Warning Order: A Search and Destroy Thriller

by Joshua Hood

  “Your wife didn’t believe me when I informed her of your complicity,” David said, taking a tape recorder out of his pocket and turning it off. “But I promised to both her and your daughter that we would get to the truth.” David held up the recorder like a prize. “It is such a tragedy. You had everything a man could want, right here in this room.”

  CHAPTER 47

  * * *

  Al Qatar was overseeing the emplacement of a ZPU-4 on the south side of a hangar when the phone in his pocket went off.

  “Yes,” he said as one of his men took a seat behind the four-barreled antiaircraft gun and rotated the adjusting wheel until it was pointing skyward. They had found boxes of night-vision scopes in one of the armories. He shook his head in disgust as the gunner looked through the scope and said, “It is not working.”

  “It is a night sight, you idiot,” one of the men berated him.

  “The trucks are loaded and fueled,” Jabar said over the phone. “Are you sure you do not want them closer?”

  “They will be fine here. I don’t want the American drones to find them,” he replied.

  “Has he called yet?”

  “No, but he will. You just make sure the men are ready.” With that, al Qatar hung up.

  He was annoyed that his source hadn’t called yet to tell him when the Americans were planning to launch. He had to wonder if the man was going to keep his word. Forcing the thought from his mind, he gazed across the airfield, lost in thought momentarily.

  Even if the man didn’t call, al Qatar knew that he had more than enough guns for the Americans, and once the trucks were staged, there was nothing left for him to do but wait.

  Sticking his hand in his left pocket, he could feel the remote control that would activate the electromagnetic pulse his man had hardwired into the cell towers. Khalid had told them that the device would slave itself to antennas, and when he activated it, they would destroy any electronic equipment the Americans had. The only problem was that it wouldn’t take them long to figure out what was going on. So, in essence, he had only one shot to destroy the initial assault.

  He knew this was his last battle, and all he had to do was live long enough to blow the dam and kill all the soldiers on the ground. It had been Ali’s plan to blow the massive Mosul dam, and al Qatar thought that this would be the perfect tribute to his fallen comrade.

  “Do not leave your position,” he ordered the men as he headed for the ladder that led down to the tarmac. Still the phone didn’t ring.

  CHAPTER 48

  * * *

  I think it is a mistake,” Zeus said. The olive-drab cot squeaked beneath him as he turned onto his side.

  “Why?” Mason asked wearily. He had slept for more than twelve hours but still felt like crap.

  “Because we don’t know anything about her,” Zeus replied.

  “If you can think of another way, then let me know. But as I see it, this is our only chance to get al Qatar.”

  “Is that all you care about, your precious revenge?”

  “Excellent question,” Renee said, stepping into their makeshift home. She had a tray of coffee in one hand and a black plastic bag in the other.

  Mason got to his feet with a grimace and took the coffees from Renee before handing one to Zeus.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. What are you guys conspiring about?”

  “The girl Sara,” Zeus offered.

  “Fuck, man, you ever heard of operational security?”

  Zeus rolled his eyes as Renee tossed the bag onto Mason’s cot.

  “I got you both fresh uniforms, but if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, you can keep wearing that ratty shit.”

  That was a good enough bribe for Zeus. “The girl’s uncle has connections with the Peshmerga,” he began, ignoring Mason’s icy stare, “and Rambo here wants him to sneak us into Mosul so we can kill al Qatar.”

  “Are you fucking out of your mind? Just let them bomb the shit out of it and call it a day,” said Renee.

  “Seriously?” Mason asked. “It doesn’t matter how many bombs they drop or who they put on the ground. I need to see him die.”

  “I know you blame him for Boland and Grinch, but—”

  “He blew up a fucking aircraft carrier,” Mason almost shouted.

  “For once in your life, let someone else help you.”

  “Not going to happen,” he replied.

  Zeus took a sip of coffee, frowning at the blind need for revenge. “Who made this shit?” he asked, pointing at the cup.

  Renee laughed, “Is it that bad?”

  “It is terrible. You Americans just don’t know how to make coffee.”

  “Whatever.” Renee laughed again. “Have you run your little scheme by Anderson yet?”

  “Yes and no,” Mason replied. “I told him I could get eyes on the target, but didn’t tell him how.”

  “Well, I want you to hear it from me before anyone else says anything: I advised against you going out,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “What the—?” Mason said, but she cut him off by raising her hand.

  “Look, I’m not trying to screw you. I just think you’re too banged up.”

  “I told him it was a bad idea also,” Zeus muttered from his cot.

  “Maybe you should listen, for once,” Renee said.

  Mason rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to talk to my mom, I would go back to LA.”

  “Whatever. At least someone cares about you, and I know if the roles were reversed, you would do the same for me. So stop looking all betrayed.”

  “Fucking women,” he grumbled, lifting his soiled battle shirt and taking out his smokes. He lit the cigarette with his trusty Zippo and looked up at Renee through the haze of smoke.

  “Oh, fuck you,” she said in exasperation. “If you don’t want to listen to reason. I’m just trying to save you from yourself. And you’re not supposed to smoke in here.”

