|PROLOGUE
Kunar Province, "Enemy Central," was one of the toughest sectors in-country to target the Taliban. Rarely did NATO or ANA troops venture into this hostile region and not end up in a fight. The geography was more suited to goats than men. Insurgent groups had used it for centuries. The lower Hindu Kush was a maze of mountain peaks and narrow valleys with steep sides that served as formidable natural obstacles. When the Russians invaded in 1979, they refused to enter the area with any unit smaller than a mech infantry company.
Under the cover of darkness, two MH-60 Blackhawk helicopters inserted Task Force 141 and a team of Shadow Company contractors on a makeshift landing zone on the downside of a ridge south of the targeted village, where according to Laswell, their HVT was staying.
Glancing at the GPS attached to the stock of his rifle and scanning the terrain ahead, Captain John Price called a quick perimeter. Shadow Company was already moving up to the high ground as Task Force 141 joined Price for a last, quick update before they pushed to the objective.
Price knew that not one of the guys on his team had liked this mission. Now, on the ground, they had pushed that distraction from their minds and were solely focused on the challenge in front of them. Even with all the technology at their disposal, things could go wrong in a heartbeat. Their enemy was cunning and highly adaptive. After two decades at war, the Afghan saying, "The Americans have all the watches, but we have all the time," rang a bit more true than it had in the early days.
"What do you think, Sir?"
Price looked at his 2-IC. The light green glow of the NODs illuminated his face. "It's just over that rise," he replied. "Predator shows nothing moving. No sentries. Nothing."
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick nodded. "All right," he said to the other four members of their team. "Let's get it done, yeah?"
Employing stealth and cover techniques, the task force followed a faint goat trail up the ridge and through a narrow gorge with rocky sides. High above, all but invisible in the night sky, an AC-130 Gunship, radio call sign Reaper One-One, flew overwatch with its 40mm cannon, 105mm howitzers, and its thermal imagers and sensor pods.
This is too easy. You are thinking too much again. It's just another mission. Then why this feeling? Maybe it's just the headaches.
The headaches had plagued Price for the past several months, finally prompting a visit to the Naval Medical Center before this deployment for a series of tests. Still no word back from the docs.
Maybe it's nothing. But maybe it's something.
Price had learned a long time ago that if something didn't look right, then it probably wasn't. That judgment had kept him and his team alive on many deployments.
Everything had lined up a little too easily for this target: the intel, the offset infil, the current state of the objective area. And why the pressure from higher authority to go after this target? When was the last time a flag-level command injected itself into the tactical planning process? Something wasn't adding up.
This wasn't the first time they had approached a target they suspected was a possible ambush. At one point in the war, when intel had pointed to the high possibility of an ambush, corroborated by multiple sources both human and technical, Price would have knocked on the door with a thermobaric AT-4 or a few 105mm rounds from an AC-130 Gunship. This was the first time that actual tactics had been dedicated from higher up—from men who would not be on the ground.
Focus on the mission. Price checked with the Tactical Operations Center, and looked at the Predator feed. Nothing. Another check with Shadow Company. Nothing moving.
The narrow gorge up the ridge deposited the silent Task Force through a saddle slightly above the targeted village. The settlement appeared quite peaceful through the green glow of NODs. It consisted of a cluster of closely-packed central buildings around a town square. Buildings were constructed of stone and mud and seemed to merge into the surrounding valley walls.
The target building where their HVT was believed to be holed up was a simple two-story structure with a regionally typical flat roof and a courtyard circled by additional small buildings. A faint light glowed through a window of one of the outbuildings, probably supplied by a kerosene lantern. Otherwise, the village lay in pitch-blackness.
Price's team wended its way downslope toward the village on a walking trail that led through a copse of wood, across a small stream, and past an orchard. Shadow Company set up security at the edge of the village to cover their withdrawal.
They penetrated the darkened village and made their way through an alleyway toward the HVT's compound, hugging buildings to either side of the alley to stay in deeper shadows. The team emerged from the alley to cross a vacant lot that served as a graveyard for abandoned vehicles—a rusting Hilux truck, a Toyota jacked up on its rims, and a couple of station wagons with glass salvaged as windows for nearby dwellings.
Ahead and across a dark street lay the compound walls. A small gate covered by a bed sheet led into the courtyard.
Price signaled for Ghost to drop off and covered the compound. Exfil would be through the same gate. Ghost nodded and slipped in among the vehicle wreckage.
On point, Price led the way across the dusty street while his eyes constantly scanned the compound walls for movement. Detecting nothing that was a threat, he cautiously swept aside the sheet that covered the gate and peered inside the courtyard.
His rifle's IR laser probed two guards asleep in the midst of a litter of trash and tools and old car parts, their AK-47s lying nearby within reach. One slumped on a rock with his head in his arms and on his knees. The other sprawled on the ground next to him, legs spread and his back leaning against a rusty engine block. Snoring.
