by Dalton Fury
Every last bit of it was for Raynor. He’d jump with it all, and then, assuming a safe landing on terra firma, he’d hide the chute and schlep the rest of the gear across the badlands and up a mountainside for nearly a mile before meeting with his contact.
Raynor’s lower back ached just looking at it all, but he nodded and sat in the chair while the loggie waited silently behind him.
First Kolt unpacked and then repacked his parachute. Then he reacquainted himself with the oxygen equipment he’d need on his high-altitude departure from the aircraft.
He played with the GPS unit, looked over a lightweight binocular outfit that switched between straight daytime lenses and night vision. Also he saw he would be carrying a thermal monocular with variable range and a high-powered spotting scope on a mini tripod. All of these optical devices had memory cards built into them, giving him the ability to record hours of high-resolution video.
As far as food and water he noticed immediately that he’d be going in light. There were energy bars stowed throughout his kit, enough to keep his calories up, but not enough to stave off hunger. Four days of laying up would, under normal conditions, necessitate four gallons of water, but Raynor would jump in with only two. He had water-purification tablets to make any found source drinkable, but he didn’t really plan on this being a hunter-gatherer-style camping trip.
There were two weapons, but he harbored no illusions of either of them getting him out of any real trouble. Grauer wasn’t sending him in to fight, that was clear, but at least Grauer wasn’t sending him in empty-handed. He looked over an old but well-maintained Makarov pistol that he could stow under his clothing in its bandoliered holster. There were two extra magazines, and a four-inch fixed-blade knife of local origin that attached to his belt in a leather sheath.
Piled next to these items Kolt found a multitool, camouflage netting, and a supply of extra batteries.
Last, Raynor popped the lid on a rubber tub and found it full of local clothing. It was well worn and dirty; its drab appearance and malodorous stench matched Raynor’s cover perfectly. Surveying it quickly by stirring it around in the container he found the ubiquitous salwar kameez outfit, a bulbous pakol cap, a heavy gray knit sweater with various holes and runs in the stitching, and a patoo, a wool blanket that was often worn across the chest for warmth like a backward cape.
He then reached deeper into the tub and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped package. Opening it, he found brand-new and expensive-looking camouflaged long john tops and bottoms. He held them up in confusion and mild amusement.
The logistical coordinator noticed his surprise. “That’s to control your scent. It’s lined with silver, and kills bacteria and eliminates human odors. It won’t make you completely invisible to dogs, but it sure as shit will help.”
“My clothes are already covered with my human odor.”
“Yeah, but when you are scared you give off a different scent, and those pooches over the border will alert to that in a heartbeat. That’s what we’re trying to avoid.”
Kolt nodded and put it aside. That made sense. Dogs out here in Pashtun country were big, dangerous beasts, violent in their tendencies and hostile to strangers. The last thing Kolt wanted to deal with, on top of all his other threats, was an angry mutt who could smell his fear.
* * *
The afternoon was one long intelligence briefing, with Raynor and Grauer being the constant attendees as others entered, then departed, the Bubble at their scheduled times. An image analyst and a cartographic analyst spent a couple of hours discussing the terrain he would face. Together the men looked over satellite and drone images and topographical maps, talked about what to do if he missed his drop point, and spent some time working with him on the handheld GPS he’d be taking with him.
Next a former Green Beret survival expert discussed the conditions Raynor would face spending several days on an alpine mountainside. Kolt was no stranger to the outdoors, but the SF man did have some insight on camouflage that the former Delta officer found useful.
Even a meteorologist came in to provide an up-to-the-minute weather briefing for the next five days in the Tirah Valley. His presentation could have been summed up in seconds. Cool, sunny days and chilly nights. Misty in the mornings and evenings, but nothing that would cause any problems for the mission.
Bob Kopelman returned to give the last briefing of the day, a presentation on the area, the Pashtun culture, the village, and Zar’s fortress. The compound intel had been passed on from Jamal, the local agent that would insert Raynor in just a few hours.
