by Cat Johnson
Dedication
This book is humbly dedicated to my military muses.
Sean, for letting me steal his images, his words and his inspiration from his multiple deployments to Afghanistan. To his soldiers, who often labor unappreciated for all they do.
Janelle, for having the toughest job on earth, that of military wife, and for cheerfully answering all of my many questions and sharing her husband’s limited time with me.
Chilly, the man of few words, for loaning a few choice ones to me regarding his time in Kandahar. Peavler, for being my go-to answer guy at all hours. And finally Gary, for his continued support of both my writing and me.
As with all of my military novels, any inaccuracies or liberties taken with the facts are purely my own.
“Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn’t even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back.”
Heraclitus, 500 B.C.
Chapter One
Late 2007
Army Staff Sergeant David Hawk Hawkins kneeled and surveyed the barren wasteland of the icy terrain ahead. Gusts of brisk winter air howled across the desolation. The frigid area was vacant of all life save his squad. Exhaling, Hawk watched his breath freeze before him in mid-air.
With the raise of a gloved hand, he signaled his men. The silent wraiths emerged from the ground, cloaked in the arctic mist. The only sign of their corporeal selves was the barely discernible crunch of snow beneath boots. Upon his sign, Hawk’s squad stealthily approached their final destination on the side of the mountain.
He was beginning to feel as though his many sins had come to bear and his sentence was this God-forsaken place. This mountain had become his personal Hell.
Hawk decided to err on the side of caution and signaled for a short halt as he considered the juggernaut before them. Through frozen lips, he whispered as softly as a lover’s caress into his radio, “Bravo team, you’re on overwatch. Alpha team, move out.”
As they’d traveled this path to Hell over the past few hours—hours that seemed more like days—Hawk had divided his squad into two teams. Two entities separate yet bound together, one always supporting the other, providing security. He’d chosen his two best men to lead the teams, soldiers he would soon have to trust, not only with his own life, but also with the lives of them all.
Without a word, the two groups responded to his order by moving quickly and surely into position. The overwatch team opened fire into the rocks above. The belch of gunfire erupted and broke through the icy stillness. Tracers flew through the icy air like mad yellow jackets on a sunny day.
Hawk hit the rocky ground hard, knowing his body would pay later. But right now, he couldn’t feel a thing, not while adrenaline surged through his veins as bullets struck the snow-covered rocks protecting him.
A too-familiar pop sounded.
“RPG! Take cover!” With no time for the radio, he shouted the warning.
The rocket propelled grenade cut a trail through the air, exploding nearby and showering him with debris as he lay behind cover.
While his men returned that less-than-friendly greeting with their own volley, he engaged the selector lever on his rifle with his thumb as his forefinger slipped onto the trigger. The scene seemed to move frame by frame to Hawk’s eye as his brain and body, both on autopilot, processed and reacted to the situation.
Visually, Hawk traced the path the RPG had taken back to its owner whose fate was decided the moment he began to rise from cover before Hawk’s sights.
Hawk squeezed the trigger.
Following the quick burst from his barrel, Hawk barely took the time to watch the man fall before he yelled, “Bravo team, maintain supportive fire.”
With Bravo suppressing the enemy above, Hawk sprung from the ground and sprinted to join Alpha team. Diving behind protective cover, he knew he had to choose the next course wisely.
“Alpha team, follow me.” Hawk issued the order as he began to maneuver far right in an attempt to flank his opposition. Using a partially covered route as the supportive fire kept the enemy pinned in place, he moved quickly.
“Shit,” Hawk hissed as his boot slipped on the treacherous footing. Moving too rapidly in this terrain could mean a fall from what was in all probability a deadly height, while moving too slowly could give the enemy the advantage and mean his squad’s demise.
After taking a calming breath that would hopefully reach down to steady his feet, Hawk ran. A few enemy shots peppered the path around him. There was no choice but to accept the risk and drive forward if he wanted to win this battle.
Through his headset, Hawk heard the good news that Bravo team had scratched two and continued to suppress the remaining enemy element. Two less bad guys to worry about as Alpha team got into place to assault the remaining opposition from the right.
Hawk waited until the last possible moment before he ordered, “B team. We’re in position. Lift and shift fire.” And please try and not hit us. He added a silent prayer to whatever godly force aided soldiers in battle that none of his men would fall to fratricide.
He saw the enemy scramble. Having been pinned down, they failed to see Hawk’s approach until too late. As they attempted to swing their weapons to ward off the surprise attack to their right flank, they fell one by one. To their credit, or perhaps as a testament to their stupidity, none tried to surrender, but instead fought to the bitter end.
After a quick survey to ensure his own men were still alive and standing, a small smile crossed his ice-cold lips as he allowed himself barely a breath to enjoy the victory.
Many a dead man had learned too late not to celebrate prematurely. There was still much to do. “Bravo, establish security. Alpha, search the area.”
His men, who up until this moment had been silent, efficient killers, suddenly transformed into jubilant boys, filling the air with whoops and chatter as soon as they had completed the quick job of checking the downed team and clearing the training weapons from them.
