Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Get Major Burke on the horn, pronto,” he ordered.

The meeting with the tribal leaders, the local elders, and the Imams had just ended when Major Burke was given his orders. After he ended the transmission with Colonel Edwards, Burke gathered the team to fill them in.

“Okay Razor, we have five HVT’s less than two clicks from us. These guys are all senior management. Birds and fast movers are on the way, but we’re going in first to see if we can grab some of these guys alive. Let’s assume they’ve got a security force so if we’re outgunned we’ll fall back and wait for the flyboys to take them out. Questions?”

“Can we get an eye in the sky, sir?” Bear asked, referring to the UAV’s (Unmanned Aerial Vehicles) known as Predators that had infrared sensors and air-to-ground attack capabilities.

“SOCOM sent one our way, but it was on over watch way down south so we’ll get there first.”

“Understood, sir,” said Bear, knowing that the jets would wipe these guys out before the Predator arrived.

“Okay Razor, mount up and move out,” said Burke.

They climbed into the three armored Humvees and took off, bouncing down the rocky road at fifty miles per hour.

As he was now mandated to communicate with his Pakistani counterparts when operating in the border areas, Colonel Edwards called General Ghulam Mohammed to give him a mission update. He made the call reluctantly. It was common knowledge that a large portion of the Pakistani Army and Intelligence units in this frontier region held strong tribal allegiances to the Taliban and Al Qaeda. Even at the highest levels, security was a key concern.

One minute after Edwards made the call to update General Mohammed an encrypted phone in Aziz Khan’s tunic started vibrating. His eyes narrowed as he read the text message in his native language of Pashto, “Run!”

Aziz jumped up. “A warning from Ghulam. The Americans are coming. Move out quickly. We will take the passage through the mountain. Tariq, your men will cover us.”

“Gladly,” Tariq Hassan hissed through gritted teeth. They all bolted out of the shack. Each of them paused for a second to look at the American armored vehicles in the distance before they turned and quickly ran up the mountainside while Tariq shouted orders to his men.

Each of the three Humvees held four men, except for the lead with Major Burke which carried three. One member of their team, Sergeant John Bishop, had just left the service and rotated back to the States. They were still temporarily a man short.

Burke had been in the Army for seventeen years, all of them in Special Forces. He trained and worked side by side with his men. He trusted them because he knew they were the best. He trusted them because they’d all shed their blood together in battle. His guys were smart, self-motivated, highly skilled warriors, and he loved them all like the sons he never had.

Burke spoke into his mic: “Eyes up for shooters or RPG’s.”

“We’ve got fucking bad guys with AK’s up there on the slopes,” was the quick response from Chief Warrant Officer Bear Bernstein, the second in command who was traveling in the follow vehicle. “Sir, I suggest we lay back until the birds get here,” he added.

Bobby “Tick” Floyd was driving and sitting next to Bear. He chimed in. “Chief we’re driving into a fuckin’ ambush here. Tell the major we need to stop and back up before they hit us.”

“I see ‘em Bear and there’s movement from the target,” Major Burke said. He could see figures running out of the hut less than a quarter of a mile away. They were now driving up a steep hill on a narrow road with high slopes on each side. It was a perfect place for an ambush. He turned to the driver, Sergeant Dan “DC” Collins. “Slow ‘er down DC. We’ll wait for air support.”

“Bobby says we’re about to get hit. We need to stop now and back up, sir,” Bear said.

Major Burke trusted Bobby’s instincts more than his own. He looked over at DC and was about to give the order when they hit the IED (Improvised Explosive Device). The massive explosion lifted the five-ton truck off the ground before it slammed back down, landing in the crater. The Green Beret manning the heavy machine gun on the roof was killed instantly by the blast. Sergeant Collins was more stunned than hurt. He was semi-conscious, but trapped in his seat.

It was the right front tire that hit the mine, detonating directly under Major Burke. Blown out of the passenger door and catapulted skyward, he landed in the middle of the road. His right leg was gone below the hip, his left leg ripped off at the knee. Blood quickly drained out of him from torn arteries spraying from both stumps. Lying on his back Burke’s hands were shaking uncontrollably as he looked up at a cloudless blue sky.

Following fifty feet back, the second Humvee skidded to a stop the instant the lead vehicle hit the IED.

“No! No! No!” Able shouted.

