Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3) (26 page)

Chapter 75

The Afghan president stood
behind an ornate podium, gazing out at the press before him with a warm
greeting that was the complete opposite of what he truly felt. He had heeded
the advice of his military advisors and decided to hold this press conference
in the safety of the room where he typically addressed the country.

The reporters had bitched
to no end about being arrayed around him on a street corner after his last
press event. It’s true, he thought. He had made a hell of a target for a car
bombing, but he was disgusted by the fact that they were more worried about
their own deaths than doing their duty to save the country by calming the fears
of the terrified people.

They’re self-interested,
spoiled troublemakers, he thought. And not for the first time. Yet he smiled at
them with as genuine a smile as he could summon. The smile was not for them,
but for the people who might see it on their TVs or at cafes in the city.

But despite his lack of
regard for the press, he was feeling much better about the security situation
since the report from the military. The Taliban had made their play and been
promptly stomped.

“I’m here to announce that
Afghan government forces have routed Taliban insurgents occupying a hill
outside Kabul. Our army coordinated artillery and mortar fire to obliterate the
Taliban positions, which were quickly seized afterward.”

He smiled and nodded to
some light applause.

“My message to the Afghan
people is that the Taliban cannot stand up to our military. Our heavy weapons
and the courageous actions of our troops will always carry the battlefield.
Furthermore, today’s military action proved once and for all that our forces do
not need American assistance.

“As I stated before the
fight, I will not allow American forces to operate in our country again. While
we are appreciative of their efforts through the years, we can now stand on our
own two feet thanks to their help. Our forces are well-led, well-supplied, and
well-armed. But more importantly, they are more diligent and careful.

“I don’t believe for one
second that Afghan pilots would have lit up that compound as the American
Apaches did. And can we blame them? This isn’t the Americans’ country. They’re
mere soldiers, wanting to survive our war so they can return home safely to
their families.

“Our soldiers are more
prudent. They recognize the local soldiers on the ground. They know the
families in each town. They operate with more discretion. I’m aware that some
advisors advocate allowing American troops to operate again. I’m even aware
that some of our residents feel the same way.

“But I have carefully
reflected on my decision and concluded once more that our forces are prepared
to handle all security operations in our country. As a matter of fact, I have
ordered another army battalion to deploy from Kabul to take up the pursuit of
these Taliban survivors. And with that, I’ll take a few questions.”

Chapter 76

Nick, Marcus, and the
Primary Strike Team watched the president’s speech the very moment it was
uploaded online by a local news organization. It didn’t merit coverage by CNN
or any English-speaking stations, so Lana Haider translated, pausing the video
every couple of moments as she relayed the remarks.

Once it ended, Nick
glanced at Marcus and said, “Let’s go call Mr. Smith.”

Through the magic of
electricity and a working air conditioner plus a few fans, they had managed to
get one of the three offices cool and well-lit enough to inspect. And with the
help of a selfless (while also maybe not completely informed) volunteer willing
to check the room for any vermin, they now had a usable, though still nasty,
office space. Red had only screamed a little, but he had sworn over and over
again that he’d just been a little startled. He also repeatedly mumbled that
he’d never seen a rat as big as a dog before.

Truck
had laughed, snorting a
bit, and asked, “Afraid of a big bad wolf, little Red?”

Red’s eyes had widened as
he quickly turned to face the big man. A vein had bulged from his cocked neck,
and Lana and Preacher had managed to grab him, while Truck rocked back and
forth on his heels, tearing up at his own joke.

Soon after, Nick and
Marcus walked into the one rat-free office inside the warehouse. While Nick
worked the satellite phone to make a connection, Marcus leaned his M4 against
the wall and started a set of push-ups.

Nick propped his boots on
a metal desk that had to be fifty years old.

“I can’t believe you’re
doing push-ups on this nasty floor,” Nick said while the phone attempted to
connect.

The phone usually took
between fifteen to forty-five seconds to connect.

“I’ve got my gloves on,”
Marcus said, stilling going up and down with ease.

“Still,” Nick replied.
“This place is moldy as hell.”

“Probably no worse than
the damn trailer you lived in back in East Tennessee,” Marcus quipped.

“I never lived in any
trailer,” Nick snapped back. “Now quit stereotyping the good people of
Appalachia before headquarters realizes how much insubordination I allow.”

“Headquarters is already
listening,” Mr. Smith replied, “but I’m glad Marcus brought it up because I
have been dying to ask how you all manage without indoor plumbing and
electricity. Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get lost, Nick. So let me
rephrase that: I’ve been dying to ask how y’all manage, I mean.”

