Combat Ops

FOURTEEN

That night after dinner I agonized over an e-mail to Matt Beasley’s parents. I would send the message once the Army notified them of his death. He’d never married and was an only child, but he stayed in close contact with his mom and dad, who still lived in Detroit. I’d written letters like that before, but this one was particularly hard because of the admiration and respect I’d had for the man and because of the growing futility — and anger — I felt about the mission.

He died for something. I must’ve told myself that a million times. He died while protecting his comrades. I was citing him for a Silver Star for distinguished gallantry in action against an enemy. That had to be enough. But it wasn’t. My bitterness only made me feel more guilty.

I wanted to get drunk. I knew Harruck had some booze, but I wouldn’t go to him now. I even entertained the idea of paying Bronco a visit to see if he had anything stashed.

The boys were going over our gear with a fine-toothed comb. We were heading out for the big show. Guns would boom. Grenades would burst apart. Blood would spill.

That first chopper that’d come in had brought medical supplies and was not scheduled to pick up Beasley’s body. A second Chinook finally landed at sundown, and the transfer went off with a very brief prayer service. Warris was there. He never met my gaze.

Now, while we prepared to saddle up, Brown came over as I was packing magazines. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, sir.”

“Second thoughts?”

“Not about the mission or being short one man. It’s just… we were talking while you were on the computer. No one wants to see you take any more heat.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s part of my job description. They create officers so they know who to hang when the mission goes down the toilet. I live in the fire. We all do. If Zahed’s got some tunnels he’s using to move troops forward so they can attack our defenses, then it’s our job to find them and destroy them. It’s a nobrainer. We’re not just out here to get payback for Matt.”

“I know. And I don’t want to piss you off, but you keep saying this could all be pretty straightforward, and they keep telling us it ain’t that simple.”

I hardened my gaze. “Maybe we just have to open our eyes a little more and stop convincing ourselves that this is so complex. What if it’s not? What if these people are just playing us all for fools? Turning us against each other, so they can get what they want? Maybe… it’s as simple as that.”

He shrugged.

Yes, I was trying to convince myself more than him. He didn’t buy it, and really, neither did I. But we needed to trick ourselves into thinking it was good guys versus bad guys, especially in the hours before we committed. If we started thinking about the millions of dominoes we might kick over with every move, we’d become paralyzed.

I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for having my back. You always do.”

He gave a slight nod. “What’s the plan to get off the base?”

I beamed at him. “We’re Ghosts. I think we can come up with something.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

At about two A.M. we piled into a Hummer and drove straight for the main gate. I had no clever plan. I just told the sentries we were relieving a security detail at the construction site. I showed him the fake credentials that identified us as regular Army personnel. We weren’t on the guy’s list. I argued. At the sound of my first four-letter word, we got ushered through. It wasn’t as glamorous as sneaking off the base, but it did work.

Or at least I’d thought it had.

After we left, the son-of-a-bitch guard called the XO, who in turn woke up Harruck.

We left the truck and driver at the edge of the construction site and talked to the rifle squad posted there. I told them we were on a classified operation but if they heard gunfire and explosions, they were welcome to join us. The sergeant in charge grinned and said, “Is it bring your own beer?”

“Hell, no. We supply everything.”

He smiled. “I like the way you guys roll.”

We hustled off into the desert, the sand billowing into our eyes, the sky a deep blue-black sweeping out over a moonless night.

The foothills lay directly ahead, cast in deep silhouette, and I strained to see the tunnel entrances that Treehorn so fervently believed were there.

At the base of the first hill, with our boots digging deeply into the soft, dry earth, Ramirez called for a sudden halt, and then we dropped to our bellies, tucking in tightly along a meandering depression. Someone was approaching.

Actually two figures.

I whispered into my boom mike to activate my Cross-Com. The hills lit up a phosphorescent green as the HUD appeared and the unit made contact with our satellite. Within the next two seconds my entire team was identified by green diamonds and blood types via their Green Force Tracker chips.

So, too, were the two men approaching, and I gave a deep sigh as I read the names. Warris had come along with a private, probably his driver.

“Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Friendlies approaching. Hold fire.”

“Roger that,” said Ramirez. “But are you sure about that?”

I grimaced over the remark, but yeah, I understood how he felt.

Warris, unbeknownst to me, was wearing a Cross-Com and had linked to our channel. He’d been clever enough to research the access codes. He’d heard Ramirez’s remark and suddenly said, “Ghost Team, this is Captain Warris. I’m coming up. And if I were you, I’d be sure about holding fire.”

Ramirez shifted over to me, covered his boom mike, and issued a curse.

I saw his curse and raised him two.

Warris, crouched over, slipped up to the depression and dropped down beside us, with his private doing likewise.

“Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Turn off your Cross-Coms and huddle up.”

They immediately complied. I didn’t want anything recorded at this point.

“How you doing, Scott?” my former trainee began, as though he were about to offer me a beer. I sensed, though, that he was speaking through clenched teeth.

“What’s up, Fred?”

“Harruck sent me out here to relieve you of command and bring the team home.”

I pretended I didn’t hear him. “Maybe we shouldn’t’ve slipped off the base, but you know what? I’m just too lazy and just don’t care anymore. We’re heading up to find, fix, and destroy the enemy. We’ve got enough actionable intel to justify this raid. If we let ’em keep moving in and doing overwatch of our construction site, they’ll set up their offensive, and all of Harruck’s work will go to hell. So you need to go back now and tell him that. Tell him we’re out here to save his ass.”

“You can tell him yourself. We’ll contact him right now.”

“I don’t have time for this—”

“Captain, I’m here to relieve you of command.”

“Okay, but can you give me about an hour?”

Warris’s voice came in a stage whisper, but he would’ve shouted if he could: “This is serious shit, asshole! I’m relieving you of command!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Ramirez, butting in and ignoring my glare. “But we don’t recognize your authority here, nor will we obey your orders.”

“You think you speak for the rest of them?” Warris asked.

Ramirez looked at the others. “Oh, yes, sir. I know I do. We won’t follow you. Trust me.”

I shook my head. “Freddy, the problem is you’re trying to play by the book with people that don’t exist.”

He looked lost for a second, then said, “I’m not going anywhere.”