Dark Winter

by Anthony J. Tata

  The nuclear component to this conflict had to include Russia attacking the United States. Iran attacking Israel. And North Korea wreaking havoc in the Pacific Rim. It was all underway.

  Still, there had to be alternatives. Why would Gorham, the master of the Internet of Things, marketing, social media, and online shopping, not build redundancy into his scheme? It didn’t make sense. The answer was that he wouldn’t. There had to be another way to turn off the nuclear countdown. Mahegan looked at Shayne. He looked at Ranger. Stared at his team, each and every one of them. Then looked back at Spartak/Langevin. Thought about Patch Owens going to North Korea. Thought about Cassie in Iran.

  Russia was the key. Cassie and Mossad and Jordan special ops would take care of Iran’s nuclear missiles. Patch, Hobart, and Van Dreeves would take care of North Korea and whatever limited capability they had. It was up to Mahegan, Savage, and O’Malley to stop Russia.

  Mahegan continued to think it through. His mind replayed the images from the attack on the tunnel complex in Yazd. The first car out. Then the next cars. Capturing Shayne. The dead North Korean general. Retrieving Ranger. Losing Cassie. It all seemed like a distant memory even though it was less than twenty four hours ago.

  About the fifth time he played that movie reel in his mind, Mahegan thought he had figured it out.

  CHAPTER 18

  CASSIE FINISHED THE TEXT EXCHANGE WITH MAHEGAN. SHE LOOKED up from the borrowed smartphone and watched her Jordanian and Israeli captors. They were all standing in the mouth of a cave above a narrow valley. Since she had been blindfolded and strapped to the floor, she had no idea where they were. She had counted in her head to about twenty minutes. If the helicopter was moving at a hundred knots, that would put them about thirty to forty miles from the Iranian front lines. Machine-gun fire chattered in the distance. Absently, she rubbed her wrists from where a member of the Jordanian and Israeli joint special forces team had flex-cuffed her wrists together. He had done it smoothly and she was impressed . . . and thankful.

  “You are on Mount Nebo. The Dead Sea is over there.” A Jordanian soldier pointed it out. “The Iranians are pushing against the fortifications of Amman. Our cyber team did facial recognition of you and we now know you to be U.S. Army Ranger Captain Cassandra Bagwell.”

  Cassie nodded. “That’s me.” More than anything, her ankle was killing her, but she ate the pain. She recognized the subdued Jordanian JSOC patch with its spread winged eagle, sabers clutched in talons, wreaths on either side and crown above the eagle head.

  “Yes, we know. I am Captain Mohammed Hattab. I am commanding the king’s JSOC team. We have other members that we shall not discuss.”

  Cassie saw the men in dark gray uniforms and knew they were Mossad. They stood in the recesses of the cave, Uzis at the ready. Each of the men had dark beards trimmed closely to their faces. The Jordanian JSOC team wore black fatigues and no helmets or head cover. Each wore an earbud connected to a personal mobile radio and spoke in a combination of Arabic and English to one another.

  After a brief conversation with another soldier, Hattab turned to her. “We must right now conduct a mission to this location you say you just came from. Our intelligence says that Iran is prepared to launch a nuclear weapon in less than forty-eight hours.”

  “I can show you the cave they went into. I didn’t get inside. The soldier I just spoke with on your phone did, but I didn’t. They took my GPS and map. I’ve got nothing.”

  “It’s okay. You can show us where it is on the satellite map. We know what to do when we get inside.” He chinned in the direction of the captive who was sitting on the rock shelf with his back to the wall of the cave. “He is the Iranian Key that will unlock the system. He carries all of the biometric markers.”

  “You know this how?”

  “We were monitoring the meeting in Yazd that you and Mahegan disrupted.”

  Cassie nodded. Felt her heart warm at the mention of Jake’s name. The text conversation was as much to pass information as it was to connect with him.

  “Okay. Like I said, I can point it out, either on a map or on location. Whichever you prefer.”

  Hattab smiled. “You wish to go on our mission?”

