PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

  Ice dropped the tailgate. “Everything you asked for, bro, we even filled the tank. Thanks for the loan. Keys are in the ignition.”

  “No, thank you.” The quartermaster shook his hand and looked over the crates.

  Vance scanned the camp. “Zahir and Kreshnik inside?”

  “Yes. I think you should go talk to them.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re planning to attack one of the Serbian villages.”

  “Motherfuckers. Ice, help Barishna get the gear unloaded.” Vance strode across to the cottage the KLA militia used as a headquarters. He stormed inside and found the leader of the Gray Wolves, Zahir Jashari, sitting in front of a cast iron stove. Next to him sat Kreshnik, his lieutenant.

  Zahir was the reason the CIA was backing the Wolves. A respected Albanian clan leader; he would be influential once NATO eventually forced the Yugoslav Army out of Kosovo.

  Zahir stood and shook his hand. “Mr. Vance, did you have a good trip?” He was tall with a large square head topped with short gray hair. He had a habit of squinting. Vance thought it made him look like a pig.

  Kreshnik remained seated. “You bring us guns?”

  He locked eyes with the Gray Wolves’ lieutenant; a thin, snake of a man, who always wore a padded black leather jacket. Vance knew he wore it to look bigger. Everything about him was for show. The jacket, the slicked-back hair, even the Skorpion machine pistol he carried in a shoulder holster.

  Vanced turned back to Zahir. “We brought weapons as well as ammunition, uniforms, and medical supplies. Everything you need.”

  Zahir nodded. “What about heavy weapons? Machine guns, rockets.”

  “No, only small arms. You know the agreement. This equipment is to be used in defense of Albanians not to attack the Serbs, you understand.”

  “Of course. You made that perfectly clear.”

  Kreshnik mumbled something in Albanian.

  There was an awkward silence as both KLA fighters stared at Vance. He knew the bastards were lying.

  The message tone of his Motorola 9500 phone broke the silence. He pulled it from his jacket and walked out the door. Unfolding the antenna, he switched to satellite mode and made a call. “It’s me, go ahead.” He listened as one of the operations officers briefed him on the status and location of a downed pilot. He and Ice were tasked to secure the pilot and move him to an extraction site.

  He strode across to where Ice was overseeing the unloading of the truck. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got a Fallen Angel in our sector.”

  “Pilot alive?”

  “For now. Came down real close to the Serbs. CSAR can’t get on station due to the SAM threat. We’ve just been tasked.”

  “Damn. This gear buys us leverage and then this happens. Zahir is going to use this against us.”

  “It’s the nature of the game, brother.”

  “Can we run a solo extract?”

  “Negative. We go in alone and get in the shit, and suddenly we’ve got three Americans needing to be pulled out.”

  “Good point. We need to move fast and pick him up before the Serbs find him.”

  Vance gestured to the crates still in the truck. “Give me one of the Zastavas. I’ll talk to Zahir.”

  Ice jumped up into the tray of the truck and pried the lid from a wooden crate. He checked the action on a freshly minted M76 sniper rifle and handed it over. Vance tucked it under his arm and squelched back through the mud toward the farmhouse. He would distract the KLA leader with a shiny toy then hit him with the task to recover the downed pilot. He already knew what was going to happen. Zahir would help if the CIA agreed to supply him with more weapons. Vance shook his head. He was starting to question exactly who worked for who.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sledge crouched beside a hedge, heart pounding, pistol clutched in his right hand. He heard voices on the other side of the dense vegetation and tried to catch a glimpse of the men through the branches.

  He was certain he was in the right place. The farmhouses on the other side of the hedge matched the map. Finding it had been simple enough. He had followed a stream through the woods until it reached a shallow irrigation channel at the edge of a field. The channel allowed him to approach the emergency rendezvous undetected.

  “Fuck,” he mouthed. The men were definitely Serb militants. He could make out the camouflage pattern on one of the soldier’s pants. Thank God he had paid attention to the intel brief.

