Kill or Capture
www.franklinwatts.co.uk
This ebook edition published in 2012
Franklin Watts
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
Franklin Watts Australia
Level 17/207 Kent Street
Sydney, NSW 2000
The author has asserted his rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Task Force Delta is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended and all statements purporting to be facts are not necessarily true.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 4451 1344 9
Franklin Watts is a division of Hachette Children’s Books,
an Hachette UK company.
www.hachette.co.uk
www.franklinwatts.co.uk
www.orchardbooks.co.uk
www.hodderchildrens.co.uk
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The Real Delta Force
Task Force Delta is inspired by one
of the United States’ top-level secret
military units, the 1st Special Forces
Operational Detachment — Delta (1SFOD-D)
also known as
Delta Force
Delta Force’s main missions are direct, counter-terrorism action. They also carry out many secret assignments including hostage rescues and raids behind enemy lines.
Delta Force (also called “The Unit”) is based at Fort Bragg, Carolina, USA.
Delta Force’s motto is:
“Surprise, Speed, Success”
CONTENTS
ONE: Jabir escapes
TWO: Connor’s call
THREE: Into the old town
FOUR: IED strike
FIVE: Race to the square
SIX: Jabir’s hostages
SEVEN: Rescue mission
EIGHT: Delta close in
NINE: A nasty surprise
TEN: Connor works it out
ELEVEN: The shahid
TWELVE: Dam raid
THIRTEEN: Take down
FOURTEEN: The final strike
About the author
Glossary
If you liked this, you’ll love…
CHAPTER ONE
Jabir escapes
Kandahar Prison, Afghanistan
The giant wolf spider was the size of a man’s hand and very, very fast. In the darkness it scurried over the floor of the prison cell and climbed onto Jabir’s outstretched arm. When it ran across his face, he awoke with a start and cried out. He shot bolt upright and frantically slapped his cheeks until certain it was gone.
“Curse these Americans for keeping me in this prison,” the elderly Taliban commander whispered, smoothing down his beard. He gazed into the darkness. “But revenge will taste as sweet as honey.”
Jabir imagined the flash of his sword as it sliced off the heads of his enemies. It was the same vision he had nearly every night, and he never grew tired of it. The face of one of his enemies was particularly clear; the man who’d taken him prisoner — Major Nathan Connor. “One day, inshallah,” he muttered. “One day soon, major.”
And then Jabir heard something: a curiously dull, rhythmic tapping. It came from beneath the floor. He knelt and pressed an ear against the concrete. He heard it again. “Ibrahim, wake up,” he whispered to his slumbering cellmate. He reached out and shook him. “Wake up! Our brothers are coming.”
Curled up on the floor, Ibrahim stirred and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
The tapping grew louder. A crack appeared in the floor. Jabir could see lamplight from the tunnel beyond. The hole widened. Eventually, a dirt-covered face emerged.
“Assalam u alaikum. Peace be upon you, Uncle Jabir.” The teenage boy climbed up and held out his arms triumphantly.
“It’s good to see you, Shafiq.” They embraced and bumped shoulders, greeting the Afghan way.
Shafiq was followed by three men, all Taliban, all armed with AK-47s and grenades. “We’ve dug from the canning factory and under the main road, uncle. We have worked day and night for months. We have infiltrated the guards, too. Some have been bribed, others given a sleeping draught. We plan to get everyone out.”
“You have done well.”
“Everything is arranged. My father, Faisal, and the others await you. They have clean clothes and transport. By sunrise you will be far away from here. Others will make for the old town. There they shall cause much trouble when the Afghan army and Americans come for them. They know that they are to seize two hostages and bring them to you. I will stay to make sure everything goes to plan. It will be just as you asked, Uncle Jabir. Now, go.”
