Chain of Command (21 page)

It was the general’s wife who finally spoke through the shock. “We need to call Scotty Winfield.”

+++

Headquarters Marine Corps

Arlington, Virginia

4:48pm

Gen. Winfield took notes as he listened to Cal’s girlfriend recite what they’d learned. “And you’re sure everything’s there?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. There’s even a note addressed to you. Would you like me to read it?”

“That can wait, Ms. Mayer. Would it be possible to bring everything here?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, a hint of panic in her voice.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Mayer. I’ll do everything I can to get Cal back.”

“Thank you.”

“No, Ms. Mayer, thank you.”

The Commandant hung up the phone and walked out of his office. He knew what he needed to do.

Chapter 37

North Carolina

6:22pm, December 11
^th

They were making good time. Daniel figured they’d be in position just before nine o’clock. He and Karl had passed an impressive anti-aircraft pod a few minutes earlier, the modern weapon humming with electricity. Karl had pointed out the OrionTech logo proudly displayed on its side. Other than the AA platform, they hadn’t encountered any surprises.

The sniper was getting a feel for the terrain, starting to understand its subtle nuances. They’d found spent shell casings and the occasional blasted tree. Daniel had been on a lot of training facilities, from Twentynine Palms to the desert live fire ranges in Qatar. This was another one, Mason’s playground.

Daniel crept up the slope of a tall rise, hoping to get a glimpse of what lay ahead. Night vision would’ve been nice, but luckily the night was clear and bright, the moon almost full as it cast down its pallor. He took cover behind a large cedar, scanning the area first with his naked eye and then raising his rifle to look through its scope.

Nothing visible, just the tops of trees and the many rises dotting the terrain. He took his time backing down the hill where he rejoined Karl.

“Anything?” asked Karl.

“Lots of trees,” replied Daniel.

“I’ll take point for the next stretch, if you want.”

“I’m good.”

They both froze when a branch snapped in the direction they were about to go. Rifles at the ready, they waited. Nothing came. Daniel motioned that he’d go first. Karl nodded, hanging back a few feet.

As he carefully placed one foot in front of the other, eyes taking in the area ahead, Daniel felt himself slip into his old role, the animal inside begging to be let out. Like a panther stalking its prey, eager with deadly calm, the sniper moved forward.

+++

6:38pm

Eddie Chavez steadied his breathing. It looked like he was going to make first contact. They’d surprised him by moving so quickly. They were either balls to the wall stupid, or supremely confident with their skills.

Chavez didn’t care either way. He had enough explosives set up to take out a platoon. That was what he liked to do. Some guys liked long rifle shots, others liked heavy machine guns. Eddie Chavez had always loved the sound of exploding ordnance and the smell of the aftermath. His superiors hadn’t liked it much when he’d made the switch from explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) to freelance bomb-maker. He’d killed a shitload of Iraqis before one of his fellow EOD techs ratted him out.

But that fucker had gotten his due. Three days after telling the colonel that SPC Chavez had been sneaking out at night to blow up civilians, he met his maker when a piece of shrapnel nearly severed his head, courtesy of an IED specially rigged by Chavez. He’d gotten out shortly after that, realizing his time was up.

Now he worked for Mason, a commander who truly cherished Chavez’s talents. In fact, the explosives for the operations against the Marines were specially designed by Chavez himself. Yeah, he liked working for Mason.

And now, even though he was shivering from the cold, Chavez waited patiently for the enemy to move into his kill zone. He couldn’t see them, but he’d set out enough debris that the sound of their passing would give him the cue. It wasn’t the way he would’ve done it, but General Mason had ordered them to have the same handicap as the invaders: no electronics.

Chavez didn’t complain because he knew Mason wouldn’t listen. Instead he did what he’d always done, improvised. Luckily claymore mines were allowed, one of Chavez’s favorite toys. He’d put them to good use before, and was looking forward to doing the same now. So as he hid behind the clump of boulders, gripping the mine trigger, he imagined the carnage that would soon litter the quiet North Carolina countryside.

