SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (17 page)

Thank Christ for the armor. These guys are sure making up for lost time.

The incoming fire started to churn up the ground around him. He flung himself to the ground and sighted on the first enemy. Then he shifted his aim. Behind him, he’d seen a missile shooter. He’d had the RPG ready and aimed at the Platoon that was still bunched up after dropping out of the helo. Nolan squeezed off a couple of rounds, and the man went down with the force of the double tap. His missile soared out of the tube and went high into the sky; at least one piece of Russian ordnance that wasn’t going to kill Americans. Bullets were hissing and spitting over his head, the whiplike cracks of suppressed American 5.56 and 4.6 HK rounds, and the heavier unsuppressed explosions of the 7.62 Russian ammunition. He saw the guy who’d been his first target pop up again. He was heading toward a doorway in the side of a stone hut. Nolan popped a couple of rounds, taking him high in the chest, and the man went down. But more fighters were flooding into the center of the village; proof the mission had targeted the right place. This was no innocent agricultural settlement. Will crawled up beside him with more of the Seals coming up behind him.

“Those machine guns, the Minimis, we could do with them back here. Boswell sent them off in the wrong direction.”

“Yeah. I’ll call ‘em back in.”

“This is Bravo Two. We need the M249s back in the center of the village. A strong hostile force is putting up a lot of resistance. Make it snappy guys, and watch yourselves when you come in.”

“Copy that.”

He saw Boswell rush in to clear a house. Lucas Grant followed him. There was a burst of firing, and they came out and moved to the next house. Throughout the village, the two-man teams were doing their work, rooting through the dwellings, searching out the hostiles and taking them down. So far, no one had called in a sighting of the big prize, Abasin Balkhi. He could hear Boswell on the commo, urging the men to keep moving and to watch out for Balkhi. Intel had said he’d almost certainly try to flee rather than fight. He couldn’t be allowed to get away. He’d indicated his intent to kill Hamid Karzai, so he had to be stopped; the way you’d stop a rabid dog, by putting it down. It was the only way. A new burst of firing came from a position almost behind him. He looked around and saw four hostiles shooting at them from behind a battered old truck.
 

“Will, behind!”

“Yeah, I’m on it. Where are those fucking machine guns?”

“Right here, guys,” Brad Rose sung out as he slid to a stop and hunkered down next to Nolan and Bryce. Dan Moseley dropped down behind him. “I see them, just a second,” Brad murmured.

He sighted on the truck and looked sideways at Nolan. “Ready?”

“Go for it.”

Brad depressed the trigger. A stream of bullets from the M249 smashed into the civilian truck, ripping through the unarmored body. There was a scream as one of the Afghans was hit. The other three ran for a new hiding place, and Nolan and his squad had their opportunity to see them clearly. He fired first, knocking down the first man to dart out from cover. The Seals opened fire, and their HK416 assault rifles stuttered out short bursts of fire that scythed through the remaining two hostiles, tearing them to bloody ruin on the dusty village street. The machine guns had done their work, and then Boswell’s voice sounded in his earpiece.

“Bravo One to Bravo Two. We have located the primary target. He’s holed up in a stone building. It looks like a schoolhouse on the northeast edge of town. Chief, I need four men to cover the rear. We’re spread too thin here. Tell me when you’re in position, and we’ll go right in and try to finish him.”

“Copy that, give us a couple of minutes. I’ll call when we’re in position.”

He looked around for his men. Will stood to one side with Jack Whitman; the two men were covering his left flank. Brad lay on the ground behind the M249, watching for movement. Dan Moseley was behind him, and Zeke Murray stood in the doorway of a stone house nearby.

“Will, we’re moving. You stay here with a couple of men and watch for any hostiles that try to get in behind us. The rest of you, come with me.”

They’d heard Boswell’s message, and they hurried after him. It was the endgame. If they could kill Abasin Balkhi, the mission objective would be complete. Besides, it was normal for insurgents to fall apart when their leader was killed, so it would mean they’d be able to make a clean exfil if the survivors were running for the hills. He led them along the street, turned into the beaten earth square in the center of the village, and ran through to the dirt as a vicious stream of machine gun bullets cut just above his head. He could hear the other three men leaping for cover, and he lifted his head to see what they faced. He could see the gun barrel poking out from behind a heap of sacks, probably rice, that had been thrown down as a makeshift emplacement. He ate the dirt as another burst of fire swept over his head, meaning the gunner had seen him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t lift his head to aim his rifle back at the gunner. The moon had come out from behind the clouds, lighting up the street, so the gunner would have no trouble finding his targets. And Boswell was holding the primary target, which could easily slip away if he didn’t hurry.

“Dan, can you hit him with a grenade?”

“I can, but I’ll be exposed for a second or two while I aim. I need covering fire.”

“You got it. The rest of you men, I’ll count to three, and we hose that bastard down while Dan fires the grenade. You set, Dan?”

“On your mark, Chief.”

“Counting, three, two, one, mark!”

It was like the Fourth of July as the street lit up with the intense gunfire. The shooter wouldn’t be human if he didn’t put his head down, protecting himself from the storm of lead smashing around him. Dan stepped out, aimed, and fired. He stepped back as the grenade sailed overhead and dropped behind the emplacement.

“Fire in the…!”

He didn’t have time to complete the warning. They were crouched down, knowing what to expect. The grenade exploded, and pieces of metal, mixed with dried rice from the destroyed sacks, flew up into the air. They rushed forward even as the debris was still falling, but the hostile was down, as well as his loader. The two ripped and bloody bodies lay near the ruined machine gun. There was no need to check for signs of life.

