SAS Para-Ops: MEGA SET - SAS Para-Ops Books #1, #2, #3, #4, #5 & #6

by Casey Christie

  Just then the torturer looked around the small dark room with a very confused expression on his face.

  Mark didn’t know what surprised him most – the fact that he had just heard Ayla’s voice or the fact that his torturer seemed to as well. Then it came to him, the Seer had an idea.

  Mark had estimated that about 30 minutes had passed since he had been shown Ayla and then had heard her angelic voice telling him to fight back. His torturer who had also apparently heard her had left the room in somewhat of a panic saying something about needing a cigarette and some tea. Now Mark heard the heavy key inserted into the door and expectantly awaited his Torturer.

  The man walked in and to Mark’s surprise seemed to avoid all eye contact with him. Then for the first time since his ordeal began Mark really studied the man that had been inflicting all that pain on him for the past who knows how long.

  He was dark skinned, dark haired and balding in the middle, a small moustache, he must have been in his early fifties and he had a belly similar to that of an 8 month pregnant woman. He wore comfortable dark brown shoes, old black suit pants and a blood and dirt stained, once white, vest. Then Andrews picked out the detail he needed. A slight whiteness on his ring finger that indicated the man was married and had recently removed the evidence of such. Perhaps for his work.

  It was enough, he closed his eyes, focused and Mark put his not unremarkable mind to work.

  He felt resistance at first. Powerful resistance, the man was no stranger it seemed to phenomena of the mind. Mark opened his eyes and looked up and straight at his torturer - the two men locked eyes and then Mark was in.

  The man’s mind was dark, cruel, twisted and utterly alone. The demons of his past taunted his life and drove him to darker deeds, his personal cheerleading torturer squad. Mark had to hold his nerve just to be able to keep their minds in sync. It was like swimming in an electrified pool of excrement and sea snakes but Mark had to find a way. He searched and searched but each mind flash and memory seemed to be even darker and dirtier than the next until finally he saw it. Light in the darkness. The torturer’s name was Mustafa and the only light in his life, it seemed, was his daughter Fatima.

  Mark intensified his thought process on Fatima and surrounded that thought with as much light as he possibly could until he held it at the foremost of Mustafa’s mind.

  Mark had no idea how long he was in the mind of Mustafa but the next lucid thing he remembered was taking a full-on smack to the face and then hearing the voice of the man who had first taken him hostage at the Rahat Lokum Tea Garden.

  “Get out! Infidel, get out of his mind you filthy swine!” and then another smack and another shout for him to leave his torturer’s tortured mind until finally all was silent.

  Mark looked up and now saw both men. His torturer was now in tears, his head held in his hands and he was wailing something in Arabic while being led out of the room.

  His capturer was now, for the first time, without a mask, crouched mere inches from Mark’s face. He was shocked and sickened in equal measure to see the face of Abdullah, the young sniper turned ally’s mentor, looking back at him. Pure hatred on his face.

  Abdullah let Mark’s recognition of him sink in and then smiled, if one could call it that, before saying:

  “You white westerners are all the same, you think yourselves so superior to everything and everyone else and you think these things like being able to see parts of the future or even being able to invade someone else’s mind is unique only to you and your whiteness. You are wrong. Here, let me show you.”

  Mark felt the monster at his mind’s door and he put up all his defences but he was weak, weak from the physical torture and weak from the mental anguish of seeing two of his friends dead and decapitated and knowing that his closest friend and love were still in mortal danger.

  It didn’t take long for the monster to break down that door and to Mark’s disgust he gift wrapped him the image of Ayla who had only minutes earlier been the only thing keeping him alive. He was on her in a heartbeat, literally the monster that was Abdullah had tied the image of Ayla to a table and began violating her in the most unthinkable ways.

  “Fight, Mark! Fight!”

  Mark Andrews heard the unmistakable voice of Ayla once more and it lifted his mind and soul. It was all he needed.

