The End of America’s War in Afghanistan (The Russian Agents Book 3)

by Ted Halstead

  But Pettigrew was convinced it had to be done.

  To his credit, Evans did drop altitude at least as quickly as Pettigrew could have himself.

  But the Seals had almost reached the compound.

  One of the sensor operators was quick to report. “Sir, I’m getting a strong ammonium nitrate signature.”

  Pettigrew picked up the handset in front of him.

  “Seal team, sensors show a large enemy bomb deployed directly to your front. Abort mission, I say again, abort mission.”

  There was nothing but the hiss of static on the other end of the line in response.

  Every Avenger mission came with a dedicated team of specialists in support. One, Sergeant Alonzo Johnson, was for communications.

  “Johnson, get Bagram, or anyone else you can on the line who can reach that Seal team. They’re walking into an ambush!” Pettigrew said.

  Just a minute later, Johnson replied.

  “Sir, Bagram has been trying to raise them already after they missed a comms check. No joy. It looks like signals in the area are being jammed.”

  Pettigrew pointed at Evans. “Pilot, use your Hellfire R9X and take out that truck!”

  Pettigrew had ordered the loadout of this Avenger himself. Along with the AGM-114P Hellfire II the Avenger typically carried, it also had a Hellfire R9X with a kinetic warhead designed to reduce collateral damage. It relied on the energy built up from its descent, and whatever fuel was still on board at impact to destroy its target.

  The R9X had initially been designed as an anti-personnel missile, so just before impact it deployed six long blades through its skin, which would shred anything in its path. This gave it the nickname, “The Flying Ginsu.”

  Since the R9X had no explosive charge, the truck was behind the main structure and the Seal team was approaching from the front, if there was no bomb in the vehicle, there should be no danger to the attackers.

  Pettigrew hoped.

  Evans didn’t see it that way.

  “Sir, at this range, don’t we risk friendly casualties? And don’t our orders say we’re forbidden to fire without a request from the troops on the ground?”

  Pettigrew thought for an instant about trying to convince Evans to follow his order, and just as quickly rejected the idea.

  There was no time.

  Pettigrew stood next to Evans and said formally, “Senior Airman Evans, you’re relieved. I will take over piloting.”

  For a moment, it looked like Evans was going to object, and then he rose and left the room.

  Pettigrew had a pretty good idea where he was going, but there was no time to worry about that now.

  As he sat down and put his hand on the drone’s controls, Pettigrew also looked at the monitor displaying data and images from the sensor operators.

  And paled. The Seal team was about to enter the compound.

  It only took seconds to select the Hellfire R9X, lock it on the truck and fire.

  “Hellfire launched,” Pettigrew announced.

  As he waited for the missile’s impact, Pettigrew’s eyes were glued to the monitor showing the Seal team’s advance.

  Pettigrew had a moment to hope that the truck had just been carrying ammonium nitrate fertilizer to some farmer’s fields, and the Seal’s communications problem was due to coincidentally faulty equipment. Sure, he’d take some heat for the truck’s destruction warning the target, and unnecessarily relieving Evans, but he’d be okay with that.

  This fantasy didn’t last long.

  The Seals were just entering the courtyard when the missile hit the truck.

  There was immediately a massive secondary detonation that destroyed the main structure.

  Yes, there had been a bomb on board the truck. A really big one.

  One of the sensor operators quietly confirmed what Pettigrew saw on the monitor.

  “Structure believed to have contained target has been destroyed. Thermal bloom and smoke from the explosion make verification of Seal team status impossible at this time. Image quality should improve shortly.”

  “Johnson, get Bagram and let them know what’s happened. They’ll need to send at least two medevac choppers,” Pettigrew said.

  Johnson nodded and began speaking quietly into his headset, simultaneously typing a report rapidly on his keyboard for Pettigrew’s approval.

  Then he stopped typing.

