Red Thunder (Winds of War Book 4)

by William C. Dietz

  Each MOAB weighed 21,600 pounds, which was equivalent to the combined mass of six VW bugs. And that explained why they had to be delivered by a cargo plane instead of a conventional bomber.

  On the way to its target each MOAB was carried in a cradle that sat atop an airdrop platform. Shortly after being rolled out the back of a C-130, stabilizing drogues were deployed, and the bomb would fall without a parachute. After that GPS satellite-guidance would guide the “mother” to her target.

  The Kazakhs had no idea how much danger they were in. The Herc looked like what it was, a 4-engine cargo plane, which posed no danger to those on the ground.

  Quinn could hear the intermittent rattle of automatic fire as the government troops fired assault rifles and LMGs at the Herc. Flares were ejected from both sides of the plane, and Quinn witnessed a midair explosion, as a decoy lured a missile away. “There it goes,” Dean said, as an object fell free of the 130.

  Quinn knew that the MOAB was classified as an air burst bomb, and was said to be most effective when dropped into a contained area like a canyon. However, in this case the area around the airstrip was anything but “contained.” So, would the MOAB still be effective?

  Quinn covered her ears, heard what sounded like a lightning strike, followed by a resonate BOOM. The devastating orange-red explosion occurred above ground, which left no place to hide. But because they didn’t understand the danger, the government soldiers made no effort to disperse, and were still firing at the C-130 when the all-consuming explosion took their lives. Quinn was forced to take a step back as the blast wave hit, snatched the baseball cap off her head, and swept across the mesa.

  As the smoke began to clear Quinn saw a huge patch of blackened ground where the snow had vanished, revealing bare soil below. Would it still bear the weight of a plane? She hoped so as the Herc banked, leveled its wings, and came in for a landing.

  What about the surviving troops? Would they attack the plane? No, Quinn decided, they were fleeing. “Haster was right,” Dean said. “The C-130 is the plane we need.”

  “That’s for sure,” Quinn agreed. “Let’s load everyone on board and haul ass.”

  But it wasn’t that simple. Once the Herc came to a stop a twelve-person, Green Beret team had to disembark and be introduced to both Karimov and Jumah.

  And there were MANPADS to unload prior to humping the rhenium slugs and gold bars up the ramp and onto the plane. Then came the wounded, some of whom could walk, and some of whom had to be carried.

  It wasn’t until all of that had been accomplished that the remaining members of the 152nd could board and take their seats. Quinn was the last member of the company standing at the foot of the ramp when Abdulov, Karimov, and Jumah came to say goodbye. “Have a safe journey,” the Caliph told her. “And come back after the war. You will be welcome here.”

  Only if both of us survive, Quinn thought, as they shook hands. And I hope we do.

  The captain in command of the Green Beret team tossed her a salute, and Quinn returned it. Then, with a lump in her throat, she entered the plane. Flynn, Riley, Booker, Dodd, Salazar and so many others were being left behind. She hoped the cost was worth it.

  A seat was available next to Dean. Quinn took it. Would Hedgehog manage to get the Herc off the ground? Smile, Quinn told herself. They’re looking at you.

  The engines came to life and began to spool up. The Herc jerked, remained mud-bound for a moment, and suddenly broke free. “Hang onto your panties,” Hedgehog said over the intercom. “The runway is soft and we’re going to need every inch of it.”

  Quinn forced herself to smile, offered a thumbs up to the troops, and got a loud “Hooah” in return. The strip was anything but smooth. The plane bounced, went airborne for a moment, and hit hard. Then, with engines straining, the Herc broke free. A shout went up. People hugged. And Quinn found herself wrapped in an embrace with Dean. They were alive.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jalandhar, India

  Thanks to the fighter escort the C-130 flew to Jalandhar, India, where it landed without difficulty. Rather than being transported to a hotel, the soldiers of the 152nd were bused to an Indian army base, where they were separated and subjected to a “hotwash,” conducted by teams of CIA and military intelligence personnel.

