The commo looked lonely and abandoned at the top of the hill, and the door frame and walls were pockmarked with bullet holes and blast marks. Renee could tell that whoever held the building had not wanted to give it up.
“They must have brought in some outside talent for this one,” Captain Westin was saying as Renee walked into the shack. “I honestly didn’t think hajjis had it in them.”
Somewhere along the lines of communication, word of who perpetrated the atrocity was not being shared. Either the generals hadn’t released the information, or someone was already trying to cover it up.
Renee shot a glance at Kevin, who shrugged and shook his head. She’d play along and let the facts speak for themselves.
Walking through the door of the commo shed, she stepped gingerly onto the cracked and splintered floor. Jagged black edges had been burned into the plywood planks that lined the bottom of the building, and splattered blood was still visible on the wall where one of the SF soldiers had been hit.
“Who is this guy?” she asked, pointing to one of the bodies.
“His name is Specialist Kent. He was a communications guy we borrowed from headquarters.”
The entry wounds to his chest and head were much smaller than they would have been if they had come from heavier-caliber rounds.
A layer of sand was spread over the pool of blood that marked the site of his death, but the blood had seeped through and stained the sand crimson.
The smell of cordite hung faintly in the air like incense from an ancient ritual, and as Renee moved closer to the desk, just a few lonely drops of blood marked Specialist Kent’s final resting place in Afghanistan. She turned slowly, searching outward from the desk, hoping to see anything that would tell her what she already knew.
“You still think that the Afghanis did this?” she asked, scanning the efficient kill zone.
“Maybe the Iranians or the Pakis sent a team over the border,” the captain said.
“Captain, how long have you been in country?”
“Uh, a little over two months.”
“Do you have any other combat experience?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was with the 508 Parachute Infantry Regiment in 2007.”
“Oh yeah, where were you?” Kevin asked, looking up from another body that lay off in the corner.
“I was at Kandahar. I was the supply executive officer.”
“So you never got into the shit? Is that what you’re saying?” Kevin stared at him, daring him to deny that he’d never actually been in combat.
“Well, uhh…”
“Listen, sir, were not talking about a bunch of National Guard guys guarding a checkpoint at Balad. These men were some badass motherfuckers, and there is no way they get hit in the middle of the night without taking somebody with them.”
“Well, I’ve heard of things like this happening in the Korangal.”
“What Kevin is trying to say is that somebody with a highly honed skill set did this.”
“Ma’am, what’s that over there?” Kevin was pointing to the corner just to the left of where Kent had been killed. It was a small white square of cloth covered in what looked like dirt. However, as she bent down closer she immediately knew what it was.
“I’m not sure that I’m following you,” the captain said.
“Renee, what kind of brass is that?” Kevin asked.
“I’ve got 5.56 NATO and two 7.62s. I guess the 5.56 is from him?” she said, bending down to scoop up some of the expended brass off the floor. “What about the brass outside, Captain?” Renee asked.
“It’s all 7.62s.”
“What are you thinking?” Bones asked.
“The entry wounds, they are too small for an AK. I bet this brass was planted.”
Renee walked over to where Kevin was squatting and looked down at the corpse. He was no Green Beret. The soldier’s hair was cut low, almost to the scalp, and his body was soft and flabby.
“You have a Gerber?” she asked Kevin, who slipped the multi tool off his belt and handed it to her. She opened up the pliers and said, “Sorry about this, kid,” and slipped the nose into the chest wound.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” the captain said, exploding, as he stepped forward. Bones moved into his path and stuck out his hand.
“Chill out, sir.” He looked to SFC Miles to see if there was going to be a problem and the seasoned warrior simply shrugged.
Renee dug around for a second before the pliers hit something hard, and then very carefully she pulled out a mangled 5.56 round.
“The bullet never lies,” Kevin said softly.
She maternally patted Specialist Kent on the head and whispered another apology before standing up. Holding the bloodstained round up for the captain to see, she asked, “So who called Jalalabad and asked for the drone?”
“I can’t believe you did that.” The captain was pale as he looked at the bloody round.
“The drone, who called for it?” she asked again forcibly.
“The drone was vectored in after we couldn’t raise the FOB via radio or satellite phone. It was sometime this morning, but I was told that there was an equipment issue and it never made it to the objective.”
The lies had already begun in earnest.
Renee dropped the bullet and wiped the Gerber on her pants before handing it back to Kevin.
“Kevin, let the pilot know we’re ready for pickup. Captain, you might want to call your headquarters and find out what really happened here.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you.” They had only been here five minutes and had already found signs that pointed to a well-coordinated unit.
Renee wasn’t sure whether the man was playing dumb or didn’t see what was going on. The fact that someone had managed to take out an entire SF team without taking massive casualties was a feat in itself, but when you combined that with the fact that the site wasn’t even on the maps, it pointed to a leak somewhere at the top.
There was something bigger going on here, and she wasn’t about to get caught in the middle if she could help it.
“Birds are inbound,” Bones said as they walked out of the commo shed.
“We’re done here.”
They stopped short of the pad and turned to shield their faces from the sand the bird kicked up as it touched down. Sergeant Miles waited for the crew chief to motion the team forward, then grabbed Renee by the crook of her arm and helped guide her to the door.
The team loaded up, leaving Renee and Sergeant Miles hunched beneath the spinning rotors. He stuck out his hand and shouted, “I know someone who can find Barnes for you.”
Renee leaned forward, caught off guard by the sudden gesture. She stuck out her hand, and he jammed a folded scrap of green paper into her palm. He waited for her to gain control of it and then quickly pulled his hand away. Clutching the note tightly, she climbed into the Black Hawk and took a seat on the floor as the crew chief signaled the pilot that he was good to take off.
The helicopter squatted as the torque from the rotors compressed the hydraulic shocks of the landing gear before it shot skyward. The pilot cranked the stick hard to the left, sending the helicopter screaming downward into the valley.
Renee looked at the green slip of paper she’d wadded up in her hand. It came from one of the waterproof notebooks soldiers carried. Written on it in black marker was “Mason Kane.”