  “Okay,” Mason replied, taking another drag. “So what are you doing on this little jaunt? You still attached to that psycho?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” she said.

  “I’m not.”

  “No, I’ve been moved to the main assault.”

  “The airborne assault?” he asked, almost choking on his coffee. “When was the last time you did a static line jump?”

  “A long-ass time ago, but they sent me through a mini refresher.”

  “Jesus. Too bad you’re not on the dark side, or I would take you with me.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Anyone seen Blaine?”

  “Last I saw of him, he was headed over to the morgue. He looked like hammered shit.” Renee said.

  “What do you expect? He and Grinch were tight.”

  Mason grunted in pain as he got to his feet and gingerly wind milled his arms before grabbing the battle shirt.

  “How’s the shoulder?” Zeus asked.

  “Fine,” he lied while slipping the shirt over his head. “I know neither one of you agrees with my decision, but I’m standing by it.”

  Zeus squinted from the cigarette smoke and studied his friend before answering. Mason couldn’t meet his gaze. He knew that lately their relationship had been very one-sided, and deep down he wasn’t sure why the Libyan stuck with him. He knew that he owed the man his life, and that by all rights, it should be the other way around.

  “You know I’m with you, but I think Blaine is . . .”

  “What?” Mason asked, taking a seat beside him.

  “He’s done, man.”

  “I know, but I can’t order him to stay behind.”

  “Whatever you’re gonna do, you better think of it fast, because here he comes,” Zeus said as Mason heard footsteps to his rear.

  Just like Renee had said, Blaine looked terrible, with red-rimmed eyes and the same bloody uniform he had worn the previous day.

  “I found you a new sling,” he sai
d after dumping the medical supplies on the bed. He tossed the tan piece of nylon into Mason’s lap.

  “Where have you been?” Mason asked.

  “Took a walk. Word is, they are going to bomb the shit out of Mosul before we even hit the ground. So, what’s the plan?”

  Mason grabbed his battered rifle, and, noticing the blood spatter on its upper handguard, shielded it with his body to keep the others from noticing.

  “We were just talking about the op,” Renee said, trying to distract Blaine as Mason snatched his old battle shirt off the ground and used a sleeve to wipe off the blood.

  “Fuck, man,” Blaine said softly, sinking onto his cot, his eyes locked on Mason’s rifle. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Did you know that Grinch’s wife was pregnant? It was going to be his first kid. How am I supposed to tell her she has to raise it by herself?”

  Renee placed a hand on his shoulder as he lowered his head into his hands and began sobbing.

  Mason knew that every man had his breaking point, no matter how hard he was. Some soldiers never bounced back from seeing their friends die, and in just a few days, Blaine had lost two of his brothers.

  “We’re going out again,” Mason said finally, knowing that the sullen shadow that had fallen over the group was unhealthy. “And you’re not going.”

  “Fuck that, Mason,” Blaine cried. “Who do you think you are, making that call for me?”

  Mason knew he was being hypocritical, especially after the argument he’d just had with Renee and Zeus, but he wasn’t about to put Blaine in harm’s way when his head wasn’t in the fight.

  “Easy, bro. Someone has to take Grinch’s body back to the States, and I don’t want it to be a stranger.”

  Zeus nodded at Mason, telling him that he was making the right call.

  “I can’t let you guys go out without me. What if one of you gets hit?”

  “We’ll have medical coverage. But that’s not your concern,” Mason stressed. “You need to be the one who takes him home.”

  The anger in Blaine’s face dissipated as the logic of the idea sank in. A single tear trickled down his cheek before he nodded his assent.

  “Okay,” he said finally.

  “Get a shower and change out of that shit. I’ll let the bosses know that you’re going to help us out on this,” Mason said, walking over to Blaine and placing his hand on the top of his shoulder. “You did all you could. Don’t ever forget that.”

  CHAPTER 49

  * * *

  As the Chinook raced across the ground, Mason used a red-lensed headlamp to check the map on his knee. Flashing the light onto the wrist GPS unit, he realized they were about twenty miles from the landing zone. He was more than ready to get the hell off the bird. His knee was hurting from bracing himself against the pilot’s erratic maneuvers, and he cursed aloud as the helo suddenly surged up in the air and then dropped back down again.

  Zeus sat up next to him, giving up trying to go to sleep now that they were across the border. “This is intolerable,” he yelled over the engine noise.

  Mason pointed at his watch and held up ten fingers.

  A group of US Army Pathfinders was seated on the nylon benches that ran the length of the Chinook. Unlike their World War II namesakes, the modern Pathfinders unit was part reconnaissance and part air-to-ground liaison. The men of Fox Company’s Red Platoon had once been members of the Eighty-Second’s long-range surveillance detachment, but during their last deployment to Afghanistan, they’d had been attached to an aviation unit.

  The young paratroopers were instilled with the esprit de corps that comes with belonging to an elite unit, and they had a swagger that Mason appreciated. The men were masters at their jobs, but they had never operated on this side of the fence. He could tell that they were nervous, despite the fact that most of them had spent their entire adult lives in combat.

