Rogue Predator by Craig Simpson Page A

commander, Major Nathan Connor, ordered his armoured Humvee to stop. Its heavy duty all-terrain tyres bit into the dirt and it skidded to a halt. They could see the remote village in front of them. Lieutenant Jacko Alvarez turned off the noisy engine. In the silence Connor scanned the area. Nothing had changed — the place was just how he remembered it. Volunteering for the mission had seemed such a good idea. Now, he was less sure.
    Connor knew Halo Forward Patrol were positioned on a distant rocky outcrop above the village. They would give his team cover when they entered the village, and watch out for Taliban movements, especially on the main road. He removed his sunglasses, before grabbing his M4 carbine from Master Sergeant Ben Saunders. Connor issued instructions, “Jacko and Sam, you stay with the vehicle. Be ready to evac at a moment’s notice. Ben, Danny and Sparks, come with me. You all know what to do.”

    Connor led the way on foot. The sprawl of sand-coloured mud-brick buildings looked deserted, but he knew appearances could be deceptive. They walked slowly and purposefully. They kept their eyes peeled and their M4 carbines ready. Gradually, Connor’s men spread out and took up defensive positions: Lieutenant Danny Crow lying on a flat roof, Ben crouching in a ditch, Sergeant Major Sparks in a doorway. Connor walked alone into a narrow, shadow-filled alley. At the end he entered a sunny, walled courtyard. A boy was kicking a ball about. Their eyes met. The boy let out a cry of fright and ran off.
    A tall figure appeared in a doorway; a man in his mid-thirties, about Connor’s age. His face was familiar. Connor called out. “Assif, is that you?”
    “Yes, it is I.” A surprised and delighted Assif Aziz beamed a welcoming smile. “Praise be to Allah. After all these years. Nathan, is it really you? Come in. Come in. Welcome to my humble home, dear friend.”
    As Connor lowered his M4, childhood memories flooded back. As boys he and Assif had become best buddies after Connor’s dad saved Assif’s mother’s life when she’d fallen seriously ill.
    “How is your father, Nathan?” Assif asked as they embraced.
    “Fine. He often speaks fondly of his time over here working for the UN.”
    “They were good days, Nathan.”
    Connor nodded. As a boy he had spent two years alongside his father in Afghanistan. “Was that your son I saw outside?”
    “Yes. His name is Hassan. He’s a good boy. Tomorrow, I’m sending him south to stay with his Uncle Emil, near Kandahar. There is a fine school nearby. I want a better life for Hassan. Better than this.” He gestured to his bleak surroundings. “You remember Emil?”
    As they settled down onto large cushions, Connor nodded. “Yes, of course. Is it wise to send Hassan to stay with him?” He pulled a face. “Emil was always causing trouble. Hope he’s changed — for Hassan’s sake.”
    Assif laughed. “Emil is my brother. What can I say?” An awkward pause followed and his smile disappeared. “You should not have come here, Nathan. The Taliban may be watching.”
    “I know. Actually, that’s why I am here,” Connor replied. “Things are about to hot up between here and the border. We know your village is on the Taliban trail north. We need you to feed us intel on their comings and goings.” He sensed the heavy weight his words suddenly placed on Assif’s shoulders. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but we’ll make it worth your while. A thousand bucks a month, and we’ll pay for anything else you need; a new well, your own schoolhouse or repairs to the mosque. I guess you know what’ll happen if you refuse. Your village may be targeted by ISAF, maybe even by air strikes. Even as we speak, a reconnaissance team has set up camp near here.”
    Assif cursed. “What use is money or a new schoolhouse to dead men?” His tone dripped bitterness. “It’s the same story in every village, Nathan. Soldiers come and tell us to grow wheat instead of opium.