PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series)

by Jack Silkstone

  CHAPTER 6

  “Two minutes out.” The pilot’s voice came over Major Galav Chetty’s headset as he sat in the back of the Mi-17 helicopter. Under the red lights, his camouflaged para commandos looked like white-eyed ghouls ready to swoop down from the darkness and snatch men’s souls. He held up two fingers, letting them know touchdown was imminent. To a man, they returned the signal and prepared their gear.

  “Any sign of hostile activity?” he asked the pilot as the helicopter banked hard forcing him into his seat.

  “Negative, it was a clean infil. I think the intelligence guys came good on this one.”

  “First time for everything.” The chopper lurched sideways throwing him into the soldier next to him. “Steady on.”

  “Sorry about that.” The pilot laughed. “OK, I’ve got eyes on the landing zone. Get ready.”

  “We’re commandos, we’re born ready,” the major replied as the beat of the rotors and scream of the engines increased in intensity. There was a thud as the helicopter touched down and the loadmaster flung open the clamshell doors.

  “Good luck,” was the last thing the major heard as he ripped off the headset and put on his steel helmet. Then he stormed out the back of the helicopter into a maelstrom of dust and darkness.

  Four choppers simultaneously disgorged troops into Pakistani territory. Then with a roar, they lifted off together and disappeared into the darkness. They would head back to the forward operating base in India, refuel, and return when extraction was required.

  ‘Sir, all three platoons are complete and ready to go,” the company sergeant major reported.

  “Well let’s get going,” the major said. “We’ve got eight kilometers of unholy terrain to cover and six hours to do it.”

  The company commander’s order was passed down the line and within moments the lead platoon moved off in single file. Each man was heavily laden, some carrying 84mm rocket launchers or PKM machine guns. Others lugged extra ammunition for the heavy weapons. Yet despite the weight, they set a cracking pace.

  ***

  High up on the mountain that overlooked the Lashkar camp, Mirza and Himesh were miserably cold. It was the early hours of the morning and the temperature had plummeted. Now, they huddled together with their blankets wrapped tightly around them.

  In the camp below, there was no sign of movement. They had not needed the night scope to confirm the sentry posts were inactive. With a half-moon in the cloudless sky, the valley was well illuminated.

  Himesh checked his watch and made some adjustments to the radio. “It’s going to be dawn in a few hours.”

  “They’ll be here. Para commandos are never late,” said Mirza, his teeth chattering.

  “I thought Frontier Force were the punctual ones.”

  “No, they’re always early.”

  The radio crackled and Himesh held it close to his ear. ‘Still nothing. This could get real messy.”

  “Especially when they discover two of their men missing.”

  The radio hissed to life. “Guardian this is Hammer, over.”

  “Guardian send, over.”

  “We are approaching the RV from the south west.” The other callsign used the military acronym for rendezvous.

  “Acknowledged, we will marry up with you. RV signal will be three flashes of green light.”

  The SPEC-B operatives shrugged off their blankets, gathered their equipment and hurried back to the track. It only took a few minutes before the trail met the RV, a saddle between two jagged peaks.

  Moments after they arrived, Mirza spotted a flashing green light behind a cluster of rocks. He replied with his own flashlight. Thirty seconds later, heavily armed para commandos emerged from the darkness.

  Himesh showed the men where to position themselves to offer the best security as Mirza waited for the company commander.

  “You our man?” asked the tall major as he dumped his pack and removed his helmet.

  “Yes, sir. My partner is showing your men the perimeter.”

  “Excellent. Give me a few minutes and we can start the briefing.”

  Mirza watched as the major’s headquarters group arrived and dropped to the ground around him, struggling out of their heavy packs. They were exhausted. Steam wafted off their bodies. “You made good time.”

  The major nodded as he drank from his water bottle.

  Mirza jerked his head toward the darkness. “Here’s my partner.”

  The captain stepped into the moonlight and crouched next to the company commander. “I’m Himesh.”

