by James E Mack
He threw off his pack and retrieved three items from it, before closing the flap and putting it back on. In the green hue of his night vision goggles, he surveyed the ravine for a moment before heading uphill and emplacing the first of his devices, an M18 Claymore mine. The Quds used this American model in favor of the Russian ones that conventional forces were issued because of the better reliability of the M18. With the Claymore set, Karim unspooled the line and walked backwards across the rocky ground to a position slightly above the emplaced mine. He put down the remainder of the line and the firing device, broke open an infra-red chem-light and marked the spot, ensuring that only the tip of the light showed. He picked his way between the rocks to another spot further downhill and repeated the procedure before carrying out the same action a third time. He then made his way back up to the shelter of a large rock above the herder’s track and removed his small flashlight with the red filter and waited.
It was the clatter of a small rock skipping down the mountain that alerted him first. Peering around the cover of his own rock, Karim felt his pulse accelerate as he watched the lead man striding down the track. Throwing himself back into cover, Karim pointed his small torch up the mountain and turned it on, moving it around in small circles. The response was instant as the shot from the pistol shattered the silence. Below him, the Quds operatives began yelling commands and directions. Several bursts of rifle fire raked the mountain, green tracer smashing off rocks and ricocheting in crazed directions. Affan, as briefed, let off a shot every couple of seconds in the general direction of the hunters and from below, Karim could hear the orders given for a team to head up and outflank the shooter. He nodded to himself. His plan was working. Keeping as low to the ground as he could, Karim made his way to the first claymore and positioned himself to see into the gully below. Bullets were still being fired up the mountain from the hunters below, but Karim recognized that this was the fire support from the herders’ track attempting to pin the shooter down while their flanking troops moved into position. Karim had picked the spot because he knew that the ravine would be irresistible to flanking troops, providing them cover as they closed on their target. His thoughts were interrupted as the first of the troops made their way up the gully, followed closely by the others. Karim counted eight men before he picked up the firing device and hit it three times in rapid succession. The explosion was loud and briefly lit up the small area, but Karim was already on the move, slithering his way between the rocks to the second position. The shouting and screaming behind him was the only indicator he needed that his strike had been a success. On reaching the second claymore, he barely had time to pick up the firing device before the first of the retreating soldiers staggered down the slope below him. He allowed five men to pass before detonating, the lethal projectiles of the claymore taking out another three men. Again, he was up and scrambling through the rocks to the final location and made it just as four soldiers burst out of the ravine below him. He closed his eyes, struck the firing device and flinched at the explosion which was much closer than the others had been. Opening his eyes, he dropped the firing device and brought his carbine up on aim, turned on the laser sight and trained the infra-red beam on the survivors as they stumbled below him. His suppressor dulled much of the noise, but he took nothing for granted and once the last body had struck the ground, he was off, snaking his way between rocks as the weight of fire from the hunters on the track scoured the side of the mountain. He could hear the shouts and although he couldn’t identify specific words, the confusion and panic were evident as the fire support group tried to determine what was going on. Karim was breathing heavily, gasping in deep intakes of air as he powered his way back up the mountain, determined to make good on the chaos below. After some time, he reached the point he’d marked earlier and pulled the chem-light from the rock just as Affan burst into the small clearing. Karim nodded and held out his hand, taking his pistol back, putting it into the holster and accepting the bunch of chem-lights from the boy. He brushed snow from the boy’s hair and lifted up his night vision goggles so that Affan could see his face.
‘Well done Affan. Very well done. Now we need to move.’
He noted the boy’s wide eyes and chest heaving with exertion but also the small nod of acknowledgement. Karim pulled his NVGs back on and studied the area in front of him for a brief moment before striding out, intent on getting as much distance as he could between them and the Quds Force, capitalizing on their panic and chaos while it remained.
Which wouldn’t be for much longer.
18
ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN
Ned looked back at Vic and nodded. ‘Sounded like explosions and gunfire to me.’