  And, when Quinn questioned the need, an officer named Peevy had a ready answer. “The 152nd is the only team to go that deep into Russian territory and accomplish its mission. We need to understand what worked and what didn’t.”

  Quinn shuddered. Based on what Peevy inferred, other teams had attempted such missions, but none had survived.

  Quinn’s hotwash lasted for the better part of three days, during which she wasn’t allowed to interact with anyone from the 152nd. Her interrogators were polite, but unrelenting, and quick to judge. “So,” Peevy said at one point, “Your commanding officer died as a result of your negligence.”

  Peevy was dressed in civilian clothes, but had the manner of the military officer he was, and rarely blinked. Quinn met his implacable stare with one of her own. “Yes.”

  Peevy was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. Or was it a grimace? “According to numerous members of your outfit, all of them would be dead if it wasn’t for you. So, learn from it. But don’t live in it. Do you read me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Quinn said. “I read you five by five.”

  The after-action report continued into a third day, but came to an abrupt halt, when a 2nd lieutenant burst into the room. She was a forty-something blonde and, given her lowly rank, was likely to be a specialist of some sort—who’d been plucked out of a civilian job to perform a specific function.

  Her pale blue eyes darted around the room and came to rest on Quinn. “Major Quinn? I’m Martha Garvey. Grab your stuff, we’re going to the airport.” Despite being a butter bar Garvey had the manner of a bird colonel.

  “You’re way out of line, Lieutenant,” Peevy said. “Shut up and get the hell out of this room.”

  “No can do,” Garvey replied cheerfully, as she handed a sheet of paper to Peevy. “A four-star named Selby sent me here to get the major, and take her to D.C. Are you a four star? No? I didn’t think so.

  “There’s another war you know,” Garvey added. “A war for the hearts and minds of people all around the world. The major here is a hero, and she’s going to be treated like a hero, so everyone will know that a group of Americans and Ukrainians dropped into Russia, stole a shipment of rhenium, and took it home.”

  Peevy looked up from the paper he’d been reading. “The lieutenant is right Major … You have orders to report to the Pentagon day after tomorrow.”

  Garvey smiled tightly, snatched the piece of paper out of his hand, and motioned toward the door. “Let’s go honey … We have seats on an Air Mobility Command (AMC) passenger jet that departs in four hours.”

  “I can’t go,” Quinn said. “I have a dinner date.”

  Garvey laughed. “That’s hilarious. Are you always this funny? If so, we’ll get along just fine.”

  Quinn had no choice but to let Garvey escort her out of the building. Would Dean find out that she was under orders? Would he understand? She hoped so.

  A dusty Humvee was waiting outside. The driver and two bodyguards were Sikhs. They were gunned up and ready to rumble. One of them opened a rear door and Garvey gestured for Quinn to enter. The public affairs officer followed.

  Garvey spent most of the trip talking on her cellphone, which left Quinn to worry about the fate of the people who’d been in her command, and what might be waiting in the U.S.

  It took the better part of 15 minutes to negotiate the maze of barriers, checkpoints, and searches put in place to prevent Pakistani special operations teams from gaining access to the terminal building. Fortunately, Garvey had some sort of magical ID card which, when displayed, rated a salute.

  Once in the building Garvey hurried Quinn through the check-in process prior to escorting her into the lady’s restroom. “Strip down to you
r underwear,” Garvey ordered. “I need your measurements. And your shoe size.”

  Quinn frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to shoot your stats to a tailor in D.C., and he’s going to create a set of uniforms for you. No underwear though. You’ll get to choose that during an in-room showing at the Four Seasons Hotel. It’s important for a hero to look the part.”

  So, Quinn stripped. Garvey produced a cloth tape measure and took her measurements. “You’re too skinny girl … When was the last time you had something to eat?”

  Once the process was over, the measurements went into an email, which Garvey sent to the tailor in D.C. The AMC plane belonged to United Airlines but, like most such aircraft, was leased to the government. The first-class seats had been removed so the jet could hold more passengers. The women sat up front where they would be among the first to deplane.

