PRIMAL Starter Box Set
Jack Silkstone
BOOKS BY JACK SILKSTONE
PRIMAL Inception
PRIMAL Mirza
PRIMAL Origin
PRIMAL Unleashed
PRIMAL Vengeance
PRIMAL Fury
PRIMAL Reckoning
PRIMAL Nemesis
PRIMAL Redemption
PRIMAL Compendium
PRIMAL Renegade
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2016 Jack Silkstone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Previously published by Amazon Publishing.
Published by Jack Silkstone
www.primalunleashed.com
PRIMAL books are dedicated to those who have fought for a just cause.
FROM THE AUTHOR
The four books in this box set are in chronological order as follows:
PRIMAL Mirza is set during 1998-1999, in Kashmir and New Delhi. It’s a period of heightened tension between Indian and Pakistan, foreshadowing the 2008 Mumbai terrorist attacks. It introduces Mirza Mansoor, a key character later recruited in PRIMAL Unleashed.
PRIMAL Inception takes place during 1999-2001 in Kosovo. It introduces Ice and Vance, CIA paramilitary operatives who go on to establish PRIMAL.
PRIMAL Origin is the first novel in the PRIMAL series. Set in the Emirates and Cyprus, it takes place in 2004 during the height of the Global War on Terror. It tells the story of how PRIMAL was established, and we follow the team on their first mission against a Russian mafia syndicate.
Finally, the Compendium is a reference document I created for a related project. I’ve included it for super-fans who want a little more insight into PRIMAL.
Note: Inside these ebooks you’ll find hyperlinks for various weapons, equipment, and organizations. They link to the ‘PRIMAL intel database’ a website where I’ve provided more detail and assessment on these items of interest. All that’s needed for access is to ‘Join PRIMAL’ with your email when the pop-up request appears. The email list is used solely to inform fans of upcoming stories.
Enjoy!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PRIMAL Mirza
PRIMAL Inception
PRIMAL Origin
PRIMAL Compendium
PRIMAL Mirza
CHAPTER 1
LADAKH RANGE, NORTHERN INDIA,
JUNE 1998
The icy Himalayan wind ripped over the ridgeline, buffeting the long line of soldiers shuffling forward one tenuous step at a time. Corporal Mirza Mansoor, second in the march, focused on the leader. In the failing light, he could barely see the faint glow of the Cyalume stick attached to the heavy pack of the soldier in front of him.
The tube of iridescent liquid was one of the few safety measures employed on the selection course for Special Group, India’s most elite military unit. Nearly a hundred candidates began the grueling training. Over half had failed to make it through the three brutal weeks of testing and reach the final gateway, a thirty-mile forced march through the Himalayan Mountains.
Mirza winced as a small rock pushed through the worn tread of his boot and hit the raw blisters on his foot. He glanced down and, finding a smoother piece of trail, refocused on the man in front of him. Despite the constant pain, he felt confident. He had performed well in all phases of the selection process, and his current position would guarantee one of the few coveted positions in the elite unit.
Rounding a large boulder, he spotted the march leader checking his map in the shelter of a rocky outcrop. Their gazes met, and he gave Sergeant Chopra a nod. The other man’s face remained impassive as he turned his attention back to checking the route. Mirza pulled out his own map and did the same.
Both men were sniper team leaders in India’s Special Frontier Force, a battle-hardened unit, responsible for defending India’s northern territories. Originally established to counter the million strong Chinese army poised on the other side of the Himalayan border, the unit was primarily manned by Tibetans and Gorkhas. Hardy mountain warriors with dark hair, jet black eyes, and seemingly endless stamina.
Mirza was a second generation Gorkha. His father had died serving in the Frontier Force, leaving him to be raised by his mother, an Indian from the south. As a result of his mixed heritage he had a leaner build than his fellow candidates; something that so far had not impacted on his performance.
Studying the contour lines on the map, Mirza found his location and traced the route over the final leg of the march. Ten miles remained. But they were the most demanding. The trail followed the narrow razorback for another mile before winding its way down the steep valley walls to the camp. Putting the map away, he looked up and saw the sergeant disappearing into the gloom.
With darkness closing in, he needed to keep moving. Reaching into a pouch, he retrieved the last piece of boiled candy. It had been saved for over a week for this very moment; extra energy for the final leg home. Leaning forward, he shifted the weight of his sixty-pound pack, unwrapped the sweet, and popped it into his mouth. Then straightening, he hobbled forward, forcing the stiffness from his tired muscles.
***
Over the past hour, the temperature had plummeted to below freezing. The wind now carried flakes of snow. Mirza wrapped a scarf around his face to protect it from frostbite and began the steep descent into the valley; treacherous with a heavy pack. Each step ached as he plodded down the rocky trail.
