To experience the same pain and injuries he had.
His best friend, Theo, had been with him for a few years in the same battalion, his skills as a medic keeping a number of their brothers alive.
But even Theo, the most optimistic man on the planet, had decided to step away. After a late night discussion on a cliff face many miles away, his friend had spoken about giving back to the community and had made good on his word.
Theo was now running a youth centre in London, helping under privileged kids stay on the right path. Maybe that was Sam’s next move? Give back. Lucy had suggested becoming a police officer, which did hold an appeal.
Before he could follow that train of thought any further, Wallace stepped into the camp, decked out in his camouflage uniform, the jacket done up to the top and a cap squeezed over his large, bald skull.
‘Attention,’ he barked, and the entire strike force turned silent. ‘Our target is located in the facility two miles north. Abdullah Bin Akbar. One of the Taliban’s chief officers. We are expecting a small team, heavily armed. Shoot to kill and do it swiftly. In and out, gentlemen.’
The large man stepped out from the tent, walking proudly beside Wallace and staring at them all without a hint of hesitation. Wallace continued.
‘This is Ahmad Farukh. An Afghanistan Secret Service Officer who has offered us valuable intel on Bin Akbar. He will be riding with me. Any questions?’
No one ever had any questions.
The orders were clear. Storm the base and eliminate all targets.
‘Good.’ Wallace nodded. ‘Let’s go.’
The squadron lifted their rifles, secured any further weapons to their persons, and began to march. Sam was one of six men selected for the operation.
Project Hailstorm.
Wallace had picked the name himself, comparing his ambition with a mighty storm that would destroy the Taliban intelligence chain. But the soldiers, in their quarters, had mocked the decision, claiming that Wallace just wanted a cool sounding name for when the mission was over. Sam didn’t care.
When the mission was finally over, he would be going home.
Back to Lucy.
To begin their life together again.
The two-mile walk through the dark, uneven terrain was done in silence, with the three American soldiers taking point, while Sam and two others covered them. Further behind, Wallace, Sims, and the terrifying Farukh followed, flanked by two further gunmen. As they approached the facility, Sam began to absorb as much detail as he could.
It had always been part of his training, to take in his surroundings, to memorise as many factors as possible.
It made him deadly.
The stone structure was shrouded in darkness, the shadows covering as much stone as the moon above would allow. There was no sign of light, or life, and Sam began to question whether a Taliban outpost would be left so vulnerable.
Out front, a rusty old car was parked, hardly the transport a wealthy militia would afford.
Something didn’t sit right.
In unison, the six soldiers lowered their night vision goggles, and Sam squinted as the building was bathed in the bright green glow. Ahead of him, two of his squadron raced across the stones, keeping low, their M4 Carbine rifles held at the ready. With one covering, the other slid a combat knife into the tyre of the vehicle, rendering it useless.
Beyond the car, an Arabic cry filled the air.
The covering soldier stood tall, rifle clasped against his shoulder, eye on the sight.
He pulled the trigger, and an instant flash rocketed from the end of his gun. The oncoming man dropped to the ground, riddled with bullets.
Shoot to kill. Without hesitation.
The same as the other missions in Project Hailstorm.
Suddenly, a few flashes of white appeared from the darkness of the windows, as bullets flew from the building towards the squadron.
‘Open fire,’ Wallace demanded, and the other soldiers raised their rifles, unloading the clips without mercy at the building. A few more men raced out, hands in the air, but were met with bullets.
Surrendering or holding explosives, it didn’t matter.
Wallace wanted them eradicated.
After a few more moments, the scene fell deathly silent and the two soldiers by the vehicle began to circle the building to the right-hand side, while Sam’s squadron took the left. The crunch of gravel underfoot echoed loudly through the eerie silence, and as Sam watched his fellow soldiers round the building, he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.
Something wasn’t right, and Sam had dedicated his life to doing the right thing.
Quickly, Sam clambered through one of the paneless windows of the structure and entered the dark, unknown layout of the building. The corridors were illuminated in a pale green, his goggles affording him sight as he slowly drew his rifle up, taking careful steps towards the exit of the room. In his earpiece, he could hear Wallace demanding an update and knew it was only a matter of time before his absence was noticed.
Outside the building, he heard another burst of machine gun fire and confirmation of two more dead in a thick, Texan accent. Sam stepped into the corridor, the stone walls were bare, and the building resembled a tomb more than it did a terrorist outpost.
There were no soldiers.
No plans. No equipment.
No sign of the Taliban.
Quickly, Sam made his way through the corridor, ignoring the fury of Wallace who was demanding he return to base, as word had got round that he’d gone rogue.
Sam turned a corner, flicking his rifle up and down, ensuring the coast was clear, before he descended the dusty, stone staircase. He stepped off the bottom step, dropped to one knee, and whipped the rifle to his eyeline.
His finger resting on the trigger.
‘Please. Don’t shoot.’
The man stood ten feet away, his arms splayed out to his side. Behind them, a frail woman cowered, along with two young children. Their faces were wet with tears and Sam stood, lowering his rifle.
These were no Taliban soldiers.
It was a terrified family, trying their best to hide.
‘Who are you?’ Sam demanded, his mind
