PROLOGUE
“Kilo Actual, this is Kilo Control. Authenticate.”
Bash pressed the button on the earpiece of his push-to-talk radio as he peered down a hill at his team’s target. At four in the morning, the lone building occupying this empty expanse of Akkadian desert was dark, but he spotted three armed men patrolling the perimeter. If he could see three, there were at least six. He hoped there were no more than six on the inside, or this operation was going to get messy.
“Kilo Control, Kilo Actual. Authentication delta three seven two x-ray niner.”
Headquarters had generated the code before the mission, and only the members of the team knew it so HQ could be certain they were talking to their own team.
“Kilo Actual, Kilo Control, roger. Position report.”
Bash didn’t need the rangefinder on his Mk 21 precision sniper rifle to answer the question. He had a knack for determining distance from visual cues. “Kilo Control, Kilo Actual. Position is seven-five-zero meters south-south-east of target.”
There was a moment of silence while Kilo Control double-checked all the intel and made certain nothing had changed in the hour since Team Kilo had started their operation. They were also checking satellite imagery, weather reports, radar from the nearest airfield, and hell, maybe even peering into a crystal ball for all Bash knew, looking for any variables that might be a reason to scrub the op. He kept his breathing slow and steady, not allowing himself to grow impatient with the delay. There were many reasons for an overabundance of caution on this mission, the main one being to keep Bash and the other four men on his team from buying a hot and sandy farm thousands of miles from home. He thought keeping their collective asses in one piece was worth a short delay.
The deep, familiar voice of Nikolas Galanos, the head of Fortress, sounded in his ear. “Kilo Actual, Kilo Control. Weapons free. Execute at your discretion. Exfil will be one zero. Repeat one zero mikes after you sound recall. Acknowledge.”
Bash’s adrenaline surged when he received the go-ahead, but he didn’t let his tone reflect it. Nor did he protest the exfiltration time, although ten mikes — or minutes — could be one hell of a long time to wait when you were in the middle of hostile territory.
“Kilo Control, Kilo Actual. Roger. Acknowledge extraction one zero, repeat one zero mikes from recall. Keep those engines hot, Boss.”
“Kilo Actual, Kilo Control. Bring them home, Bash. Control out.”
Bash switched to the team channel. “This is One,” he said. “We have a go. Two and Four, spread out to the north and east, maintaining distance. Three and Five, take south and west. We’ll encircle the target, eliminate the externals, then breach.”
“One, Two. Roger.”
The other three men acknowledged as well, and Bash watched as shadows slipped into the faint light of the crescent moon, almost invisible even though he knew where each man had been. That was a good thing, because if Bash could barely see them at a distance of ten yards, there was no way the people in the building over a quarter of a mile away could do it.
He glanced at his watch before returning his attention to the house visible through his scope. It was a squat structure, built of native stone and not too large. There were probably no more than three or four rooms within, which would make locating their targets much easier, but it also meant that when things went loud, the hostages they’d been sent to rescue could be caught in a crossfire.
As each member of his team reached their position, they reported in, and Bash waited until Three, who had the farther distance to travel, was set.
“Kilo team, One. Target count. I still have three mobile, southeast side.”
Now the house was encircled, they could see all the mobile targets, and Bash awarded himself a mental point when the total was six. That didn’t mean there weren’t others in concealed locations, but he thought the probability was low.
“One, Four. Another target just exited on north side. I have eyes on.”
“Four, One. Roger.” Bash was the best sniper in the squad, but Three was almost as good. Five men, seven targets ought to be doable. “Designating targets clockwise from north. I’ll take Target A and B. Two, take C. Three, you’ve got D and E. Four F, Five G.”
When his team had acknowledged their orders, Bash returned his gaze to the night-vision scope on his rifle. “Kilo team, One. Execute in three… two… one… mark!”
Bash squeezed the trigger, and then he moved to the next target without waiting to watch the first one fall. The silence from his team was good; his men would only report now if something was off their execution plan. Within fifteen seconds, he had dismantled his rifle and stuffed it into his backpack. He stood up and drew his HK P30 .40 cal, and then he moved swiftly toward the house. He kept the handgun out in front of him, scanning from side to side as he looked for threats.
He took a moment to double check his kills when he reached the house. Keeping low, he circled toward the front of the building and caught sight of his men as they converged on his location in preparation for the breaching action.
Bash froze when he heard raised voices inside the house, and he knew the rest of his squad would do the same. Two men were squabbling, and Bash rose slowly from a crouch so he could peek into the open window to the left of the front door.
He could see little of the room, which was illuminated only by a single, shaded lamp in a far corner. But as he suspected, two men faced off in front of a table containing a radio and several guns. Although he wasn’t fluent in the local dialect, Bash knew enough Arabic to determine they were arguing about a payment, likely the ransom for the hostages. Then one of them pointed at the radio.
“Natie al Mukhtar!”
Whoever the Mukhtar was, and whatever he had ordered, Bash couldn’t afford to have either of the men contact anyone and possibly call for reinforcements. It was time to get the show on the road. He lifted his hand and signalled Two and Four to take point, and a moment later, his team burst into the house.
It was far from the first firefight Bash had been in, but having multiple hostages inside the building made this situation more tense. It was usually safe, however, to assume the guys with the guns were hostile, and his team had dropped the two armed men within seconds. They fanned out as they moved further inside and checked in closets and behind furniture, looking for hidden hostiles and traps.
They located all four of the hostages in a bedroom, but one terrorist was in there as well. The man had one arm wrapped around a small girl, and he pressed the muzzle of his gun against the child’s head. Bash noted this terrorist wasn’t Arabic, not with his pale skin and unkempt, dirty-blond hair. It was unusual, but westerners did join terrorist organizations in this area of the world, whether because they supported the cause or they wanted the thrill of being murderous outlaws.
