Clear by Fire: A Search and Destroy Thriller

by Joshua Hood

  “Pull my legs,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  Zeus set his heels in the shaky gravel and pushed hard while keeping a firm grip on his friend. Mason could feel his belt buckle digging in the dirt as he inched away from the edge, pulling Renee with him.

  Finally, she was able to get a foothold and support her own weight. Grabbing Mason’s forearm, she used her free hand to climb back onto the rocks.

  “Holy shit, I thought you were dead,” Mason panted as she collapsed next to him.

  “Me too,” she said weakly.

  Mason dropped his pack and pulled out the SOFLAM for the second time that night. After screwing the tripod into the bottom of the laser, he set it up on a rock and centered the reticle on Barnes’s men. Once he had an acceptable sight picture, Mason hit the button, which “painted” the target. The designator beeped once, telling him it was locked on.

  After ensuring he had the remote switch in his pocket, he zipped his pack and tossed it over his shoulder. The laser would toggle itself on and off to conserve batteries, but they needed to be able to use the radio to call it in.

  “We can’t stick around here any longer,” Zeus said matter-of-factly.

  “Renee, we have to go,” Mason said.

  She was staring down at the final stages of the assault and ignored him. There was almost no fire coming from inside the perimeter, while Barnes’s men fired and maneuvered until they were within grenade range.

  “Renee . . . ,” he said again, placing his hand on her shoulder.

  “I know,” was all she said.

  • • •

  They had four kilometers to cover to get to their extraction point. Mason had marked their last position on his GPS and moved quickly to get out of the jammer’s range. He’d placed Renee in between him and Zeus, and periodically he checked over his shoulder to ensure she was still moving.

  He’d known the woman for less than a day but was impressed by her resiliency. Mason had never been a misogynist, mainly because women had raised him, but he vividly remembered the first time someone introduced the issue of women in Special Ops. The general consensus of his team had been that women had a place in the kitchen or in the bedroom. It had been a joke then, but Mason had serious reservations about letting them into their warrior community.

  Renee had managed to prove him wrong in less than a day.

  The woman had more balls than most men he’d met, and the fact that she hadn’t broken down after what she’d witnessed in the valley told him everything he needed to know. A part of him already felt a deep connection with her, but the warm feeling seemed wrong, and he tried to push it out of his mind.

  They slowly descended a steep grade that gently leveled off onto the low ground. With the mountains behind them, Mason checked the radio, depressing the talk button. It was static-free.

  Motioning for Zeus to halt, Mason took cover behind a jagged mound of dirt and stone and brought the radio up to his mouth. Using his left hand, he pulled the PEQ-1’s remote targeting device out of his pocket and hit the arm button.

  “Steeler Base, this is Steeler 7, be advised we are clear of the objective and target is painted.” He held the radio to his ear and waited for a response.

  “Steeler 7, this is Steeler Base. Good copy. Continue to primary extraction point. Be advised, Reaper is on station.”

  “Roger that, Steeler Base. Target is hot, I say again, target is hot.”

  “Stand by, Steeler 7.”

  Mason looked around at nothing in particular as he waited. Both Renee and Zeus were pulling security, leaving him free to deal with the radio.

  “Steeler 7, Steeler Base, rifle on two Hellfires, how copy?”

  “Good copy. Be advised we aren’t going to be able to provide damage assessment.”

  “Roger, continue to exfil, Steeler Base out.”

  Mason stowed the radio and moved to Renee’s position. He hoped the fact that two missiles were on their way might ease her mind.

  “Missiles inbound,” he said.

  She didn’t take her eyes off her sector, and the only response she gave was a slight nod of her head.

  “We need to move out,” he said after a moment.

  Mason had expected some reaction, but she hadn’t given it to him and he knew that the two missiles hurtling toward their target would never be enough to matter. Neither one would ever know if the Hellfires had even hit their targets.

  “We’ll get the guy who did this,” Mason promised.

  He wasn’t sure why he told her that but knew she needed something to focus on. Mr. David knew who’d led the team into the ambush, and he was going to tell them whether he wanted to or not.

  Renee got to her feet, and when she looked at him, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Her impassive face might as well have been carved out of marble. Standing in the darkness, she waited for Mason to lead them out.

  Renee paused and looked wistfully at the rock face towering over them. Men like Barnes didn’t die from missiles. Good men were all too easy to kill, while evil men seemed to pass unscathed as they doled out their violence.

  She greedily devoured the moment, noting the stillness of the air and the light scent of raw earth and musty vegetation. She savored the stinging void in the pit of her stomach and the accusing voice that blamed her for the men’s death. The misery would be her fuel when tired and her blanket when cold. Renee willingly shouldered the burden, and as she turned to follow Mason, she set her mind to a day when she would lay it beside Barnes’s lifeless body.

  Lowering her head, she resolved herself to put one foot in front of the other until that day finally came. She was so deep within herself that she almost didn’t hear the low, rolling explosions of the Hellfires detonating on the back side of the mountain.

