The Colonel's Daughter

by Lili Tufel

  The Colonel's Daughter

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Copyright © 2011 Lili Tufel

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

  Tufel Media

  Credits:

  Cover Art: Paige Pentzke

  Contact us at: TufelMedia.com

  * * * * *

  "From beginning to end, I could not put it down! ... And there was a shock ending that was a total surprise!”

  Kim Tomsett-Fowler

  “Complicated family ties run subtly beneath the high-adrenalin action until the final ultimate complication is revealed on the very final page.”

  JT Kalnay

  Author of The Pattern and Mina's Eyes

  * * * * *

  Chapter One

  Mother and daughter raised their eyes to the American flag that flapped in the salty summer breeze, a beacon of freedom that marked the center of the soldiers’ graves. Holding her little girl’s hand, Jasmine lifted her blonde ponytail off the damp back of her neck. The wind carried with it a dense humidity, which was a constant in Tampa, Florida, and spread about a mixture of heat with dirt that stuck to the skin like Velcro.

  Eight-year-old Samantha shielded her eyes from the midday sun and listened to her mother’s raspy voice read the memorial adjacent to the flag.

  “IN LOVING MEMORY

  CPL DONALD SIMCOX

  US ARMY AFGHANISTAN

  DEVOTED HUSBAND AND FATHER

  WE LOVE YOU”

  Her small hands cast a shadow over the bronze headstone where her father Cpl. Simcox, who had been killed by an IED—Improvised Explosive Device—in Afghanistan, had been laid to rest when she was only five years old.

  Jasmine put her arms around her daughter and gave a tight squeeze.

  “Momma,” Samantha pulled away, “What did daddy smell like?”

  Jasmine’s eyes widened. “You’ve never asked that before.”

  “I’m not a little kid anymore, momma.” Samantha, who had been used to routinely visiting her father’s grave, would leave drawings and other trinkets. She was convinced these would keep him company during the lonely days and nights of the cemetery, until her next visit.

  “You’re right, Sam you’re not a baby anymore. I have to start getting used to that.” Jasmine knelt down to arrange a bouquet of yellow tulips. “It’s been so long. I don’t think I remember anymore.” She watched Samantha place a colorful plastic pinwheel into the grass above the headstone.

  Samantha, the gifted third grader and a definite tomboy, attached a handwritten card to the pinwheel.

  Dear Dad,

  I miss you. When can I see you again? Mommy says you are always watching over me. My coach gave me the game ball. I want you to have it.

  I love you,

  Samantha

  Next to the spinning wheel, she positioned her game winning baseball and went about diligently helping her mother fill the bronze vase with tulips.

  A security officer, who had been driving around the cemetery in a golf cart, noticed mother and daughter walking across a shaded path. He parked his vehicle cutting off their exit path and stared at Jasmine’s shapely walk. “Are you two alright?”

  “We’re fine, thank you.” Gripping her car keys, Jasmine gave a tight-lipped smile.

  “My dad is buried here.” Samantha interjected.

  “Oh yeah?” Resting an elbow on the undersized steering wheel, he stroked his wooly mustache. “I saw you two by the uh…soldier’s memorial.” He looked down at Samantha, “Was your dad a soldier?”

  Jasmine offered a quick answer, “Yes he was,” then clutched her daughter’s hand and took a step back.

  “Hey you ladies want to hop on the back? I can give you a lift to your car.”

  “No thanks, my car is right around the corner.”

  “Oh yeah?” He removed his uniform cap and scratched his scalp. “You know…That’s where they’re building a memorial to commemorate the POW’s. Right by your car over there,” he pointed.

  Jasmine gave the construction site a quick look. “Well I’m glad that the prisoners of war will be honored here with a memorial. That really is wonderful.” She looked at his desperate eyes and cleared her dry throat, “If you’ll excuse us, we really have to get home.”

  “So what’s your daddy’s name?” He looked at Samantha. “So I can make sure he’s well protected until your next visit?”

  “Donald Simcox,” the ingénue girl spoke swiftly. “But my mom doesn’t have his last name, her last name is Johnston.”

  Jasmine tugged her hand and scolded, “There you go giving away too much information. Haven’t I told you about that before?”

  “But he’s a policeman momma.”

  “It’s alright ma’am. I should get going anyway.” He gave the eight-year-old a wink. He paused and looked at Jasmine curiously. “Any relation to the kidnapped Colonel who’s been all over the news? Colonel James Johnston?”

  Jasmine, pulling her daughter along, proceeded to walk around the obstructing golf cart. “No, no relation to that poor Colonel, not that I know of.”

  He watched them walk away. “You ladies have a good afternoon,” he called out while putting his uniform cap on his balding head.

  * * * * *

  Narrow propeller blades tore through an opaque sky and with the guttural purr of a carnivore came to a halt in mid air. The Chinook helicopter hovered over a remote Afghan village and inside the bird, Special Forces soldiers prepared for their insertion.

