Men of Mercy: The Complete Story Page 2

  MERC: Engineer Sergeant, Sgt. 1st Class

  ♣Recruited from Special Operations Group (SOG) of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)

  ♣Specialized Skills: direct action, unconventional warfare, special recon, Demolitions, psychological operations

  ♣Demolition expert. Trained in psychological warfare, conducts field interrogations.

  ♣Height: 6’5”

  ♣Weight: 250lbs

  ♣Combat Experience: Classified

  ETHAN SLADE: Communications

  Sergeant/Commo Guy, Sgt. 1st Class

  ♣Recruited from the 75th Ranger Regiment, Ft. Benning, GA

  ♣Specialized Skills: direct action, unconventional warfare, special recon, communications

  ♣Communications expert. Employ latest FM, multi-channel, and satellite communication devices.

  ♣Height: 6’0”

  ♣Weight: 200lbs

  ♣Combat Experience: Operation Condor, Operation Summit, Operation Volcano, Operation Achilles

  CORD CARTER: Weapons Sergeant, Staff Sgt.

  ♣Recruited from the Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command (MARSOC), Camp Lejeune, NC

  ♣Specialized Skills: direct action, unconventional warfare, special reconnoissance, weapons expert/sniper

  ♣Weapons expert. Capable of firing and employing all small arm and crew served weapons

  ♣Height: 6’1”

  ♣Weight: 210lbs

  ♣Combat Experience: Operation Iraqi Freedom, Operation Condor, Operation Summit, Operation Volcano, Operation Achilles

  Chapter 1

  Delta Force 2007

  Somewhere outside of Karachi, Pakistan along the Indus River

  The desert moon highlighted every tree and piece of brush along the Indus River, but it did not touch Hunter James and his men. The small contingent lay on their stomachs in the sand, blending with the camouflage of shadows, legs in the water behind them.

  The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from Satan's hell-on-earth heat. Long, dark strips of clouds cut across the ominous sky, slicing the crescent moon in half, and the shadows shifted across Hunter's face. A crisp wind swept sand across the ground, but Hunter didn't blink. Didn't take his gaze from the high-powered night vision binoculars or NVGs.

  The only things that moved were the corpses.

  Limp bodies hung from ropes in irregular intervals along the twelve-foot concrete wall surrounding the newest compound of the terrorist organization ISA, the Islamic State of Afghanistan. Men. Women. Children. Each of them decorated with blood-painted signs. Traitor. Whore. Infidel.

  A normal person would have vomited at the gruesome sight. But not Hunter. Not any member of the team he led—Task Force Scorpion or TF-S. Death hadn't fazed them in a long time. It couldn't, not in their profession.

  "Son of a bitch. What kind of man decorates his home with dead women and children?" Ranger, Hunter’s brother and second in command, spoke through their team's internal communication system. The remote mic system allowed them to communicate within a thousand yards of each other.

  "Not a man. A monster. And I plan on fitting him with his own personal noose, right after we play a little game of dull knife, dull spoon." Jared, an elite scout sniper, shifted forward, careful not to break line out of the bushes.

  "Aw, hell no, man, you always get to have all the fun. It's my turn this time. Plus, Mr. J already put you on probationary status after the Congo mission," said Hoyt, Jared's brother.

  "No one is killing Al Seriq tonight. That's not the mission. We're here on a capture and carry only." Hunter tilted his head to the right, narrowing in on the west tower with his binoculars. A lone guard stood watch, his AK-47 clearly visible against the sky.

  "But Top, that could have changed, you don't know. Mr. J hasn't checked in. Could be command invoked a kill order," Hoyt said. Top, or top dog, was Hunter’s nickname for being the first sergeant in charge of the group.

  Hunter sighed, not bothering to hide his irritation. Hoyt was a mischief-maker, his blond, curly hair and bright smile a constant source of attraction for women no matter where they were stationed. It only meant Hunter had to be more of a hard-ass.

  "You heard him. Besides, you'd puss out before you even started on his eyes," Jared said. He was the more serious of the brothers, with darker hair that matched his grimmer personality.

