easy, CJ. We need this turd alive. We're UA and the APC is a jerk, you may recall.”
“You mean this isn't an authorized rescue?”
“Afraid not, bro.”
“Muthafucka Anderson.”
“He'll have to back off if we bring this piece of shit back for enhanced interrogation.”
Charley's eyes drilled into the prisoner. “Don't worry, Hawk, I'll be gentle.”
CJ waved his SOG knife with a flourish and sliced several deep cuts in the Mullah's aft section. He won’t be sitting on it for a long time, if he survives.
11: RECOVERY
CHARLEY LAY MOTIONLESS in the Kandahar hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. His wounds had festered. He'd learned it’s possible to die a slow and miserable death from sepsis after a wound is infected with human shit. The knife cuts Mullah Kareef had delivered to Charley's body assured he got a major dose of E. coli and a host of other bacteria into his bloodstream.
The infection was spreading to the rest of his body. It might take days to die, while he suffered the whole time from fever, pain, thirst, and coma. The good news was the Mullah also had a severe blood infection. The medical staff at the secret enhanced-interrogation site hadn't been up to the task like the military hospital in Kandahar. Even so, Charley’s body was losing the fight. He slipped into a coma.
~~~
CHARLEY FELT the slime swallow him up as he sank deeper into the hole. A hand slid across his face. A cold hand, detached from the rest of the body parts mixed with the stew of shit and piss that filled the pit.
What the fuck. I’ve been in deep shit before, but not like this. I must be dreaming.
His lungs on fire, he descended into the darkness. Am I dead? He couldn’t hold his breath any longer and gulped in a mouth full of…air! He tasted the rubber of a rebreather mouthpiece and sucked in more cool, clean air. The muck cleared. He was in a cave underwater.
It’s a joke, right? Got to find a way out. Fucking Mullah has my knife. Escape and evade. Where’s the evac point?
He could hear voices in the distance. “CJ, Spirit’s been hit. Where are you?” He tried to answer but the rebreather mouthpiece was jammed in tight, the neck-strap nearly strangling him.
His ears started ringing, his vision narrowed. Air mix gone bad. No more oxygen. Got to surface.
He looked up and saw the gleam of a knife blade flashing toward him followed by a bearded Afghan in a man-dress. Fucking Mullah won’t give up. Gotta escape and evade.
~~~
FIVE DAYS had passed when Charley suddenly sat up, swinging his arms in a defensive maneuver designed to ward off a knife attack. Monitors buzzed and a nurse rushed into the room, followed by Hawk and Jake who had been standing watch for their teammate.
Charley gasped for air and yelled, “Spirit, down.”
“CJ, it’s me and Jake. We’re here for you, bro. You’re safe now.”
Charley stopped struggling when he heard Hawk’s booming voice. “Hawk, I thought I was dead. Thought the bastard cut me in pieces and fed me to the dogs. We gotta get him, Hawk.”
“We did, CJ. What are you talking about?”
Charley wore a panicked look and said, “I’m fucked up, Hawk. I can’t go back to that hellhole.”
“CJ, you dumbass. You don’t have to, man. Our last tour and your last op. You’re clear, man. That’s the word. So chill.”
Charley leaned back on his pillow. Took a deep breath. “No games, Hawk. I’ve had dreams. Bad dreams. Can’t do it anymore. You’re sure?”
“Yeah, man. I’m sure. Now you rest and focus on getting well. I got your back.”
Charley jolted upright again. “Spirit, where is she? Is she okay?”
“Spirit’s fine. Healed up fast.”
Charley lay back and closed his eyes.
12: DISCHARGED
MY HONORABLE DISCHARGE required a visit with a shrink at Bethesda Naval Hospital. I sat across from Dr. Joan Fleming. She looked up from the folder on her desk, removed her glasses and smiled. “The report from Dr. Braun at Kandahar concerns me, Mr. Manner.”
“Call me Charley.”