  The rest of the passengers consisted of walking wounded, service people rotating out of country, civilian contractors, State Department personnel and nondescript spooks.

  It was a long flight, and a refueling stop in the Canary Islands made it two hours longer. That meant Quinn had time to take naps and worry about what awaited her.

  A black SUV was waiting when they landed at Joint Base Andrews in Maryland. It took them to the Four Seasons Hotel in D.C., and sure enough, a tailor was waiting in the lobby. He had a rolling rack of uniforms for Quinn to try on and followed the women up to the 5th floor.

  The array included an Army Service Uniform, a full set of Greens, and two sets of cammies, all bearing the appropriate badges and service ribbons.

  There was one exception however. And that was the oak leaf collar insignias visible on all of the collars. “Somebody got my rank wrong,” Quinn complained. “I’m a major.”

  “Nope, you were promoted to lieutenant colonel two days ago,” Garvey said. “Congratulations.” Quinn tried to absorb that but couldn’t.

  Everything fit perfectly. Better than any uniforms she’d ever had. And when the session was over a sales woman from a high-end lingerie shop arrived.

  “Here’s a copy of your remarks. If you choose to add anything keep it short. The SecDef has an hour penciled in and that’s it. The press conference is scheduled for 10 a.m. Please be in the lobby at 8 a.m. Please don’t speak to anyone about the mission, or anything having to with the mission, until after the official announcement. Do you have any questions?”

  Quinn shook her head.

  “Have fun,” Garvey said, as she paused at the door. “Remember, you have to pay for the underwear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  After splurging on a week’s worth of underwear, and paying what seemed like an exorbitant amount of money for it, Quinn called her mom. Cathy was thrilled and peppered Quinn with questions. “I can’t talk about where I was, or what I was doing,” Quinn replied. “But watch the news tomorrow.”

  After promising to come home as soon as possible, Quinn feasted on a steak from room service, and fell asleep in front of the TV. And, when Quinn awoke four hours later, she couldn’t get back to sleep.

  So, Quinn watched television. The news consisted of wall-to-wall war news. And while some commenters said the Allies were winning, others said they weren’t.

  The American breakfast was a treat. Pancakes, bacon, and a pot of coffee. After making all of it disappear Quinn wondered if she could squeeze into one of her new uniforms.

  When the time came to go downstairs Quinn was not only ready, but super ready, as if for combat. Something she would have preferred to do over participating in Garvey’s dog and pony show. She was watching for the SUV and went outside once it arrived. A staff sergeant got out to greet her. The salute was parade ground perfect. “Colonel Quinn? I’m Sergeant Reyes. Are you ready to go?”

  It was a shock to be addressed as “colonel.” “No,” Quinn replied. “But let’s go anyway.”

  Reyes grinned. “Roger that.”

  Traffic was heavy and it took the better part of 30 minutes to reach the Pentagon and work their way through multiple layers of security. Garvey was waiting in the lobby. She nodded approvingly. “You look like a recruiting poster … And that’s a good thing. Everything is ready. Follow me.”

  Quinn had done a tour at the Pentagon as a captain and knew her way around. But the wartime atmosphere felt different. There was a sense of urgency in the air, people seemed to move more briskly, and a lot of the expressions were grim.

  Quinn had been in the meeting room before. It was large enough to hold 100 people and used for events ranging from hail and farewell celebrations to pressers like the one she was about to participate in. General Selby was there to welcome her, as was a coterie of undersecretaries, and assistant undersecretaries.

  Faces blurred and names were lost as Garvey guided Quinn up to the front row of chairs. A sign that read: “Lt. Colonel Quinn,” was taped to one of them.

  Members of the press corps had been filing in for some time. And, when Quinn turned to glance over her shoulder, she saw at least two dozen reporters looking back at her. Garvey saw the motion and patted her knee. “Don’t worry honey, you’ll do fine.”

