Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  “You may have one. It’s a biggie.”

  “How big?”

  “As high as they come.”

  “Jesus Christ, that can only mean Mullah Omar.”

  “I’m not sure the connection with Jesus is appropriate for that one-eyed murderer, but yes, that’s who we’re looking at.”

  He went on to explain the report from Hoffman, and his insistence on leading a small force in to arrest him and bring him back to face trial.

  “That kid?” Everard scoffed. “He’s not an American, not even military. We don’t know where the hell he’s from.”

  “He’s one quarter American, actually,” General Westwood corrected him. “And the rest French. He’s a skilled pilot, the son of a war hero, and he did fine work helping your Lieutenant Rains out of trouble. I wouldn’t underestimate him. Besides, he’s the only one who knows where this Mullah Omar is holed up.”

  “Even so, we’re talking about the Taliban leader. It’s a hell of a gamble, letting him go it alone.”

  “Not quite alone, Vance. He’ll have Rains’ men along with him.”

  “It’s not enough. He needs more.”

  The General nodded. “I don’t want to risk too many casualties amongst our own men, Colonel. Rains’ platoon is enough for the initial recce. If this goes wrong, I don’t want more of our troops at risk.”

  “What about the Delta Force?” Colonel Brooks suggested. “This kind of mission is right up their street.”

  “Except we don’t know where to send them. But it’s a good idea. Contact their CO, have him shadow Hoffman’s unit with some of his men. If they use helicopters, they can stay well back and get in quick if the shit hits the fan. You’re right. It’s their kind of work. Get in fast, do the job and get out fast.” The General was quiet for a few moments, thinking hard. “That gives me an idea. Are those mercenaries still in town, Schramm and his men?”

  “They are, Sir. They’re helping drink the local PX dry, last time I heard. They were due to fly out but their principal cancelled on them, so they’re waiting for their next contract.”

  “Maybe we could offer them one?”

  Colonel Everard stared at the General. “Mercenaries?”

  The intelligence officer, Lieutenant Colonel Brooks, leaned forward. “Sir, that’s against military law. We can’t do that. The President would have us hung, drawn and quartered.”

  General Westwood fixed him with an intense stare. “Vance, do you think I’m that crazy?”

  Everard looked down. “No, of course not, Sir.”

  “No. We are only allowed by our UN charter to employ security personnel. My proposal is that we offer Schramm and his men a temporary security contract. They’ll travel with Hoffman and Rains, who incidentally they got on well with, according to my reports. That’ll be a tight, compact force to send in.”

  “Excuse me, General,” Colonel Brooks, the intelligence officer interjected. “That’s still not much more than platoon strength. Against this man, Omar, it’s not enough. Not if we want to be sure.”

  “You’re right, Charlie. That’s why I asked Colonel Everard to stay here to listen. My intention is for him to track Hoffman’s force at a distance, and be ready to move in at a moment’s notice if he runs into trouble.”

  Both Colonels smiled. “I assume Hoffman knows nothing about this?” Brooks asked.

  “No, nothing. And it’s to stay that way. Clear?”

  They both nodded.

  “Good. Let’s go over your strength, Vance. How about APCs, you’ve plenty of Strykers to carry you cross country?”

