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    SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops – Afghan Storm
    SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops – Afghan Storm
    SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops – Afghan Storm
    Ebook302 pages6 hours

    SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops – Afghan Storm

    By Eric Meyer

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    About this ebook

    Across the brutal killing fields of Afghanistan, an operation is under way to prevent a Taliban massacre. In the middle of the battle, US Navy SEAL Lieutenant Kyle Nolan uncovers a threat that could tear the nation apart. A powerful cleric named Mullah Tarzi has vowed to lead the Taliban in a new war. His plan is to dispatch his fighters and suicide bombers countrywide to reignite the country in a brutal conflict. Only when he has stained the Afghan soil with blood can he feel he has earned the title he craves. The undisputed leader of Afghanistan. The Caliph and Dictator of a ruined and broken land.

    Nolan's mission commander is a hardass SOCOM officer, Brigadier General Vasquez. His orders are to ignore Tarzi and locate a Taliban warband who are advancing through the region. Find them, and light them up with a Laser Target Designator for a drone strike. Yet something is wrong, the warband appears to be about to switch their allegiance to Kabul. In spite of this, SOCOM is determined to shoot first, even if it means the destruction of a potential ally. Vasquez is about to make a big mistake, and confuse body count with victory. Under fire from all sides, the operation becomes a race against time to prove who is a friend and who is an enemy. Before the Hellfires begin to rain down on friend and foe alike, and the country descends into a civil war that may never end.

    This is a thrilling story of US Navy SEALs, under pressure from both the enemy and their own side. Seal Team Bravo Black Ops: Spear of ISIS is by the bestselling author of many other Spec Ops stories. These include the popular SEAL Team Bravo titles, the Raider series, as well as Echo Six and the Devil's Guard series.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSwordworks Books
    Release dateNov 13, 2015
    ISBN9781911092056
    SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops – Afghan Storm
    Author

    Eric Meyer

    An internationally recognized expert on the subjects of HTML, CSS, and Web standards, Eric has been working on the web since late 1993. He is the founder of Complex Spiral Consulting, a co-founder of the microformats movement, and co-founder (with Jeffrey Zeldman) of An Event Apart, the design conference series for people who make web sites. Beginning in early 1994, Eric was the campus Web coordinator for Case Western Reserve University, where he authored a widely acclaimed series of three HTML tutorials and was project lead for the online version of the Encyclopedia of Cleveland History combined with the Dictionary of Cleveland Biography, the first example of an encyclopedia of urban history being fully and freely published on the Web.

    Read more from Eric Meyer

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      Book preview

      SEAL Team Bravo - Eric Meyer

      SEAL TEAM BRAVO: BLACK OPS – AFGHAN STORM

      By Eric Meyer

      Copyright 2015 by Eric Meyer

      Published by Swordworks Books

      All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

      Chapter One

      San Diego, California

      He didn't recognize the man who answered the door. Not the face, but he knew the type. Military, had to be, although which service branch wasn't clear at first. What was clear was the lukewarm greeting. As though he’d knocked on the door to collect an outstanding debt.

      What do you want?

      Nolan forced a smile. He had to remember this wasn't his home. The house belonged to Carol Summers, a San Diego detective. He'd dated her a while back, and she'd taken a shine to his kids, his motherless kids. His wife was killed in a drive-by shooting. They lived with their grandparents outside Sacramento but had formed a bond with Carol, and spent some of their vacation time at her place.

      I came to visit the kids, Daniel and Mary. I'm Kyle Nolan, their father.

      It was obvious this was Carol's new boyfriend. It was also obvious he resented the male visitor. He was big, at least six three, so he had two inches on Nolan. Although he was fleshy, at least a couple of stones were excess weight. A good looking guy, true, with blonde hair styled in an angry buzz cut that complimented his hostile glare. He looked like he spent too much time behind a desk. Red faced, a staff man, no question. When he looked at Nolan, he would have seen a man who was his opposite in most every way.

      Nolan was lean, with the kind of features people called chiseled. More than one girlfriend had told him he reminded them of a young Clint Eastwood. A compliment he’d always accepted with some grace, even if they were plain loco. His angular face may have been considered average, at first glance. A second look would have noted his piercing eyes, deeper than a summer sky. A hint the man they belonged to was anything but average. Despite his deep blue eyes, he had thick, dark brown hair, which some people found strange, although many women found it attractive. It was probably the way he carried himself that singled him out. A confidence, a strength and grace, with an underlying core of hard, spring steel.

