© 2015 by Ronie Kendig
Print ISBN 978-1-62416-319-7
eBook Editions:
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
For more information about Ronie Kendig, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address: www.roniekendig.com.
Cover Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Shiloh Run Press, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.shilohrunpress.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
DEDICATION
To those who serve in the intelligence community, protecting Americans and their freedoms.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My husband, Brian—Thank you for letting me pester you with one scenario after another, enduring my irritation when you didn’t magically produce a perfect scenario or when I didn’t like one you suggested. You’re my hero!
Keighley Kendig—My darlin’ girl whose passion for all things anime and manga helped me create a unique history for my characters. Thank you!
Ryan & Reagan—Thanks for enduring many on-your-own meals while I fought to get this book done!
My agent, Steve Laube—You encouraged and protected me so I could get this story written. Thank you, Agent-Man!
Robin Miller—Thank you, dear friend, for being a champion, cheering and challenging me as I worked feverishly to finish this novel. God blessed me with you!
Narelle Mollet and Shannon McNear—You ladies have tirelessly read every word I’ve written, encouraged me through waning courage, and cheered me on to the finish!
Rapid-Fire Fiction Task Force—My own team of warriors and champions. You ladies make all the difference in the world.
Ironmance Group—Thank you for your prayers, your support, encouragement and wisdom! I treasure you ladies!
LITERARY LICENSE
In writing about unique settings, specific locations, and invariably the people residing there, a certain level of risk is involved, including the possibility of dishonoring the very people an author intends to honor. With that in mind, I have taken some literary license in Falcon, including renaming some bases within the U.S. military establishment, creating sites/entities that do not otherwise exist, and other aspects of team movement/integration. Also, some elements of the story are pure entertainment and, as with any work of fiction, demand a level of suspension of disbelief. Writing about a potential threat to our American military personnel can be tricky, and those experts within that field cannot divulge too much information. Therefore, to protect our heroes, some elements of the story about the cybersecurity threat have been left intentionally and partially vague. I have done this so the book and/or my writing will not negatively reflect on our military community and its heroes. With the quickly changing landscape of the combat theater, this seemed imperative and prudent.
CONTENTS
Glossary
Character List
“Special Forces Soldier”
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Eamon
Chapter 4
Eamon
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Eamon
Chapter 7
Eamon
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Eamon
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Eamon
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
About the Author
GLOSSARY OF TERMS/ACRONYMS
ACU—Army Combat Uniform
AHOD—All Hands On Deck
ANA—Afghan National Army
CECOM—Communications-Electronics Command
CID—Criminal Investigations Department
DIA—Defense Intelligence Agency
IED—Improvised Explosive Device
ISAF—International Security Assistance Force
Klick—Military slang for kilometer
M4, M4A1—Military assault rifles
MARSOC—Marine Special Operations Command
MRAP—Mine-Resistant Ambush-Protected vehicle
MRE—Meals Ready to Eat
MWD—Military Working Dog
NVG—Night-Vision Goggles
ODA—Operation Detachment Alpha
OEF/OIF—Operation Enduring Freedom/Operation Iraqi Freedom
PCS—Permanent Change of Station RPG—Rocket-Propelled Grenade
RTB—Return To Base
SAS—Special Air Service (Foreign Special Operations Team)
SATINT—Satellite Intelligence
SCIF—Secure computer used by the military
Sitrep—Military abbreviation for situation report
SOCOM—Special Operations Command
CHARACTER LIST
Brian “Hawk” Bledsoe (Staff Sergeant)—Raptor team member; coms specialist
Brie Hastings (Lieutenant)—General Burnett’s administrative officer
Cassandra Walker (Lieutenant)—works for DIA’s National Military Joint Intelligence Center
Chris Riordan (Lieutenant Commander)—Navy SEAL officer
Ddrake—Explosives Detection Dog; German shepherd
Dean “Raptor Six” Watters (Captain)—Raptor team commander
Eamon “Titanis” Straider (SAS Corporal)—Raptor team member; Australian; engineering specialty
Grant Knight (Sergeant)—Ddrake’s handler; temporarily assigned to Raptor team
Kiew Tang—executive assistant to Daniel Jin
Lance Burnett (General)—Raptor’s commanding officer; attached to Defense Intelligence Agency
Meng-Li Jin /Daniel Jin—Chinese businessman
Mitchell “Harrier” Black (Sergeant First Class)—Raptor team member; combat medic
Ramsey (General)—Brigadier general; commander of U.S. Army Joint Special Operations Command
Sajjan Takkar—CEO of Takkar Corp.