  “I want to stop this war. I want to prevent nukes from hitting Jordan or Israel. So, yes, I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  “We need the tunnel location.”

  “I can show you on a map, I think.”

  Hattab produced a tablet device and punched the button. “Over here.” He led her to the darkened crevice just before the doorway, and pinched and spread his fingers on the tablet until she recognized the airfield and valley floor upon which she and Mahegan had jumped.

  “There.” She used her finger to hover above the screen, indicating the mountain and tunnel compound they had targeted.

  The whooshing sound signaled an incoming rocket propelled grenade, or RPG, which exploded at the base of the overhang. Hattab immediately used his body to protect Cassie.

  She said, “Not me, you moron. Protect the Key.”

  Two men had already covered the Iranian Key and were dragging him into the recess.

  “The helicopter is two minutes out. Return fire!” Hattab shouted.

  The trail to the landing zone above was now precarious. Machine-gun fire chewed beneath their feet and more RPGs smoked in their direction. The two men with the Key lifted him and began running up the goat trail to the top of the mountain. The other four members of the team used thermal scopes and long rifles to return fire. Cassie followed for no other reason than she didn’t want to be the only one left in a bunker on the side of Mount Nebo, especially if the Iranians were advancing so quickly.

  “Come. Yes,” Hattab said over his shoulder.

  They hustled up the mountain, the Blackhawk helicopter flared to a quick hover, and in seconds they lifted off to the south. Cassie knew that they couldn’t reach Baghdad, much less Iran, on one Blackhawk tank of gas. They banked hard over the Dead Sea twinkling in the moonlight, and Cassie wondered whether the centuries of war raging through this valley had anything to do with the naming of the body of water or was it just the salt?

  They landed at a remote airfield south of Tel Aviv, made obvious by the city lights shining brightly at four in the morning. After a seamless transition from the Blackhawk to an MC-130 Combat Talon special operations airplane, they were wheels up.

  Headed to Iran, Cassie guessed. She saw the static-line parachutes stacked on a pallet strapped to the floor and thought tough mission, Ranger.

  The Combat Talon aircraft seemed to bank ninety degrees at times, sliding through tight defiles. She hung on to the red webbing troop seat support that lined the interior of the fuselage. The oval porthole window gave her flashes of lights, then water, and then the gray morning sky. An F-35 buzzed past them and then pulled up and held steady off the wing. It had no markings, but she had the impression it was Israeli. The stealth fighter should be able to assist their entry into Iran, which was a good thing. They would be jumping in broad daylight by the time they got to the target area in Yazd, Iran.

  The Jordanian special operations commander came and stood next to her, his large olive hands clutching the metal bar upon which the red webbing was supported. He pulled a combat ration and water bottle from his cargo pocket and handed them to her.

  “Thanks,” she said. As he spoke, she tore into the MRE and ate like a Ranger. Like a snake eating a rat, she would always say. Wolf it down and let it sit there in your stomach. She gulped the water.

  “I guessed right,” he said.

  Wiping her mouth with her forearm, she said, “Thanks, again. Where are we?”

  “Red Sea, then low across the desert in Saudi Arabia, the Persian Gulf, and then into the center of Iran. I’ll jump with the biometric key strapped to my chest.”

  “He must weigh three hundred pounds. It’s static line. Put him in his own parachute.”

  “What if he burns in? Knows how to undo the canopy releas
e assemblies? Cuts his lines?”

  “We’re jumping at what? Five hundred feet AGL? He’ll be under canopy for five ten seconds maybe. Tape his feet and knees together. Remember gait recognition is part of this thing. Can’t have him breaking a leg. You jump him in and it will be a cluster.”

  “Some of the others were against you coming.” He looked over his shoulder at a scattering of men resting, staring, and planning along the floor of the aircraft.

  She shrugged, used to the sentiment. “Our intel shows that Iran got five nuclear weapons from its own program and two from Russia.”

