Change of Heart by Jack Allen

by Unknown

  “What are those for?” Josh said.

  Cohen looked at the Warthogs. “There is a surface-to-air missile site on your course. They will fly ahead of your choppers and take it out.”

  “They’re on loan from the 32nd Air Squadron in Saudi Ara-bia,” Walt said. “We have to get them back in the morning.”

  “It’s all right for us to launch an air strike on Iraq?” Josh said.

  Walt nodded. “We have authorization from the President.” Josh was surprised. The President again. This was unprec-Change of Heart

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  edented, even for him.

  Beside the helicopters was a group of people going through equipment scattered around them on the pavement. Josh assumed some were the Israelis who were to accompany his team into Iraq.

  As he walked toward them, he recognized one of the men right away.

  Victor Lademan was a man Josh trusted with his life. He had saved his skin several times. Such commitment had made them close friends.

  Josh walked to him. The rest of his team was there as well: Aaron Dufina, the sniper, a guy from Cleveland who always gelled his yellow hair and combed it straight back on his head, and one new guy. It took a moment for Josh to recognize his face. It was Jerry, the young kid he left behind on that shattered dock in Baltimore. He didn’t look like that same cocky kid; he looked older. Josh last saw him only a few days ago, wasn’t it?

  Victor was a tall, muscular black man. He stopped stuffing things into his shoulder pack.

  “Hey, Josh,” he said, and Josh shook his hand.

  “Hey, Vic. How you been?”

  “Just the same. Good to see you still alive.” They both laughed. It was a joke they always shared. There were too many times when they saw friends and people they had come to know dead in the fields or at funerals. Without saying it, they both knew the next mission could be the last for either or both of them.

  “How’s Karen?” Josh asked.

  Victor smiled. “Doing great. We’re gonna have a baby.”

  “A boy or a girl?”

  “A girl. We’re gonna name her Elizabeth, after Karen’s mother.”

  “I hope she’s as beautiful as Karen ’cause if she gets your looks she’s gonna be in big trouble.”

  They laughed again. Josh saw Jerry standing nearby. Jerry heard the joke and was grinning while he checked the equipment in his pack. Jerry was new to his team and Josh wanted to make 246

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  sure he felt comfortable with the other guys before they hit the field. A large part of the mission’s success depended on how well the team worked together.

  “Vic, have you met Jerry?” Josh asked.

  Jerry looked up at them. Victor nodded.

  “We met on the flight over. For some reason he was nervous about the impression he’d made on you. I told him not to worry.

  If you picked him for this mission you must have confidence in him.”

  He didn’t pick him. Walt did. But, as he considered the idea, he decided Jerry would be fine. He stepped over to Jerry, where he had some equipment spread out on the ground, along with a pack Josh recognized as his own. Jerry stood rigidly, like a nervous soldier at attention while being inspected.

  “Jerry,” Josh said, extending his hand.

  “Sir.”

  Jerry looked like he wanted to salute. Josh winced, embarrassed by the overt respect.

  “Relax, Jer. It’s just Josh. There are no sirs here.”

  “Right,” Jerry said, nodding.

  “Let me see your gun,” Josh said, holding out his hand.

  Jerry removed it from the holster on his right hip and placed it in Josh’s hand. It was a Beretta 9mm automatic with a fourteen round clip. Josh switched off the safety and pulled back the slide half an inch until he could see the shiny brass casing of a bullet in the chamber. He released it, relocked the safety and handed it back to Jerry.

  “Much better,” he said with a confident smile.

  “Thanks.”

  Josh picked up his equipment pack.

  “No, thank you for lugging this pack halfway around the world.” He turned to walk to Aaron, who was loading stuff on the chopper. “Oh, and welcome to the Black Hats.”

  “What?” Jerry said, but Josh was already walking away. Victor stood beside him, buckling his equipment belt. “What are the Black Hats?”

