the open. Replacing the bottle in his pack, he slipped a black fleece skullcap over his head before grabbing his radio and laser range finder. Looking behind him, he ensured that the rest of his men were pulling security before continuing up to the summit.
The night before, the colonel had received the green light on the operation, sending the team into a flurry of action. All the planning and time spent masking their movements had led to this moment,and Harden knew that they were about to show the world that the war was far from over.
The Kunar province lay protected in the shadows of the Hindu Kush Mountains, like a lush jewel nestled in the craggy embrace of some prehistoric god. Harden had listened to his boss, Colonel Barnes, tell of ancient armies broken against its treacherous peaks and impenetrable caves. Many men had lost their lives here, and he had great respect for this sacred place.
The mujahideen had broken the Russians in these mountains and had damn near done the same to the Americans. As Harden crept closer to the flat plateau, his eyes were drawn upward to the indifferent snowcapped peaks that marked the gateway into Pakistan. The treacherous mix of shale and granite crunched beneath his chest and elbows as he crawled closer to the edge and began setting up his equipment.
Taking a small GPS out of his pocket, he hit the power key and waited while it tracked the satellites orbiting in the exosphere. Putting his eye up to the optic, he looked down the steep ledge and into the valley below.
The fuzzy brown squares of the mud compounds came into focus as he twisted the knob on the back of the optic, and a moment later, he could make out the individual bricks of the target house. Two black and white goats tugged at the leaves of a small bush, while smoke rose lazily from the metal chimney.
His enemy had no idea.
Adieb Hakin stepped out of his house, his white headdress blowing in the light breeze. Walking over to the large woodpile stacked against the eastern wall, he grabbed an ancient ax and began splitting logs to feed into his bukhari stove. The stove was his family’s only source of heat, and for centuries the Kunar region of Afghanistan had supplied the rest of the country with wood for the winter. Smuggling timber was illegal, but like everything else in the country there were ways around that.
He raised the ax high in the air and brought the iron head down on the log, neatly splitting it into two ragged sections. Harden hit abutton on the top of the range finder, and the laser quickly calculated the distance.
“Seven hundred meters,” he read off the digital display.
Harden lifted the hand mike and depressed the rectangular button on the side.
“Anvil 6, this is Anvil 7, target acquired.” He lowered his eyes back to the range finder and gazed across the village, which had been at the base of these mountains for hundreds of years.
Adieb was a Taliban facilitator whose close connection with President Karzai had protected him while he helped kill hundreds of Americans. He was one of the president’s untouchables, but Harden’s mentor, Colonel Barnes, was about to change all of that. Harden had spent his career hoping for a commander like Barnes, someone who didn’t give a shit about the brass and just wanted to win. He knew that his boss could make general one day, if he cared about rank, but Barnes had much higher ambitions.
“Anvil 7, this is Anvil 6, good copy. Stand by.” The colonel’s voice came across the radio net and Harden unconsciously let his gaze sweep to the far side of the village, where his boss was lying in wait.
Harden read off the coordinates from his GPS before pulling a protein bar out of his cargo pocket. He ripped open the brightly colored wrapper, took a bite, and chewed contentedly as he watched Adieb cut wood. Harden’s only complaint was that he wished he hadn’t left his water back with his gear. The protein bar tasted like dirt and was sticking to the
The night before, the colonel had received the green light on the operation, sending the team into a flurry of action. All the planning and time spent masking their movements had led to this moment,and Harden knew that they were about to show the world that the war was far from over.
The Kunar province lay protected in the shadows of the Hindu Kush Mountains, like a lush jewel nestled in the craggy embrace of some prehistoric god. Harden had listened to his boss, Colonel Barnes, tell of ancient armies broken against its treacherous peaks and impenetrable caves. Many men had lost their lives here, and he had great respect for this sacred place.
The mujahideen had broken the Russians in these mountains and had damn near done the same to the Americans. As Harden crept closer to the flat plateau, his eyes were drawn upward to the indifferent snowcapped peaks that marked the gateway into Pakistan. The treacherous mix of shale and granite crunched beneath his chest and elbows as he crawled closer to the edge and began setting up his equipment.
Taking a small GPS out of his pocket, he hit the power key and waited while it tracked the satellites orbiting in the exosphere. Putting his eye up to the optic, he looked down the steep ledge and into the valley below.
The fuzzy brown squares of the mud compounds came into focus as he twisted the knob on the back of the optic, and a moment later, he could make out the individual bricks of the target house. Two black and white goats tugged at the leaves of a small bush, while smoke rose lazily from the metal chimney.
His enemy had no idea.
Adieb Hakin stepped out of his house, his white headdress blowing in the light breeze. Walking over to the large woodpile stacked against the eastern wall, he grabbed an ancient ax and began splitting logs to feed into his bukhari stove. The stove was his family’s only source of heat, and for centuries the Kunar region of Afghanistan had supplied the rest of the country with wood for the winter. Smuggling timber was illegal, but like everything else in the country there were ways around that.
He raised the ax high in the air and brought the iron head down on the log, neatly splitting it into two ragged sections. Harden hit abutton on the top of the range finder, and the laser quickly calculated the distance.
“Seven hundred meters,” he read off the digital display.
Harden lifted the hand mike and depressed the rectangular button on the side.
“Anvil 6, this is Anvil 7, target acquired.” He lowered his eyes back to the range finder and gazed across the village, which had been at the base of these mountains for hundreds of years.
Adieb was a Taliban facilitator whose close connection with President Karzai had protected him while he helped kill hundreds of Americans. He was one of the president’s untouchables, but Harden’s mentor, Colonel Barnes, was about to change all of that. Harden had spent his career hoping for a commander like Barnes, someone who didn’t give a shit about the brass and just wanted to win. He knew that his boss could make general one day, if he cared about rank, but Barnes had much higher ambitions.
“Anvil 7, this is Anvil 6, good copy. Stand by.” The colonel’s voice came across the radio net and Harden unconsciously let his gaze sweep to the far side of the village, where his boss was lying in wait.
Harden read off the coordinates from his GPS before pulling a protein bar out of his cargo pocket. He ripped open the brightly colored wrapper, took a bite, and chewed contentedly as he watched Adieb cut wood. Harden’s only complaint was that he wished he hadn’t left his water back with his gear. The protein bar tasted like dirt and was sticking to the
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