Overwatch: A Thriller Read online

  Captain West, maintaining his pace, pulled the trigger and shot Abdul Sattar four times below the waist. Two rounds shattered both bones in Abdul Sattar’s lower right leg. The other two rounds entered and exited his left upper quad muscle, tearing away large chunks of flesh.

  The bald man immediately dropped to the ground and shrieked in pain, his lower body destroyed.

  * * *

  Through agonized tears, Abdul Sattar watched the man who would be his killer slowly approach. The figure appeared out of the darkness, adorned in a one-piece uniform, a weapons vest worn over it.

  Abdul Sattar knew it was Allah’s will that he die in this place, but he wanted to see the face of the man who would take his life.

  Illuminated by the headlights and fire, the man’s intense eyes were a bright green Abdul Sattar had never seen before. They looked reptilian, devoid of all emotion except one. Fury. The man’s jaw was set in determination.

  He realized his time was near, and he sighed with relief as he silently prayed for Allah to take his soul to the afterlife.

  * * *

  Captain West looked down at the insurgent, controlling the rage that rose inside him like a storm and threatened to overtake his actions.

  He’d shouldered his M4 and now gripped his Kimber .45 pistol. He stood over the man that had ambushed and killed at least ten of his Marines. He didn’t know the fate of Gunny Quick and the Marines inside.

  He growled one word, “English?”

  The man nodded and whispered, “You American?”

  West replied with a mocking snort and nodded. “You insurgent?”

  The man shook his head side to side, spittle flying. He said, “Holy warrior, fighting in the name of Allah. You are the invaders. Iraq is our land, not yours.”

  The last words were uttered with complete conviction.

  This was the first time Captain West had come face-to-face with an insurgent leader, a true believer, a murderer, and a terrorist all in one. Even as the man bled out from his wounds, he still insisted his actions were justified. It was the certainty of the insurgent’s absolute belief that suddenly shook something loose in the foundation of who Logan West was as a man and a Marine.

  We can’t win here—at least not until we take off the kid gloves and get in the trenches with these bastards.

  The realization froze him to his core more than the incoming mortar rounds had.

  He pointed his pistol at Abdul Sattar’s chest. “My name is Logan West, First Force Reconnaissance Company. You killed my men, executed some of them.” He paused as the finality of the battle sank in and the words caught in his throat. “And now, I’m going to send you to whatever hell awaits you, you evil sonofabitch.”

  He pulled the trigger, and the .45-caliber slug punched a hole in Abdul Sattar’s chest, tearing apart his heart.

  Captain West looked up at Sergeant Avery, who stood watching him and nodded his approval. The sergeant understood the necessity and righteousness of what his captain had just done.

  Finally, Captain West spoke. “Let’s get back inside and see how they are. We’re not done just yet.”

  He holstered his sidearm, and both men jogged into the compound. Sergeant Avery wondered what his commanding officer meant by that last cryptic statement.

  Yet?

  CHAPTER 45

  Captain West entered the building where Gunny Quick and his Marines had sought refuge. The carnage from the direct hit was devastating.

  Fortunately, the mortar round had landed at the other end of the building, but the shrapnel had torn out chunks from the walls and floors. Two of the ceiling support beams were split in half, one end of each hanging down to the floor, the other still attached to the roof. All the windows and both doors had been blown out.

  He spotted Gunny Quick as Staff Sergeant Hayes tended to Sergeant Baker, who was bleeding from a wound to his torso.

  The table they’d used for cover was in pieces.

  It’s a wonder any of them are alive, Captain West thought.

  The gunnery sergeant was bleeding down the right side of his head, but the wound looked superficial. Captain West knew head wounds bled profusely and often looked worse than they were. Gunny Quick ignored the blood, which reassured the Marines it wasn’t life-threatening.

  “How’s Baker?” Captain West asked.