  “Galav,” the major said, clasping the offered hand.

  The SPEC-B operative took a map from his pocket, unfolded it, and spread it on the ground. Mirza held his flashlight over it as Himesh pointed out the camp. “We assess there’s over a hundred terrorists in location. If we move fast, we can catch them in their beds.”

  The major nodded as he laid out his own map. It was covered in military symbols; arrows indicating assault lines and fire positions. He pointed to the positions with the tip of his dagger. “I’ll put a block here and assault from this end. Can you confirm this ridgeline is good for an attack by fire position? We packed a lot of firepower.”

  “I like the way you think.” Himesh grinned as he used a chinagraph pencil to mark the spot he and Mirza had previously occupied. “You’ll find this outcrop suitable. It’s about six hundred meters from the target.”

  “Good stuff. Is that where you’ll be?”

  “No, We need to be with the assaulters. Time’s short. Any intelligence that’ll provide information regarding the target or the terrorists needs to be exploited real time.”

  The major nodded. “I’ll get my squad commanders in to give confirmatory orders. That’ll take five minutes. Then we can step off.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Himesh and Mirza moved to one side as the squad leaders gathered around the major.

  “You didn’t mention the van,” said Mirza.

  “Our targets could still be in the camp. But if they aren’t, we’re going to need to find out what we can.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Colonel Aslam sat on the edge of his bed lacing a boot when a burst of automatic fire echoed down the valley. He glanced at his watch. 0510 hours, too early for weapons training.

  As he finished with the other boot, another volley of gunfire joined the first along with a series of loud explosions. He grabbed the satellite phone from his desk and sprinted toward the camp’s headquarters. As he ran, tracer rounds sliced through the air above him. A massive fireball lit up the morning sky as one of the trucks exploded. His scanned the area, homing in on the incoming fire. The chatter of automatic weapons sounded from high above the valley up on the ridgeline. It was a raid!

  He burst through the door into the headquarters building. The watch officer greeted him with the muzzle of an AK. “What, what’s happening?”

  “The fucking Indians have grown some balls. We need to alert higher.”

  “Indians? I-”

  He shook the dazed watch officer. “Radio HQ. Sound the alarm! Gather the training team. We’re going to withdraw!” He raced down to the basement and tore the maps and photos from the walls. Stuffing them in a metal trashcan, he lit a piece of paper with his lighter and dropped it in.

  An explosion rocked the building, chunks of mud dropping from the roof. The single light bulb flickered and died. He continued to rip paper from the walls, feeding it into the flaming trashcan. Another explosion rocked the building. The far side of the basement collapsed, engulfing him in dust. He fumbled his way up the stairs to the pitch-black operations room.

  A light flashed in the darkness and Aslam rushed toward it.

  “Sir, here!” the watch officer yelled from the exit.

  His men had assembled in front of the building. The watch officer handed him an AK. “Everyone’s accounted for except the transport supervisor. HQ’s been alerted. They’re trying to scramble air support. The response company is
at least an hour away.”

  “And the trainees?”

  “They’re moving to defend the mosque.”

  “And those willing to sacrifice?”

  “Most of the vests were destroyed when the armory was hit.”

  A rocket screamed overhead. It smashed into the medical center, covering them in a cloud of dust. Machine gun fire sprayed the headquarters compound, sending them diving for cover. “The fucking Indians will pay for this. Jahiz will make sure of it,” the colonel spat. Thankfully, the suicide attack team had already deployed.

  “We need to move now, sir!” yelled a sergeant. A veteran of the Kargil War, he had witnessed Indian commando raids first hand.

  The colonel checked the magazine on his AK. “We’ll withdraw down the creek line to the road. Marry up with the response company and fight back.” He waved them forward. The handful of men dashed for the creek that ran down the valley.

  In under a minute, they had escaped the deadly weight of fire raining down on the camp. Allah was with them. The faint glow of dawn provided just enough light to traverse the bank of the rocky waterway.

