Overwatch: A Thriller

by Matthew Betley

  He continued to study the photos and map. Finally, he looked up into the faces of his Marines. He knew they expected him to have a plan. He was their leader, for better or worse. So far, he hadn’t let them down.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. I see only one option, and it’s not going to be pretty. We’re going to pull a Rommel.”

  Captain West intentionally stopped to see if the reference registered with his Marines. He saw Gunny Quick smirk, his brown eyes amused by the idea. The looks on the faces of Lieutenant Williams and Staff Sergeant Lopez told a different story.

  “I’m disappointed, Williams. Don’t they make you read at the Basic School anymore?”

  Lieutenant Williams didn’t know how to respond. “Only pop-up books, sir.”

  Captain West laughed. “Fair enough. I didn’t think you could read anyhow,” he responded, to the amusement of the two staff NCOs.

  “Okay. All kidding aside, I know you all know who Erwin Rommel was, the famous commander from World War II who led the Germans’ tank campaign in North Africa; however, what most people don’t think of is Rommel’s time as a junior officer in World War I, which earned him multiple decorations for heroism. As a result of his exploits, he published a book called Infantry Attacks, which outlined several of his successful tactics. For us, the key one is the good old diversionary attack, which is precisely what we’re going to do tonight.”

  Captain West outlined his plan, which included sixteen men, four Humvees, and the element of surprise. When he was finished, he looked at the clock hanging on the wall. The red digital display informed him it was already 1630. This is moving way too fast.

  “Any questions?” Each of them knew the risks, as well as his specific responsibilities.

  “One, sir,” Gunny Quick said. “What about James? We can’t have a civilian slowing us down. He may be CIA, but I don’t trust the bastard.”

  “I already thought of it, Gunny, and you’re right. I’ll deal with him at the eighteen hundred brief with General Longstreet. He won’t be coming with us. Any other issues?”

  The silence confirmed there were none. Captain West added, “Good. Now get your men prepped. Ensure they have a hot meal and are rested. I have a few things to attend to, and I’ll see you all back here at twenty hundred.”

  * * *

  COMBAT OPERATIONS CENTER

  1745 LOCAL HOURS

  Captain West stood against one side of the gigantic two-story combat operations center, immersed in an intense conversation with James. Even now, in the face of Captain West’s verbal onslaught, the CIA operative somehow managed to retain his arrogant demeanor.

  “James, I don’t care what you want. Take it up with General Longstreet. He approved my request fifteen minutes ago. He’ll be here shortly. The bottom line is this—my men and I are doing this operation, but we’re doing it my way, and that doesn’t include you. I’ll see you after it’s over for the debrief.”

  Captain West abruptly turned and walked away, leaving James to stand there alone in stunned silence as the general’s staff filed into the room in preparation for the brief.

  Later, as he left the conference room, his mind examined each detail of the operation, dismissing all thoughts of James or the CIA. Had he known it would be the last time he’d see James in Iraq, he might have handled the situation differently. In fact, if Captain West had even remotely suspected the way the operation would ultimately unfold, he likely would have drawn his .45 pistol and shot James point-blank in the face.

  CHAPTER 17

  OUTSIDE THE CANTINA, CAMP FALLUJAH

  2100 LOCAL HOURS

  Captain West was confident they had at least a puncher’s chance of pulling this operation off successfully.

  He looked over the west wall of the camp and saw the city of Fallujah, several kilometers away, sporadic lights flickering in the darkness. Random civilian and military vehicles moved along Highway 1. He hoped the light traffic would disguise their destination.

  Even the dense cloud cover that precluded the support of an unmanned aerial vehicle—a UAV—now seemed to favor them. The lunar gods had blessed his Marines with only six percent illumination, which was enough for them to use their night-vision monocles but not enough for the enemy to observe their approach with the naked eye.

  A light breeze brought a touch of coolness to the air, a pleasant reminder that the winter months would soon break the unbearable daytime heat.

