Dark Winter

by Anthony J. Tata

  “Good shot. Keep moving.”

  Cassie stepped over the dead bodies and almost fell.

  The weight of the big man was heavy across Mahegan’s broad shoulders. The distinctive chop of Blackhawk rotor blades was a welcome distraction from the chaos swarming around him. “Hawks coming from ten o’clock,” he said into the microphone.

  “Roger,” Cassie replied.

  They reached the area where they had landed, which was a small valley a quarter mile from the tunnel complex they had intended to ambush. Mahegan went through several calculations in his mind. This was a combat mission. They had a captive, but he had no idea if the individual was a worthy prize or just another big dude. Was it like capturing Bin Laden’s driver, which would be a treasure trove? Or was it like capturing some random infantryman sent to protect Bin Laden at Tora Bora, which would be next to worthless?

  Cassie was right. They needed at least one of the biometric keys that Spartak had mentioned.

  Coming in was a platoon of Rangers he could employ in a counterattack. Thirty Rangers against the enemy he had seen so far would make for quick work, though he never underestimated his enemy. He considered the intelligence advantage that the RINK alliance had in this part of Iran. The sophistication surprised even Mahegan. He churned through options.

  Get on the helicopter with the prisoner or fight and overrun the position?

  He didn’t come all this way to go back empty-handed.

  “Tribal six this is Ranger six.” The voice was scratchy, as if playing on an old vinyl record.

  He heard the Ranger commander’s voice, convinced that it was him, but used the authentication word regardless. “Ranger six, this is Tribal six. Florida, over.”

  “Yellow River.”

  “Roger.”

  The Yellow River was the menacing body of water that all Ranger students had to navigate during the final phase of Ranger School. It was the established authentication. Having been burned before when his unit’s previous communications system—Zebra—was compromised by Syrian hackers, Mahegan remained cautious. General Savage had had O’Malley set up a new system—X-Ray—with so much encryption an Abrams tank couldn’t blast through the firewall.

  With two points of confirmation—the Ranger commander’s voice and the proper authentication—Mahegan radioed back. “Fuel status for time on target?”

  After a slight delay, the commander replied, “Fifteen minutes max. Tight.”

  “Dismount and set up support force on ridge to LZ twelve o’clock. We’ve got one EPW. Need another. Assault force rallies around me and I’ll lead.”

  Another delay. The commander was most likely conflicted that a civilian was giving him orders. Mahegan didn’t care. He had a mission to complete.

  “Roger. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  “And we’ve got about twenty-four bogies coming our way. I’ll give you the standard recognition signal.”

  The signal was two blips of his infrared light from his night vision goggle. The sound of the helicopters grew louder. They were flying blackout, but the mix of Apache gunship rotor blades and Blackhawk blades made for a symphony to Mahegan’s ears.

  “Here,” Mahegan said to Cassie. He dumped the man on the ground, removed another set of flex cuffs from his outer tactical vest, and zip tied the prisoner’s legs. “You’re going to stay with the support team. I’m going in to get your principal.” He wanted a major player as bad as Cassie did. The Balkan soldier was a good find, but not the prize they sought.

  “Roger that,” Cassie said through clenched teeth.

  “When we get on the helicopter have the medic tape that ankle.”

  Cassie was already scraping out her support by fire position. “Better get down.”

  The unmistakable sound of machine-gun fire zipped past him like angry hornets. The cacophony of helicopter blades and weapons fire suddenly filled the valley in digital surround sound, echoes reverberating like ricochets with nowhere to go.

  “They’re coming up out of that pass to our two o’clock,” Cassie said. “Single file like ducks in a row.”

  “Apaches working on them also.” Mahegan flashed his infrared light at the helicopters that he could plainly see through his night vision goggles. The lead helicopter returned the two-blip code and Mahegan had his third point of confirmation that these were friendly forces. Cassie changed magazines and continued to fire. The Apache gunships lifted high and found cover from which to fire rockets and 30mm chain guns. The valley was a light show, rockets and machine-gun rounds whizzing in both directions, nothing seeming to hit their intended targets.

