HELL’S HIGHWAY

  By Todd McLeod & Eric Meyer

  THE HAWKINS’ HEROES SERIES

  Copyright 2018 by Todd McLeod & Eric Meyer

  Published by Swordworks Books

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Chapter One

  He spotted the lookout in the distance, and he’d been searching for someone just like him. Theirs was the lead Humvee of a recon convoy detailed to patrol a section of highway from Kabul to Kandahar. Intelligence had warned them to be on alert for hostile activity fifty klicks outside the capital, and for once they’d got it right. An innocent-looking boy herding sheep, and Eddie Hawkins, positioned behind the .50 caliber Browning mounted in the cupola, was suspicious. With his keen eye for terrain he’d clocked something was wrong, and his brain worked it out several seconds later.

  There was no animal forage in that field. No grass, nothing for sheep to graze on. The crop was opium poppies; the plants with the colorful flowers which Afghans guarded like they were the most precious things on earth.

  Would they allow a flock of sheep to chomp their way through their valuable poppies? Not in a million years.

  He stared at a collection of abandoned stone huts beyond the field, and once again he sensed something wrong. He couldn’t say afterward what it was. Maybe a slight splash of color that made him focus his gaze on a particular place. Whatever made him look he identified it immediately. The straight, black line of a machine gun barrel poking out from a heap of rocks in the center of the ruined dwellings, and he instinctively stabbed the mike button.

  "Hostiles! Three hundred meters, two o'clock, abandoned stone cottages."

  As the vehicles picked up speed, he gripped the Browning .50, aimed, and fired. Shooting for effect, to keep their heads down and flush the enemy out into the open. The heavy rounds flattened against the stonework, and chunks of masonry flew into the air, creating a blanketing cloud of dust and stone chips. For a heartbeat he wondered if he’d been wrong. Another heartbeat and a staccato stream of bullets chattered toward them. They’d positioned the weapon inside what would have been the dwelling of a local peasant farmer. That was before the Taliban drove them out, or more probably killed them to sequester their fields for growing the poppies. He fired repeatedly, and the other vehicles joined in, sending a storm of lead into the enemy position. One vehicle mounted a cannon in the cupola, and the heavy shells punched against the stonework, shredding it into dust. If any insurgent had been unlucky enough to be caught in that storm of bullets, his war was over. Permanently.

  There were more men positioned in the rubble, and streams of bullets churned up the ground around them.

  Dan shouted, “Get off the road now! All vehicles watch out for IEDs.”

  He switched to the company net and transmitted a warning.

  Thanks to Eddie's sharp eyes they'd thrown the enemy off balance and ruined the ambush. In the back of the Humvee, Corporal Al Taylor was transmitting a message back to base. Back to Bagram, where America’s military might, troops, armor, and air assets, gunships and fighter aircraft, waited to support their troops on the ground. Al was another second tour vet who’d screwed up on his first tour and was trying to make amends. "This is Charlie Platoon, fifty klicks southeast of Mazari Sharif, requesting urgent air support. We’re engaging insurgents, strength unknown."

  The bored-sounding voice echoed from the distant operator. "Copy that, Charlie Platoon. We have your coordinates and help is on the way."

  It wouldn’t arrive in time, and they had no choice but to attack. The Humvees thundered toward the dwellings, turret guns blazing, spewing out a hurricane of lead, three Browning .50s and the autocannon. Return fire was patchy. They'd assumed the platoon was an easy target. Big mistake, they hadn't counted on the eyes of the turret gunner Eddie Hawkins.

  Before he joined the Army, he’d honed his combat skills online. Teenager Eddie Hawkins was a gamer. Gaming had been his life, and his life was Call of Duty on the Xbox. He was an average Joe, five nine, with flaming ginger hair, freckles and clear, green eyes. He’d worked out in the garage on a set of weights when he wasn’t gaming. They trained him to use the Browning, and virtual combat suddenly became real combat He soon learned to transfer his gaming skills to the Browning. And just like in the game, he was good.

  One hundred meters before they reached the tumbledown dwellings, the air support arrived. A Reaper, an armed drone flying high in the sky, and a Hellfire missile smoked down toward the target. Walls of thick, impenetrable stone became mere rubble, mixed with the remains of those insurgents who'd assumed they’d be safe. They weren’t safe. They’d dug their own graves.

  The vehicles braked to a halt fifty meters away. Men spilled out of the jeeps and raced toward the scene of battle. Guns at the ready, but there was nothing left to shoot.

  Sergeant Dan Jones, a tough, leathery second tour vet, shouted to Al Taylor, "Call it in, and tell them to stand down the air support. While you’re talking to them, thank them for that Hellfire. It sure took the sting out of them. One more thing, we need combat engineers out here. They’re sure to have buried IEDs in the highway.”

  “Copy that.”

  They left the area with a pile of bodies buried in the smoking ruins. Driving back to base there was no banter and no laughter. The insurgents had asked for it, and they’d got it. Even so, there was no great joy in killing men. If there was any feeling of celebration, it was because they’d come out of it alive. When they were close to home, Al Taylor broke the silence.

