Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3)

by Stan R. Mitchell

  “Is that what she said then?”

  “In so many words, yes. Look, I think she’s a doctor, meaning she wants to help people. And let’s face it, Bagram doesn’t have much of a need for her anymore.”

  Nick nodded. He could definitely understand the need to be needed.

  “So,” Nick said, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, “She’s tough enough to put up with us?”

  “More than enough, man. I mean she seemed to know how to adapt from moment to moment. She was charming and polite when she came in, but she showed some edge when I pushed her a bit.”

  “Right,” Nick said, staring fixedly at a particular orange fleck of the tile floor. “So, Marcus, what does Dr. Clayton look like? I mean I’ve already met a couple of doctors here, but…”

  “Well,” Marcus said, sounding surprised. “She’s, I believe around thirty-five, approximately 5’ 6”, brunette and…”

  “And big brown eyes? And an ample…” Nick stopped short to swallow, “bosom?”

  “Officially? Yes. But unofficially: Yowza.” Marcus replied, blinking a bit, but with a steady, straight face.

  Nick groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

  “You want to explain why that’s relevant, or should I go ask her?” Marcus teased, a knowing smile on his face.

  “Shit,” Nick groaned, looking up and scratching his head nervously. “Yeah, let’s just say we’ve met. And we kind of got to a bad start.”

  “Oh yeah?” Marcus inquired, happy as a schoolgirl. “She get a bit of that Nick Woods charm, did she? Damn, that poor girl.”

  Nick shoved Marcus into the wall. Marcus just laughed.

  “Come on, Marcus, it’s not funny. This woman apparently works for me now,” Nick said, his voice returning to its previous seriousness.

  Suddenly, Truck stepped through the weapons room doorway and looked down the hall at them “Everything okay out here, guys? I heard something slam into the wall.”

  Nick gave Marcus a warning look.

  Marcus returned it with a surrendering look and looked back, saying, “Yeah, everything’s good, Truck.”

  Nick moved back toward the weapons room, and Marcus followed.

  “Okay, now something else we have to talk about, gentlemen,” Nick said. “I don’t want either of you razzing Red anymore about this chair thing for a while, okay.”

  “Aw,” Truck started to argue.

  “Last I remember,” Nick said looking at Truck, “You about got your ass shot off when you went galloping through that same hut, my friend. Luckily for you, I was there to check your corners.”

  Marcus attempted to hide his chuckle as Nick turned to him. “And you,” Nick said, “well I seem to remember you learning a vehicular safety lesson regarding large, unsecured packs in a truck bed when they come crashing downward at, say, a seventy degree angle.”

  “Heh, heh,” Truck laughed, “That was funny as hell.” He jumped to his feet and started miming the incident. “Oh! Ahhh!” he yelped like a frightened girl, re-enacting the scene as Marcus had fallen ass over teakettle in the back of the truck.

  Marcus backhanded Truck in the stomach unexpectedly. Pretty hard.

  “My point being, gentlemen,” Nick said sharply to regain their attention. “We all have our moments, and while the chair thing is, honestly pretty damn funny,” Nick smiled in spite of himself, but shook it off quickly, “we still have a mission to do, and I want us all focused and feeling confident. And that goes especially for our point man. So have fun and joke around all you want, but let’s just try to avoid pointing out one another’s stupidity for a while. Understood?”

  Marcus and Truck both nodded. Then after a moment of silence with all three of them looking at either their feet or the floor, Truck looked up and said with a grin, “At least we’ll still have the Goat Man.”

  Nick laughed, remembering the enthusiastic goat herder they’d seen on their way into Pakistan. Nick didn’t want to admit it, but sometimes he would find himself humming the tune of the Goat Man’s song softly to himself. Meant for the goats or not, thought Nick, that damned tune was catchy.

  “Alright, you two,” Nick said, command back in his voice, “get your weapons cleaned. And whoever finishes last cleans Red’s gun and takes his stuff back to his room.”