  “Keep moving,” whispered the colonel as they neared the end of the valley. The veteran sergeant was leading the group. He crouched beside the creek, examining the exposed ground to their front. The creek’s banks broadened offering them little cover.

  “What are you waiting for? Go!”

  The sergeant shook his head and moved as quickly as he dared while still scanning the high ground.

  The group was halfway across the exposed area when he spotted something up on the cliffs. His instincts kicked in and he dropped onto his stomach.

  Behind him the colonel skidded to a halt. His eyes widened with fear as he realized he had condemned them to death.

  Automatic gunfire echoed off the walls of rock. The ISI training team was caught in the open. Bullets lashed the canyon floor and riddled their bodies, spraying blood and flesh across the gravel.

  The colonel was shot through both legs and the chest. He crawled for the safety of the creek line while pulling out his satellite phone. He managed to punch in a few numbers. As he lifted it to his ear, a round split his head like a watermelon, blowing the phone to pieces.

  ***

  Mirza and the lead platoon commander hunkered down behind a mud brick wall, taking cover from the intense gunfire. “Any casualties?”

  “Two with minor wounds. But the fight’s not over yet. A bunch of fanatics are defending the mosque.”

  Himesh appeared from the shadows. “And it’s blocking us from the headquarters building. We’ve been on the ground for thirty minutes. Got to wrap this up or pull out.”

  The darkness had started to lift and Mirza knew that dawn was not far away. “I’m going forward.” He crouched and worked his way along the wall, his rifle at the ready. He dashed across a gap to the next building. A squad of para commandos was in the compound pouring fire into the mosque. The enemy returned fire with equal ferocity.

  “What’s the situation?” he yelled at the squad leader.

  Bullets snapped through the air above them. “I’ve called for an anti-armor team. We’re going to try and blow a way in.”

  Mirza stole a glance over the top of the wall. Rounds kicked up dust beside him and he dropped back behind cover. “Buggers can shoot,” he murmured as the anti-armor team arrived in the compound.

  “Not looking good,” the squad leader said. “We’re down to our last HE round for the 84.”

  “Do you have any explosives?”

  “We’ve got demo charges.” The para commando called for them.

  Mirza took the explosives and bound them together. He pointed at the anti-armor gunner who was carrying an 84mm Carl Gustav rocket launcher. “You’re going to hit the mosque with the 84 and breach the wall.” He pointed to the squad leader. “And you’re going to cover me so I can use these explosives.”

  The anti-armor gunner gave him thumbs up and shouldered his rocket launcher.

  Mirza checked the fuse on the package. He gave the anti-armor gunner a nod. Positioning himself at the end of the wall, he yanked the igniter. The smell of burning black powder filled the air.

  The para commando squad increased their rate of fire. The 84mm belched flame, unleashing its rocket from above the compound wall and into the side of the mosque fifteen yards away. The warhead failed to detonate but smashed a basketball-sized hole in the building.

  Mirza sprinted to the mosque. He reached up and stuffed the burning charge through the ragged hole and dropped to the ground.

  The blast escaped through the structure’s doorway and windows sending a cloud of smoke and dust billowing into the sky. The return gunfire stopped. The para commandos stormed in.

  Himesh appeared and pulled Mirza to his feet. “Nice move.”

  Once the para commandos secured the mosque, they seized the antenna decked compound that served as the camp’s headquarters. The two SPEC-B operatives waited until the squad leader declared the building secure, then set to work.

  Himesh shone a flashlight around the battle-damaged room. “It’s taken a few direct hits.”

  Mirza lifted the battered communications stack out of the remains of a desk. “Not much in here apart from the radios.”

  “Over here.”

  Mirza joined him and they descended to what remained of the underground room. Part of the ceiling had collapsed. The air was thick with the stench of smoke.

  Mirza pulled a partially burnt document from a crushed trashcan. He shone his flashlight on it. “It’s a map of New Delhi.”

