Killswitch

Cliff Hedley © 2019

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54396-459-2

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Prologue

The cracked dusty mirror showed the dead-eyed gaze of a hideously scarred face he barely recognised as his own. He smiled, a wide grin baring teeth that had gone a little long in the wild without a good dentist. Some were broken by the countless blows to the face he had taken under torture. He’d made a deal with the devil to get this far. Clawed, scraped, fought and survived long enough to make it to what he believed was his rightful path. He’d had to prove himself. Convince his keepers. Time and again he had killed without remorse or mercy. Now he was their most effective weapon.

The cold, calculating eyes showed no fear. They had seen everything the cruel world could show him. There was nothing left to fear. He stared again at the scars. They were the roadmap and the starting point of his journey. Then he realised the truth. In taking this path he hadn’t just made a deal with the devil. He had become him, with all his gifts of deceit and destruction.

Chapter 1

Afghanistan — Kandahar Province

Master Sergeant Will Renshi Chase slumped into the rear passenger seat of his team’s Humvee. After a long day in the field he was covered in a fine layer of dust — as he was every day. He frowned and noted the familiar restrictive sensation on his skin from the caked layer that had built up on his forehead. His rifle was just as bad. Like every day, he would need to strip it down and clean it, and get rid of the sludge that had built up around the sliding mechanisms, where the dust had found its way into the gun oil. He would do it happily. Failed tools out here meant death, so he made damn sure he looked after his gear.

His body was weary but he kept his eyes moving, scanning the road ahead and searching from side to side for anything out of the ordinary. His vehicle was the lead in a convoy heading back to a forward operating base. His role as an Explosive Ordinance Disposal specialist wasn’t just about the disarming and disposal of bombs. He also had to put himself inside the mind of the enemy and figure out where they might lay traps for the soldiers in his team. They had just returned from a long foot patrol, which would have been a lot shorter had they taken the obvious route. Unfortunately, that was exactly where enemy combatants liked to put their array of Improvised Explosive Devices. It was Chase’s job as an EOD to find the safe way around, not the short way.

The full-scale fighting had been drawing to a long, slow close. While Kandahar was no longer the wild west it had once been, it was still dangerous. Chase felt that should make him all the more vigilant. He was concerned now more than ever with getting his people out in one piece. What they were up against now was more of a sporadic, guerrilla-style enemy. That made them harder to spot and harder to fight. For the most part, their patrols were boring, routine. Keeping the peace. Every now and then, though, they could be caught out if they didn’t stay alert. People were still getting hurt or killed.

The road ahead was clear for a way. Chase checked his map for the next likely choke point where an ambush could be set and called for Lieutenant Leroy Tucker’s attention. In command of the convoy, he was sitting on the other side of the rear seat, looking out the other window. Tucker glanced at Chase as he slid the map over. It wasn’t lost on either the platoon or Lieutenant Tucker that his initials matched his rank. His men joked that the Army would never be able to promote him but they used his initials with respect.

LT, we have a choke point coming up in about two clicks. The most direct route back leads into a canyon for about five hundred metres. We have another option to go around but that will add around half an hour’s drive time and we’re losing the light.

Tucker looked at the map and gave Chase a nod. Looks like we go through. Eyes on a swivel, Sergeant.

Yes, sir.

Chase checked behind him as the road followed a gentle curve: he could easily see the other four Humvees following. Each was a respectful distance from the next but close enough so they could pull up quickly together if need be. The corporal sitting in the front passenger seat lowered his field binoculars and tapped the driver on the arm, as well as half-turning towards Lieutenant Tucker in the back.

Sir, I can see a road block ahead. Debris of some kind. Maybe a burned-out car.

Is it inside the canyon?

No, sir, well out in front, before the canyon walls rise up.

Then let’s take it slow and easy, Corporal. Stop well clear.

Chase and Tucker exchanged a glance before Tucker tapped his radio to notify the rest of the team.

Be advised we have a roadblock ahead. We’ll pull up well clear and use Mojo. Keep your spacing, and I want eyes on the top of the canyon ahead.

Tucker turned to Chase. You’re up, Sergeant.

Chase scooted over the back of his seat into the rear of the Humvee and cautiously popped the hatch. Mojo was the Platoon’s legendary PackBot robot, which had successfully been deployed in fifty-three IED missions and counting, surviving them all largely intact. Chase powered it up and was happy to see that there was at least three hours of battery life still. He grabbed his remote gear and checked the camera and his screen. The camera faced him, so he saw a picture of his own grit-covered face and the caked corners of his mouth where he had dripped water from his canteen against the dust. It was hard to tell the difference between the shades of brown of his buzz-cut dark hair, sun-weathered skin and the desert grime that had stuck to him.

Satisfied that the gear was working well, he lowered Mojo to the ground and propped himself against the packs on the other side. On his remote he gave the little robot a touch of forward, then reverse and side-to-side on his controls. Mojo did a little pirouette on the ground below him in response. Next he tested the extendable arm, which rose up. The claw on the end opened and closed, before Chase lowered the arm down again.