  “Hey, that ain’t fair,” cried Marcus “I was out here getting interrogated by you. Truck’s probably already finished cleaning his gun.”

  “Leadership sucks, Marcus,” Nick said. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”

  Chapter 61

  With the fear of the captured intel on their minds, as well as the hit on their most recent supply convoy, Rasool Deraz and Mushahid Zubaida proceeded with phase one of their pushed-forward operation to topple the Afghan government.

  First, one of their lieutenants bribed a disgruntled Afghan army major to support the Taliban cause. The army major was stationed at a fire support base and was the second-highest ranking man in their communications element.

  The man proved difficult to bribe, but $5,000 is a substantial amount of money in a country where the average family subsists on $426 per year. Besides, the Taliban lieutenant informed the major that soon the Afghan government would be no more and that if he defected now, Deraz would overlook the fact he’d fought against the Taliban all these years.

  “And where will I go after I do this?” the major had asked.

  “We will transport you and your family to Pakistan, or some other province in Afghanistan, where we’ll hide you in a safe house until we topple the government.”

  The lieutenant handed the man $2,500 up front, and that sealed the deal. Holding that much money would convince nearly any Afghan; the country, after all, was a place where loyalty often shifted.

  With the army major’s allegiance in place, the Taliban scheduled their attack for that night. At the Afghan fire support base, the major entered the communications room at 2 a.m. The sergeant and private manning the radios jumped to their feet when he entered.

  “Gentlemen, I’m relieving you of your post. Our commander has informed me he’s expecting an attack on one of our patrols tonight and has asked me to personally handle the supporting fires.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the sergeant.

  “You two get plenty of rest,” the major said. “You’ll probably have to pull someone else’s radio watch tomorrow.”

  The men saluted and gratefully left for some extra sleep. The major took a seat and watched the clock nervously until 2:30 came around. The Taliban attacked right on schedule at 3 a.m. Reports came in at a furious pace from a unit of thirty Afghan soldiers who had set up a defensive position in a temporary operating base, which was a simple mud hut surrounded by a simple wall. The hut was large and featured thick, mud walls, which provided excellent protection.

  The Taliban ravaged the compound with multiple RPG strikes and more than fifty fighters assaulting the building with massive fire, including heavy machine guns.

  The major initially passed along the calls of distress, immediately requesting American air support to assist the beleaguered troops. Since the attack occurred under the cover of darkness, both sides struggled to identify their targets.

  And just as the Afghan troops feared being overrun, the American air support arrived on station. Two Apaches showed up and saw the battle in their infrared sensors. And it was here that the major earned his $5,000.

  Instead of relaying that the Afghan troops were under assault inside the compound, he instead informed the Apaches that the friendlies were trying to assault the target.

  The Apaches could see the troops attacking, as well as the impressive defensive fires from the compound. They confirmed the target again with the major, requested permission to fire from higher ups, then loosed two hellfire missiles into the compound. After the explosions, they hosed down survivors with their 30 mm cannons, using their thermal sights to detect those who were still alive.

  And while the Apaches picked off remaining t
argets inside the compound, the major turned off the radio and slipped off the base.

  Chapter 62

  The staggering effectiveness of phase one of Deraz’s plan to topple the Afghan government soon became clear to S3. The following day, Nick and Marcus were summoned to link up for a confidential conference call with higher headquarters.

  “Do you want the bad news or the even worse news?” asked Mr. Smith mere moments after they linked up by satellite.

  Nick looked at Marcus and shrugged. They were sitting at a folding table with an encrypted conference phone in between.

  “You know I hate games,” Nick said. “Just tell us.”

  “I hate to agree with Nick,” Marcus said, “but we’d rather just hear the news. We’re sure it was bad. You don’t have two Apaches loosed on you without bad results.”