  He heard Gunny Quick approach him from behind.

  “Sir, we’re ready to move out when you are.”

  Captain West turned to him and scrutinized his battle-hardened Marine. Gunny Quick’s expression reflected Captain West’s own feelings about this mission. We can’t afford any mistakes.

  Satisfied, he responded, “Let’s roll,” repeating Todd Beamer’s final words on United Flight 93. The significance was not lost on Gunny Quick, and he nodded approvingly.

  Both men entered the lead Humvee. Captain West sat in the front passenger seat; Gunny Quick behind the driver—Sergeant Tom Avery, a compact twenty-seven-year-old Marine on his second tour in Iraq with Force Recon. In addition to being a team leader and Captain West’s Humvee driver, he was also a fluent Arabic linguist.

  Gunny Quick tapped Sergeant Avery on the right shoulder, waved his gloved right hand forward, gave him the go signal, and sat back.

  Sergeant Avery looked at Captain West, nodded once, and flipped the ignition switch to start the vehicle. He shifted gears and proceeded slowly toward the south entrance of Camp Fallujah and into hostile territory beyond.

  CHAPTER 18

  Twenty minutes later on Highway 1, three Humvees rolled to a stop at a Marine checkpoint 2,500 hundred meters from the cloverleaf intersection. Jersey barricades filled with sand were positioned every 100 meters along the road in a configuration that created a simple maze. It forced vehicles attempting to leave the city to slow down and navigate their way through it before reaching the Marines and their mounted heavy weapons, which included a .50-caliber Browning machine gun and a Mk 19 (called a “Mark 19”) 40mm grenade launcher.

  On the east side of the road was an aluminum building with three sides and a roof. The combat engineers had erected the structure, which housed the communications equipment the Marines required to maintain contact with their headquarters in Camp Fallujah. It also had electricity and fed that power to spotlights aimed in the direction of the city.

  Multiple checkpoints like this one were located around the city of Fallujah in order to prevent insurgents from fleeing before the upcoming offensive.

  Captain West smiled inside the lead vehicle as it stopped. The checkpoint provided the perfect cover for the first phase of the mission. Any insurgents observing the vehicles approach would assume they were either resupplying or relieving the Marines manning the checkpoint.

  And that’s if they can even see past the lights. I’m not taking any chances, though.

  Captain West exited the vehicle and approached the senior Marine, a tough-looking African-American staff sergeant who stood in the middle of the road. He’d obviously been expecting their arrival.

  Captain West reached him as he nodded his head in respect since salutes were forbidden by the Marine Corps in any combat area of operations.

  The staff sergeant said, “Sir, I was told you’d be staging here for a sensitive mission, not to ask any questions, and to await further details from you. How can we help?”

  Captain West pulled the staff sergeant over to his vehicle and explained the mission as briefly as possible. He used the map he’d prepared for the operation.

  To the casual observer, it appeared almost as if he were a wayward tourist, lost and asking directions. When he finished, the staff sergeant looked at him, nodded again, and turned toward three Marines standing behind him.

  “Detail, in the shack!” he said. The three Marines rapidly walked to the aluminum structure. The staff sergeant followed.

  Moments later, the lights at the checkpoint went d
ark, the gigantic spotlight bulbs glowing in the blackness of the Iraqi night. The lights remained off as the staff sergeant yelled, “What the fuck is going on in there, Jackson? What the hell happened? Do I have to do every mother-loving thing myself? I asked you to repair the radio, not shut off the fucking power. For God’s sake!”

  For the next forty-five seconds, he screamed at the Marines inside. His loud display served as a diversion for the fifteen Force Reconnaissance Marines who used the darkness to mask their movements as they exited the three vehicles on the right side of the road. They quickly moved to the back of the aluminum structure and linked up with Captain West.

