The Kabul Incident: A Weir Codex Novella Read Online Free PDF Page A

beyond.
    “Move!” shouted the Lieutenant, filled with none of the mirth infecting the rest of the group.
    “What? Not a ‘Predator’ fan?” pouted Brazier quietly as he dropped into the line of men filing out and down the chopper’s rear exit hatch.
    “Local authorities aren’t prompt, but they will come to investigate if things get out of hand,” said Arias, leaning out of the open aft bay doors of the lead Blackhawk as its rotors began to whine in preparation for take-off. “If the situation gets messy, your team will have no more than twenty minutes to clear out before the nationals arrive. We’ll have birds on hand for evac, but if you aren’t here, you ladies are on your own. Clear?”
    “Clear,” repeated Brazier and Talborg in unison. Neither one of them liked the sound of being left to their own devices in the middle of semi-hostile Afghan territory.
    “This is your show, Agents, but Sergeant Height is your den mother. Listen to him and you’ll all make it out just fine.” Arias spun his finger in a circle over his head without waiting for a response from the two engineers, silently letting his wall-eyed pilot know it was time to leave.
    Sand, dust, and pebbles pelted Brazier in the windstorm left behind by the fast disappearing helicopters, leaving a grimy feeling in his skin that only a ton of high-priced exfoliant would be able to wash out.
    “X marks the spot, people. This site is rally point one. Mark it on your head’s up display. Use it as your common ref-point…this is our ‘six.’ If things go FUBAR, this is where we fall back to,” lectured Height as the other marines went into autopilot around him. While this was old hat for the big man’s team, he still liked to run down the list, especially for the benefit of the civilians. There was nothing worse than a POG getting lost during an op and having to waste time and resources tracking them down.
    “‘FUBAR,’ Sergeant?” Brazier had never heard the term before.
    The entire battalion of soldiers chuckled as one.
    “Fucked up beyond all recognition,” called out Private Grundy, one of the unit’s sharpshooters from beneath a helmet over-flowing with a mane of bright red hair that would have made Ronald McDonald green with envy. The good-natured, lanky soldier was nearly as pale as the moonlight. He seemed to be having as good a time as possible with the mission.
    The other half of Grundy’s sniper team, Private Hochberg, added in a tone much more military in cadence, “It means things have gone tits up, Agent Brazier.”
    Brazier couldn’t restrain a laugh that was a shade too loud and too mirthful given their position deep within enemy territory. “Is that an official US marine term, Private?”
    “Yes, sir. It’s in the manual.”
    A grunt from Sergeant Height ended the banter. “We’ll get you a copy when we get back to base. Now, if you ladies are done with your tea party, it’s time to get your game faces on. Hochberg, we need eyes on the compound.”
    A small cloud of dust trailed behind the tall sniper as he bolted for a small rise completely barren of vegetation, and dropped flat with the long barrel of his gun trained on the subtle yellow light that spilled over the enemy’s high reinforced stone walls.
    “Six Tangos on the wall—four gunners ready to direct fire on the gate and two walkers with AKs,” reported Hochberg without looking up from the night-vision scope of his rifle. “Action seems to all be up top. We’re clear to the southwest.”
    “How does your team want to handle this, Agent Talborg?”
    Gauss jumped in before the woman could answer. “Maneuver Beta-16.”
    “Agreed,” added Cestus.
    Brazier smiled. He’d seen the action performed in playback a handful of times, but the thought of getting to see it played out in person thrilled him to no end.
    “We’ll just sit back and enjoy the show, then, Designate Gauss. Let us know when you’re ready,” said Height, silently signaling his