Marcus climbed to his feet
and dusted off his gloves.

Nick shook his head.
“Mocking a poor and humble people,” Nick tsked. “But I guess I can’t say the
behavior is all that surprising coming from a holier-than-thou,
college-educated, and somehow still insecure New Englander.”

“Aww.” Marcus cooed. “It’s
really sweet how close the two of you are becoming.”

Then Mr. Smith and Nick
both cleared their throats at the same time. But before Marcus could jab them
again on how adorable their synchronicity was, Mr. Smith managed to speak up
and move the conversation along.

“All in good jest,” Mr.
Smith said. “Now back to the matter at hand, what’s the latest on your end?”

“Did you see the press
conference?” Nick asked.

“I did, and I was lucky
enough to have an interpreter in my office.”

“You’re slipping,” Nick
said. “I figured you would’ve had someone steal you a copy of the speech before
he ever said the words.”

“I did,” Mr. Smith said.
“But I wanted to make sure he stuck to it.”

“Nice,” Marcus said.

“Thankfully, we have
several great sources in his administration, which would be even better if they
actually knew anything about the upcoming Taliban attack.”

“So you’ve gotten nothing
new?” Nick asked.

“If I had anything, I
would have called. I’m not even sure the Pakistani ISI know the details of when
or where. Just that it was originally going to happen in July, and now it’s
being pushed up because they fear we have too much of the plan’s details on
their servers.”

“If Pakistani intelligence
doesn’t know,” Marcus said, “then we’re not going to find out. They practically
work hand-in-hand with the Taliban and Rasool Deraz.”

“I’ve been trying,” Mr.
Smith said, “to lean on our assets in ISI and in the Pakistani government, but
I’m not getting much. Partly because they don’t have much. And partly because
it’s hard as hell to secure informants in either organization, so when we get
someone inside, their handler within the CIA becomes incredibly protective of
releasing something that might lead to our informant’s death.”

“What about the second
battalion the president has deployed,” Marcus said. “Are they in contact with
the enemy?”

“They have no idea where
the Taliban is,” Mr. Smith said. “We’re monitoring all their radio traffic.”

“Maybe it’s just a PR
stunt,” Nick suggested. “Maybe he’s not actually deploying another battalion.”

“Oh, if only that were
true,” Mr. Smith said. “No, he’s in the process of deploying a second battalion
to the front. In his defense, he doesn’t realize his generals are afraid to
admit that they have no idea where the Taliban fled. In the after-report, they
told him they had seized the hill and were in pursuit of the survivors. A mere
single sentence in their report. But he grabbed onto that sentence and ran with
it, completely oblivious to the fact that the exhausted Afghan troops were wearily
resting on top of the hill once they finally reached it.”

“So, he’s taken this
report and imagined his army ruthlessly hunting the Taliban down?” Marcus
asked.

“Precisely,” Mr. Smith
said.

“You can’t make this crap
up,” Marcus said, shaking his head in disgust.

“I’m afraid it’s even
worse. The Department of Defense tried to tell the Afghan president the truth.
The DOD was worried about the Afghan Armed Forces moving that second battalion
out of Kabul since we believe the Taliban is set to strike the capital, and
soon.”

“I bet that went well,”
Nick said.

“Like a ton of bricks,”
Mr. Smith said. “The American general attached to his office even showed him
drone footage of his troops resting on the hill. Plus, it showed definitive
proof that no Taliban were in the area, and it even clearly showed that Afghan
troops weren’t in pursuit.”

“He didn’t trust the video
from the battle?” Marcus asked.

“No, he said his generals
would never lie to him, and that he’d never trust an American over a fellow
Afghan. He thinks the footage is doctored or completely made up. He thinks the
U.S. is only saying this so our forces will be allowed to
operate again. Even claims we’re trying to stir up fear and panic among the
people so our forces can stay longer.”

Nick looked
at Marcus. Neither knew what to say.

“Bottom
line, communication is worse than ever between the U.S. and Afghanistan.
They’re not going to listen to us anytime soon. It’s all about China and Iran
now. We’re even hearing word that top Iranian military advisors will be
arriving in Kabul in the coming days.”

“There may
not be a city for them to land in,” Marcus said.

“Not
according to the Afghan president,” Mr. Smith said. “He seems to no longer have
any fear of major attacks. His most recent internal emails state that the fight
on the hill was the Taliban’s big stand. Their ‘big thrust into Kabul,’ as he
terms it. And this main force was destroyed and run off the hill. Decisively,
according to him.”

