Free Afghan Storm (Nick Woods Book 3) by Stan R. Mitchell

legs. Rasool closed his eyes as he let
the truth wash over him. Americans had entered into the country of Pakistan.
     
    “Only four
shooters?” Mushahid asked.
    “It is
shocking at first thought,” Rasool said. “But as you think about it, it starts
to make sense. Any larger group would be more difficult to hide.”
    “Agreed,”
Mushahid muttered.
    The duo was now making
their way up to the spot discovered by their scouts. One of the first things
their scouts reported was that they had estimated the number of shooters to be
no more than four. That number was then confirmed
over and over by several of the wounded villagers.
    “What do you
think these men are doing on this side of the border?” Mushahid asked.
    “Probably
reconnaissance and intelligence gathering. Too small a force for anything
else.”
    Rasool had not yet shared
his conclusions with Mushahid. The younger man might very well be the next in
line to lead the Taliban; he needed to learn to make his own conclusions. And hopefully,
Rasool would have enough time to teach his friend the importance of making
well-informed decisions versus rash and dangerous ones. He worried about
Mushahid and what the fierce warrior might become after Rasool was gone.
    They arrived
at the top of the hill where the four shooters had made their stand. Rasool
leaned hard on his walking stick and struggled to catch his breath as they took
in the scene.
    Brass laid
in piles and the position provided a perfect view of the hill below. Rasool saw
more boot prints and the clear ground markings in the dust where four gunmen
had lain.
    “Mushahid,
who do you think did this?” Rasool asked between wheezing breaths.
    “I don’t
think any of our Muslim brothers could have pulled off such a stand,” the
Taliban’s most competent fighter said. He pointed toward the ground upon which
they stood, and the dirt showed where four bodies had lain. “It really was only
four men who caused such carnage. None of our men,” he shook his head with
disgust, then spoke angrily, “none of our men could have pulled off such fire
discipline and accuracy.”
    Rasool
simply nodded.
    “Americans?”
Mushahid guessed. “Or maybe Pakistani elite soldiers trained by Americans.”
    Rasool
considered Mushahid’s alternate answer but dismissed it. He scanned the hills around
them. Whoever they were, they were on foot. And they had either headed deeper
into Pakistan after the battle or turned to run for the border. He assumed it
was the latter. Surely, they’d run for their lives after losing the element of
surprise.
    Excellent shooters they
may be, but Rasool doubted there were many men who were capable of pushing on
considering not only the elements but the fervent and viscously territorial
nature of the people surrounding them in every direction.
    “Select some
of our best men from the elite guard as a rapid-reaction force,” Rasool
instructed. “And have two or three trucks ready to respond. Whoever did this
will show up soon, and we shall seek vengeance for our brothers who died on
this hill.”
    “As you
wish,” Mushahid said, clearly pleased with the order.
    “Now, leave
me for a moment,” Rasool said, reaching in his satchel for his prayer mat. “I
need to pray for our brave men and that Allah’s justice falls swiftly upon
these intruders.”
     

 
     
    Chapter 21
     
    Six hours later, Nick Wood’s team hid along a rock outcropping in the
waning hours of sunlight. After the terrible turn of luck earlier that day,
they had somehow managed to arrive at their destination unnoticed.
    Below them, far down the mountain range, they could see the bottom of
the valley. Straight across, an almost identical range faced them -- the same
one they had used as an alternate route earlier in the mission to avoid the Pakistani
army for a day.
    All four men made use of the daylight to notice every bit of key terrain
that could be seen. Soon, their lives would depend on how well they had
memorized the