He had lost sight of Sergeant Chopra. The sergeant had set a cracking pace he couldn’t match. Now, he and the remaining candidates behind him were forced to navigate their way off the mountain in complete darkness.
He stopped at the top of a particularly steep section of the trail. It was covered in loose scree with a sharp incline into a rocky gully. He paused, searching for the safest route. As he began the descent, he caught a glimpse of a faint glow among the rocks off to the side.
He shook his head in an attempt to banish the fatigue from his eyes and checked again. There was definitely a glow emanating from behind a dark cluster of rocks well below the track. It looked suspiciously like one of the Cyalume sticks.
He glanced down the valley. The lights of the camp could be seen in the distance. The end of the march and a guaranteed position in Special Group was tantalizingly close. With a sigh, he shrugged off his heavy pack and climbed down. When he reached the glow he grimaced at the sight of Sergeant Chopra’s crumpled body wedged face-up between two jagged rocks.
Mirza loosened the wounded man’s pack straps. As he pulled him free, the shivering sergeant moaned. Blood had congealed from a sharp gash on his forehead. His boot stuck out at a ninety-degree angle. “You’re going to be all right,” Mirza reassured him.
He looked back up at the trail and spotted the glow of at least three additional Cyalume sticks. He called out. Within a minute, another two soldiers appeared out of the darkness. Together, they carried the wounded man up to the track and laid him next to Mirza’s pack.
“We need to keep moving, Corporal,” said a man from Mirza’s SFF company. “If we go now, we can still finish in time to be selected. Others will come that cannot earn a spot, they can look after him.”
The third soldier who’d helped them had already picked up his equipment. “He’s right,” he said and continued the march.
Mirza look
ed back up the mountain. He couldn’t see any more green lights approaching. A shiver ripped through him. The temperature was still dropping. He glanced back at Chopra. If he left the sergeant on his own, he would die from exposure. “No, I will carry him.”
The other man shook his head. “Even if you make it in time, you won’t pass. You have to finish with all your equipment.”
Mirza drank some water from his pack then dumped it off the track. “Keep going, it’s my decision. I found him, I’ll take responsibility.”
He lifted the wounded man onto his shoulders. The other candidate shook his head and stepped off into the darkness.
***
Mirza staggered through the gates of the barracks, the sergeant over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. With each step, his feet screamed in agony. Blood squirted out through the side valves of his boots. His right leg cramped. He stumbled and fell to a knee. Strong hands pulled the sergeant from his shoulders and lowered the unconscious man to the ground. There were shouts for a medic and stretcher-bearers. He watched as they carried the casualty away. Then he struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the parade ground.
“Corporal, you all right?” a medic asked.
“Yes.” He walked stiffly toward the powerful lights that shone on a soccer pitch-sized square of asphalt. The fifteen men who had arrived ahead of him sat there in ranks, their equipment unpacked and laid out. Cadre staff wearing white armbands and carrying clipboards moved along the ranks checking the kit.
He ignored the officers watching him from the side of the parade ground and took his place at the end of the third rank. Unlike the others, he had only his belt webbing and rifle. He had abandoned his pack on the mountain when he’d made his choice to save the sergeant.
“Name?” one of the staff asked.
“Mirza Mansoor, 4571298.”
“Where’s your bergen, soldier?”
“On the mountain, sir.”
“I thought as much.”
The instructor continued to the next soldier as stewards arrived with steaming mugs of soup and blankets.
They waited for another hour until the last of the candidates limped in through the gates. Mirza sat in silence, wrapped in a blanket.
At a minute past midnight, the Special Group training commander took the podium. In a clear voice he read out ten names. Mirza’s heart swelled with pride, three members from his unit had made the cut. The fact that he had not was something he’d already come to terms with.
The commander offered his congratulations to the ten men and dismissed the formation.
Mirza climbed to his feet and hobbled to where his SFF comrades had gathered. The three men who had passed stood and accepted congratulations, their faces stern.
“I am very proud of you all,” Mirza said. He shook each of their hands starting with those who had passed. “Your time will come,” he told the two who had just missed out.
“CORPORAL MANSOOR!” The sergeant major’s voice boomed across the parade ground.
Mirza instinctively snapped his heels together. “YES, SERGEANT MAJOR!” He executed a drill turn and marched as best he could toward the headquarters building where the man waited. The senior soldier directed him inside, down a corridor, and into the commander’s office.
Upon entering the office, Mirza stood at attention. While his eyes were locked on the wall before him, he’d noted the three men in the office. Two he knew, the commander and his executive officer. The third, he had never seen.
“I was very surprised not to see you in the first ten, Corporal Mansoor,” the commander said. “Very surprised indeed.”
Mirza did not respond. He stared straight ahead.
“However, I have been informed that you abandoned the selection to rescue a fellow candidate. I have also been informed that Sergeant Chopra, whilst badly injured, is likely to survive.”