      I know who you are, Nolan. Carol's not here. The voice was several degrees below freezing.

      He had to work harder to keep the smile in place. Right. I came to see Daniel and Mary, are they here?

      The glare deepened. Not your business who’s inside Carol's house. Come back later, you can talk to her. You can ask her then if they're inside.

      He went to close the door, but Nolan put out a hand and held it open. I came to see my kids. All I'm asking is if they’re here.

      The big man looked at the hand, and back at Nolan. Get outta my face, Mister, or I'll make you wish you were never born.

      For a few seconds, they locked eyes on the stoop. Until the sound of a car engine made them glance around to look at the Ford Explorer turning into the drive. The doors opened in a rush, two children darted out and ran toward him. Good-looking kids. Happy kids. His kids.

      Daddy, Daddy! They both talked over each other, and he struggled to make any sense.

      He hugged them both. Hi, you two. Tell me all about it, why don't we go for a walk?

      He felt their warmth and their love. A moment ago, he'd regretted coming to this house. Not now.

      You can come in if you like, the woman said as she emerged from the vehicle. Detective Carol Summers, they’d dated a long while back, before the demands of his job split them apart. Afterward she’d retained a strong attachment to the kids, who regarded her like an aunt. They needed her, too. Their grandparents were good, caring folks but too far apart in age from the young culture in which the children were growing up. He took his gaze off the kids and regarded her for a few seconds. It was hard not to feel a pang, recalling the good times they'd enjoyed together.

      She was still slim and pretty, not the image of a hard-bitten police detective. Carol Summers was also rather short. Petite would be the word to describe her best. Fresh-faced with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, dark eyes, and medium length brown hair with a natural wave. She wore a blouse over faded jeans and a casual linen jacket. Long enough to hide the gun she carried in the holster on her belt. She was never off duty. The scar on her face was still prominent, a knife wound taken in the line of duty, too deep to be completely hidden. Not deep enough to mar her sexy appearance.

      He gave her a warm smile. Hi, Carol, it's good to see you. I'm not sure about coming inside the house. This friend of yours…

      She grimaced. My fault, I should have introduced you. She smiled at the big man, who hadn't spoken a word. Major Trent Maynard, this is Mary and Daniel's father, Lieutenant Kyle Nolan.

      He stuck out his hand, and after a pause, the Major took it. They shook, and as he'd expected, Maynard tried to squash him with an iron grip. He was wasting his time; Nolan was a U.S. Navy SEAL. He'd met every kind of bastard during his service life, and it was only the fact his kids were present that stopped him returning the gesture in kind. It was obvious Maynard hated him on sight.

      Why? Did he think I was about to make another play for Carol? If that's what he thought, he’s wrong.

      You're a SEAL.

      It was like an accusation. Yep, that's right.

      A snort of derision, Thought so. I've met more than a few of your guys in my work.

      What work is that, Major?

      U.S. Navy Military Police, Lieutenant. He put the accent on his rank, to emphasize his seniority.

      A military cop, it figures.

      Carol intervened to ease the tension. She gave Maynard a peck on the cheek and bustled both men inside. He spent the best part of an hour listening to Daniel and Mary’s troubles and problems, their little triumphs and victories. He admired their rooms, the posters, the toys, and Mary had to try on her new party dress for him. He told her she looked like a princess, which was true. Then Daniel said something that sent a chill through him.

      Daddy, my new outfit, it's just like you wear in the Navy.

      He turned to look. The boy wore a miniature set of camos. The design was almost identical to the MARPAT he wore in the field. It was also similar to what he'd seen many Islamist boy soldiers wear in Iraq. When the Mullahs sent them on hopeless, often suicidal missions to attack American troops. The men who were trying to free the land from the shackles of medieval cruelty and brutality. Some of the kids even wore suicide vests, bulky with explosives and detonators. Sent by the Mullahs to snuff out the young life of the wearer almost before it had begun, all in the cause of Allah, of course.

