Kill or Capture
Authors: Craig Simpson
This ebook edition published in 2012
Franklin Watts
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
Franklin Watts Australia
Level 17/207 Kent Street
Sydney, NSW 2000
The author has asserted his rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Task Force Delta is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended and all statements purporting to be facts are not necessarily true.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 4451 1344 9
Franklin Watts is a division of Hachette Children’s Books,
an Hachette UK company.
The Real Delta Force
Task Force Delta is inspired by one
of the United States’ top-level secret
military units, the 1st Special Forces
Operational Detachment — Delta (1SFOD-D)
also known as
Delta Force
Delta Force’s main missions are direct, counter-terrorism action. They also carry out many secret assignments including hostage rescues and raids behind enemy lines.
Delta Force (also called “The Unit”) is based at Fort Bragg, Carolina, USA.
Delta Force’s motto is:
“Surprise, Speed, Success”
ONE:
Jabir escapes
TWO:
Connor’s call
THREE:
Into the old town
FOUR:
IED strike
FIVE:
Race to the square
SIX:
Jabir’s hostages
SEVEN:
Rescue mission
EIGHT:
Delta close in
NINE:
A nasty surprise
TEN:
Connor works it out
ELEVEN:
The shahid
TWELVE:
Dam raid
THIRTEEN:
Take down
FOURTEEN:
The final strike
If you liked this, you’ll love…
Jabir escapes
Kandahar Prison, Afghanistan
The giant wolf spider was the size of a man’s hand and very, very fast. In the darkness it scurried over the floor of the prison cell and climbed onto Jabir’s outstretched arm. When it ran across his face, he awoke with a start and cried out. He shot bolt upright and frantically slapped his cheeks until certain it was gone.
“Curse these Americans for keeping me in this prison,” the elderly Taliban commander whispered, smoothing down his beard. He gazed into the darkness. “But revenge will taste as sweet as honey.”
Jabir imagined the flash of his sword as it sliced off the heads of his enemies. It was the same vision he had nearly every night, and he never grew tired of it. The face of one of his enemies was particularly clear; the man who’d taken him prisoner — Major Nathan Connor. “One day,
inshallah
,” he muttered. “One day soon, major.”
And then Jabir heard something: a curiously dull, rhythmic tapping. It came from beneath the floor. He knelt and pressed an ear against the concrete. He heard it again. “Ibrahim, wake up,” he whispered to his slumbering cellmate. He reached out and shook him. “Wake up! Our brothers are coming.”
Curled up on the floor, Ibrahim stirred and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
The tapping grew louder. A crack appeared in the floor. Jabir could see lamplight from the tunnel beyond. The hole widened. Eventually, a dirt-covered face emerged.
“
Assalam u alaikum
. Peace be upon you, Uncle Jabir.” The teenage boy climbed up and held out his arms triumphantly.
“It’s good to see you, Shafiq.” They embraced and bumped shoulders, greeting the Afghan way.
Shafiq was followed by three men, all Taliban, all armed with AK-47s and grenades. “We’ve dug from the canning factory and under the main road, uncle. We have worked day and night for months. We have infiltrated the guards, too. Some have been bribed, others given a sleeping draught. We plan to get everyone out.”
“You have done well.”
“Everything is arranged. My father, Faisal, and the others await you. They have clean clothes and transport. By sunrise you will be far away from here. Others will make for the old town. There they shall cause much trouble when the Afghan army and Americans come for them. They know that they are to seize two hostages and bring them to you. I will stay to make sure everything goes to plan. It will be just as you asked, Uncle Jabir. Now, go.”
Jabir peered down into the tunnel and listened to the hum of the electric fans needed to maintain a supply of breathable air. He climbed down the rickety, makeshift ladder into the tunnel, with Ibrahim close behind. Now he was a free man, he could lead his men once more. The Taliban would rise up, stronger. Prisoners were loyal to his jihad, his Holy War, and would greatly swell his ranks.
The men crawled on all fours. “Soon the stinking gutters of this crowded city will run red with the blood of the infidel,” the Taliban leader muttered.
“Yes, Jabir, and soon the country will be rocked by your masterful and deadly plan.”
Connor's call
Camp Delta
In his tented quarters at Camp Delta, General Patterson, the head of ISAF's Central Command (CENTCOM), had just soaped up his chin and begun shaving with his cut-throat razor when a sergeant burst in. “Sir?”
“Arrgh! Goddamnit!” Blood trickled down Patterson's neck. He flung the razor down and spun round. “What?”
The sergeant explained that he'd just received news of the mass prison break-out.
Patterson wiped away the blood and suds with the towel draped about his neck and bellowed, “How many?”
“Three hundred and forty-seven, sir. Including the Taliban commander, Jabir Hassani.”
“Hassani. Jeeezzzusss!” Tightness gripped the general's chest as he recalled Jabir's ruthlessness, the years it had taken to capture him, and the lives of many good men it had cost.
“Roadblocks have been set up around Kandahar, sir. According to reports, many escapees have headed into the old town. The Afghan National Army have Colonel Khalid on the ground there. He intends searching house-to-house.”
Patterson stared at his reflection in the small, cracked shaving mirror, and groaned. He'd suddenly aged a decade. Colonel Khalid was on first-name terms with the Afghan president. Worse, he was fuelled by ambition. Despite being a fine soldier, it made him reckless and dangerous. Patterson knew on this occasion Khalid was out of his depth. The local garrison of ANA recruits under Khalid's command wasn't yet ready to undertake such a major operation. Their training was patchy, and they'd only ever managed to weed out a handful of Taliban sympathisers. Patterson closed his eyes and cursed. “Sergeant, we're going to have to intervene with a show of force. Get Alpha and Bravo Company off their butts and ready to move out in one hour. Call Khalid and request that he secure the area, but not to start the search until our guys arrive to support him. And tell Major Connor I want to see him, now.”
“Yes, general.”
“Delta's skills may be called upon. And Connor understands the way Jabir thinks.”
Into the old town
Kandahar’s old town
Mid-morning, Major Nathan Connor and his team arrived in their modified GMV at the outskirts of Kandahar’s old town. It was chaos. Dozens of armoured vehicles were parked up close together. Groups of ANA soldiers stood around at road junctions, while others pulled razor wire across the road to form a barricade. Black Hawk helicopters roared overhead, circling at low altitude. In the searing heat, dozens of US marines in body armour and full kit were standing around clutching their weapons, sweating and waiting nervously to move out; others were running to and fro as final preparations were made. General Patterson’s parting orders rang in Connor’s ears — find Jabir and this time I don’t give a damn whether you kill or capture him! Connor jumped out of the GMV and headed over to Sergeant Baxter from Alpha Company, US Marines, who was holding a map and yelling orders.