+++

6:41pm

Daniel found the first claymore as he went to step around a pine sapling. Some people might’ve called it luck, but if that was the case, Daniel had a way of always being lucky. He knew it was more than that. Something had told him to take a circuitous route toward whatever sound they’d heard. That simple act had probably saved their lives.

He motioned for Karl to go prone and tried to imagine how he might construct the kill zone himself. By the way the claymore was pointing, he and Karl would’ve walked right into the trap.

After a moment to think, Daniel slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled the double-edged blade out of its chest sheath. With the stealth of a puma, Daniel prowled into the night.

+++

6:47pm

Chavez shifted his position, careful not to make a sound. He thought for sure that he would’ve heard them by now. It would be amazing if he could get all six together. That would really make Gen. Mason happy, and would probably piss off that prick Dan. Fuck that guy. He was Mason’s favorite, but the guy’s coke habit was insane. Chavez was pretty sure the guy went on every Op with a stash of the white stuff. Wasn’t getting high on killing enough?

Shit
, he thought.
I’ll show the general who’s best
.

He heard a noise and readied the trigger. The eight claymores would let out a helluva boom. He grinned just thinking about it, straining to hear confirmation of the enemy’s presence.

No sooner had he craned his neck around the lowest point of the boulder than something dropped on top of him. He almost panicked, but remembered the trigger in his hand and went to clack it. It never happened.

Something pressed painfully against his wrist, pinning it against the ground and causing him to release his hold. His wits still with him, Chavez tried to roll away, only to find the eyes of a wild animal staring back, only they were on the face of a man. He didn’t have a chance to process any of it because a blade entered his throat and plunged into the base of his brain. Lights out.

+++

6:58pm

It hadn’t taken Karl and Daniel long to trace the wire to their corresponding claymores. Karl could feel the sweat running down his back, more from nerves than exhaustion. They’d dodged a big one there. He’d seen what one claymore could do, but eight?

As they hid half of the mines and stashed the rest on their packs, Karl asked, “How did you know?”

Daniel shrugged, his composure the same as if they’d just woken up from a nap. “I just did.”

Karl shivered. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about this kid. He’d been through all sorts of nightmare missions in his years in the Army, and he’d served with all levels of operators, but this Briggs was something he’d never seen before: a water walker, not in the derogatory sense, but in the literal ‘this one can do anything’ sense.

“Ready?” asked Daniel.

“Yeah.”

Leaving the concealed body of Mason’s bomb maker behind, the two men once again slithered their way south.

+++

7:04pm

It was strange not hearing the soft chatter of your teammates as you moved toward the objective. The absence felt more than a little disconcerting to Gaucho. He wondered if maybe the six should’ve stayed together. Sure, they were a bigger target, but maneuvering and coordinating would’ve been much easier, not to mention the combined firepower.

Gaucho took a sip of water from his CamelBack and kept moving. Three steps later, his foot stepped on what looked like a level piece of ground in the shadowed undergrowth, but instead his foot slipped through and he felt himself falling. He tried to wrench himself back, but his momentum was too far forward. Bracing for impact, he bit back the curse that came to his lips.

Suddenly the fall stopped. He could feel his web harness pressing against his chest.

“You okay?” came the low whisper from behind.

“Get me out of here.”

MSgt Trent heaved him out of whatever he’d almost fallen into and placed him back on his feet. 

“We good?”

“Yeah, thanks to you.”

As Trent kept an eye on their surroundings, Gaucho bent down and tried to get a better look at the hole. He winced when he saw the white edges of sharpened tree limbs, better known as punji sticks, a devilish trap made notorious by the Vietcong during the Vietnam War.

The sight of the deadly trap snapped him back, taking in every nook he could see. They’d expected rifle on rifle, not backwoods death dealing.

“Let’s get going,” said Gaucho.

“You want me out front?”

“I’m good.”

With their first surprise behind them, Gaucho and Trent continued on their way.

