Chapter Eight
Asadabad, Kunar Province, Afghanistan
“Three minutes out,” the Afghan pilot called out over comms in English.
He reached down and ran his fingers over the six mags in his chest rig.
“Copy,” he replied. “Do you have a visual?”
“Affirmative. I have visual on IR strobe. Raptor says the landing area is clear.”
Raptor was the call sign for the MC-12W Liberty twin-engine turboprop with electro-optical infrared sensors providing ISR to the assault force and the Zero Unit close target reconnaissance team already on the ground.
Walker removed the headset that connected him to the pilots and put on his Peltors and Ops-Core helmet, switching on the four-banger NODs before leaning over to Staub.
“About two minutes,” he shouted over the roar of the rotors. “Pilot has visual.”
Staub nodded and tapped the Afghan commando next to him.
“Two minutes,” he shouted to their terp, Ali, who passed the information in Pashto on the Afghan inner squad radio frequency.
The tan, brown, and green painted bird was one of two, each carrying fifteen Afghan commandos and two Americans toward their insert.
All wore desert tiger-stripe uniforms with the black, red, and green flag of Afghanistan on one shoulder and their unit flag, consisting of a shield with crossed swords and wings, on the other.
They were similarly kitted out in plate carriers, body armor, mags and mag pouches, blow-out kits, and radios.
They each carried the ubiquitous black M4 rifle.
All wore black balaclavas to cover their faces.
Revenge, after all, was a concept deeply rooted in Pashtun culture.
They would land in a clearing and meet up with an element from the Afghan surveillance and reconnaissance unit that would lead them the ten kilometers to the target, where the other half of the surveillance team had eyes on the target building, the house Naji had taken photos and video of weeks earlier.
Naji had sold a large, expensive Tabriz rug to a courier for Hamid Abrar, the Haqqani commander who controlled the Taliban resupply routes in Waziristan.
A miniature sensor developed by specialists from the Agency’s Office of Technical Service had been woven into the fabric, tracking back to Abrar’s suspected safe house outside of Asadabad.
It had been proven to be a valuable asset.
The helos touched down moments later, unloaded the assault force and then once again clawed skyward, vanishing into the darkness as the teams formed hasty perimeters.
“Raptor, this is Viking, how are we looking?” Walker said into his mic as he pressed down on the transmit button of his radio that was linked with their overhead ISR asset.
“Viking, Raptor, you are clear. We’ll be with you all the way.”
“Good copy.”
Walker turned to Staub and Ali.
“Looking good. Let them know.”
Most of the Zero Unit operators spoke English, but using an interpreter was still the most effective way to communicate. Having a trusted and tactically savvy terp like Ali had become invaluable.
“Yes, sir. Moving out,” Ali said after a brief exchange with the Zero Unit commander.
After all these years of conflict, each Zero Unit operated as a finely tuned instrument.
As they were ostensibly an independent host nation force, they did not have the red tape attached to missions that most of the U.S.
military did. When night raids were curtailed by the American flag officers in favor of a kinder and gentler approach to counterinsurgency, an approach that put the tactical-level soldiers at higher risk, the Zero Units could still operate with impunity, guided by the technical intelligence of the CIA.
Walker and Staub would advise the assault element while two other Agency GB contractors would advise the blocking and containment element.
Nate was a former Marine sniper turned cop turned GB operator, call sign Psycho, while Dave was a retired sergeant major out of Delta Force, call sign Grouper. They had all worked together for years.
The Americans each wore two radios, one linked to the Zero Unit tactical frequency and one tuned to their own so they could communicate in English to coordinate command and control without stepping on the Afghans’ communications.
“Let’s go,” Walker said to Ali, who whispered to the Zero Unit commander.
A brief exchange in Pashto was communicated over the radio, and the two elements moved toward the tree line to link up with their recon unit.
They all knew their mission. They had done it a thousand times.
The team would be able to cover the ten klicks to the target quickly with overhead ISR. Two Zero Unit recon team members had stayed on target to ensure that Abrar was still inside.
They would provide a quick update when the ground force arrived.