  Moments later and the image of Abdullah raping Ayla had changed to that of Abdullah slouched on his knees with Andrews standing in front of him holding above his head a great sword taking the shape of a great cross and then he brought it down slicing the Abdullah neck and severing the connection between spinal cord and brain. The head flopped to the floor and the body fell to the mist of Mark’s mind.

  Moments later and both men were once more staring at each other. Abdullah full of hate and Mark full of pity.

  Abdullah then got to his feet and spat in Mark’s eyes and said: “Enough, enough of these games. Bring in the other four prisoners, it’s time for them to see each other die, painfully!”

  Mark knew the games were over and the end was near. Time for one last outreach.

  *

  Colonel Walter Brow sat bolt upright in his chair and looked across at Bull who had also taken a few minutes’ breather to close his eyes and search for some much needed rest since they arrived back at American HQ some hours earlier.

  “They’re still alive, Bull! And Abdullah betrayed you, me, John, Mark, all of us. But time is short, the end is near. We need to move, where are those bloody South Africans!?”

  Just then there was a soft knock on the door before it opened slightly and Kalahari put his head through the opening and said: “You called?”

  Chapter Thirteen – Never Leave a Man Behind

  The two military men and the two mercenaries were in Colonel Brow’s office going over all the intelligence they had on where John Taylor and his men were being held captive. It was a mixture of satellite imagery, hand drawn maps and the information gained through the interrogation carried out by Black Hands.

  “So” said the Mercenary Commander “If all of the Intel is accurate and to be believed then my team of six men are up against at least twice our number, and if the reports of a rotating shift are true we could even be up against three times our force, potentially eighteen insane Islamic State Jihadi, we-don’t-give-a fuck-about-blowing-ourselves-up-because-then-we-get-to-shag-40-virgins-in-heaven, terrorists against me, Sahara here and four of my guys, that about sound right?”

  An uneasy silence hung in the air - Moments passed before Sahara broke it: “The poor blurry bastards don’t stand a fucking chance, hey!”

  The men laughed an uneasy laugh. Nonetheless it was cathartic.

  “I will accompany you” said Bull quickly followed by Colonel Brow who almost immediately regretted volunteering.

  “Not a chance! You’re not paying us a small fortune just for you to get your hands dirty yourselves. Besides we work a lot better alone. No offence, gentlemen” said Kalahari.

  Just then there was a short sharp rap on the door and without waiting for an invitation to come in three men in civilian clothing walked in. By the way they carried themselves and their demeanour it was obvious they were soldiers.

  The oldest of the men, grey haired, short and broad, addressed the room as though he was addressing a parade ground “Good afternoon, Gentlemen. My name is Major Joseph Braddock and these are Staff Sergeants George Leeson and Thomas Lightfoot. We’re from the Special Projects Team, Hereford. And we’ve come to assist you in getting our boys back.”

  The four men who had been laughing only moments earlier looked dumbfounded, confused and even suspicious.

  Kalahari got to his feet and moved quickly towards the grey man claiming to be a SAS Major. He stopped abruptly in front of him and then stuck out a hand in greeting and the said: “Braddock, you crazy old bastard, never thought I would see you again!”

  The two men shook hands, and once again, Colonel Brow noticed, in the old Roman grip of forearm to
forearm.

  “Well, you didn’t just think we’d leave our men behind did you or in equal measure let you good for nothing SAFFAS have all the glory and take all the risk. Did you?”

  It was Colonel Brow who got to his feet now and he looked angry. “Well I certainly did, Major. I was told in no uncertain terms that Captain Taylor and his Para-Ops Team did not officially exist and that there would be no rescue mission – by both my high command and British high command! And now in the eleventh hour you bloody well waltz into my office and say you’re here to help. And that’s after I’ve had to raid local funds and hire fucking mercenaries to get the job done!”

  Colonel Brow took a moment and looked at both the South Africans who seemed to be over-acting offence taken.

