He’d been sleeping on cots like these for the last ten years of his life and he still cursed the design. Before he could sleep on it, he had to slide a metal bar through the end and stretch the canvas tight enough to lock the bar into the frame. No matter how many times he tried, he always ended up with bloody knuckles.
Harden knew something was up because instead of sleeping, the team was cleaning their rifles and checking their kits. A low table in the middle of the room was covered with ammo, grenades, batteries, and other articles of war. At the far end of the room, next to his cot, was a small area curtained off by three poncho liners hanging from olive-drab 550 cord. The cord was attached to nails that had been driven into the wall.
This was the colonel’s area and the team stayed away unless summoned. Standing at the opening of the hooch, Harden fought the urge to snap to attention before making his presence known. He had been out of the regular army for five years, but the discipline ingrained in basic training never went away. After a moment he said, “Sir, you wanted to see me?”
Colonel Barnes’s raspy but commanding voice emanated from within the enclosed area: “Come in.”
The colonel’s room was neat but spartan. Barnes allowed himself no comfort items, except for a handful of books and a cot. A dusty plate carrier hung from a nail sunk into the wall, and below that was his rifle. The battered HK416 had seen more than its share of use. The bluing was wearing off and specks of silver flecked the black weapon, giving it a worn appearance.
Barnes stood shirtless near the wall, with a satellite phone held in his hand. The muscles in the colonel’s arm flexed as he switched the phone to his other ear and motioned for Harden to hold tight. Barnes was a big man and despite his age was in excellent shape.
Large veins snaked up his solid arms, tracing across the muscles like contour lines on a map. Broad shoulders framed two tattooed ravens, which perched like Odin’s mythical companions over his pectoral muscles. The two black birds stood silent witness to his patchwork of faded scars.
“Yes, sir, I understand that, but Swift isn’t going to play dead. We need to deal with him right now… I understand that, sir, but I respectfully disagree… Roger that, I’ll take care of it.”
Barnes tossed the phone on the bed and looked at Harden.
“Look, we’re almost done here in Pakistan, but I need you to take a team to the Swat Valley and set up an ambush.”
Harden had spent the last few days killing on a scale that even he was unaccustomed to, and he was tired, but he knew they weren’t finished yet. After they had flown out of Afghanistan, the colonel had dropped him and half of the team off in the tribal region, and while the rest of the team set up camp here, they had decimated anyone who had ties to the Taliban.
“Yes, sir, what’s the target?”
“General Swift is proving to be the coward I always knew him to be, and he is trying to work both sides. We are going to force him to commit by leaking our position as northeast of here in the Swat Valley. The boss is giving him one final chance to pick a side.” The colonel pointed to the area, and Harden nodded his agreement. He was familiar with the terrain and it was perfect for an ambush. “I need you to take a team out tonight and recon the area; I’ll bring the rest of the team to link up with you.”
“I got it, sir. Anything else?”
“No, just get me the grids.”
“What about the rest of the targets holed up in the tribal areas?”
“Looks like they’re getting a reprieve. I believe that we will have worn out our welcome in Pakistan after we deal with this situation.”
“I’m good to go, sir, but…” Harden trailed off, not wanting to step out of line.
“What is it, Harden?”
“I was wondering if you’ve heard from Decklin.”
Barnes turned to him, his eyes burning brightly with resolve. “He’s got his orders. If we haven’t heard from him, it’s because he’s working or dead,” Barnes said coldly.
Harden had befriended Decklin, as much as you can befriend a psychopath, when he first joined the team and had mentored him until his skill set surpassed Harden’s own. He knew that if he had gone this long without checking in, it was because he was physically unable to.
“Are you worried about him?” Barnes’s question was more of an accusation than anything else.
He knew that Barnes was testing him. Keeping the title of Anvil 7 and the responsibility that came with it was never a guarantee. He had learned from his predecessor that getting the job was the easy part. Keeping it was an entirely different ball game.
“I was just curious,” he lied.
Barnes nodded and smiled coldly at his star pupil. “It’s a heavy burden to carry, but don’t ever allow yourself to take your eyes off the prize. We have had to sacrifice so much to get here. Every time I look over those mountains, I imagine all of those soldiers hiding behind their walls, afraid to take victory out of the enemy’s hands. We are here because they are unwilling to do what is necessary to win, and that weakness has emboldened our enemy. They smell the fear like a shark scents blood in the water. Our enemy knows what they themselves refuse to admit — they are all dead men waiting for their time.”
“Yes, sir, is that all?”
“Go get your men ready.” Barnes turned back to the map and Harden pivoted on his heel and headed back to the cots. He found Boz, his squad leader, already packed and ready to go. Boz’s long hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his long, gray-flecked beard made him look like an outlaw biker.
“We have a mission?” he asked.
“Yeah, we need to go scout an ambush site up in the Swat Valley.”
“Fuck yeah, I love ambushes.”
“Grab Hoyt and whoever else you need and tell them to pack for seventy-two hours. I don’t think we’ll be gone that long, but you never know. We need claymores, a long rifle, and all the rest of the usual shit. I’ll brief the operations order once the team is up. I’d like to be ready to roll in an hour.”
“Got it. I guess I’ll use Scottie, he’s good on the long gun.”
“Sounds good, let’s get it done.”
Harden headed to his bunk to pack his shit and let his squad leader handle the rest of the team. He pulled a map out of his filthy assault pack and found the area Barnes had pointed out to him. From the map it looked like a good spot, but he would have to get eyes on the terrain to make sure. The maps were old and sometimes the terrain on the ground wasn’t exactly what you expected.
The distance to the target was about two hundred kilometers, but taking the terrain, and the fact that they would be on foot part of the way, into consideration added to the time it would take. Looking at the map, he mentally began marking ambush sites, alternate sites, and possible landing zones. He needed a backup for every primary site that he chose as well as emergency egress routes, rally points, and direction of travel.
Thirty minutes later his gear was packed, his kit was loaded, and he was headed through the door and out into the courtyard, where the vehicles were staged. Scottie had already topped off the truck and stowed the fuel and water in the back. Boz and Hoyt opened the rear doors and took a seat.
Scottie took his place behind the wheel and checked the sawed-off shotgun that was stowed between his seat and the gear shifter. Once he was ready, he started the vehicle and headed out into the city.
CHAPTER 20