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  “You ever read Heinlen?” Victor said.

  The belt buckle clicked and he adjusted it on his hips.

  “Who?”

  Victor shook his head. “Never mind.” Josh met with Aaron, then introduced himself to the Israeli members of the team. Moshe Izrahi was born an Israeli, spent most of his life traveling abroad, then returned to Israel to join the military. He had black hair and the angular features of a middle eastern man. Caroline Haffenberg was the daughter of German Jews, emigrated to Israel to attend school, then joined the military to fight for her new homeland after her younger brother, who was visiting on a holiday, was killed when the bus he was riding was destroyed by a PLO bomb. She was a tall, stocky, tough looking, yet beautiful woman with long, blonde hair tied in a braid down the middle of her back.

  Josh was proud to have them along. They both seemed like skilled, capable soldiers. He was glad he had no one going along who had that overt sense of bravado that tended to get themselves and others on the team killed.

  They were six all together. Josh decided to split the teams equally on the choppers. He and Jerry would go with Caroline on the first chopper, and Victor and Aaron would go with Moshe on the second chopper.

  After he checked his gear and they went over the briefing one more time with Walt and Cohen and the pilots of the choppers and the Warthogs, Josh had time to kill. There was always time to kill. It was during downtime before going into action like this that Josh always thought about death.

  Every mission had its dangers; it was inherent with the job.

  Josh knew it was only a matter of time before he was killed in one action or another. He frequently put himself in harm’s way and had been close to death many times in his life. He remembered staring into the eye of that huge shark. If it hadn’t been scared off when it was, he and Valeria might have been fish food.

  Was he afraid of death? Of course. He had faced death, he’d cheated death, he’d stared death in the eye until it blinked, and 248

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  he was still afraid. So why did he give death so many opportunities?

  Valeria asked him something like that. “Why do you do this?” she had said. He didn’t have an answer. He never thought about why he did this work, he just did it because it had to be done.

  Was that a good enough reason? Was it the only reason? He didn’t have an answer for those questions, either. So why did he do these crazy things? It wasn’t for the money; they didn’t pay him enough. Patriotism? He believed in his country as much as anyone else, but he didn’t wrap himself in the flag. So what was it? The killing? He shuddered. He hated to think he did this job because it gave him the opportunity to kill. That would make him a bloodthirsty murderer.

  No, he did it because it had to be done. He sacrificed himself for the protection of others. Was that vanity? Probably. But that wouldn’t stop him from doing what had to be done. He believed his entire purpose for being was to protect those who needed protecting, or stick up for whoever needed someone to stick up for them. Oh God, now he sounded like a Marine.

  Josh dozed for a while, then checked his gear again. His Smith

  & Wesson was in the pack with his shoulder holster, a full clip, a silencer and two spare clips. He was grateful to Hammond for taking care of it. He would have to find some way to thank her, remembering his vow to himself never again to leave it behind.

  Inside the pack were the black pants and black sweater he wore on night missions, along with a set of nightvision goggles on a headstrap, which would be included in the packs of each team member. He
found a men’s room in the hangar where he could change into the black clothes, then stuffed the jeans and shirt back into the pack. He was grateful to Mariko and Tormino as well. How could he repay Mariko for what she sacrificed for his mission? How many others had sacrificed themselves to help him in the last few days? He came out of the men’s room and looked at his small team grouped around the choppers, wondering how many more would give their lives to see this mission completed.

  It was getting late. They would be in the air before long. Josh Change of Heart

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  set the pack on the cement floor of the hangar and knelt to open a wide, flat case. It contained the Kalashnikov AK-47 he took off the first man he ever killed, a man he now realized was one of Mironov’s handpicked operatives. How ironic. Josh took the Kalashnikov out to examine it.

  It was a trusty workhorse that had served him faithfully for many years, as it probably had for Mironov’s man before him. It was bigger and bulkier and fired slower than the Heckler & Koch submachine guns his men carried or the Uzi’s the Israelis used, but it had a greater range, greater accuracy, and packed a much greater wallop.