Kolt sat silently through most of it and paid close attention to everything, and when he did ask questions, they were short and relevant.
Kopelman looked at the filthy spy in front of him. “Do you know what Pashtunwali is?”
Raynor looked at Grauer, then back at Kopelman. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Bob. Of course I know what Pashtunwali is.”
“All right. Then humor me, cowboy. Tell me what you know about it.”
“The way of the Pashtun. An honor code among the tribes around here. Nine main principles, or ethics, including the right of asylum, hospitality, bravery, justice, a woman’s honor…” Kolt hesitated, “Uh … and some other stuff.”
Bob nodded, not unimpressed. “You hit the important parts. Zar is Pashtun. He will protect a guest at his home from all comers.”
“But he’s with the Taliban, so he’s not protecting T.J.”
“There is gray area when it comes to Pashtunwali. Zar may rationalize his holding the men captive as a way of providing them with security. He won’t let them go, but neither will he let them be taken away and killed by others. I just want you to remember, it’s all Pashtunwali with the tribes, but not with the Taliban, and certainly not with al Qaeda. The foreign AQ dudes in FATA look at these local Pashtuns like they are from another century, which they are. They are using them for their own devices, but often AQ, the Taliban, and the rogue militias battle between one another, Pashtunwali be damned.
“People call this the lawless tribal region, but don’t believe that for an instant. It’s not lawless. It has a very strict code. Pashtunwali. It’s just not the law of the Pakistani government, the Taliban, or AQ. And it’s not a law that we are familiar with.”
Raynor just nodded. He knew all this, as he had been in and out of Afghanistan much of the last decade. His mission, if successful, would not have him in contact with any Pashtuns other than this agent of Bob’s, Jamal. He hoped he didn’t need to know too much about the ins and outs of the social mores of the region he was about to sneak into.
* * *
It was 9 p.m. and Raynor’s finger-smudged itinerary sheet told him he was to be sleeping right now, but instead he sat outside in the cool evening, on a bench near the outer fence. He wore a blue tracksuit with the Radiance logo, and the all-important red security badge hung around his neck. A thousand yards to his east Air Force aircraft took off with regularity. It wasn’t the pace of operations he remembered from a few years earlier, but still, for as little as Jalalabad, Afghanistan, made the news Stateside these days, it sure as hell looked like there was a lot going on over here.
A Radiance sentry had appeared a few minutes earlier; he’d used a flashlight to check Kolt’s pass, but then apologized for bothering him. The guard didn’t know who he was, but knew enough to know he wasn’t supposed to know who he was, so after warning Kolt about occasional mortar attacks on the base, the guard left him alone, and continued his lonely patrol through the night.
Even these static security officers at Radiance were top-notch. Kolt realized that security guys had a job Raynor himself wouldn’t have been able to wrangle just a month earlier. It made him laugh for a moment, but he also knew the only reason he was the catch of the day was because he was the only one motivated enough — some would surely say dumb enough — to go on this operation.
He heard the crunch of distant footsteps on gravel, someone approaching from behind. He credited
the three weeks in Wyoming, nearly all of it under the peril of imminent attack, for allowing his body and his ears to tune so quickly and acutely to movement and sounds or threat. He looked back over his shoulder, and was surprised to see the drone pilot coming toward him from the UAV area, a series of mobile buildings set up in a parking lot near the Operations Center.
“You are supposed to be in bed, mister.” She said it in a matronly way, but he recognized that her sarcastic tone was pointed toward Grauer’s to-the-minute itinerary.
He shrugged. “Would you be able to sleep?”
“Hell, I’ll be flying a remote aircraft seven miles over you, and I can’t sleep. So I don’t blame you at all.”
Kolt nodded, looked back out to the mountains to the south.
“You mind if I sit a minute?”