  * * *

  We had to wait until the morning before we could meet with Rains. The plan was that we’d meet at five, load his platoon onto their vehicles, and set out on the mission. I had more than a few misgivings. Although the man I’d seen had little obvious security, I doubted that the most senior leader in the Taliban movement would lack for protection. We’d come upon them without warning before, and they were unaware of the existence of a viable tunnel leading to the village. Now that they knew, they would without doubt have called in fighters to protect him. The question was, how many. We’d only get the answer to that when we got there. Then there was Rachel. She’d gone with Najela and Luk to fix up a hotel for us to stay in overnight. I knew she’d be determined to come along, and I was equally determined that she wouldn’t. And Luk had a similar problem with Najela; he’d want her to stay back, and she’d want to come with us. In her case, it was even harder. We were going to her home village, and her local knowledge could be invaluable. There was Joe Ashford, and he wouldn’t take too kindly to having his cargo held back. At least I had General Westwood to watch my back now, but that could change at any moment. He was a senior army general, and no man achieved that lofty height of command without being an astute and wily politician. I’d been looking at some of the local maps in the Camp Phoenix operations room, and he’d agreed to give me free rein. I had to look at maps covering a much wider area than I needed. I was well aware there would be plenty of sets of eyes on me, now that I had the prized secret of the whereabouts of Omar. I needed an edge, and something that would offer me a defense against the inevitable problems I knew I’d be facing in the near future. I was thinking of Art Schramm and his gang of cutthroat mercenaries. They’d be the best possible edge any man could ask for. It was right then, when I was thinking about him, that I felt a tap on the shoulder, turned, and stared into his smiling face.

  “Art! What are you doing here? I thought you were leaving for another contract.”

  “Not while there’s cheap beer on sale in the PX. Why don’t you join me? Some of the boys are already in there.”

  “I don’t mind if I do. What are you going to do now that you’re out of work?”

  We were walking towards the camp PX. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d met Art in an odd place. Why was he there? Unless…

  “They told you where to find me.”

  He smiled. “Sure, they asked me to look you up. What’re we going to do? That’s up to you, but the General said that if you’d take us, the contract’s ours.”

  “You mean…”

  “To take out the one-eyed monster, Omar the Merciless,” he chuckled.

  “Is that what they call him?”

  “I’ve heard it said, yes. So what do you say? I gather you’re the only one who knows his location.”

  “That’s right. It would be good to have your men with us. You know that Rains will be along? Of course you do. What do you think about him?”

  “Same as you. He did well, once he’d ironed out a few wrinkles. His men are ok, especially that sergeant of his. So where exactly are we headed?”

  “Sorry, Art. That’s classified, until we’re almost there. But it’s in the general direction of the Khyber Pass.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough. Come on and meet the boys.”

  I spent the next two hours talking to his men, listening to the colorful stories they had to tell. It was almost midnight when I walked back to the hotel Rachel had booked us into. I gave the receptionist my name, and he handed me a key. We were on the fifth floor, which was well away from the blast areas if terrorists struck, he assured me. I wasn’t assured, but I went up the stairs, there was no elevator, and entered the room. I thought Rachel was asleep, so I undressed quietly. As I got into bed, she spoke.

  “You’re late.”

  “Sorry, I bumped into Art Schramm. You know he’s bringing his men along?”

  “No, I didn’t know. But I’m pleased. Max, I don’t trust the Americans.”

  “Me neither.”

  “How do we know that they won’t follow us and carpet-bomb the village as soon as they know the location?”

  “I’ve no doubt they’ll try exactly that.”

  “Max! Those villagers, I can hardly believe it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea. I’ll tell you later. For now, there’s something else on my mind.”

  “Something good,
I hope?”

  “Oh yes.”

  In the morning we dressed, and after a short argument, I was overruled.

  “Max, I’m your co-pilot and your partner. My place is with you, and if nothing else, to watch your back. Don’t try that macho bullshit with me about women staying behind when men go to battle. My job was flying fighter planes before I met you, not knitting cardigans. You need me.”

  I wondered about the partner bit, but she read my mind, correctly as usual.

  “I’m with you for the long haul, buddy. If you think you’re going anywhere without me, you’ve got another think coming. And besides, I reckon when this mission is over, we’ll be looking to restart the airline. We still have one aircraft, and General Westwood is sure to look favorably on handing us enough contracts to borrow the money for another.”

  “I would remind you that we’re still in debt to Joe Ashford’s outfit for our aircraft.”

  She snorted. “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that asshole. If he wants to come after us for the money, I’ll tell him to collect it from the DEA.”

