INFERNO

  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.

  Click on the link and tell me where to send the book!

  Chapter One

  The going had been tough for Eddie Hawkins, and lately he felt down, enough to look for more meaning in his life, and in this war. He wasn’t sure he’d found it when he started reading Sun-sin Yi, a Chinese philosopher, especially a quote that explained a lot about battle.

  ‘Those who seek death shall live. Those who seek life shall die.’

  He talked to his crew about it, and they joshed him, but he didn’t care. The guys he worked with were the best of the best. Men he could rely on, and they relied on him. Eddie was happy with what he did, top gunner on Sergeant Dan Jones’ Humvee.

  Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about those words, and what they meant. He forced himself to concentrate, searching the surrounding fields. This day promised to be no different from any other, like every other day, death was never far away. Sitting high in the cupola, he had a clear view across the barren plains and hills of Afghanistan, watching for the unexpected. Watching for movement, for the flutter of a robe, or the glimpse of a greasy turban; the barrel of a rifle, a thin, straight black line where there should be no black lines.

  “How’re we looking, Eddie?”

  He replied without taking his eyes away. “No sign of any trouble, Sarge.”

  Sergeant Dan Jones, often known as Sergeant Dan, was the man in command of the Humvee, a tough, leathery vet, working through his second tour. He was tall and had to twist his body to clamber around the interior of their vehicle. His piercing blue eyes that could at times be wintry, and at times mysterious. He just did his job, at which he was damn good. The kind of guy they all felt good about having on their side when the fighting started.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” he grunted. There was no need. Eddie’s eyes never stopped looking. And his finger never left the trigger of the Browning M2.

  “We’re almost at the limit of our patrol area,” Corporal Al Taylor called out.

  Another second tour vet, he was always checking the communications gear, weapons, and supplies. When he wasn’t checking he was studying the map on his electronic pad, looking for something he’d missed. He rarely smiled. After several months in Afghanistan, Eddie was beginning to understand why.

  What is there to smile about in this hellhole some folks call the Inferno?

  “We’ll drive another five klicks and turn around. Give them a heads up.”

  “Copy that.”

  He spoke into the microphone, and Eddie could feel the tension rising inside the jeep. The last part of a patrol was the most dangerous. A time when men dropped their guard, easy meat for a Taliban ambush. Eddie smiled to himself, thinking about what he’d do when they got back to Bagram, the huge military base outside Kabul. His plan was to join an online game of Call of Duty with his gaming group. They were scattered all across America, and it wasn’t easy to coordinate international time zones, but tonight he was determined to hack it.

  The Major’s voice crackled from the radio. “Sergeant Jones, your orders were to continue surveying the track for two kilometers and report back.”

  The Pentagon had foisted Major Nathan Savage on them. He belonged to the Army Logistics Branch, and as he continually informed them his job was,

  “Anticipate the warfighter’s need for sustainment in all situations, at all times, under all conditions.”

  He was an asshole. He held a senior officer’s rank, and made sure everyone knew it. He also made sure they each understood the importance of every bullet, every button, every spare part for the vehicles, and every gallon of fuel in the storage tanks.

  “Without me, men like you will have nothing to fight with. No guns, bullets, nothing.”

  It hadn’t taken them long to discover the truth. Without men like Major Savage, they’d have more time to fight and less time to listen to an interfering desk jockey who thought he’d invented the art of warfare.

  Sergeant Dan grabbed the microphone, fighting to control his anger. “Major, I saw something unusual ahead. I believe it’s worth checking it out.”

  “I’ll decide what’s worth checking out, Sergeant. Or had you forgotten the chain of command?”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” After a pause, he added, “Sir.” He looked at their driver, Winston Bellows. “Better turn around.”

  Winston nodded and started to slow, preparing to make the turn. He didn’t make the turn. All hell broke loose, and it happened in seconds. Mortar shells bracketed the track, exploding all around them, and already Hawkins was tracking the Browning around, searching for a target; looking for the telltale smoke that would give away the location of the mortar battery. Lines of machine gun bullets hissed past them, churning up the ground less than five meters from the vehicle. Winston’s response was automatic. He put the pedal to the metal, and they held on as the Humvee accelerated. The first response to an ambush was to use speed to upset the enemy gunners. The second response was to find them and kill them.

  “Do you want me to call in?” Al shouted to Dan.

  “Not yet, we need to find out where they are and assess the enemy strength. Winston, when we round the next bend we should be out of sight, and we’ll scout around and try to fix their position.”

  He nodded and drove on, but before they were out of trouble, the radio crackled again.

  “Sergeant Jones, what’s going on there? I gave you an order.”

  “Sir, we’ve come under enemy fire. I’m trying to work out where they are before I call it in. I guess the Air Force will be interested, and they may even have an armed drone up in the sky.”

  The voice was petulant and shrill. “Since when do you ignore my orders, Sergeant? I’ll decide if we need to call it in. All you need do is what I told you to do. Get back here, on the double.”