Good. They must be guarding something, which means an active, occupied hole.
Price's laser spotted the top of the first guy's lowered head, the dot settling on his cranium. He felt Gaz press his shoulder. He nodded in response.
With a double tap of the trigger, Price dispatched the two men one after the other. They died almost without a sound, a result of brain shots. The walls of the compound muffled the suppressed Thump! Thump! of his rifle.
Price keyed his radio and opened his mouth to inform the TOC they were about to enter the compound when an explosion knocked him back ten yards and ripped his helmet from his head.
He had never even realized that he was momentarily unconscious. The pain in his head brought him back into the fight before the dust began to settle from the explosions. The professional in him immediately ensured he still had his weapon. Check. Next was a mental rundown of his body. Everything appeared to still be in the same place and working.
Who the hell approved CAS! Price shook his head. That would have to wait until later. Always improve your fighting position.
His eyes darted around looking in vain for his helmet and communications headset, hands moving in a frantic search until finally coming across it in the dirt. He shoved the helmet on and miraculously, the NODs and MBITR radio still worked.
"SPOOKY Four Seven, this is Alpha-One, friendly forces on target!" Price shouted into his radio while looking at the Gridded Reference Graphic attached to his arm. "Do not fire on building D3!"
Worn in a similar fashion as a quarterback's wrist coach, the GRG was instead an aerial image of the target area that allowed him to coordinate and maneuver forces who all used the same graphic.
There was no response over Coms. Price cursed and tried the radio again. "I say again my last, do not fire on building D3! Friendly forces on target!"
When there was no immediate response, Price pulled a flare from his kit. He looked up and saw a flash in the dark sky as the AC-130 Gunship loitering above dropped another 105mm howitzer on the target building.
Then it all went black.
|BREAK|
Price woke up on his back, his vision blurry, blinking his to clear his eyes and soften the pounding in his head.
Where am I?
As he turned his head slowly to try and clear the cobwebs, his eyes came to focus on the tube sticking out of his arm and he became away of something strapped over his mouth and nose.
IV. Oxygen mask.
Obviously, he was in a hospital room. Each breath brought the faint and not unpleasant tang of antiseptics. Price attempted to lift himself to his elbows but was stopped short by a blinding pain in his head.
Before he could try getting up again, the door to his room was opened and two nurses entered. Price tried t speak but his vocal cords appeared to be very rusty. He couldn't do much more than grunt.
One of the nurses smiled at him and gave a clear "Don't try to talk" command by putting a finger to her lips. Then the two fussed swiftly over him with practiced skill, checking his pulse, temperature, and reflexes. When one of them lifted his right arm and let it drop again, Price noticed something peculiar. It fell slowly and did not seem to weigh as much as normal.
In fact, his entire body felt...off.
He was about to try to ask a question when one of the nurses pressed something against the side of his neck. Price felt a slight pinch and sank back into a dreamless sleep.
When he woke again and found the nurses still standing around his bed, Price felt strong enough to assert himself.
"Where am I? What happened to my team?"
Even though he asked the question, Price wasn't sure he wanted the answer. He was alive, and that was a miracle. The chances of the others being alive too were minuscule. Not when they were all at ground zero of a few 105 howitzer rounds.
The two women exchanged glances, obviously uncertain about what to do next. Then one of the answered, enunciating her words very slowly and carefully: "Everything is fine, Captain. Your team is alive. Agent Laswell will be here in a minute...she will explain."
Laswell must have already been on her way because the door opened moments later. Price wasn't sure if it was the head trauma, but she look different. Younger. A lot younger. She looked like she did when they'd first met years ago.
"Price, glad to see you're looking well. We'll have you up in no time."
"My team? The nurse said survived? Where are they?"
"They did survive. I'll get you up to speed in just a minute." Laswell said, then she spoke rapidly and quietly to the nurses and Price could only catch a few words, several of which were wholly unfamiliar to him.
Then the nurse nodded and one of them opened a wall cupboard and produced a slim metal band, which she proceeded to wrap around Price's head.
"What's that for?" he asked. "EEG readout?"
The nurses looked baffled. Then a flow smile spread across Laswell's face.
"He's talking about an electroencephalogram," she said slowly as if dredging the word up from the depth of memory. "You're quite right, Price. They just want to monitor your brain functions."
My brain would function perfectly well if you'd let me use it, Price grumbled silently. But at least we seem to be getting somewhere—finally.
When whatever test the nurses were running was complete, they looked at Laswell and both nodded before leaving the room. Price guessed he passed the test because Laswell looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulder.
"John," she said, making a smooth switch from longtime friend to Intelligence Officer. "This will be a great shock to you, but you're capable of accepting it—and the sooner you know, the better. You and your team died that night in the Kunar Province. Believe me—we're in the beginning of the third Millenium and with the advances in technology we've brought you and your team back to life."
"I believe you," Price answered calmly.
Then, to his great annoyance, the room started to spin around him, and everything went black...again.