Bobby was on the radio calling for a CASEVAC when one of Aziz’s men with a long tube on his shoulder popped up on the ridgeline above them. Mace was in the gun turret manning the .50 cal. “RPG! RPG!” he shouted, then started blasting away with the heavy machine gun. Mace hit the man low. The rounds shattered shins and knees, ripped through thighs, then gutted him before they blew through his spine and kept right on going. The dying fighter was doubling over when he pulled the trigger on the RPG. The grenade came in low, exploding five feet away from the Humvee. Shrapnel bounced off the armored grill and engine block, but ripped into the front run-flat tires, crippling them both.

From the ridges on either side of the road dozens of Aziz Khan’s soldiers appeared on the high ground. Several of them were thrown backwards when Mace tore into them with the 50. The survivors concentrated all their return fire on him and a torrent of AK-47 rounds came at him from all sides. Bullets pinged off the armored gun turret, a ricochet slapped the back of his helmet, another creased his forearm. It didn’t hurt yet, but his wrist and hand were instantly slick with blood. Time to move. Mace slid down from the gun turret, through the Humvee, and out onto the road.

Bear, Bobby, Able and Mace got behind the disabled vehicle. Bear and Mace were shooting right, while Bobby and Able found targets on the high ground to the left. They each fired in controlled, five shot bursts.

The third Humvee pulled up behind them. One of the Green Berets stayed up top firing the roof mounted M2 .50 cal while the other three sergeants jumped out and began shooting from ground level.

“Hey Bear! Ready to move?!” Bobby shouted.

“Let’s go!” Bear shouted back as he killed two more enemy fighters on the ridge above them.

Before they took a step, they all saw a bottle with a burning rag stuffed in its mouth fly through the air. A fireball erupted when the Molotov cocktail broke apart on the crumpled and smoking Humvee that had hit the IED. Still trapped in the driver’s seat, Sergeant Dan “DC” Collins, screamed and frantically beat at the flames.

Mace charged ahead with rest of the team providing covering fire and running behind him. He ignored the enemy rounds chewing up the dirt at his feet. Everyone on Team Razor was tight, but DC and Mace were best friends.

The Humvee was engulfed in flames by the time he reached it. Mace could see DC fighting to get free, violently throwing himself back and forth. He managed to get his head through the window, but his uniform and hair were already on fire. Burning alive, he turned and locked eyes with Mace.

The battle was loud. Beyond loud. It was a ceaseless, deafening, heart-stopping roar. DC didn’t shout, but Mace heard him as clearly as if they were alone together sharing a beer in a quiet room.

“Kill me, Mace. Please kill me.”

Mace nodded. Knowing he couldn’t save him, he aimed his M-4 at DC’s burning head, but then quickly lowered it and ran to try and yank him out. DC pulled his head back into the flames, grabbed his pistol shoved it under his chin.

“Nooooo!!!” Mace screamed.

“I love you brother,” he said to Mace, and then pulled the trigger.

There was no time to stop and mourn. Bobby and Able ran forward up the left side of the road while Mace and Bear zig-zagged up the center. Two more Team Razor sergeants, Brian Ilchuck and Jimmy Waters, raced from behind the last Humvee and moved up on the right. All six Green Berets fired as they raced towards their commanding officer.

Major Burke felt himself going. He pulled out the family photos he carried inside his flak jacket—knew he was looking at them for the last time. He whispered a prayer, asked God to watch over them and said his final goodbye to his daughters as he kissed each picture. He died with his eyes open, staring at the image of his wife Amy.

Bear slung his M-4 over his shoulder, bent down, and easily picked up the torn and bloody body of Major Burke. Bear held him like a baby in his arms and watched the family photos slip through Burke’s lifeless fingers.

“Let’s go Razor. Able, grab the pictures of Amy and the kids,” he said grimly.

Able bent over to retrieve them just as Sergeant Ilchuck was shot in his right shoulder. It spun him around, but he stayed on his feet and kept firing. Jimmy Waters got hit next, shot high in the left leg. He was on his back and firing nearly straight up at the ridge line. Mace stood over Jimmy to provide cover while the large force of fighters relentlessly fired down on the bloodied Green Berets from three sides.

“Let’s go!” Bobby shouted. He sprinted across the road with bullets and tracer rounds coming at him. Shooting his M-4 with one hand, he grabbed Jimmy Waters with the other and carried him on his hip until they were behind the last Humvee. The surviving members of Team Razor were right on his ass. The steady flow of enemy AK-47 rounds pinged off the armored truck with a deadly rhythm.