  “Sir, I’ve relayed your message to Bagram, and they’ve acknowledged. I’ve got a transmission from the Seal team to Bagram. It looks like whatever was jamming their signal was destroyed in that explosion. Give me a moment, and I’ll get the transmission routed to your console.”

  Pettigrew shook his head. “Just put it on speaker,” he said.

  At first, it seemed that he was going to object, and then Johnson said, “Yes, sir.”

  The transmission began in mid-sentence. “…missile landed practically on top of us! I’m going to get on the first plane I can find Stateside, and when I find whoever did this to my men, I’m going to…”

  “Cut it off,” Pettigrew said quietly.

  Johnson’s hand must have been hovering over the cutoff switch because the speaker went silent instantly.

  Well, Pettigrew thought, there’s at least one survivor.

  One of the sensor operators spoke into the awkward silence that had followed the Seal team leader’s transmission.

  “Images show several Seal team members are mobile and appear to be assisting others who are injured. There is no movement in or near the main structure.”

  Pettigrew could see that on the monitor. In fact, there was no longer a recognizable structure there at all.

  “Johnson, advise when we have a casualty report from Bagram,” Pettigrew said.

  “Yes, sir,” Johnson said. “Bagram has just advised two medevac choppers are five minutes out from the Seal team’s location. Luckily, they were already on standby.”

  Pettigrew nodded but was thinking that luck probably had nothing to do with it. Instead, it was proper planning by someone there who hadn’t believed Mullah Abdul Zahed could be that easy to capture.

  He was glad to see he wasn’t the only skeptic.

  Pettigrew concentrated on circling the Avenger around the target area, while the sensor operators looked for any remaining threats. So far, it didn’t look like there were any.

  And trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach and his mind racing to think of something he could have done differently.

  And how long it would be before Wainwright showed up.

  The answer, it turned out, was “not long.”

  The door to the drone command center swung open, admitting Lt. Colonel Emmanuel Wainwright, flanked by two military policemen.

  Evans followed behind them. Pettigrew was surprised that instead of the smile he expected Evans to be trying unsuccessfully to conceal, he appeared unhappy with the result of his trip to the CO.

  Good, Pettigrew thought. There’s hope for him yet.

  “Captain Pettigrew, these men are here to place you under arrest for violating your orders, leading directly to the death or injury of American soldiers. You stand relieved. Senior Airman Evans, take over command of the active drone,” Wainwright said.

  Pettigrew stood up and walked to the waiting MPs, while Evans sat back down at the drone’s control station, avoiding eye contact with Pettigrew.

  Pettigrew held his hands out, but one of the MPs shook his head. “No need for that, sir. We’ll escort you to your quarters.”

  Wainwright had looked angry before. Now he looked like he was about to have a stroke.

  “He needs to be cuffed and put in a cell! These are serious charges!” Wainwright bellowed.

  Neither MP was impressed. “Sir, we have our orders. Our CO doesn’t consider Captain Pettigrew to be a flight risk. If you disagree, you need to take that up with him.”

  Without waiting for a response, one of the MPs gestured towards the door. “Captain Pettigrew, after you.”


  Pettigrew wasted no time leaving the drone control center, with the MPs right behind him.

  He wondered if he’d ever see it again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Risalpur Export Processing Zone, Pakistan

  Colonel Azita Kamar gave a rapid series of orders into her car’s radio handset. Senior Technician Nasir Cheema in the passenger seat beside her looked happy not to be the focus of her attention, at least for the moment.

  Once she put down the handset, Nasir said, “Thanks for letting me call my wife, and giving me some privacy for the call. I normally work in an office, and adventures that take me driving around the country with a woman my wife doesn’t know are not part of my routine.”

  Azita laughed and replied, “I hope you didn’t put it to her like that!”

  Nasir shook his head and mumbled, “Of course not.”

  It was fortunate Azita found his discomfort understandable, Nasir thought to himself. Otherwise, she might suspect the truth. That Nasir was feeling uncomfortable because he had not called his wife or any other relative. He had used the call for a very different purpose.