  CHAPTER 29

  * * *

  Faya-Largeau, Chad

  Renee hadn’t said anything during the helicopter ride out of Pakistan, and Mason was worried. She’d stared out the small window and idly toyed with the necklace she wore until they landed. When Mr. David met them at the flight line, there was pure hatred in her eyes, and Mason had thought it best to send her and Zeus to their assigned rooms while he briefed the new boss.

  “Well, that was a failure,” Mr. David said once they were alone.

  “I told you what was going to happen, but you CIA fucks think you know everything. There is something bigger going on here, and you wasted a lot of good men to find out what I already told you,” Mason replied angrily.

  “Anything else you wish to get off your chest?”

  “I want to know who’s running this circus. Is it you, or are you working for Swift too? There has been a lot of Agency bullshit going on and I’m getting sick of it,” Mason said, grabbing the man’s arm as they walked toward the hangar.

  Mr. David stopped walking as Major Anderson took a step toward Mason.

  Mason didn’t back down from a challenge. He stepped up to the major, his hand easing down to his pistol. “I’ve had just about enough of your shit. I know who you are, and I know what you’re about, so why don’t you cut the crap and make your play?”

  “Fuck you,” the major replied, stepping up to Mason’s face.

  “Stand down, Major,” Mr. David commanded.

  Mason felt the anger rising up in him and didn’t care about the consequences. He was tired of this paper tiger’s bullshit, and he was ready to put an end to it.

  “Major Anderson, I gave you an order,” Mr. David commanded again.

  Mason could see him trembling, like a dog on a tight leash. Then the spell was broken and he took a step back.

  “This isn’t over,” he said before turning on his heel and heading toward the hangar.

  “You have an innate ability to alienate anyone wanting to help you, do you know that?” Mr. David asked.

  “I don’t need your kind of help.”

  “Come with me,” he said.

  Mason took his hand off his pistol and followed the
man into the hangar. Instead of going into the conference room, he continued down the hall to a door guarded by two contractors. The men were dressed in plate carriers and sterile MultiCam uniforms, and both of them had rifles slung around their necks.

  Mr. David showed them his ID card and then punched his code into the keypad. Mason heard the lock click open and they stepped through the door. Two more contractors were posted on the inside, their hands resting on the rifles slung around their necks.

  The two men were obviously ex military and appeared to be in their late thirties. Both of their faces were deeply tanned and lined by the desert sun, and there was an aura about them that Mason immediately recognized. The silent sentinels held his gaze for a moment, and he knew they were sizing him up. The first man gave him a barely perceptible nod before turning his attention to the room.

  The place was dimly lit, with gray carpet matching gray walls. Vents in the ceiling pumped cool air into the room as a pale analyst studied the monitors and televisions that kept them in contact with the region.

  The CIA man punched his code into another keypad and they walked into yet another hallway. Mason was losing his patience when the agent stopped at a small window cut into the wall.

  “Take a look,” he said.

  Mason shot the man a look that conveyed his annoyance and peered through the glass. He was not prepared to see General Swift handcuffed to a table, very much the worse for wear.

  “Well, look who it is. It’s about time someone started listening to me.”

  The general sat rigidly at the table, an arrogant look on his face. Mason wanted to put his fist through it, and he could feel his heart beating faster as the rage built up in his stomach and spread through his veins like lava.

  “Look, you don’t have to believe everything I say, but obviously I’m not far off if you have him in custody. Give me five minutes with him and I’ll find out what’s going on for you.”

  Mr. David stood staring into the room. Mason could tell he was wrestling with his next course of action, and all he had to do was close the deal.

  “I can promise you that whatever you think you know about this man doesn’t come close to the facts. He’s a murderer and he’s the only one who knows who’s pulling all the strings.”

  The spy took a deep breath and held it for a second as he weighed his options. “Do it, but do not do any permanent damage.”

  Mason nodded and stepped into the room with a smile.

  The shock that replaced the stoic exterior of the general disappeared as soon as Mason closed the door behind him.

  “Bet you weren’t expecting me to come through that door.”

  “How . . . ?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is how much pain you’re willing to go through before you tell me what I want to know. You see these walls?” Mason asked, bumping his fist against the thick gray foam that lined the cell. “How many of these have we built around the world?”

  The general lifted his chin with a smirk. “I built one just for you back in Jbad. It’s brand-new,” he said.

  “Well, that’s a shame, because neither one of us is ever going to see it.”

  Mason approached the general ominously and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder as he moved around behind him.

  “It’s been a rough week, for both of us. Did you know that your friend Decklin tried to kill me again?”

  “Too bad he didn’t finish the job.”

  “Yeah, he was thinking the same thing when I poured gas on him and lit him up like a roman candle. I still have the tape, if you want to see it.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “He said that too before I cut off his head and put it in a box.”

  “You’re a sick son of a bitch,” Swift replied.

  “Maybe, maybe not, but one thing I don’t do is kill fucking innocent women and children.” Mason leaned in close and grabbed him around the neck with his left arm. He sank the rear naked choke in deep and used his right arm to tighten the pressure as he lifted the general out of his chair.