  “No affront, gentlemen. But I’m sure you understand this comes as quite the shock to me, not to mention a total cluster fuck of military protocol.” Colonel Brow was red in the face now and it seemed to Major Braddock that actual steam might begin to issue from his ears.

  In an effort to calm the American commander he put his hands in the air and said “I’m sorry if this comes as a shock to you, Colonel. But I assure this is how we work. The suits and military command have very little or absolutely no say in our missions. In truth Captain Mann’s team was ordered almost immediately to liaise with you and undertake a rescue mission. Unfortunately he seems to have gone… off comms. So in the ‘eleventh hour’ as you say myself along with these two gentlemen were sent to assist you in your very admirably put together rescue attempt. We underestimated your resolve, Colonel. We never once thought you would even consider hiring ‘contractors’ to do the job” said the SAS Major.

  “Well I had no other choice, did I? And I wasn’t just going to leave those men to the fate of those Islamic State thugs. Besides, I must admit, bringing in contractors, and more specifically, Kalahari and his men was Bull’s idea, not mine” said Brow while gesturing towards the still seated Khan.

  “Ah, so you must be General Yusuf Khan of the Iraqi National Army the man they call Bull, and I can certainly see why. I have a dossier on you the same length as we had on Saddam Hussein. You were once part of his bodyguard, correct?”

  Bull didn’t rise from his chair and didn’t appreciate the Major’s tone. Or being asked a question before being properly introduced. He was mulling his response over in his mind but before he had made a decision on his rejoinder the old Major continued: “Forgive my manners, General Khan. I’m just interested to know more about the man and as his former bodyguard I was hoping to pick your brain. But perhaps another time. Shall we start again” Braddock said with an infinitesimal grin on his face.

  Bull got to his feet and extended his Bull like barrel chest and towered over the little Major. “Sure” said Bull and offered his hand in greeting. The two men shook hands and Bull was just a little flustered as to how powerful a grip the Major had and was embarrassed to find himself rubbing his right hand with his left after they had disengaged. Major Braddock noticed the rub and grinned at the former dictator’s bodyguard.

  Bull got back into his seat and almost jumped back out of it as he realised that one of the other SAS men, Lightfoot was it? he thought to himself, was now standing directly behind him. Fuck me, these men are dangerous he thought in the privacy of his own mind.

  Tension hung in the air like perfume in a brothel.

  “Now that we all know who everybody is, do you think we could get on with this blurry briefing, hey!” said Sahara.

  “He’s right, we’ve wasted enough time already, we need to get our game plan together and move towards our objective – if that… um.. message.. you received from your.. um psychic guy is correct then we don’t have time to waste” added the Mercenary Commander.

  Major Braddock smiled at the South African’s apparent cynicism of Mark Andrews’ ability.

  “Correct, mercenary. But before we can continue we need to know exactly what role our good Major here would like to play in this operation?”

  The Major was about to answer when Sahara interrupted: “Why use the term mercenary, hey? That’s fokken racist! We prefer the term adviser or.. what was that other one, Kal?”

  “Contractor” answered Kalahari.

  “Ya, Contractor, that’s much less racist towards us. And besides it sounds more official!” finished Sahara before straightening his back out at the apparent thought of being called the more official term of contractor.

  “So be it, Contractors. Now, Major what role do you plan on taking in this operation?” said Brow.

  “We’re here as a support and oversee element only. Leeson and Lightfoot will join Kalahari’s team under his command” the Major said while nodding at Kalahari for his approval. Kalahari nodded back. “We’d love to have them. In my opinion you SAS boys are the best on the planet” said Kalahari.

  “Or at least in Europe” put in Sahara who walked to both of the newcomers and shook their hands while saying “welcome to the team, boets, guess that makes you Mercenaries, just like us hey!”

  “Sahara, Take the men and gear up, we’ll fine tune the details and meet you in the ops room in in about 20 mikes!”

  “Ya, copy that, boss. You okes, with me!” said Kalahari’s 2IC to the new SAS operators.

