SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (26 page)

Nolan felt the tremble of power as the massive engine picked up, and he clutched at a rail for support as the Stryker lurched forward, picking up speed.

“Missile launch, on our six!”

He raised his MP7 automatically and whirled around, searching for the threat. Then the missile struck before he even saw the shooter. Dave had opened fire a fraction of a second before it hit, and to Nolan, it was like watching a movie in slow motion. The trail of smoke from the missile, the robed Afghan clutching the launcher and standing on a balcony overlooking the street. Eisner scored a hit, stitching a line of bullets that split his body apart, and the missileer fell dead before he had the satisfaction of seeing his rocket hit the target. Then the RPG exploded, and Nolan was thrown off the hull. He remembered landing in the street next to Dave Eisner. It crossed his mind that he was injured, lying in the street, almost unprotected, in a Taliban controlled area of Kabul. He recalled looking up at the sky, and seeing a roiling cloud of smoke blowing in the gentle breeze from the mortally damaged APC. He tested his limbs and found he couldn’t move them. It was strange, he couldn’t hear anything either. It was like he was floating in some middle world, between Earth and Heaven. Or maybe it was Hell. And then he blacked out.

He opened his eyes, looked around, and saw he was lying on a gurney. He took in the furnishings and equipment, and understood he was inside a military ambulance. An attractive black female nurse, a corporal, sat opposite, managing to look pretty even inside her helmet and body armor.

“What happened?” But his voice came out in a strained whisper. He tried again. “What happened back there?”

She smiled. “You’re awake, Chief Nolan. That’s good. You know your vehicle was destroyed?”

He could barely hear her, as if she was whispering quietly to him. His ears rang, and he realized his eardrums were still recovering from the explosion.

“I remember it, yeah.”

“You were lucky. The men you sent away in the Humvees stayed in the area in case you needed help. They heard the explosion and came and found your unit in and around the burning Stryker. They helped them get out before it blew and called in medical assistance. Then they stayed to form a defensive perimeter to make sure we got to you before the Taliban.”

He nodded his thanks. “We going back to Bagram?”

“We sure are. They’ll fix you up. There’s nothing broken, but you suffered a concussion. We’ll keep you in the hospital overnight, just in case you’re thinking along those lines. You’ll be good to go in a few days.”

Good to go, providing the explosion doesn’t trigger a repeat of the blackouts that plagued me before. Thank Christ the Navy isn’t aware of them.

“Did all the men make it out?”

“It was a miracle, but yes, the Stryker soaked up the worst of the explosion, and they were almost able to walk away. One of the men was thrown into the street along with you, but he seems to be okay too. A few cuts and bruises, but nothing more serious.”

“Thank Christ for that.”

“Thank the General Dynamics Land Systems Company. Since they brought those Strykers to Afghanistan, our casualty rate has fallen dramatically. With most other APCs, those guys inside would have been in body bags by now, and on their way back to the States.”

“I guess you’re right.” And then he remembered the purpose of their mission. “What about the Pakistani civilian? He was inside the hull.”

Her eyes looked troubled. “The old man? Yeah, I forgot. He’s not so good, and he’s in the ambulance ahead of us. He’s unconscious, and I’m afraid he’s not expected to make it.”

So it looks as if those bastards may win out after all, if Danial dies.

“How bad is he?”

She looked solemn. “He has internal bleeding. The explosion seemed to tear him apart internally, which is strange. The others next to him inside the vehicle weren’t hurt so bad.”

Nolan explained the torture the Taliban had subjected him to. She nodded.

“That explains a lot. If something were already broken, the explosion that occurred when the rocket hit would have done a lot more damage. Poor old man, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Does he have a chance?”

“I don’t know. He may not even regain consciousness.”

So there goes the entire objective of the mission, and an essential part of the operation to eliminate Riyad bin Laden may just go down the toilet. Not to mention the life of a sick old man who just wants to live out his life in
peace,
away from the Muslims who so want to persecute him.

