Afghan Sunset: A Jackson Pike Novella Read online

  Afghan Sunset:

  A Jackson Pike Novella

  Patrick Adams

  .

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2013 Patrick Adams

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Prologue:

  Code of Conduct of the U.S. Armed Forces

  I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.

  I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.

  If I am captured, I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.

  If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.

  When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause.

  I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.

  Chapter 1:

  The air that whipped by the tiny bits of exposed skin on my face was cold. Bitingly cold; but it was always cold during HALO jumps.

  I turned to Chief Jones who was sitting across the cargo bay of the hulking gray aircraft.

  He gave me a thumbs up, a subtle and non-verbal reassurance. As usual, his confidence helped to steady my nerves. And since our voices were drown out by the drone of the airplane's four engines, the thumbs up was the best that the Chief could do.

  The C-130 was cruising at close to 150 knots and at an altitude in excess of 27,000 feet.

  We were waiting for the jumpmasters to signal our first High Altitude Low Opening (HALO) jump in country.

  Although I wouldn't admit it to any of the more junior SEALs, I was nervous.

  I wasn't nervous about the jump.

  I was nervous about what we'd find when we reached our assigned target.

  The suspected weapons depot where we were bound was a fortress by any definition, crouched in a well protected valley and collocated with a school.

  I shook my head and controlled my breathing as I checked my oxygen bottle's pressure gauge.

  My hands were shaking slightly, but when the Air Force jumpmaster gave us the standby signal, the nerves went away.

  The other SEALs and I stood simultaneously. As always, the Chief pushed his way to the front of the line.

  "Lead by example" he was fond of saying.

  The aerial delivery panel was eerily bright in the dark cargo compartment of the C-130 as the men and I peered anxiously at the red light of the panel, waiting for it to turn green.

  When the light came, it illuminated the entire cargo bay an eerie shade of green.

  The shadows of eight fully armed US Navy SEALs stepped into the darkness, backlit by the green hue of the jump signal as each hurled himself from the cargo bay door and into the black night.

  I followed without hesitation, switching on my Night Vision Goggles (NVGs) as I sprinted full speed from the cargo bay and into the blackness of the night, breathing hungrily through my oxygen mask.

  The roar of the aircraft's engines was replaced seconds later by the bite of the close to -40 degree wind rushing past my face and the howl of the night air screaming past my ears.

  I soon neared terminal velocity. I could see the other men in my NVGs, shadowy figures in the night sky falling through the air towards our landing zone.

  The mountains around us were back lit in the starry night as we fell through the blackness. The land below was dark but for occasional clusters of light.

  In the distance the lights of Kabul offered the only cultural lighting, a blanket of white lights glowing green in the aperture of the NVGs.

  I glanced beneath the goggles to the pressure altimeter affixed like a watch to my left wrist.

  We were at 17,500 feet.

  My men were each checking their own pressure altimeters.

  Through the NVGs, small lights of cook fires and the occasional soft electric glow of cultural lighting blurred brightly in my vision as we fell through the cold blackness.

  The GPS attached to my other wrist would guide us to the landing zone.

  I peered beneath the goggles again, this time to the small GPS screen on my right wrist. We were within a mile of the LZ already.

  13,000 feet.

  The barometric elevation of the landing zone was 6,500 feet.

  We wouldn't open our parachutes until approximately 1,000 feet above the ground, which meant 7,500 feet on my barometric readout.

  8,000 feet.

  I pulled the long rip cord attached to my parachute and saw a flurry of chutes open from the men beneath me.

  The heavy jerk of chute's drag was a shock to my system as my eyes scanned back towards the GPS. A quarter mile to the LZ.

  "Rendezvous point Charlie." I spoke into the press to talk transmitter microphone attached to my headset.

  "Roger." The voice was quiet but confident. That would be Chief Jones.

  The remaining 1,000 feet of altitude seemed interminable.

  Too many men had been taken by enemy sniper fire while hanging helpless in the chute.

  So as always it was a relief when my boots touched the hard ground and I executed the parachute landing fall, allowing my knees to bend beneath my body and falling to the side, the action absorbing the impact of the rocky ground.

  I cut the chute loose and gathered the silk, tucking it back into my pack as I scanned the horizon through my goggles.