“Okay, Charley. You've survived six tours in the Middle East. The last ended badly with capture by the Taliban.”
I shifted in the chair, unfolded and folded my arms but remained silent.
“You understand this examination is to determine if you have PTSD before you are formally discharged from service. It will enable you to receive extra disability benefits.”
“I didn't ask for this, doc. I'm fine. I'm done with the Navy. I've served my country and look forward to civilian life.”
“You make it sound simple, Charley.”
“What can I say? I'm a simple guy. Can we get on with this? I've got stuff to do.”
“Of course. There is a checklist I need to go through with you. Are you ready to begin?”
“Shoot.”
She opened a notebook and picked up her pen. “Do you have repeated, disturbing memories, thoughts or images of a stressful military experience?”
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Look, doc. It’s been only two months since I was hauled out of that hellhole in Khyber. Of course it's still a vivid memory.”
The psychiatrist remained calm. “How often?”
“Okay, every night.”
“So they are dreams?”
“Affirmative.”
“Do you have physical reactions like heart pounding, trouble breathing, sweating when you have these memories?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a Navy SEAL. Have been for ten years. I eat danger for breakfast and don’t break a sweat.”
“Charley, please answer the question.”
“Are we almost done?”
“There are fifteen more questions.”
I shook my head and stood. “Then we’re done.”
~~~
HAWK'S NUMBER showed on my missed call list. Five times in the past two days. I finally got around to charging my phone once the booze wore off. I hit autodial back to Hawk. It was 1600 in Bethesda so it must be 0130 in Afghanistan.
“Hey, CJ.”
“You’re up?”
“Affirmative. Got to go in ten. Sorry, can’t go into it on the phone. Where the hell have you been?”
“This retirement thing sucks, Hawk. And the shrink here is laying a diagnosis on me that makes me want to puke.”
“What do you mean? You are talking to him, I hope.”
“It’s a female and no, she thinks I have PTSD. Me…a SEAL. No way.”
“Bro, I need you to get your shit together. What you went through would make any SEAL, hell, anyone on the planet have nightmares. You need to talk to her. Get it out, man. Make sure you’re good to go. It will eat you up.”
“I’m fine, Hawk.”
“One more time, bro. YOU ARE NOT. I know you better than anyone. Go talk to her. Now. Gotta
go.”
“Hawk, wait…how is Spirit doing?” The line clicked. Charley put the phone in his pocket and turned into the next bar.
~~~
I TOOK A SEAT at the bar next to a couple beefy guys. One turned to me and snickered.
“What’s so funny?”
He looked at his friend and they both stood up.
Before I knew what happened they were both on the floor and I was standing over them, reaching for my SOG knife. But I wasn’t wearing it. And I wasn’t in battle gear. WTF?
The two hapless men scrambled to their feet and ran out. The bartender finished polishing a glass and walked to the end of the bar. “What’ll ya have?”
I looked in the mirror behind him. Didn't recognize myself. I don't need a shrink. Just a drink. And maybe a haircut, but not a headshrinker.
“Hey, buddy, you want a drink or not?”
I looked him in the eye and asked, “Do I look crazy, man?”
“Strung out on something, but no, not crazy. You're a SEAL, right?”
“How did you know?” I guess he could see the pain in my eyes. More likely the trident tat on my forearm.
“My brother's a SEAL. Has the same tat.”
“Well, I'm done with it. Last tour in Afghanistan pushed my luck over the edge. Got captured. Tortured. Can't stop thinking about it.”
“PTSD.”
“What are you, a shrink? I don't have PTSD. SEALs don't let shit bother them. It's what we train for.”
“Man, don't take this wrong. No doubt you have done great things to defend our country and I thank you for your service, but sometimes, even the strongest and toughest need a hand.”
“And what makes you the authority on toughness?”
“Like I said, my older brother was a SEAL.”
“So?”
“He came back from his last tour in Vietnam with PTSD.”
Charley Manner series Box Set Page 3