  He turned away, and his mind drifted back to the conversation he’d had with Sara before leaving Turkey. She had wanted to accompany him on the mission, and it had gotten to the point where she’d almost refused to help unless he allowed her to go.

  “You can’t go; there is no way,” he’d told her, but the woman stared defiantly at him, her chin raised, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Then you figure out how to get my uncle’s help.”

  “Look, I can’t take you with me even if I wanted to,” he tried to explain, but she wasn’t having it.

  “I am going.”

  “If you go, then who is going to take care of all of them?” Zeus asked, jerking his finger toward the refugees.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded.

  “If we are not here, who is going to look out for them, make sure they get food?”

  She considered that complication before finally lowering her head in defeat.

  “Fine, give me the phone.”

  The call lasted fifteen minutes, and at first, it seemed like her uncle was in no mood to help. From what Mason could gather from the one-sided conversation, the man had his hands full dealing with al Qatar’s fighters, and he was afraid to send any of his men to aid the Americans. But Kane had to hand it to Sara. She seemed to always get what she wanted, and by the end of the call, her uncle had agreed to help.

  As Mason studied the map, he hoped that the Kurd was a man of his word, because he had no idea how they were going to get to the airfield without him.

  “Ten minutes,” the pilot said over the internal net.

  Mason switched off the headlamp and took a deep breath. He could feel the effects of the previous days just on the edge of his consciousness. Renee had been right when she said he was running on empty. He was exhausted both mentally and physically. Still, this wasn’t the first time he had forced himself past his limits.

  Mason reached into the pocket sewed on the sleeve of his battle shirt and pulled out a vial of “go pills.” He shook one of the orange tablets into the palm of his hand before passing the small plastic bottle to Zeus.

  “What’s that?” one of the troopers asked from the other side of the Chinook.

  “Vitamins,” he replied, flicking the pill into his mouth and washing it down with a sip from his CamelBak.

  “Really? No way,” the man yelled back.

  “It’s speed. You want one?”

  “Speed? Isn’t that bad for you?”

  “Probably, but it will keep you up,” Mason replied, taking the vial back from Zeus and snapping the cap back on.

  “Shit, I’ve never done drugs,” the soldier yelled back.

  “First time for everything.” Mason smiled as the helo began to slow.

  The crew chief got up from the ramp and paused to untangle himself from his safety line before moving over to the control box. His thumb jabbed a button, and the ramp began to lower, letting in a burst of fresh air.

  “Well, if you need one, let me know,” Mason said, getting to his feet.

  The pilot waited until the last minute to flare the bird and then gently set the rear wheels on the desert floor. As soon as Mason felt the front wheels touch down, he flipped down his night vision and hustled down the ramp.

  He kept his head low, holding his breath as the rotors beat down on him. The exhaust felt hot against his neck, and specks of debris slapped him in the face as he rushed out beyond the spinning blades and took a knee. The other soldiers piled out beyond him and moved expertly to their initial positions.

  Mason scanned the terrain slowly as the pilot pushed the throttle forward, and the bird thundered into the distance. He checked to insure that they had 360-degree security set up and then depressed the illumination key on his GPS. The digital arrow pointed southwest, toward the coordinates where they were supposed to meet up with members of the Peshmerga.

  He rose to his feet with a muffled groan. Back at the hangar, he’d heard one of the Pathfinders refer to him as the “old guy,” and it made him realize that he’d been at war for a very long time. The desert had become such a big part of his life t
hat Mason almost couldn’t imagine leaving it. What would happen the day he had to let it all go?

  The Pathfinders’ squad leader made his way over to Mason and whispered, “What’s the plan?”

  “We pray the Kurds show up,” he said simply.

  “And if they don’t?” the sergeant asked uncomfortably.

  “Then we figure it out.”

  “What about you? You want one of my guys to take point?”

  Mason placed his hand on the squad leader’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Skippy. You just try to keep up.”

  There was a definite divide between the Special Operations world and the “regular army,” and Mason knew that the soldiers he was about to lead into harm’s way were counting on him to keep them safe.

  During his time in Afghanistan and Iraq, he didn’t have a great deal of contact with regular army troops, and when he did, they were always supporting Delta. The men of the 82nd referred to all Special Ops, especially the Delta operators, as “cool guys,” and longed for the freedom that came with not having to shave or deal with the spit and polish of their daily lives.

  Mason knew that they were seasoned warriors, but he wasn’t sure what would happen when the shit hit the fan. Being a capable, conventional soldier was one thing. In the fight to come, though, his biggest fear was that he was going to let them down.

  CHAPTER 50

  * * *

  All right, listen up,” the colonel said as he turned to the large screen and pointed the red laser up at the Mosul airfield. “Real quick, we are going to go through the phases of the operation.”

  Renee stood off to the side as Anderson went through the key leaders’ briefing that preceded the mission. Warchild and Parker were standing with their teams, but she saw no sign of Mason.

  Next to her, the platoon sergeants and company commanders of the airborne assault stood nervously as they listened to the brief. Most of them had green notebooks in one hand and bottles full of dip spit in the other. This was going to be the largest airborne operation since the United States invaded Panama to overthrow dictator Manual Noriega in 1989, and none of them wanted to be the one who screwed up.