They reached the hospital, and the nurse found a medic to help her move Nolan’s gurney inside. He had a bad moment when they insisted on carrying out an MRI scan on his brain to check for any damage or bleeding, but when the doc came back, a guy about ten years older than Nolan, he was all smiles.

“You’re in the clear, Chief. Nothing too serious showing up on the scan. There is something curious though, a couple of old scars. Have you had any trouble before, headaches, anything like that?”

“Nothing, no.”

The doc pursed his lips and assumed a dubious expression. He had the look of the old fashioned family physician, calm and confident. Reliable. The kind of guy who would make a fortune when he set up his practice in some middle class suburb, treating stressed executives and obese women. Graying hair, steel rimmed glasses, trim looking and fit, but too pale; probably didn’t get out of the hospital enough.

“Nothing? You sure about that?”

“Yep, I try to keep myself pretty fit.”

“I see, that’s real strange, the MRI scan showed...” And then understanding dawned in his eyes. “I guess if you did have any problems, they’d rule you out of operations, that right?”

Nolan stared straight at him. “That’s exactly right.”

The doc shrugged. “Okay, in that case I have no objections to your being released tomorrow. We’ll just keep you under observation overnight. Call me if you want to talk about anything off the record, Chief.”

“I’m okay, really.”

The doc looked thoughtful. “If that’s good enough for you, I’m fine with it. But if you do experience any problems, as a result of that explosion, of course, make sure you speak to a physician.”

“I will.”

He nodded and left the room. Minutes later, Rear Admiral Jacks walked in, followed by Boswell. Both men looked grim. Nolan nodded a greeting, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“How are you feeling, Chief?”

“I’m fine, Admiral. No problems, they said I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we talked to the doc.” Jacks got right down to business. “You know we have a problem?”

“Danial Masih? I guess he’s still unconscious.”

“He’s dead, Chief.”

Nolan closed his eyes, thinking of the poor old guy, his quest for freedom, and the son he’d left behind. As well as the intel locked inside his head; the layout of the service tunnels that lay underneath Abbottabad.

“So we’re fucked.”

Jacks sighed. “It’s not looking so good, that’s for sure.” He turned to Boswell. “Lieutenant, close that door. This is confidential material.”

Boswell obeyed, and Jacks continued. “Chief, we’re outta ideas. We looked at other alternatives, ways to attack that compound, and so far none of them look too hopeful. There are several problems we have to take into account. It’s Pakistani sovereign territory, of course. Whatever we do, it has to be a lightning fast raid, in and out in a blink of an eye before they know we’re there. And after the last time, it’ll be that much more difficult.”

“You see the main problem as Al Qaeda or the Pakistanis?”

“Is there a difference? This is Waziristan we’re talking about. They’re all in it together.”

Nolan nodded his understanding. “These defenses they’ve installed, do we know anything more?”

“Since Seal Team Six took out Osama, they’ve put in an advanced and very sophisticated Russian anti-aircraft missile system, with sensitive, wide area defensive radar that would pick anything up from fifteen kilometers out or more. It can’t be done again, not like before.”

“We could infiltrate. It’s what we’re trained to do, dress and wander around like locals.”

“Not this time. On the ground, they have a ring of checkpoints, and Christ knows how many police guarding the area surrounding the place. They may be checking id documents, who knows? Maybe you could get through, but the political fallout would be worse than leaving the guy alone to direct his terrorist fantasies. And that’s not all. We don’t know where he is! Or to put it more accurately, we don’t know how to locate his bunker. Okay, we presume it’s underground, but it’s anyone’s guess as to where. Without Danial Masih, we’re back to square one.”

He stopped and they turned as there was a knock at the door. Boswell looked out, murmured a few words, and then turned back to Jacks.

“Admiral, it’s Captain Mariko Noguchi. She wanted to see Chief Nolan. She’s…”

Jacks nodded. “It’s okay, I know who she is. Marine Intelligence. Tell her to come in. She knows pretty well everything anyway.”