  Someone yelled and Sledge decided it was a good time to creep back to the forest. From there he could watch and wait for the soldiers to leave. He slid back into the ditch and waded slowly through the muddy water.

  A dog barked and his heart jumped. He ran, lifting his legs high to clear the water. From over his shoulder he heard a shout, then the crack of high-velocity rounds. He made it to the stream and gasped as he plunged into the icy waist-deep water, struggling across to the opposite bank. Fighting to get air into his lungs he stumbled up the bank and into the woods.

  He knew he had to keep moving. His only hope was to get to another RV and radio for help. He checked the radio pouch and skidded to a halt. It was empty. Barking and yelling filled the air, growing louder. He shoved his pistol into his vest and ran as fast as he could.

  ***

  Vance rubbed his temples and groaned. Zahir and Kreshnik had spent the last fifteen minutes discussing the best way to find the downed pilot. He was getting the impression they had no intention of actually helping. “Look gentlemen, if we don’t move soon the Serbs will catch him. No one wants that.”

  Kreshnik sat inspecting the woodwork of the freshly unpacked sniper rifle. “No. America doesn’t want that.”

  Zahir refilled his cup. “Come on, Kreshnik. Our American friends have been very generous.”

  “A few guns and some boots is not generosity.” Kreshnik spat on the hot iron stove. “It’s pity” The saliva sizzled as it evaporated.

  Zahir squinted as he smiled. “He makes a good point. Perhaps if you were to promise more weapons we would feel obliged to help.”

  “There will be more supplies and more intel.” Vance was sick of these people. He actually looked forward to the end of his deployment and was expecting the call any day now.

  “Vance, every day we are growing stronger. We need to arm more fighters.”

  “And we want heavy machine guns and rockets,” added Kreshnik.

  The front door swung open and Ice barged in. He gave Vance a nod and fixed the two Albanians with a cold stare. “Well, what are we waiting for? The boys are ready.”

  Zahir shrugged. “We were discussing a suitable payment for our services.”

  Ice’s blue eyes were intense, unblinking. “Is that right? Well, I just unloaded a truck-load of weapons and ammunition that’s now in your barn. So, the way I see it, payment’s been made.”

  “That’s not the way business is done in–”

  The former Marine held up a hand and reached into his pocket with the other. He pulled out a small green device. “You know what this is?” he asked.

  Zahir shook his head.

  “It’s a remote firing device. I’ve placed a small amount of explosives in the barn. Let’s call it five pounds. If you help us recover the pilot I’ll let you keep your new toys. If you don’t…” He raised an eyebrow.

  Zahir laughed. “You’re fucking nuts, Iceman.”

  Kreshnik scowled.

  Vance did his best to keep a straight face.

  Zahir stood. “OK, OK, we’ll go get your man.”

  “Glad we could come to an agreement.” Vance charged out the door and across to their red Toyota 4Runner. It was parked among the Wolves’ motley collection of pickups, flatbed trucks, and military four-wheel drives. Ice was right behind him.

  Vance opened the tailgate and pulled on his chest rig. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

  Ice zipped up his own vest. “What do you mean?”<
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  “What if they recognized that as an M57?” Vance said as he climbed into the front passenger seat. The green device was an initiator from a claymore mine. Without a cable running to the charge it was useless.

  “Guess I would have used my other plan.” Ice turned over the engine.

  “And that was?”

  “Beat them into submission.”

  “You better hope my replacement isn’t some crusty old by-the-book bastard.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because ‘You’re fucking nuts, Iceman’,” Vance said in his best Albanian accent. He checked his watch. “Sledge should be at the RV by now. How long’s it gonna take us?”

  “Bit over an hour.”

  “Let’s hope he’s there because if he’s not, he’ll be spending a cold night in the woods.”

  ***

  Sledge ignored the thorns stabbing into his flesh as he searched frantically for his pistol. He’d rolled his ankle when he had fallen down a steep embankment into a bramble bush. In the process the Beretta had been thrown from its holster.