  “But, Sir…”

  “Now, Sergeant.”

  He gave the order, and Winston, who’d been a driver for a group of gangbangers before he joined the Army, expertly used a combination of steering wheel and parking brake to spin the heavy vehicle around. It spun on a dime, and they were pointing the right way to go back. Under fire, he stamped on the pedal and drove back through the exploding mortar shells and machine gun fire. For several minutes, it was touch and go, and then Eddie worked out the enemy position. They were hunkered down on the side of a hill, with the mortars out of sight behind the ruined wall of an old goatherders shelter. Out of sight, but not completely safe, not from the devastating fury of his Browning, and he took aim and squeezed the trigger.

  They were driving fast, and precision marksmanship was out of the question. But when you had belts of .50 caliber ammo, precision wasn’t so important, especially against a hidden target. What counted was quantity, not quality, and the heavy caliber bullets lashed the target, throwing up chunks and splinters of stone, dirt, and dust, chewing through the flimsy wall. It disintegrated so fast he decided it must have been built from dried mud blocks, and inside of a minute, the mortars were exposed.

  The belt came to the end, he loaded a new one, and kept firing; chewing into the enemy, tearing them into bloody ruin, and their mortar tubes to so much scrap metal. The two machine gunners didn’t survive his devastating fusillade, and by the time they’d driven out of sight, the incoming fire had ended. Winston kept driving at full speed until they reached the other three Humvees, where Major Savage waited, hands on hips and glaring at the fast-approaching jeep.

  Winston did them all proud, racing up to within two meters of the officer, and performing another textbook handbrake turn. The Humvee came to a stop in a shower of dust and small pebbles. When the dust cleared, Major Savage had stepped back several paces and was brushing off his hitherto immaculate uniform.

  Dan ignored him. “Eddie, that was good work, and Winston, you’re wasted in the Army. You should drive in the Indianapolis 500.”

  He chuckled. “That’s one of my ambitions, Sarge. One day I’ll get there, assuming I ever get out of this crappy country.”

  The Major strode towards them, his expression as dark as a winter’s night. “Get out of that jeep, Sergeant Jones. I think it’s time you explained yourself.”

  He stepped out and stood waiting.

  “Don’t you salute a senior officer?”

  “Sure, if it means that much to you.”

  Savage scowled at his casual attitude but returned the salute with a precise gesture he must have practiced many times in front of the mirror. He stood back examining the Humvee, and the scowl was even deeper. “Sloppy, Sergeant. Not good enough.”

  “Major?”

  “You r vehicle. It’s filthy, a disgrace to the Army. When we get back, I want you to smarten yourself up.”

  Eddie climbed down from the cupola and stepped out of the vehicle. He’d heard it all, and if there was one thing he knew, it was that Sergeant Dan Jones was a fine soldier, a leader who men respected for his skill and bravery, and the officer he faced was a piece of work.

  “Major Savage, Sir. The Sergeant did the right thing. We ran into an ambush and turning to drive back through it was the wrong move. We should have kept going.”

  Savage surveyed PFC Hawkins, and he clearly wasn’t impressed. “Who are you?”

  “Hawkins, Sir. Gunner.”

  “Well, Private Hawkins, here’s the deal. I already reminded your Sergeant who runs things here, and in case you don’t know, a Major outranks a Private First Class. Is that clear?”

  “Sir…”

  “And you can do something about that uniform. You, too, Sergeant, and you can tell the other two men in your Humvee I’ll be inspecting them first thing tomorrow, and if I see a speck of dust or dirt, or any other place, you’ll be on night sentry duty for the next two months. Dismissed!”

  They drove back to Bagram and spent their valuable free time cleaning up their vehicle, uniforms, and equipment. Eddie missed his game, and when he turned in he posted messages asking about the next one. No one replied. He’d let them down, and the humiliation burned. It was even worse in the morning, when they reported to the vehicle compound to await Savage’s inspection. They stood waiting for an hour until their platoon Lieutenant, Tony Lopez, came to find them.

  “Men, you can stand down. The Major’s been called away for something important, so the inspection won’t be happening.”

  “Thank the Lord for that,” Jones nodded, “Are we likely to see him again?”

  Lopez grinned. He was an okay guy. “I doubt it. They sent him down to Kunduz, and I doubt he’ll be back.”

  “Good riddance,” Hawkins murmured.

  Lopez pretended not to hear, and he walked away. They drifted away to the canteen for coffee and sat in silence as they sipped their Java. Eddie was aware of an atmosphere that had descended on them lately. Not just them, but the entire platoon. Even Second Lieutenant Lopez was feeling it, and he went around with an expression of permanent gloom. It wasn’t hard to work out the reason why. They’d all been in action too long, too many months of dodging Taliban bullets, never knowing when your friends would fail to come back, victims of a roadside bomb, an IED. It was hard on the nerves, sapped the energy, and men went about their work with dulled expressions. It was also dangerous. Staying alive in wartime meant keeping every sense on maximum alert. And right now, most of the men were too tired even to think.