Jabir peered down into the tunnel and listened to the hum of the electric fans needed to maintain a supply of breathable air. He climbed down the rickety, makeshift ladder into the tunnel, with Ibrahim close behind. Now he was a free man, he could lead his men once more. The Taliban would rise up, stronger. Prisoners were loyal to his jihad, his Holy War, and would greatly swell his ranks.
The men crawled on all fours. “Soon the stinking gutters of this crowded city will run red with the blood of the infidel,” the Taliban leader muttered.
“Yes, Jabir, and soon the country will be rocked by your masterful and deadly plan.”
CHAPTER TWO
Connor’s call
Camp Delta
In his tented quarters at Camp Delta, General Patterson, the head of ISAF’s Central Command (CENTCOM), had just soaped up his chin and begun shaving with his cut-throat razor when a sergeant burst in. “Sir?”
“Arrgh! Goddamnit!” Blood trickled down Patterson’s neck. He flung the razor down and spun round. “What?”
The sergeant explained that he’d just received news of the mass prison break-out.
Patterson wiped away the blood and suds with the towel draped about his neck and bellowed, “How many?”
“Three hundred and forty-seven, sir. Including the Taliban commander, Jabir Hassani.”
“Hassani. Jeeezzzusss!” Tightness gripped the general’s chest as he recalled Jabir’s ruthlessness, the years it had taken to capture him, and the lives of many good men it had cost.
“Roadblocks have been set up around Kandahar, sir. According to reports, many escapees have headed into the old town. The Afghan National Army have Colonel Khalid on the ground there. He intends searching house-to-house.”
Patterson stared at his reflection in the small, cracked shaving mirror, and groaned. He’d suddenly aged a decade. Colonel Khalid was on first-name terms with the Afghan president. Worse, he was fuelled by ambition. Despite being a fine soldier, it made him reckless and dangerous. Patterson knew on this occasion Khalid was out of his depth. The local garrison of ANA recruits under Khalid’s command wasn’t yet ready to undertake such a major operation. Their training was patchy, and they’d only ever managed to weed out a handful of Taliban sympathisers. Patterson closed his eyes and cursed. “Sergeant, we’re going to have to intervene with a show of force. Get Alpha and Bravo Company off their butts and ready to move out in one hour. Call Khalid and request that he secure the area, but not to start the search until our guys arrive to support him. And tell Major Connor I want to see him, now.”
“Yes, general.”
“Delta’s skills may be called upon. And Connor understands the way Jabir thinks.”
CHAPTER THREE
Into the old town
Kandahar’s old town
Mid-morning, Major Nathan Connor and his team arrived in their modified GMV at the outskirts of Kandahar’s old town. It was chaos. Dozens of armoured vehicles were parked up close together. Groups
of ANA soldiers stood around at road junctions, while others pulled razor wire across the road to form a barricade. Black Hawk helicopters roared overhead, circling at low altitude. In the searing heat, dozens of US marines in body armour and full kit were standing around clutching their weapons, sweating and waiting nervously to move out; others were running to and fro as final preparations were made. General Patterson’s parting orders rang in Connor’s ears — find Jabir and this time I don’t give a damn whether you kill or capture him! Connor jumped out of the GMV and headed over to Sergeant Baxter from Alpha Company, US Marines, who was holding a map and yelling orders.
“What’s happening?” asked Connor.
Baxter saluted. “Major, we’re preparing to go in. All platoon leaders have been issued with hand-held fingerprint scanners linked to the ISAF prisoner database. Our orders are to check every adult male. If they’re in there, we’ll find them.”
Nodding, Connor snatched the map and studied it. The ancient old town occupied a rectangle covering over a square kilometre. The area was divided by four main streets converging at a central square. Low-rise brick and concrete houses were crammed in with shops and bazaars.
“Where’s Colonel Khalid?” Connor asked Baxter.
The sergeant shrugged. “Not seen him, sir. I’d heard he’s already gone in with a small ANA team. Something about receiving a tip-off and wanting his unit to have the glory of recapturing Jabir Hassani themselves.”