  His fingers brushed the pistol and he grabbed it. Thorns tore his flight suit as he pulled his arm out. A dog barked from the ridgeline above. He struggled to his feet and ran. There was a shout and the crack of a rifle. A round clipped the tree next to his head, splinters hit his face, and he threw himself sideways.

  Landing on his back, Sledge aimed up the hill and fired a volley of bullets into the undergrowth. He rolled sideways as he ejected the spent magazine, pulled a spare from his vest and slammed it home. His rapid breathing was the only thing he heard as he lay prone with the pistol and waited.

  A barrage of rounds snapped over his head. He turned and half slid, half crawled down the hill. The gunfire was relentless. It sounded like an army was chasing him.

  At the bottom he scrambled to his feet and burst out of the woods into a clearing. The gunfire had stopped, replaced by shouting and barking. Two hundred yards ahead he spotted more trees. Ignoring his throbbing ankle, he hobbled as fast as he could, legs and lungs screaming in agony. Behind him the barking of a dog grew louder.

  A hundred yards to go. The barking was even closer.

  Fifty yards. The dog was right behind him. He didn’t dare look back.

  Twenty yards. He heard it charging through the long grass. It was on his heels.

  Ten yards. Sledge almost didn’t see the fence at the edge of the clearing. He fell over it, tearing his flight suit on the top strand of barbed wire. A shrub broke his fall and he rolled onto his back.

  The dog yelped in surprise as it broke through the grass and hit the fence. Its head slipped through the wires but its legs and body did not. The fence stretched forward. The dog’s teeth snapped inches from his face. Then it recoiled and the canine was catapulted away. It yelped as it collapsed in the grass.

  Sledge crawled to the tree line and staggered to his feet. The soldiers were halfway across the clearing. He knew that escape was almost futile; he was injured, tired and running out of options. But then, as he considered waiting for the Serbs to find him, he heard a car approach.

  He limped toward the sound. Pushing through branches he caught a glimpse of the vehicle. He stumbled out onto a gravel road and threw his arms in the air. “American, help me!”

  The battered Lada four-wheel drive screeched to a halt and Sledge found himself face to face with two old men. Sledge pointed to the flag on his ripped and muddied flight suit. “Help me.”

  The driver gestured with his hand as the passenger reached back and opened one of the rear doors. Sledge dove in, pulled the door shut and lay across the back seat. He mumbled a quick prayer of thanks as the driver gunned the engine and the little car took off like a startled rabbit.

  ***

  The sun had almost set by the time the KLA convoy arrived at the farm. Vance jumped out and joined Zahir and Kreshnik who were talking to an Albanian family. “Have they seen the pilot?”

  Zahir shook his head. “No, but there was a Serb patrol here earlier. They were asking questions about us.”

  He nodded at the elderly woman who had been speaking to Zahir. Tears streamed down her face. Her husband had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “What did she say?”

  “The Serbs took her daughter, and they chased someone into the forest.” He pointed at the pine-tree covered hills behind the farm. “One of the children said they saw a man running in that direction.” He held up a small radio. “They found this.”

  Vance inspected it. It was caked with mud but appeared functional. “Do they know if he was caught?”

  Zahir shook his head. “There was shooting. They don’t know anything else.”

  “Thanks.” He returned to the four-wheel drive where Ice stood scanning the hills with a night vision monocular.

  Ice lowered the device. “Any sign of our man?”

  Vance handed over the radio.

  “So he was here.”

  “Yep, local boy saw him being chased into the woods by a Serb patrol.”

  Ice stared at the radio. “There’s a good chance he’s either dead or captured.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  Barishna limped over and interrupted in his whiney voice, “I have some local sources. If he’s around here they’ll know where he’s hiding.”

  Kreshnik followed him, cradling his new sniper rifle. “OK, we came and looked. Now we go.”

  “Hang on a sec, buddy. We’re not done yet,” said Vance.

  “Zahir has given the order. We return to base.” Kreshnik glared at Barishna.

