He raced the engine and negotiated the winding curves like a Formula One race car driver.
Amanda stared at the pistol and then turned as she searched for the entertainment center’s remote control. Amanda ran a light hand across the dials and buttons of the DVD player. “Come to Mama.”
She pressed the eject button and slipped a disk into the player. Punching the remote, she watched as the television screen appeared. The DVD player came on immediately, to her surprise, when she punched the TV/DVD button.
“Bingo.” The image she wanted was on the screen. She pressed the off button and slid the remote into her hoodie pocket.
She was ready.
CHAPTER 70
The UH-60 command and control Blackhawk settled with a hard rocking motion in the uneven terrain. Matt was out of his safety strap as were Hobart and Van Dreeves, the two “commo guys” he had brought along.
“Thanks for the ride, General. We’ll be in touch,” Matt said into the headset mouthpiece. The interior of the aircraft cabin was dark save the spotted red and green lenses of staff officers’ flashlights. The crew chief opened the door so that the three men could exit.
“Good luck, son,” General Griffin said.
“Luck, sir, has little to do with what we’re going after, but thank you.”
With that, Matt and his team leapt from the aircraft, took a knee and then laid flat on the ground as the helicopter powered up, spitting rocks and debris upon their backs. Once away, the Blackhawk shifted direction toward the west, lifted and flew back into Afghanistan and safer territory.
“Let’s move,” Matt said.
He turned on his GPS, which put him two miles from the target location where the flash drive had originally sent out the beacon. On his radio he heard the occasional spot report of troops in contact. Intermittent machine-gun fire and mortar explosions signified the metered pace of the Screaming Eagle advance through the Northwest Frontier Province. They had inserted along multiple landing zones and by now hundreds of air assault troopers were scampering through the hostile villages of this Al Qaeda stronghold in heavy handed fashion. This was no peacekeeping mission.
Rather, this was a raid that was intended to produce at least one pearl of intelligence, whether it be weapons of mass destruction, Al Qaeda or Taliban leadership, or indicators of nation-state support to the enemy. They needed to come back with something, Matt knew, or they were screwed. Pakistan would go ape shit and America would have to hasten its withdrawal from the region. But now seemed as good a time as any to put on the full court press, which is what Matt had argued for with the National Command Authority and he was glad that Houghton had backed his recommendation.
“One and a half miles men. We need to get there before any of the Airborne guys,” Matt said.
“Their objectives are in the two opposite directions,” Hobart said. “I made sure of that.”
“These guys can get lost. We need that computer and we need to docex that bitch,” Matt said.
“I’ve got that covered,” Van Dreeves said.
They climbed from 12,000 feet to 15,000 feet and back down to somewhere around 14,000 feet. They quietly bypassed goat herders and kids running around in the middle of the night with all of the commotion. To the best of their knowledge they had not been compromised.
As they approached the valley that led to the village, which was the object of their advance, Matt halted. They were standing in ankle deep snow, a cool breeze rifling through the v-shaped notch in the mountain pass. He saw a few dotted lights below in the valley and knew that they had found their mark. The satellite and Predator reconnaissance missions they had performed matched closely the sparse layout of the qalats spread through the kilometer-long valley, which was protected by knifelike ridges on three sides. Snowcapped, they looked positively impassable. How Zach had ever escaped from this location, Matt would perhaps never know.
“This one’s for Zach,” Matt whispered.
“Roger that,” Van Dreeves and Hobart chimed in unison over their cordless voice microphones.
“Hobart, give me some overwatch as Van Dreeves and I snake down this trail. It’s the only way in and we’ll need a sniper shot, I’m sure.”
“Roger.” Hobart moved about twenty meters up the ridge, extended the bipod on his M24, sighted in, and reported, “Two guards on the number three.”
They had mapped the 12 homes in the village and given each one a number so that they could easily reference where they were and where they needed to go. Number three was the target home.
“Anything overwatching the pass?”
“Hang on.”
Matt waited as Hobart scanned for likely shooter locations. Small hilltops, caves, crevices, rooftops, and the like.
“Got a warm body on the western side of the ledge about 200 meters above number two.”
“Anything else?” Matt asked.
“I’ve got something on the east side, looks like it’s aiming at the switchback we’ll have to go down,” Van Dreeves whispered. He was looking through his thermal scope.
“Hang on,” Hobart said. After a pause. “Yeah. I’ve got him. The pussy is all wrapped up in a blanket, but he’s got a DSHK machinegun. Looks functional.”
“Any comms on him?” Matt asked.
“Looks like a small personal mobile radio.”
“Okay, when I say we’re moving, shoot him between the eyes, then focus on the far side guy. We’ll take his PMR as we pass by. All set?”
“Roger,” Hobart said.
“Roger,” Van Dreeves agreed.
“Moving,” Matt reported. He stepped through the snow onto the trail, his boots gaining purchase in the thick packed snowfall. He heard the audible click of Hobart’s weapon firing and continued moving, not waiting for the report. Hobart was good and odds were he killed the guy on the first shot.
“He’s dead,” Hobart reported. “No further movement.”
Matt and Van Dreeves moved quickly nearly a quarter mile, switching back through the mountain defile, lowering and slipping into the valley until they found the ledge upon which the doomed machinegun position was perched.
“Good spot,” Van Dreeves said.
“For us,” Matt said. “Search him quickly.” Matt had his flashlight out and they scanned the machinegun, then the body, quickly determining that the personal mobile radio was the only thing of value. “Leave the machine-gun alone. We may need it getting out of here.”
“We’re moving,” Matt reported to Hobart, who came back quickly.
“Our friend near number two is up and looking. He’s onto something,” Hobart said.
“Kill him,” Matt replied.
“Roger.”
A few seconds passed when Hobart said, “He’s dead.”
“Okay, the two guys near number three?”
“Still there. Not moving other than kicking goat shit.”
“We’re going to hold up at number one and then make our move on number three.”
“Roger. I have clear shots on both guards on number three,” Hobart said.
“Once I give the word, take those shots and then come down to number one, we’ll consolidate there.”
“Roger.”
Matt and Van Dreeves dove into a small ditch and waded through thigh-deep snow toward a remote house separated by a couple hundred meters from the rest of the village. They exited the ditch, stumbling on the rocks and snow as they crossed to the high walled compound.