Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3)

by Stan R. Mitchell

  “So, he’s taken this report and imagined his army ruthlessly hunting the Taliban down?” Marcus asked.

  “Precisely,” Mr. Smith said.

  “You can’t make this crap up,” Marcus said, shaking his head in disgust.

  “I’m afraid it’s even worse. The Department of Defense tried to tell the Afghan president the truth. The DOD was worried about the Afghan Armed Forces moving that second battalion out of Kabul since we believe the Taliban is set to strike the capital, and soon.”

  “I bet that went well,” Nick said.

  “Like a ton of bricks,” Mr. Smith said. “The American general attached to his office even showed him drone footage of his troops resting on the hill. Plus, it showed definitive proof that no Taliban were in the area, and it even clearly showed that Afghan troops weren’t in pursuit.”

  “He didn’t trust the video from the battle?” Marcus asked.

  “No, he said his generals would never lie to him, and that he’d never trust an American over a fellow Afghan. He thinks the footage is doctored or completely made up. He thinks the U.S. is only saying this so our forces will be allowed to operate again. Even claims we’re trying to stir up fear and panic among the people so our forces can stay longer.”

  Nick looked at Marcus. Neither knew what to say.

  “Bottom line, communication is worse than ever between the U.S. and Afghanistan. They’re not going to listen to us anytime soon. It’s all about China and Iran now. We’re even hearing word that top Iranian military advisors will be arriving in Kabul in the coming days.”

  “There may not be a city for them to land in,” Marcus said.

  “Not according to the Afghan president,” Mr. Smith said. “He seems to no longer have any fear of major attacks. His most recent internal emails state that the fight on the hill was the Taliban’s big stand. Their ‘big thrust into Kabul,’ as he terms it. And this main force was destroyed and run off the hill. Decisively, according to him.”

  “He thinks an ambush by a platoon-sized element was their main attack?” Marcus asked incredulously.

  “He’s in denial and not thinking straight. Plus, he has terrible advisors. Most of whom want us gone so they can continue doing whatever they want without an ounce of oversight.”

  Chapter 77

  Nick briefed his Primary Strike Team with the latest news from Mr. Smith. The office was small, but all six of them managed to cram inside without too much discomfort.

  “I can’t believe this dumbass president thinks that little ambush was the main attack,” Red said.

  “Or that he’d send another battalion outside the capital to pursue them,” Lana added, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder. “I’d tell him how stupid that was, but I’m not sure he’s smart enough to take advice from a woman.”

  “In fairness to Islam,” Preacher said, “if you were a brand-new Christian who had just started reading the Old Testament, you wouldn’t feel much different about women.”

  “Let’s stay focused,” Nick said. “We know that the major attack from the Taliban is coming. Their final move after ten-plus years of positioning. And we know we have no American air power or land forces that can be used. And we know the Afghan president isn’t fearing any attack, having sent two of the best battalions of his army out to deal with a minor ambush. On the flip side, we know an attack is about to happen, and we need solutions. Like now.”

  No one said anything for a moment.

  “Any chance,” Truck asked, “we could ship in a couple M-1A1 tanks? Then it wouldn’t matter what they tried. They’re not blowing those damn things up without IEDs, and with paved streets in the capital, that’s not happening in Kabul.”

  “Motherfucking Truck always asking for something big to drive,” Red said. “You only feel safe behind a couple feet of armor, right?”

  “Guys,” Marcus snapped, stopping any slap-fight before it happened.

  “I was serious,” Truck said, shrugging in his defense.

  “It’s a great idea,” Nick said, “but there are no M1’s in Afghanistan right now, and I don’t see the Air Force flying us any in.”

  “Not to mention,” Lana said, “the Afghan president wants all American troops and equipment out. He’s not going to let anyone bring any back in either.”

  “I hate this waiting,” Nick said. “Surely there’s something we can do. I really want to hit them before they make their move and catch both us and the Afghan government by surprise.”

  “Lana,” Marcus asked, “you picking anything up in their papers or on the internet forums?”

  “I’ve read the local papers from front to back, looking for any clues or possible signals buried in stories or ads, and found nothing,” Lana replied. “And I just came back from the internet cafe for the second time today and things are remarkably quiet on the jihadi forums online.”

  “That scares me even more,” Nick said. “They always get quiet right before they do something big. And with how much crap they’re usually spewing out, it can’t be an accident.”

  “I’ve been following this internet forum traffic for years,” Lana said, “especially when I was with the CIA, and it’s really odd. All of the Taliban’s websites and forums are deathly silent. No threats of removing the Afghan president. No claims of a future uprising. Nothing.”

  “Argh, and this attack’s coming down soon,” Nick said. “I can practically feel it.”

  He clenched his fists and sighed, looking at each Primary Strike Team member for any other suggestions.

  “So, no one has any bright ideas on what we can do other than wait?” Nick asked. “No proactive measures we can take or any way we can take the fight to them?”

  No one said a word. Lana shrugged, Red and Truck looked down, and Marcus said, “I’ve already told you I’m out of ideas.”

  Nick cursed. “Then we’ll go with S3’s number one backup plan when you don’t know what to do.”