  “Is there a target marked?”

  “No, half of it’s burnt.”

  “Damn.”

  Another light flashed in the stairwell. “Sir, you need to get up here and see this.”

  They rushed upstairs.

  “We’ve found something you should look at.” The soldier led them out of the headquarters into another battle-damaged compound. They stepped over dead bodies to reach what appeared to be the remains of an armory. He pointed to the pieces of four scorched vests that were laid out on a rug. “We thought they were body armor. They aren’t. Their magazine pouches are full of bang.” He tore open one of the pouches to reveal a slab of military grade high-explosives embedded with ball bearings.

  Himesh inspected the vests. “Fucking brainwashed jihadists. Do we know if we killed the guys these were meant for?”

  “It could have been any of them,” the soldier replied.

  “There’s one way to find out,” Mirza said. “Where are you holding the prisoners?”

  “Over by the medical center.”

  “Show us.”

  There were four captured militants and a single uniformed Pakistani corporal lying in front of the camp’s medical center. All were bound, blindfolded, and face down in the dirt.

  Himesh headed straight to the corporal. “We won’t get anything from the extremists. But this guy we can work with.” He grabbed the prisoner by the collar and dragged him to his knees. Shining his flashlight, he tore off the blindfold and pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the young man’s forehead.

  The soldier’s bottom lip quivered and he shut his eyes.

  “A group of terrorists were supposed to attack New Delhi, where are they?”

  Tears streamed down the corporal’s cheeks and he shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t get told things like that.”

  “YOU’RE FUCKING LYING TO ME!” Flecks of spit hit the man’s face.

  Himesh’s loss of control surprised Mirza. Usually, his voice got softer, lower the madder he became. “You hear that?” He canted his head and listened, hearing the beat of rotor-blades in the distance. He grabbed his partner by the shoulder. “Extraction’s inbound. Let me have a go.” Their orders were clear. No prisoners.

  Himesh lowered his pistol. “Fine.”

  Mirza crouched in front of the prisoner and looked him in the eye. “Look, if you don’t tell us something, my friend h
ere is going to shoot you.” He paused. “We don’t want that, do we?”

  The soldier shook his head.

  “How about you tell me what your job was and we’ll start from there.”

  “I’m in charge of transport. I don’t have anything to do with training.”

  The chatter of a heavy machinegun echoed off the valley walls. The thud of the helicopters grew louder. “You look after the vehicles? So you would know about the van that left last night?”

  The Pakistani looked terrified but held his tongue.

  “We’re running out of time,” Himesh interrupted. “We need to get rid of this lot.”

  Mirza held up his hand. “The van.”

  “Yes, five men. They were going to the border.”

  “Mirza, we’re out of time. Choppers are two minutes out. Paki reinforcements have reached the end of the valley. Cutoff is pulling back.”

  Mirza nodded. “What did the van look like? What were the number plates?” He took a notepad from his pocket.

  “I, I can’t remember. White I think.”

  Mirza looked him in the eye. “Don’t lie to me.”

  At that moment two para commandos dragged a wounded terrorist from the medical post out to the square. One of them shouldered his AK and shot the prisoner in the head.

  The transport supervisor’s eyes widened in terror. “The van was gray. The van was gray.” He rattled off the registration number as the commandos executed the other militants.

  “Mirza, we’re out of here,” Himesh yelled as the para commandos started moving out of the camp.

  “Right behind you.” He turned to the prisoner. “Wait here and you’ll be OK.” He grabbed his rifle and followed Himesh down to the riverbed.

  They scrambled down the bank as the first two Mi-17s appeared, flaring hard and dropping onto the tiny landing zone. Para commandos piled into the idling helicopters. Moments later, they powered into the air and beat their way back up the valley, making room for the next two airframes.

  Mirza and Himesh ran toward the closest chopper, marrying up with the squad which had executed the ambush at the bottom of the valley.