by James E Mack
The next rise was steep, and he skidded as the ice underfoot robbed him of purchase. Cursing, he slung his carbine around his back, freeing up his hands and using them to assist him as he scrambled over the sleek rocks. As he bridged the crest of the slope, he was buffeted by a gust of wind that drove the snow hard against his face. He lowered himself to the ground and scanned the area before him, but the visibility was poor. Sighing, he stood up, ready to continue then dropped immediately back down into the cover of the rocks, reaching behind him and pulling the boy down with him. His pulse quickened as he scrutinized the area in front of him for another glimpse of what he had just seen.
The unmistakable sight of a muzzle flash lighting up in the darkness.
22
QUDS FORCE, ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN
Zana smiled as the signaler repeated the statement.
‘The Bear is engaging the Americans.’
The General turned and slapped his Major on the back, a huge grin dominating his face.
‘There you are Major. We have the Americans fixed in place thanks to my Russian friends. Get us moving and keep the pace fast; I don’t want Sergeii having all the fun!’
The Major returned the smile and barked several commands before turning and leading the small file of men through the snow-covered rocks. His confidence had returned as had his thirst for vengeance for the death of his men. For a moment back there, he had doubted the General’s ability to deal with the traitor Ardavan and felt a brief flush of shame at his lack of faith. Now however, they were back on track to finally finish what they started and he for one couldn’t wait. He had already decided that if they caught Ardavan alive he was going to use the knife on him. Give the traitor the death he deserved for the slaughter of the Major’s men. Long, slow and excruciating. Ardavan would beg for death. The Major pushed the pace as much as he dared in the treacherous conditions, feet skidding and slipping on the ice-covered rocks underfoot. As he gripped his carbine closer to his body a small smile crossed his face as he looked forward to seeing the face of the traitor when he was finally held to account for his crimes by the razor edge of the Major’s knife.
Zana pounded up the slope, almost bumping into the back of the man in front of him in his haste to cover the ground as quickly as possible. With the Americans pinned down by Sergeii’s team, Zana and his Quds squad could close with the enemy while the Americans were distracted. His adrenalin was pumping, and he found himself becoming frustrated that they couldn’t move faster but knew that the Major was going as quickly as he could in the conditions. As they clambered up a steep slope, the man in front of him slipped and would have tumbled down the side of the mountain if Zana hadn’t grabbed him and arrested his fall. The younger soldier flashed a grin of thanks and continued scrambling up the rise, as intent as Zana to avenge the death of his comrades. The General felt a welling up of proprietary pride at the dedication of his young soldiers, ready to give their lives to take down a traitor.
When they crested the top of the slope, the Major called a halt while the signaler shuffled back to Zana.
‘General, more news from the mice. Two people, higher than us in a west-north-west direction approximately one hundred meters.’
Zana turned his head to face the direction the signaler had given him. One hundred meters? That was nothing. In clear conditions, Ardavan could be watching him now. But these were not clear conditions. The wind and the snow had reduced visibility to several meters so even with night vision optics, the traitor couldn’t see any more than they could. He turned back to the signaler.
‘Tell the Bear to continue to close with the Americans but that we will be engaging a separate target on his left flank. I will communicate with him further when we have killed our traitor.’
He watched as the signaler relayed his information then pause as he received a reply. In Russian, he requested the message to be repeated before turning to the General with a look of surprise and happiness.
‘General Shir-Del, Sir. The Bear has killed two of the Americans.’
23
TASK FORCE GREEN, ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN
Randy crawled over the rocks and boulders, reached out a hand and hauled the body of his fellow operator from the top of the small slope where only seconds ago, the tall Virginian had crumpled to the ground, felled in mid-stride. Randy hadn’t known what had caused it, but he’d seen enough men die to recognize the difference between a fall and death from a bullet. He dragged Buck’s body closer to him and yelled as he saw the side of the man’s face was missing, a hollow mess of blood, bone and cartilage in its place.
‘FUCK!’ He keyed the mic. ‘Buck’s gone, Buck’s gone. We have hostiles, direction unknown, distance unknown. Possible sniper, I repeat, possible sniper.’
As he listened to the call from Randy, Ned was already running towards the cover of a small mound of rocks when the man in front of him collapsed without warning. Ned cursed and threw himself to the ground, crawling the last few feet to the crumpled figure. He grabbed Mike by the strap of his tac-vest and rolled him over, staring at the giant exit wound in the soldier’s neck.
‘Mike’s gone, Mike’s gone. Confirm sniper. I say again, confirm sniper.’
Around him, his men were throwing themselves into any cover they could find, covering their arcs of fire, desperately seeking the enemy who had just killed two of their team. Ned looked around as someone landed beside him.
‘Fuck Vic. This ain’t good man. This is not good.’ He looked out over the rocks before dropping back down again and calling it on the radio. ‘We have two KIA, repeat, two KIA. Anyone else hurt?’ The replies came quick and clear and to his relief there were no further casualties. Vic slid closer to him.
‘Who is it?’
Ned sighed and shook his head. ‘Mike and Buck. Gotta be a sniper. And a sniper with a fucking thermal scope at that.’