      He'd shot a few of them, and every time one of those young fighters went down, he felt torn apart by an attack of conscience. He knew they were trying to kill him. That if he didn't put a bullet in them, they'd detonate their lethal charges close enough to rip him and his men into bloody shreds. It didn't make a difference. The guilt was always there.

      He managed to recover and tell his son he looked just fine. He was just like Daddy, and he was still beaming when Carol came upstairs.

      You'll stay for lunch, Kyle? Please, the kids would be disappointed if you didn't.

      He checked his wristwatch. He was due at Coronado Base for a briefing from Admiral Jacks, the man in charge of SEAL operations.

      I have an appointment at 14.00 hours, Carol. This was just a flying visit because I was in the area.

      I'll get it on the table now. It won't be long.

      The meal was a disaster. The kids sensed the animosity Major Maynard felt toward the man he regarded as an intruder. Nolan kept his expression and voice neutral, but it was an effort. While he was asking Carol about her work, the bullying voice rose over the conversation.

      Why're you here, Nolan?

      Carol fielded the question. Trent, his kids are here. Of course he'd come to visit them. Besides, we're old friends.

      I meant here, in San Diego.

      He shrugged. I'm based here, at Coronado.

      Coronado, huh! I thought so. I lost count of the number of run-ins I've had with your guys. Bunch of cowboys, that's the way most of us MPs see your outfit.

      He couldn't help snapping off a reply. It's mutual, Maynard.

      The big man stared at him for a few seconds, and it was as if his buzz cut bristled even more. Carol tried to prevent a standoff.

      Hey, Trent, come on, why don't you guys relax? We're all friends here.

      Nolan tried a lopsided grin. Just kidding, Major.

      The other man nodded, his eyes tightened to a squint. The message was clear, he wasn't kidding. It was also clear it wasn't over, not by a long way. Kids or no kids, Nolan posed a threat to his comfortable new life. Maynard wasn't a man who'd be happy until that threat had disappeared. A man who ate grudges for breakfast. He felt uneasy about Carol having the kids around while Maynard was in the house. A pity, she was good for them, and they gave something to her. Probably some mothering instinct came out in her when they were around.

      On the way to the base, Nolan thought about the encounter. What could he do about it, leaving his kids at the mercy of the bullying MP? Resign from the service and take care of them full-time? He'd thought about it on many occasions, but every time, he found a reason not to do it. Navy SEALs was more than a job to him. It was a vocation. If men like Nolan gave up for whatever reason, they'd open the door wide for the extremists to turn America into a living hell.

      Not on my watch they don't. Maybe I should resign and take care of the kids, but I'm still taking care of them doing what I do. Someone has to.

      He drove into Coronado, showed his pass, and parked. As he walked inside the building, a man came out of an office and switched direction when he saw Nolan. He smiled a greeting as his boss approached. This was the man who ran the entire Seal operation at Coronado. Vice-Admiral Jacks was in his late forties, short and bow-legged. He was also broad-shouldered, almost was wide as he was tall. As erect as a steel mast, with a rock-solid body, and a head topped by close-cropped blonde hair.

      His razor-creased working uniform was devoid of unnecessary embellishment. There was just the name patch, Jacks, and the insignia of a Vice-Admiral on the collar, a single star and gold stripe. Despite the crisp lines of his uniform, Jacks was not known for false vanity. His duds were a perfect fit because of his hard and trim physique, a result of constant training and long workouts.

      He returned the Nolan’s salute. What's up, Lieutenant, you look like you've brought along a packet of trouble.

      Just family worries, Sir. No big deal.

      I hope so. He pointed along the corridor, Come to the briefing room. Your men are already inside.

      He followed the Admiral along the corridor. Jacks spoke over his shoulder, Would your problem have the name of Major Trent Maynard?

      How did you know?

      Jacks stopped and turned to face him. I make it my business to know what's happening inside my unit. Maynard got promotion, and they assigned him here a few months ago. He came to us from Norfolk. The guy made a name for himself breaking heads with the Saturday night rowdies who used to beat up the local town. I believe he’s already begun to do the same at Coronado, and I’ve had to speak with him a couple of times. This is my SEAL base, and what I say goes. Let me know if he gives you any trouble.

      I can handle Maynard.