  The Blackhawks disgorged the Rangers, who dashed toward Mahegan from a hundred yards away. They covered the rocky expanse quickly as he knelt and vectored them toward him by flashing his infrared light again.

  The commander came running toward him and Mahegan began barking orders. “Support by fire here next to Captain Bagwell. There’s the prisoner. Make sure he gets on the helicopters. There’s twelve enemy coming from that direction.” He pointed to the south. “Assault team with me. We’re going down the same way they’re coming up. Follow me.”

  The men quickly adjusted as Mahegan leapt over the rock Cassie was using for cover and ran north toward the trail the enemy was using to access the valley floor. In one hand, he held his Tribal pistol and in the other was his Blackhawk knife. He was expecting close combat. Each of the U.S. soldiers wore infrared patches on their left sleeve so the pilots and friendly forces could determine friend from foe.

  As he approached the mouth of the opening, there were at least ten bodies dead from either Cassie’s weapon or the helicopters.

  “Cease fire. Assault team approaching. Watch the south,” Mahegan said to Cassie and the support team. He ran as fast as he could knowing that every second was precious. As he rounded the bend, he found two enemy soldiers cowering with their backs to the wall of the defile they had been climbing. He shot them point blank in the face and raked his knife across their necks in stride. Further down, he saw a small group of soldiers huddling. Continuing to move, Mahegan grabbed the Ranger assault team leader by the body armor and said, “Long rifles, now.”

  He slowed, but didn’t stop. The Ranger leader led his men forward and they continued to move as they used automatic fire to fell the group of enemy from nearly fifty yards away.

  As they approached, Mahegan said, “Kill any soldiers. Capture the civilians.” He rounded the bend in the lead again and saw the expansive door to the tunnel open. A black Mercedes Benz was exiting the mouth at about 100 mph. Its taillights were soon a distant speck. This was what they wanted. Just one of the people deserving of an up-armored Mercedes Benz.

  “That’s our target! Anything that looks like that.”

  “Roger.”

  The defenses were thin and disorganized. The rifle fire above them from the support by fire position indicated that the southern moving group of twelve had entered the ambush set up by Cassie and the Ranger support by fire team. A few unarmed men were scurrying around the mouth of the cave. Mahegan flipped up his night vision goggles as they approached the opening, which was spilling light onto the valley floor. In the light he could see vehicle tracks, but it was impossible to tell if any had left since Mahegan and team had arrived.

  “If you see any vehicle, disable it. We want one prisoner from the back seat and we’re out of here,” Mahegan said.

  The Ranger commander was breathing heavily as they leaned against the wall of the mountain. “Roger.” He issued instructions to his eight-man team. They broke into two teams of four. One would be support by fire and one would enter the tunnel with Mahegan.

  “Stay here with the support. I’ll take assault in,” Mahegan said.

  “You got it.”

  A second black Mercedes slowed as it drove through a dip in the opening to the tunnel exit.

  “Now,” Mahegan said.

  The small arms fire into the armored Mercedes was relentless, including 40mm g
renades fired from the under-rail grenade launcher on the M4. Tires flattened and windows shattered. The Rangers were less surgical than Mahegan had hoped, but the net effect was the vehicle stopped, which was the desired end state.

  “See what you got in there,” Mahegan said. “There’s another car coming.”

  Mahegan led the newly formed assault team into the manmade tunnel, the white light nearly blinding him. The next car was only twenty yards away and barreling toward them. Mahegan let the Rangers work their magic. Random gunfire echoed from deep in the tunnel. The 40mm grenades worked on the windshield of the car and one Ranger fired a light anti-tank rocket deep into the bowels of the tunnel to suppress whatever fire they were receiving.

  A fourth vehicle roared from a darkened alcove and sped past them, running into a hail of machine-gun fire from the Rangers. A 40mm grenade blew out the door of the car, causing it to spin on flattened tires. Still, the driver kept powering through the Ranger ambush. Something was thrown from the car during the spin. Mahegan saw a flash of white then turned his attention to the vehicle they had stopped.