Mariko walked in, crisp and pretty in her working uniform. She saluted Jacks. “Sir, I came to see the patient. I can always call back later if you prefer.”

“I want you to stay, Captain, and listen to what we’re talking about. Maybe you’ll think of something we’ve missed. I understand you were on that first recon to Abbottabad, correct?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So none of this is news to you.”

She shook her head. “No, Sir.”

“Good. We have a problem, Captain. How to quietly locate this Riyad character, get into the compound, and eliminate him. If we don’t bump him off, he’ll pop up again like a jack in the box, and it’ll be like a second coming to these Islamic fanatics sat around waiting for rapture. Except that this character won’t be preaching love thy neighbor. We can’t go in by air since they expanded their air defenses. And we can’t go in by road. They’ve saturated the town with checkpoints. The local cops are all over the place.”

“Sir, we went in by means of a HAHO jump last time. Why not do it that way again?”

“It’s tempting, Captain. I know it worked then, and it may even work again. But if their radar is half decent, and we know it is, they may spot those MC-6 parachutes. Even if it doesn’t pick them up, they have to locate the bunker, and we haven’t got a clue where it is. Then they have to blast their way inside, identify Riyad bin Laden, take him out, and get out in a mighty hurry. If the Pakistanis are as prepared as our intelligence suggests, whoever goes in there may strike lucky and eliminate the target, but they wouldn’t get out so easily, no way. Those air defenses would blast the helos we send in right out of the sky. Some damn fool sold them a bunch of M42 Self-Propelled tracked anti-aircraft guns. Our UAV imagery shows a dozen of them hidden around the outskirts of the town. They’re obsolete, but they’d have no problem shooting down any of the helos sent in for exfil. They’re don’t intend to be caught with their pants down a second time.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “In that case, Sir, there’s only one option. If we can’t go in by air, or by road, underground is the only option.”

“You mean the sanitation tunnels, but the problem is, we know nothing about them, and now we have no chance of finding out. We have no idea where they are, how large or how safe they are, the layout, you name it, and we have no intelligence. It died with Mr. Masih.”

Nolan lifted his head. He flinched as pain knifed through him, but he shook it off before they noticed. “But we could get that intelligence.”

Three heads swiveled to look in his direction. “What the hell do you know that Military, Naval and Air Force Intelligence, the NSA and the CIA don’t?” Jacks asked sharply.

Nolan explained what Danial had told him about his son.
 

“Apparently, he spent a lot of time with his father, and he knows the network inside out and back to front. His ambition when he grew up was to follow in his father’s footsteps. It’s the way it works out here, jobs pass from father to son. They’re kind of inherited.”

“I don’t know,” the Admiral pondered. “We know nothing about him. Where is he, this guy, and why would he help us?”

“He’d sure help us. Danial told me how much his family despised the Muslims for the way they persecuted him almost on a daily basis. So he’s seen what the Muslims have done to his family, and all his life they’ve abused them. But as to where he is, well, I don’t know, Sir.”

Jacks raised his eyes. “You don’t know? So it’s all for nothing, and we’re still no further forward.”

Boswell edged forward. “Sir, that’s not entirely true. I understand this guy was a civil engineer for the water company, so he’ll be on local records somewhere in the town. How hard could it be to run down the son? Don’t we have intel people to do that kind of thing? How about CIA, or NSA? It’s time they earned their keep.”

“Lieutenant,” Jacks snapped, “you’re not in California now. This is the asshole of Asia. These people don’t keep centralized records on computer like we do. They may have records, sure, but they’re chaotic. The only way would be a local records check in the town itself, and we don’t have a way of doing that.”

Mariko interrupted. “I could get in there.”

The Admiral stared at Captain Noguchi. “What, are you going to take the bus?”

She grinned. “Why not, Sir? I wore a burqa before to disguise myself as a local. I speak perfect Dari and Urdu. And if Bravo Platoon was on the ground in support not too far away, they could come right in and finish the job as soon as I have the data we need.”