Darkest Night

by James Cherry

  DARKEST NIGHT

  James M. Cherry

  Darkest Night

  By James M. Cherry

  © 2012 James M. Cherry

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of James M. Cherry.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Somewhere in Afghanistan

  First Lieutenant Crafton held up a clenched fist and his six-man team halted. Without a word, the men quickly dropped into concealment behind the sparse vegetation and rocky outcroppings of the windswept hillside.

  It was dark, an inky jet black blanket that covered the landscape. Without night vision goggles, navigation through the hostile rocky terrain would have been virtually impossible. The sky was overcast, with the damp smell of rain hanging in the air. The low cloud cover blotted out the moon and stars above only adding to the darkness and feeling of despair.

  The lieutenant peered through his night vision goggles and analyzed the objective, which was a small house set within the confines of a low three foot tall stone wall. The homestead appeared to be a typical Afghani stone and daub house, with two shanty outbuildings, one at each corner of the house. What wasn’t typical was the eight armed men huddled together just outside the front door of the house.

  The lieutenant paused as he contemplated the situation. Just why were all of the men huddled together out in the yard?

  The Taliban fighters were talking rapidly and pointing skyward but he just couldn’t make out what they were saying. His team was still a good hundred meters away and they would have to edge closer before he could determine what was going on.

  Lieutenant Crafton signaled to the sniper, Sergeant Billy Riddle. Sergeant Riddle darted to a large high rock outcropping, and quickly scaled to the top. He wedged into a crack, seeming to meld into the rock as his motionless body disappeared from sight. The lieutenant nodded in satisfaction at the sniper’s ability to just disappear at will.

  Upon his signal, the lieutenant and the rest of the team ghosted forward, moving from rock to bush, slowly and with purpose. As the team neared the low wall, Lieutenant Crafton could begin to make out a few words from the Taliban fighters on the other side.

  One of the men growled, “Ana laa afham.”

  The lieutenant deliberated the words Ana laa afham. That phrase was not Pashtun. Pashtun was the main language of that particular region of Afghanistan, but what those men spoke was Arabic. He searched his memory for the meaning and recalled that the words meant, “I do not understand.” A sudden realization hit the lieutenant. Those men are not Taliban fighters at all, they are Al Qaeda.

  Again, the same man repeated “Ana laa afham,” this time his voice was a couple octaves higher.

  Understand what? The lieutenant didn’t spend too much time pondering the situation. He had come to do a mission, and he was going to see it through.

  He risked a quick peek and grimaced as he saw the men scattering about in panic. Had they been spotted? One terrorist dropped to his knees and began to pray, bowing in supplication. The others raced into the house and the door slammed with a loud resonant bang.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  The lieutenant glanced at his men, and they were all looking at him for guidance. He held up his hand and signaled them to hold position.

  What the hell was going on?

  Suddenly two men burst from the house and rushed to the side of the praying man. One of the men held an AK 47 at the ready, peering into the night sky, his head swiveling from side to side. The other held a small spotlight as he struggled to turn it on. He slapped the light a few times and mumbled something under his breath. A brilliant lance of light sliced through the night sky, and the terrorist began swinging the light in a frantic search pattern.

  The lieutenant cursed under his breath and quickly ducked back behind the wall as the blinding light washed out his vision. He blinked rapidly as he attempted to clear the dancing spots in his eyes and he tightened his grip on his weapon in anticipation of an immediate attack.

  Of all the cursed bad luck.

  The light suddenly extinguished, plunging the area back into complete and total darkness. One of the terrorists could be heard banging on the light again, attempting to turn the finicky piece of hardware back on by brute force. The lieutenant risked another look.

  Both men were staring nervously into the sky, oblivious to the American team just a few feet away. They continued to frantically work on the light, banging and cursing. They began to argue and tug on the light, attempting to wrest control from one another.

  The lieutenant smiled to himself. If the terrorists were preparing for an attack from the sky, they were going to be more than just a little surprised. He let out a slow breath to steady his nerves and silently said a quick prayer. He turned to his men and gave the signal.

  The lieutenant stood and took aim. He fired a short burst into the two arguing men, tearing holes through their bodies. The men dropped as if made of stone, their lifeless bodies slamming into the dirt ground in unison in a puff of dust.

  To the lieutenant’s immediate right, Specialist Randy Fernandez targeted the praying man as he stood and leveled his weapon at the Americans. Fernandez’s rifle barked three times and the man folded without getting off a shot.

  Sergeant Paul Morris and Specialist Terry Carter rushed to the house, stacking by the front door. As if on cue, Staff Sergeant Bo Welsh appeared in front of the door and kicked. The flimsy thin wood buckled and splintered from the hinges, falling inward with a loud crash. Morris and Carter barged through the door, with Staff Sergeant Welsh bringing up the rear. A rapid staccato of shots rang out and the house went still.

  Suddenly the side door burst open and a single figure erupted from the house, stumbling toward the opposite fence. Lieutenant Crafton fired a shot just as the shadowy figure dove over the low fence.