  “Six of their own. Four from Russia. They are prepared to launch five of them to destroy Israel. Necessarily, Jordan will suffer as well if this happens.” After a pause, he added. “I’m glad you came on this mission, sister.” He reached out his hand. The large paw smothered her hand like a catcher’s mitt holds a baseball.

  “Thank you for bringing me on the team,” she replied.

  He was a handsome man, brown eyes, trimmed beard, olive complexion, rugged face, hook nose, pursed lips, good teeth. His black outer tactical vest held a knife, pistol, first aid kit, ammunition magazines, a snap link through which his M4 three-point sling was looped. The M4 hung by his side.

  “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  Cassie looked away.

  “Captain,” Hattab said, looking at her distant stare. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a sensitive subject.”

  Cassie snapped out of her reverie. “No. We have a mission to do. Let’s execute. I’d rig the key, tape his legs together, and push him out first. No chance of entanglement.”

  “Okay. This is why I came to you. I like your idea.”

  “Is there a chance we can air land? There’s a runway there,” Cassie said.

  “Always a chance. Doubtful but a possibility.” He looked at her ankle and boot. “Are you okay to jump?”

  She stared at the tight wrap and new walking boot the Jordanian medic had emplaced. Butterfly bandages covered shrapnel wounds on her neck and face. “I’m good. Better if we air land, but I can jump.” She knew that was crazy. Her ankle was most likely broken. The pain was sharp and unforgiving. Sixty days of Ranger school and not a single injury or illness and on her first true combat jump she snapped an ankle. Great job, Cassie. “We have a base in Farah, Afghanistan. We can exfil there.”

  Hattab looked away then came back and met her eyes.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The Iranians have overrun that base.”

  She immediately thought of Jake and the other members of the team. They would have survived.

  “Well, we can make it to Kandahar.”

  “Cassie, this is more of a suicide mission. You understand that? Look at all of these men. Their faces are set with distant stares because they know they are not coming back. They are brave Arab and Israeli warriors. We know the threat to our different, but collective peoples. Iran is a menace and we must defeat their nuclear capabilities.”

  Cassie nodded. She had understood that this mission, similar to the one she went on with Jake, was high risk. But she didn’t consider anything irrecoverable. She refused to accept the term suicide mission, though she understood the odds.

  “Always look for a solution, Hattab. Everything is possible.”

  He nodded. “I like your style.”

  She detected the slightest hint of flirtation, perhaps an overture. Most likely just a man wanting to connect with a woman before he died. It was natural; a fact of life. Though speeding along in a combat talon aircraft prior to a combat parachute jump wasn’t exactly Club 21 in New York City. Plus, she loved Jake, something that she knew in her core. Nothing could shake that and she chose to believe that he was alive and well, executing some portion of the mission. His last communication with her had been Are you okay?

  Hattab had snatched the phone from her when it had turned personal. True, she was a captive, but they had already begun vetting her and knew she was an American military intelligence officer.

  “I’m getting some rest before the fight,” she said. “When we know air land versus airdrop, let me know. I’m a paratrooper. Send out the biometric key all taped up and dispatch left door and right door jumpers directly after him. I’ll bring up the rear. We’ve got what? Ten soldiers plus the Key?”

  “Yes, nine. Plus you, plus the Key.”

  “Like I said. Ten. I’m a soldier.”

  With that, she turned away from Hattab and walked toward the aft of the aircraft. Men were huddled near the ramp, studying maps. Others sat and stared at the opposite side of the aircraft.

  Cassie laid along the uncomfortable red nylon seats and thought about Jake and his words to her in Bald Head Island. He had been standing at the window, curtains fluttering in the ocean breeze. Waves crashing beyond the dunes. He had mentioned the Croatan maxim, It’s better to die a hero than to grow old.

  She had said, “I’d kind of like to do both.”

  He had slid back into bed with her, pulled her close and said, “Me, too.”