  “What’s that?” Lana asked.

  “Ah, shit,” Truck said. “I think I know.”

  “Hell, yeah,” Red said with a smile.

  “Lana, go get the four policemen and ask them where the most dangerous part of Kabul is,” Nick said.

  “I’m still confused,” she said, furrowing her dark eyebrows.

  “It’s Neza-Chalco-Itza all over again,” Red said, acting like a giddy little boy.

  “What’s Neza-Chalco-Itza?” she asked, struggling to pronounce it.

  “It’s the largest slum in Mexico, where the Godesto Cartel was primarily operating from,” Preacher explained. “When we weren’t really sure what to do when S3 was in Mexico, we decided to go into their base city. A place where the police never went.”

  “In fairness,” Nick said, “that didn’t turn out so well. We lost a lot of good people. Even Preacher took some lead.”

  He looked at Preacher and said, “Sorry again about that. But this time, we’ll leave the light trucks here and take the MRAPs and heavy weapons. If the Taliban or any of their sympathizers want to play, we’ll play. And maybe we’ll stumble into their main attack or force them to launch early or show their hand.”

  Chapter 78

  Two hours later, the beginnings of a plan were shaping up for S3. The four officers had all agreed on what was the most dangerous place in Kabul. It was a part of the city occupied by the most fanatical and religious fundamentalists. And it had the highest number of mosques per square mile of any part of the capital.

  And like Neza-Chalco-Itza, the Afghan police had stopped trying to patrol it after getting involved in numerous heavy firefights. The imams of the local mosques wouldn’t allow the police to search their premises for weapons, and despite the aerial footage of fighters hiding in their sanctuaries, the Afghan president had decided it was a fight not worth dealing with in the near term.

  Nick had asked the four Afghan police officers attached to his unit to request permission from their superiors for S3 to patrol through the area. That had bee
n promptly shot down by the mid-level police captains who declared it too dangerous.

  And Nick couldn’t seem to convince the police captains that S3 didn’t give a shit how dangerous it was. Unable to pierce the language barrier, he had gone around them and had Mr. Smith talk to the highest ranking officers.

  They, too, had denied the request. But not because of the dangers, but because of the limited number of Afghan speakers in S3. They -- rightly -- knew that with so few members in S3 being able to speak the language, a lot would die in such a patrol. And the leadership of the police wasn’t in a hurry to go pissing off the religious fanatics of Kabul and creating a potential uprising from the city’s most dangerous sector.

  The final word to Mr. Smith from the Afghan government was that S3 couldn’t conduct any raids or attacks of any kind unless given express permission.

  “In fact, I’m worried they’re going to soon require S3 to stop operating,” Mr. Smith had said. “The president truly believes he’s ended the threat with the attack on the hill, and when added to the reduced number of attacks by the Taliban across the country, he’s almost convinced he’s won the whole war.”

  “It’s exactly like Tet, 1968,” Nick replied. “Our generals thought the lack of enemy activity by the Viet Cong proved we’d nearly won the thing and next thing you know, you have 80,000 enemy attacking more than one hundred cities.”

  “It appears to be the same situation here,” Mr. Smith agreed. “The Taliban is certainly staging for their big attack, but the servers weren’t the honeypot we hoped they’d be, and our intelligence and satellites are failing to see any patterns or buildup. Bottom line, all that S3 can do is wait for the trap to spring and until then, you’re only authorized to defend yourself if you come under fire.”

  And with those words, Nick found their plan and his way around all the bullshit. Not that he informed Mr. Smith of that. Better to apologize after the fact than ask permission and be told “no.”

  He ended the call then smiled up at Marcus with the biggest smile he could muster.

  “Uh oh, I know that look,” Marcus said.

  “You heard what he said. We can defend ourselves if fired upon. We’ll just go for a little drive tomorrow, get a little turned around, and end up where we’re not supposed to be. And if they fire on us, then it’s on. Ironically, it’s the same damned idea you had when you suggested Red as bullet bait.”

  “Smith is going to be so pissed,” Marcus laughed.

  “What else is new? Our job is to succeed, and sometimes you have to ruffle some feathers to make that happen.”

  Marcus dropped the smile, slipping into a thoughtful expression.

  “Okay, so if we’re doing this, then we should go ahead and get Dr. Julia down here. I’ll go make the call.”

  Marcus had already started toward the door when Nick stopped him.

  “And you’re absolutely sure that she can handle this? She can do her job while up to her neck in the action?” Nick asked.

  The comment resulted from a thought Nick had been chewing on.

  In the hours after his initial discussion with Marcus about Dr. Julia Clayton outside the weapons room, Nick had returned to his room with the intention of embracing the change (the one that’d been forced down his throat by Mr. Smith) and moving forward. It took an hour and a half for him to finally submit to the concept and work out how he wanted to proceed. He had then called Marcus to meet with him and go over things.

  There might have been some disagreement between the two about how much the good doctor might be capable of taking on. But eventually, Nick settled and promised to take all of Marcus’ generous suggestions under advisement. The biggest point of contention had been on whether or not Dr. Clayton would be serviceable in a combat situation.

