“Easy, because I know you’re not going to let me get any sleep anytime soon,” Jackson retorted.
As the Omega Team quickly pulled their gear off the plane in an attempt to escape the frigid early morning air, Christopher felt a tug on his thoughts. “It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man,” was the crystal-clear thought that entered his mind from the familiar and uncomfortable still, small voice of the Holy Spirit. He hadn’t heard from the Holy Spirit since the night of the French journalist mission. He said aloud, “What does that mean?”
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked, looking around. “Who are you talking to?”
“No one. I’m okay. I just thought I heard somebody say something,” Christopher responded.
“Hey, check it out,” Jackson said, directing Christopher’s attention toward a television screen where preparations were being made to broadcast the EU president’s address on the disappearances. “I wonder what this guy is going to say that’s different from everybody else.”
“Who knows? But we’ve got planning to do for tonight,” Christopher answered firmly. He tried to hide the worry on his face. If the Holy Spirit was reaching out to him ahead of this mission, what was awaiting them in Ishkashim?
* * *
Stone Guard was the nickname of the area on Bagram used by the special operations elements for staging their clandestine missions. The most important part of the supporting cast was the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, commonly known as the Nightstalkers, greeted Christopher upon his entrance as they awaited final guidance.
“Hello, sir. I am CW4 Mercer. I was ‘Angel 6,’ from the Brazil mission. It’s good to be working with you guys again, although I wish it were not so soon.”
“Yeah, great to see you again, Chief, and call me Christopher. I agree a few more days or even weeks of rest would have been awesome. Hey, let’s get down to planning, so we can wrap this thing up and head home.”
“Sure thing, Christopher, but before we start, let me introduce the lead pilot for the second bird for tonight. This is CW3 Watson, radio call sign Angel 64,” Angel 6 related quickly.
“Nice to meet you. Guys, this is my team’s sergeant major, Jackson Williams,” Christopher replied.
“Nice to meet you, fellas. I am hoping for a smooth flight tonight,” Jackson responded.
“We will do our best,” Angel 6 promised.
As the leaders of the Omega Team and the 160th SOAR sat around a conference table with a large map laid across it to hear the intelligence brief, Christopher was struck with a sense of uneasiness. The Holy Spirit continued speaking into his mind. “Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the LORD our God. Christopher, don’t trust in your plan; trust in God. There is always another way.”
“Christopher! Earth to Christopher, are you ready for the brief?” Jackson asked, clearly puzzled.
“Oh, yeah, go ahead,” Christopher murmured, focusing on the intelligence officer and not the eyes of the men gazing at him from around the room.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Adeel Zardari remains in Ishkashim but will likely be leaving for Khorog, Tajikistan, in the predawn hours, based on recent reports from the Pakistani government. We continue to detect a low-level radiation signature, which we assess means the fissile material remains with Zardari. We also have uncorroborated human intelligence reports that state the local residents of Ishkashim were forced out of town, and Zardari is being protected by at least fifteen armed men. Lastly, for tactical level intelligence, we have reports that some of the men possess Russian Verba man-portable air-defense systems. We consider air insertion the fastest, but a high-risk option. I will be followed by Omega HQ.”
Christopher and the other men watched as Gabriella appeared before the group on a secure-video teleconferencing screen.
“Oh, here we go. Miss Sassy Pants herself,” Jackson teased.
“Shhh,” Christopher mouthed.
“Good morning, everyone. I don’t have much more to add to the tactical-level intel. We have seen no movement in or out of Ishkashim since the fleeing of villagers right after Zardari arrived about a day ago. We are providing radiation shielding cases…did they make it?” Gabriella asked the previous intelligence briefer, who acknowledged with a thumbs up. “Those cases will ensure safe transport of the fissile material back to the States, where Department of Energy officials will take possession upon your return.