Sergeant Raymond Riley was up top, furiously working the Humvee’s .50 cal. Emboldened by the sight of the burning trucks the enemy became reckless. They abandoned their cover and came charging down the slopes. Now out in the open, Ray and the other Green Berets blew them to pieces, knocking down one bearded and turbaned figure after another. Ray was frantically rotating the turret and blasting away when he was hit in the back of the neck by an unseen shooter. Richie Lugo was pulling him down from the gunner’s platform when he was hit multiple times in the gut and groin. The bodies of both sergeants fell down onto the rear passenger seats just as two RPG rounds smashed into the front of the Humvee. The blast rolled over the rest of Team Razor, leaving all six men lying silent, twisted, and unmoving in the Afghan dirt.

Flying in low, the pilots had a clear view of the battlefield. From above they could see the three burning vehicles and knew they were too late to save some of their friends. The A-10 Thunderbolts released their ordinance disintegrating the lower face of the mountain and the Black Hawks streaked in with missiles and mini-guns. The pilots looked down upon the scene with grim satisfaction at the upturned faces below. Turbaned heads, arms and legs disappeared in a red mist as they shredded the enemy that had just killed some of their own.

Chapter 7

Family

Long Island, NY

John and Felix
were released on their own recognizance early Friday morning after pleading not guilty before a judge. They were now sitting in the study inside the home of another uncle, Calixto Valdez. John squinted at the setting sun, its orange rays shining brightly between the tall trees, over the football field sized lawn, and through the huge bay windows he was facing. The house was really a mansion with sixteen bedrooms, tennis courts, a pool house, and guard’s quarters. Calixto and his son managed all the legitimate family businesses, and although they were started years ago with street money, they were now completely separate and generated millions of dollars a year in revenue.

When news of the arrests got out, the party was rescheduled for Friday and moved from LES to the sprawling Long Island estate. Security was always tight at any event Gonzalo attended. In addition to the armed security on the grounds, there were roving patrols driving in concentric circles for miles around, and two small planes flew lazily overhead observing everything from the high ground. Everyone, including family, was thoroughly searched, and all cell phones were left at the gate.

The two cousins felt like they were in detention back in public school while they waited for his arrival. They sat patiently for a long twenty minutes when Gonzalo walked in and silently looked them over. He was an intimidating figure, and at almost seventy his life force still filled a room with an electric current. His scarred face was so dark and regal, and his yellow eyes so penetrating, that he often reminded John of the trumpeter Miles Davis. Always dressed impeccably, today their uncle wore a Ralph Lauren Purple Label ensemble with a black blazer, white silk shirt, grey slacks, and black loafers.

They both stood and nervously said, “Hola Tio,” at the same time.

“Dos piasos,” (two clowns) was his flat response. He crossed the room holding his arms out wide and then wrapped them tightly around John. He stepped back, but then came right back in for another warm embrace.

“So many years,” he said sadly. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Tio. Sorry it’s been so long.”

“And you, I’m not even speaking to you,” he said to Felix, yet pulled him in for a hug and kiss on the cheek nonetheless. Disappointed as he was he couldn’t stay mad at his boys; the only sons he would ever have.

“So, how was your night in jail?” Gonzalo said jokingly.

“It was my fault, Tio,” Felix said.

“Of course it was.”

As they all sat down he added, “I thought you were going to wear the uniform one last time for the family.”

“Lo siento (I’m sorry) Tio. I wore it on the long flight and then after the night in jail… Well, I hope you understand.” John was dressed simply in a white linen guallavera, with jeans, and black shoes.

Gonzalo waved his hand dismissively, changing the subject. “So, what are your plans John? Maybe get married and start a family? She’s here you know.”

“She,” was Maria Williams. John and Maria had been in an on again off again love affair since junior high school. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her in three years, and he couldn’t wait to see her.

“Tio, all I want is some peace and quiet. Special Ops had me running all over the world and I feel used up. Think I might get in my new car and drive to Idaho… maybe Montana. Just camp out for the summer. Fish and hunt for my meals,” John said, trying to hide how eager he was to see Maria.

“Go fishing for the summer? Well, it’s your life, and you’re too old for me to tell you what to do, but can I give you some advice?”

“Of course, Tio.”