Nolan nodded with satisfaction at the devastation. “Let’s move on. It’s time to pay that Afghan mother a visit.”

They skirted around the town and arrived behind the building Boswell had described. It wasn’t hard to identify, as it was the only large building in the entire village of Bandez. Gunfire was coming from the front windows of the schoolhouse, but Boswell’s squad was holding its fire so far. They deployed behind cover to cover the exits. There were four windows and a single door, and he called up Boswell.

“This is Two, we’re in position.”

“Copy that. We’re going in the front. We’ll give them a couple of bursts and then go in fast and hard. Either our target will try and fight, or he’ll come out your way, in which case take him down.”

“Copy that.” Nolan turned to his men. “You all heard. Keep your heads down. Some of that lead could find its way toward us.”

The firing started; shorts bursts from Boswell’s squad tore chunks from the fabric of the building, ricocheting around the inside. Some shots whistled all the way through and overhead. The firing from inside slackened, and the Lieutenant’s squad hit the door. There was a loud crash and a scream as they smashed through the entrance and ran in, shooting up everything in sight. Nolan’s men waited, and then the rear window slid open. A head peered out cautiously.

“I see him,” he murmured.
 

The guy was in his sights, but not a clear shot, not a killshot. He waited. The head disappeared and then came back, but something told him to hold his fire. A man slipped out of the window, but he was young, much too young to be Balkhi. The man turned to help another man out the window, and this time there was no doubt. The Afghan warlord was trying to slip out the back way, leaving his men to fight a rearguard action. And die.

“Okay, I’m on him. Hold your fire. We don’t want him to be skittish.”

“He’ll be skittish with a chunk of your lead up his ass,” someone said. It sounded like Zeke Murray, but it was no time for jokes.

“Quiet!”

He still waited, looking for a shot that would put an end to the murderous career of the Afghan warlord. The younger man kept getting in his way as they walked away from the schoolhouse. And then he stopped and pointed at something. Balkhi replied to him, and the youth knelt down. Nolan fired. The 7.62mm round smashed through Balkhi’s forehead, straight through his brain and exited the other side in a shower of blood and tissue. But Nolan didn’t see it. He was already changing his aim, and his second shot hit the target again, this time in the center of the chest. But Balkhi’s heart had already stopped beating as the brain ceased to send signals through his nervous system. He fell, certainly dead before he hit the ground. The younger man with him whirled around, the direction of the suppressed shots was not immediately obvious, and for a split second wouldn’t have registered in his brain as enemy action. He died in ignorance of what had hit his boss, as Brad opened up with the M249 and stitched a line of bullets all the way up his body to his chin. He collapsed without a sound.

Nolan stood up and went cautiously forward to check the body. He looked down carefully at the bearded face, but there was no doubt. He called Boswell.

“Bravo One, this is Two. Target is down. I say again, target is down.”

“Copy that, Bravo Two. Well done, I’m coming over to join you.”

Less than a minute later, he emerged and came up to Nolan.

“Have you heard from Will?”

“Not lately, no.”

He keyed his mic. “Three, what’s your status?”

Will Bryce answered at once. “We’re holding on the southern edge of the village, Lt. No sign of any hostiles. I think we either killed ‘em or scared ‘em away.”

“Understood. Can you...”

He was interrupted by a burst of gunfire to the south. Then the sky was lit up by a score of weapons firing at once, bright flashes like lightning. They were coming from Bryce’s position where he was deployed with Whitman.

“What’s going on?” Boswell shouted urgently. “Come in, Bravo Three, report!”

“It’s all hell breaking loose here! There’s a new group of hostiles just come out of a house, right outside the village. Looks like they were sleeping there, some kind of dormitory. I guess we woke ‘em up. But we could do with some help. We’re taking a lot of fire, and we’re pinned down,” he paused. “It sounds like Vince is whittling them down some. I’ve seen three go down so far, but there’s a whole heap more where they came from.”

“I can’t see all of them,” Vince interrupted. “They went to ground after I popped the first ones, and they’re not putting their heads up. Will’s in trouble.”

“We’re on the way. Two minutes.”

He started to run, and Nolan sprinted after him.

“I’d suggest we flank them, Lt. If you’ll keep them busy from the front, I can bring my squad around behind them. With any luck, we can hit them while they’re still worrying about you hitting them from this side.”

“Do it, Chief. We need to finish this fast and get out. We didn’t come here to start a major battle.”

“Copy that. I’ll call you when we’re in position.”

Nolan peeled off and began to regroup his men. “Brad, Dan, Zeke, follow me. We’re going to come up on them from the flank. As soon as they’re busy worrying about Boswell’s squad, we’ll move in and pick them off. First thing is to pinpoint their location and get into a good firing position. He had an idea.

“This is Bravo Two. Vince, can you see our position?”

“That’s affirmative, Chief. You’re two hundred meters south of the schoolhouse. Hostiles are a hundred and fifty meters southwest of you. If you keep walking, take the next right, and then circle around the block, you’ll come in right behind them. I can’t see any kind of a rearguard. You should be able to reach them without them being any the wiser.”

“Copy that. We’re moving in now.”

They walked quietly through the dark, empty streets.

The sounds of battle must have been terrifying for the locals,
Nolan reflected.

There was no sign of any life. They were all indoors; keeping their shabby houses buttoned up tight and praying the soldiers of both sides left them alone. At least it meant the only Afghans they encountered would likely be hostiles. It made life more straightforward. They almost ran headlong into two armed men who were racing through the streets. The four Seals reacted automatically. Four suppressed shots snapped out, and both Afghans were hurled backward to slump to the ground.