      The Admiral considered for a few moments. Just stay out of trouble, Nolan. I have enough calls on my resources, without having my officers tossed into the brig for crossing swords with a hard-nosed MP. Clear?

      Copy that, Admiral.

      Good. Then I suggest we go see your fireteam and get this thing moving.

      Fireteam? So this isn't a mainstream operation.

      That's correct. We've worked the numbers, and four men will be enough. You'll see when I brief you.

      They were slumped in three chairs at the end of the briefing room, and they jumped to attention as Jacks entered with Nolan. The most striking man in the room was the black Master Chief, Will Bryce, immensely strong, almost indestructible, and totally dependable. Bryce was the man who underpinned the entire unit. He had fought his way out of the Detroit ghettoes, joined the U.S. Navy, and slogged through the lower deck to achieve a reputation as one of the most respected NCOs in the entire Navy.

      The African-American had a strong, crag-like profile, with big bones and a jutting chin under a powerful, almost regal countenance. His huge body was clad with slabs of hard muscle, the result of constant physical training to keep him at the very peak of physical fitness and skill. Strangely, he had gray eyes, undoubtedly a throwback to some long forgotten mixed ancestry.

      Standing next to him was John-Wesley Ryder. By any measure, Ryder was an enigma. A fan of voodoo, despite his strong, fundamentalist Christian beliefs, he was a natural born killer, an expert with a knife, despite the Sixth Commandment. Ryder could quote the commandments from memory, as well as almost every verse in the bible. Keeping the commandments was another matter. He was a deceptively scrawny looking man, with a weasel face, unshaven, sallow, sunken cheeks, and the burning eyes of a religious fanatic.

      The third man was Vince Merano, a sniper. A precision marksman with whatever rifle they threw at him, lately he'd taken to the Barrett .50 caliber. He was an Italian American, short, dark and squat in contrast to Ryder's half-starved appearance. Calm and phlegmatic, he was a man Nolan could count on to shatter the enemy from impossible distances, as he'd proved on many occasions.

      They shook hands, as Jacks went to the low platform at the end of the room. He uncovered a map and said one word, Afghanistan.

      They groaned, it was expected of them. Merano said, Sonofabitch.

      Okay, okay, it's no big deal, so pipe down, Jacks grinned, Just a quick in and out. I need you to take care of a problem that's been bugging our Afghan allies. Then you'll be straight home on the next transport. Anyone been to a village named Karz?

      They shook their heads, and Jacks nodded. I thought not. It's a flyspeck place on the outskirts of Kandahar. Problem is, it overlooks the main road out to Kandahar International Airport. The Afghan Army patrols that highway on a regular basis, twice a day. NSA picked up an intercept, and they believe our Taliban friends are about to stage a major ambush. They've done it before in almost the same place, and they're planning to do it again. What I want is for you to stop them killing our Afghan allies. Put the local T-men out of business at the same time. Questions?

      Bryce leaned forward. Why us? It's a long way away, just to take down a routine Taliban ambush. You could use somebody already in country.

      Jacks paused for a few moments. Then he stared back at Will. We did use somebody else, Master Chief. The current ISAF strength in Afghanistan for Operation Resolute Support includes almost a thousand Germans, mainly infantry. They sent an experienced platoon to frustrate one of the previous ambushes, which they sprung from a small village not too far from Karz. They never came back. These insurgents are good. We figure they take over a small village and lie up waiting for a patrol to come past. The job needs to be done by experts, someone who can get in unseen. A small unit to take them out and get out fast. I chose you for the job because I happen to think you’re the best. Any other questions?

      When do we leave, Sir?

      Jacks smiled at Nolan. I thought you'd never ask. We don't have time on this one. The NSA intercept suggested it’s going to happen real soon. There's a C-17 leaving for South Asia in five hours, and I told them to expect you. When you arrive, they'll take you out to the target area by Little Bird. There's an LZ we've chosen to Karz. Remember, you need to make this quick and clean. Get in there, do the job, and get out. Make ‘em think a bunch of ghosts have magically appeared, killed their fighters, and disappeared like mist.

      Admiral. Ryder spoke softly, and all eyes went on him. Although low, his voice carried the fervor and conviction of a revivalist preacher.

      What is it?

