Asset Seven

by James E Mack

  27

  ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN

  Randy wiped the blood from the knife as Deke rolled the body into a small dip between the rocks. With the amount of snow that was falling, the corpse would be covered in no time. But Randy didn’t have the luxury of waiting around to watch that happen. He needed to take down as many as he could and as quietly as he could to give the Team a fighting chance at getting out of these fucking mountains. Deke gave him the hand signal and they began moving towards the Iranian line again as it advanced down the slope. They half-jogged, half-walked in a crouch until Deke signaled that he had sight of the line. Without the need for words or communication, Deke loped off on the flank as Randy identified the shape of an Iranian through the snow. He moved fast, knowing that if they were communicating on their radios, at some point soon, someone was going to notice they were down one of their guys. Taking a deep breath, Randy casually walked into the position on the line where the guy he’d killed would have been. He noticed the figure to his left wave in acknowledgement and he returned the gesture, gratified to see the man return to facing forward. Content that the ruse had worked, Randy dropped back a little and angled his approach until he was directly behind the man. A brief moment later Deke jumped up in front of the Iranian and Randy closed in to capitalize on the diversion. In one fluid movement he thrust the blade deep into one lung while reaching around and pushing the man’s carbine up into the air. Keeping hold of the weapon as the man collapsed against him, Randy pulled the knife out then stabbed hard into the other lung, cursing as the blade was deflected by a metal buckle but correcting quickly and thrusting the knife in at a higher point. As the body collapsed fully into him, Randy lowered the carbine, pulled the knife out and jammed it behind the dying man’s throat, cutting forward in a sawing motion until the blade broke free of the windpipe.

  Satisfied with his kill, he wiped the knife on the move, catching Deke’s nod through the green glow of his NVGs. One more. Let’s do one more. They were closer to the line this time and caught up quickly. Again, Deke stalked off ahead and to one side while Randy closed in behind the shadow of the man at the end of the line. They repeated the same tactic and it worked as well as the other two. As he pulled out the knife and lowered the body, Randy could feel this man was lighter than the others and figured him for a youth or a younger soldier. Whatever. Young or old, a finger on a trigger did the same job. Whoever he was, he knew what he was getting into when he came up here. Looking up, he gave the hand signal to Deke that they were done. He would have no problems with working his way along the line taking them out one by one, but you could push your luck too far. As he and Deke took up the empty positions on the flank, he removed a couple of grenades from his tac-vest and motioned to get Deke’s attention. Deke confirmed he had seen and understood, and Randy pulled the pins, clasping the fly-off levers tight and took a long look up the line of soldiers. While he couldn’t see beyond the man to his left, he had a good idea of the level of the line. With a last look at Deke, he turned back and one after the other, threw the grenades in a high arc to land just ahead of the advancing troops. As one, he and Deke propelled themselves to one side, running down the slope to the position where Ned and the Team were waiting. Randy was smiling as he raced down the treacherous slope, only half in control of his progress as he leapt rocks and slid on shale. They’d made it farther than he thought they would when the dull concussions reached them. Without looking back, both men skidded to a halt by a row of large boulders then scrambled over them, dropping into a natural hollow below, landing on their backs.

  Randy looked up, breathing heavily but still smiling as Ned reached down and held out his hand.

  ‘Welcome home brother.’

  28

  ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN

  Sergeii Antonov slumped against the rock and allowed his body to slide down until he was sat resting against the cold stone. His breathing was loud and ragged as he shrugged off his small pack, growling at the fire of pain that engulfed his entire left side. Tearing open the pack, he pulled out his medical kit and opened the Velcro fasteners. He worked fast, hands shaking, knowing he had already lost a significant amount of blood and could not afford to lose much more. Gritting his teeth and turning awkwardly, he poured the sachet of QuickClot over bleeding holes in his back, hoping the granules were covering the wounds that while burning him with a visceral intensity, were too far around his body for him to see. He groaned and threw his head back, teeth clenched hard, the tendons in his neck straining beneath the skin as he absorbed the pain. After a moment, he opened his mouth and gulped a series of quick, shallow breaths as wave after wave of agony assailed him. Reaching back to the pack he pulled two field dressings and proceeded to dress his wounds, uttering loud curses as they opened and closed with his exertions. Panting from his efforts but satisfied he could do no more to stem the blood loss, he packed his medical kit away and pulled his rifle back onto his lap.

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Sergeii struggled to come to terms with the fact that he was the only survivor from his team. Feeling the cold snow settle on his face he realized that survivor might only be a relative term: If he couldn’t get off the mountain soon, the combination of blood loss and exposure would render him as dead as his comrades on the slope above. Anger began seeping into his thoughts and with it the shame of having been surprised and bested by someone he hadn’t even seen but had killed Arkady and severely wounded Sergei from very close range. He wondered if it had been the Americans or Zana’s little traitor. Snorting with derision at his own self-pity, he realized that it didn’t really matter who it had been, he was fucked either way.

