Storm Clouds Rising: A Chuck McCain Novel

by David Spell

  “Absolutely!” Clark echoed. “If the general eats like that all the time, I don’t know how he is so slim.”

  Mrs. Perkins smiled broadly. “I’m so glad y’all enjoyed it. I think you’ll like the pie, too!”

  Two minutes later, the guests were ushered into a large room with wall-to-wall bookshelves lined with biographies and military history. In the middle of the study was the general’s desk, but in front of it was a sitting area with two comfortable armchairs and a leather couch. General Perkins walked to a small bar on the side of the room, pulling three tumblers from underneath it.

  “Could I interest you in some bourbon? I’ve got several different bottles. I was going to have some Pappy, would that be OK?”

  “Yes, sir!” they answered in unison.

  Pappy Van Winkle is one of the most sought after bourbons in the world. It’s normally only made in small quantities, which means a much higher price. The two warriors glanced at each other again. The general is definitely going all out to wine and dine us, Chuck thought. He and Kevin seated themselves on the couch.

  As they sipped their whiskey, Perkins broke the silence, seated across from his two guests. “Again, I want to thank you both for coming today, and I’d like to tell you why I invited you out here. First of all, I want to say that I’m honored to meet you. I was once a warrior myself and it’s always a pleasure to meet like-minded people.

  “Colonel, I know a bit of your background and some of your many accomplishments. You had a wonderful career in the Army. Of course, I’m probably a little biased, but it’s a pretty small fraternity of those wear the Ranger tab on their uniforms. But then after retiring, you joined the National Guard down there in Georgia and were quite the unconventional warrior when that terrible bio-terror virus was released. My good friend, Jonathan Williams, spoke very highly of you and was grateful that you were willing to use your many talents and vast experience at the CIA.”

  Both men were surprised at the mention of the former ops director and it evidently showed on their faces.

  “I suppose I should have mentioned that earlier,” the general continued. “It would have given you a little more context. Jonathan and I met for the first time in Vietnam. He was a new SEAL, I was a new Green Beret. We worked together on a couple of joint operations and hit it off. After he was wounded and had to leave the SEALs, we lost contact for a while.

  “Later on, we reconnected as we both moved up in rank in our respective services. Jonathan was a good man and we spent a lot of time together. Our wives became friends, as well. I was actually one of his sounding boards for some of the missions and ops that he ran after he went to work for the CIA.”

  The older man paused, sipping his bourbon and staring out the large picture window overlooking the back of his farm.

  “I saw you both at his funeral. The SEALs have a very special way of sending off one of their fallen comrades.”

  After a moment, Perkins spoke again. “Anyway, Jonathan was very fond of you, as well, Mr. McCain. He shared a number of your exploits with me, in confidence, of course. If I might, I’m curious as to why you didn’t join the military, but chose civilian law enforcement instead?”

  “I married young, and soon had a baby on the way,” Chuck answered, truthfully. “I’d always planned on going into the Marines, but life didn’t play out that way.”

  The general looked into McCain’s eyes, his gaze seeming to see deep inside of him. “Fair enough. Just curious. For what’s it worth, I was speaking recently to the former CO of that A-Team you were assigned to during your two contracts in Afghanistan. He told me about that operation outside Kandahar. What was the name of that village? Kowgak?”

  Chuck was speechless. How did this man know so much about them?

  “There were a lot of villages, sir,” he finally answered.

  “Oh, I’m sure there were, but Kowgak was the one he told me about. Major Murray told me that if one of his men had done the things that you had done that day, he would have been awarded at least a Silver Star, and maybe even the Congressional Medal of Honor.”

  McCain felt his face flush and noticed Clark staring at him, his eyes questioning. Perkins immediately changed the subject.

  “But, why are we here today? I’m sorry if I sound like I’m a rambling old man. I was very sorry to hear about you both being released from the Agency. A terrible decision, but I believe that I have an idea that would be mutually beneficial to all of us.