Salvatore “Falcon” Russo (Warrant Officer)—Raptor team member; aka team “daddy”; expert in ops/intel
Todd “Eagle” Archer (Staff Sergeant)—Raptor team member; weapons expert; team sni
per
Tony “Candyman” VanAllen—former Green Beret on Dean Watters’s team
SUNDRY CHARACTERS
Boris Kolceki—expert computer hacker
Fariz Al-Bayati—teen caught up in combat zone
Fekiria Haidary—ANA helicopter pilot; Zahrah Zarrick’s cousin; Hawk’s girlfriend
Nina Laurens Takkar—Sajjan’s wife; Timbrel’s mother
Phelps (Lieutenant General)—Associate Director for Military Affairs
Schmidt—Navy SEAL on Riordan’s team
Timbrel VanAllen—Tony’s wife
Zahrah Zarrick—Fekiria’s cousin; Dean’s girlfriend; missionary teacher
Zmaray: “The Lion”/Lee Nianzu—assassin, terrorist
SPECIAL FORCES SOLDIER (AUTHOR UNKNOWN)
I was that which others did not want to be.
I went where others feared to go,
and did what others failed to do.
I asked nothing from those who gave nothing,
and reluctantly accepted the thought
of eternal loneliness should I fail.
I have seen the face of terror,
felt the stinging cold of fear,
and enjoyed the sweet taste of a moment’s love.
I have cried, pained, and hoped,
but most of all, I have lived times
others would say are best forgotten.
At least someday, I will be able to say
I was proud of what I was…
A Special Forces Soldier
CHAPTER 1
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
25 March—1705 Hours
Fire ruptured the black veil of night. A pillar of orange and yellow roared upward, thirty meters, leaving a trail of smoke, ash, and debris in its wake. Metal groaned and heaved, collapsing in exhausted defeat. Screams ripped the air, their primal howl propelling him across Kandahar Airfield.
Warrant Officer Salvatore “Falcon” Russo sprinted with every ounce of strength he had toward the burning inferno that had been the U.S. Army’s Communications-Electronics Command building. The very building that held the key to unearthing the mole and those responsible for the attacks against the U.S. military’s super-secure network.
Gunfire popped amid the crackling growl of the blaze. Behind him the thud of boots reassured him that Raptor team was hot on his heels.
He shoved past a group of soldiers and airmen ogling the scene. Irritation skidded through him.
“Stop staring and start helping!” he shouted and kept moving toward the garish scene.
Hastily abandoned vehicles, debris, and moaning victims turned the parking lot into an obstacle course. Sal navigated through it, gaze locked on the facility. Injured stumbled from sections not yet fully consumed by the fire or decimated by the initial blast. A soldier hustled from amid the flames, his arm hooked around another soldier.
“What’s the sitrep?” Sal asked.
After helping the woman to the ground, her hands bloodied an angry red, the man straightened, his ash-smudged face shaded with shock as he studied the burning structure. “Uh… not good.” He swiped a hand along his forehead, leaving a dark streak. Blood. “Probably ten or twenty still… inside… inside our area. I d–don’t know about the other.” He swayed.
Eamon “Titanis” Straider appeared behind him, catching the guy by the shoulders and easing him down. “Careful, mate. You took a blow to the head.” The Australian SAS corporal knelt over the man, cradling his head as the man relaxed on the ground.
Sal pivoted, gauging the best way to help. He spotted a fire tech grabbing some gear from a water tanker and rushed over to him. “What can I do?”
“Stay out of the way! It’s too hot. The building’s unstable.”
“But there are people in there.”
“Our men are on scene. If you go in there, that’s just one more body we’re digging out later.” Three sets of firefighters struggled against the blaze that felt angry and personal.
Turning away, Sal bit back his frustration. Able to help yet unable to help. A shriek of pain drew his attention to the field of injured. Triage. Ambulances loaded wounded. He heard medics talking about sending some off base to the NATO hospital because they were quickly maxing out medical capabilities here.
Across the base, a chopper descended as an ambulance raced toward it. Para-jumpers—PJs—were responsible for providing emergency and life-saving services to airmen, soldiers, and civilians in both peacetime and combat environments.
Captain Dean Watters jogged toward him with a thrust of his chin, asking without words what was happening.
“They don’t—”
A loud cracking mingled with a tinkling sound that snapped Sal’s gaze toward the building. Near the fully engulfed area, a chair clattered across the ground. Sal looked to the window, which was now shattered. A man teetered precariously on the sharp glass, trying to haul himself free.
He stumbled.