  “You didn’t see the pictures, see what your gas did to the children. I want to know how you sleep at night,” he yelled into the general’s ear.

  He could feel the general’s feet kicking against the table as he cut the blood flow off to his brain. He counted slowly in his head and then released the pressure before the prisoner passed out.

  As Swift sputtered and gulped for air, Mason grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the table. He fought to control his rage as the general’s nose exploded in a pool of red.

  “Tell me!” he yelled as he slammed his head down again, before reapplying the chokehold. “I know about Libya and Operation Lion. All I need is a name, and we can stop this shit.”

  He let the general go and moved back around the table. The general’s nose was bent to the side and obviously broken. Blood covered his chin and the front of his tan shirt, and there was already a dark bruise around his neck, but what surprised Mason were the tears coursing down his cheeks.

  “You find a conscience all of a sudden?”

  “I never knew about the gas. I would never have gone along with it if I had known.”

  The proud warrior sagged in his chair. He was right on the edge, and Mason knew it wouldn’t take much more to break him. He’d never liked the general and knew that despite the façade that had gotten him promoted, the man was a coward.

  “I don’t care if you knew or not, you’re still a murderer.”

  “Fuck you, Mason.”

  “What is Operation Lion?” Mason asked, balling up his fist.

  “It’s the plan for Syria,” the general spat. “We found files linking Iran, Syria, and Saudi Arabia to the jihadists in Iraq. After the surge, we knew the war was going to be wider than we originally thought—”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  Swift raised his chin and spat blood on the table before telling Mason, “I want a deal.”

  Mason instantly grabbed him by the front of his shirt and flipped the chair down to the floor. He placed his boot on the man’s throat and pressed down. The general tried to grab his foot, but his hands were still chained to the chair, and he lay there choking as the blood from his broken nose poured down his throat.

  “You want a deal? Is that what you want? Who is running the show? Tell me and I won’t let you drown in your own blood.”

  “Gen— General Nantz . . . He’s working with the CIA,” he stuttered as Mason lifted his boot off the man’s windpipe. “He planned it all.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “Bagram, he’s in Bagram.”

  Mason looked down at the defeated general with disgust. Finally, he headed out the door, his mind already focused on the task ahead.

  Outside, Mr. David looked flustered as Mason closed the door behind him.

  “I need a plane to Bagram, ready to go in an hour,” he said simply.

  “I’ll get on that,” he replied, regaining his composure.

  • • •

  Mason left the hangar and walked toward the row of white-painted modular houses. He had gotten his second wind and was bolstered by the new information, but he needed to check in with Renee before leaving.

  The “mods” were basically trailers set up to house five separate rooms. Each one was made of aluminum with a corrugated steel roof and windows cut into the side. The housing area was the military’s version of a trailer park, but it was a huge improvement over the tents he’d used during the invasion of 2001.

  He walked up the metal staircase and pulled the door open. A long, dimly lit hallway lay before him, which smelled of Pine-Sol and Windex. The smell was universal to the military and spoke volumes about the soldiers’ discipline. His boots squeaked on the spotless linoleum floor as he walked down the hall. Most of the doors were open, which meant that those rooms were unoccupied, and he continued walking until he came to a room with a closed door.

  He stopped, collecting himself, and after t
aking a breath, he knocked.

  After a few seconds, Renee pulled the door open and stuck her head through the crack. “Yeah?”

  “I was in the . . . I mean, I stopped by to see how things were going,” Mason stammered.

  “I’m fine,” she said as she closed the door.

  Mason stood in the hall for a second, not sure what to do. He started to turn and leave, not because she didn’t want to talk to him, but because he was suddenly nervous.

  “Get your shit together,” he told himself as he knocked on the door again.

  “What do you want?” Renee asked as she pulled the door open, but refused to move out of the doorway.

  She’d just gotten out of the shower, and her hair was still damp and full of the distinctively feminine bouquet of her shampoo. Mason’s eyes danced over the form-fitting T-shirt she was wearing and continued down to the short Ranger panties that barely covered her shapely legs.

  “Can I help you?” Renee asked defiantly as he tore his gaze away from her body.

  It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman and he found himself feeling intimidated.

  “I, uhhh . . .”

  “Yeah, you said that already, and I told you that I was fine.”

  She moved to close the door and Mason’s hand shot out to check its movement.

  “You need to cut me some slack. I’m trying to help you.”

  Renee let go of the door and crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she stepped back. The shower shoes on her feet were still wet, and they squeaked against the tile floor as she moved.

  “Why do you think I need your help, because I’m a woman? Is that what this is all about? You don’t think I can handle this shit?”

  “No.” Mason was getting pissed at her little attitude and heard his voice going up. “It has nothing to do with that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Renee, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Act this way. We were there together, remember? And guess what, this thing isn’t over yet. So I suggest you get your shit together, because there is no way I’m going to let you jeopardize my life or Zeus’s life.”