  Within ten seconds, he had full accountability of his men. They jogged fifty meters back down the east side of Highway 1, crossed back over the paved surface, and moved off into the black night toward their objective.

  Captain West guided them from the front, and his team of hardened warriors followed, the only sound the soft thud-thud-thud of weather-worn combat boots and the occasional rattle of ammunition-filled magazines. They were long gone before the lights of the checkpoint turned back on.

  * * *

  Just before 2200 local hours, they reached their final staging position in a shallow wadi five hundred meters south of the compound.

  As Captain West conferred with Gunny Quick, Lieutenant Williams, and Staff Sergeant Lopez, the remaining Marines provided security on the lip of the shallow ditch.

  They double- and triple-checked their gear, acutely aware that in Iraq the slightest mistake could be the difference between life and death. A misplaced magazine or loose snap could easily get one killed in the heat of combat.

  Captain West looked at his watch.

  “Kyle, you know what you have to do, but not until twenty-three hundred on the dot. I’ll do a final comms check with you at twenty-two fifty. At twenty-three zero two, Gunny and I will infiltrate the southeastern entrance with Sergeant Avery and his team. We hit the first building, hopefully with complete tactical surprise since any bad guys should be distracted by your fire. If we find the target, we’ll grab him and leave the same way we entered while you continue with the small arms fire. We should be in and out in less than five minutes. As soon as we’re clear, I’ll contact you on the radio. Any questions?”

  Again, there were none. “I got it, sir. They’ll never know what hit them,” Lieutenant Williams said as he stood up.

  Captain West looked up at the confident Marine officer. He had complete faith in his abilities to execute a direct action mission but also knew operations never went as smoothly as planned, especially in circumstances like these.

  “Kyle.” The use of the Marine’s first name caused him to look back at his commanding officer. “No fucking around. We keep it clean, and we keep it short. We’re on our own out here. You understand?”

  Lieutenant Williams heard the concern in Captain West’s voice and said, “No worries, boss.” Then he added, “That’s why I have Lopez here . . . to keep me on the straight and narrow.” He smiled broadly. “We got this one, sir. We’ll be in position and ready to rock ’n’ roll.”

  Lieutenant Williams turned away and moved off to gather his Marines and confirm the plan one last time. Captain West turned to Gunny Quick.

  “Gunny, I seriously do not like this one fucking bit. There’s something about it that just feels out of whack.”

  “I know, sir, but the lieutenant is sharp, and we’re not too bad ourselves. We’ll be fine.”

  Lieutenant Williams finished briefing his men. They stood and waited for him to move out. Before he did, he looked back at Captain West one last time, nodded, turned away, and disappeared into the night, his Marines in trace behind him. Captain West watched as the shifting shadows swallowed them one by one.

  CHAPTER 19

  ENEMY COMPOUND

  2255 LOCAL HOURS

  Captain West and Gunny Quick scrutinized the dark compound for any sign of life. There was none, a fact that made both Marines considerably nervous.

  From their vantage point in some isolated underbrush two hundred meters south of the compound, all that was visible was the ten-foot-high perimeter wall. It appeared to be rough and built from gigantic square stones haphazardly put together with mortar.

  In the southern face of the wall was the opening the satellite photo had captured. In the right section was an iron gate that was currently shut and probably locked. The buildings inside were completely hidden by the walls and darkness, with only the flat rooftops visible above the stone perimeter.

  The movement to their staging position had been uneventful. The only incident occurred when Lieutenant Williams reported that one of his Marines thought he’d seen the flicker of a light five hundred meters to the northwest. The team had immediately frozen in its tracks and dropped to the desert floor, searching the horizon for movement. Other than the outline of a building more than a thousand meters away, there was nothing.

  Captain West’s team was now staged and ready to infiltrate the compound as soon as Lieutenant Williams launched the diversionary assault.

  Lieutenant Williams’s men had been in position since 2245 local time. They formed a semicircle approximately one hundred meters long that began in the middle of the northern wall and ended on the western wall. All fire would be directed at the northern entrance within ten meters of both sides.