  The Drug Enforcement Administration was a federal law enforcement agency, tasked with combating drug smuggling and use within the United States. They had the sole responsibility for coordinating and pursuing US drug investigations abroad. But Ashford was CIA.

  “I wouldn’t threaten him, Rachel. He’s too powerful for that.”

  “Not if he’s locked up in a Federal Penitentiary.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. Leave him alone. I’ll deal with Ashford when the time comes.”

  “I’d like to put a bullet through his fat head,” she snarled.

  “I know, but forget him, I’ll find a way out.”

  We joined Luk and Najela in the lobby and walked together back to Camp Phoenix. Lieutenant Rains had a small armored column prepared, four Strykers, enough capacity to carry all of our supplies and us on the mission. And bring back one prisoner. Art Schramm’s men lounged around in the morning sunlight, and like Rains’ men they were dressed in modern Uniform Camouflage Pattern combat clothing. The only way to tell them apart from the infantry was weapons, an exotic array of pistols, rifles and submachine guns. Unlike Rains’ men, they wore little in the way of body armor. I’d asked Schramm about it before.

  “It’s like this, Max. We operate as a small, tightly controlled group. Our specialty is getting in fast and hitting them hard before they realize we’re even there. If we’re slow getting in, and they get wind of our coming, we’ve lost before we begin. Body armor isn’t going to help us then.”

  Rains stepped out of the General’s HQ building. “It’s time to mount up. Let’s lock and load!”

  His men scrambled for their vehicles and tumbled aboard. I climbed into the lead vehicle with Rachel, Luk and Najela. We shared the space with ten of Art Schramm’s men. The only infantry we had with us were the driver and the weapons technician, who sat in front of the tactical screen that monitored the turret-mounted weapons systems. Rains’ man handed me a headset, and I put it on.

  “This is Rains. We’re ready to go. It’s up to you to lead the way, Hoffman.”

  “Understood. Our direction is Jalalabad. Driver, take the main A1 road, let’s go.”

  We lurched forward out of the gates of Camp Phoenix, leaving behind the reinforced concrete blockhouses, the rolls of razor wire and alert guards manning heavy machine guns. Before we got out on the open road, we had to pass through an Afghan national Army checkpoint, manned by nervous looking dark-skinned Pashtuns. Theirs was not a secure occupation and were distrusted by both their ISAF allies and their Taliban opponents. They were constantly aware that when ISAF pulled out, they were threatened with being totally overrun by the Taliban, just like the North Vietnamese steamrollered the ARVN after the American withdrawal.

  “I wouldn’t be in their position if I could help it.”

  I looked around. Art Schramm was next to me, staring out of the viewing port.

  “What would you do, it you were an Afghan soldier?”

  He grinned. “In this hellhole? I’d emigrate. But a lot of their problems they bring on themselves. Their loyalties are more tribal than to their commanders and the government. It makes them ideal candidates for suicide missions. If they tidied up their act, and started fighting the enemy instead of squabbling amongst themselves, they’d be a lot better off. Instead, they’re always looking for a kickback, and they’re not above selling their kit to the highest bidder.”

  “Just like the ARVN in South Vietnam.”

  “Yep. It’s not their fault. It’s the crap system they live under. The men at the top could change it, but why should they when they’re getting rich out of billions of dollars of aid from overseas.”

  “So there’s no answer to it? The people have just got to keep on suffering?”

  “That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

  I shook my head. It seemed the only solution for most of them, was to get out. But get out to where? The poverty in Pakistan, just over the border, was as bad if not worse in some cases. And Pakistan was the limit of where these people could travel. They had no papers, no money, and no possessions. Nothing.

