“Yes, sir, I understand.”
“And, Sergeant?” Matt’s eyes drifted from Eversoll back to Hobart and Van Dreeves, who were both staring at Eversoll, and then locked onto the sergeant.
“Yes, sir?”
“We are going in light, because the Pakistanis don’t know what we’re doing. And they will never know. They’ll just know something happened. We’ve got no air cover and no way out except this helicopter. These bastards killed my brother. I want to kill all that we find. You are rear security. Hobart and Van Dreeves have left and right, respectively, as we go into the tunnel. I have the center.”
“I understand, sir.”
The helicopter climbed and banked for an hour. They flew mostly in silence. All lost in their own private thoughts, each with their own rituals for preparing for combat.
Matt closed his eyes and thought about his brother, Zach. Was he going out purely for revenge? Maybe. But he could defend the decision under the guise of an intelligence-gathering mission. He wasn’t having second thoughts at all. He was just making sure he could cover for the others if things went bad.
The aircraft bucked and swayed heavily once as they did the first in-flight refuel. The MH-47 yawed as it was tethered to the refuel aircraft before it.
“Five minutes!” The crew chief hollered. He was wearing an oxygen mask and helmet. They were attacking a cave complex fifteen thousand feet high in the Hindu Kush Mountains just across the Pakistani border in an area called the Northwest Frontier Province.
The four men pulled back the charging handles on their M4s. Sergeant Eversoll licked his lips. For all the time he had been working with Colonel Garrett, he had never been on a mission like this. He had always minded the store. Sure, he’d been in a few firefights, and had acquitted himself well. He was a good shot and a brave young man, but this was different. They were launching into the heart of Al Qaeda territory. He was glad to be in on it, for sure.
The two men to his left looked like mercenaries, even though they wore subdued American flag patches on their right shoulder. Hobart had dark hair, a long face, and broad shoulders. Van Dreeves was blond, more boyish looking. He could fit in on Sunset Beach in Hawaii.
“One minute!” The helicopter began to flair. Eversoll could tell the pilots were struggling with the altitude as the Chinook yawed back and forth. A loud bang rapped into the side. They were hit, but they kept going.
The ramp to the back of the aircraft opened. The crew chief shouted, “Go! Go!” as he pointed to the yawning hole. He was on one knee, holding an M240B machine gun on his hip. Suddenly the machinegun roared to life, spitting flame and lead at the enemy.
Sergeant Eversoll let Matt Garrett, Hobart, and Van Dreeves exit the aircraft, in accordance with the plan, before he charged out the back. They were in thigh-deep snow with green tracers whipping all around them. The MH-47 shot straight up, pushing snow everywhere, obscuring the team on the ground, and providing them a moment to maneuver. Eversoll watched as two rocket-propelled grenades left smoking trails on their way toward the helicopter.
“The fight’s down here, son,” Matt Garrett shouted to him. “Let’s go.”
The Chinook dove quickly as the grenades missed their mark, exploding into the mountainside.
The four men ran to the rock wall, shuffling as best they could through the snow. When they reached the entrance to the cave, Hobart and Van Dreeves tossed grenades into the opening and then peeled around the corner, firing their weapons.
Hobart broke left while Van Dreeves broke to the right, their shoulders rubbing the sides of the tunnel. Matt Garrett stayed about ten feet behind Hobart, aiming his weapon between his lead team.
Sergeant Eversoll turned his back to Matt, reaching with his hand to ensure he was close. Walking backward slowly, Eversoll saw two men run into the mouth of the cave, one holding a rocket launcher, the other an AK-47. Weapon at the ready, he fired two quick shots at the Al Qaeda carrying the rifle, and then he trained his weapon on the man with the grenade launcher.
He squeezed the trigger, knocking the enemy backward, but not before a rocket-propelled grenade launched from the tube. Eversoll yelled, “RPG!” The entire team ducked as the grenade flew high over their heads into the top of the cave. Smoke filled the tunnel to their immediate front.
His heart was pounding, adrenaline surging through his body. His mouth dry, he counted out, “Two AQ down!”
“Good job. Keep moving,” Garrett said calmly.
The team reached a four-way intersection. Hobart peeked around his corner at the same time Van Dreeves looked to the right. Green tracers flew from left to right, chipping the rock around their heads.
Eversoll turned briefly and saw Garrett motion to the left. They were there to kill the enemy. Move to the fire. He calculated in his mind that, as the team turned to the left, he would have to quickly cover in three directions for a few seconds. He committed to watching the long axis to the right.
Quickly, they were already moving into the left section of the cave. They moved in a tight-knit diamond, like synchronized swimming, Eversoll thought. An RPG flew past them, this time from right to left, before anyone could say anything. Eversoll hit the dirt, sighted his weapon, and fired repetitive bursts into the darkness. He flipped on his night-vision goggles and saw one body on the ground, a rocket launcher next to him. Looking to his rear, the team had continued to move. They were about fifty feet from him now.
He was out of the four-way intersection and gaining on the team, quickly looking back. He kept his PVS-14 night-vision monocle on. Hobart and Van Dreeves were using flashlights which cast enough light to allow his goggles to work better. More shots from the front of the team echoed through the cave. Those sounded like M4 muzzle blasts to Eversoll.
Eversoll had caught up with Garrett. He was about ten feet from him.
“Doing good, son.” Garrett’s reassuring words were a boost. He continued to scan the rear of the formation. More shots from up front.
“RPG!” Hobart called out. Again, the team dove into the dirt. Eversoll felt the heat from the rocket lick at the back of his neck. He quickly pushed his goggles atop his helmet to prevent whiteout. The explosion was deafening. In its brightness, Eversoll saw three men running toward them. It was one flash of a strobe light. They were there, and then they were gone. He flipped his goggles back down, but his eyes were having a hard time adjusting. Smoke was billowing and pieces of rock were falling everywhere.
There they were, coming right at him. He resisted the urge to spray in machine-gun fashion, and instead fired well-aimed, double-tap shots at the enemy. His PAQ-4C laser aiming light shone directly onto the chest of one of the Al Qaeda as he pulled the trigger. He hit the next man as well.
The third was on top of him, screaming. Eversoll rolled to his left, pulling his knife from his boot. Arcing it upward, he caught the man in the stomach and felt warm blood pour across his hand. The man’s face was close enough for him to see it in the dark. It was the face of an insane zealot. His eyes were wide open, a toothless grin locked on his face, stale breath engulfed him. Blood began to seep from his mouth as the man muttered, “Die.”
Eversoll looked down and saw a grenade roll from the man’s limp hand. The spoon popped off, flipping into the air in what seemed like slow motion. Eversoll shouted, “Grenade!” He suspected, though, that the team had continued to move and was safely away. He mustered his strength and rolled toward the grenade, holding tightly onto the Al Qaeda zealot. As he completed his roll, the grenade exploded, sending him five feet into the air.
He waited. He was still alive. The man’s body had absorbed most of the grenade. A few flecks of burning metal protruded from his body armor.