Chapter 64

The Blackhawk had disgorged them at a flat surface on a rock outcropping at a specific point in the Hindu Kush. Dix hated these goddamn mountains. The name Kush meant death, and had probably been given to the mountains because of the dangerous passes between peaks. There was little vegetation, and the icy wind blew constantly. But the mountains provided a perfect hiding place and gathering places for al Qaeda because of the very desolation and the notches in the mountains where the terrorists built their camps and villages.
Dix and his team had memorized and then memorized again the terrain where they'd be climbing and the places they'd have to conceal themselves to make the kills. Two snipers, two spotters, four backup, including the team medic and the radio guy. This time he was fucking damn sure nothing would go wrong.
They climbed slowly, clinging to the rock face, paying careful attention to everything around them. Carrying all their heavy gear didn't slow them down. They had, after all, trained for it. None of them wanted a repeat of what had happened to Marcus Luttrell and his team in Operation Red Wings, when a goatherd had stumbled into them. They'd made the decision to let the young man go, and the next thing they knew, they were looking at what appeared to be a hundred heavily armed Taliban.
He made sure to keep in contact with each member of his team, doing a COMM check every thirty minutes. He wasn't taking any chances this time. Little by little, they made their way to the top, using cave-like places in the rock to conceal themselves from time to time. They had plenty of intel about the mountains themselves. Osama bin Laden had hidden in the Pakistani portion of the mountain range very successfully for a long time.
Too bad, he thought, the guys they were hunting hadn't stayed in Yemen where much of their base was. The desert was easier to handle than these fucking mountains. Still, he and his team welcomed the opportunity to finally take down these assholes, not just for who they were, but to avenge Buddy and Davey.
At last, they reached the top of their particular cliff, those who reached it first working the ropes to haul the others up to them. It was pitch black, not even moonlight to reveal their presence. It was not the best time to do this, but after what happened with Operation Red Wings, they were just as glad for the additional concealment. Not that they had any choice. Their intel from a verified source had told them the two terrorist leaders would be picked up tonight by a helicopter in the middle of the village where they'd gone for their meeting.
They all strapped on their NVGs and rearranged their packs.
"Move," Dix whispered into his lip mic.
Heading out in near silence, the team moved forward in single file, Dix leading, heading toward the target area. It took them the better part of an hour to get to their staging area. When they reached the spot he'd memorized from the aerial shots, he held up his hand then pointed downward. The team moved forward to see the view of the al-Qaeda camp in the little valley below them.
There were about two dozen buildings, houses mostly. Despite the chill in the night air, there was a fire in the middle of the tiny village, and people were standing around it. Dix figured the fire had been lit as a beacon for the helicopter.
They all knew this would be tricky. They would have one chance to make the kill shots. Then they had to haul ass out of there and get picked up before being shot themselves. They'd rehearsed and rehearsed this, and now it was Go time.
Rusty and Gonzo picked their spots and set up their rifles, their spotters next to them. In hushed whispers the spotters called off distance, wind velocity, temperature, humidity, everything that went into setting the shot. In voices barely a whisper, they calculated the elevation and estimated range to target. The two high-value targets had not yet emerged from one of the houses, but the spotters were focused on the area, calling off any changes to the snipers as they waited.
Each man was fixed firmly in his assigned location as they waited, still as statues. Then the whisper came through the COMM: "Targets visible."
The spotters called off range to target and proper scope adjustments. When they each nodded, Dix whispered, "Now."
The spotters had their own scopes to follow the trajectory of the bullet and make sure the targets were in fact hit. They called for a second shot then whispered in their mics, "Target down."
As the two men fell, screaming and shouting erupted in the village, and men ran out, brandishing weapons, looking up toward where Dix and his team were standing. In the seconds it took them to react, Dix took one last look to confirm the kills then ordered, "Let's get the fuck out of here."
They repacked their gear with inhuman efficiency and took off through the unforgiving wilderness. They did not have much time. The terrorists in that village knew the landscape better than they did and would swarm up here as soon as they could. In the first completely open area, Dix grabbed his radio from his pack and called in the helo for pick-up. He had no doubt it would be there waiting for them. Those Night Stalkers were damn good.
Sure enough, just as they reached the extract point they heard the familiar whap! whap! whap! of the helo. Seconds later, as it hovered, hands reached out to grab the team members while two men balanced on the skids to lay down cover fire if necessary. In less time than it would take to down a bottle of water, they were all loaded, the bird lifted off into the sky, and they were gone. Outta there.
Dix did not realize he'd been holding his breath until he finally let it out in one long sigh. He looked around at each of the men. Safe. All safe. And a fucking good job. The commander had gotten him two snipers who totally rocked it. He held out his hands and gave two thumbs up, grinning. The others grinned back, their smiles strips of white in the black of the camo grease on their faces. And then they all bumped fists, barely containing their jubilation that this time they had gotten the job done and without any disasters to the team.
The ghosts of Buddy and Davey would always be sitting on his shoulder, but at least now the guilt no longer consumed him. He could accept the fact the disaster had not been his fault and move forward.
Dix leaned back against the hard wall of the helo cabin and closed his eyes for a moment. He had so many thoughts swirling around in his brain, bumping into each other, taking his orderly life and tossing it up in the wind. Was it possible to have the feelings he did after a lifetime of avoiding them? Could they possibly be real? He was taking a big chance on the belief that they were. For a man who feared nothing, it was a little scary but - surprise! - he actually found himself looking forward to it.
When they returned to base, he'd have his debrief. Then he'd try for a good night's sleep because he had some hard thinking to do and maybe some decisions that would make changes in his life.