“Not at all. I’m sorry … Is it Pat?”
“Pam,” she said as she joined him on the bench.
“I’m not too good with names.”
“No problem, Racer.” They sat in quiet for a moment. She said, “Every now and then we get hit with mortars … usually about this time of night.”
Kolt nodded. “I’ve been warned. I can haul ass if I need to.”
Pam laughed. Then stopped when she realized Kolt was looking at her.
“I feel like a monkey in a cage,” Kolt said.
“Why is that?”
“The way you were eyeing me in the meeting today. The way you are looking at me now.”
“I … I’m sorry.” Archer looked off into the distance herself.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
A new sentry passed by, shone his light on the two sitting in the dark. “Hi, Pammy.”
“Hey, Jay.” She held up her red badge and Raynor waved his.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Evening,” Kolt said.
The light turned off and the sentry continued on. After a long moment Pam turned to Kolt. “Three years ago I was in the Air Force, based at Creech.”
Raynor smiled politely. “Vegas.”
Pam did not return the smile. “Right. Anyway, I was on one of the Reapers. I worked Af-Pak missions … cross-border ground incursions.”
Kolt’s eyes widened in surprise. He held up his hand and cut her off before she could say another word. “Pam, I don’t think we should — ”
“I know who you are.”
His hand lowered. “No you don’t.”
“I do. I know you led your team into Waziristan in November 2009. Hunter 29. I know you got hit. I know you were the only surviv — ”
“I’m not having this conversation.” He started to get up from the bench.
“I was overhead. I piloted the drone that turned back. The one that left you and your team in the black, just before you guys were attacked.”
Raynor was standing now, but he did not leave. He did not say a word.
“It was me. I let you guys down. I … I don’t know why it matters now, but it’s important to me that you know.”
Raynor blew out a sigh. He shrugged and lowered himself back to the bench. “Small world, huh?”
“Small community.”
Kolt looked back to the mountains to the south. Waziristan was off in that direction. “I heard there was some sort of problem with the bird.”
Pam shrugged. “The Reaper was fine. False reading. I fought it at the time, I did not want to turn back, but I was overruled.”
Raynor shrugged again. “Shit happens.”
“I should have fought harder. I should have insisted — ”
“Pam. You didn’t do anything wrong that day. I did. I accept that, and I don’t need anyone to share the blame with.”
The comment hung in the cool air for a long moment. Then Pam asked, “Do you even know why you are here?”
Raynor was confused by the question. “Of course. In three hours I’m going to drop into — ”
“No … I mean, why you?”
Kolt smiled. “Because I am the only man in possession of the skills necessary to do this job.”
Archer just stared at him.
“I’m kidding. Of course, I get it. I am here because I am the only one who would risk it. Because of what happened before. Because of my responsibility in what happened before. There are a shitload of ex — Unit operators more qualified than me, but Webber and Grauer knew nobody in his right mind would take this job, except for the guy who’s responsible for those boys being over there in the first place. I understand that.”
“So you understand they are using you.”
“I am willing. I want this. I need this.”
“Look, the ground portion of this mission is not my part, obviously, but I’ve been around enough to see what’s written between the lines. Langley, JSOC, or any organization with any self-respect would never send a man out on an op like the one that you are about to go on. I can think of fifty things that can go wrong in the next twenty-four hours.”
Kolt knew she was right, but he was nevertheless surprised to hear it. “For example?” he asked.
“For example: this Pashtun contact, Jamal something. Did you know that his reliability is rated at only twenty-five percent? Who puts American lives in the hands of a contact with that level of trustworthiness?”
It was a rhetorical question that Raynor did not answer.
“And when was the last time you did a HAHO jump, or any kind of jump, for that matter? Your record says it’s been nearly four years.”
“I can handle the jump.”
She shrugged. “I sure hope so, but even if you land right where you are supposed to, we know so little about the security setup in and around Zar’s village that you won’t be sure you’re safe. We’ve counted as many as thirty men in close proximity to his compound, but there are reports that there are as many as three hundred in his militia.”