  Captain West had ordered Williams to prevent any fire into the compound, especially once he and his assault team had entered from the south. The last thing Captain West needed was a friendly-fire incident. This mission is already dangerous enough.

  He looked down at his watch one last time. 2259. Showtime.

  “Gunny, as soon as I break cover, you follow.”

  He turned his head to the left and repeated the same order to Sergeant Avery and his three Marines.

  * * *

  At precisely 2300, a grenade launcher initiated the assault, blowing the gate at the northern entrance completely off its hinges. The gate came to rest in a pile of twisted iron just inside the entrance.

  Lieutenant Williams’s men unleashed a sustained volley of fire that shattered the eerie quiet of the Iraqi night. The onslaught of lead included 5.56mm ammunition from several M4 assault rifles, two M249 Squad Automatic Weapons, two Remington assault shotguns for sound effects, and one M79 grenade launcher that fired 40mm high-explosive grenades.

  The gunfire echoed throughout the compound and reverberated off the tall perimeter walls. The northern side of the compound was illuminated in a cacophony of intermittent flashes from each muzzle, as if gigantic strobe lights were aimed at the compound, flashing to the sound of the guns.

  * * *

  Captain West had watched the illuminated second hand on his watch laboriously tick by, as he waited for it to reach the twelve o’clock position.

  As soon as the hand pointed straight up and the gunfire began, he broke from cover and sprinted across the two hundred meters of open ground in less than fifty seconds. Gunny Quick and the other four Marines ran close behind him.

  He reached the southern gate, placed his hands on the cold metal, and felt the explosions from the grenades vibrating through the iron. He checked the lock, only to discover the gate wasn’t secured.

  What the hell? This was supposed to be an insurgent hideout.

  With his nerves on edge, Captain West pushed the gate open. It swung inward, the loud creaking masked by the deafening gunfire.

  He stepped through the opening and peeled off to the right. His eyes looked over the scope of his M4 to the inside of the compound. What he saw triggered alarms inside his head that shrieked almost louder than the thunderous gunfire.

  There was absolutely no movement or light of any kind inside either building in the compound.

  This is very fucking bad.

  Gunny Quick, Sergeant Avery, and the other three Marines—Staff Sergeant Rick Hayes, Sergeant Matt Helms, and Sergeant Keith Baker—entered the compound behind him.

  Gunny Quick’
s reaction was the same as Captain West’s, and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, We’re here now. Might as well get on with it.

  Captain West whispered, “I know,” turned, and started moving in a fast combat walk across the open space toward the first building, his weapon raised the entire time.

  The gunfire continued on the other side of the compound.

  The first building was constructed of concrete, square in shape, and approximately forty by forty feet. There was one door placed in the center of its southern wall. Two small, barred windows were carved into each side. A small stone patio led to the entrance, and Captain West and his Marines moved into a tactical stack on both sides of the door.

  Captain West reached out with one gloved hand and turned the doorknob to the right. Like the gate, it too was unlocked.

  He looked up at Gunny Quick, directly opposite him on the right side of the doorway. He held up his right hand and three fingers and began to drop them one by one. Gunny Quick grabbed the doorknob with his left hand. When Captain West lowered his last finger, Gunny Quick turned the knob, and Captain West burst through the door, the flashlight under the barrel of his M4 piercing the darkness inside.

  Gunny Quick and the other Marines were inside within seconds.

  Sergeant Baker was the last one to go through the door. As he stepped inside and rushed to the right, he plowed into the back of Sergeant Helms.

  “What the hell, Matt! You trying to get us killed?”

  Then his eyes adjusted to the low-level illumination provided by the flashlights. He saw what Sergeant Helms and the rest of his team were transfixed by, instantly wishing he hadn’t. His mind cleared, and he thought, Oh God. What have we stumbled into?