  "Give it up. You know Top doesn't break orders," Ranger said. He leaned left and his shoulder brushed Hunter's as he swept his binoculars in a constant motion, keeping an eye out for new combatants.

  "You four sound like a bunch of women. Why don't y’all go ahead and have a cat fight and get it over with?" Shane Carter said. Though not related to either set of brothers by blood, Shane might as well be family. He and Ranger had become best friends at ten years old, and the two had been a team ever since.

  Hunter’s Task Force Scorpion was a group of nine men. All of them highly intelligent. All of them deadly. All of them fearless.

  Years of training together had honed the men to the sharp precision of a finely crafted blade. A blade the government wielded when the broad sword of the army failed. A blade that could slice the head off a terrorist organization, leaving the body in a pool of blood before the group even registered its death.

  If they were caught, there would be no rescue. No air strike. No news anchor demanding their release. According to the US government, TF-S didn't exist.

  "Speaking of women, if you don't hurry up and nail that redhead back home at The Wharf, I'm gonna do it for you," Hoyt said to Ranger.

  Hunter stilled. Evie owned The Wharf, which just happened to be Mercy, Mississippi's only bar.

  "Trust me, you couldn't handle a woman like her if she jumped into your lap,” Ranger said. “Anyway, I like to appreciate my time with women, take it slow.”

  "Yeah, appreciate them right into a nursing home. You haven't had a woman in three years. How much appreciating do you need?"

  "Enough. You two can compare dicks later. Eyes on the tower." Hunter leveled his voice, fighting to keep his memories locked down tight. They needed to focus. Their mission was to capture a murderer. Not daydream in the sand.

  Muhammad Al Seriq, the new leader of ISA, murdered innocents with a ferocity that made his predecessor look like a GI Joe doll. After a Pashtun drug lord murdered his father, he joined ISA and quickly jumped up the ranking order. When the last leader of ISA had been murdered, Al Seriq took over, and moved the organization into Pakistan.

  Intel suspected Al Seriq was acquiring a massive shipment of weapons from a source unknown to the CIA. A source that had to be discovered before more of their weapons were used to kill more innocents.

  Hunter scanned the towers again, marking the guards’ routine, nailing down their weaknesses. "Intel has Al Seriq in the central compound. Remember, we’re here for extraction. Mr. J wants him for questioning." They could all hear him, of course, but Hunter turned his head to look at them. "They can't question a dead body."

  Mr. J was TF-S's liaison with the CIA and the only man to successfully embed with ISA. Ninety percent of the intel on ISA had come directly from him.

  Shane's voice clicked on in Hunter's ear. "Got it, Top. They won't even know he's missing until tomorrow's call for prayer."

  The rest of his men sounded their agreement. "All right, order of march is myself, Ranger, and Shane is trail. Jared and Hoyt, provide over-watch.” Hunter checked his SEIKO watch and then spoke into the comm system, “Team two, plan to meet at extraction point A at 0130.”

  “Roger.” Merc, recon expert and leader for Team two answered. TF-S had broken into two groups for this mission. One for invasion and one for extraction.

  “Moving.” The brothers spread out, rolling away from the group, careful to keep to the underbrush. Hunter held up the binoculars again, watching the guards again. The east tower guard dropped his AK over his shoulder and lit up a smoke.

  Hunter eased forward, his heart rate calm, his ha
nds steady. The cold, comfortable weight of training settled over him. He smiled. This was what he lived for. The adrenaline rush of going into a situation and knowing he might not come out. And the pride of knowing there was no better way he could serve his country. Just like his old man.

  Al Seriq's twelve-foot concrete walls were topped with guard towers at each corner. Desert surrounded three sides. The gate was four inches of solid iron. Impenetrable even with a 50-caliber. It was a terrorist’s dream and a siege team's nightmare.

  Their saving grace was the river, which ran straight up to the southern edge of the compound, with vegetation growing thick along the banks. That was all the concealment Hunter’s men needed to make a successful breach.

  "Careful, Top, he's turning," Jared said. Hunter continued forward, slow and steady, until he halted directly beside the east tower. He took a deep breath and rolled to his back. A blanket of stars spread out over the night sky, but he barely even noticed their beauty. His focus was on the tower. Watching. Waiting.