“Just like Khalid,” Connor muttered. “It’s bound to be a trap. Jabir’s no fool. I figure he’ll be long gone by now. OK, carry on. But when you move out, for God’s sake keep your wits about you and make sure CENTCOM gives you constant aerial updates from our drones.”
“Yes, sir.” Baxter strode off, got his men into line, and then moved beyond the barricade.
While travelling into town from Camp Delta, Connor had texted some of his contacts, unscrupulous shopkeepers in the bazaar who sold the most precious and expensive of goods — information. Replies confirmed his suspicions that Jabir had most likely fled the city. But to where? None of his contacts knew. Connor had only one option left — to hang around in the hope that Baxter located one of Jabir’s men who might have the answers they needed.
Connor returned to his GMV and climbed into the front passenger seat. He took a swig of water from a bottle as Baxter’s men left the first building empty-handed.
Lieutenant Jacko Alvarez rested his arms on the steering wheel and groaned resignedly. “Major, I think we’re in for a long day.”
Connor nodded. “Sparks, see if you can get hold of Colonel Khalid on the radio. I think he’s hellbent on becoming a hero.”
“Yes, sir.”
A deafening explosion rocked the street. Jacko leaned forward and gazed straight ahead at the cloud of smoke rising over the old town. “Quite possibly a dead hero, sir.”
“That’s what’s worrying me. Sparks, any luck?”
“I’m through, sir,” Sergeant Sparks announced from the back of the vehicle. “Khalid’s alive and in the central square. A car bomb’s taken out four of his men and the rest are pinned down by Taliban snipers. His personnel carrier’s out of action, too. Took a hit from an RPG. I’ll get CENTCOM to patch through a visual feed to us.”
Connor and his team studied the small screen on Spark’s comms gear. Amid rising, acrid smoke from burning vehicles they could see Khalid and two of his men crouching behind a low wall.
“Hell! There’s no time to mess around. We’d better go get them.” Connor leaned out and yelled at a sentry. “Move that wire barricade, marine.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, sir,” said Jacko as he started up their GMV. “We could be walking into a trap as well. We all heard Jabir Hassani swear he’d get his revenge against us that day we captured him.”
“Just drive, lieutenant… Danny, you’re up top. Point that M2 at anything that breathes… Sparks, tell Khalid to sit tight. And see if you can get air support to lay down some suppressing fire around the square. Those snipers need distracting… Ben and Sam, keep your eyes peeled. Knowing Jabir’s men, I bet these streets are littered with IEDs.” Connor swung round his M4 carbine and released the safety catch. “OK, guys, time to go hunting.”
CHAPTER FOUR
IED strike
Jacko drove steadily for the first fifty metres, but hit the brakes when Connor raised his hand. Baxter was emerging from a building. He gave Connor the thumbs up as an escapee with his hands cuffed behind his back was dragged out of the doorway. “Three hundred and forty-six to go, major.”
“Hey, Baxter, want to see some real action?” Connor shouted.
“Yes siree, major, sir.” Baxter grinned.
Connor quickly briefed him. “So, you and your men secure this street and follow us towards the square. You’re our backup, sergeant. This is going to be our exit route. Maintain radio contact with us at all times. Getting Colonel Khalid out of here isn’t going to be easy.”
Connor instructed Jacko to edge forward slowly. Sporadic small arms fire could be heard coming from the square ahead. But that wasn’t what worried Connor most. It was the eyes staring at him that gave him a sinking feeling; eyes peering out of windows, eyes of men in the street, on balconies, on bicycles and mopeds. Who was friend and who was foe? It was impossible to tell.
Danny aimed the GMV’s swivelled, topmounted M2 machine gun threateningly at anyone who came too close. He yelled at them to back off. This wasn’t the time for winning hearts and minds. Any one of them could be a suicide bomber.
Sam spotted him first. “Man on balcony to our right holding a mobile phone, sir.”
