Prologue
High Above Afghanistan
DALTON JENNINGS LEANED back in the troop seat of the MC-130 aircraft, adjusting his parachute and tactical gear in an effort to find a comfortable position. He was tired as hell and desperately wanted to grab a few more minutes of sleep, but the cheap nylon seat wasn’t meant for comfort so there’d be no sleeping for him. He glanced at his watch. 0400 hours. Damn, they’d all been awake for over thirty hours already thanks to a midnight raid on an ISIS stronghold just south of Mazar-i-Sharif. Now they were off to a new mission.
It didn’t help that no one had given them a clue where they were going or what they were supposed to do when they got there. He was relatively sure they were still in Afghanistan, but that was about all he was sure of. Not a big deal. He was a Navy SEAL. He was used to working with limited information. They’d tell them what he and his teammates needed to know when they needed to know it. As long as he had his guys with him, he was good.
He glanced over at the three other members of SEAL Team 5. Like him, they were wedged into seats on the opposite side of the plane, their extra gear piled around them. Dark-haired Petty Officer Holden Lockwood, who was leading this op, had somehow been able to fall sleep. Then again, the guy could probably sleep during a parachute drop. Dalton envied him.
Wes Marshall was next to Holden. He sat there with his earbuds in, nodding his head in time to whatever song he was listening to. The younger SEAL had only been with the Team for a little while, so Dalton wasn’t sure what kind of music he liked, but based on how fast he was bouncing around, it was most likely rock. Though it could be heavy metal. Wes was probably hoping it would keep him awake.
Nash Cantrell, the Team’s combat medic and Dalton’s best friend, was sitting furthest away, scribbling something in a small leather-bound book he always carried with him. As usual, he was smiling. He’d been perpetually happy ever since falling for his fiancée, Bristol Munoz, a few months ago. Long term relationships weren’t Dalton’s thing, but he had to admit it looked good on his buddy.
“You’re not writing anything classified in there, are you, dude?” Dalton shouted over the roar of the plane’s four turboprop engines. “That kind of stuff can get you sent to Leavenworth for an extended vacation.”
Nash chuckled. “No. Bristol asked me to keep a journal of what I do and think about when I’m not working so she can understand me better. She’d doing the same so we can share notes when I get back.”
That sounded absolutely gut-wrenching to Dalton, but he didn’t point that out. Especially since Nash’s book was nearly three-quarters full. “I never realized you spent so much time thinking. I mean, I know we’ve been over here for about four weeks now, but what the hell could you be filling so many pages with? Sexual fantasies?”
His friend snorted. “You know, it is possible for a person to think about something other than sex.”
Dalton considered that for all of five seconds, then shook his head. “I’m gonna have to say you’re wrong about that. I mean, I think about a lot of stuff. Baseball stats, state capitals, prime numbers, even how to convert pounds to kilograms. But usually that’s while I’m in the middle of sex just to keep myself distracted, if you know what I mean?”
Nash shook his head. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“But hey, don’t get me wrong,” Dalton added. “If all you want to do with Bristol when we get home is talk, that’s cool with me.”
Nash finished whatever he was writing and closed his journal, then gave Dalton an amused look. “So, how about you? You going to go see Beth when we get back to San Diego?”
“Who?” Dalton asked in mock confusion.
“Beth. The woman you were dating before we deployed.”
“Oh. That Beth.” Dalton shrugged. “We weren’t dating. We were having sex. That’s not the same thing.”
“Damn, bro,” Wes said. Dalton hadn’t realized he’d even been listening to their conversation. “That’s the coldest thing I think I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. That’s saying a lot since you’re about the most cynical person I’ve ever met.”
Though Dalton would never admit it, the words cut deep. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nash regarding him with what could only be described as disappointment in his dark eyes.
He almost came clean and told them that he’d lied. That of course he remembered the attractive woman, originally from Idaho, with the long, blond hair and quirky laugh. She was nice and they’d gotten along well. But unfortunately, they’d met on Tinder and both knew there was no long-term anything going on between them.
He couldn’t say that to his guys, though. Because…well…this was the way they expected him to act. He had a reputation to live up to. It was a tough job but somebody had to do it.
Dalton was about to make a crack about already having a few more Tinder dates waiting for him after they got stateside, when an Air Force major in a green flight suit with a nametag that said Conway approached from the front of the plane. From the thick binder covered front and back with a yellow Top Secret cover sheet in his hand, Dalton figured things were about to get real. Several crew members dragging extra jump sacks full of gear followed the major. It looked like they’d be jumping soon and they were going in damn heavy.