  Eight men stood in the darkness, illuminated in the green scintillation of the NVGs as I shrugged my pack back on and stepped towards the East side of the open clearing towards rendezvous point Charlie.

  The dark hulking form of Chief Jones met me halfway.

  "The clearing is secured. No injuries on the jump."

  "Roger," I replied scanning the field.

  "The target is 10 clicks
from here. It should take just under an hour and a half in this terrain. Have the men prepare to move out."

  "Roger that, sir." Mike Jones turned and went to work, speaking softly into his microphone transmitter.

  I took a knee and pulled a land navigation map outlining the terrain and obstructions from my pack.

  Our target was a large compound in a remote village nearby, shrouded by mountains and surrounded by the seemingly omnipresent poppy fields.

  The facility was heavily fortified, and based on satellite surveillance was suspected of being a staging area for insurgent operations in the area.

  The fighting in this province had been the worst in country during the past few months, costing numerous American lives.

  Based on intelligence gathered from detainees and from satellite reconnaissance, the heavily fortified facility was thought to be a Taliban stronghold.

  But the mission was a delicate one.

  That's why they had sent us.

  SEAL Team 6; the best of the best. The Special Warfare Development Group.

  Our eight man team was deemed the best military option.

  They had considered a tactical bombing of the facility, but the compound included a school. And the command wanted Intel.

  Where were these weapons coming from? Who was providing the firepower?

  U.S. forces had pretty well shut down the main border crossings since the invasion, but the Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters continued to be well armed and well supplied.

  It was maddening.

  And this was the best lead the military had on the source of the arms influx into Afghanistan.

  It was my team's job to gather as much intelligence as possible before destroying the facility with a minimum number of civilian casualties.

  I folded the chart and tucked it in my right cargo pocket. The GPS affixed to my arm would guide us to the compound, but old habits die hard and I always liked to check the map.

  "The men are ready." It was Mike Jones' voice, but despite myself I still jumped. Very few men could sneak up on me, but Mike Jones was one of them.

  I turned to face the hulking black form of Jones. In the darkness, I could see him smile in my NVGs. He knew he'd gotten the drop on me, and was allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. I returned the grin and slapped him on the back, turning towards the men who knelt in a small semicircle around us.

  "You gentlemen know the mission, and the risks." I said in nearly a whisper. "Lets get a move out. It'll take about an hour and a half to the outskirts of town. I'll take point first."

  I shrugged my pack higher on my back and stepped through the field towards the darkened shrubbery which defined the start of our trek.

  I could hear the creaking of weapons and men behind me as we walked single file, shadows in the darkness of the Afghan mountains.

  The planners had chosen an apt name for this mission, I thought as I peered through the pitch black night ahead through my NVGs, sweeping the horizon with my silenced M4 carbine.

  Afghan Sunset.

  Chapter 2:

  I shook my head as we rounded the last bend on the goat trail that led West towards the nearest valley and our targeted weapons depot.

  My estimate for timing of our march had been almost spot on.

  The terrain had slowed us down slightly, but the march to the compound had taken around an hour and forty-two minutes, leaving us with approximately six hours remaining before sunrise.

  Per the intelligence, six hours should be plenty of time overcome the security forces which were deemed minimal, gather intelligence, and demolish the facility before returning to our extraction point a kilometer North of the compound.

  I scanned the horizon.

  The compound itself looked much as it did from the satellite pictures I'd seen.

  Chief Jones and I were crouched behind a large rock on the outskirts of town, surveying the black building through our NVGs.

  Sentries were said to walk a standard pattern, clockwise around the exterior wall, which stood twelve feet tall and ringed the compound. Tall minarets of a small mosque stood starkly against the night sky, illuminated in the green glow of our goggles.

  "What do you think, Chief?" I asked, glancing at Jones.

  "Intel states that we could expect sentries and some electronic surveillance near the entry point. I see neither."

  I nodded. "Could they have relocated the weapons?"

  The Chief shook his head. "Our latest satellite photos were from yesterday. Didn't show anything out of the ordinary in the compound. Normal operations."

  "Doesn't seem right." I said softly.

  The Chief let out a low groan in response.

  I turned back to the SEALs who stood in a small semicircle awaiting our direction.

  "Saddle up. All entry points have been assigned. Execute the plan as briefed. We meet at the rendezvous point."