  With the help of a gunsmith wizard at Annapolis, Josh had modified it to suit his needs. He replaced the heavy wooden stock with a folding stock, essentially just a lightweight aluminum tube attached to a butt piece that rested against his shoulder at one end, and fixed to the back of the rifle by a hinge mechanism at the other end.

  The barrel was modified to remove the ineffective flash suppressor. The burst of yellow flame from the end of the muzzle was visible in bright daylight, just the sort of thing to pinpoint a man shooting from cover. It was now threaded to accept a large silencer/suppressor, which Josh removed from the case and screwed on. It looked like a long aerosol can of hair spray painted black, with a small hole in the end where the bullet came out. With it in place, the distinctive, sharp crack of the AK-47 was reduced to a soft whump sound, and there was no flame at all from the end of the barrel. It cost him a slight amount of muzzle velocity, but what he lost in kick he gained in concealment, which helped preserve his life.

  The internals of the rifle were modified extensively. The entire firing mechanism and spring devices were replaced with custom parts made of high carbon steel to improve reliability, and in many cases were redesigned to improve performance. What he wound up with was a hot-rodded assault rifle.

  Josh inserted a clip, cocked it, and set the safety. He picked up the pack, slipped his left arm through the shoulder strap, and 250

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  winced at the stabbing pain in his shoulder when he tried to raise his right arm. It went limp and he groaned.

  “You all right?” Jerry asked.

  Josh turned to him. “Fine,” he said.

  Jerry held the strap and Josh slipped his right arm through, too ashamed to speak. He was supposed to lead this team into combat. How could he do that when they knew he was beat up?

  “Wow. Is that an AK-47?” Jerry said, picking up the rifle.

  “I never saw one up close before. I wondered what was in that case. It’s heavier than I always thought it would be.” He handed it to Josh. “Why do you carry something so heavy?” Josh attached it by ring clips to the straps that ran over his chest.

  “It’s a workhorse,” he said with a shrug. “Other rifles perform better, but this one never lets me down.” Jerry nodded. “Ok,” he said.

  Behind them, a low whine started. Josh glanced over his shoulder. The long rotor blades that drooped over one of the choppers began to turn. The low whine became a high pitched whine as the turbine motor gained momentum and the blades turned faster. The engine of the second chopper started and their combined noises drowned out all other sounds.

  They would be flying in a restricted no-fly zone enforced by the U.S. Air Force. However, there was very little activity over western Iraq and some of the Iraqi Army air defenses had been reactivated. U.S. Air Force sorties to take them out became fewer and fewer and tension between Iraq and the U.S. had become strained. An assault like this would do nothing to help that relationship.

  The ground crew started the Warthogs’ engines and the Air Force pilots climbed into their planes. It was time for the mission to begin.

  Josh divided the team and made sure everything was secure aboard the choppers. He paused to watch the Warthogs taxi to the runway and take off, then jumped into the second chopper Change of Heart

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  with Jerry and Caroline.

  It occurred to him, as he settled on the bench seat by the open door and fastened the restraining belt, that he had teamed himself with the rookie and the woman, as if he intended to keep an eye on them himself. This wasn’t true, of course, but he realized his decision might have made that impression.

  Josh wasn’t worried if he offended Jerry. When he made the decision, he didn’t think Jerry needed to be watched, but what the hell. He was still the rookie on this mission and Josh didn’t mind making sure he didn’t get hurt.

  As the chopper lifted off the ground, he glanced at Caroline.

  She was staring out the open door at the ground moving away beneath them with a blank, emotionless expression he could not read. Did she feel offended by being made to go with him and the rookie? Did she think he didn’t trust her to take care of herself because she was a woman? He hoped not. He looked away, following her gaze out the door. He had no doubt she was just as capable as any of the rest of them. Nevertheless, he was worried she resented him for his decision.