  Pointing at the warehouse set at an acute angle across the street, Azita said, “I’ve had a tip that suspicious men entered this building within the past hour. We’re here because we happened to be closest. I’ve decided we can’t wait for my soldiers to get here to investigate.”

  “So, when you say ‘we,’ that means you want me to go in with you to face who knows how many heavily armed men,” Nasir said.

  Azita nodded sharply. “I’m not expecting you to join me in a firefight. I’m going to look for a way into the building that will let us assess the situation. The tip may be wrong, and these men could have nothing to do with our stolen weapon.”

  Nasir shrugged. “Or the tip may be right about these men being criminals, just not our criminals. That probably won’t keep them from shooting as soon as they see your uniform.”

  Azita grinned. “You have a point.” Then to his surprise, Azita reached across him and opened the glove compartment. Next, she pulled out a small pistol.

  “My backup weapon. Yours, if you want it,” Azita said calmly.

  Nasir stared at her. “Are you crazy? I’ve never touched a gun, let alone fired one. I’d probably end up shooting myself.”

  “Well, it’s your call. If you’re smart enough to work on nuclear weapons, I’m betting you can figure out which end of a gun is which. Same for the way it works- point the end with the hole at what you want to kill, and pull the trigger. Oh, and firing it requires you to take off the safety.”

  With that, Azita demonstrated how to set and deactivate the pistol’s safety switch.

  Shaking his head, Nasir said, “Fine, I’ll take it. For both our sakes, I hope I don’t have to use it.”

  Then he paused and cocked his head. “You said this was the Risalpur Export Processing Zone. Why does ‘Risalpur’ sound familiar to me?”

  Azita smiled. “Probably because Risalpur is the home of our Air Force Academy. It’s about a ten-minute drive from here.”

  Nasir stared blankly at her. “So, they must have troops who could get here before yours!”

  Shaking her head, Azita said, “True, but I’ve been ordered to use only soldiers under my direct command. We can’t take any chances about word of the theft getting out.”

  Looking down at the pistol in his hand, Nasir said, “So instead, your backup will be…me.”

  Azita opened her door and gestured for Nasir to do the same. “Cheer up! We’re not the first soldiers to disagree with their orders, and I guarantee we won’t be the last. Now, no more talking unless I ask you a question.”

  Nasir wanted to point out that he wasn’t a soldier at all, but had the good sense to follow Azita’s last order.

  Hunched over, Azita crossed the street and headed for a small door on the side of the warehouse. Nasir looked around nervously as he moved behind her, but saw no activity anywhere near. Dusk was falling. Nasir realized that many of the workers in the area had probably already finished their work for the day.

  Azita’s hand reached out for the doorknob and then tried twisting it open. Locked.

  Next, she slid her hand into a pocket and removed a slim leather case containing small metal tools. Seconds later, the door was open.

  Azita bent down and looked inside. Tall stacks of wooden pallets blocked her view of the warehouse interior, but she could hear both activity and several voices. She glanced behind her and saw that Nasir had followed her inside and quietly closed the door behind him.

  And hadn’t yet shot her or himself. So, not totally useless.

  Peering through a gap in the pallets, Azita saw a sight that made her breath catch in her throat. The warhead they were looking for, surrounded by at least six armed men. Too many for Azita to take on herself, even with her trusty Hechler & Koch G3P4 assault rifle.

  What were they doing?

  First things first. Years before, Azita had worked out a simple series of codes to use in sending texts to her subordinate commanders. Now all she had to do was send the number “4” to a group text address.

  Target location confirmed.

  Pieces of the warhead’s case had been removed, and wires spilled out from it. There were also two cases stacked on a nearby table. Even from this range, Azita recognized the markings on the side of each. They were, in fact, specially designed to be visible from a distance.

  Explosives and detonators. Azita could see from his expression that Nasir had spotted them too.

  Azita crept to the edge of the cover provided by the pallets and now could just barely hear their conversation.