‘I’m sorry Ned. So fucking sorry.’
‘Let’s leave that for later, we’re in the shit now and need to get out of it.’ He keyed his mic again. ‘Does anybody have a fucking clue where the shooter is firing from?’ The negative responses echoed one another until Randy replied.
‘I saw Buck go down and I’m gonna call left flank above us.’
‘Okay, let’s start there. Get the Thermal Imager up and running, see if we can ID any movement. Dwight, you picking up any signals we can DF?’
There was a pause before his comms guy looked for anything they could lock on to and Direction Find back to the enemy.
‘Yes Ned, but it’s weak, no transmission to… wait. Got it. They’re close, very close. Got a bearing and location to within ten.’
‘Good. Get with Randy and put some fucking pressure on them while we prepare extraction.’ When he received the reply, he turned to Vic. ‘Okay, we need to get ready to extract under Randy’s covering fire. We take the bodies out with us. We’ve brought the bags, so we take turns carrying them and providing cover. It’ll be a tough schlep back to the LZ but there’s no other choice.’
Vic shook his head at the sudden loss of two Delta operators so soon into the mission. He hadn’t known the guys to any great degree but knew their team-mates would be devastated at the loss. He also knew that they’d save that devastation for the appropriate time. He’d seen it before, where the anguish of death and loss was compartmentalized, shoved into a little locked box in the operator’s head while they focused on completing their mission. His thoughts turned to his Asset. There wasn’t a hope in hell of getting Seven out now, if indeed he was still alive. No; the focus had to be on their own extraction and survival. A sniper with a thermal-imaging scope was a force-multiplier; an individual disproportionately more effective than a platoon of soldiers, even in the reduced visibility of the snow. He looked up as Ned spoke.
‘Randy and Dwight’s gonna rain down some grenade fire on their position on my call. Let’s get Mike and Buck ready for the off.’ He repeated his intention over the radio and detailed individuals to tasks
. The men stayed low as they set about stripping their dead comrades of weapons, ammunition and equipment and distributing the items among the team. The bodies were secured in the bags quickly but with consideration for the friends and team-mates they once were. Ned gave a nod to Randy as the operators assigned to the bodies knelt, ready to lift once the grenade team started their work. Randy returned the nod and he and Dwight put the M320 grenade launchers into their shoulders. Ned waited until the dull retort of the first grenade being fired reached his ears before giving the command. ‘GO. GO. GO.’ He took point and led the team out of their cover just as the first grenade exploded and a brief flash lit the night sky on the slope above them. A steady rhythm of explosions continued as he and his team carried the bodies back towards the LZ. He pushed the pace as much as he dared, taking into account the weight that his guys were carrying between them over treacherous ground, but they couldn’t hang around. That fucking sniper would be the end of them if Randy’s grenade stomp didn’t work.
There was nothing like the comforting knowledge of knowing your enemy’s head was burrowing into the ground under a weight of grenade fire while you were on the move. Looking over his shoulder, Ned saw that the guys carrying the bodies were keeping up, their heads lowered as they propelled themselves out of the killing zone. He faced forward again and strode out, taking advantage of a level area to increase the pace. By his reckoning they had some distance to go before he felt confident enough to bring the birds back in. He keyed his mic as he jogged at the head of his men.
‘Dwight, you picking up anyone else out here?’ His concern was that the sniper who had engaged them was part of a larger group and he had no idea if they were heading towards or away from them. The reply came after several moments.
‘Nope. Nothing since those last transmissions.’
Ned grunted, the statement giving him neither comfort nor concern. His thoughts strayed to the bodies of his two dead operators and their families. He pushed them to the back of his mind to focus on the task at hand; getting him and his team the hell out of the shit. He was wondering how long Randy and Dwight would keep the grenade fire up for when a shout from behind caught his attention and he turned in time to see one of the operators who was carrying a body collapse. Fuck! He threw himself to the ground and crawled several meters to the cover of a large rock as the calls came over the net letting him know everyone’s status. The missing voice was Rick, Ned’s go-to guy for all things explosive’s related. Ned swore under his breath even as he looked for a way out of their predicament. Rick must have been taken out by a sniper, his sudden collapse identical to Buck and Mike’s. His mind racing, Ned considered the possibilities. Either they had been engaged by another sniper or the same one who had taken out Mike and Buck had moved position and was tracking them. He needed to talk to Randy.
‘Hey Randy, we got bad times here man. We have another KIA and looks like a sniper again. You guys get anything on BDA?’ While he waited for the reply, Ned hoped that the Battle Damage Assessment, the BDA, would at least tell him their grenade stomp had killed some of the enemy. His earpiece crackled as a transmission came through from Randy.
‘Nothing Ned. Visibility to shit and thermal not picking anything up. We’re coming in on your six now.’
Ned turned his attention back to the area in front of him, scanning the rocks and boulders for any signs of movement. He was now down three guys and could see a terrible reality fast approaching. Carrying two dead comrades out was difficult enough but three was going to really hinder them and present an easier target to whoever was picking them off. Fuck. But he’d been here before, stranded in hostile territory and unable to take his dead Operators home. He hadn’t liked the decision then and didn’t like it now. But he had to think of the living, not the dead. With a sigh he lowered his head and spoke into the mic.