  Sergeii looked down at the carbine resting on his lap and knew he had to move. And soon. But he could imagine the agony awaiting him as soon as he made the first move to stand up. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up, using the rock as support. His eyes widened and a scream erupted from him as he felt the wounds tearing open under the dressings. Head clammy with the sudden onset of sweat, he leaned into the rock and hyperventilated as waves of nausea engulfed him. He moaned and shook his head to ward off the assault. Sergeii was no stranger to pain and had a high threshold to withstand it, but this was different. He knew from experience that these wounds were serious: Three bullets into his back, below the lungs but certainly into the region of the kidneys and other organs. Knew also that the rounds would have bounced around inside him, tearing, shredding and destroying everything in their path. Calming his breathing, Sergeii looked up and towards the east where they had arranged for the helicopter to come back for them. Them. There was no longer a them. Only him. He didn’t know if he could make it that far, but he knew he had to try while he still had the strength to do so. Gripping the carbine, he straightened up and one small step at a time, began walking, every foot placement sending a coil of agony around his body. His breathing was ragged but he forced himself to concentrate on his steps, watching his feet move, careful not to over-extend or trip on the rocks under his feet.

  He settled into a labored cadence, a controlled stagger, head down and focusing on the ground to his front. Oblivious to everything around him but the top of his boots as they carried him across the deepening snow, taking care with each step to place a foot down before moving the next one. Slow but steady. He knew that a fall or a slide here would probably be the end of him. After some time, Sergeii realized that he had been moving down the mountain, his fixation on his steps clouding him to his navigational change. He grunted with surprise that he hadn’t noticed this. He was usually very much aware of exactly where he was and which direction he was headed. In truth, it mattered little; he was pleased with his progress and being a hundred meters lower than he thought he was didn’t constitute any significant problems.

  It took some time before he realized that he wasn’t feeling so much pain anymore and had been in an almost trance-like state, hypnotized by the cadence of his footsteps through the small snowdrifts. This was a bad sign and he tried to focus on
his wounds, encouraged his brain to find the pain, make him feel something to confirm he was still alive, not merely an entity walking in a snowbound limbo. He was about to reach around and give his back a rub when he heard the voice.

  Sergeii stopped and cocked his head to one side, panting and rasping for breath. He swayed as he listened hard for a repeat of the sound. When there was nothing after a minute or so of waiting, he decided he had imagined it and was preparing to start walking again when the voice returned, closer, louder and with it, complete confirmation of who he was dealing with. His stomach spasmed as he lifted the carbine up and aimed it towards the disembodied voice in the snow just as it spoke again, the unmistakable twang of the American mid-west.

  Okay, I’ll take point but we gotta beat feet gentlemen.

  Sergeii pulled the butt of the weapon tighter into his shoulder and pushed the selector to automatic. He didn’t know how long he could sustain standing upright with a weapon kicking into his shoulder but was determined that if these were his last breaths to be taken, he wouldn’t die alone. When the dark form loomed out of the snow in front of him Sergeii squeezed the trigger and a burst of fire hammered into the shapeless form in front of him.

  29

  ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN

  Ned shouted as he saw Randy drop to the ground and at the same time flinched as the unmistakable buzzing of rounds zipped past, close to his head. He dropped to one knee and brought his rifle up, firing controlled bursts into the area where he had seen the muzzle flash. Beside him another figure knelt and began firing into the darkness and whirling snow. Ned felt a pat on his shoulder and moved his aim to one side as one of the team darted past him, grabbed a hold of Randy and dragged him back behind them to the safety of cover. Ned stood, spun on his heel and ran back to the cover of the boulders they had only left moments before. He reached the medic who was cutting Randy’s jacket open and attending to the wounds. Cursing, Ned stooped to look closer and spoke.

  ‘Well?’

  The medic ignored him as he continued with his ministrations, then glanced up as he leaned over and grabbed a chest seal from his pack.

  ‘Not great. Bad wound where the round entered just under his armpit, but this should stop the lung collapsing. Big bleed from his brachial but got the tourniquet holding that. Took one into the pelvis that’s got me worried, think there’s already internal bleeding.’ He paused and looked over his shoulder for a brief moment. ‘Who the fuck is that? The Quds? We need MEDEVAC now or Randy won’t make it.’

  Ned nodded and stood, talking into his mic. ‘Speak to me. What we got out there?’

  Soft acknowledgements came over the net telling him pretty much what he already knew; someone had shot them up and disappeared back into the snow. He balled his hand into a fist and swore quietly before looking around and walking over to Vic who was kneeling with Dwight, working with the comms.

  Ned looked down and saw Vic had noticed him. The CIA officer stood and leaned in closer.

  ‘I’m calling for EVAC. We can’t sustain this Ned. We need to get the fuck off this mountain before none of us make it.’

  Ned shook his head. ‘You really think Langley will authorize the birds back into this shit-storm? Not a chance my friend, we either make it to the LZ or we don’t make it anywhere.’

  ‘No. I haven’t asked Langley. I have Mission Command, Ned. I’ve ordered the birds back in myself. Got confirmation a minute ago. They’ll come in even though it’s hot. Dwight’s giving them our location and thinks they can hold a hover at about four feet to keep rotor clearance.’