  “For a while now, I’ve been considering starting a law enforcement and military training company. I would expect that with your backgrounds, a number of opportunities will be coming your way, so I wanted throw my hat in the ring quickly. I’ve been looking for the right people to work with and from everything Jonathan told me, I think that we’d be a great team.

  “We could set up the business in any number of ways. We could do training on-site for the client, but I’m also prepared to create a training center here, where we could bring in small units, police and military, that you and the team you develop can train. Before we start talking in specifics, does this idea even interest you? I’ll tell you what, why don’t you two have a quick chat and I’ll go see about having Mabel bring us some of that apple pie.”

  With that, the general was on his feet and out of the office.

  Kevin and Chuck stared at each other for a moment.

  “What just happened?” Clark asked. “Has this guy got your apartment bugged?”

  “Maybe. That was crazy how much he knows about us.”

  “And you’ve been holding out on me, McCain. I want to hear what he was talking about. They don’t give out Silver Stars and Medals of Honor as participation trophies.”

  “Maybe another time,” Chuck deflected. “What about what he said?”

  Kevin laughed, holding up his tumbler. “How can we say no? That was an amazing lunch, this is amazing bourbon, and I’m pretty sure that the apple pie is going to be amazing, as well.”

  McCain grinned. “Unbelievable. We were just talking about this. And it sure sounds like the general is well-connected. I’m at least interested in hearing more.”

  “Me, too. Although, I might need a refill to go along with my pie.”

  Harry Byrd Highway, East of Winchester, Wednesday, 1610 hours

  They rode in silence for ten minutes, lost in their thoughts, processing all that General Perkins had proposed. He wanted to create a business, offering state-of-the-art training for both police and military units. In addition, Perkins also wanted to develop an intelligence unit that could provide reliable intel to both domestic and international clients. The general had even proposed offering the head intel position to Sandra Dunning after she had recovered from her injuries.

  Perkins had assured them that he was serious about the offer, promising them a comparable salary to what they were making before being fired. The general said that if they wanted to proceed, he would have his lawyer put the paperwork together. Their salaries would be guaranteed for a year, with the understanding that after twelve months, the business would be generating a profit.

  “What do you think? You in?” Kevin asked, breaking the silence.

  “I think so,” Chuck answered, both hands on the steering wheel. “Let me talk to Beth, but like you said, the general was pretty persuasive.”

  “I’m with you,” Clark nodded. “I’ll make sure my wife is OK with it, too, but I think this is exactly the opportunity you and I were talking about.”

  After a few minutes, Kevin looked over at his friend. “Okay. Time to come clean. I want to hear about what happened in Kowgak.”

  McCain took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he had thought about that day.

  “We were going after a real bad guy,” Chuck started. “Mohammad something or other, I don’t remember, but he was one of the main IED makers in the region. He was responsible for a lot of our casualties in the area and we got a tip that he was in Kowgak visiting one of his cousins. Our informant to
ld us that he had shown up with three or four bodyguards and was only going to be there for a few hours.

  “It was a rushed mission because we had a narrow window before Mohammad was going to leave. Normally, we’d go after these guys in the middle of the night but the orders came down to pack up and go after this scumbag at three in the afternoon. We had a quick briefing, checked our gear, loaded up the humvees, and hit the road.”

  A total of sixteen men had climbed into the four armored humvees, speeding out of their forward operating base for the forty minute drive to Kowgak, a village west of Kandahar. The twelve-man special forces A-Team provided the bulk of the manpower. Chuck was assigned as their law enforcement advisor, a resource to the team commander in the areas of arrest, search and seizure, and evidence collection.

  This was the beginning of McCain’s second contract with the team and the operators had accepted him as one of their own. From the very beginning of his first contract, he had trained with the Green Berets every chance he got, sharpening his already deadly skills. On operations like this, Chuck and their Afghan translator, Asad, usually stayed near Captain Murray, the team commander.