  "Turner," I said, turning to the young demolition expert to my left, "you are on the demolition of the facility. Wait for the call and get to the main store immediately. Intel puts it in the large building near the center of the complex."

  "Yes, sir." Turner said, nodding his blonde head as he shifted his pack and glanced towards the complex.

  I slung my pack higher on my back and crouched low behind the rock as Chief Jones shifted his weight on his heels behind me.

  I could hear him quietly checking his weapon and tightening his gear. He was always been very careful to check his gear before entering a facility, a habit he encouraged in his men.

  "Lets go." I said quietly to no one in particular through our encrypted headset radio.

  I could see the silhouettes of my men in the cool darkness of the mountains as they branched out into four teams of two and began advancing steadily through the pitch black night, each man covering the next as we moved in staggered formation towards our assigned entry points.

  The facility was quiet and dark in the cool night air.

  We covered the hard ground of the mountain valley quickly and judiciously, Mike Jones and I taking turns on point, each careful to provide cover for the next as he jogged slowly forward.

  When we finally reached the gray concrete of the twelve foot security wall we still had not seen any signs of resistance or observation.

  We were both crouched low. The Chief was on point now as we moved towards the heavy wooden door of the South entrance.

  The Chief pulled a metal breacher bar from his pack when we reached the door.

  He gripped the cold aluminum in his strong hands before realizing that he didn't need it.

  The door to the tall concrete walls of the facility was hanging slightly off its top hinge.

  Chief Jones nodded to me and signaled our entrance to the facility.

  I clutched my silenced M4 lightly in my hands, sweeping the horizon as I nodded back.

  I glanced at my watch and gave him the signal.

  "Entering the South door." He said into our encrypted radio as he kicked the door in and burst through the exterior wall.

  I was close behind him.

  From my head set, I could hear the other teams entering the facility.

  "Shit." Mike said as I continued to crouch low, sweeping for hostile action through my goggles.

  My eyes followed Mike's gaze to the ground.

  Two men lay at our feet in a congealing puddle of blood, stacked on top of one another, their AK-47 assault rifles laying neatly beside them.

  "Be advised," I spoke into the radio. "South door guards are dead."

  The reports from the other three teams were the same. At each entry point, the guards were dead, laid neatly on top of one another near their assigned security checkpoints.

  Our instincts had been right. Something was definitely wrong here.

  Chapter 3:

  It wasn't long before we realized that we were surrounded.

  In the distance, through the dusty alleyways of the compound we could make out forms moving through the blackness.
<
br />   The shadows danced in the eerie green light of our NVGs as we crouched low, scanning the horizon.

  Chief Jones moved judiciously, stepping over the corpses of the former security guards as we moved to the rendezvous point.

  I made the call. "Rendezvous point Delta. Five minutes." The radio crackled to silence.

  The other teams offered subdued affirmations.

  I followed Mike's dark form as he crept through darkened compound North towards the central plaza.

  Mike stopped and turned to me, raising a fist as he signaled me to hold position.

  I crouched low, sweeping the alley with my silenced M4 as he drew a long and sinister looking black Ka-Bar bayonet from his belt holster.

  A dark form stepped around the corner moments later, and Mike wrapped him in a powerful bear hug before running the razor sharp edge of the black blade full force across the man's throat.

  Chief Jones turned to me and nodded, his hand simultaneously waving me in his direction.

  We continued through the darkened alleyways of the small compound towards rendezvous point Delta. In the distance, the NVGs illuminated the darkened minarets of the compound's mosque, backlit against a starry sky.

  It seemed like it took an eternity to reach the stairwell on the West side of the mosque.

  As the tallest building in the compound, it provided the greatest tactical advantage when plans went awry, as they already had.

  I smiled slightly as I thought about how the State Department would like to explain us using a house of worship as cover from enemy fire, before forcing myself to refocus.

  There would be time for rumination later.

  Mike and I stepped up the concrete stairs towards the roof of the mosque. Two of our team members, the men who had entered through the nearby West entrance had already established a fortified position on the landing.

  After identifying ourselves and walking the rest of the way up the crumbling concrete stairs, we reached the flat roof.

  Mike seemed to relax slightly as our numbers doubled, but an air of danger still surrounded Chief Jones as he spoke softly to the other two men.

  As he did, I stepped to the edge of the roof and peered over the low concrete wall into the central plaza below.