+++

7:06pm

Abraham Dellow grunted. He was sure he’d gotten the little one. How had the big guy moved so quickly and snatched back his companion? It didn’t matter. The punji death trap was only one of many tricks he had up his sleeve. As a native of the North Carolina woods, Dellow felt more at home here than he ever did in the city.

Confident that there were no more than two men in his sector, Dellow climbed down from the deer stand and picked a path a little farther up the draw where he could easily follow the mismatched pair. Dellow licked his chapped lips. Deer hunting had nothing on killing your fellow man.

+++

7:12pm

Gaucho stopped to listen. It was impossible to be totally quiet on a forest bed covered in dried leaves and branches, but at least the wind had picked up and helped mask their movement. He swiveled left and thought he caught a shadow up the steep ridge. There it was again.

MSgt Trent had taken a knee and was looking the same way as Gaucho. The two men looked at each other, Trent raising one finger to indicate a single possible target. Gaucho nodded. Somehow the enemy had gotten behind them.

He weighed the option of just moving forward to hit their timeline, but the thought of falling into another pit kept them from moving too fast. That would give their shadow the advantage. He found a tree that barely masked his form, and took a knee behind it. Maybe a couple minutes of waiting would flush out their tail.

+++

7:15pm

Abraham Dellow had seen the two men stop. As luck would have it, he’d also seen the buck that they were now focused on. The deer had taken his original route and was now picking its way along the ridge line. Nature’s perfect diversion.

With the skills that his moonshine brewing grandaddy had taught him, he backtracked and came at them from another angle.

+++

7:19pm

The shadow had disappeared, making Gaucho wonder if it had just been a trick of the night or had actually been the enemy. Like so many other decisions made on the battlefield, his next was pure instinct. He told Trent what he had in mind, and the hulking Marine readily agreed.

+++

7:26pm

Dellow crept from tree to tree, grateful for the wind that had gone from a constant drone to a steady howl. He could see the two forms huddled against a tree, their silhouettes positioned in such a way that he knew they were still oriented up the hill. He was coming from exactly the opposite direction.

They weren’t fifty feet away when he raised his rifle and double-tapped them both.

+++

7:27pm

It had been Trent’s idea to construct hasty replicas of themselves with their shirts, gear and some brush. They even seemed to move in the gusting breeze.

The muzzle flashes were all they needed. No sooner had the man’s fourth shot entered MSgt Trent’s doppelganger than both the Marine and Gaucho took him down with matching shots.

They approached the writhing form. Amazingly the man was still alive and trying to crawl away. Normally Willy Trent might’ve tried to save the man’s life, take him in for questioning. But this was no normal mission. Over four hundred of his fellow Marines had been killed. There was a good chance the man they’d shot had been on the ground when it happened. That was all Trent needed to think about at he raised his weapon again, and sent two rounds into the back of the man’s head.

+++

7:44pm

Unlike the others, Dan wasn’t about to play by the rules. Chavez with his explosives and Dellow with his redneck-Vietcong-Rambo bullshit. While he’d heard the shots earlier (he guessed they were probably at least a click away) and he hoped his side had come out on top, he really didn’t care.

He was a survivor. You didn’t make it through multiple undercover tours both with Delta and with the CIA without learning that when it came to the question of rules, there were none.

So while the rest of Mason’s boys were taking the old school approach, Dan had come prepared. No fucking around with obsolete weaponry. He had the most advanced weapon system money could not yet buy. It was a prototype of a next generation infantry launch system developed by OrionTech. Call it a one man missile silo. Smaller than an RPG, the weapon was shoulder launched, putting a barrage of tiny high explosive missiles downrange in a matter of seconds. With a max range of just under a mile, the launcher gave a new meaning to the old ‘reach out and touch somebody’ line. There were twenty rounds per cartridge, but one round alone could take out an entire squad. He’d fallen in love with the lethal contraption the second he’d first touched it on the live-fire range. This one weapon would change the face of infantry tactics for decades to come. It was light, compact and simple to operate.