  “It’s all anyone is talking about,” Nick said. “Tell me that’s just because we’re stuck on a shitty base in Afghanistan? That back in America, this isn’t all over the news.”

  “Very sorry,” Mr. Smith said. “Sometimes I forget that you all are over there, living on some desolate base.”

  There was a pause, then he continued.

  “The bad news,” Mr. Smith said, “is that the friendly fire incident is all over the media. And the Afghan president has already responded to public pressure, ordering all American troops to cease all combat operations. And that even includes air support of any kind.”

  “Unbelievable,” Nick said. “Is this some kind of show? Just a way to score political points with his supporters here in Afghanistan?”

  “We wish,” Mr. Smith said, “but it’s no game. In fact, it’s much worse. The even worse news I mentioned earlier is the Afghan president has personally called our President and asked him to remove all American troops within the next three weeks.”

  “So, cease all combat operations,” Marcus asked, “and pack up and leave in the next three weeks?”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Mr. Smith said. “And the timing couldn’t be worse. We’re compiling a better picture of what was on Ahmud al-Habshi’s computer, and now it’s clear that the final assault on the capital will take place soon. The Taliban has been avoiding many of their typical, minor skirmishes and engagements as they consolidate their forces and prepare for their final battle.”

  “So,” Nick said, “the Afghan president feels safe because attacks from the Taliban are down. And he’s pissed at the Americans, so he’s ordering our combat troops out. And meanwhile, he has no idea that he’s about to get crushed and chased out of town.”

  “That’s correct,” Mr. Smith said. “In his defense, not only does he think attacks are down, but he also believes removing all American troops will hurt the recruiting efforts of the Taliban. Hard to get Afghans to kill fellow Afghans.”

  “If he wants to cut down on the recruiting efforts of the Taliban, he could cut down on the corruption,” Nick said. “Hard to support a president as corrupt as him, and the people know what all he’s doing.”

  “On the bright side,” Mr. Smith said, “he’s not ordering S3 out. That’s one of the nice things your cover provides. Some real flexibility for our government. So the race is on to figure out when this attack is going down and what we can do to stop it.”

  “You mean what four squads of six men can do to stop it?” Marcus asked.

  “With no air support?” Nick added.

  “Precisely,” Mr. Smith said. “But you forgot to mention your snipers, and we’ll keep working to fix things politically.”

  “No pressure,” Nick said, shaking his head with disbelief. “Anyway, we’ll do our best to find a way to either delay the attack or stop it. Just get with your State Department buddies and resolve these silly orders from the Afghan president. Some air cover and American troops backing us up would be nice.”

  “We’re already on that,” Mr. Smith said. “The State Department is pulling together a billion-dollar stimulus package for their government, contingent on him dropping the orders.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be deposited in the national ban managed by his brother?” Nick suggested.

  “Correct.”

  “The same one that’s had millions of dollars go missing,” Marcus scoffed.

  “It’s how things work around here,” Mr. Smith said.

  “Just work it fast,” Nick said. “We’ll need those reinforcements sooner than we care to admit. Marcus and I will head down to meet with our analysts and see if we can pull together the picture of this upcoming attack.”

  “Good luck,” Mr. Smith said, before hanging up.

  Chapter 63

  Rasool Deraz and Mushahid Zubaida were delighted at the success of the operation causing the friendly-fire incident. They had left the safety of Pakistan and traveled back into Afghanistan to oversee the final battle. Now they hid in a humble-looking compound just miles from the capital. It was a safe house in one of their friendly villages.

  The damage by the Apache attack helicopters was greater than expected, and the reaction by the Afghan president had exceeded what they had hoped.

  “We must strike while the American forces are forbidden from acting,” Rasool said, as the two sat looking over a map of Afghanistan. The map was spread out on a small table, a lantern and candle burning to illuminate it.

  “Agreed,” Mushahid said. “Plus, we must act now because they will continue discovering key intelligence from Ahmud’s computer. We can’t allow them to have any more successful strikes against us while we are mobilizing our final assault.”