‘Dwight, Randy. Prep Red Pete, I say again, Red Pete.’
There was a moment’s silence before the replies came in. It was a terrible thing to ask them but each man on the team understood the necessity. This was one of those defining characteristics that separated Special Forces’ Operators from the conventional military: the ability to shut off emotions and sensitivities and deal with the task at hand. And burning the bodies of your dead friends and colleagues with Red Phosphorous, or Red Pete as they referred to it, was a horrific task. But Ned had no choice; carrying three bodies out would render his team almost combat ineffective and incapable of taking the fight to the enemy. If they stood any chance of making it to the birds, they would have to close and kill with whoever had been picking them off. And fucking fast.
He crawled back from the small rise and looked over to see Randy and Dwight placing the body bags together and stacking the Red Phos grenades in preparation. He felt the sting in his eyes as the raw emotion hit him and he shook his head to rid himself of the distraction. Later. Looking around their position, he saw Vic had the thermal binoculars and was scanning the area to their right flank where the sniper threat had come from. Ned had to come up with a plan to get them out of here but whatever it was, they needed to eliminate the threat first. His mind became calm as he ran through a course of action that would put his guys back on the offensive, taking the fight to the enemy. Face set in grim determination, his plan became clear and as he keyed his mic to brief the team, he knew he wanted only one thing from it:
No more dead brothers.
24
ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN
Sergeii dropped to the rocks beside Pasha and patted the sniper on the back to let him know he was there. He was breathing heavily after his sprint across the open ground and he swiped at his face, smearing blood across his forehead and wincing as his gloved hand brushed the torn gash. The grenades had surprised them, and he’d barely escaped, rolling over and over away from the impact zone but still catching a sliver of the lethal projectiles on his forehead. Gregor and Viktor hadn’t been so lucky. Viktor killed outright as a grenade exploded right beside him and Gregor’s head shredded by a combination of metal and rock fragmentation. Sergeii hadn’t even had the time to strip his comrades of their weapons and ammunition. Arkady limped his way into their position and applied a dressing to a flesh wound on his leg before settling into a defensive crouch, weapon aimed in the direction of the Americans. Sergeii pressed his face up against Pasha’s ear and whispered.
‘Give me some fucking good news.’
The sniper remained completely still as he replied in his customary monotone.
‘Three dead Americans. Soon to be four.’
Sergeii patted his back. ‘Good work Pasha. Even the numbers up a little more and we’ll move in.’
‘Of course.’
Sergeii shuffled backwards until he was close to Arkady. ‘How’s the leg?’
Arkady shrugged his shoulders as he replied. ‘I have had worse. Hurts but no real damage.’
‘Good, good. Pasha will take out as many of the Americans as he can before we close on them. If I was them, I’d be trying to call in my extraction. My Iranian General informs me that he doesn’t think they will risk any air support, but they will call in helicopters to pull them out. We need to finish them before that happens. My Iranian friend would like some prisoners if possible, but we will see how that goes.’
Arkady nodded his understanding and Sergeii sent an update to Zana, letting him know there were three less Americans wandering his mountains. No doubt the General would be pleased with that message. He turned back to Pasha and sidled closer.
‘What are they doing?’
‘There’s been no movement for a while now. They will be looking for a way out that won’t expose them to me. They have three bodies to carry and this will be a big problem for them.’
Sergeii grunted. The Americans were too soft when it came to their colleagues. A Russian would leave a dead comrade on the battlefield, the former warrior now little more than a heavy piece of meat that could no longer contribute to the fight. The Americans were too sentimental, b
ut Sergeii was relying on this, knowing that the burden of their dead colleagues would ultimately mean death for the rest of them. Well, almost the rest of them. Zana was adamant that he needed prisoners and Sergeii was beginning to see the value in this, the humiliation to the Americans a far more powerful blow than a handful of dead deniable soldiers on an Iranian mountain pass. His mind was made up: Prisoners were no longer a nice to have. They were his priority. He tapped Pasha on the shoulder.
‘Arkady and I are going to move closer on their right flank. We’ll pressure the Americans to start moving and you can pick them off from here. I need prisoners, so see if you can just wound a couple of them.’
The sniper gave a soft grunt of understanding without moving his focus from his target area. Sergeii nodded to Arkady and the pair began a slow crawl over the uneven, snow-covered ground giving a wary glance now and then towards the Americans’ position. In his mind’s eye Sergeii imagined himself as his grandfather, closing with the Germans over the freezing rubble of Stalingrad. His country’s enemies had always underestimated the strength and determination of the Russian people, the Americans merely the latest to be guilty of this. And Sergeii was only too happy to be the messenger of this error to the Western imperialists. Revenge for the savage defeat he and his Wagner comrades had received at the hands of American airpower fueled his motivation. The knowledge that he would not face any American aircraft tonight boosting Sergeii’s confidence that he would destroy the American soldiers and humiliate their nation.