  Ned looked at the CIA officer for several moments. ‘That’s a ballsy call my friend.’ He looked behind him for several seconds before turning to face Vic again. ‘But you’re right; we need EVAC now, even though we got unknown hostiles very close. If they take down one of the choppers…’

  Vic stood and looked Ned in the eyes. ‘So let’s make sure they don’t.’

  ‘What about the Asset?’

  Vic shook his head. ‘He’s either dead or as good as. Best case scenario is he’s taken advantage of all of this and has been making good ground to the border. But I seriously doubt that. This is a determined force that’s chasing him and they’re not giving up.’

  Ned dropped his head on his chest and sighed. ‘It kills me that good men have died here, and we don’t have anything to show for it.’ Looking up, he caught Vic’s eye. ‘Must be getting old, expecting it to be any different. Okay, so we hold here until birds are inbound then clear the perimeter. You good with that?’

  ‘Yep. Let’s keep it simple and get off this damned mountain.’

  Ned walked off to brief the team as Vic knelt beside Dwight, looking for an update on the helicopters’ progress. He knew Ned was right; if the enemy took down a chopper it would be a huge propaganda coup to say nothing of the death of the pilots and crew. Hell, it might not even take enemy fire to do it. Landing in a snowstorm at night on a treacherous mountain was inviting all kinds of problems. But this is where the Night Stalkers came into their own. Vic had seen them land in worse. Not much and not often, but still worse.

  Dwight informed him that the birds were twenty minutes out and Vic stood and made his way towards Ned who was kneeling beside Randy and the medic. Ned glanced up as he approached and Vic stooped, bringing his face close to Ned’s ear.

  ‘Twenty minutes.’ He looked down at Randy, saw how pale the face was against the dark fabric of the sleeping bag he was cocooned in. His eyes were closed, and Vic couldn’t discern any breathing. He was just about to say something when the medic turned his attention from the intravenous line he was setting up, and back to his patient. He cursed and darted forward, ripping the sleeping bag open and tilting Randy’s head back. As the medic dropped and blew two hard breaths into Randy, Ned was already in place to begin compressions when the medic sat up slowly and waved Ned away. Ned lifted his NVGs from his face and stared hard at the medic before nodding and pulling the sleeping bag over Randy’s lifeless body. Sitting back on his haunches he rubbed his face with his hands then looked at the medic with the question evident in his eyes.

  The medic shook his head. ‘Internal bleeding. Just too much on top of the lung damage Ned. I’m sorry man.’

  Ned nodded, his gaze unfocussed as he thought about the friend he had just lost and what he was going to say to Laura. A sound brought his attention back to the present and he saw the medic shaking out a body bag. Ned stood and walked over to check if the rest of the team who had made it this far had anything to report. He needed to get his mind back in the fight. Leave the emotions for later.

  Vic watched Ned walk away and couldn’t imagine what the Delta soldier was going through. His team slaughtered on a deniable operation in the mountains of Iran. A lot of soldiers in Ned’s position would lay the blame for the deaths at the feet of the CIA; another fool’s errand for the spooks ending in the deaths of their friends and colleagues. But Ned was a professional. Knew that these were the risks and that it was his job to accept them and make the operation happen. But he was also a human being, affected and influenced by the same factors as any other person, including the deaths of close friends and colleagues. The difference was that Ned and men like him could lock those emotions down and release them later in a time and place of their own choosing. Well, that’s how the theory went at least. Vic was reminded of some of the older Paramilitary Operations Officers from Ground Branch who had mentored him at the Agency and the heavy baggage and mental scars they had carried after decades of operations like this one. Sighing, he pulled out his Sat-phone and looked in vain for any contact from Seven. He wasn’t surprised. The earlier assessment he’d given to Ned, while pessimistic, was in all likelihood the most accurate. Seven was being pursued by one of the most effective terrorist organizations in the world, and they were taking the hunt personally. Hell, he could already be dead, and the Iranians were now just trying to get the cherry on top of the cake; a covert team of American Special Forces on a denia
ble operation. He felt a twinge of doubt as the thought of the incoming helicopters came to him. They could not afford to have either of the birds taken down, their extraction relying on them. But he couldn’t second guess his decision now, the call had been made and the plan was in motion. Far from perfect, granted, but driven by their circumstances. This prompted a memory of one of the legends of Langley that came back to him, a homily delivered as part of a presentation on paramilitary operations. The lecturer had spent thirty years in the field, running deniable operations in every theatre of conflict that the USA had been involved in during that time. Referring to decision making in the field, his gruff, gravelly voice and straight talking had held the trainee officers’ attention.

  ‘A perfect decision in the field? It exists. And do you know what it is? It’s the decision that works, people. No matter how dangerous, creative, off the wall… questionable. If it works, it was perfect. You will always be judged by shiny asses back here from the comfort of their corner offices and the genius of hindsight. You can’t think about that. You’ve got to think in the now. What works now? What do I have to do to get my ass and the asses of the team out of here right now?’