  “He took a piece of shrapnel to the abdomen, but he should be okay. Fortunately for him, he was knocked out when he hit the wall. So he’s not feeling the pain that’s going to come when he wakes up. Hayes already gave him some morphine.”

  Captain West nodded, relieved he hadn’t lost another Marine. He was dreading the letters he’d have to write notifying the families of the loss of their loved ones. He pushed the thought away since there was one more piece of unfinished business.

  “What about you?”

  Gunny Quick looked up. “I got knocked out, too. Fortunately, it’s just a small cut. You know how these things are.” He shrugged. “I’ll live. What happened out there?”

  Captain West responded matter-of-factly. “Avery and I got ’em all. Saved the sonofabitch who led the ambush for last. Hopefully, he’s in hell with the rest of ’em.” His voice wavered slightly with the fury he felt, suppressed emotions he wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain for long.

  Before he could continue, Sergeant Helms spoke up. “Sir, the cloud cover is abating. Fixed-wing support is minutes away, and the CASEVAC is about fifteen minutes out. Your orders?”

  “Tell the fixed-wing to maintain an altitude of twenty thousand feet. We have the situation under control. Helms, contact the COC and tell them we have eighteen EKIA, but we have one last target to take out before we’re done.”

  Captain West looked at Gunny Quick and said, “John, there’s one more thing we have to do.”

  Gunny Quick interrupted him. “I know, sir. The fucking mortars. Already thought about it. We can’t leave the bastards using them alive, or they’ll do this to someone else. What’s your plan?”

  Captain West outlined his intentions, and as Gunny Quick listened, a wicked smile formed on his face, a line that cracked the mask of blood he wore from the head wound.

  This is actually going to be fun, Gunny Quick thought. He looked forward to delivering the justice his fallen comrades deserved.

  CHAPTER 46

  Abu Omar hadn’t heard from Abdul Sattar in the last ten minutes. He was growing concerned. Once they’d launched the last volley, he’d tried to raise him on the radio to find out what the results had been. He prayed to Allah that his instructions had been accurate and their aim true.

  The two-man teams looked at him, waiting for further orders. He tried to contact his leader again. This time he received a garbled response, and he couldn’t understand what Abdul Sattar said. The push-to-talk Motorola handheld radios were often unreliable. Abu Omar didn’t understand why they continued to use them. He thought it might be for operational security purposes, but he knew better than to question Abdul Sattar.

  He was pressing the button on the radio to speak again when he looked up to see two sets of headlights moving quickly across the desert floor from the direction of the compound.

  Praise be to Allah, he thought. He smiled. The operation must’ve been successful.

  He put the radio down on the back of his pickup truck and walked to the front of the vehicle, eager to hear the details about Abdul Sattar’s latest victory over the infidels.

  * * *

  Captain West had turned on the high beams in the Toyota pickup, hoping they would provide the element of surprise they needed.

  Sergeant Avery stood in the bed of the pickup, manning the DShK heavy machine gun. Both men wore dark clothes they’d scavenged from two dead insurgents. The clothes stank of sweat and blood, but Logan knew the clothes might buy them an extra few seconds that could be the difference between life and death. This was a game of inches, and one miscalculation could end it, permanently.

  He looked right to see Gunny
Quick driving the other Toyota, Staff Sergeant Hayes manning the DShK in the back. Even this close, he couldn’t tell they were US forces. Both Marines still had camouflage paint on their faces and wore dark clothing as well.

  Captain West focused on the desert floor and concentrated on his driving. He looked across the black horizon behind their objective, the building they’d seen a little less than a kilometer from the compound.

  He knew the mortar teams were using it for cover, but he recognized that until he saw the men themselves, the best course of action was to drive toward the building. If the insurgents observed him driving in the wrong direction or in an erratic manner, they’d rightfully become suspicious. He and his Marines would lose their tactical advantage if that happened.

  At forty-five miles per hour, the building grew larger by the second. The pickups closed the distance quickly, but Captain West still saw nothing.