  The lieutenant signaled for Fernandez to stay put, and he rushed into the night in hot pursuit of the escaping terrorist.

  ***

  Staff Sergeant Welsh rushed to the left of Morris and quickly surveyed the interior of the house. Movement to his left caught his eye as a figure darted towards the side door. He snapped off a quick shot at the figure and as if in unison, Carter and Morris both opened fire within their sectors. The audible twin thud of a pair of bodies hitting the ground and the gurgle of a dying man could be heard from somewhere to his right. Staff Sergeant Welsh fired again, just as the figure burst through the side door. The man stumbled into the yard beyond and disappeared from sight.

  I hit him! Welsh thought to himself in excitement. The sharp report of an M4 echoed in the night just outside the house, and Welsh sighed. Either the lieutenant or Fernandez took down his target. He knew he would never hear the end of this one.

  Morris shouted, “One clear."

  “Two clear,” yelled Carter, as if in a shouting competition with Sergeant Morris.

  “Three Clear,” Welsh stated nonchal
antly.

  An eerie quiet settled amongst the camp.

  Staff Sergeant’s intuition and experience told him something was very wrong. The lieutenant always called for a situation report at this point yet the radio was silent. Years of combat experience and training took over.

  With a firm but quiet voice, he asked, "Delta one, this is Delta two, what's your status? Over."

  Silence.

  Welsh’s brow furrowed as he pondered the situation. He hit the button on his Tac-Com again.

  “LT?”

  Silence.

  “Lieutenant,” yelled Welsh with desperation.

  Silence.

  Staff Sergeant Welsh switched tactics, “Delta five, this is Delta two. Over.”

  Fernandez answered, “This is Delta five, go ahead.”

  “What is Delta ones status? Over.”

  “Delta two, delta one ordered me to stay put and he gave chase to the Haji that ran out the side door. Over.”

  Gave chase?

  Staff Sergeant Welsh pressed the button on his Tac-Com and called the sniper. Perhaps from his position he could see the lieutenant. “Delta six, you seen the lieutenant?”

  “Negative,” Riddle replied calmly. “Couldn’t see him from my position once he went over the wall.”

  Staff Sergeant Welsh waved to Carter and Morris and the two men approached. “Let’s get out there and find that dumbass lieutenant. He decided to charge into the darkness after a Haji without a battle buddy.”

  Sergeant Morris snickered, “The Haji that you shot at and missed…”

  Staff Sergeant Welsh shot a withering glare at Morris and the young sergeant’s smile vanished as if by magic.

  ***

  With Carter, Morris, and Fernandez in tow, Staff Sergeant Welsh raced to the location that Lieutenant Crafton supposedly took. The four men hopped the wall and glanced around, frantically searching for any sign of the lieutenant.

  Welsh examined the area carefully, walking around slowly looking for any sign of what happened to the young lieutenant. Further up the hillside he spotted a body. “Man down,” he shouted and rushed to the form laying supine on the rocky ground. Upon reaching the body he realized that it was the terrorist he had shot at.

  “LT?” Welsh risked a low shout.

  When no reply was forthcoming, Staff Sergeant Welsh ordered his men to fan out and search the area.

  “Search for hidden tunnels, caves, blood trails, anything.”

  The men moved off in different directions, combing the ground for any evidence of their lost lieutenant.

  After a twenty-minute search, Staff Sergeant Welsh found nothing. He finally pressed the button on his Tac-Com and asked, “Carter, you find anything?”

  Carter replied immediately, “No, nothing. It’s as if the lieutenant just vanished.”

  Welsh walked back to the body and joined Carter. As the two men took up defensive positions next to the terrorist’s body, Welsh’s mind raced with possibilities. There must have been an ambush; the lieutenant was captured. He shook his head, but there is no sign of a struggle.

  He tried a few more times to reach Crafton with his radio.

  Silence.

  Fernandez soon joined the pair and his shrug told Staff Sergeant Welsh all he needed to know.

  A sudden sense of dread fell over him all at once. “Where is Morris?” He glanced around, the night vision easily piercing the inky darkness. The sergeant was nowhere to be seen.

  He pressed the button on his Tac-Com, “Morris, speak to me.”

  Silence.

  Staff Sergeant Welsh called to Carter and Fernandez as he swiveled his head from side to side, as if expecting an ambush at any moment. He motioned for the two men to keep up and he jumped up and ran flat out, back the way they had came. “Everyone fall back now. Meet at the rally point. Go, go, go!"

  Riddle's calm, monotone voice chimed in. "Delta two, there is no evidence of any hostile action here. From my position, I can see the entire camp and haven't seen any movement."

  As Welsh ran, puffing hard from the exertion, he replied to Riddle, “Something strange is going on here. I need to keep us together for defense. I don't think that it was us that spooked these terrorists. We now have two men MIA. Whoever the enemy is, they are picking us off one by one. Stay near cover and move quickly.”

  Riddle replied with a touch of panic in his voice, “Delta two, something just passed over my head. . .”

  Silence.