  The presser got underway ten minutes later. General Selby took the stage to set things up. “Good morning. Today it is my pleasure to announce the results of Operation Red Thunder. The mission was originally led by Colonel Alton Flynn who, as most of you know, was a well-known actor.”

  Footage of Flynn, lifted from the movie The Last Train from Benghazi, appeared on a large screen as Selby continued to speak. “Colonel Flynn’s mission, a real-life mission this time, was to assemble a popup battalion of American and Ukrainian troops, and conduct a raid on the Gorsky Copper Works located deep within Russia. The purpose of the mission was to steal a large quantity of a substance called rhenium. Handouts will be distributed describing what rhenium is, and why it’s so important.”

  The content of the video had changed by then, and Quinn found herself watching footage of the bus exercise, as Selby described the manner in which the 152nd had been pulled together in a very short period of time. Then the video dissolved to Rooney’s footage of the desolate airstrip outside Kyshtym, and combat footage of the fight in and around the factory.

  Quinn felt a lump fill her throat as she saw tight shots of those left behind—and contemplated the need to write a letter to each family.

  “Colonel Flynn was killed during the battle you are looking at,” Selby told the audience. “And that was when Major Katie Quinn stepped up to assume command.

  “The152nd had possession of the rhenium at that point,” Selby added. “Plus, some Russian gold. But couldn’t fly out as originally planned.

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the beginning of a running gun battle that lasted for more than a week, and covered hundreds of miles, as the 152nd sought to escape Russia and reach Kazakhstan. It was there, with the help of a dissident organization called Sin Jol, that an American C-130, with fighters for cover, managed to rescue them.

  “But only after the 152nd created an airstrip for the cargo plane to land on and fought a major engagement. Additional details and a complete timeline are included in your handouts.

  “Now,” Selby said, “without further ado, I would like to invite Major, now Lt. Colonel, Katie Quinn, up to the podium.”

  “Break a leg,” Garvey whispered, as Quinn stood and made her way to the podium with the piece of paper clutched in her hand. And that was when things took an unexpected turn.

  “Colonel Quinn is going to make some remarks,” Selby assured the audience. “But first, Secretary of Defense Allen would like to thank the colonel on behalf of a grateful nation.”

  What followed was a blur. Quinn heard Allen speak her name, and stood at attention while he pinned a Silver Star to her uniform. That was followed by a firm handshake and loud applause. “Now,” Selby said. “It is my honor to introduce Colonel Quinn. Colonel?”

  Quinn turned to face the audience. This was the moment that Fly
nn had dreamed of and, had he survived, would have excelled at. Quinn lacked the actor’s oratorical skills, but she had something to say, and was determined to do so. “The mission didn’t succeed because of me. It succeeded because of the courage and strength demonstrated by the men and women of the 152nd.

  “Roughly 25% of my command lost their lives during the raid and the days that followed. Some were American and some were Ukrainian. They shared the dangers we faced, and all too often they died together, never asking why. They willingly gave their lives for each other and for oppressed people all around the world. It was my honor to serve with them, and I will never forget. Thank you.”

  Those who were sitting rose to applaud. And Quinn did her best to blink away the tears that threatened to trickle down her cheeks as Garvey came to her rescue. “You did a good job, honey … But this rodeo ain’t over yet. You have a ten-minute press availability to complete. Don’t answer questions about methods and procedures. The enemy will be paying close attention.”

  The ten-minute availability ran to twenty minutes before Garvey cut it off. Most of the questions were easy to answer. But some were difficult respond to, especially those that had to do with how fragile the escape plan was, and the question of whether the rhenium was worth the lives lost. Quinn gave the best answer she could. “That kind of calculation is above my paygrade, ma’am. But I can tell you this much, the Russians won’t forget the fact that an Allied team dropped into their homeland, and took what they wanted.”

  The torture finally came to an end when Garvey declared that the presser was over, and the remaining reporters left to file their reports. “You’re supposed to call this number tomorrow,” Garvey said, as she gave Quinn a business card.

  “Lieutenant Iverson will provide you with information about your new assignment, and how to find a place to live in D.C., which won’t be easy.”