Tactical Strike Read Online Free PDF

been so fortunate. Including Sadiq, the general’s brightest young star.
The vast majority of the survivors were still in no shape to fight.
    “Khalid.”
    He looked over his shoulder at the man standing in the doorway.
“What?”
    “The general wants to see you.”
    It irritated him how the others spoke that title, as though
they revered him. Could no one else see what Nasrallah had done to them? He rose
and brushed past the other man on his way into the main room of the mud-brick
safe house they’d marched all of yesterday to reach. The shabby dwelling held
only three rooms, and two of them were carved out of the side of the mountain.
The rickety wooden door had done nothing to keep out the bitter wind during the
night. They’d had to resort to sleeping pressed together in groups, something he
would never have consented to if he hadn’t been afraid of freezing to death
overnight.
    He found Nasrallah seated at a crude table with a tin mug of
steaming tea. He could smell the fragrance of cardamom and cloves from where he
stood.
    The general looked up when he entered. His sharp
caramel-colored eyes slid over him, down his bandaged arm. “Your hand is still
quite swollen. Do you require more medical care?”
    “No.” He could still fire a rifle, and that’s all that
mattered.
    The man nodded once, marking an end to the pleasantries.
“Please, sit.”
    “I will stand.”
    The general paused a moment before speaking, then finally
lowered his gaze. “The reports coming in have told me the Americans are about to
launch a great offensive in this area. We have managed to recruit a few dozen
men from some of the local villages, but you must be aware our numbers are very
depleted.”
    And why is that , I wonder ? He barely held the retort in check.
“And?”
    Nasrallah raised his eyes once more, and Khalid saw both the
growing anger and disquiet in the older man’s stare. “You have proven yourself
as a good fighter. I have need of men like you. As such, I have made the
decision to promote you to serve as one of my advisors.”
    Not by choice though. Khalid knew that for certain. “Because
Sadiq is dead?”
    His expression tightened. “Not only because of that, but yes. I
don’t need to remind you of how valuable he was to our operations.”
    And to you , Khalid thought in disgust. Thankfully Sadiq had
died before he’d seen the truth about his mentor. But Khalid knew. “What
authority would this grant me?”
    “Some command responsibilities. Intelligence gathering.
Possibly helping with the planning of operations.”
    It gave Khalid a measure of satisfaction to know the old man
must have felt sick saying those words aloud. “I want my own men.”
    Nasrallah’s expression hardened. “I beg your pardon?”
    And so you should . “Your strategy to mass men has already ended
in disaster. If I stay under your command, I want my own group of men to perform
guerrilla attacks away from the main body.”
    The general maintained eye contact as he took a sip of his
steaming chai. He set his cup down, his expression holding a sardonic edge as he
answered in English. “What makes you think I trust you enough to allow that kind
of operational latitude?”
    “I don’t need your trust,” he pointed out. “I can recruit my
own army if need be.”
    “To fight with the Taliban?” His laugh was humorless. “To
torture and control our own people who have been fighting for their freedom for
centuries?”
    At least they operated their network effectively. “I will do
whatever is necessary to win this war.”
    Nasrallah shook his head as though disappointed. That was
nothing new. Khalid had spent his entire bastard existence as a disappointment
to others. The old man’s voice held a weary note when he spoke again. “Do not
let the anger in your heart overrule your head.”
    “Allah guides me, and He alone.” The frustration of waiting and
doing nothing was too much. At this point he didn’t care if Nasrallah cut