  Damn it! They have to be here!

  The Toyotas kicked up plumes of dust behind them as they barreled forward.

  Please, God, let there be something.

  Just as doubt crept into his mind, he saw a very low light emanating from a clump of shrubs and small trees two hundred meters past the building. He realized that the building itself was actually an old barn.

  Who the hell is dumb enough to farm in this country?

  He targeted the lights and decided to circle around the right side of the barn to approach the mortar teams, even though the left side had a more direct route.

  He radioed Gunny Quick. “I’m going right. Get behind me. It should provide us an extra few seconds of surprise. We’ll hit them on their left flank. As soon as I stop, pull up on my left side. Avery and Hayes will take it from there. This should be over quickly.”

  He’d given instructions to both Sergeant Avery and Staff Sergeant Hayes to open fire once both vehicles had stopped, and not one moment sooner.

  Death was coming for these men, and try as he might to emotionally detach himself from it, he looked forward to wiping these twisted, sadistic murderers from the face of this country. A focused anger burned brightly through every fiber in his being. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were raised. His mind was on autopilot. Although he processed everything he observed—the light growing brighter, the outline of mortar teams, the city lights from Fallujah—he also saw precisely in his mind’s eye how this fight would unfold in the next few minutes. And it didn’t involve any of the enemy breathing after it was over.

  Both vehicles passed the barn and adjusted their direction for the final approach to the mortar positions.

  Through the headlights, Captain West spotted the outline of four teams. Their positions were staggered: two mortars in front, and two mortars in back. The rear mortars were approximately twenty meters away from the front positions.

  Standing in front of another pickup truck was a smiling man with his arms crossed. He wore a dark baseball cap, glasses, and a short beard.

  He must think I’m the conquering hero returning in victory. Don’t worry, friend. I’ll wipe that smile off your face in just a second.

  * * *

  When both trucks had driven around the right side of the barn, Abu Omar became momentarily concerned.

  What is he doing?

  He was also disturbed that there were only two trucks. Did Abdul Sattar need something from him?

  It never crossed his mind that Abdul Sattar’s men had lost the battle. All their previous ambushes and attacks had been successful. Why would this one be any different?

  The lead vehicle skidded to a halt. The one behind it pulled up beside it and slammed on its brakes as well.

  What’s the hurry? We dealt another blow to the Americans.

  CHAPTER 47

  At a distance of thirty meters—a distance that Captain West determined would afford Sergeant Avery the best fields of fire—he slammed on the brakes and stopped the pickup in line with the rear two mortar positions. He watched in the rearview mirror as the momentum pushed Sergeant Avery forward against the cab of the truck, but he somehow maintained his balance.

  Moments later, Gunny Quick stopped the other Toyota twenty meters away, in line with the front two mortar positions.

  Captain West waited for the roar of the machine guns to shatter the silence.

  Now.

  As the dust rose in front of the pickups from the sudden stops, Sergeant Avery and Staff Sergeant Hayes pressed the butterfly triggers on the DShK machine guns, and Captain West sat back to watch the slaughter unfold. As 12.7x108mm shells cascaded off the roof of the pickup and down the front windshield, his face remained impassive through the flickering light of the gunfire. He felt no emotion or sympathy for these men.

  Who knows how many Americans and innocent Iraqis have died at their hands?

  All he felt as his gunners delivered death was a sense that he was righting one of this country’s many wrongs.

  The first burst of fire from Sergeant Avery cut the smirking man in half. His expression changed only slightly as the top half of his body toppled forward. With the mortar teams’ leader dead, Sergeant Avery then strafed the first mortar position. The rounds impacted men, the mortar tube, and the box of mortar rounds, in quick succession.

  One man’s arm was shot off by fire, but he was killed by a round that punched a hole in his chest the size of a fist and severed his spine. His partner was struck in the head, which disintegrated in a shower of blood and bone. Another bullet struck the tip of an exposed high-explosive mortar round. The mortar detonated and propelled the dead bodies of both men into the air like rag dolls.