“He thinks
an ambush by a platoon-sized element was their main attack?” Marcus asked
incredulously.

“He’s in
denial and not thinking straight. Plus, he has terrible advisors. Most of whom
want us gone so they can continue doing whatever they want without an ounce of
oversight.”

Chapter 77

Nick briefed
his Primary Strike Team with the latest news from Mr. Smith. The office was
small, but all six of them managed to cram inside without too much discomfort.

“I can’t
believe this dumbass president thinks that little ambush was the main attack,”
Red said.

“Or that
he’d send another battalion outside the capital to pursue them,” Lana added,
flipping her braided hair over her shoulder. “I’d tell him how stupid that was,
but I’m not sure he’s smart enough to take advice from a woman.”

“In fairness
to Islam,” Preacher said, “if you were a brand-new Christian who had just
started reading the Old Testament, you wouldn’t feel much different about
women.”

“Let’s stay
focused,” Nick said. “We know that the major attack from the Taliban is coming.
Their final move after ten-plus years of positioning. And we know we have no
American air power or land forces that can be used. And we know the Afghan
president isn’t fearing any attack, having sent two of the best battalions of
his army out to deal with a minor ambush. On the flip side, we know an attack
is about to happen, and we need solutions. Like now.”

No one said
anything for a moment.

“Any
chance,” Truck asked, “we could ship in a couple M-1A1 tanks? Then it wouldn’t
matter what they tried. They’re not blowing those damn things up without IEDs,
and with paved streets in the capital, that’s not happening in Kabul.”

“Motherfucking
Truck always asking for something big to drive,” Red said. “You only feel safe
behind a couple feet of armor, right?”

“Guys,”
Marcus snapped, stopping any slap-fight before it happened.

“I was
serious,” Truck said, shrugging in his defense.

“It’s a
great idea,” Nick said, “but there are no M1’s in Afghanistan right now, and I
don’t see the Air Force flying us any in.”

“Not to
mention,” Lana said, “the Afghan president wants all American troops and
equipment out. He’s not going to let anyone bring any back in either.”

“I hate this
waiting,” Nick said. “Surely there’s something we can do. I really want to hit
them before they make their move and catch both us and the Afghan government by
surprise.”

“Lana,”
Marcus asked, “you picking anything up in their papers or on the internet
forums?”

“I’ve read
the local papers from front to back, looking for any clues or possible signals
buried in stories or ads, and found nothing,” Lana replied. “And I just came
back from the internet cafe for the second time today and things are remarkably
quiet on the jihadi forums online.”

“That scares
me even more,” Nick said. “They always get quiet right before they do something
big. And with how much crap they’re usually spewing out, it can’t be an
accident.”

“I’ve been
following this internet forum traffic for years,” Lana said, “especially when I
was with the CIA, and it’s really odd. All of the Taliban’s websites and forums
are deathly silent. No threats of removing the Afghan president. No claims of a
future uprising. Nothing.”

“Argh, and
this attack’s coming down soon,” Nick said. “I can practically feel it.”

He clenched
his fists and sighed, looking at each Primary Strike Team member for any other
suggestions.

“So, no one
has any bright ideas on what we can do other than wait?” Nick asked. “No
proactive measures we can take or any way we can take the fight to them?”

No one said
a word. Lana shrugged, Red and Truck looked down, and Marcus said, “I’ve
already told you I’m out of ideas.”

Nick cursed.
“Then we’ll go with S3’s number one backup plan when you don’t know what to
do.”

“What’s
that?” Lana asked.

“Ah, shit,”
Truck said. “I think I know.”

“Hell,
yeah,” Red said with a smile.

“Lana, go
get the four policemen and ask them where the most dangerous part of Kabul is,”
Nick said.

“I’m still
confused,” she said, furrowing her dark eyebrows.

“It’s
Neza-Chalco-Itza all over again,” Red said, acting like a giddy little boy.

“What’s Neza-Chalco-Itza?”
she asked, struggling to pronounce it.

“It’s the
largest slum in Mexico, where the Godesto Cartel was primarily operating from,”
Preacher explained. “When we weren’t really sure what to do when S3 was in
Mexico, we decided to go into their base city. A place where the police never
went.”

“In
fairness,” Nick said, “that didn’t turn out so well. We lost a lot of good
people. Even Preacher took some lead.”

He looked at
Preacher and said, “Sorry again about that. But this time, we’ll leave the
light trucks here and take the MRAPs and heavy weapons. If the Taliban or any
of their sympathizers want to play, we’ll play. And maybe we’ll stumble into
their main attack or force them to launch early or show their hand.”