He gave a slight nod. “That’s good news, sir.”
“Yes it is. He’s a fine soldier. But that’s not the reason you are here, Corporal.” The officer motioned to the third man. “This is Captain Arjun. He’s been monitoring the selection process and has requested a moment of your time.”
Mirza turned to face the captain. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown eyes and a large nose. He leaned against the wall of the office with a casual indifference and an easy smile.
The captain gave him a nod. “Hello, Corporal.”
“Sir.” He continued to stand tall.
There was an awkward silence as everyone waited for the captain to continue.
“If you don’t mind, chaps, I’d like to talk to the corporal alone.”
The commander glanced at his executive officer then back to Captain Arjun. “That’s a little unorthodox don’t you think?”
“Not at all. What we’re about to discuss is compartmented. Now, if you don’t mind, Major, I’d like to borrow your office.”
Once the two officers exited, Arjun directed Mirza to one of the chairs and made himself comfortable behind the commander’s desk. “You must be exhausted,” he spoke in Farsi.
Mirza dropped stiff-legged into the chair. “Yes, sir, you could say that,” he said in the same dialect. He had no idea who this captain was. However, the fact he could order a major out of his own office and spoke Farsi intrigued him.
“Yes, I’ve followed the selection process with great interest,” he switched to English. “Pretty arduous activity if I say so myself. Not the sort of shenanigans that I’d be up for.”
Mirza nodded.
“I won’t babble on for too long. I know you’re tired and it would be prudent for you to have someone take a look at those feet of yours.” He glanced at the bloody boot prints on the floor. “What do you know about Special Group?”
“They’re the action arm of RAW, sir. They specialize in covert operations.” Research and Analysis Wing was India’s primary external intelligence agency.
“Correct. As such, they’re very selective in whom they choose to fill their ranks.”
Mirza nodded grimly. “I’m very aware of that, sir.”
“Yes, you would be. My apologies. The point I wanted to make is there are other branches of Special Group that are even more selective.” He smiled. “I work for one of them.”
“And what organization is that, sir?”
“I work in the Intelligence and Planning Wing of Special Group, within the Special Projects Planning Branch or SPEC-B to be more accurate.”
“Look sir, I’m a soldier. I’m not looking for a desk job. If I can’t be in the field with Special Group, then I’d prefer to be back at the Frontier Force.”
Arjun laughed. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Mirza. SPEC-B is a small tightly knit unit. We recruit talented individuals from across the Indian military for the purpose of conducting highly sensitive operations against threats to national security.”
“What exactly do you mean by sensitive?”
“High-risk with strategic outcomes,” he said. “We work alone or in small teams, often without support, more often behind enemy lines. If we ever get caught, the government denies we ever existed.”
“An expendable force?”
“No, an independent organization with operational flexibility. We chase down our own leads and report straight to the Director.” The captain paused. “Is this something you could be interested in?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Will I get paid more than I am now?”
“SPEC-B is not in the habit of recruiting mercenaries, Mirza.” He picked up a file from the major’s desk and opened it. “But correct me if I’m wrong, but this isn’t about personal gain is it?”
“No, sir.”
“No, I didn’t think so. Tell me, Mirza, why did you attempt selection?”
“To join Special Group.”
“Yes, but why?”
Mirza gave the man a strange look. “The group is a natural progression for any soldier in the Frontier Force.
”
“Especially those with a mother who requires expensive medical treatment.”
“It would seem you already know a lot about me, sir.”
“Yes, I know you speak four languages. I know you’re a team player. And most importantly, I know you are loyal. You are also Muslim.”
Silence filled the room.
“Sir, that’s not something…”
“Go on.”
“It’s something I’ve kept to myself.”
“Why? Are you ashamed of your beliefs?”
He shook his head. “I was worried that if Special Group knew, they wouldn’t let me serve.”
Leaning back in the major’s chair, the captain smiled. “That’s perfect.”
Mirza eyed him suspiciously. “Perfect?”
“SPEC-B specializes in hunting terrorists. And quite frankly, most of them are Muslim extremists. I need someone who can blend in amongst their supporters. I need someone who understands their customs. But most of all, I need someone who understands how they think. Do you know how hard it is to find that in a soldier whose loyalty is without question?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve been looking for someone like you for months. I’ve got an opening in my team, and believe you’re a perfect fit. Now the question is, are you interested?”
He contemplated the offer for a moment before nodding. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Now go and get those feet sorted out. Tomorrow morning, there will be a car here for you.” The captain stood up. “No need for formalities, Mirza. You can call me Himesh.”
“It’s that simple, sir?”
“Yes, it is, my good man.” Himesh shook his hand. “Welcome to SPEC-B.”
PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series) Page 1