      I have a couple of issues I need to resolve at home.

      As one man, they turned and stared at him. Jacks coughed and almost choked.

      Come again, Ryder. Is this some kind of joke?

      The New Orleans accent was thick as he replied. I don't make jokes, Admiral.

      Jacks made a cutting motion with his hand. No, of course not. What's the problem?

      A pause. It's personal, Sir.

      The Admiral looked as if he was about to explode. Is that right? I don't give one goddamm, Petty Officer Ryder. If this doesn't go ahead, men are gonna die. Good men.

      Heathens, the Louisianan murmured.

      What was that? He didn’t reply, and Jacks continued, Whatever your personal business is, you're a SEAL. The job takes precedence over any personal issues you may have. Permission denied. Anything else? He stared around the briefing room, and the message was clear. There’d better not be anything else.

      No? Okay, get yourselves ready. I'll have a helo here in three hours to ferry you to the airfield. Dismissed.

      They saluted as he stalked out, and there was silence. Finally, Nolan nodded to Will and Vince to leave, and he was on his own with Ryder.

      Okay, what is it, John-Wesley? You in trouble?

      The weasely face stared back at him, the eyes colder than ice. Could be, Boss, yeah. Could be a lot of trouble if I don't resolve it.

      Dammit, you know we always help each other. He waited for Ryder to answer.

      The other man locked eyes with Nolan. I killed a man.

      You mean the last operation? You killed several as I recall.

      I mean here, in the States. When I went back to New Orleans.

      Jesus Christ, you murdered a man, is that what you're saying?

      Yeah. Thing is, he was one bad dude. Running some cult outside the city, a mixture of Christianity and Voodoo. It was bad, real bad. Rape, kidnap, underage kids, like something from Sodom and Gomorrah. An old girlfriend of mine called and said her sister was trapped with this guy. I went in to get her out, and he got in the way, so I killed him.

      Nolan tried to get his thoughts together. It had to happen. Ryder was a huge asset to Team Bravo because of his skill with weapons, especially the knife. He was also lightning fast to react to threats, sometimes too fast. Especially when something offended his peculiar set of Christian beliefs.

      Did anyone see you? What I mean is, are the cops likely to come looking?

      He nodded. My ex called a couple of days ago. She said the guy who was his number two took over the cult. He saw what happened, and he’s worse than the guy I killed. If her sister doesn't go back, he'll report me to the cops, and accuse her of setting up the kill. We could both go down for it, Lt. Unless…

      Nolan grimaced. Yeah, unless he disappears, I get it. How long do you have?

      He said he'd give her to the end of the month to go back. That's just over three weeks.

      He sighed, putting his mind to work through the problem. Whichever way it went down, someone was going to die. Ryder strapped to a bench in a prison death house, or the blackmailer. There was nothing to think about. Some things were a no-brainer.

      He gave John-Wesley a decisive nod. There was only one way to make the problem disappear, the SEAL way. Okay, how's this? We have a job to do, but when we're done, I'll give you a hand to deal with this guy. Maybe we can resolve it without any more killing.

      He kept his expression neutral, but inside, he was smiling.

      That’d be a first for Bravo, negotiate first, shoot second.

      Unconsciously, Ryder's hand dropped to his belt where his knife sat snugly in its scabbard. I doubt it.

      Maybe not, but that's what we'll do. We'll talk to the guy, and try to make him see sense. If the cult is that bad, he won't take much persuading to forget what he saw.

      The sallow face was still creased with doubt. You reckon that's possible?

      We'll give it a try. Right now, we need to get this show on the road. Suit up and get your gear ready.

      Ryder didn't look much happier, although he never was one for a sunny disposition. He followed Nolan out of the briefing room. They went to the armory and collected their guns and armor. Then they began the innumerable checks of equipment, comms, and most important, their weapons. They were SEALs, so nothing was standard. Nolan had taken to carrying an MP7, the lightweight Heckler and Koch assault rifle that fired tiny 4.6mm AP, armor piercing rounds. Will Bryce relied on his trusty HK416. Vince Merano drew the Barrett .50 he'd adopted as his sniper rifle of choice. Ryder toted something altogether different. He was the artillery support. His gun was a Milkor, the devastating semi-auto grenade launcher. Capable of firing

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