  She believed that for the first time Jake Mahegan was in love. She was completely in love with him, too. And sometimes the hard reality of an uncomfortable combat airplane seat brought home the most important truths. Her father had been chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They’d had a very public dispute about her attendance at Ranger School and her being the first female graduate to not be recycled. Not completely estranged but not completely okay. Then Syrian terrorists had kidnapped her parents, held them in a cage in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Executed them. She had been on the hunt for them with Jake Mahegan, whom she’d met randomly at a gas station. Afterward, was when she and Jake had fallen in love on a short vacation on Bald Head Island at the mouth of the Cape Fear River.

  But she was a soldier and she had her duty. Just as Jake had his. What were the priorities of each? Love or war?

  She didn’t know how long she had slept, but Hattab woke her, saying, “Twenty minutes. Time to rig up.”

  They were close! She would revisit Yazd and hope for a different result this time. Despite her overall optimism, part of her never believed they would make it that far. Cassie pushed off the red seat and saw the other members of the team buddy rigging their T-11 parachutes. They were the newer square parachute that carried more weight and allowed for softer landings. Cassie was going to need every inch of canopy she could get. She stepped into the harness and soon was fully rigged.

  Hattab gave her an M4 rifle and a weapons case, which he hooked on to her parachute harness. “The Iranian Key is rigged just as you suggested. He’s like a bundle we’re dropping. Hope you’re right.”

  “No time to second guess. No air land option?”

  “We’re jumping behind the target. There’s a drop zone there. The airfield has infantry guarding it.”

  “Sounds like the same drop zone. It’s rocky. The satellite imagery doesn’t do it justice.”

  “Ten minutes!” the jumpmaster shouted.

  “See you on the drop zone,” Hattab said.

  Cassie nodded. A ball of fear boiled in her stomach, which was normal. She’d made dozens of training jumps and was performing her second combat jump in two days. She hooked up her static line, shuffled forward, feeling the pain of her ankle, conscious not to cheat to the other ankle on her landing because two broken ankles were definitely worse than one.

  The light turned green and the jumpmaster shouted, “Go!”

  Hattab pushed the giant Iranian Key out of the door, his static line popping tight to deploy the parachute, and then followed him into the morning sky. The paratroopers filed out quickly and soon Cassie was dropping like a stone toward the ground. Her parachute deployed and she felt the groin synching tug of going from 140 miles per hour to 32 feet per second.

  She checked canopy. All good. Observed her fellow jumpers. All good. A group of three were clustered around the Iranian Key, who was moving his hands frantically, trying to release his canopy. She hoped that Hat
tab had welded or taped those shut. Evidently, he knew that he was going to be taken into the bowels of the biometric chamber to lock down the Iranian nuclear arsenal.

  She was shocked when she saw his parachute float free into the sky—disconnected from the big man—and he began dropping to the ground from one hundred feet above ground level.

  * * *

  Half a world away from Cassie Bagwell, Patch Owens stood in the bomb bay door above North Korea with two of his former teammates from Delta Force, Hobart and Van Dreeves. Their combat bona fides included every single combat operation the United States had undertaken in the last twenty years.

  The light turned green and Patch dropped straight down from 40,000 feet above ground level. The height was no big deal. Others had jumped from three times as high. That altitude was a good, safe drop altitude as long as the airplane remained off radar and was not intercepted, which seemed to be the case.

  Night was falling—good for their cover and concealment upon landing. The ride had been smooth. Each jumper had an oxygen mask tethered to the oxygen supply of the aircraft so that they looked like fighter pilots laying in the closed bomb bays. The modification of the XB-2 included the masks and heating vents that kept the jumpers warm, allowing them to survive the high-altitude jump.

  It had been awhile since Owens had jumped with Hobart and Van Dreeves, but everything came back to him as they were delta diving through the air. Soon they were just three human missiles screaming toward the ground from seven miles above ground level.

  “Airfield at two o’clock,” Owens said.

  “Roger,” Van Dreeves replied.

  “Got it,” Hobart said.

  “Manaslu facility at nine o’clock. Airplane inbound to airfield, time now,” Owens said. He saw a large commercial airplane landing at the Samjiyon facility.”

  “Wasn’t on the schedule. Nothing should be landing there,” Van Dreeves said.