Wes reached over and smacked Holden on the chest. The other SEAL immediately snapped awake, his attention laser sharp as he focused on the major.
“We’ll be dropping your team on Kuh-e Chuk Shakh. It’s a mountain along the Hindu Kush Range just inside the border near Tajikistan,” Conway said without preamble as he flipped open the binder and handed it to Holden. “You’ll find maps and coordinates of your objective in the briefing package. I’ve also gone ahead and preloaded them into all of your GPS wristband units, along with multiple routes to the primary and secondary extraction points.”
Dalton was both impressed and concerned. He had no idea what the hell was down there, but with this level of preparation and secrecy, it was obvious it was serious. Which usually meant bad.
“What are we looking for down there?” Dalton asked since it didn’t seem like Holden was interested in sharing anything he was reading.
Conway glanced at Holden, who was still scouring the briefing package, hesitating for a moment, which only cranked up Dalton’s concern another few notches.
“You’re looking for an F-35 Bravo,” the major said. “The Marine Corps variant of the Joint Strike Fighter.”
Dalton exchanged looks with his teammates, wondering if he’d heard the man right. Wes and Nash seemed as stunned as he was. Holden was still flipping through the binder and didn’t bother to look up.
“Wait a minute,” Dalton said. “If there’s a crashed F-35 down there, why are you sending in a SEAL Team and not the PJs?”
PJs was short for pararescue jumpers. As the name implied, they were the ones who usually rescued downed pilots.
Holden looked up from the classified documents he’d been studying. “Because no one is supposed to know this particular F-35 was ever in this part of the country. It’s also possible this wasn’t a normal crash.”
Dalton could read between the lines as well as anyone who’d done their share of classified operations. The bird had been flying a classified mission, probably into China considering they were less than a hundred miles from there as the crow flew. Dalton didn’t know much about the F-35 beyond what anyone could read on the Internet, but he was aware that the thing was supposed be stealthy as hell. No doubt all kinds of people in the Pentagon were interested in knowing whether the expensive fifth-generation aircraft could slip past the Chinese defense systems without being noticed.
“What was the plane doing in China?” Wes asked, obliviously coming to the same conclusion.
The major’s mouth tightened. “You know the drill. I can neither confirm nor deny an American aircraft violated another country’s sovereign air space. The bird is in Afghanistan now. That’s all you need to know.”
“What makes you think this wasn’t a normal crash then?” Nash asked. “That part of Afghanistan has some rough terrain. Maybe the thing simply flew into the side of a mountain.”
Once again, Conway hesitated before answering. “There are indications that the pilot was being affected by what’s believed to be poison while he was still on an earlier part of his route. He was able to fight through the symptoms and make it back here, where his tracking signal disappeared.”
Conway let the significance of those words sink in. Dalton could understand why. The man had essentially admitted the Chinese had somehow figured out exactly when the F-35 would be flying into their airspace, who would be flying that aircraft, and had somehow gotten a slow-acting poison into that pilot, hoping they could bring the plane down in their territory.
It was a crazy scheme, but something Dalton could see the Chinese government trying to pull off. There was likely a lot of high-tech gadgetry on an F-35 that they’d love to get their hands on. It made him wonder how far they’d go to get what they wanted.
“Any chance we’re going to run into people with guns when we get down there?” Dalton asked.
Conway nodded. “Thermal scans picked up ground movement near the border a few hours ago. There’s a large group heading straight for the last known location of the bird. It’s a Chinese special operations team most likely, probably supplemented with technical engineering support.”
Dalton cursed along with his teammates. They’d be going up against a group several times larger than their own.
“Any chance the F-35 is intact?” Nash asked. “Or are we looking for pieces?”
“The F-35 Bravo has the ability to perform a vertical landing.” Conway frowned. “If the pilot was still conscious, he could have put the bird down in one piece.”
Holden shut the binder. “What’s our mission?”
“Find the plane, figure out if the pilot is still alive, then determine if there’s a chance we can get the aircraft out of there.”
“And if we run into that Chinese exploitation team?” Wes prodded. “What then?”
“You engage. But your number one objective is to make sure nobody gets their hands on the guts of that F-35.” The major jerked his thumb at the packs the other crew members had dragged to the drop-down door at the back of the plane. “You’ll be going in with four cases of C4 plastic explosives. The briefing package will tell you what portions of the aircraft are the most sensitive. Make sure those parts are completely destroyed. If there’s even a chance you can’t do that, you’re to call in for Plan B.”