Sal launched himself toward the injured airman. Even before he reached him, the bloody situation knotted Sal’s gut. Amputation by explosive. Below the knee, the guy’s leg was missing. Blood pooled around the guy’s stump.
On his knees, Sal ripped out his combat application tourniquet.
“Hey,” Dean shouted. “We’ve got an Alpha over here!” He bent over the man. “Stay with us. Okay?”
The airman groaned.
“I’m going to check on him,” Dean said, pointing to another person laid out a few yards away.
Sal continued working, sliding the C-A-T up around the guy’s leg, tightening the strap, and securing it back on itself, blocking out the sticky warmth coating his hands now. He then used the free winder and tightened it until the blood flow slowed. With a hemorrhaging loss like this, it didn’t surprise him that the flow didn’t completely stop. He tugged off his belt and used it as a secondary tourniquet.
The airman let out a feral howl then bit down and arched his back. He slumped like a limp rag with a pitiful moan.
“Hey,” Sal said, checking for more injuries. “Where are you hurting?”
Only another low moan.
“Hey.” Sal shook his shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“J-Jason.”
“All right, Jason. Tell me where you’re hurting.”
“Everywhere… my leg.” Jason rolled his head side to side, now whimpering. “Give me something and knock me out, man.”
That was exactly what they didn’t want. Had to keep him conscious till the PJs or medical staff took over. “What happened, Jason? Do you know?”
Boots pounded toward them.
“Jason, can you tell me what happened?”
The airman whimpered. “Blue on Green… blue. One of… ours—” His eyes rolled.
“Jason! Hey!”
Two PJs moved in with a stretcher, and Sal backed away to let them do their job and get Jason to the hospital within the golden hour. He glanced at his hands then wiped the blood on his tac pants. Not the most sanitary method, but in combat situations, time was against them.
He squatted before the woman. “Hey, where are you hurting?”
She sighed, tears trickling down her cheeks, marking dark rivulets against her skin. She shook her head. More tears sped down.
Shock.
“Hey.” Sal touched her shoulder then let his hand slide down her arm to surreptitiously assess her for injuries and a blood check. “What’s your name?”
Unblinking, she stared at the building.
Sal cut into her line of sight. But she still wasn’t seeing him.
“She injured?”
Depended on the definition of injured. Some wounds weren’t visible—the notorious kind that inflicted more trauma on the mind than the body. Sal looked up at Mitchell “Harrier” Black, Raptor’s medic, and shook his head. “Shock.”
Harrier moved on.
A clipped, incessant crackling—not hard like the fire, but softer—sifted through the chaotic night to Sal’s awareness.
The woman’s moans pulled his attention back. He wrapped his arms around hers and tried to draw her up. “Let’s move you to safety.” Away from the gruesome scene.
The staccato noise broke into his awareness again. This time louder. More insistent.
Sal glanced over his shoulder. Twenty feet away, he spotted Sergeant Grant Knight running after his military working dog, Ddrake, an impressive German shepherd who worked off-lead. Ddrake vanished around the side of the CECOM building.
Suddenly Knight pulled up straight. Drew his weapon and aimed in the direction his dog had vanished.
Knight and Ddrake needed backup. With one last look to the woman, Sal touched her shoulder. “Move to the fence.” He pointed her toward safety then took off toward the MWD/handler team.
“On your knees, on your knees,” Knight shouted, his weapon trained on someone. “Now or I will give my dog the command to take you.”
In a wide arc, Sal rounded the corner, pulling his M4 up. There, not more than fifteen feet away, a man wearing an Afghan National Army uniform stood in a standoff, half poised to run.
Sal took a bead on the hostile. “What’s going on?” he asked Knight, backing him up.
“Ddrake hit on him.” Knight hadn’t relaxed. “He’s PEDD. Something’s wrong.”
Patrol Explosives Detection Dog. That meant Ddrake detected the scent of explosives on this man. Or a similar chemical scent.
A secondary hit? Sal tightened his shoulders. Considering the burning building beside them…
“Blue on Green…” Jason’s earlier words speared his mind. The code for attacks on American troops by their trained allies, the ANA. Like this man in front of them.
His heart shoved into his throat. “Down! Down on your knees, hands up,” Sal shouted in Pashto, Dari, then Farsi.
The man reached for something.
Sal couldn’t wait any longer. Couldn’t risk another attack. He coiled his finger against the trigger.
“No shoot,” the man shouted, thrusting his hands in the air.
No way he’d relax. Not now and end up in a billion pieces. “Hands!” Sal inched closer.
The man pitched forward, a tiny explosion ripping through his chest.
“Shooter! Taking fire!”