  No more black Mercedes were in the tunnel, which meant two had escaped, including the one with the blown-out door. The Rangers closed quickly on the disabled vehicle in the tunnel and used a crowbar to open the rear doors. They snatched two civilians from the rear, finding both dead. Mahegan ran around the vehicle and knelt next to the man who had been riding in the right rear seat. Black hair. Asian facial features. He looked exactly like the new leader of North Korea. The general. Mahegan had no idea if this man was a doppelganger, but hoped he was the real thing. He checked the man’s pockets and found identification, which he inspected and pocketed.

  “Less than five minutes.” The pilot’s voice reminded Mahegan they needed to get back up the mountain.

  “Bingo on lead vehicle,” the Ranger leader said.

  “Roger. We’re coming out. No joy.” Noone useful found alive. He plunged the Blackhawk knife into the North Korea general’s heart and retrieved it quickly, wiping the blood on his pant leg. The general was the only occupant of the back seat of that car. No biometric key, unless it was him.

  “Fuck,” a Ranger sergeant said, watching Mahegan.

  “DNA sample,” Mahegan said. “Now let’s go.”

  Mahegan led the assault team out of the mouth and stopped when he saw a large dog lying on the dusty exit of the tunnel. The animal had been ejected from the Mercedes the Rangers had ambushed but failed to stop.

  “Hang on,” Mahegan said.

  “We’ve got to go!” the commander shouted.

  Mahegan felt the animal’s neck and got a weak pulse. Her breathing was labored, but thankfully present. He always had an easy presence around animals, loved them. Had pets all of his life and admired animals in the wild. He touched the wound on the dog’s hip. She yelped. “Okay, I’m bringing her with us.”

  “We do not have time for a fucking dog, Mahegan,” the commander shouted.

  Mahegan cradled the animal in his arms, linked up with the rest of the formation, and then began running at full speed to the trail that led up to the valley floor. The Rangers trampled along behind him under the weight of their body armor and helmets. They dragged a flex cuffed prisoner on a field expedient poncho litter. Easier than carrying him. Negotiating the defile was more challenging, but they made it up. The dog was still alive, judging by the weak heartbeat.

  “Coming up,” Mahegan said. “Check fire.” He flashed his infrared light twice. Friendly fire shifted away and lessened to the occasional rifle shot. The sound of the helicopter blades resonated loudly in the valley. As they filed into the high mountain valley, Mahegan directed, “Support by fire team collapse on helicopter.”

  Normally he would have had them wait, but he knew he was already over the time limit. He figured the pilot had safe sided the fifteen minutes by ten minutes and they were about five minutes over time. Through his night vision goggles he saw the support by fire team pick up and move toward the helicopters. One of the Rangers was helping Cassie. She was limping badly and falling behind. Mahegan urged her forward in his mind, but kept silent on the radio. He knew she was tough and would make it.

  The Rangers carrying the big man who had attacked Mahegan and Cassie stumbled and fell. Mahegan was torn between running the 100 yards in their direction or heading to the helicopter. The crew chiefs were outside of the Blackhawks pumping their fists in the universal haul ass! hand and arm signal.

  The Rangers carrying the prisoner were back up, but something didn’t seem right to him. They had cut the flexcuff Mahegan had placed around the big man’s ankles, presumably so he could walk. Was he too heavy to carry?

  Cassie and her helper were making progress. Everybody was closing on the helicopters about the same time. The support by fire team ran and shuffled to the rear Blackhawk while Mahegan led the assault team to the lead aircraft. He ducked beneath the whipping blades, put the dog in the middle of the helicopter’s cargo bay, and counted the Rangers onto the helicopter. On his chopper, he had everyone they came with plus one dog and an American looking hipster. Thick brown hair fell across the man’s forehead. He wore a satchel, like a man purse, over a thin button down shirt and stylish jeans. Had to be worth something.

  The crew chief was yelling at him to get in the aircraft. “Have to go now, sir!”

  Mahegan watched from fifty yards away as Cassie’s helper laid his rifle in the cargo bay of the second Blackhawk at the same time the two Rangers carrying the prisoner began to maneuver him toward the helicopter. Cassie sat on the lip of the cargo bay, her legs dangling over the edge. Knowing her, she would fly like that the entire way back.

  “Get in the helicopter, Cassie,” Mahegan whispered, not realizing he was broadcasting on the radio to her.

