Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3) (32 page)

Chapter 95

Nick ran
back to the front of his MRAP in the center of the 180 and climbed in it.

“Squad
leaders,” he shouted into the radio, “we need to load up and get the hell out
of here! Squad members, get back to your MRAPs.”

As they
acknowledged the order, Nick stepped out of the MRAP and slung a smoke grenade
toward the tanks.

“Give me
more smoke on the left side,” he radioed. “And to the front, toward the
apartment buildings.”

Several more
smoke canisters popped on the left and spewed thick smoke across the street.
Two yellows and one green. And to their front, a red and white smoke bellowed
up.

The rate of
fire from the Taliban escalated as the return fire from S3 diminished, and as
the Taliban sensed their departure. Nick knew they were taking more casualties
by the minute.

“Open up
with those .50s more!” Nick screamed into the radio.

The .50s
picked up their rate of fire.

“1st Squad
loaded up and accounted for,” their squad leader said.

Confirmations
filled the radio while others hurriedly asked questions on the net.

“Is Scott in
the second MRAP?”

“Where’s
Murdock?”

And on and
on, but soon all men were accounted for. Nick radioed with strong command in
his voice, “Peel off, head right, and take the first left you can to get us out
of the line of fire. Absolutely full speed.”

The MRAPs
bolted from their position, tank rounds exploding behind them.

“We’re hit!”
screamed the squad leader in the last MRAP directly behind Nick.

“Keep moving
if you can,” Nick yelled back into the radio, nodding to Truck who looked to
him for direction. “We can’t stop here.”

“We have
heavy casualties, but MRAP still operational,” came the reply.

“Keep
moving!” Nick reiterated, more panic in his voice than he intended.

There was no
way they could stop to assist more wounded without losing a lot more men. A
LOT.

The four
overcrowded, remaining MRAPs fled the scene and made a quick left to depart the
kill zone as quickly as possible. The last thing Nick saw in his side mirror
was the tanks turning their turrets toward the walls of the presidential
palace.

S3 had never
been the primary target in the first place. It was all about the Arg and the
Afghan government. Nick and his shooters had simply been in the way.

As they turned
the corner, they left behind a burning MRAP, part of Marcus’ legs, and the fate
of a newborn democracy.

Chapter 96

Nick worked
the phones and radios as the MRAPs hurtled toward the warehouse. The rear MRAP
that had taken the tank round had been hit in its troop compartment, which was
terrible for the troops, but allowed it to function at full capacity, thus
enabling the column to retreat murderously fast back toward the warehouse.

The streets
were empty. No Taliban. No civilians. No Afghan forces -- army or police.

It was as if
the entire capital was aware that a power shift was under way.

Nick called
Cormac, his security man at the warehouse, and instructed him to forget trying
to link up in front of the presidential palace, but instead to prepare to help
the unit offload and transport the wounded back to Bagram Airfield.

“I want the
seriously injured in light police trucks, not MRAPs, so that they can get there
as quickly as possible,” Nick said. “Find the best drivers you’ve got. Marcus and
others have serious, life-threatening wounds. Every minute counts, so you
better have those trucks doing about 60 miles per hour.”

“Roger
that,” Cormac said.

Nick hung up
and called Dean, his logistics man at Bagram. He informed him of the change in
plans and the seriously wounded men who’d be coming in shortly.

“Dean, get
ahold of the base commander and have him get their emergency room on full alert
with full staff on hand. And tell the base commander to alert the guards at the
gate. We can’t have any delays getting these guys in. They’ll be coming in
light-green Afghan police trucks. And so help me, if these trucks get searched
for IEDs by the MPs, I’ll have someone’s head. The trucks have been in our
custody the entire time and are clean.”

“Roger that,
boss. Let me start making those calls.”

“And Dean?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Once you’ve
got the base commander alerted, you round up four or five men and be waiting at
the gate. If some dipshit officer doesn’t get the word from the general
not
to
stop the trucks, or still insists on a search of the trucks, you guys draw down
and get those trucks through without delay. Marcus’ life literally depends on
it. And this is a direct order from me, so I’ll take the fall and burn if it
comes to that.”

“Roger that,
Nick. On my life, there won’t be any delay.”

“Thanks,
Dean.”

Nick looked
back in the MRAP and saw Dr. Clayton working on Marcus. She had applied
QuikClot bandages to each leg and had already started an IV of some form of
fluid or blood expander. Preacher held the bag high, so it would drain down
well. The medical regimen was above Nick’s head.

“Dr.
Clayton,” Nick said, “be ready when we get up to the warehouse. There will be
more seriously wounded in that last MRAP from the tank shot.”

She didn’t
look up, but said, “Call the boys at the warehouse and have them gather a stack
of clean T-shirts ready to be used as quick pressure dressings.”

“Will do,”
Nick replied. “And, Red, work your way up here if you can.”

Chapter 97

Nick ended
the call to the warehouse and turned back to see if Red had somehow climbed his
way to the front, over all the troops in the back, in addition to Marcus laid
out in the middle with Dr. Clayton and Preacher hovering over him. In
hindsight, Nick should have brought an extra MRAP or two, as each one was now
incredibly overcrowded after losing the fifth vehicle to the tank shot.

And since
the last overcrowded MRAP in the convoy had taken a shot, as well, Nick’s lack
of planning had probably cost some soldiers their eyesight or limbs. Or
possibly their lives.

There’s not time
for that right now, he told himself. He focused on Red, who had a concerned
look on his face.

“You okay,
boss?”

“I was just
about to ask you the same question,” Nick said.

