Open Season by Cameron Curtis (great novels TXT) 📕

and fifty thousand to five thousand. The writing’s been on the wall for a long time.”

“General Anthony is a soldier. He may not always agree with civilian authority, but he follows orders. A man of his stature has nothing to prove.”

Stein looks skeptical. “We had a council of war yesterday, agreed on a rescue operation. He had a team in mind. I suggested they bring someone who knows the Kagur blindfolded. There was only one correct answer.”

I can see where this is going. “Surely more than one.”

“Back in the day, fewer than half a dozen operators knew the Kagur well. None of them are currently in Afghanistan. Only one was within an eight-hour flight of Bagram. General Anthony arrived at the correct choice.”

“Me.”

“I studied the files of every man who could do the job. You went on long-range patrols into Tajikistan and China. Twice.”

“Yes. I went through the Kagur twice. It nearly killed me twice.”

“Two three-month patrols. The first into Tajikistan. The second into Pakistan—and penetrated China. Played hide-and-seek with the Chicom and Taliban. The Wakhan Corridor and Kashmir. You mapped every Pashtun village, every Taliban base camp, every camel and donkey trail used to run drugs and guns.”

Stein does her homework. Three-month patrols. Six weeks out and six weeks back. Through the Kagur valley, but not in the valley. Three months humping over the mountains on either side. Along slopes that are sheer cliffs, over goat trails that are nothing more than rugged carpets of rock. Hot days, freezing nights and altitude. Physical exertion ten thousand feet above sea level saps the strength of the fittest soldier.

“Anthony passed the test.” Stein continues without missing a beat. “He is a hands-on leader. He knows his men like family. Keeps track of them after they leave his command. Had he proposed anyone but you, I would have seen the choice as a red flag.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Stein. I’d trust General Anthony with my life.”

“If I blow this peace deal, they’ll hang me naked from the Washington Monument.” Stein looks grim. “Anthony will buy out your current contract. Pay you a hundred thousand dollars for three days work. You won’t be in command, but otherwise a full member of the team.”

“That’s all there is to it?”

“I hope so.” Stein finishes her coffee. “I have a bad feeling about this, Breed. That’s why I want you there.”

“How have you kept the General from knowing you’re here?”

“I’m on my way back to Washington. There’s a C-17 waiting for you at Clark Air Base. As far as Anthony is concerned, you have not been briefed. Dan Mercer has done nothing more than give you travel arrangements. When you arrive at Bagram, you will receive the briefing again, and Anthony will make the offer.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll take it?”

Stein’s eyes search mine. “Do you feel you made a difference in Afghanistan, Breed?”

“Every discrete action in which I participated, contributed.” I shift in my chair. “But I don’t think I influenced the larger picture.”

“You’re a patriot, Breed. If you bring Grissom out, you’ll end America’s longest war.”

3 Return to Bagram

Bagram

Monday, 0530

Stein didn’t have to work hard to sell me the job.

My gig in Mindanao is cushy, but I want to see Afghanistan again. Truth is, I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t have to. It was the best job in the world. I was an elite Delta Force operator, doing what I’d wanted to do my entire life. Why would I leave?

A pretty girl once asked me, “What is the worst thing about war?”

Without thinking, I answered, “It ends.”

The girl didn’t go out with me again. I was too honest. Combat is the one situation in which I am fully present to the moment. Over a decision made in an instant, life and death hang in the balance. There is nothing like it.

There are two major cities in Afghanistan. Located in the northeast, Kabul is the capital city. It is nestled in an inverted V between the Hindu Kush mountains to the north, and the Koh-i-Baba mountains to the west. Kandahar, the second city, lies to the south. It is the gateway to Helmand province, vast poppy fields, and the arid desert areas of the southwest.

Every arable acre of Helmand is devoted to poppies. No other crop produces sufficient profit margin for farmers to survive. Opium from Helmand is trafficked west to Iran, and north to Russia through the high mountain passes.

When the United States invaded Afghanistan after 9/11, commanders divided the battlefield into a northern zone and a southern zone. America fought in both zones, but the major effort was always north and east of Kabul. The heaviest fighting, the most dramatic operations, were in the mountains of the Hindu Kush.

There are two major airfields in Afghanistan. Kandahar Air Field services the southern sector. Bagram Air Field, near Kabul, services the north.

I’m flying into Bagram.

It’s an eight-hour flight from Clark Air Base to Bagram. Travelling east to west, you gain time zones. If I leave at 0900 Philippine time, I should get there 0530 Afghan time. The vast cargo bay of a C-17 Globemaster is familiar. A lap of luxury Stein has arranged. For years, I’ve flown in worse. I find some cargo containers lashed to the deck in the middle of the bay. Throw my duffle on top, climb on.

The loadmaster yells at me. “You gonna be okay there, bud?”

“You got a spare cargo strap?”

“Yeah.” The loadmaster calls to one of his men. “Airman. Get this guy a cargo strap.”

The airman throws me a webbed cargo strap and secures it around the container. There could be turbulence around the mountains as we approach Bagram.

“That sort you out?”

“Yeah, dude. Wake me when we get there.”

“You got it.”

I rummage in my duffel, pull out a bed bag and inflate it. Lay it on the container top, roll my jacket into a pillow, and pop an Ambien.

Sleep has been elusive since I left the army. Ambien helps, but it’s addictive.