  His muscles drew tense and ready. His heart rate slowed.

  "Go." Jared's voice came through. Hunter didn't hesitate. He threw his grappling hook; the metal chinked quietly into the concrete. He ascended the rope, ignoring the stench of the rotting bodies, and pulled himself over the wall, landing in a crouch on the balls of his feet. The oblivious guard took another drag off his cigarette, and Hunter snapped his neck.

  The night remained quiet, the only sounds the cadence of water and the whirring of insects. Ranger signaled him from the west tower. Phase One was complete.

  As Hunter looked out across the empty courtyard, a chill of unease slipped icy fingers down his neck. Nothing moved. It was too silent.

  Jared cleared the tower and donned the fallen guard's jacket and hat, resuming position for the dead man.

  "Clear." All his men were in position now. Hunter peeked over the edge, surveying the compound below.

  "Hold." Hunter issued the command.

  "What's wrong, Top?" Shane asked.

  "Too quiet. Something's wrong." Most of Al Seriq's followers were fanatically loyal, to the point of suicide, and those who weren't, were loyal for fear of death. Hunter poured over the satellite images in his mind. There were always roving patrols. Always.

  Unless this was a trap, and Al Seriq knew they were coming. "Jared and Hoyt, take watch. I'm going to radio in to command. Something doesn't feel right."

  Normally he wouldn't pay any more attention to his feelings than he would a gnat hovering over his plate, but his instincts were screaming. And they had saved his ass more times than any CIA intel.

  Hunter dropped to the tower floor and pulled out his radio. "Apache Main, this is Mary. Over."

  "Mary, this is Apache. Over." The rough and unfamiliar voice that came through the comm only intensified the trickle of unease inside Hunter.

  "Where's the Wolf?" Captain Grey should have been on the other end of the line.

  "The Wolf is in the woods. This is the Cottage. Over." Shit. Captain Grey would be absent for only two reasons: a major screw-up or death. Something was definitely off.

  "The Shepherds aren't at home. I repeat, the Shepherds aren't at home." Hunter controlled his breathing, fighting to keep his mind clear and focused.

  "Copy, Mary. Stand by."

  Hunter rose to his knees and surveyed the courtyard with his night vision goggles. No movement. Everything about this place looked normal, but his gut screamed ambush.

  "Mary, this is the Cottage. What is your recommendation?"

  "My recommendation is to abort the mission until we have further intel." Hunter leaned his forehead against the radio. He knew command would ignore his advice, just like he knew his men would be the ones to pay for their decision.

  "Stand by." The radio clicked off. Static sounded through Hunter's earpiece, replaced by Ranger’s voice, "Top, you know they ain't gonna call it off." Ranger didn't possess the ability to turn off his mouth.

  "Ranger, you know, Dad gave me a good piece of advice when I was young."

  "Yeah, what's that?"

  "Shut the hell up." Hunter looked again. Still no movement.

  The radio crackled back to life. "Mary, this is the Cottage."

  "Go ahead."

  "We need you to bring the Little Lamb home if it’s on site.”

  "Roger." Shit. Hunter dropped his head and took a deep breath, ignoring the vice tightening around his chest. He took a quick exhale to release it. They were going into a potential massacre, but then again, Task Force Scorpion didn't get called in for pansy-ass missions.

  "You get that, team?" Hunter asked. They had all heard his communication with headquarters over the remote mic system.

  "Roger. We're with you, Top."

  Really, he couldn’t blame HQ for asking them to continue. This was the first time they had come anywhere close to having solid intel on this terrorist fucker. And it might be the last. Two months ago, Al Seriq and his men had begun committing mass genocide on the Pashtuns. So far only a few pictures had made it out of the Indus Valley Desert, but they had been gruesome, even for him.

  Corpse after corpse. People. Animals. Nothing and no one had been spared. And the bodies hanging from the walls of the compound…

  No. They couldn't call their mission off. Not now. "It's a go. Follow the plan. But be on alert; I don't like the feel of this."

  Hunter descended the primitive wooden ladder to the bottom of the compound and took off running before his feet had a chance to sink into the sand. Ranger and Shane followed, each backing into the first outbuilding, weapons raised.