Shaking his head at their behavior, he didn’t bother to correct them. This had been a training exercise, not an actual mission, so he supposed he could cut them some slack. They had been swift and the work was already done. Hawk called in to base to report the situation and do a bit of bragging of his own.
“Team One to Base. This is Hawk. Over.”
“Go ahead, Hawk. Over.”
“The enemy has been eliminated. Awaiting further orders. Over.”
“Return to base for debriefing. Over,” the disembodied voice told him.
“Copy that. Over and out.” Hawk sighed and looked at the crimson-spotted snow surrounding him. He’d led his team to victory, but in what amounted to a glorified game of paintball. His only hope, when the time came many months in the future, was to bring all his men back from Afghanistan to their loved ones, alive and unscathed.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t his only wish. He wouldn’t mind something warm in his belly right now—coffee, food or whisky, any of the three would suffice. Hell, he wasn’t picky. While he was wishing, he hoped the journey back down to base would be easier than the one here. There was no way it could be any worse.
As he and the team negotiated the frigid path to base, Hawk soon realized he couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Fuck.” Hawk lowered his head against the driving wind. He couldn’t help thinking his protective facemask wasn’t doing so great a job of protecting him at the moment.
“Sergeant?” Ryan Pettit questioned his comment. Pettit, Hawk’s second in command and the man who’d led Alpha team that day, squinted against the
sudden snow squall that blew tiny ice daggers into all their eyes.
“Nothing, Pettit. It’s just I think I cursed us. I’d hoped the trip back down would be easy. This is what I get for that.” Hawk shook his head at his foolishness.
His Alpha-team leader laughed. “Well, you know what they say. Put your hopes in one hand and shit in the other hand and see which one fills up fastest.”
Hawk laughed at that jest.
Wally, aka Trent Wallace, his Bravo-team leader, emerged out of the blizzard from somewhere next to Pettit. He looked about as miserable as Hawk felt. Visibility was limited pretty much to the distance of his hand in front of his face. Thank God, they’d finished off the enemy before this thing hit.
“I thought it was wishes, not hopes. Put your wishes in one hand and shit in the other.” Wally sounded like his mouth was frozen. They were all talking a little funny at the moment. Impending frostbite does that to a person.
“Hopes, wishes, same damn thing.” Looking grim, Pettit swiped at his face with one gloved hand, knocking away the snow that had built up on his eyelashes and brows.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” Hawk had to agree. Hopes, wishes, both were useless.
Starting to look like the abominable snowman himself, Hawk began feeling uncharacteristically superstitious, probably due to hypothermia and hunger. Then and there, he swore to himself he’d remember in the future not to do either, wishing or hoping. Not if this kind of torture was the result.
Thanks to the sudden storm, the journey down the mountain took them twice as long as the trip up. The only solace being that they walked away victorious and without any losses. When they finally arrived at base, Hawk gladly sent his men back to their temporary lodging to eat and get warm. Meanwhile, he sat and waited, not so gladly, to be debriefed by the commanding training officer in charge of this shindig.
The man was taking his sweet damn time too, long enough that Hawk had the opportunity to lean his head back against the wall in the warm office, close his eyes and review the day, his life, his future...
This much reflection was definitely evidence that he was deliriously tired. As his thoughts drifted aimlessly, he couldn’t help but wonder where the hell the time had gone.
It seemed as if he’d just gotten back to Germany from his third deployment in Iraq. Yet here he was, in the field once more, in the freaking Alps no less, for a mission-readiness exercise. But he’d do whatever it took, even freezing his ass off in the Alps, to prepare his new unit before they headed out again, this time for Afghanistan. The Kabul Province, to be exact.
He’d thought Iraq had been bad, but from what he’d heard, Afghanistan made Iraq look like the frigging French Riviera. Awaiting them in the far mountainous outskirts of the city of Kabul would be a few makeshift shacks for living areas, a generator or two and a small cooking area. That was the extent of what he’d been told they could expect to find in the way of comfort.
Supplies would have to be flown in by chopper to reach them. He’d heard there had been improvements and that more may be done before he arrived. One could only hope. Not that it mattered how sparse or unimproved conditions were, they would still complete their assigned mission.
He and his men had been so busy the past few months, using their combined experience from their tours in the sandbox to help train the guys in other units at the garrison in Hohenfels, they’d pretty much gotten the shaft for time to train themselves for this new deployment. At least until today, when this last-minute training in the Alps had been thrown at them.
Hawk hoped they all wouldn’t pay the price for lack of preparedness once they hit Afghanistan. There, the platoon would be doing dismounted ops the majority of the time, far from assistance and farther from home.
But he wasn’t in Afghanistan yet. Instead, he sat here at base camp on the mountain infamous for breaking people, trying to recover from one of the hardest damn training exercises he’d ever been through. In fact, he’d hardly thought about his upcoming deployment in hours since the mock “enemy” force he’d faced today demanded every last scrap of his attention.