Vic brought the infra-red binoculars up to his face and scanned the mountain ahead of him once again. ‘I’ve still got nothing.’
The men were quiet as Vic continued to watch the area where they’d heard the explosions and gunfire emanating from. As faint as it had been, he was pretty confident that it had been the sound of automatic weapons. Which meant that Seven was indeed, being chased through the mountain passes by a hostile force. He lowered the binoculars and sat next to Ned.
‘Okay, we gotta start looking at the real possibility the Asset’s coming out very hot. He knows my visual and to keep coming towards it, so we just have to make sure we keep the bad guys at bay until we’ve got him.’
Ned nodded. ‘And until we get to the LZ.’
‘Yep. This might get… what did you call it earlier? …challenging.’
Ned gave a small laugh. ‘Might do brother. Might do. But hell, let’s face it, that’s why we’re here. Wouldn’t be as much fun otherwise, would it? What do you think about support options?’
Vic was quiet for several moments as he considered the question. ‘I think we will need to be in really deep shit before Washington gives the okay for aerial assets over Iran.’
‘That’s what I thought. Okay, so it’s just us chickens. Plan?’
‘Still the same. We’ll keep moving forward, hopefully get to Seven quickly, hold off the hunters and scoot back to the LZ.’
It was Ned’s turn to remain silent as he pondered the CIA officer’s statement. ‘Good plan Vic, so long as they don’t call up the cavalry and bring in air support. That’s when it will get challenging.’
Vic laughed and slapped Ned on the shoulder. ‘Couldn’t have said it better myself. Come on, let’s get going before this snow starts covering us up.’
The men got to their feet and joined the rest of the team, heading off in single file, weaving between rock formations and boulders as they made their way east. Wiping the snow from his face Vic’s mind raced as he tried to find a better way out of their predicament. Conducting a fighting withdrawal through mountainous terrain for over three kilometers was not his idea of a great exfil plan but it was all he could come up with. When he’d last checked in with Bill, the Station Chief had been very clear about the limited options Vic and the team would have for support; Washington had no appetite to start a ground war with Iran, Asset or no Asset. That said, the fact that Seven had identified CONUS as the target for a Quds operation was a factor that couldn’t be dismissed. Vic just hoped that this might sway the decision makers if the shit really hit the fan. He looked up as the man in front of him slowed and leaned into Vic to whisper.
‘From Dwight, he’s getting multiple hits on communications ahead of us, still thinks it’s person to person.’
Vic nodded and the Delta soldier moved back to his place in the line. Frowning as he thought about the statement, Vic again wondered why the comms signatures that they were picking up were local and low projection, no sign of a transmission that would indicate any messages being relayed out of the area. He still couldn’t figure out why this might be. Everything he knew about the Quds and VAJA told him that there was something really off-key with the way the hunt for Seven was being conducted up here. Standard practice would be for the Iranians to flood the mountains with troops, cutti
ng off every conceivable escape route. But they hadn’t. And since the arrival of that first couple of helicopters, no aircraft other than the drone had been picked up. What the hell are they up to? As his foot skidded on a patch of ice, Vic shook his musings from his head and sought to concentrate on the route ahead.
Ned scanned the area ahead of him with the thermal-imaging scope but saw no heat signatures and dropped it to dangle from the cord around his neck. He pulled down the tubes of his NVGs and increased his pace to catch up with the man in front. He’d been vigilant since hearing the gunfire, well aware that the claustrophobic nature of these winding passes they transited would give them very little warning of an approaching enemy. Hell, they could literally bump right into each other before anybody had a chance to react. As he walked, he stretched his neck and grimaced, the dull throb of the old injury a regular companion. The doctors had removed all the shrapnel but the trauma to the muscles and tendons in his neck had taken some time to heal and whenever it was cold and damp, the legacy of the injury came back to remind him how lucky he’d been.