  Sergeant Avery elevated his gun slightly to target the second position. The two insurgents on that team reached their weapons, managing to grab their AK-47s—but that was as far as they got. The sergeant’s fire killed both men before they had a chance to pull the triggers, their bodies torn apart.

  As soon as he was certain the last two of his targets were down for good, he swiveled the DShK to provide additional fire on Staff Sergeant Hayes’s objectives. He was too late though. Staff Sergeant Hayes had been just as accurate and lethal. Both front teams were dead or lay dying.

  The surprise attack had succeeded. The battle was over.

  Inside the truck, Captain West paused to survey the horrific yet satisfying scene in front of him.

  It’s still only a Pyrrhic victory, he thought. No number of dead insurgents will make up for the losses of the good men that died tonight.

  He opened the door to the Toyota, and the smell of cordite overwhelmed his nostrils. He grabbed his M4 and walked toward the mortar positions. There were no sounds or movement.

  This part of the night had been easy, but he reminded himself it was better to be easy than hard. Hard was what this entire mission had been. He’d lost ten Marines. Hard got men killed.

  Gunny Quick exited his pickup. He walked over to join his leader and friend. Both Sergeant Avery and Staff Sergeant Hayes jumped down from behind their mounted weapons and picked up their M4s.

  Sergeant Avery was the first to speak. “Wow.”

  Captain West broke the silent reverie that had fallen over them as a result of what they’d just accomplished. “Excellent shooting. Now let’s check their bodies for IDs or anything that can tell us who they were. Once we’re done, get back in the trucks, and we’ll head over to that barn. There has to be something they’re protecting. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have set up here.”

  He grabbed the radio handset from Staff Sergeant Hayes and called Sergeant Helms back at the compound to inform him they’d killed the mortar teams but needed fifteen more minutes on site before they returned.

  “Sir, there’s also a QRF inbound from Fallujah,” Sergeant Helms said, referring to the camp’s quick-reaction force. “They activated it when we made the initial call. I think I see their lights off the main road. They’ll be providing security for the helos on site.”

  Captain West heard the sound of rotors in the distance. The CASEVAC was
getting close. They were going to need time on the ground to retrieve his men.

  “Roger all. Tell the QRF commander we’ll be back in fifteen mikes. We’re moving to investigate the building. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Roger, sir. Also, Sergeant Baker’s stable and still unconscious, but that’s because of the morphine. Out here,” Helms signed off.

  Captain West looked up at his men and said, “Let’s get this done and get the fuck out of here. This place is really starting to suck.”

  The other three men raised their eyebrows at the comment, aware that the mild vulgarity and huge understatement was intended to lighten the dark mood that threatened to suffocate them. Killing the insurgents had served justice swiftly and satisfied their vengeful bloodlust, but it still couldn’t bring their brothers and friends back. The harsh reality of the price they’d paid was painful.

  Their search of the bodies turned up nothing: no identification of any kind, just clothes and weapons.

  Captain West ordered Sergeant Avery and Staff Sergeant Hayes to destroy the remaining mortar tubes and rounds. With a few well-placed grenades, the task was easily accomplished in minutes.

  The men returned to the Toyotas, and the team looked back one last time to see if there was something they’d missed. Satisfied, they drove to investigate the barn.

  The barn stood two stories high with a lean-to roof that sloped down from the back to the front of the building. The front was approximately thirty meters wide; the sides, twenty meters deep. Two gigantic sliding doors appeared to be the only entrance. The exterior wooden walls were painted sloppily—none of them could tell the exact color in the darkness.

  Iraqi craftsmanship at its finest, Captain West thought.

  He walked to the sliding doors and pulled a wooden beam out that was secured through two metal latches, one on each door. He slid the left door open and revealed a large space that was mostly dark.