  The compound was built like a bull’s eye target. Single-story dwellings ringed the concrete wall, and the ISA leaders and their families were housed in the two-story bunker that sat in the center. That bull’s eye was their target.

  Hunter peered around the corner, down an opening between two of the squat buildings. The pathway was dark and empty. Hunter lifted his hand, motioning his men, and they moved forward in a crouched run. Cleared the next path. Crossed to the central compound and ducked down next to the entry.

  Hunter checked the door, found it unlocked, and moved to breach. The wood door swung open soundlessly, so he moved in, gun raised. The dark room swallowed all the light from the moon, but the people littering the floor were clearly visible through their NVGs. And clearly dead.

  Unease returned full force, and a cold sweat broke across Hunter's brow. He ignored it, determined to get this mission finished and get the hell out. Anxiety was a luxury he couldn’t afford to entertain.

  He signaled to the others to follow him and they moved silently to the staircase along the west wall and eased up the stairs, emerging in a short hallway lined with five closed doors.

  They moved with the efficiency of a machine, clearing the rooms in order. Hunter and his men re-grouped in the hallway and moved to the second to last door. Hunter led, Ranger following close behind. Men lay scattered on pallets on the floor, some at odd angles.

  "Why would Seriq kill his own men?" Ranger knelt down and prodded the nearest form with his weapon.

  “Damn if I know, but I’m getting the itch." The itch that some bad shit was about to go down. Hunter kept watch from the doorway.

  “This isn’t good.”

  "Fall back. Now. We need to evacuate." Hunter's nerves were on full alert.

  "But what if Al Seriq's in the last room?" Shane crept to the door at the end of the hall before Hunter could stop him.

  Hunter's radar blasted to full alert, blaring in his ears. "Shane, fall back. Now."

  But it was too late.

  Shane opened the door, his rifle raised. Hunter ran to back him up, weapon at the ready, and came to a stop in the doorway. A mutilated man sat tied to a chair, the light of a single bulb illuminating what was left of him.

  "Oh shit, I'm gonna puke." Shane coughed and covered his mouth with his arm.

  "Can you ID him?" Ranger approached the room.

  "With wha
t?"

  Hunter inched forward, realization dawning fast and hard. The black bag pulled down over the corpse's head was tied off at the throat with barbed wire. Dried blood had tracked uneven paths down his naked shoulders, but not enough to camouflage the word carved into his chest. Traitor.

  His intestines spilled into his lap below the word. But his eyes weren’t focused on the inside-out guts so much as the black ring on the corpse’s right hand. A ring Hunter had seen on a hand lifting a beer, casting a fishing rod back home, training for combat.

  Ice-cold rage unleashed inside Hunter, but he held still, welcoming the beast inside him.

  "It's Mr. J. Fall back. Fall back. It's a trap." Their CIA contact, the only person to ever get inside Al Seriq's circle, was dead.

  Hunter ran down the hall, his feet fueled by adrenaline and anger. He took a breath and released it, forcing the raw emotions out with it. Now wasn't the time for grief. He had to get his men out of the compound, fast.

  They pounded down the stairs, not bothering to keep quiet now, jumped over the bodies on the first floor, and backed up to the front door. A bullet slammed into the doorframe a couple of inches from Hunter's face. "Shit!"

  "Top, we got a shit-storm stirring. This situation is about to get FUBAR on our asses if y’all don't get the hell out," Hoyt said, his voice urgent.

  "How many combatants you counting?"

  "Fifteen. More coming. Got five behind the building. Ten in front. We can take out some from the towers, maybe provide some distraction."

  "Okay. On your signal." Hunter nodded to Ranger and Shane across the doorway. A few seconds later, the compound rang with the sound of bullets sinking into flesh, followed by screams.

  "Top, more coming. Y’all gotta get out now." The sound of more gunfire punctuated Jared's voice.

  Shane eased his head up over the open window and jerked back down in time to avoid a bullet. "Damn, I'm tired of getting shot at."

  Hunter forced himself to focus. They had plenty of ammunition, but they were running out of time to get out of the middle compound. "Shane, can you get eyes on the house to the right?"