  Moments later and only the commanders were left in Colonel Brow’s office. Major Braddock produced a large brown envelope from the inside of his dark brown leather jacket and placed it in front of Brow.

  “You’ll find the Intel and photographs inside that envelope to be no more than four hours old.”

  Colonel Brow quickly opened the envelope, took out the hand written notes and placed the photographs across his table for Bull and Kalahari to see.

  “I presume you have already read the contents herein – care to enlighten us, Major. We don’t have much time?” said Brow.

  “Sure, basically our team will be up against 36 fighters, not all of them hardened fighters mind you and not all of them old enough to drink where we come from, but 36 men none the less.”

  “Fuck” said Brow.

  “Fuck, indeed” said Braddock before continuing. “The good news though is that we have eyes on, as we speak, a sniper element of mine, that created the report you now have on your desk, and they will be able to make quick work of all perimeter guards and counter snipers. Also the compound Taylor and his team are being held on is large, very large, so those 36 men get diluted somewhat. The next bit of ‘good’ news is actually a bit mixed – and that is that moments before I walked in here I got word from my boys that the Tangos had moved all of the surviving hostages into what they are referring to as the chamber – an area at the back of the compound where Taylor’s Team is being… interrogated.”

  “You said ‘surviving hostages’ Major?” said Bull.

  “Yes, unfortunately two bodies were sighted being transported out of the compound for burning. We’re not sure who they were but we know they were both Caucasian males.”

  “Could your men not get eyes on the facial features” said Brow.

  “No, they were both decapitated.”

  Kalahari was now studying the latest photographic Intel and the hand- written note from the reports’ creators:

  Due to the lack of chopper support we suggest an aggressive approach from the rear of the compound using breach entry through the walls. Explosives are in place and are ready to fire. Time is critical. Execution imminent.

  “So stealth certainly seems out of the question” said Kalahari.

  “Indeed, and we need to move.” said Braddock.

  “All right gentlemen, let’s formulate our plan, agree to it and move in the next fifteen minutes” said Brow.

  “And Kalahari” said Braddock “I think you will be pleasantly surprised at some of the kit we’ve been able to acquire, it’s meant for Taylor and his team, though I have no doubt they won’t mind us making good use of it this evening.”

  The commanders then got down to business and created what would later
be referred to as the Blow up and Blow out rescue mission or more fondly known as BLOW.

  Chapter Fourteen – Immortals

  The men of the Mercenary/SAS Strike force were en route to their target and in the back of the only surviving transit van left on Colonel Brow’s base. It was damaged, looked old and neglected and was as inconspicuous as they could have hoped for. A trusted local man was driving, his window down and tribal music was blaring from the vehicle’s radio.

  Kalahari, his men and the two SAS operators were kitted out in the traditional dark SAS outfit of black combat boots and pants and black military jackets over which hung their battle jackets, bullet proof vests and trauma packs. Each operative carried their own favoured load-out all of which included extra ammunition, lots of extra ammunition. Kalahari had his trusted HK .40 calibre sidearm on his thigh, Sahara had his large hunting knife instead and the rest of his crew preferring their Glock 9MMs. The two SAS operatives each preferred a Browning High Powered. The contractors’ primary weapon were AK47s and the SAS operatives each had silenced MP5s slung in front of their chests.

  Colonel Brow and General Khan were in the ops room of the almost entirely empty American base where they had direct radio communication with their task force as well as the location’s description and photographs stuck on a white board. Major Braddock was in transit to his sniper element where he would take on an eye’s-on over-watch position and take over comms once in situ.

  “Kilo One, come in for command” said Brow over the radio.

  “Command, send for Kilo One” responded the Mercenary Commander.

  “Radio check?” said Brow.

  “Ya, reading you loud and clear, five out of five, command” said Kalahari.

  “SITREP”

  “On route to the ‘Tea Garden’, command. It’s a tight fit in here and these bastards stink, but we’ll make it.”

  “Roger that. Journey time to Tea Garden should be approximately 50 mikes, check in every ten mikes, received?”