The Severance

THE SEVERANCE

A Novel

Elliott Sawyer

Bridge Works Publishing

B
RIDGEHAMPTON
, N
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ORK

Copyright © 2010 by Elliott Sawyer

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Published by Bridge Works Publishing Company Bridgehampton, New York

Distributed in the United States by National Book Network, Lanham, Maryland. For a description of this and other Bridge Works books, visit the National Book Network Web site at
http://www.nbnbooks.com
.

First Edition

The characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sawyer, Elliott.
The severance / by Elliott Sawyer.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9816175-3-4 (alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-9816175-3-0 (alk. paper)
1. Afghan War, 2001—-Fiction. 2. Taliban—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3619.A95S48 2010
813’.6—dc22
2010012352

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials. ANSI/NISO Z39.481992.

Manufactured in the United States of America

To my loving wife, Alisha

There are a few people I need to thank. My family, for all the love and support. My editor, Barbara Phillips, for helping me shape this story into what you’re holding in your hands. My friends, who keep me grounded in reality (which is harder than it sounds).

I also think it is important to thank you, the reader. To me, you’re the most important part of the literary process and the whole reason I attempted writing at all. Hope you enjoy the ride.

Finally, I would like to thank the American soldier, especially those who are serving in Afghanistan and Iraq. You’ve kept my life interesting, and you are some of the best people our nation can produce. I wouldn’t be the guy I am today without you.

If you had to get wounded, it was better to do it in your first week in-country, as opposed to your last week. That way you got out of the suck early, without much time wasted. Getting hit late in the game just delayed you getting home, what with layovers in Germany, and a stint in the five-star resort known as Walter Reed Army Hospital.

At least that’s the way Jake Roberts figured it, as he looked out at Captain Slater slumped on the ground 50 meters ahead, moaning and crying. Captain Slater was a company commander in the battalion that was replacing Jake’s battalion. The good captain had never been in combat before this deployment and had been in-country about four days. If he weren’t a complete idiot and a loudmouth, he might not have gotten himself shot and his troops pinned down. It should not have been Jake’s problem; this wasn’t even his patrol sector. But right now it was his only problem.

Captain Slater had been ordered to pursue a mortar team that had been nailing the district center every night for weeks. It had been a lucky break that an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle had been able to get a visual on the insurgents with the mortar tube. Instead of vectoring an F-15E Strike Eagle to kill the guys, the powers that be decided it would be a better idea to send dismounted soldiers to detain the Taliban insurgents. Jake’s platoon, which had been preparing to turn in all of its heavy weapons and equipment, was tapped and quickly airlifted to Captain Slater’s district center to link up with him and provide “additional combat power” and an “experienced combat leader” who was “familiar with the area.” This was all bullshit, of course: Captain Slater had more than enough soldiers for the task at hand. Command had never given a fuck about a leader’s “experience,” and Jake had only been to that part of the Sabari District of Khost, Afghanistan, twice before in a year. Jake and his men were just conveniently available for assignment when everything kicked off, but that was the way it always had been with Kodiak Platoon. Lieutenant Colonel Morris, Jake’s commander, wanted a big final victory before the whole unit rotated back to the States. This was all the new unit’s show now, but LTC Morris just couldn’t let the wheel go.

The insurgents had taken refuge for the night in a small mud hut about five kilometers from the district center. The approach to the mud hut had not been the stealthiest, and the full moon hadn’t helped, either. Captain Slater had demanded to walk point on the mission and talked at full volume into his radio handmic as he stumbled toward the target building. He must not have been paying attention because by the time he stopped, they were only 70 meters from the target house and still in a file formation. Jake quickly realized the error and put his men into a nearby ditch for cover and concealment. LT Hunley, from the incoming unit, saw what Jake was doing and mirrored the action. Captain Slater heard the movement behind him, turned around and shouted, “Come on guys! This is it! Let’s get them!”

The insurgents inside fired a single rifle shot that struck Captain Slater in the thigh. The American soldiers opened fire from the ditch and the insurgents responded with everything they had, which was a lot.

“Oh God, I’m bleeding bad, please someone help me!” Captain Slater moaned as tracers snapped all around him.

Doc Ramirez crawled over to where Jake was taking cover.

“Sir, I’m going out there and get him, cover me!” Doc shouted, as he attempted to get to his feet. Jake rolled over and pinned his medic to the ground. Ramirez was a short-timer and the last thing Jake was going to do was let the medic get hurt. Especially trying to save a moron.

“Doc, stay down! Are you fucking stupid?” Jake growled into the medic’s ear.

“He’s going to die if we don’t get him!” the medic pleaded.

“You’ll die for sure if you get out of this ditch. Give me a second here.”