Then Team One would assault the house while Team Two held security, with Nate and his snipers moving onto predetermined rooftops and Dave managing the overall blocking and containment.
Walker and Staub would enter the building with the assault team.
If things went sideways, a Marine combat outpost thirty klicks to the southwest was on standby as a QRF.
Walker felt at home in the Afghan mountains at night.
The stars were the brightest he had ever seen.
He found himself thinking of the armies that had marched through Afghanistan over the centuries under these same stars, from Genghis Khan to Alexander the Great to the Brits, the Soviets, and now the Americans.
Afghanistan had the ill fortune of being geographically vital to moving goods through Central Asia.
That curse had resulted in a culture in which war was a constant.
Ideally, they would make a surreptitious entry, grab Abrar out of his bed, patrol to a nearby field, and call in the helos for extract. The problem with the plan, as with every plan, was that the enemy got a vote.
Walker was also worried that Naji would be burned with this mission coming so close on the heels of his association with Abrar and his courier.
That could not be helped now. When they got back, Walker would make the pitch to get Naji and his family out of Afghanistan.
The flip side of being useful was that the Agency would want you to keep being useful.
Intel indicating that Abrar served as the liaison between compromised elements of the Pakistani intelligence service, the ISI, and Taliban military commanders was overwhelming.
The intent of the operation was to snatch Abrar and interrogate him in the Salt Pit.
Zero Unit interrogators were not under the same constraints as were officers and contractors of the CIA.
Abrar could provide valuable insights into how high the ISI was compromised and into the active militant cells in this geographic division of the Haqqani network. He was a big catch.
Even in the darkness, the force covered ground quickly.
Without the recon element guiding them and the overhead ISR asset to clear their path, they would have been lucky to make it before sunup.
With those advantages, they patrolled quickly.
Even with M4s and decked out with the latest and greatest technical hardware available, and with Rhodesian vests loaded with grenades, smokes, extra magazines, body armor, NODs, trauma kits, and water, they were not quite as light as the enemy they fought, but they were lighter and faster than any other allied force on the battlefield.
The exceptions were Nate’s snipers, who carried the heavier 7. 62 autoloading rifles.
At the edge of the village, the point and command element dropped behind a rusting Soviet-era bus, the steel frame giving off the oily scent of decades-old diesel.
Ali entered and conferred with two members of the recon team using it as a hide site. He exited moments later.
“Abrar is still in the compound. No movement for the past couple hours.”
“All right, let’s do this,” Walker said, checking once again with the air asset above, confirming all was quiet on the objective.
Nate and his snipers moved out to two nearby rooftops, giving them a commanding view of the compound and surrounding area.
“This is Psycho. Both overwatch elements in position.”
“Roger, Psycho,” Walker replied.
“Three, in position,” came Dave’s whisper in their headsets. Containment was set.
Walker double-clicked his mic, then looked to Staub, who was conferring with Ali and the Zero Unit squadron commander.
“How’s that door looking?” Walker asked.
“We’ll soon find out. Going to try to avoid going kinetic and waking up the neighborhood.”
Walker nodded. Nice and quiet.
Staub moved past Walker and peered around the bus, eyes tracing the contours of the compound’s entrance.
“Ready?” Walker asked Ali.
The interpreter and the Afghan commander conferred briefly in hushed tones.
“Ready,” the interpreter confirmed.
The breaching element moved across the street through the darkness, the point man passing the entrance and holding security down the street while the next man went to the gate, a set of lockpicks already in hand.
The explosive breacher was prepared with a charge just behind him.
Assaulters were stacked and ready to flow into the structure.
Including the Americans and the surveillance element, they had thirty-eight operators on the ground, ISR above, two helos ready for extraction, and a QRF on standby. They had stacked the odds in their favor, choosing the time and place of the engagement. Now, if they could just stay dark and quiet.
“Moving,” Walker said.
The two Americans ran across the street, the hard-packed dirt absorbing the sound of their footsteps. At the wall they joined the assault stack in the shadows. A lone dog barked in the distance, then fell silent.
I wish we had dogs on these ops, Walker thought. That was one of the negative cultural nuances of working with the Zero Units: no dogs.