Four years before, an RPG from some other fucking fanatic group in Niger. The tough, armored Toyota Land Cruiser not quite tough enough to deflect the Soviet warhead. A neck and arm full of shrapnel, the screaming of the interpreter, the confident commands of his team, the stink of burning leather seats, his blood hot as it poured down his arm and soaked his shirt. But he’d been lucky. Farouk, the interpreter, not so. Poor kid had died in agony, screaming and sobbing for his mother even as the team medic tried to staunch the blood pouring out of him. And Big Mac; paralyzed from the waist down where the shrapnel hit his spine. Ned remembered the incident as much for Cathy’s reaction to it. He’d had his share of knocks and bumps before, but she’d taken that one badly. It was the only time he’d ever heard her mention the fear she had of him dying in some god-forsaken place she couldn’t even pronounce and leaving her and the girls alone in the world. He’d said all the right things and recovered much faster than the Doc’s prognosis, but he’d always remembered her reaction.
And here he was, in the mountains of Iran on a deniable operation with nothing to say that he was an American soldier. Being wounded and captured here would be as bad as he could imagine. Torture and interrogation would be immediate. Then the public humiliations; paraded in front of the world’s media, driven in a cage around the streets of Tehran. Then, as the US government couldn’t claim him as one of their own, he’d be hanged. Publicly. A last humiliation for a fierce and proud warrior. His earlier thoughts about his family came to the fore once again and Ned found himself feeling emotional. What the fuck am I doing to them? How long can I really expect them to put up with this? The thought of his family being briefed by some anonymous State Department official or a Pentagon representative that their husband and father had been arrested in Iran and they could probably expect to see some very tough things was almost more than he could bear. A calm descended upon him and with it a sense of resolve. This is it. After this, I’m done. I’ll stretch out that stint at Bragg and use the time to find something in the private sector. Ned knew he wouldn’t struggle for work; almost all former Delta guys were doing pretty good in the private sector. But a lot of that work revolved around private security, practically doing the same dangerous shit for a lot more money but with none of the support network from the Big Green Machine: the US Military. He thought back to the Benghazi incident where the US Ambassador and some former Special Ops guys working for GRS had been killed. If he was leaving Delta, he didn’t intend merely switching his uniform for a polo shirt and some khakis and calling himself a consultant. No, he needed something sustainable, US-based with maybe some travel but not excessive. This was about his family now. He’d had his time, cutting around the globe taking care of business. It was their time now. A smile came to his face as he imagined Cathy’s joy when he broke the news to her and the girls. The feeling he experienced as he pictured this scenario was enough to convince him that he was doing the right thing. Nodding to himself in affirmation, Ned pushed the thoughts to one side and focused on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to enjoy his decision, but it would have to wait until he was back on safe ground, away from these mountains and the threat they were walking directly towards. He strode forward and tapped the man in front on the shoulder to get his attention. When the man turned, Ned leaned in and whispered. ‘Pass to front man, break at the next available spot.’ As the message went forward, Ned passed it along to the man behind, ensuring the team was aware of what was happening. Back in line, Ned’s earlier decision came back to dominate his thoughts and he recognized that it was a defense mechanism kicking in, his brain telling him how much he was going to miss this, miss being the guy responsible for getting his team in and out of bad places without losing any of them. He shook his head and opened his pace up, determined not to be distracted from the current mission. The rest could wait.