The current situation made last week’s two days of training and live-fire exercises in the field back at his home base at Hohenfels look like a walk in the park, even with the freezing temperatures and five inches of snow on the ground. Compared to the conditions here, that workout had been nothing.
The German Army prepared on the very same rocky terrain where Hawk had trained today. Many areas reportedly had up to four feet of snow. Hawk could only think that the Army sent them here because these were the same conditions they could expect to find in the mountains separating Afghanistan and Pakistan. The same region where Osama bin Laden’s boys still maintained a stronghold in spite of all the good guys’ efforts.
Today, Hawk’s unit had faced some supposedly elite Special Forces sent in by Central Command to play the part of the bad guys to ready them for Afghanistan.
CentCom’s handpicked golden boys were good, but not good enough. Hawk’s squad, ten soldiers plus himself, had grown to be one hell of a force. Good enough to whip this Task Force Zeta’s ass up and down the side of that God-forsaken mountain.
The sound of a door opening broke into Hawk’s thoughts. His eyes flew open in time to see the black-clad, gray-haired training commander enter the room.
Hawk took the commander’s offered hand and shook it while trying to ignore how much effort it took to even raise his arm from his side.
“Sergeant Hawkins. You did well up there today.” Commander Miller, the man in charge of this show, greeted him.
They did well? They’d done fucking great, was more like it. But instead of voicing that opinion, Hawk inclined his head and accepted the compliment.
“I can’t take credit for the complete molding of them, sir. I have one strong team leader and the other is decent. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but I’m working to fix that. Together, the team leaders and I have trained the rest of the Joes.”
He’d gotten them to where he needed them to be, acting together, their movements fluid. They were efficient killers when needed, capable of identifying the enemy amongst a crowd and engaging only those who were combatants. Following his orders without question or complaint and taking down the bad guys without hesitation or regret.
Commander Miller smiled and elbowed the man who had followed him into the room. “Damn. I guess I shouldn’t have told you guys to go easy on them. I would have loved to see what they could really do. What do you think, Dalton?”
“The guys would have loved to play full out, sir. I thought Bull would lose his mind having to hold back like that. Maybe next time.” The Task Force Zeta Operative Hawk recognized as leading the opposing team in today’s exercise shrugged casually.
Hawk swung his gaze from this Dalton guy to the commander. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, Sergeant?” Miller raised a brow.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Hawk practically sputtered with anger. “You had your team hold back?”
“Nothing to worry about, soldier. I would never expect your squad to compete against Zeta when they play full out. Go and get some rest. And again, good job up there today, Sergeant.” Miller slapped Hawk on the shoulder then turned to go.
Anger-fueled and breaking all protocol, Hawk grabbed Miller’s arm. “Run the exercise again.” Then he added a quick, “Sir,” and then a, “please.” Although a little sojourn in the brig for insubordination would provide him some much needed rest, Hawk figured it was probably best to avoid it if possible.
Miller shook his head. “You won, son. There’s no need.”
The commander’s eyes lowered briefly to Hawk’s hand, still on him. Hawk dropped his hold immediately, but not the subject.
“There is no victory for me if your team didn’t go full out. Do you really think the insurgents in Afghanistan will be holding back when they face my men?” Hawk stifled anything else he might have wanted to say before he did end up in the brig.
&nb
sp; An amused look crossed Miller’s face as his gaze moved from Hawk to his team leader for this exercise.
“Dalton?” Miller questioned the man with one word.
“He does have a point there, commander. And our guys would really enjoy being able to kick some ass unrestrained.” A cocky grin crossed pretty-boy Dalton’s face, just begging to be knocked off with the help of Hawk’s fist.
“All right, Sergeant. I’ll call Gordon back at the rear to confirm nothing’s come up that requires the team’s immediate attention. But barring that, you get your wish, soldier. I’ll see you and your squad here at zero-four-thirty.”
Hawk’s men were not going to be happy when he informed them they’d be traipsing around outside in God only knew how much fresh powder at zero-dark-thirty instead of dreaming in their racks. All because of him and his damn pride. Hawk mouthed a silent curse.
Dalton noticed and laughed. “You walked right into that one, Sergeant Hawkins.”
Yeah, he’d really like to slug this guy all right. But for now, he had to go break the news to his men that they were not only spending one more night and day on this mountain, but they wouldn’t be doing a hell of a lot of sleeping during it either.
The commander’s words echoed in his head. “You get your wish, soldier.” Hawk’s final thought as a smiling Dalton closed the door of the office behind him was that he really had to remember to stop wishing.
Chapter Two
The problem with mothers was this—you had to love them, even when you didn’t like them very much.
Annoyed, Emily Price considered this as she felt her hand go numb from her tight grip on the phone receiver.
Meanwhile, her mother continued to regale her with tales of exactly how wonderful Emily’s flawless sister Lily was for taking her shopping the other day, which Emily never did.
Perhaps that was because Lily and their mother both lived in Chicago, while Emily lived and worked, very hard she might add, in New York.