  “Why do they do it? Turn their country into a hellhole?”

  “Religion," Winston Bellows snapped an instant reply, without taking his eyes off the road. A natural at the wheel, he’d driven hard and fast when he was a civilian. Until his friends died in an accident and he joined the Army. Where he continued to drive hard and fast. But this time, he did it right, the way they’d trained him, "Islamists, they’re behind it. Most people want to live in peace.”

  Dan disagreed. "These people have been fighting since man first walked the earth. It's in their blood, in their DNA.” He looked at Hawkins. "What do you think, Eddie?”

  "I think they need something better to do with their time."

  "Like computer gaming," Bellows guffawed.

  Eddie gave him a serious look. "Better than killing each other."

  Al Taylor nodded. “You could be right.”

  They dismounted inside the safety of Bagram base. To his embarrassment, his crew slapped him on the back.

  "Nice one, you guessed it right that time, Eddie."

  He disengaged himself and walked to his hut to shower and change. To rid himself of the stink of the mission, dust, oil, and burned powder. He was about to enter when he saw a burly Sergeant, a man he hadn't seen before, pinning a younger man, a Corporal, to the side of an adjacent hut.

  "I told you, Mulligan, stop wasting your time with those stupid games. Me and the boys want some peace and quiet in the hut, not some moron playing games.”

  He looked scared. “Sarge, I was just checking out my portable to make sure it wasn't damaged on the way here."

  "I don’t care. You’re assigned to my platoon, so toss it into the garbage, you hear? If I see you with it again, I'll toss it in myself."

  He slammed him against the side of the hut a final time and stalked away.

  Eddie walked over to him. “You okay?"

  A shrug. "He's just a hardass. He’ll calm down. I’m fine.”

  "Okay, if you say so."

  He wasn't so sure. That big Sergeant almost had a name tattooed on his forehead. Bully. The kind of guy you occasionally came across. The kind of guy you preferred to avoid.

  He showered, changed, and went back outside. Sergeant Jones was chatting to the other members of their crew, Al Taylor and Winston Bellows.

  "In two days we’ll be heading north, toward Mazari Sharif. The enemy has started to build their strength in that area, and the brass say it’s time we gave them a good kicking.”

  He saw Hawkins. "Eddie, they were looking for you. Lieutenant Lopez said you were to report to the company office ASAP."

  “Right away.”

  He knocked, entered the company office, and stood at attention before the two officers. Second Lieutenant Tony Lopez and Captain Paul Rogers, the company commander. There was another man with them, the guy he’d seen bullied by that Sergeant.

  Rogers returned his salute. "Hawkins, this is Corporal Jim Mulligan. He's a combat engineer. You heard about Mazari Sharif?”

  “Just now, yessir.”

  “Good. We need a stretch of highway swept for mines. You’re to accompany Corporal Mulligan, and watch his back while he surveys the route for IEDs."

  "Why me, Sir?"

  He smiled. "There’s one good reason, Private Hawkins. You’re the best man we have with a machine gun.”

  “But Sir, that’s the Browning .50.”

  “You'll be carrying an M-249, which’ll give you sufficient firepower should you run into trouble. And you can radio in if there’s anything you can’t handle. We’ll be on standby to send support should you need it.”

  “I understand, Sir. Why just two men?”

  “If we sent in a larger force the enemy would learn about it immediately, and they’d replant their IEDs the moment we left the area. There’s something else. If they don’t see you coming, you may come across them planting these devices. If that happens, call it in, and we’ll take care of the rest. However, we consider that possibility unlikely. Corporal Mulligan will handle any IEDs he finds while you watch his back with the M249. Is that clear?"

  "Yessir."

  "Good, talk to Master Sergeant Weaver. He has the route and the highway number for you to sweep. It’s his platoon who’ll be on point when we go in.”

  Weaver was waiting outside, and he was the same man he’d seen bullying Corporal Mulligan. His brutal face stretched into a sneer when he saw Hawkins.

  "So you're the hero they’re sending to help Mulligan clear the road.”

  "Yes, Sergeant.”

  “You understand we’re fighting a real war here, not gaming like that stupid combat engineer does?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” He kept his anger in check, nodded to Mulligan who walked up to them, and looked back at Weaver, “Do you have the highway number and route?"

  “Yeah, it’s all here.” He handed over a folded sheet of paper, “That’s everything you need to know, so memorize it. Clear the first ten klicks. That’s all you need to do."

  Mulligan glanced at the paper and handed it to Eddie. “I’ve just arrived in country, so it’d be best if you looked at it.”

  He read through the contents, and it was handwritten. “Are you sure about this? That's not the main route to Mazari Sharif.”

  He went to turn the sheet over, but Weaver snatched it back and buttoned it into his pocket. “Do your job, and we’ll do ours. Make sure you don't screw up."

  Next day they drove out in a Humvee and patrolled up and down the assigned stretch of highway. He constantly surveyed the surrounding area for hostiles while Mulligan occasionally stopped the vehicle and probed with his mine detector. Always looking for those places where the road surface had been disturbed. They covered the first five klicks and found two IEDs, which Mulligan disarmed. On the second part of the highway they found nothing. But the enemy found them.