“Plan B?” Dalton said, not sure he wanted to know.
“There are a number of other platforms loitering in this area. Once you confirm the F-35’s exact coordinates, they’ll go on standby. If it looks like you can’t contain the situation, they’ll drop several tons of general purpose bombs on that location whether you’re still there or not.”
* * * * *
“Holy crap, he’s still alive!” Nash shouted. They’d finally gotten the F-35’s canopy open and now Nash was in the cockpit with the man. “His pulse is weak and he looks like shit, but he’s alive.”
“Get him the hell out of there, then help me set up the explosives,” Holden called from where he stood down on the ground near the plane, one hand cupped over his earpiece as he listened to an incoming message from their air support. “We have bad guys inbound who will likely be here in less than a minute.” He glanced at Dalton. “You and Wes intercept and slow them down so we have time to set the demo charges.”
Dalton cursed, steam coming out of his mouth in the cold mountain air. He and Wes against who knew how many bad guys. This had the potential to turn into a really bad day. But he gave Holden a nod and started moving with Wes in the direction Holden had directed. They didn’t have much in the way of a choice. It was either blow the plane with the plastic explosives they’d brought or call in an air strike on their own position, knowing they weren’t likely to survive it.
The situation might have been different if they’d found the plane faster, but the terrain was rough as hell down here and it had taken way longer to get the half mile from the drop zone to their target than they would have liked. It also didn’t help that it was cold as hell. Dalton could feel parts of his body going numb despite the gloves and heavy clothing he wore. A couple more hours up there and they’d be dealing with hypothermia.
Not that they were going to be there that long.
He and Wes stopped about two-hundred yards from the downed F-35. Hopefully, it was far enough to give Holden and Nash some breathing room. They found a small line of snow-frosted rock that gave them a good view of the shallow valley beyond, then dropped to the ground, barely getting into place before they saw three bad guys slip quietly over the far ridge. It was hard to make out details with the green glow of their night vision goggles, but Dalton recognized the mottled uniforms of the Chinese army and the Bullpup-style assault rifles they favored.
“Not yet,” Dalton whispered to Wes. Pulling out several extra magazines for his H&K MP5 submachine, he set them carefully on the snow in front of him, then he dug out the two hand grenades he had and put them down, too. “Let the main force show themselves first.”
Thirty seconds later, fifteen more Chinese moved over the far ridge and followed their vanguard into the valley. That was a hell of a lot of people to deal with.
“Holden, what’s your status?” Dalton whispered into his throat mic. “Things are about to get seriously tense around here.”
“We need five more minutes,” Holden replied in his ear.
Dalton snorted. “You’ll be lucky if you get three. We’re outnumbered nearly ten to one over here.”
“Understood,” Holden said. “Be ready to haul ass the second I give the word. We’ll blow the plane to cover us as we fall back.”
“Roger that.”
Dalton returned his attention to the large group of soldiers already halfway across the little valley a hundred feet away from them. With the exception of the technical people they’d brought with them to get into the plane, the rest of the Chinese were disciplined as hell, expertly maintaining their spacing from each other and making good use of the available cover. The idea that he and Wes might be able to take most of these guys out in the first few seconds disappeared.
Dalton picked up one of the grenades, he handed the other to Wes, then motioned at the guy leading the group. They both pulled the pins and tossed them at the same time.
The team commander must have heard the primers on the grenade fuses pop seconds before the fragmentation weapon went off because he shouted for his people to drop and cover. A split second later, the grenades exploded. Unfortunately, it didn’t take out nearly as many of the bad guys as Dalton would have liked.
He and Wes unloaded round after round on the soldiers advancing toward them, changing magazines as fast as they could. There was no communication between them as they worked. There was nothing to be said. They simply shot at anything that moved, hoping to pin the bad guys down as long as they could.
When he and Wes started to get overrun, which happened a lot faster than Dalton would have liked, they pulled back to the next line of rock for cover and started laying down fire again. He blazed through six magazines of 9mm ammo in the blink of an eye. Shit, he was going to run out of bullets long before this was over.
No matter how much damage he and Wes did, it didn’t seem to matter. The leader of the Chinese army was good, continuously sending men to the left and right of their position and forcing him and Wes to keep falling back repeatedly. It was either that or get surrounded and wiped out.
“Holden, you’d better be done because we’re coming in hot!” Dalton shouted into his radio as he and Wes hauled ass to get back to the plane.