  The last members of the assault force were two Afghan special forces soldiers selected to accompany the Americans on the raid. A large component of the Green Berets’ job was to train the Afghans to continue the fight when the Americans would no longer be there. For this operation, though, Murray only wanted to bring along the two most proficient Afghans.

  During their hurried mission briefing, the team had studied satellite imagery and photos of the target’s location in the center of Kowgak. The A-Team would be split in two on arrival. Six of the Americans and the two Afghans would cover the rear of the compound in case anyone tried to flee. The other six Green Berets, plus McCain and Asad, would make entry through the front door. The first two vehicles contained the team that would cover the rear. They would turn off a block before the suspect’s house. The next hummers would drive right up to the walled home and smash their way into the target’s location. Chuck was in the third humvee, sitting behind the captain.

  They never made it to the bad guy’s house. Just as they had entered the city, a rocket propelled grenade fired from a roof struck the front humvee, the explosion sending it a few feet into the air before dropping the military vehicle sideways on the narrow road and blocking it. All of the hummers were armored, but that wasn’t enough to completely protect those inside.

  Chuck gripped his M4 as the other three vehicles slid to a stop. Automatic fire began to rake the convoy and voices began to scream for help over their radios. The machine guns on top of the rear three hummers began to chatter, answering the incoming bullets.

  The proper tactical solution to their situation would have been to back the three undamaged vehicles out of the ambush scene and call for reinforcements. That thought never occurred to them as the rest of the Green Berets dove out of their vehicles, having rehearsed ambush responses over and over. Everyone knew what they were supposed to do and what their fields of fire were. There was no way that they were going to leave teammates behind in a kill zone. For the moment, the spec ops warriors utilized their hummer’s armored doors as they returned fire.

  Heavy gunfire rained down from several of the surrounding rooftops, Chuck observed as his feet hit the ground, his rifle up searching for targets. Captain Murray had already notified their chain-of-command that they were in contact and was now calmly directing traffic over the radio, ordering suppressing fire as several team members moved up to the damaged humvee to begin rescue operations. The captain had been in the front passenger seat of Chuck’s hummer, but had rushed up to the next vehicle to supervise the extraction of his team members from their crippled humvee.

  “Tango, eleven o’clock,” Staff Sergeant Brad Katowski shouted from the driver’s side of McCain’s vehicle, followed by several cracks from his rifle.

  Chuck was on the passenger side of the hummer scanning the roofline. Suddenly, fifty meters away at one o’clock, a figure rose up, bringing an RPG to their shoulder. The big man fired two short bursts on full-auto and was rewarded with the sight of the Afghan jerking from the bullets’ impact. The RPG tumbled to the ground below as the terrorist dropped out of sight back onto the roof.

  A moment later, however, two additional Taliban fighters appeared at the same location, blindly firing AK-47s over the edge of the roof towards the Americans. McCain didn’t have a target and was forced to duck behind the open side door of the vehicle. A bullet slammed into the hummer’s armor as other 7.62x39 rounds struck the ground around him.

  “Multiple tangos at one o’clock on the roof about fifty meters out,” the police advisor yelled into the radio.

  The incoming fire increased, forcing the SF soldiers to duck their heads.

  “Frag out!” someone yelled from near the damaged humvee.

  It was a long throw and the grenade bounced off the wall just below the roof, landing in the courtyard below. The explosion threw up a cloud of smoke and dust, but the incoming rifle fire from the flat roof only seemed to increase, forcing both the rescue team and the support team to take cover.

  “Somebody needs to clear that roof!” Murray yelled over the radio.

  Every soldier from the rear two vehicles was engaged as they took fire from several locations. At the same time, they weren’t about to leave wounded comrades in harm’s way. Chuck saw at least five AK muzzles now firing over the edge of the roof up in front of him. If they could clear out those bad guys, that should give them some relief, McCain thought.

  To his right, the former SWAT cop saw a narrow alley running between two houses. If we can get behind the tangos, we can even the playing field, he realized.

  “Staff Sergeant Katowski!” Chuck yelled over the humvee, hoping to be heard over the deafening din of gunfire.