“Don’t make it too quiet. Like me, you’re a man of action. I know about some of your missions from my contacts at CIA, and I’m sure there’s much more I don’t know. From the briefs I read and the stories I’ve heard, you’re the Army’s Michael Jordan. I’m so proud of what you’ve done, and the man you have become. We all are. Still, part of me worries for you.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s hard for a trained athlete to just turn it off, shut it down, and walk away. That’s why Jordan kept un-retiring and that’s why boxers fight into their 40s. That’s why soldiers always say they hate war, but keep going back to it.”

“What about gangsters still being gangsters in their seventies?”

“Only sixty-six, but point taken. All I’m saying is, I don’t want to see you become a Rambo. A man without a mission fighting the local sheriff and his deputies in Idaho… or Montana.” They all laughed.

“Don’t worry, Tio. I won’t lie to you, I miss my friends. The guys on Team Razor are like brothers to me, but I’m not looking for another cause or another fight. And now that you mention it, I think time with a pretty woman sounds a lot better than being alone in the woods with mosquitoes and a fishing rod.”

“Good. I hope you stay close so we can spend time together.”

“Me too, but what about you? When are you going to retire?”

They both knew a great deal about their uncle’s business. He had shared all his knowledge of the streets as part of their upbringing, but never gave them any active roles in his criminal enterprise. Although early on Felix was being groomed to take over, once he had the manslaughter conviction Gonzalo refused to let him be a part of it. Felix now ran the security teams that protected all the family’s legitimate operations.

“You both know I love games. I taught you chess so you could use your minds and see how one move, one action, can change the entire outcome of the game. Change the outcome of life. Well I’ve played the ultimate game. I played for survival and freedom. The rules were simple. If you lose you’re dead or in a cage for life.”

“So you’re in business all these years for the excitement, not for the money?” Felix asked with a sly grin.

“More money I don’t need. What I want… what I have always wanted is for our family to be safe and secure. I want you both to know that the Valdez family is no longer involved with drugs. That is all far behind us now.”

“Really glad to hear you say that, Tio,” John said.

“The truth is I’m semi-retired already. I’ve turned most of the day-to-day operations over to your cousin Antonio and your uncle Sesa. From here on, I just maintain our high level relationships here and overseas.”

“Maybe you should come fishing with me then.”

“Maybe the three of us will go. Los Tres Gatos ride again.”

Now being serious Gonzalo added, “You know, the business has changed. It used to be all about territory. You had to fight to get it and fight to keep it.” He paused, a shadow falling over him as he remembered his slain brothers and little sister, John’s mother.

“It painted a big target for our enemies and for law enforcement. They knew where you were and what you were doing. That’s why your uncle Nestor’s been inside for thirty years. Now we’re behind the scenes. We’re a mobile army, we’re always on the move and we move everywhere. What’s more important is that we don’t need the drugs to make our money anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I know the local narcos, the DEA, and the FBI all have long memories. Especially the Feds. I’ve never spent a day in jail. Never even been in a courtroom, and I know they want me bad. But I’d have to make a big mistake for them to get me now. Informants have always been the wild card in this game, so I talk to no one except you two, Antonio, and my brothers. As long as we all stay quiet and low key and don’t draw any attention, everything will be okay. We all know from Felix’s troubles years ago; it’s when your name gets in the paper that they come at you. That’s it. So you two keep out of trouble and stay out of the news. Okay?”

“Yes Tio,” they said together.

“Anyway, enough about business. It warms my heart to see you both together again. We’ve missed you, Johnny, welcome home,” Gonzalo said, hugging him again. “Bueno, there is much to talk about, but we’ll talk later. Go. Enjoy your party… and go find her!”

Both cousins got up to leave when Gonzalo pointed at Felix.

“You? Where do you think you’re going? Sit down, Señor Felix the Cat. You and me, we talk now.”

Turning to leave, John looked back at Felix and gave him a big better you than me smile. Felix just rolled his eyes.

As John walked out the door and down the long hallway he thought about his uncle’s advice. He would have to find something to do that would keep him satisfied both mentally and physically. He didn’t need money either. Through Calixto’s legitimate arm of the Valdez Empire, John, Felix, and all the inner family members had trust funds and property in their names. Calixto’s son Nelson was known as a real tightwad, but he had an MBA from Harvard and had made everyone financially secure. John knew he was too young to lie around counting his money for the rest of his life, but he’d think about all that later. Right now he wanted two things: to see Maria and to have a very quiet and very peaceful summer.