“Well, you haven’t seen three hundred in the village, have you?”
“Of course not. But things can look significantly different from forty thousand feet compared to how they really are at ground level.”
“I trust the op to get me in.”
“Maybe so. If you can make the jump, that is. They’ve spent a hell of a lot of time on working out your infiltration. But your exfiltration is the most poorly thought through component of this operation. Why do you suppose that is?”
“I am to ride out with this Jamal guy, just like I got in.”
“Yeah, and then go to Peshawar? Sounds fine on paper, but that’s a half day’s drive. You’re going to be in an iron box next to a truck engine the entire time? And if you’re caught, you’re dead. I don’t just mean the Taliban who are holding Eagle 01. There are other groups running around the Tirah Valley. Taliban factions, AQ affiliates, warlords whose men would kill you outright, bandits and smugglers who would sell you to the Taliban or AQ, who would behead you as a spy.”
“I know all this.”
“Then you have to know this is pretty close to a suicide mission. Grauer and Webber need you to do this, they hope like hell you can get proof of life on the missing men, but nobody really expects you to survive long enough to get home.”
Kolt understood this in a general sense, but having Pam Archer lay it out in such stark terms made him blow a long stream of steam into the night air.
“I can do it,” he said. Telling her. Telling himself. “I better go get suited up.”
She kept looking at him in the same disconcerting way. He could tell she was frustrated that she hadn’t been able to get him to rethink his mission. Finally she just said, “Good luck.”
“Thanks. Keep an eye on me from above.”
“As much as I can. Sure wish my birds were armed, though.”
Kolt stood, shook her hand. “I’ll be fine.” Shrugged in the dark. “Just help me get our guys back, okay?”
“Okay, Racer.”
Kolt Raynor turned and walked off in the dark.
NINETEEN
Raynor sat in the back
of the aircraft, his gear strapped to his body. The flight would be short — they were already so close to the border that the flight path would have to take them north, away from his target, to climb to the correct altitude. From there it would turn, hitting a couple of waypoints on the map along the way, and then turn south, flying along the border just east of the infamous Tora Bora complex, where Osama bin Laden slipped through the noose in December of 2001.
Immediately after a turn back to the west, a Radiance loadmaster would drop the aft stairs of the 727 cargo craft, and Kolt Raynor would drop out into the frozen black sky.
Raynor sat quietly, thinking about the moment when he’d feel nothing but the wind against his body and the pinch of the straps holding the gear tight to him, but his meditation was interrupted. It was the big ex — CIA spook, Kopelman. He’d lumbered aboard the aircraft, and he shouted over the engine noise that came through the open door. He stuck out a hand. “Just came to wish you good luck.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna need it, right?”
“It’s all on your shoulders. If you can make the jump, my guy can get you to the village. If you can lay low and not get compromised, he’ll be back to pick you up four days after that. If you can make it back to Peshawar, I can get you out of the country. Easy as pie!” Kopelman said it with a smile.
“Right,” Raynor replied. He leaned over and adjusted the laces on his right boot where they were biting into his calf.
Bob seemed to notice something in Racer’s tone. “You have any particular concerns you’d like to voice at this late hour?”
“Just a few. Like this contact of yours.”
Bob shrugged. “Jamal is solid.”
“Twenty-five percent solid?”
Kopelman’s bushy eyebrows rose, and he sat down on the mesh bench next to Raynor. “Where did you hear about that?” Raynor did not answer. Kopelman shrugged again. “That’s Langley’s assessment, not mine. Jamal was a walk-in, he had a hell of an interesting story, but that’s all he had. The brain trust on the seventh floor took a pass on him, but a buddy I have who’s still with the Agency slipped me the lead. He knows what we’re working on, and he thought this guy’s story was worth us knowing.”