There was nowhere left to fall back to and the Chinese soldiers were close enough for Dalton to hear every word they shouted to each other. He had no idea what they were saying, but he could tell they were pissed and looking for blood.
“We’re clear!” Nash shouted. “Head for the ridgeline just east of the bird. We’ll cover you from there.”
“Go!” Dalton shouted at Wes. “I’m right behind you.”
As Wes took off for the plane, Dalton turned and emptied an entire clip at the soldiers behind him, hoping to slow the pursuit. Hesitating long enough to slap in his last fresh magazine, he turned to follow his teammate as the rocky ground around him erupted in a hail of gunfire. Running over rough ground in night vision goggles was never fun, but he ducked and kept moving anyway. When someone was shooting at you, it was amazing how fast you could move.
Dalton spotted the F-35 the moment he crested the last outcropping of rock. Wes was well ahead of him, already climbing the far slope and the safety of the ridgeline.
“Almost there!” he shouted.
A dozen rounds slammed into the rocks to his left, cutting a line straight to him. Dalton launched himself forward, hitting the ground hard and rolling behind one of the plane’s landing gears. He came up fast on one knee, returning fire while he tried to get a bead on who the hell had caught up with him. He wasn’t shocked when he realized it was the leader.
The guy had stopped shooting, but most likely only because he didn’t want to hit the plane. But that wasn’t going to keep Dalton’s ass out of the fire for long. Soon enough, more Chinese would arrive. They’d rush him and he’d be done.
Dalton abruptly caught a flicker of movement to his right. He glanced over to discover he was kneeling beside a strand of detonating cord that was hanging down from the plane. He followed the explosive line up to the six blocks of C4 that were taped together and stuck to the belly of the F-35 above his head.
That was just what he needed, to be surrounded by explosives at a time like this.
“Dalton, you need to get the hell out of there!” Holden called over the radio. “Our boys upstairs are getting a little antsy. Their thermal scanners show that the area is close to being overrun. We need to blow this sucker or they’re going to.”
Dalton peeked out from behind the landing gear and realized that the Chinese spec ops team leader was staring right back at him. They locked gazes through their NVGs for a few brief seconds and Dalton absently wondered if he’d recognize the guy if he ever passed him on the street.
With the NVGs the guy was wearing and the camo paint on his face? Probably not.
Other soldiers arrived behind the team leader. Time was up. He had to move.
Taking a deep breath, Dalton emptied the rest of his magazine at the Chinese then jumped to his feet and ran.
Bullets riddled the ground around him, but he didn’t stop. Not even when a round slammed into the ceramic back plate of his tactical vest and shoved him forward like he’d been punched by a gorilla. He stumbled. He gasped for air that suddenly seemed way too thin. But he didn’t stop.
His teammates were on top of the slope, laying down a wall of protective fire that only missed the top of his head by inches. It was hard not to duck as the rounds zipped over his helmet, but he trusted them. They wouldn’t hit him.
He was ten feet from the crest of the ridge when he saw Holden thumb the button on the remote firing device. There was a sharp crack behind him, then he was being thrown the last few feet through the air toward the safety of the ridgeline.
Nash caught him and dragged him to the ground as the multi-million-dollar aircraft blew into a million pieces, flame and metal flying everywhere.
Dalton heard Holden shouting into the radio, calling off the air strike and telling the antsy boys upstairs that the target had been destroyed. He peeked over the ridgeline to see bodies strewn on the ground around the F-35.
Then he caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the far ridge. In the distance, a man he was sure was the leader of the Chinese team slipped over the crest and disappeared from sight. Damn, that was one slippery dude.
Beside Dalton, Nash and Wes fist bumped.
“Man, that had to be the most expensive thing the Navy has ever let us blow up,” Nash said with a laugh. “An F-35 has to cost what, a hundred million?”
Dalton chuckled, too spent to do more than that. The adrenaline rush was fading, leaving him feeling wrung out.
“We didn’t blow up an F-35. We were never here and neither was that plane,” Holden said, moving to the head to the stretcher holding the unconscious pilot. “So, stop your laughing and save your breath. We have to carry the pilot back for five miles through this hard-ass terrain.”
Nash and Wes exchanged looks but didn’t say anything as they walked over to take positions at the back of the litter. Dalton moved up to take the side opposite Holden.
“Party pooper,” he muttered loud enough for Holden to hear, then he grabbed his corner of the stretcher. They had a long way to go and his frigging toes were frozen.