  Rasool nodded, some pain filling his eyes. “That ambush hurt us.”

  Rasool had lost one of his best lieutenants. A protege that he’d grown close to over the past ten years. He pushed the memory of the man down and said with determination, “Let’s begin phase two. May Allah be with us.”

  Phase two involved a trap to draw part of the Afghan forces away from the capital. The Afghan government protected their most important city with three army battalions, not counting the lightly-armed police forces that mostly manned checkpoints. But when serious threats emerged, it was the three army battalions that responded.

  Rasool and Mushahid had analyzed the capital’s defenses and determined that their plan to sack the capital could never work with all three Afghan army battalions inside the city. It was simply too many troops and too much firepower for the Taliban to deal with. The two of them had calculated that they would need to draw at least two of the army battalions outside the city. This was hardly an easy task, as the Afghan government tried its best to avoid deploying them outside city limits for obvious reasons.

  Thus, phase two of their operation to take the capital city was tricking the administration to overreacting and making the fatal mistake of committing its primary security forces outside Kabul. To draw out the Afghan National Army, the Taliban picked one of the most defendable, steepest hilltops in Afghanistan. It lay just a few miles outside the capital city of Kabul itself and had seen hundreds of battles fought on its primary slope in the past couple of decades. The rugged, nearly vertical hill was one of the most strategic pieces of high ground near the capital, and remnants of previous battles rusted and rotted along its ground.

  On the bright side, the preparatory part of phase two proved far easier than expected. Typically, the Afghan government had kept a small force on the hill to prevent it being seized. Consequently, Rasool and Mushahid had planned for an attack to take the hill, followed by an all-out effort to hastily prepare fighting positions and bring up the unprecedented amount of ammunition that would be needed to hold off the army’s reinforcements.

  The limited time they would have had in such a situation to prepare defenses had always concerned the two Taliban leaders, but with no government forces on the hill, Mushahid had been blessed with plenty of time to oversee his men’s meticulous and deliberate creation of an elaborate defense. Besides setting up the defense of the hill, Mushahid would stay and lead the operations from the hill himse
lf.

  There were two primary reasons for this. First, his presence would inspire his men to fight harder. Secondly, the first moves of phase three -- the infiltration of fighters into the capital -- hardly needed any oversight. In fact, it had already begun.

  Chapter 64

  As Mushahid and his men dug in on the hill outside the capital, Nick and Marcus made what preparations they could to help defend Kabul. It was tough to do much since they had no idea what Rasool Deraz had planned, but neither Nick nor Marcus believed in sitting on their duffs. Inaction was a sin as far as they were concerned.

  The first thing they did was request four Afghan police officers be transferred to their unit. Mr. Smith worked with the American Embassy to find four of the most trustworthy men that could be found. It required pulling some serious strings to get the best, but given how much money the Embassy doled out, no one could pull strings better than them. Well, except for the American military, but after the recent Apache friendly fire incident, the U.S. generals and senior officers found their relationships had grown weaker.

  Nick and Marcus wanted the Afghan police officers for two reasons. One, to have local language skills on each squad -- Lana was the only member on S3 who spoke the local language. Two, they wanted men with badges and police authority as they hunted about the capital for clues.

  The local cops also were wired into the Police Department, which meant they were getting the latest intel filtered up through officer arrests and interrogations. In addition, they knew who to call if any favors were needed and had a strong understanding of the key geography and neighborhoods in Kabul.

  In addition to adding the four police officers, S3 leased six light police trucks and six hardened Humvees from the Afghan government. They promptly put fifty caliber heavy machine guns on the Humvees, which they felt would be best to stop vehicle-borne IEDs. (In truth, a Mark 19 40 mm grenade launcher might work better, but neither Nick nor Marcus wanted the squads shooting a grenade launcher inside the capital city.)