  “Riddle, come in. I didn’t copy that, what passed over your head?”

  Silence.

  Welsh stopped to stare in the direction of Riddle's position and found it impossible to see him from where he was. “Damn it, move it guys, something is happening here.”

  ***

  Welsh and Carter sat huddled together at the rally point. They were in an easily defensible and thickly covered creek bed. A shadow moved from the right and detached itself from a nearby tree. Staff Sergeant Welsh swiveled his rifle only to see the familiar face of Fernandez. The young man jumped into the creek and quickly took up a defensible position.

  Fernandez broke the momentary silence as the three men sat huddled and shivering together. “Welsh, it appears it’s just us now. Crafton, Morris, and Riddle are not answering. What do we do?”

  Staff Sergeant Welsh turned his head slowly to look at Fernandez. He could almost smell the fear emanating from every pore of the young man’s body. “I have no idea what threat we are facing, any theories?”

  “No, but I think I found Morris,” Fernandez managed to choke out.

  He looked at Fernandez with alarm. “What’s his status? Where is he?”

  “I think this is what’s left of him," said Fernandez as he dropped a boot to the ground. "Found it just outside the wall as we were running here."

  Welsh stared at the boot for a moment before he bent down and picked it up. It was heavy, too heavy for an empty boot. He suddenly realized that the boot still contained a foot which appeared to have been completely ripped off just above the ankle. He dropped the boot as if it was on fire and looked up at Fernandez.

  “Specialist, how do you know this is Morris?” Welsh asked.

  Fernandez looked up at Welsh. The young specialist had removed his night vision and his eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Morris had written NIKE on the sides of his boots in dark green. Said it would help him run like hell if he ever got in trouble,” Fernandez explained, his voice shaking in fear.

  Welsh removed his night vision and risked a quick glance at the boot using his flashlight. There it was.

  He steeled himself and began his orders, “Okay, we have no way to call in an EVAC, since our communications gear was with Sergeant Morris. It’s up to us to make it to the extraction zone. Whoever or whatever is doing this, obviously it's from the sky." He pointed to the sky in emphasis. "Ultra-light? Hang glider? Some new technology from a hostile government? I don’t know. All I know is that it is silent and fast." Pointing to the side of his goggles, he continued, "Keep your eyes open and switch to thermal imaging on your goggles. Riddle may have missed seeing the object using starlight. Hopefully, we can spot any heat signature from a distance before they get too close. Let’s move out into the trees, leapfrog. Maybe when we get under the canopy of trees they won’t be able to get at us.”

  Without another word, he ran across the seventy-five yards of sparsely covered ground and entered the tree line. He found cover behind a huge gnarled tree and pointed his weapon in preparation to cover Fernandez.

  Fernandez broke from the creek bed and made for the trees.

  Welsh intently scanned the sky looking for the thermal image of anything flying above. A light wind picked up momentarily, and he looked straight upwards.

  The unmistakable heat signature of a small plane sized object zoomed in over his tree and dove to where Fernandez was running for his position. Welsh fired into the air in the general direction of the object with no discernible effect. It happened
too fast for him to react. What the hell is that thing?

  Staff Sergeant Welsh’s shots alerted Fernandez and the young specialist dove to the ground in evasion. The attack was silent and swift, and the object was gone as fast as it had appeared. It quickly rose, banked, and was back over the trees before anyone could get off another shot. Fernandez cautiously got up, seemingly unhurt. The specialist paused for a moment in confusion, and then ran like a scalded dog to Staff Sergeant Welsh’s location.

  Carter wasn’t far behind; he had broken from his position early and run like hell. The young man dove in behind Fernandez, crashing into the scrub brush and rolled behind a tree. Immediately he got up on one knee and brought his weapon up in one fluid motion as he scanned the sky intently.

  “Just what the fuck was that?” yelled Fernandez.

  “Settle down, Fernandez, quiet.” Staff Sergeant Welsh looked at Carter, “You were supposed to wait on Fernandez to reach this position before you came this way,” scolded Welsh.

  Carter whispered loudly, “Screw you sergeant, you saw that thing. I figured I had best run to the cover of trees while it was busy eating lunch.” As if in afterthought, he added, “Oh, by the way, what the fuck was that thing?” His hands were shaking so hard, his grip slipped on his rifle and he almost dropped it onto the ground.

  Staff Sergeant Welsh looked at the two remaining members of his team. He saw fear, confusion, and doubt. He imagined that his own face looked very similar to theirs and made an attempt to block out his emotions.

  With the lieutenant gone, he was the leader. He had to get his men out alive. He had to be strong. He pulled himself together and pushed the fear and doubt to the back of his mind, blocking it out with his years of military training. He had to make a decision and lead his men to safety.

  He swallowed hard, “I don’t know what it is and really don't care. Let's get the hell out of here. Fernandez, take point. Carter, rear. We have ten clicks to go to the Extraction Point. Let's move.”

  The trio quietly moved through the trees in the hopes that the dense canopy would shield the group from whatever had attacked the other team members.