Tactical Strike Read Online Free PDF Page B

him
loose.
    He could find his own men elsewhere and fight the way they
should have all along. Hit the enemy hard and then disappear like ghosts into
the hills, the way his people had for centuries against invaders. Set up
ambushes and booby traps. Fight battles that they could win, not massing the men together for a suicidal rush against
superior numbers and firepower.
    It sickened him that Nasrallah could consider himself a
military leader after the carnage of the last battle. And all because he’d
insisted they capture the female pilot they’d shot down. For publicity and some
misguided sense of mercy toward the woman. If Khalid had been in charge, she
would have died that night, along with the others. Instead, more than half their
force was dead or missing. Another quarter were wounded, most of them out of
action for the winter at least.
    In the dim lighting the general regarded him closely for a few
moments, but Khalid remained unaffected by that icy stare. The old man’s reign
of power and influence was coming to an end. Nasrallah had to adjust along with
the rest of them, adapt with the ever-changing flow of this war or accept
defeat. And the hint of unease in those light brown eyes said he knew it as well
as Khalid.
    “Well?” Khalid prompted, sensing his advantage.
    A muscle flickered beneath his bearded jaw. “I have been
fighting this war since before you were born,” the general reminded him in a
scornful tone. “You would do well to remember your place.”
    Khalid narrowed his eyes and thumped the tip of his left index
finger against his chest. “My place is inflicting fear and death on the
Americans and their allies. Not hidden away, cowering from their planes and
satellites.”
    Nasrallah’s skin paled beneath his salt-and-pepper beard then
flushed a bright, outraged crimson. “Do not dare to question my actions. Do.
Not. Dare .”
    The anger and frustration continued to build, swirling and
expanding in his gut. Khalid fought it back with effort. “Do I get my men or
not?”
    The silence thickened in the tiny room, building with the
sudden rise in tension. Khalid didn’t move. Didn’t even blink as he held
Nasrallah’s gaze, refusing to back down now. The general would respect the show
of defiance at least. As the seconds passed, a sense of power began to rise up
above the anger. The old man knew he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t afford to
lose him, no matter the threat Khalid posed to his authority with the
others.
    Finally Nasrallah jerked his head toward the door, breaking the
tension. “Go, then. Pick twenty men and take them with you. But know this.” His
eyes hardened like amber. “I will be watching you closely, and there is no place
in these mountains where I will not be able to find you.”
    A threat? Khalid almost laughed. “I am not afraid to die,
whether it comes by your hand or the enemy’s.”
    A tiny smile curved the edges of the man’s lips in a grudging
show of respect. “Nor am I. But you are willing to die for the wrong reasons.
And we need every man we have.”
    Without bothering to reply, Khalid turned and strode from the
room, his heart beating a rapid rhythm against his ribs.
    He’d done it.
    He stepped out of the house into the cold mountain air. It bit
through his clothing and into his skin like tiny needles, but he barely felt it.
His boots crunched in the snow as he walked toward the group of men squatting
around a warming fire. They all looked up at him as he approached, their gazes
expectant. As though they intuitively recognized something important was about
to happen.
    Something was.
    Khalid drew in a breath, feeling like he was standing on the
edge of a great precipice. “My brothers, it is time to make the Americans taste
the fires of Allah’s retribution. You are my men now. Follow me, and I will lead
you well.”
    Their eyes lit up as he spoke, and a sense of elation swept
through him. This was the turning point. He finally had the chance he’d