“Finally, we will notify the Tajiks only if Zardari escapes into Tajikistan with the fissile materials. Dushanbe is in disarray in the wake of the disappearances, with some reports that the Tajikistan president was assassinated. President Rodgers feels that letting the Tajiks know about the mission too early could compromise your team. I agree after hearing about the advanced Russian antiaircraft systems being in the area. It would seem Zardari is well connected. Good hunting,” Gabriella concluded as the video screen went black.
“Angel 6, is the risk too great to fly us in tonight?” Christopher questioned.
“It’s a risk for sure. Those antiaircraft systems will challenge our avionics. The best hope is to get you guys on the ground before they even know what’s happening. That will mean a nap-of-the-earth flight for two straight hours. You guys up for that?”
“So much for a smooth flight, but we’re ready to rock and roll,” Jackson responded, knowing that the terrain-hugging flight would be rough, but also their best bet for avoiding detection on the way in.
Laughing, Angel 6 spoke again. “We need to finish up some flight planning and get some sleep, so we’re going to head out. We’ll be ready to take off at 0100 tonight. Let us know if the plan changes.”
“Thanks, we will,” Christopher replied. “But if you don’t hear anything, plan on us loading out for a 0100 takeoff.” Christopher watched as Angel 6 and his men left the conference room, still feeling hesitant. The still, quiet voice of the Holy Spirit had reiterated throughout the intelligence briefing the same message. “Christopher, don’t trust in your plan. Trust in God.” He felt trapped. It’s not like it’s my plan, he thought in frustration. It’s what the terrain and mission demand to get the job done. We have to fly in. What other choice do we have?
“Hey, bossman, I am not going to argue with you like I did in Brazil, but just hear me out. I think flying in is too big of a risk—though the 160th boys would never tell you that. I think if we start ground convoying out of here in the next few hours, we could get up to Ishkashim around 2300, get set, and hit the objective around 0100. Longer haul, but less risk,” Jackson asserted with confidence.
“I appreciate the solid recommendation, but there are many unknown risks of driving so far in such a small element. We don’t know the IED pattern between here and Ishkashim, and our signature will be known well before we get to Zardari. I like the flying approach for the speed and surprise. Those helicopters will get us through,” Christopher replied with a confidence he didn’t really feel.
Jackson’s faced showed his disagreement, but all he said was, “I hope you’re right, bossman. I hope you’re right.”
“It will be okay. Trust me. I believe in this plan. Gather the guys up here in the conference room. I want to go over the mission and then have everyone start a rest cycle.”
“You got it,” Jackson said, leaving Christopher alone in the conference room.
The Holy Spirit, who had been all but yelling throughout the intelligence briefing, was now silent.
“Nothing more to say, huh? I don’t get you, but I do understand me,” Christopher said quietly, openly questioning the Holy Spirit’s message.
As Jackson had the Omega Team settle in for the operation plan, Christopher’s bravado switched to desperation as thoughts of losing Rev in a mission flashed into his mind. He wished the Holy Spirit would say something to him, but he heard only silence in his mind.
“Okay, guys, pretty straightforward mission,” Christopher began. “We will split into two six-man elements on
two birds. I will lead the primary assault team and will be flying with Angel 6. Once over the target location in Ishkashim, my team will fast rope down onto the roof, capture Zardari, and secure the loose fissile materials. I don’t want to kill this guy, unless he puts us in that position, as he may have hidden the nuclear pits. If he did, we’d need him to lead us to them.
“Jackson will be leading team two and will fly with Angel 64. Your task will be to prevent Zardari from escaping across the border into Tajikistan. I want you to set up an ambush at the international border market on the northwest side of Ishkashim. There are only fifteen men assessed to be guarding this guy, but remember Brazil and be prepared for anything.
“Lastly, men, this could be a tough one, so I want you all to get some rest. Make sure you double up on your combat load of ammo and be ready to fight. We are going into a high-risk area for air defense so it will be a gut-turning nap-of-the-earth flight the whole way. We will have QRF support from the 101st Airborne, but they will delay an hour after our departure tonight and stage Zebak in case we need them.”