Once Jake was sure that his overzealous medic wasn’t going to make a break, he let him go and called for Benakowsky, the platoon radio operator. Bena was the only one who carried a radio that guaranteed the range and frequency presets Jake needed at the moment. The young soldier crawled up to Jake and handed him the handmic.

“Sir, I can’t range back to Battalion. Got ahold of a gunship flight—MadDog 71. They’ve been dispatched for support. Should be checking in any time now,” Bena said as he took the radio off his back and began methodically firing at the windows of the insurgent stronghold.

“Any Kodiak element, this is MadDog 71,”
the radio handmic squawked. They must have been on standby, or already in the air, to pull off this kind of reaction time.

“Any Kodiak element, this is MadDog 71,”
the radio handmic squawked again.

Jake squeezed the transmit button on his handmic, “MadDog 71, this is Kodiak 6, over.”

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71, we are a flight of two AH-64s
with standard weapons load, 90 minutes of playtime, will
have visual on your position in 60 seconds.”

“We have one U.S. wounded on the ground at this time; we are pinned down by enemy in a small mud hut, estimate five enemy with heavy weapons, over.”

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71, Mark your position with IR strobe and target location with IR laser and we’ll engage.”

“This is Kodiak 6, roger.”

Jake set the handmic down and activated the small infrared strobe he kept on his vest. The strobe was only visible to anyone wearing night-vision goggles, like the ones the pilots were wearing. He looked up and down the ditch for his platoon sergeant, and panicked for a moment when he couldn’t see him.

“Sergeant McBride?”

“Yeah!” McBride called back. Jake felt instantly relieved to hear the man’s voice over the din of battle.

“Apaches are coming in! Where are you?”

“By the other platoon!”

“Tell them to turn their IR strobes on!”

“Roger that! I’ll see if I can actually get them to do some shooting while I’m at it!”

Jake turned back to the radio. He could hear the Apache gunships approaching in the night.

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 71. We have a visual on friendly
position and are prepared to engage. Mark your target, over.”

The light from the moon had been so bright that Jake had not been using his night-vision. He quickly reached up to his helmet, pulled his night-vision down and into position, and turned the activation knob. The world around him immediately turned to a fuzzy lime green. He didn’t take a moment to fine-tune the focus of the image because he didn’t think it necessary.

“Kodiak 6, MadDog 7—Need a target mark, over.”

Pilots—always impatient.

“God, someone help me! Don’t let me die!” Captain Slater called out.

Wounded soldiers—equally impatient.

“Sir, let me get him!” Doc Ramirez begged.

Doc—never scared and never patient.

Jake ignored all the voices, gunfire, and other distractions as he flipped the lens cap off the PEQ-15 Infrared Laser mounted on his rifle and set the beam intensity for high. A stream of bullets hit the dirt piled at the edge of the ditch where Jake was taking cover. Jake ignored the impacts as he crawled up and activated the beam, placing the powerful IR laser onto the mud hut where the insurgents were making their stand. With one hand steadying his rifle, Jake used his free hand to grab the radio handmic.

“MadDog 71, Kodiak 6, target is marked, over!”

“Roger, Kodiak 6. We have the target, going hot with
guns.”

Jake dropped the handmic and grasped his rifle with both hands. It occurred to him that he hadn’t fired his rifle yet. He’d been too busy—but now with a good seven or eight seconds before the Apaches’ gun run, he had the rare opportunity to put a few rounds downrange. Using the IR laser to aim at one of the mud hut’s windows, and flipping the selector switch from safe all the way to burst, Jake squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked as three rounds went flying toward the mud hut. Noticing a muzzle flash coming from the doorway of the hut, Jake quickly turned the rifle on the doorway and fired two more three-round bursts. None of his rounds seemed to hit anything.

The sound of rotor blades grew louder and louder as the Apaches screamed in. Jake flipped up his night vision and got a clear view of the large gunship. Almost at the last possible moment, the first helicopter’s 30-mm nose cannon opened up with a ten-round burst. The powerful explosive projectiles went long of their target, impacting harmlessly behind the mud hut.

“MadDog 71, Kodiak 6, your first pass was ineffective! Stop missing!”

“Roger, Kodiak 6, we’re trying.”

“Try a little harder, MadDog 71.”

“Roger, my sister ship will nail it with their pass.”

Jake could hear the frustration in the pilot’s voice. The Apaches didn’t like missing their targets.

The second Apache came in low and a little slower than the first and, as promised, its ten-round burst hit its mark. The soldiers in the ditch cheered as the rounds smashed against the outside of the house. The enemy fire coming from the house ceased. Jake breathed a sigh of relief and was about to order the soldiers out of the ditch and forward, when the enemy in the mud hut recommenced their fire, and with more intensity and accuracy than before.