  Whether she did or not, it wouldn’t matter for long. The whole thing would be over in a couple of hours, then she would never have to see him again. The choppers swung to the east in a slow arc. Josh decided he would give Caroline orders as needed, just as he would for anyone else on the team, but he would not stand in her way.

  They moved away from the airbase, staying low. It was a clear night with half a moon, which gave enough light to see the dunes moving by below, like the gentle waves of an ocean.

  Josh saw a quick flash of light a short distance away at about their height. It was the moonlight glinting off the canopy of one of the Warthogs. In the dim light he could just make out their shapes, darting ahead of the choppers until all he could see were the pinpoints of glowing bluish flame from the pair of engines on each jet. In a few minutes they would acquire their target, move into range, fire their missiles and turn back for home. At that point they would all be committed. Either they would get in and 252

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  get out and the mission would be a success, or the enemy would be alerted and his team would be killed or captured. There was no way to know until they lined it up and dropped the puck.

  Josh’s nerves settled and he began to slip into a solemn trance.

  His mind cleared like a blue sky on a summer day and his concentration focused on the job ahead. The chop of the rotor blades and the roar of the turbine motor became a drone at the back of his mind. His senses became sharp: his eyes noticed details in the low light, he could smell a hundred distinct odors, and his skin picked up the slightest temperature change. He was becoming a perfect soldier, that bloodthirsty killing machine he feared he truly was, and yet, it did not bother him. He was anxious to feel the Kalashnikov kick in his hands and see soldiers of his equal fall before him and hear their cries of fear and pain as they died.

  Josh noticed a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, then another, but he didn’t turn to look. Caroline tapped him on the arm and pointed out the door. In the distance, like bright, holy stars against the black sky, he saw a pair of bluish white flames streaking through the air from different angles, converging on a separate point. They were the flames from the tails of the missiles fired by the Warthogs, homing in on the radar waves of the transmitter they sought to destroy.

  From the ground in the direction the missiles were headed came a bright flash of fire, then a long flame that streaked into the sky, veering off in the opposite direction of the inbound missi
les. Josh knew what it was: a surface-to-air missile. The SAM

  site had picked up one of the Warthogs and fired a missile. Josh stared at it, knowing it was some sort of Russian made weapon, a leftover from the Soviet regime. It went higher, then leveled as it locked onto its target. Josh was amazed how fast it moved.

  A streak of flame trailed out behind it like the tail of a comet.

  He waited with a sense of dread for the inevitable quick flash of flame of the midair explosion that would mark the last spot of the Warthog’s flight, but he never saw it. A loud explosion rumbled in the distance ahead and the yellow light of a fire lit the cabin of the chopper.

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  Josh held onto the strap as the chopper surged forward, its nose pointing down in angry determination. The first chopper, carrying the other half of his team, moved past them, silhouetted by the fading fire. He could see through the open cabin and could make out the figures of Vic, Aaron and Moshe, seated on a bench with their backs against the wall. The choppers turned in unison and charged forward. The gate was open and they were going in. A worry for that Warthog pilot nagged at the back of Josh’s mind.

  The choppers raced forward side by side, one ahead of the other. The chop of the rotor blades was deafening. The stiff wind blowing in Josh’s face made his eyes water. The features of the desert below were a blur. They were going deep into Iraq at well over a hundred miles an hour.

  Their drop point was one mile due west of the terrorist camp, behind a convenient wall of dunes picked out by reconnaissance flights the day before. Josh’s team had ten minutes to trudge through the mile of loose sand and rough gravel, no more than fifteen minutes to eliminate everyone in the camp and find and destroy the explosives, then another ten minutes to get back to the choppers. Even within that thirty five minute window, they were still faced with the huge risk of being spotted by ground forces.

  The choppers would be most vulnerable. They would remain at the drop point for forty five minutes with the engines running.