“How far is Zebak from us?” one of the soldiers asked.
Christopher hesitated to answer, but he could see the question reflected on the face of every Omega Team member. “It is a forty-five-minute flight once we call them.” He paused then added, “Okay, let’s gear up and do what we do best.” The men left the room, conversing among themselves, leaving him alone in the conference room. He was hoping for either some assurance about or condemnation of his plan from the Holy Spirit, but there was again nothing but silence in both the room and his mind.
* * *
Gabriella was exhausted both mentally and physically. The last few days were a blur of pain, elation, and more sadness. As she prepared the White House Situation Room with dossiers and executive summaries on the second Omega mission under her leadership, she felt an emptiness she could not comprehend. While Draven Cross’s speech was inspiring and plausible, his assertion that religion, and Christianity in particular, was at fault for the disappearances did not sit well with her. Gabriella agreed religion had been divisive at times throughout history, but people like her mother had found so much comfort and hope in Christianity. She felt no closer now to a resolution of the struggle between her analytical perspective on the world around her and the possibility that God existed than she had felt a few days ago.
“Ah, Gabriella, why am I not surprised to find you here first? I sometimes wonder if you sleep. I picture your apartment with a single folding chair under a lightbulb, a refrigerator filled with spoiled Chinese takeout, and an air mattress. I am close, right?” President Rodgers asked with a smile.
“You’ve got me pegged, sir,” Gabriella admitted. “The poster child for overachieving workaholics.”
“I am kidding, dear. I appreciate your determination. I assume you watched Cross’s speech today.”
“Yes, sir, I did. It was rousing but…” she hesitated.
“But it came across as a not-so-veiled attack on religion, or better said, on Christianity. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
“No, not exactly what I was going to say. I was going to say his speech leaves me confused about a lot of things, not the least of which is God.”
“God is easy to understand, Gabriella, once you allow yourself to see His presence all around you. I could have been the leader of the show-me-and-I-will-believe-it thought brand. It only took two minutes of being briefed on what the world was facing a few days ago for me to realize I just needed to see the world as it was, instead of how I wanted it to be.”
Gabriella was glad that the cabinet members and the congressmen began filling the Situation Room. She did not know how to fend off the president’s piercing indictments of the conflict between her reasoning and the growing tug to accept the reality that God exists.
“Okay, how close are we to wheels up?” President Rodgers questioned.
“Sir, the Omega Team should be wheels up from Bagram Airfield at any moment. I will put Major Barrett’s and Sergeant Major Williams’s locator beacons on the display screen here. This will allow us to track them in flight and once they’ve reached their respective objectives. We will have video from Major Barrett’s helmet cam once they’re in Ishkashim,” Gabriella reported.
“Godspeed to those men. I pray it goes smoothly tonight,” President Rodgers remarked, his voice full of emotion.
“I have the same hope, sir,” Gabriella agreed.
* * *
As Christopher watched Jackson and his team load up on their MH-47G Chinook helicopter, he wanted a message from God to confirm that everything was going to be all right tonight. He was looking for something that would give him the chance to trust. Unfortunately he heard nothing but the howling, cold wind and the chop of the Chinook blades in the Afghanistan night.
“Green 6, this is Angel 6, we’re clear to depart. Angel 64 has reported his team is loaded and ready,” came the digitized voice of Angel 6 into Christopher’s headset.
“Angel 6, this is Green 6, let’s roll,” Christopher said.
It was a cloudy night with snow falling throughout the Panj River valley as the two Chinooks flew perilously close to the valley walls at breakneck speeds. Nap-of-the-earth flights always tested Christopher’s nerve for the job and his stomach’s ability to stay in its proper location. His hatred for the green look of everything through his night-vision optics was validated again tonight and didn’t help the sensations produced in his gut by the ground-hugging flight.
“Ten minutes to target,” Angel 6 reported, breaking the long silence that filled the Omega Team’s headsets.