As point man, Randy scanned the area around him with the TI scope and saw no heat signatures. He walked forward and climbed a small pile of rocks, removed his pack, sat down and aimed his carbine out towards their direction of travel. Behind him, he could hear the soft sounds of the rest of the team as they took up positions of cover while they grabbed a power bar or cold drink. He wiped the snow that was accumulating on his face and scanned the area again, but still nothing. Reaching into his top pocket, he pulled out a Clif bar and wolfed it down, the cold and the physical exercise fueling his hunger. His eyes continued to scour the area in front of him, well aware that the enemy could pop up out of nowhere in this morass of passes, ravines and gullies. Not that he could see all that much, the snow and the dark combining to restrict visibility to the minimum. But still, something was always better than nothing and his regular sweeps with the TI scope would pick up anything alive that was moving through the area. Finishing off the last of his bar, he scrunched the wrapper up and stowed it securely in his pocket, the habit of leaving no trace in their operational area practically muscle memory now. Randy rubbed his eyes as a wave of tiredness swept over him. He was tired all the time these days and gave a rueful grin as he considered the impact age was starting to have on him. His mind was drawn back to the young Ranger he once was, staggering between checkpoints on the Long Walk; the grueling forty-mile ruck march during Delta selection. Back then he’d survived on little to no sleep, like all of them had, determined to get through Selection and make it to the Operators’ Training Course. Now here he was, barely thirty-five years old and tired and grumpy like an old man. He knew, of course, that he was fine, that it was just the non-stop tempo of operations that was catching up with him. That a couple of days out of the field, a few brewskis and a dip in a swimming pool and he’d be good as new. He smiled as a memory of a break he’d taken last year came to mind. Him, Chuck Stevens and Ned grabbing a couple of rooms at the Grand Millenium in Sulaimaniyah and hitting it hard. Chuck had almost been kicked out of the hotel for his constant marriage proposals to the receptionist. Fuck, that was funny. They’d had a great couple of days before heading back across the border and straight into hunting the ISIS leadership that was starting to fragment and escape from Syria. His smile faded as he recalled that it was little more than a week after their return that Chuck was killed. ISIS sniper on the front line near Raqqa. One shot, clean through the head. Chuck wouldn’t have known a thing. Was probably still thinking about that hot receptionist when he’d been hit. Randy sighed and did another sweep with the scope, but the area was still clear. He heard a sound behind him and turned as he felt his leg being patted. He smiled as he saw Ned’s big grin in the faint green glow of the Master Sergeant’s NVGs. Ned spoke quietly.
‘Okay Red let’s get moving. Quicker we get this fucking Asset off the mountain the happier I’ll be.’
Randy nodded and shrugged on his pack, shuffled down the small rise and took his position at the head of the file, facing forward. Several moments later a tap on his shoulder told him that the team was ready. Wit
hout looking back, he pulled down his NVGs and walked off into the night, followed by the rest of the squad who maintained a small gap between each man. After some time, Randy slowed the pace as he negotiated around a large rock formation that blocked their route. Once he had cleared it, he took a knee a short distance in front of the obstacle and waited until the whole team had cleared it before leading them forward. He continued his sweeps with the TI scope and was grateful for the comfort the device provided him when natural visibility was practically zero. The snow and the darkness conspiring to conceal the landscape around them.
Which is why even the last man to negotiate the rocky obstacle hadn’t seen the cylindrical object with the small antennae poking out of the snow, despite almost placing his hand upon it as he scrambled over the boulders.
19
ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN
The white noise in Zana’s head refused to dissipate, a constant hum of static as he looked at the sight before him. Nine bodies laid in a single file to the side of the track, the snow already beginning to shroud the silent forms. Nine bodies. Nine of his men killed in one engagement by the traitor Ardavan. Nine. And more casualties who were combat ineffective. Including the dead and wounded from Ardavan’s first trap, Zana had lost more than half of his men to the American spy. The humming in his head continued until slowly, his senses returned, and he looked around him. His men were in shock, staring fixedly at the corpses of their dead colleagues that they had just recovered from the side of the mountain. Friends and fellow operatives that only half an hour before, had been alive like them. He caught the Major’s eye but got no response other than a blank stare and a slight curling of the lip. Zana felt his shock turning to anger and welcomed the healthier emotion. Drawing his pistol, he strode down the path until he was directly in front of the Major and the rest of the men. He let the pistol hang loose by his side as he tried to catch each man’s gaze.