  “Trying,” she said.

  His helicopter began to gently lift off. The crew chief jumped in and manned his M240-B machine gun on the starboard side of the Blackhawk.

  The two Rangers handling the prisoner had placed the prisoner on the edge of the cargo bay next to Cassie as they maneuvered around him. Somehow, he had worked his hands free of the binds. There was a struggle. The prisoner jumped from the trail aircraft as it lifted high into the sky. He pulled Cassie with him to the ground, tumbling maybe thirty feet. Soon both helicopters were over one hundred feet above ground level and nosing over.

  “We are priced to perfection on the return trip, my friend,” the Night Stalker special operations pilot said to Mahegan, as if to accent the disconnect that the lead aircraft pilots were unaware of the brewing problem with the trail.

  “Problem with the trail!” Mahegan said. “We’ve got a soldier on the ground!”

  Cassie and the prisoner were on the valley floor as her helicopter followed Mahegan’s in trail. The Apache helicopters closed in on the formation and unloaded hellfire missiles on two approaching Shahed 285 attack helicopters. Similar to the U.S. military’s Kiowa Warrior, the 285 was based on the same Bell 206 JetRanger design. It carried 70 mm rockets and a light machine gun.

  Surprisingly, the air-to-air Hellfire missiles found their targets, creating two bright explosions that lit the valley floor like two lightning strikes. Not every weapon system was infected. The blossoming explosions shone on tanks rolling across the valley floor in front of the tunnel entrance.

  Mahegan was losing his mind. “Man down! We have a soldier on the ground!”

  Tank rounds blew past the helicopters.

  “Turn around now! That’s an order!”

  More Iranian troops came spilling over the ridge near the alcove where Mahegan had killed the two guards. They had surface-to-air missiles. The helicopter began to bank under the direction of Mahegan’s orders.

  Muzzle flashes lit up the night as the Iranian infantry fired from the south and the tanks fired from the east. The helicopters were caught in a blazing cross fire. The only egress was to the north, through the mountain pass.

  “This is an airfield! They have
gas here. We defend here!” Mahegan shouted into the headset.

  “We’re taking fire. Trying,” the pilot said.

  Mahegan knew the code and ethos of each member of this task force was to leave no soldier behind. They would do everything humanly possible to retrieve Cassie.

  Her voice scratched over the radio waves.

  “Jake, it’s okay. Go.”

  He could hear the wariness in her voice and the physical struggle ongoing. She was fighting, but the man was strong. She had beat him once. Could she do it again? Watching the struggle was like a grate across his heart. A soldier down. The woman he loved in jeopardy.

  “No, we’re coming back in,” Mahegan said.

  Cassie was squared off with the big man. They were circling. Did she have a pistol or knife?

  “They have missiles, Jake. I see maybe fifty soldiers. It’s too dangerous.”

  One of the Rangers on Mahegan’s helicopter doubled over, his hand grasping his neck. Bullets pinged inside the cargo bay, sparking as they richocheted.

  “We’re taking heavy fire!” the pilot said. “Moving to protected location!”

  “Winchester on ammo,” came a voice over the radio. The Apache attack helicopters were out of rockets and machine-gun rounds.

  Mahegan figured they didn’t bring a full load because they had to carry the wing store fuel tanks. It was a trade-off. Distance over firepower. In their defense, it was an extraction mission, not an assault. He had changed the mission.

  “We gotta get out of here!” Mahegan’s pilot echoed. “Co-pilot shot!”

  The nose of the Blackhawk tilted over and sped away to the north with the others in trail. Enemy fire chased them the entire way out of the valley.

  “Cassie! Cassie!” Mahegan repeated into the radio headset. He continued to talk into his small boom microphone. “Cassie! Cassie!” He wrestled against the hands clutching him, holding him in the rapidly ascending aircraft. He tried to jump, but the loadmaster had placed a snap hook on the back of his outer tactical vest. He dangled outside of the helicopter, reaching back in an attempt to unhook the snap hook. He ripped at his outer tactical vest, trying to unsnap it. Bright green and orange tracers burned past them like a macabre light show.