Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent Read Online Free PDF Page A

landing, the craft slowly progressed in a straight line, the skids just a few feet from the earth. One by one, five men in full combat load began leaping out and moving toward the site of the ambush. After the last had exited, the pilot landed in a position where the door gunner and his dominate mini-gun could cover his comrade’s approach. Nice , thought Bishop, very nice. That’s one tricky deployment.
    The haze of smoke and dirt partially obscured the approaching team, but Bishop could see well enough to determine they were skilled. Fanning out from the bird, they spaced perfectly so as to leave a field of fire for the supporting mini-gun.
    Two of the men immediately progressed toward the pack animals where they began cutting loose bundles of cash. The other three advanced toward the string of dead Afghans, strewn about in grotesque poses of death. Bishop was shocked when the lead man drew his pistol and fired a round into the first corpse. There was no hesitation. His action was quickly followed by his comrades’ systematically depositing a bullet into each body along the line. What the hell , thought Bishop, who are these guys?
    The action of the newcomers tore at Bishop’s consc ience. Killing wounded men on any battlefield was somehow just wrong. While it was doubtful any of the Afghans had survived the initial attack, that was beside the point. Each summary execution boiled Bishop’s anger to a higher temperature. Were it not for being completely outgunned and still recovering, he might have begun firing his own weapon.   
    Watching as the first bundles of cash were being carried back to the idling copter, Bishop noticed there weren’t any markings on the craft. No unit insignia, no numbers—nada.
    The Marine next to Bishop was obviously angered as well. In a whispered voice he muttered, “What the fuck? Americans don’t do that,” and started to rise. Bishop reached for the man’s load vest and pulled him down.
    “Quiet,” Bishop hissed under his breath, “Look at the bird … these guys aren’t US military.”
    He could tell the Marine was furious, but the man held his temper. “CIA?”
    Bishop shook his head and whispered, “Who knows? But they aren’t searching the bodies. It looks like they just want the cash and don’t want to leave any witnesses. You would be a witness.”
    “No shit.”
    After verifying they hadn’t left any survivors, one of the assault team reached inside his vest and pulled out a stack of papers. While his comrades hauled bundles of money back to their bird, Bishop watched as the man pulled the knife from each corpse and used it to pin a single sheet of paper onto each body’s chest.  
    Ten minutes later, it was all over. The five men humped the remaining bundles of currency back to their craft and were gone. Bishop watched, as the aircraft became a tiny black speck in the sky and then disappeared.
    He and the Marine finally rose from their hiding spot, approaching the scene of the crime. They were quickly joined by two other members of their team—the only survivors. Mike and the others had been killed in the initial exchange with the convoy’s security force. Everyone milled around, stunned by the surreal chain of events that had just unfolded.
    Bishop reached down and picked up one of the papers left by the assaulters. It contained neat, blocked type, both in English and what appeared to be Arabic characters. It read:
    TO: General Khumri, Regional Governor, Balkh Province 
    FROM: Erik King, CEO, Darkwater, Incorporated
     
    General Khumri,
     
    Nine days ago at Firebase Pensive, your men assassinated two of my contractors. Consider this as an act of retribution. The funds confiscated by my team will be used to compensate the families of the men who were murdered in cold blood as a result of your direct orders.
    Let me make my position clear, General. Any further acts of aggression against my men, my company, or our associates will be answered with