“Goddamnit, major, he’s got an accomplice, too,” Ben added. “On the roof. He’s carrying a camcorder.”
Connor understood — a bomb was waiting for them, to be detonated remotely by phone signal. The horror would be captured on video and no doubt uploaded to extremist websites. But, where was the bomb? His eyes darted left then right, before settling on a battered old truck parked up some forty metres ahead. If it was packed with explosives, they were in big trouble.
“Jacko, back up. Now!”
They had to move fast or else risk becoming prime time news. Jacko slammed the GMV into reverse.
“Oh, Jeeesus! The guy’s started dialling!” Sam shouted. “Get a move on.”
With the GMV lurching backwards, Connor made a snap decision. “Danny, take them out.”
It was too late. The bomb detonated, blasting debris high into the sky. The force lifted the GMV a metre into the air, flipping it onto its side. Danny’s grip on the M2 machine gun was torn and he was flung clear. A red-hot and razorsharp piece of shrapnel cut across his face as he tumbled heavily onto the roadside. More shrapnel peppered the GMV, as Connor and his men were thrown around inside.
A dust cloud crept along the street amid an eerie silence. The twisted bodies of innocent civilians lay still in the road.
“Major? Major Connor, sir? Are you OK?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Race to the square
Connor’s ears rang. He felt light-headed. He opened his eyes and Baxter’s concerned face gradually came into focus. Connor grabbed Baxter’s outstretched hand and managed to scramble out. Sam and Ben crawled out of the back of the vehicle. Sparks followed, spitting out two teeth dislodged by Ben’s elbow. A winded Danny rose to his feet and wiped away the blood oozing from the deep cut across his face. Shrapnel lodged in his battle fatigues started to smoke and burn his skin. Hurriedly, he yanked the pieces out.
Baxter’s men helped extract Jacko from behind the steering wheel. “Jeesh, you guys had one hell of a lucky escape. Shall we fall back, major?”
Connor adjusted his helmet and took a deep breath. Gunfire could still be heard coming from the square. Colonel Khalid still needed rescuing. “No, sergeant.” He looked at the houses lining the street, all single-storey, all flat roofed. “Time for Plan B. You clear a path on the road, we’ll get to the square via the rooftops.”<
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Baxter hesitated. “Listen, major, it ain’t our guys in trouble, sir. Why can’t the ANA troops have a go?”
“Experience is going to count here, sergeant. Khalid isn’t just any old ANA commander either. He has the ear of the Afghan president and is extremely influential. He’s a useful bridge between ISAF and the government. Letting him get killed won’t look good. Rescuing him alive, on the other hand, will earn us top marks.”
The sergeant nodded. “All right then, major.”
“Sparks,” Connor called out, “warn those Black Hawks that we’ll be on the roofs. Friendly fire is the last thing we need.”
“Yes, sir.”
Connor gritted his teeth. “Right. Let’s do it.”
Delta Force moved swiftly across the flat rooftops and terraces in three pairs, Danny and Jacko leading the way. They pushed their way between the washing hanging on lines, using low parapet walls for cover. The sun beat down on Connor and his men. Everywhere they looked the air shimmered from the rising heat. Flies buzzed about their faces. It was easily 35 degrees Celsius. Connor kept one eye on Baxter’s progress below. Already the marines had managed to make good headway and were closer to the square, with Baxter out in front. Suddenly Jacko dropped to one knee and held up his left hand. Connor froze.
Jacko lay down and crawled to the next parapet and risked glancing over. He saw four armed Taliban below, crouching in the shade of a walled backyard and busily loading their AK-47s. Two women in black burqas were preparing bread dough. A clutch of young children were making kites out of plastic bags and string. Shimmying backwards out of sight, he signalled to the rest of the team. Connor ordered the others to fan out along the rooftop. He couldn’t risk moving past. They had to be dealt with. He signalled to Jacko and Danny.