  I opened the hatch and looked out. Close to me was the formidable remote turret, controlled by the weapons technician inside the vehicle. Either side of me was the rugged wastes that bordered the Kabul-Jalalabad Highway, the A1. The remote turret moved suddenly, and I realized the operator was panning it around, constantly seeking out any possible enemy threat. The other vehicles’ turrets were doing the same, so that all four turrets were moving around in a balletic, high-tech dance. In the distance, the mountainous countryside loomed above us, almost threatening in its overpowering desolation. Closer to the road, the ground was a mix of shale, sparse grass covered meadows and more expanses of broken rock. There were no people, no buildings, just a vast expanse of harsh landscape. I climbed back inside and closed the hatch; we were nearing Jalalabad, and the chances of ambush were greater. I’d had a conversation before we left with Rachel about a possible ambush, but from our own side.

  “How will you hide the direction we’re heading in?” she’d asked me. “Once we get near Yaluk, they’ll know where we’re going.”

  “Remember that first abandoned village, where we left the aircraft?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “That’s where I’m leading them. With any luck, I’ll be able to convince Rains that Mullah Omar is hiding close to the village. Somehow, I need to get us all into the tunnel that leads through to Yaluk. If General Westwood’s people are focusing on that empty village, we can go through the tunnel to Yaluk, sweep in and grab Omar.”

  “But surely, once we’re in the tunnel, Rains will know where we’re headed and radio Kabul.”

  I smiled. “If he has a radio that works underground, he will. Otherwise, he’ll be out of radio contact.”

  She still looked doubtful. “I hope you’re right, Max. If they attack Yaluk, a lot of people are going to be killed. Don’t forget, Najela’s family are from that village.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  We reached Jalalabad, skirted the city and stopped for a break. We parked the vehicles in a small circle, like the wagon trains of the Old West, and sat inside their protective cover. Rains came over to where I sat with Luk, Rachel and Najela.

  “This road only leads one way, Max, over the Khyber Pass into Pakistan. As I recall, there are not many villages along the way. There’s Basawul, just before the pass, and that abandoned village just before the Torkham Border Crossing Station. So which is it?”

  “He’s hiding close to that abandoned village, just outside, in fact. Do me a favor. Don’t pass if back to Kabul. We’ll have a B-52 raid inbound if they think he’s hiding there.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think they use that kind of tactic these days.”

  “No? Would you bet your shirt on it?”

  “Ok, no, but I won’t say anything, it’s your show. We’l
l be there in an hour, so how do you want to play this?”

  “We’ll use Art’s tactics, and go in hard and fast. My vehicle will go in first. Deploy the others in a covering formation. As soon as we know it’s not heavily defended, we’ll go in on foot and grab him. He’ll have a few guards with him, so we need to be careful and take them out before they even realize we’ve arrived. Art’s men can do that. As soon as we have him located, I’ll call you in with your men to make the arrest.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. It makes no difference to us, Dwight. But you’ll go down in the history books. It’ll be Captain Rains by the end of the day.”

  His eyes shone, and I could see he was hooked.

  “That’ll be something to tell my folks.”

  “Yep. But don’t screw up, Lieutenant. Let us go in first, and you provide the cover."

  “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

  We got moving again and covered the remaining distance to the village. It was just as I’d remembered it; a few mean, miserable stone huts, most of them with their roofs tumbled in. There was no sign of life, and not even a bird sang. I ordered our driver to go straight into the center of the squalid ruins, and Rains deployed his three Strykers just outside with their guns trained on the buildings. One of Art Schramm’s men opened the door to exit the vehicle, but I pulled Art to one side.

  “He’s not here.”

  He stared at me. “I wondered about that. It didn’t seem a likely place for the Taliban’s chief mullah to be holed up. So where are we headed?”

  “To Yaluk. I saw him while we were there.”

  “Christ, he’ll be long gone.”

  “No. He didn’t know that I’d seen him, or recognized him anyway. The message from Najela’s father suggested that he was very ill and needed treatment. He’ll be there. But you know what’ll happen when General Westwood finds his location?”

  “An airstrike.”

  “Yes, exactly. Probably a drone strike, followed by a huge influx of troops who’ll be shooting at anything that moves. I’m trying to save those villagers who protected us from being caught in the crossfire.”