The party in his honor was going strong on the great lawn with banquet tables of food and drinks, a live band, a packed dance floor, and banners with “Welcome Home John” hanging everywhere. He moved through the crowd, stopping to speak with everyone and catching up on details from friends and family he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

His cousin Silvia ran over and threw her arms around him. She was his Uncle Sesa’s daughter, and they’d been really close as kids. Everyone called her Silvi and she was someone he could always talk to.

“So cuz, you’re one badass super hero, huh?” she asked.

“No, nothing like that,” he said humbly.

“Well I hope you’ve been training.”

“What’ya mean?”

“Look around you, dude. Every chick in here is ready to pounce on you, man. If you listen close you can hear their coochies calling your name.”

“Very funny.”

“I ain’t kidding. Some of them just want to give you a welcome home ride, but most of ‘em are thinking about how cute your kids will be.”

“You’re still crazy, Silvi,” John said laughing.

“Maybe, but I hope you brought a case of condoms cause all those putas scouted out Calixto’s house so they know which rooms they can pull you into,” she said with a devilish grin.

Just then her brother Antonio Valdez, Gonzalo’s heir apparent, walked up to them with his top lieutenant and enforcer, Benji Medina.

“Hey Johnny, welcome home. It’s really good to see you, bro,” Antonio said as they embraced.

“You too, Antonio. I see you’re still wearing the sweater.” Antonio was the tallest in the Valdez clan at six four, but what really set him apart from the rest of the family was his hair. Balding on top, everything up to his neck was covered in a thick kinky mass. Antonio took the good natured ribbing from those close to him, but from no one else. He was no joke, and when it came to gangsters he was the real deal.

“Yeah, I’m still the family gorilla,” he said smiling.

“Seriously T, Tio just told me the good news. You’re going to be Don Valdez soon. I know how hard you’ve worked for this. Congratulations, Jefe.”

“Thanks, but I’m still learning from the best.”

“Tio is putting the family in your hands, and I’m proud to have you lead us.”

“That means a lot coming from you. Thanks Johnny.”

“Hey Benji! I see you’re still watching my cousin’s back.”

“Since the first grade. Good to see you bro,” Benji said.

“You too, man.”

Benji Medina was not an imposing figure. In contrast to Antonio, he was only five-eight, had a pock marked face and a slim build, but he gave men pause. He was known as “Medicina Medina” because a single dose of Benji was always fatal.

“What’s up Steel Mags?” Silvi said to her brother.

Antonio flinched and hastily said his goodbyes, saying they’d talk and catch up later. He quickly walked away towards the main house with Benji at his side.

“Steel Mags?” John asked.

“He was babysitting my kids last week when I went to a friend’s wedding. I come home and he’s on the couch in tears, crying like a baby.”

“Why? What happened?”

“He was watching that movie,
Steel Magnolias
, with Dolly Parton and Julia Roberts. Some big time gangster, huh?” Silvi said, cracking up.

“I think you were a little rough. He practically took off running.”

“That pendejo tortured me my whole life. It’s time for some serious payback. You want to hear something really funny? Benji and his crew think “Steel Mags” has to do with guns or something. Like it’s a tough guy nick name. The tag may stick!”

“Ouch,” was all John could say.
Man it was good to be home
he thought as Silvi ran off to stop her kids from ripping down one of the big banners with his name on it.

The Valdez clan was huge. He had forty-two cousins living in and around New York and most of them were married with kids so Calixto’s estate was quickly filling up. John spotted his uncle Macho in the crowd and walked over to say hi.

Macho had been a great boxer in his day. A Golden Gloves champion, undefeated in six pro bouts, his son Chris was born the night of his last fight. There were complications and Chris’ mother died in childbirth. Macho quit the ring to raise him. Chris was his only child and his pride and joy.

Even though Chris was almost fifteen years younger than John they shared the common bond of both having lost their mothers. They always kept in touch and had written each other long letters when John was overseas.

“Where’s Chris?”

“Right behind you.”

John turned and was stunned to see the mischievous, gangly teenager he remembered replaced by a strong, handsome and confident young man. More than anything else it was the Army uniform that Chris wore that had him tongue tied.

“This one’s following in your footsteps, John,” Macho said, his voice filled with pride.

“But when? How? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you. ”

“Are you serious?”

“He even got promoted already. You’re looking at Private First Class Christopher Valdez “

“This is unbelievable!”

“There’s more. Tell him Chris.”

“I got accepted to try out for Special Forces. I start the course in three weeks.”