Zero Six Bravo Read Online Free PDF Page A

find out. During the weeks ahead he’d catch a quiet moment with the Dude, fix him with his killer stare, and get the full story out of him . . . that’s if McGreavy survived their coming Iraq missions.
    The Dude was the least-practiced operator in the Squadron, having been with the SBS for less than a year. He’d only just finished his probationary period—the months after selection during which a new operator has to learn and assimilate dozens of specialist skills. He was also bloody tall for a rear gunner. The .50-cal operator sat high on the vehicle’s rear, and Grey worried that having McGreavy perched up there was like an invitation to getting his head blown off.
    The Dude and Moth had been part of the M Squadron assault force that had hit the MV Nisha over those storm-swept December seas, but that was about the entirety of the action they’d seen. It had all been over in a couple of hours max, and it was very much a maritime operation. Once the Squadron deployed to Iraq, Grey felt certain they’d be seeing combat, and he was determined to bring every man on his team out alive.
    Phil Birch was the fourth member of Grey’s team. He operated outside the Pinkie on their dedicated quad bike. By contrast with Dude, Birch was definitely not the sharpest tool in the box, or over-easy on the eye. A slow-talking northerner, he always looked like a sack of shit, hence his nickname, “Mucker.”
    Mucker’s grumpy persona turned a lot of men off, and that’s why Grey figured he’d got him on his team. But Grey actually valued his presence. He was hard as nails and a superlative soldier, plus he was totally and utterly reliable. No matter what shit went down, Grey knew that Mucker would always be there on his shoulder, his weapon at the ready.
    Grey’s team had been bolted together at the start of their Kenya training. Grey was conscious of the lack of battle experience on his vehicle, and especially for the kind of missions they were likely to be tasked with once they were at war. Having Phil on his team helped balance things out a little—with a safe pair of hands only a blast on the quad bike away.
    Each team member had skills that he might well be called upon to use if the Squadron landed itself in the shit. Moth doubled as their communications specialist and would be the one to call in any air strikes. He had recently qualified as a joint terminal attack controller (JTAC), which meant he could call in warplanes to drop precision-guided weapons onto targets. Small elite units such as theirs were almost inevitably going to face a larger, better-armed enemy force, and air power was one of the few ways they had in which to even up the odds a little. Grey was the team’s demolitions and sniper specialist, plus its medic.
    Dude was the new kid on the block and he hadn’t yet secured any adquals (additional qualifications), but in the .50-cal he controlled one of the heaviest pieces of firepower in their troop, which was more than enough to be going on with.
    M Squadron established their training camp in a remote patch of Kenyan bush and set about learning to know and love their Pinkies. Each open-topped Land Rover was fitted with a .50-cal heavy machine gun or a 40mm grenade launcher, plus a 7.62mm GPMG up front. As a result, they packed some fearsome firepower, but when loaded with ammo, water, food, fuel, and associated supplies, they were badly overweight. There was no spare capacity for armor or ballistic matting, which meant that the vehicle’s occupants had zero protection from enemy rounds other than speed, maneuverability, and firepower.
    McGreavy had served a short time with U.S. forces and he was used to operating in up-armored Humvees, the larger-than-life American four-by-fours encased in armored shells. As far as he was concerned, the Pinkies resembled Mad Max dune buggieswith—insanely—the tops left open to the sun and the air, and offering zero protection from fire. But the men of M Squadron