  Chapter Two

  Two Talibs appeared, as they were about to turn back. Lead zinged toward them, and he returned fire, hosing them down with 5.56mm bullets. The M249 was a fine weapon, portable and accurate, and it hurled out bullets at a furious rate. He took down both hostiles, confirmed they were dead, and retrieved their weapons in case any other misguided Afghans decided it was open season on American soldiers. He glanced at Mulligan, who was sheltering behind a rock.

  "We're done. We should get back."

  “You’re sure they’re dead?”

  He grinned. “They’re toast. I guarantee it.”

  They made it back without further incident, and the following morning he was in for a shock. He was lying in his bunk when someone shook him awake. He opened his eyes, and he was staring at Master Sergeant Weaver.

  “Get up, Hawkins. Change of plan, they’ve assigned your platoon to link up with mine, and we're leaving now. They said to take that combat engineer along in your vehicle. Mulligan’s a stupid bastard. He spends half the night playing stupid games, but I guess you may come in useful.”

  “Gaming’s a good way to relax.”

  A sneer. “People should know better than to waste their time. You’ll be riding point in Sergeant Jones’ Humvee.”

  “They don’t want me on the Browning?”

  He sneered. “Nope, they’ve fixed up a replacement, so you can go with Mulligan if he comes across any IEDs you missed when you cleared that stretch of road. Stay sharp, and I’ll be at the rear of the column making sure you don’t screw up. Call in if you see anything suspicious. That way you’ll stay off my shit list. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  He and Jim Mulligan wedged into the back of his regular Humvee, and the crew nodded a greeting. The cupola gunner was a new man, Andy Blackford. He looked nervous, as it every Talib rifle would be aimed at him from the moment they got the wheels rolling. He looked at Mulligan.

  “What do you play?”

  “I gotta PlayStation Vita with Call of Duty.”

  “Cool. I spent a lot of time gaming before I came out here.”

  Sergeant Jones picked up the mike. “This is C Charlie, we’re set to go.”

  “Copy that. Move out."

  The jeep jerked away, Eddie wishing he were behind the Browning. He felt confident with the .50 caliber, more than the M249, which fired the smaller 5.56mm round. Although you wouldn’t carry a Browning .50 too far on foot, so maybe the SAW, or squad automatic weapon, wasn’t so bad.

  He wondered about Sergeant Weaver riding at the back of the column. It seemed odd, but maybe that’s the way he was. It still seemed odd. They were five klicks out of Bagram when he became suspicious. A few minutes later the truth struck him like a thunderbolt, and he looked at Mulligan.

  "This isn’t the road we cleared.”

  “Well, uh, I’m not sure.”

  He looked at the driver. “Winston, are you sure we’re on the correct route?"

  "No question, I saw it marked on the map. What’s up?”

  "This is all wrong. This isn’t the highway Sergeant Weaver told us to clear.” He grabbed the mike and hit the transmit button, "Sergeant Weaver, we’re on the wrong route."

  The company commander, Captain Rogers, answered, “Whoever that is, keep the radio net clear for important traffic.”

  “But, Sir, this is…”

  “We’re on the designated route. Button it, soldier, we know what we’re doing."

  He glanced at Mulligan. “We have to stop them. This highway could be littered with IEDs.”

  He clicked the transmit button to try again, but Sergeant Jones pulled the mike out of his hand. “Sorry, Eddie, but you’d best do what he says.”

  “Sarge, this is all wrong. He gave us the wrong route number.”

  A shrug. “Nothing you can do about it now, it’s too late.”

  His mind screamed.

  Here we go again, why don’t they listen to me?

  What happened next came as no surprise. They were eight klicks out of Bagram when they ran into the ambush. A storm of machine gun bullets came in from the flank and tore into a Humvee in the center of the column. The driver lost control after several bullets slammed into him, and the vehicle overturned. Survivors began to climb out, but it was too late. The RPG-7 missile smoked down from a nearby hillside, obliterating them and their vehicle. Even worse, they’d been driving through a narrow valley, and the wreckage blocked the road.

  "Get out of there!" Sergeant Weaver's voice shouted over the radio, “It's a trap!”

  Winston pedaled the gas, and they rocketed forward, but a moment later Eddie shouted, "Stop! There’s something up ahead."

  He started to slow. "I thought you and Mulligan cleared the road."

  "That's what I was trying to tell you. Weaver gave us the wrong route."

  Sergeant Jones interrupted, "There’s a bunch of insurgents back there after our blood, and they've already destroyed one jeep. We have to keep driving and get out of here.”

  Eddie saw it first. "Up ahead, about two hundred meters. The road surface is a darker color."

  "IED?"

  "Has to be."

  He cursed as another machine gun opened up, and a spurt of bullets tore up the ground around them. The radio burst into life. "This is Sergeant Weaver. What the hell are you guys doing? I told you to get out of there."

  Dan picked up the mike. "We can't go forward. We have a suspect IED up ahead."

  A string of curses came back to him. "Don't just sit there. Get those two lead swingers to disarm the mine."

 

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