  The truth was that neither Nick nor Marcus was very familiar with the lingo or details of the medical world, let alone the specifications of the Army Medical Department. But the CIA had cleared her for the job and she’d successfully convinced Marcus of her ability. And now that Dr. Clayton was officially on S3’s payroll, none of the lingo, the details, or even the specifics really mattered anymore. They would just have to carry on with what they had and hope it worked out.

  But once they had pulled together some kind of job description, Nick had sent Marcus to officially welcome Dr. Clayton on behalf of S3. He had also specifically requested that Marcus brief her on the company and its structure. Nick had hoped Dr. Clayton’s realization of his leadership role in S3 would inspire her to change her mind on joining the team. But no such luck there.

  And now back in the small, moldy, warehouse office, Marcus stepped closer to Nick. He looked Nick directly in the eyes and gave a speech almost identical to the one he’d given before.

  “As I’ve already told you, I have a gut feeling about her,” Marcus said. “Now, do I know, for sure, that she’s got this? No. But you and I both know how stuff like this works. The only thing to do is give her a shot and see how it goes. If things get hairy, then we pull her back and adjust from there.”

  Nick knew Marcus was right, and honestly, he had no good reason to doubt the man. Marcus had practically hand-picked every recruit of S3 since the beginning. Of course, Nick had reviewed and approved them all, but Marcus had done most of the work. He seemed to have a special gift for seeing a person’s true potential.

  Nick mustered a small smile and patted Marcus on the shoulder. “You’re right,” he said. “Go make the call. Send a squad to escort her here. Make sure she knows she can bring whoever and whatever equipment she wants, but we’ve got to get this done quick. We still don’t know when or how the Taliban plans to strike.”

  “Got it,” Marcus said as he turned to leave the room.

  “And, Marcus?”

  The tall drill instructor stopped, just having opened the office door and turned back.

  “Thanks for pushing me on this. It’s the right move,” Nick admitted.

  A crooked smile creeped up on the big man’s face.

  “When you gonna learn, boss, that I got all the right moves.” And then, in his best Michael Jackson impression, Marcus squealed, “Hee, Hee!” and moon-walked out the door.

  Chapter 79

  Dr. Julia Clayton arrived at the warehouse in Kabul after 8 p.m. She was thankful to have met many of the S3 members earlier, as that made it less nerve-racking.

  It had been a bittersweet feeling leaving Bagram Airfield. It had been her home for a long time, and the base hospital had been her purpose and motivation for getting up every morning. She had put, not just a lot of her life, but all of her life on hold for that purpose. She had outworked and outlasted almost every doctor that had stepped foot in that hospital, and now she was leaving.

  And although the exhaustion, the emotional strain, and the constant personal sacrifice had made the decision to move on easier, her record of service was still hard to give up. Of course, she’d be back there at some point in the near future, cleaning out her quarters, saying goodbye to familiar faces, and tying up loose ends. That would be the real goodbye, but Julia couldn’t help but feel like this was the moment where she truly had to let go.

  Stepping away from Bagram to go on this mission had felt like the first big and scary step forward that she’d taken in a long time.

  And now she had a new job, with new co-workers and new challenges to face. So while she was nervous about the hours ahead, the simple factor of a changing scenery promised a new and fresh start.

  Julia stepped down from the hulking Cougar MRAP, both hands carrying supplies and gear. Exiting behind her followed a couple of her best PAs (Physicians Assistants). Though neither of them would probably be able to stay on with S3 permanently, she was glad the base commander had agreed to allow her to bring them at least temporarily. Both Naomi and Ryan had served in combat, so in the light of things to come, their experience would probably prove both valuable and comforting.

  The very second Julia stepped into the warehouse she was greet
ed with excitement and smiles. While the squad that had escorted her continued to move in more medical equipment from the vehicles, several S3 members came to relieve her and her PAs.

  The large, beefy man they called Truck had marched up, and with one hand easily grabbed a fifty-pound case of vials she’d been lugging with both hands. The case was locked and built to military grade specifications (meaning extra, extra heavy-duty). He had then set the case down and bent over to pick up a large, cumbersome footlocker that Julia could have sworn would have taken two or three people to carry in. But Truck hauled the massive box underneath one arm, carrying it like it was a football. Then he topped himself by bending carefully down to retrieve the case he’d taken from her.

  Red came galloping behind him, grabbed both the bag on her back and the oversized duffle slung over her shoulder. He seemed to stagger a bit, but righted himself quickly, and shot Julia a huge smile. And most likely hoping to win back a little of the collective pride that Truck had sucked from every other male in the room, Red then stepped past Julia and all but demanded to take Naomi’s equally large duffle bag as well.

  Julia started across the warehouse to where the team was neatly stacking her gear. She returned a wave to Preacher who stood off to the right, clearing cots to help move the gear in. Suddenly, Julia caught a blur of movement as Lana darted behind and up around her, matching Julia’s stride while walking backwards. “Oh, now it’s on,” Lana said, holding her fist out. Julia bumped the woman’s fist with her own and smiled as Lana quick-stepped into a spin and dashed off to help the others.