“Been a hell
of a day, but I’m still keeping it pulled together,” Red replied, not a hint of
humor in his disturbed demeanor.

Nick
motioned Red closer, their helmets now nearly touching. The strain of the
massive diesel engine as they raced down the streets helped cover Nick’s voice.

“Listen,
Red,” he said as softly as he could. “I need you to step up as my number two
man.”

The reality
of the statement seemed to stun Red. Nick saw him start to object.

“No,” Nick
said, glancing back at Marcus in the floor. “I need you, Red. He’s out of it,
and when we get to the warehouse, I can’t get tied up with all the casualties.”

Nick looked
down and swallowed. Fuck. Why did he send Marcus out in front of that tank? He
returned his focus to Red, who was finally beginning to comprehend what he was
being asked to do.

“I’m
serious, Red. If I’m not careful, when we get back, I’ll be overwhelmed with
getting Marcus back to Bagram. And who knows how bad those poor guys are in
that last MRAP,” Nick said, shaking his head. He winced as he imagined the gory
wounds that were certainly in that rear MRAP.

He looked
back at the little guy who had been with him since Mexico. “Red, I can’t get
tied up with the wounded. And I can’t see so much life and limbs lost. It’ll
affect my decision-making. And it pains me to say it, but the entire state of
this country might rest on the decisions I make in the next twenty minutes. Do
you understand?”

Red dipped
his head in acknowledgement, and Nick could see him preparing himself to deal
with the madness and wounded in the last MRAP.

“I’ve got
it, boss,” he said. “As soon as we arrive, get the hell away from the vehicles,
as far as you can, and start working the phones. I won’t let you down.”

Nick nodded
and lightly slapped Red’s helmet twice. He then depressed his radio button and
announced over the net that Red was now the number two man in S3.

Chapter 98

The convoy
roared into the warehouse compound after they were waved through the gates.
Nick jumped from the truck once it stopped and glanced behind him to see the
tremendous amount of damage to the rear MRAP.

Could anyone
have survived? Fuck, those were his men. He took a step in that direction and
slammed right into Red, who had emerged first from the back of their MRAP.

“Get the
fuck out of here!” Red yelled, grabbing his web gear and shaking him. “Go. Get
over there and work the phones.”

Nick shook
his head in assent and turned to walk in the warehouse. Nearly two dozen
security men sprinted by him toward the MRAPs to assist the wounded, who were
being lifted or aided out of vehicles. Nick saw the green police trucks lined
up, ready to roll out.

I’ve done
what I can, he thought. I need to get my ass back in gear and into the fight.
Get in character, Nick.

He picked up
his pace and rushed into the warehouse.

Behind him,
he heard Red yelling.

“Julia,
who’s critical and who’s staying? And, you four, set up a blocking position on
the street. Hurry up! We could’ve had spotters watching our trail.”

Nick glanced
back and saw everyone working together. Wounded were pulled from the rear MRAP;
some got patched up, and others rushed to the waiting trucks, where other S3
members bandaged wounds and helped them remove their gear.

Nick heard
Red’s voice, “Let’s get that ammo out of that vehicle before it cooks off,” he
ordered.

The little
man had transformed into a general. Nick turned a final time, now assured that
everything was being handled as well or better than he could have done. He
jogged into the one cleared office, needing to get all the sounds happening
around him out of his head so he could think clearly again from 10,000 feet,
and not in the weeds.

He galloped
into the nasty, dreary office and slammed the door shut. He yanked his helmet
off and threw it in the corner. It bounced on the dirty, concrete floor. He
pulled the sling of his M4 over his head and plunked his weapon on the desk,
noticing blood all over his sleeves and assault vest. Marcus’ blood.

He plopped
into the chair exhausted, his hands shaking slightly as he picked up the
encrypted phone.

“What’s the
latest?” he asked, forcing his voice to steady.

“Pure
pandemonium. We’ve got a drone up, watching the presidential palace. The tanks
are blasting through the gates, and it’ll be only minutes until they get through.”

Nick updated
him on the fact that not only had they withdrawn, they had also suffered
serious casualties. He
didn’t
mention that one of them was Marcus.

“I don’t
have a full tally on the wounded, but we’ve lost at least a squad of men,” Nick
said. “Maybe two. We’re sending the most critical casualties to Bagram. And
we’ve alerted the base to be ready there.”

“Good,” Mr.
Smith said. “We’ve got some footage that’s just come in and showed what a hell
of a fight you put up. Get your men all accounted for, the wounded taken care
of, and your gear collected. We’ll get you moved back to Bagram and flown out
of there.”

“Wait.
What?” Nick asked, surprised.

“Nick, it’s
over. Like I said, it’s pure pandemonium. This is way above our pay grade now.
The Afghan president fled with his entourage out the rear of the presidential
compound. They’re in a large, hastily assembled convoy racing through the
countryside toward the west. By this time, he’s already outside of Kabul, and
our satellites have intercepted calls that he’s made requesting asylum with
Iran.”

Sweat ran
into Nick’s eyes, stinging. He wiped his sleeve across his face, remembering
too late that his sleeves were soaked in blood.

He fought
down the agitation and said, “This can’t be possible.”

It was too
much to comprehend.

“It’s over,
Nick. We lost. Rasool hasn’t taken over the entire capital, but he and the
Taliban have won and are consolidating their control.”

“What about
the two Afghan army battalions on the outskirts of town?” Nick asked. “They'll
be able to handle this. Especially if we open up with our drones and air
assets.”

“The Afghan
president tried to bring in those two battalions, but they hit heavy opposition
and were blocked. Stopped cold. Rasool had prepared for them.”