  “Alright men, it’s going to be in and out.” Captain Santos stood by the door gunner. “The Colonel’s been like a father to all of us. No question about it, he would be putting his life on the line if it was us out there. It’s time to reacquire the old Colonel. Extract the hostage and bring him home.”

  “Security teams are in position, Captain.” Shouting over the roaring propeller was Staff Sgt. Greenwood, a dedicated crew chief.

  “Well I’ll be damned.” Lieutenant Brian Star grabbed a thick woolen rope. “The butter bar and his men managed to secure the place.” He cocked his head for a bird’s eye view.

  “Something’s not right.” Captain Santos put an ear to the wind. “It sounds dangerous down there.”

  “I don’t hear anything, Captain.” Dallas adjusted his gloves and gripped the rope.

  “Exactly, I don’t like the quiet.”

  Capt. Javier “Javi” Santos and Lt. Brian “Dallas” Star fast roped from the aircraft. A rocket fired from a rooftop, impacted twenty feet from the hoisted soldiers with a reverberating boom. Erupting gunfire from a nearby cave lit up the sky.

  Staff Sgt. Greenwood bellowed over the radio, “I’m opening the belly hatch and deploying the rope ladder Captain,” as Gatling guns discharging their rapid-fire and resonated over the frequency.

  “Negative, Sergeant. We’re going in. There’s no way we’re leaving
the Colonel behind.” Javi ran for cover behind a two story mud-walled building.

  Dallas followed. “I’m right behind ya Capt’n.”

  Sprinting towards the road, Javi suddenly dove and rolled on the ground, as shots were fired in his direction. He found cover behind a parked car, ducking to avoid broken glass from a relentless shooter.

  “Sniper at your ten o’clock, Captain.” Dallas scraped his back against the mud wall.

  “Dallas, go east around the building. I’ll draw him out. We’ll flank him.”

  “Yes sir.” His finger steady on the trigger, Dallas trotted around the building scrutinizing every aperture with his Marksman Rifle.

  Javi shot several rounds raising the barrel slightly above the trunk of the parked car. His voice flickered over the radio. “Dallas, do you see him?”

  “Yes, I spotted the nest. Draw him back out, draw him back out.” Dallas pressed one eye to his night vision scope. With expert marksmanship and controlled breathing, he calculated the trajectory of his bullet. After squeezing the trigger, he watched his target plummet. He exhaled, “Got him,” in a celebratory whisper. Immediately putting a hand to the radio headset he announced, “All clear Captain.”

  Javi ran straight up the gravel road. “I’m heading north towards the Intel location. I can see the building from here. Follow me along the perimeter.”

  “On my way, sir.” Dallas suddenly pivoted in the direction of oncoming footsteps as two frenzied soldiers approached.

  “Specialist Evan Daniels and Private Jason Lewis, we’re the only ones left, sir.”

  “Where’s your commanding officer?”

  “Our platoon leader is KIA, sir.”

  “I thought you boys secured the place?”

  “We were swarmed, sir.” Specialist Daniels waved his arm in the air.

  “They came out of some caves on the other side of that cliff.” Private Lewis pointed using his rifle as an extension of his hand.

  “What do you mean by swarmed? How many insurgents are we talking about?”

  “About thirty five armed men took over the whole village. It was double that amount before our teams took them out. We were ambushed, sir.” Specialist Daniels wiped his brow masking his horror.

  Closing in on the Intel location of the hostage, Javi rounded the corner with confidence coming to the end of the gravel road then stopped abruptly. On the other side stood a firing squad of insurgents aiming their machine guns at his face. He turned to make a run for it, but was quickly apprehended by five men who put a hood over his head and carried him inside the building.

  “Captain, the Intel is wrong, I repeat, the Intel is wrong. There’s approximately thirty five, over.” Bits of transmissions echoed from Javi’s radio headset that lay on the sandy ground.

  “The Intel is wrong Captain, approximately thirty five insurgents, over.” Dallas waited in silence. “Are you there, Javi? Come in Javi, over.”

  “Let’s go,” Dallas motioned to the two soldiers, “This way.” They ran across an alley parallel to the open road. A sudden piercing blast sent them crouching along the mud wall.

  “RPG’s!” Specialist Daniels scrambled to catch up to Dallas.

  On Dallas’s radio, Sergeant Greenwood’s voice weaved in and out of the chatter muffled by a distinct missile approach signal in the cabin. “The fuselage’s been hit.” Belt fed machine guns continued to fire from the damaged Chinook until it was engulfed in flames.

  Glassy eyed, Dallas stared at the explosion. In the midst of battle, for a calculated second, he mourned his friends. His deep blue eyes mirrored the ball of fire. He shook his head as he flicked on his night vision goggles, and followed the smoke trail. “The shooter’s inside that building.” He signaled left. “Let’s go.”

  Crackle of gunfire veiled in smoke and dust pierced the moonless sky. Focused on stopping the RPG shooter, Dallas led them through a maze of corridors gripping his rifle pointing the barrel in every direction. Private Lewis followed behind Daniels as they made their way into the building. As the Private crossed the threshold, a fatal shot to the back of the neck forced him to the ground.