  “…think it was a mistake to stop here. We should have pushed on to Peshawar.”

  “You heard the call!” an older and angrier voice replied. “Roadblocks on the M-1. It makes sense to wait them out.”

  “We could have cut across on the N45 to the N5, and lost hardly any time. We still could,” the younger voice argued.

  “And if you could figure that out, don’t you think the military could too? Just because we haven’t been told about roadblocks on the N45 or the N5 doesn’t mean they aren’t there!” said the older voice.

  Well, Azita thought to herself, he was right about that. She’d ordered those roadblocks herself. Too bad the younger man wasn’t in charge.

  “OK, but we’re not just waiting, are we? What’s the advantage of trying to remove the nuclear core from the warhead now? I thought that technician Ibrahim was supposed to oversee the removal?”

  Now the older voice was clearly angry. “Ibrahim trained me, and I know what I’m doing,” he said.

  The younger voice was unimpressed. “So, why are you trying so hard to get Ibrahim on the phone?”

  Now the older voice switched from anger to worry. “There are too many wires. I don’t know what it means, but I’m sure Ibrahim will.”

  Even from this distance, Azita could see the younger man emphatically shaking his head. “No. We’ve tried to call him enough times. Let’s pack this up, go to Peshawar and ask him in person.”

  Azita couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the older man was crossing his arms across his chest. She was right, and his next defensive words matched the gesture.

  “Ibrahim trained me in how to build a weapon, and he gave me the explosives and detonators to do it. If our way forward is blocked, I say we build it here and attack the Air Force Academy,” the older man said.

  Azita’s heart sank, and not only because of the danger to the thousands of Pakistani military personnel in and around the Academy. The schools set up for their children were well known to be the only decent ones in the region, and so students came to them from far and wide.

  A successful detonation here would be a national tragedy on an unimaginable scale.

  The younger man was still not convinced. “So, if you can’t reach Ibrahim, are you just going to guess about what all these extra wires do? Or just cut them all and hope for the bes
t?”

  “Mind your tongue,” the older man replied, with obviously growing annoyance. “The cell signal is barely able to get through the walls of this metal warehouse. I’m going to go outside and try again.”

  With that, he headed for the nearest door, obviously to do what he’d just said.

  Azita turned towards Nasir and whispered, “If I blow up those explosives, is there any chance of a nuclear detonation?”

  As a child, Azita had seen cartoons where a character’s eyes seemed to pop out of his head. Nasir’s expression immediately reminded her of those old cartoons, but it came nowhere close to making her laugh.

  “That would be incredibly dangerous!” Nasir replied in a low and furious hiss. “Since the explosive force would not be applied evenly across the fissile sphere, the full design yield could never be achieved. But some degree of implosion is still possible, with fatal consequences for all nearby.”

  Azita nodded. “Estimate the explosion’s radius,” she whispered.

  Nasir shook his head and replied in a low voice, “Impossible even to guess. It would certainly vaporize this warehouse.”

  Azita looked Nasir straight in the eye and whispered, “And how much farther?”

  Nasir looked back and paled, as he finally understood what Azita was really asking.

  “I’m only guessing. Probably not beyond this industrial district,” Nasir said bleakly.

  Azita nodded. “Thanks for your honesty,” she whispered. “I hope it won’t come to that.”

  Nasir smiled and whispered back, “It may not. If that fool cuts all the wires, the casing is booby-trapped. The charge is too small to cause an implosion, but will certainly kill everyone around the weapon.”

  Azita nodded and fractionally relaxed. So, this problem might solve itself.

  And her men should be here within five minutes. If these idiots would just keep arguing…

  The older man walked back inside the warehouse, and even from this distance, she could tell he wasn’t happy.

  “I still can’t reach Ibrahim. I’ve decided to proceed without his help,” the older man declared.

  The younger man shrugged. Apparently, the argument was over.

  Well, if Nasir was right about the booby trap, Azita, and her troops were about to be spared quite a bit of trouble.