  They got some rest during the next few days, working on maintenance chores, catching up on paperwork, and relaxing when there was little else to do. Hawkins even managed to get in a couple of games, although they weren’t with his regular gaming group. He’d let them down, and they were still sore.

  Chapter Two

  It was a week after Major Savage had left, and Eddie was carrying out general maintenance on the Browning. He was careful to follow the instructions for care and maintenance. Out in the field, there were no second chances. Their company commander, Captain Paul Rogers, appeared suddenly in the afternoon, almost out of breath.

  “Get the lead out, all of you. They have an emergency, something’s going down in Ghazni. The Taliban are staging a major offensive, and they want the company down there to lend a hand. Five minutes, and we’re rolling.”

  They raced to get ready, and minutes later the line of Humvees drove through the gates to begin the journey of over one hundred kilometers. As they drove, Captain Rogers briefed them over the radio.

  “We still don’t know what we’re getting into. The attack was sudden, and they came out of nowhere, but there’s something strange going on. I don’t know if it’s true, but someone reported they had armor.”

  “BTRs?” Jones questioned him.

  “Not BTRs. It’s worse. Tanks, old Soviet T-54s. Probably they stole them from the Afghan National Army, or maybe their crews decided to sell them on when they didn’t get paid. But either way, it’s bad news. How many anti-tank missiles are we carrying?”

  Corporal Al Taylor replied immediately. He was that kind of a guy, always checking everything, always keeping count. “Each vehicle carries one M72 LAW, Captain.”

  He sounded satisfied. “Sixteen vehicles, that makes sixteen anti-tank rockets. If we run into them, you know what to do. This one could be tough.”

  Aren’t they all? Hawkins thought to himself.

  They reached the outskirts of Ghazni as light was fading. Eddie had a premonition. He just didn’t feel right about this one, and before he could work it out, they ran into the first ambush. Five klicks outside Ghazni, a machine gun opened up on the column. They accelerated, and the gunners return fire, hosing down the hostiles with sheets of lead. The firing stopped, and they assumed whoever was behind that gun was dead. They drove into Ghazni, and bullets were passing overhead, tracers, glowing like fireflies. On the ground, men were pulling back.

  “Stop the vehicle!” Sergeant Dan shouted to Winston. They were out in front, and the rest of the column pulled up behind them. He jumped out and ran to the men who were running along the street. Soldiers, Afghan Army, and he stopped the first man he came to, an officer.

  “Where are you going? The fight is here.”

  The Lieutenant stared at him, wide-eyed. “The battle is lost. We have to leave.”

  Jones had his hand on the man’s jacket, stopping him from running. “The battle has hardly started, and we’ve come to help. Lieutenant, deploy your men. Find defensive positions with clear fields of fire, and wait for further orders.”

  “But…” He tried to pull away, without success, “We will all die.”

  “You will all die of you run. If you stay here and fight, we’ll beat them.”

  He tried to argue, and tried to pull away, while his men watched their officer, shifting their feet nervously. In the end, he saw sense. Supported by American troops on the ground, and the imminent arrival of air cover, they had might on their side, as well as right. He led his men back into the city, and they drove on. The Taliban had attacked from the north, and they were still out there, occasionally sniping at anyone who moved.

  “They’re better equipped than usual,” Dan said, “Unless I miss my guess, they have night vision equipment. We need to be even more careful.”

  Captain Rogers strolled up and chatted to Dan for several minutes. He walked away, and the Sergeant climbed back into the Humvee. “He said to position each vehicle behind cover, where we can still use the power of the Brownings. Winston, get rolling. Eddie, you know what we’re looking for, somewhere with a clear field of fire. When you see it, shout down to Winston.”

  “I got it.”

  He drove slowly through the darkened streets, keeping the lights out to avoid giving the enemy a target. Winston halted behind a single-story building, and around them, Afghan troops were hiding inside the buildings. They waited, and the silence was electric. Eddie knew something bad was about to happen, and he didn’t know what. Shortly before midnight, a flight of F/A 18s swooped down, and their missiles hammered the enemy positions. The barrage was intense. Jets of smoke and flame shooting up into the darkened sky, and it seemed impossible anyone could have survived.

  “I reckon we’re about finished here,” Corporal Taylor murmured, as if to break up the silence, “We’ll be able to go home and…”

  “Incoming!”

  The shout came over the radio, and it sounded like Lieutenant Lopez’s voice. A moment later, a salvo of mortar shells exploded all around them, a machine gun opened up, then another and another. They peered through the darkness, and Dan shouted, “They’re coming in, scores of them, open fire!”

  Eddie sighted on the shadowy lines of robed and turbaned fighters racing toward them. He curled his finger around the trigger, and the Browning spoke its message of death. The heavy caliber bullets punched into the racing fanatics, swatting the cries of ‘Allahu Akbar!’

 

1 2 3 4