  Specialist Evan Daniels grabbed his friend’s lifeless body and dragged it across the corridor. Resting the body behind a stairwell, he got on one knee and with his teeth tugged at his glove, quickly removing it. He checked for a pulse. “No, C’mon Jason, c’mon man. C’mon buddy, breathe!”

  “I could use a little help up here Daniels.” Dallas called out from the middle of the stairwell.

  Evan wiped his runny nose, tears with the back of his hand, and staggered up the steps.

  Reaching the second floor, Dallas entered an adjacent room and opened fire shooting two insurgents who were holding the RPG launcher. Evan walked in behind him maneuvering around the dead bodies and assessing the area. The smell of sulfur filled the entire room. The young Specialist put a hand to his roiling stomach and involuntarily gagged. He grabbed hold of the windowsill and doubled over drawing a breath of the night air.

  Dallas grabbed hold of his radio refusing to give up on the Captain. “I got the shooter, Captain….Captain Santos, I got the shooter. Do you copy?”

  There was no response from Javi.

  Evan popped his head back inside. “You better come see this, Lieutenant.” He pointed out the window.

  Stepping over the dead bodies, Dallas sneered at the window frame before putting a hand on the same windowsill contaminated by those who incinerated his friends. He looked outside and studied a group of armed insurgents heading down the gravel road. “How many did you count?”

  “I’d say about thirty, sir.”

  “I counted twenty nine.”

  “What do we do now sir?”

  “Shit, Javi, where are you?” Dallas whispered. “Captain Santos, do you copy, over.”

  Evan stepped out of the room and caught sight of five armed men racing up the stairs. “We’re trapped in here, sir.”

  “Start shooting Specialist.” Dallas gripped his rifle then looked down at the RPG launcher. “These bozos only had one rocket?”

  Evan shot towards the hallway and stairwell holding off incoming enemies while Dallas unloaded a torrent of bullets out the window to prevent more men from entering the building. Both soldiers discharged every round they had while covering their faces from the reek of the sulfur-filled room.

  Dallas veered his weary head towards the rising sun. “I’m out, you out?”

  Evan’s arms collapsed, “I’m out of ammo sir.”

  Dallas took a seat on the mud hut floor.

  * * * * *

  Sitting at the kitchen counter of her mother’s Miami Beach apartment resting her long slender tanned legs on the nook chair, Abby browsed the internet on her laptop. A shaft of morning light stretched across the chiseled granite. Taking a strawberry from the fruit bowl with her eyes fixed on the screen, she bit into it letting small drops run down her porcelain chin and while reaching behind the computer for a napkin, she caught sight of the day’s headlines.

  Failed rescue attempt in northeast Afghanistan lands two more soldiers in enemy camp.

  Abby brought a hand to her mouth and thought, oh no, dad. She slowly tucked a fallen strand of brown hair behind her ear and read the online article.

  U.S. and NATO officials confirmed the identity of the two soldiers shown in a video released by the terrorist cell. Special Forces Captain Javier Santos and Lieutenant Brian Star appear in the video sitting next to Colonel James Johnston who was kidnapped just eight weeks ago.

  They were ambushed in the village of Barg-e Matal by insurgents who have recaptured the remote district of Nuristan province.

  Her deep set, brown eyes welled up with tears. She buried her face in her hands then wiped the running mascara from under her eyes. Exhaling slowly, she had a brief flashback of her father leaving for this last tour. At the curb of the airport drop off, Colonel James Johnston stood in his dress uniform adorned with medals. He gave his daughter a peck on the fo
rehead and said, “I don’t want you worrying about your old man.” He pinched her chin then noticed a pout. “We’ve been through this enough times. You know the drill. Promise me you will go on with your normal life. And promise me you’ll continue through graduate school.”

  She had replayed his words often and had found herself struggling to keep those promises. Taking a deep breath, she opened a file on her laptop, Application for admission to candidacy, Art History Graduate Requirements. Her fingers stiffened. She typed her name, Abigail Johnston.

  * * * * *

  Dallas sat shirtless on the dirt floor, his heart splitting dimpled smile hidden by an emotionless face and his blond crew cut darkened by sand and grit. He hunched his shoulders keeping his scourged back from touching the jagged cave wall. With dirt-filled fingers, he tugged at Javi’s arm. “Captain, wake up.”

  Javi lay sleeping against the serrated rock. His tanned six-pack abs gleamed with sweat.

  Dallas slowly crawled to the entrance of the cave. “Do you hear that Captain.”

  Javi opened one eye. His magnetic crooked smile was bloodied, swollen and disfigured. “What do you think it is?”

  Dallas put an ear to the entrance. “They’re beating the kid.”

  Javi lightly tapped his swollen face with a finger. “Shit,” he said as he flinched. “What’s the kid’s name?”

  “Specialist Evan Daniels.”

  “He better not talk,” Javi grumbled, peeling his muscled back off the rock wall.

  “I told him. If he talks they’ll kill him.” Dallas crawled back towards Javi. “Did you hear all that wailing? He’s going to talk, I know it.”