  “And Vance just said we’re not done,” growled Ice. “Unless you want to fight this little war without our help, you’ll tell Zahir we need a few minutes.”

  Kreshnik’s lip curled. “We don’t need your help.”

  He feigned surprise. “Really? You don’t need more weapons?”

  Kreshnik’s cold eyes lingered on Ice’s then he turned and stormed back to his boss.

  “He really doesn’t like you,” said Vance.

  Ice shrugged. “Barishna, how about you get onto those contacts.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The compact Lada four-wheel drive bounced along a rutted track, its headlights illuminating the trees on both sides. Sledge had given up trying to talk with the men who had rescued him. Neither spoke English. Instead he looked out the window, attempting to gauge his location. Using a penlight, he checked the escape and evasion map on his lap. He had identified the RV and traced a path northwest, his route during the chase. The problem was he had no idea how far he had travelled and in the dark it was difficult to see the terrain.

  Sledge looked up as they stopped. They had arrived at a warehouse or factory. The driver switched off the headlights and left the vehicle. The passenger turned and held up a hand before joining the driver. Clearly they wanted him to stay put.

  He looked around as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The blocky gray building must have been a relic from the Soviet era, he thought. Hopefully now it was being used as a base by the KLA. He yawned. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. His head nodded forward once and he caught himself. His head dipped again as he lost his battle to stay awake.

  Cold air blasted into the cabin. His eyes snapped open. The barrel of a pistol hovered inches from his face.

  “Get out!” a guttural voice ordered.

  “Hey, wait a second,” he said as he was dragged from the car. They tore his vest off and cuffed him.

  “I’m an American pilot,” he protested as he was blindfolded. “Who the hell–”

  The blow caught him off guard. There was a flash of red in his vision then searing pain on the right side of his face. He staggered. The barrel of a weapon jabbed into his back. At that moment reality dawned on him. He had been captured by Serbian militants.

  ***

  Lying under a tree, Ice’s elbows sunk into soft pine needles as he scanned the old two-story factory with his night vision device. He was on the other side o
f a clearing, barely fifty yards in front of the concrete structure. For forty minutes, he had watched, waiting. His breath formed a cloud of vapor as he exhaled and focused the image intensifier on a sliver of light escaping between two large sliding doors. It was the only sign the building was occupied.

  It had taken Barishna only an hour to find the missing pilot. One of his contacts, a Serbian business associate, had heard rumors of an American picked up by farmers. The quartermaster had tracked down the two locals and the Wolves had ‘extracted’ the location of the Serbian militia now detaining the pilot. It had not taken much to convince Zahir and Kreshnik to attack. They had their new weapons and now wanted Serb blood.

  Ice’s earpiece squelched. “How you going up there?” Vance asked. “Kreshnik’s getting antsy.”

  He pressed the transmit button. “No sign of our pilot or the Serbs,” he whispered. “Bring them to my position and I’ll move in for a close recon.”

  “Roger.”

  He continued to watch as he waited for Vance to lead the dozen KLA fighters to his position. When he heard the rustling through the trees he tucked away the night vision monocular, cradled his MP5SD and crawled back a few yards.

  Vance knelt next to him. “We’ll cover you from here.”

  He glanced over Vance’s shoulder. The Wolves were stretched out in single file. He watched Kreshnik give some whispered orders and position his men along the tree line. Zahir was nowhere to be seen. As usual the dirty work was left to his second-in-command.

  He handed the night vision device to Vance. “Keep an eye on Kreshnik.”

  “Will do, bud.”

  Ice pulled his balaclava down over his face. Then he shouldered the MP5SD and stalked through the woods. For a big man he moved like a wraith, flitting through the trees as he boxed around the clearing. He paused at the edge of the forest and watched.

  The factory was a long rectangular two-story structure. There was a row of windows on the second floor but no lights. On the front side were two entry points; a doorway on the far right and a set of large metal sliding doors closer to him. The crack of light between the doors revealed they were partially open.