  When the sergeant finally looked over, McCain motioned at the alley. Katowski had almost twenty years in the Special Forces with multiple deployments. He immediately understood what the former cop was suggesting. He nodded and alerted the other soldiers around him what he was doing.

  After joining Chuck, Brad contacted Captain Murray over the radio. “McCain and I are going to try and flank them.”

  “Roger, hurry it up!” Murray ordered. “We’re pinned down and another RPG could take most of us out.”

  Katowski grabbed McCain and spoke into his ear. “I’ve got point. Let’s move fast and get these bastards.”

  The staff sergeant sprinted across the road towards the alley, bullets whizzing around him. Chuck took a deep breath, fired a burst at the roof top in front of him and at one to the rear that was also a source of gunfire before sprinting after the spec ops soldier.

  The tight walkway was only thirty yards long, leading to a parallel street. Brad paused, performing a quick peek in both directions before turning to the left and continuing cautiously towards the source of the gunfire. Chuck stayed five yards back, scanning the area to their rear and the rooftops above them, his rifle locked into his shoulder. Even though they were only a block away from the ambush, the two Americans immediately noticed the difference. The gunfire seemed so far away, the sound shielded by the brick houses and businesses lining the street.

  This block was quiet, its residents all huddled inside their homes, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. One of the things that most Afghans had learned about the American soldiers was that once you shot at them, they tended to bring in heavy firepower in a matter of minutes.

  The sergeant’s rifle barked twice and McCain glanced over his shoulder to see a young militant collapsing onto his back half a block away, an AK-47 dropping from his lifeless fingers. He had come out of a house near where they were heading, maybe the same place, they both realized. The two men continued forward, pausing at a partially open gate. Gunfire was coming from the flat roof of the residence and the Americans could glimpse figures moving around, trying to find better shooting positions.

  The dead A
fghan lay nearby, blood pooling around him. Chuck grabbed his AK, yanked out the magazine, tossing it aside, and quickly took the weapon apart so that no one else could use it. Katowski held up five fingers indicating that he had seen at least five terrorists up top. The front door of the house was shut and the two ground level windows had their dark curtains closed. An outside stairwell to their right led up to where the insurgents were firing down on the Green Berets and their colleagues on the other street. Both men performed reloads of their rifles, making sure that they were starting with a full, thirty-round magazine.

  The staff sergeant winked at his companion and said, “Let’s do it.”

  McCain followed him into the courtyard, hurrying towards the stairs. At that moment, an AK muzzle poked out through the curtains. Chuck started to yell a warning but it was too late. The rifle roared and Katowski staggered, just as he reached the base of the stairs. McCain swung his M4 towards the window and fired a burst at where he thought the shooter was. The AK dropped from sight.

  Brad’s left arm was hanging useless against his side, blood pouring out of a bullet hole in his shoulder. The sergeant looked at Chuck, surprise in his eyes. The big man knew that they needed to keep going. They were in no man’s land. The gate to get out of the compound was twenty-five feet behind them. The stairs to the roof were right in front of them.

  “C’mon, Sarge, we’ve got to keep moving.”

  Chuck took the lead, moving quickly but cautiously up the steps. Just before he reached the top, an insurgent, alerted by the shooting in the courtyard, stepped in front of him, looking down on the two Americans. The terrorist had a thick, black beard, his face a mask of hatred as he tried to raise his rifle. McCain’s blast caught him high in the chest and throat, pitching him down towards them. Chuck pushed Brad to the side as the dead man slid down the stairs, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

  The former cop quickly peeked around the edge as they reached the top of the steps. Three bad guys were firing down on the Special Forces. A fourth Taliban member had seen his friend fall out of sight down the stairs and yelled a warning to his terrorist buddies. McCain didn’t want to take on everyone at once and squeezed the trigger of the M4, sending two rounds into the insurgent’s head. The other three were splattered with blood and brain matter, all turning quickly to engage the threat to their rear.