“Green 6, this is Green 9. Is it too late for me to tell you I need to use the restroom?” came Jackson’s familiar voice.
The soldiers of Omega all laughed, grateful for Jackson’s levity in the situation, as the constant banking and maneuvering from the flight induced high levels of stress.
“Green 9, this is Green 6, just know if you poop on yourself, we will never forget it,” Christopher returned, laughing loudly into his headset.
“Five minutes,” Angel 6 said.
The smile on Christopher’s face quickly faded as he saw the bright flash of red against the pitch-black backdrop of the horizon and the streaking red tracer racing toward Jackson and the Omega members aboard Angel 64’s bird.
“We’ve been radar locked, inbound missile,” Angel 64 shouted frantically across the radio.
The explosion blinded Christopher temporarily as his night-vision optics reset to protect his eyes from the intense light. He felt the heat of the antimissile flares Angel 6 released to protect their helo from being targeted. He watched helplessly out the opened back ramp of his Chinook as Angel 64 fought to keep his helicopter from hitting the valley below.
“We’re hit. This is Angel 64. We are going down. I say again, we are going down.” Christopher heard Angel 64 calling out grid coordinates and then a loud crash.
“Go, go, go, get down there,” Angel 6 screamed at Christopher as they were now over the target location.
In mere seconds Christopher had fast roped the sixty feet down to the flat earthen rooftop as he looked up to see Angel 6 popping flares and lifting off into the void of the night. He didn’t have time to think of what happened to Jackson and the others as shots from the street below began ringing across the rooftop.
“Move,” Christopher shouted to the five other men on the roof with him. He switched on the thermal identifier mode on his night-vision optics and called out, “Thermals on,” over his radio to ensure everyone was in the proper setting.
As they made their way to the safety of a staircase leading to the main level below, Christopher’s augmented-reality eye-protection glasses provided a heads-up display of the radiation levels in the surrounding environment. The last thing they needed was to get overexposed and succumb to radiation poisoning. “Barnes, get the quick reaction force spun up and heading our way,” he ordered. “We’re going to
need them.” He was fighting panic with all his might. He told himself over and over again, Focus on the task at hand. There is nothing you can do for Jackson but finish the mission.
“The quick reaction force is en route,” Barnes reported. “ETA forty-five minutes.”
“Okay, form up and let’s get this dirtbag for our teammates,” Christopher ordered.
As Christopher’s team started down the staircase to the main level, two men holding AK-47s appeared as bright silhouettes in his night-vision optics. Christopher’s point man called out “two targets down” over the radio as he watched the men fall to the ground. Two questions remained: Where was Zardari? And where were the nuclear materials? Christopher only hoped Zardari had not fled.
Entry to the main floor of the target house was blocked by a thin wooden door, but it seemed to be barricaded by something on the opposite side. Breaching the door was required.
“Breacher up. I want you to blow that door open, and we will clear the room.” Christopher directed the soldier who was moving past the stacked-up team on the stairwell toward the door.
“Roger,” the breaching soldier acknowledged.
“Two targets street side,” came a shout across the radio, followed by two suppressed M4 rifle shots from soldiers stacked along the wall with Christopher.
“Get us inside now!” Christopher shouted.
A loud crack and a flash of white light came from the bottom of the stairwell. Christopher and his team flowed through the expanded doorway like water pouring into a cup. As Christopher entered the room as the last man in the stack, he saw six armed men on the ground, having given their all in defense of Zardari.
“Form up, and let’s clear the ground floor,” Christopher directed, watching his trained team prepare to make their way down a short set of stairs to an open family room.
The quiet that filled the pitch-black house as Omega moved was broken only by a distant dog’s barking somewhere in the village. The family room was empty but had a small alcove across from the staircase. Christopher saw from his integrated thermal optics that the point man had identified a significant heat signature in the nook. Christopher signaled to clear the room, watching three soldiers creep toward the alcove entrance across a sizeable Persian rug.
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