SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

Ty Weaver said, “Do you believe they have coverage out there — cell towers and everything?”

“Why not? Anything’s possible these days,” Ritzik said. “Hey — look.”

He turned his attention to the screen. Two guerrillas were dropping the rear gate. Three others stood, muzzles pointed toward the rear of the truck. The two who’d dropped the gate climbed inside the covered truck bed.

As the Soldiers watched, they saw three figures thrown out onto the hard sand. The trio caromed between the guards like pinballs as they were punched, butt-stroked, and kicked mercilessly.

Ty Weaver said, “I thought you said there were four prisoners.”

Ritzik’s eyes narrowed. “There are.” He paused. “Or, there were.” He cast a quick glance at Rowdy Yates. The sergeant major’s somber face reflected the same nasty conclusion Ritzik had come to. The tangos were killing Americans — and the rescue element was still on the ground in Almaty.

Ritzik’s voice took on an urgent tone as he wrenched his eyes away from the sight of the prisoners being beaten. “Clock’s ticking, guys. What’s the plan?”

Rowdy Yates looked past Ritzik and stared at the screen. All he felt was fury. White-hot and murderous. But he’d learned over the years to temper his anger and channel his rage; to use those searing emotions constructively in order to give himself a psychological and tactical edge over his enemy. Which is what he did now. Coolly, Rowdy shifted focus and scanned a screen on which flickered an infrared image of the north end of the lake. His voice was dispassionate. “Can’t really know for sure until we’re on the ground, Loner. Too many unanswered questions about the site. How high’s the causeway wall? How deep’s the water? How close together will the vehicles be? Right now it’s one of those generic keep-it-simple-stupid ops.”

He reached past Sandman, swiped a legal pad off the folding table, and drew a rough diagram. “They’re coming north. They turn west over this bridge”—he brought his marking pen up—“and we’re set up on the far side of the causeway.” Rowdy paused. “Snipers execute — suppressed — and bring the column to a stop before they can react. We claymore wherever we can. Hopefully kill a bunch of ‘em before they’re able to get out of the trucks. Those we don’t claymore, we create a fatal funnel, and we hit ‘em.” His expression hardened as he drew overlapping fields of fire. “Hit ‘em hard. Kill ‘em all.”

Weaver tapped the 4x4 on the screen. “If I take out the big enchilada’s driver first, it’ll stop ‘em dead in their tracks.”

Sandman wagged his head. “Negatory, Ty. You’re not listening. They’ll just be coming over a bridge — moving slow because they’ve just had to negotiate a tight left-hand turn. You and Barber take out that back truck first, just as it hits the west end of the bridge — that way they don’t have an escape to the rear. You guys wax both the driver and whoever’s riding shotgun so there’s nobody alive in the cab.”

“Good catch, Bill,” Weaver said. “Makes sense.”

Rowdy agreed. “You let the 4x4 with Mr. Big go past.” He looked at Sandman. “You and Tuzz deal with Mr. Big from the flank, okay? And disable but don’t destroy.”

“La big enchilada or the 4x4?”

“Don’t be a wiseass,” Rowdy snorted. He dribbled tobacco juice into his plastic cup and wiped his lower lip. “You snipers will take out the front truck right after you’ve hit the rearmost vehicle. That’ll bring ‘em all to a stop — they’re on a narrow causeway with marsh on both sides here.” He drew his marker across the page. “Then, as soon as the trucks are stopped, Goose and Doc, Shep, and Mickey D and Loner and me, we’ll deal with anybody in trucks one, two, and three. And we’ll claymore wherever we can.”

“If they’re polite enough to stop where you want them to stop,” Ritzik said.

“The column will stop right where we want it to if Ty and Barber do their jobs,” Rowdy said. “Because the friggin’ drivers will all be dead.”

“Gotcha,” Ritzik said. “But don’t forget: leave two trucks undamaged.”

Ty Weaver nodded. “Understood, boss.”

“And all the 4x4s.”

“Loner’s beginning to repeat himself,” Ty said. “Hey, Rowdy, isn’t reiteration one of the first signs of dementia?” The sniper tapped Ritzik’s chest. “Maybe the dicksmith should look at you before we wheels up just to make sure you’re mission-eligible.”

Ritzik started to respond but Sandman broke in. “Hey,” he said, “they threw the prisoners back onto the truck and locked it down. Mr. Big Enchilada just climbed into the 4x4.” He stared at the screen. “They’re pulling out — moving north.”

245 Kilometers Northwest of Mazartag,

Xinjiang Autonomous Region,

China. 1644 Hours Local Time.

Sam Phillips said, “We should go tonight. Agreed?”