He turned back to Tucker. Good to go, sir.

Tucker gave him a nod and within seconds the little robot was barrelling down the road in front of their vehicle, small dust clouds coming up from behind its two tracks. Chase stayed focused on the screen and watched as the apparent wreckage in the road loomed closer. He was sure it had been dragged into the road, rather than being the victim of an accident or attack in the spot where it now rested.

It seems kind of dumb. Right, LT?

You mean that they didn’t block our path in the canyon and use that wreck to ambush us? Yeah, kind of.

Which of course means that they want us to go around, so I figure there’s something buried either side.

Mojo edged forward and Chase could see nothing attached to the wreckage itself. It was just a burned-out old pickup, or what was left of one. He couldn’t see any smoke, so the damage had probably happened at least a day ago, if not longer.

Definitely wasn’t burned here, LT. No marks on the ground from a fire. Not much left of it either but it still can’t have been too easy to drag here.

Chase pushed forward on the controls again and completed a lap of the wreckage. He couldn’t see anything attached to it, so he began to scan the terrain to the left, where it would be easiest and most obvious to drive around.

I might have something, sir. Got a lump in the dirt around where our right wheels would need to go. The rocks on the side of the road are big enough that we’d be more or less forced down that track.

Proceed with caution.

Chase rolled Mojo forward, manoeuvring over the rougher ground, off the side of the relatively smooth road. He ran it wide of the suspicious mound, through the boulders and back onto the road on the other side of the wreck. The road on the other side looked clear, so he pivoted Mojo back around to focus on the mound. He scanned around it, searching for any wires running away from it to the rocks either side but could see nothing. Inching further towards it, he could just see a tiny aerial sticking out of the top.

Shit.

What is it Chase?

I think it’s —

Boom!

Sitting a couple of hundred yards away, Chase felt the blast in his chest, like a deep bass speaker at a rock concert. Mojo never stood a chance. The camera feed had been killed instantly and one of the wheel tracks that Mojo ran on flew into the air amid a cloud of dust.

Every Humvee in the column behind Chase had a soldier on the fifty-calibre machine guns mounted on their roofs. Every one of them had ducked down into the cabin as the explosion went off but they were straight back in position, training their weapons on the ridgeline either side of the canyon ahead. There was nothing. No movement, nobody firing on their position.

They had to be out there, at the maximum range of that little aerial if it was going to be triggered from the canyon, so it was more likely both a defence and an early-warning for whoever was in there. Chase pulled the rear hatch all the way closed and switched off his remote gear. He wouldn’t be getting Mojo back.

You got anything, corporal? Tucker was leaning forward in his seat, squinting to see any movement on the ridgeline ahead. It was difficult to see against the glare of the lowering sun. The corporal was scanning left and right with his field binoculars, but wasn’t faring any better.

No, sir. No movement but it’s getting hard to see into that sun as well.

Chase rolled back into his seat and leaned forward beside the Lieutenant. Sun Tzu, sir?

Tucker nodded in agreement. The principals of the Chinese military strategist still held true, centuries after they were written: Fight on the higher ground with the sun at your back. We are at a clear disadvantage and I don’t like it.

He tapped the corporal on the shoulder. Call it in. Let HQ know about the IED and our new route. See if they can give us any air cover.

Copy that, sir.

The Corporal clicked his radio. FOB Ramirez, this is Roadrunner One, do you copy?

After a moment of silence, a voice crackled back to him.

"Roadrunner One, FOB Ramirez. We copy you."

FOB Ramirez, the Roadrunners will be late in this evening. We have encountered an IED and lost a PackBot. Suspect insurgent activity around the canyon approach road about thirty clicks east of you.

"Copy that, Roadrunner One. Advise how you wish to proceed."

It looks pretty hot in there, Ramirez. Any chance you could send an Apache our way to sweep for unfriendlies?

"Negative, Roadrunner One. All the birds are in the air. Nearest air cover would be half an hour away."

Tucker shook his head. We go the long way. I’m not sitting here waiting for an ambush.

The Corporal nodded and keyed his radio again. Acknowledged, FOB Ramirez. Roadrunner One will be taking the long way home to the north.

"Copy that, Roadrunner One. Be advised, we have heightened chatter and activity, so keep your eyes peeled. Safe journey. Ramirez out."

Roadrunners was the unofficial name and radio call-sign for Lieutenant Tucker’s platoon. It was partly because of their role as a mobile reconnaissance unit and partly because Tucker had an old Plymouth Roadrunner he was restoring back home. It was sitting in pieces under a bunch of old sheets in his garage but he would get to work tinkering on it every chance he got to go home — after seeing his family, of course. They usually knew where to find him after a couple of days as he settled back in and the initial teary greetings were out of the way. One of his men had slapped a Roadrunner sticker on the dash of his command Humvee to make him feel at home. It was cracked and faded from the sun but Chase saw Tucker glance at it every time they went out.

Chase had been assigned to the Roadrunners as their EOD six months ago. Being something of a classic Mopar fan himself, he and Tucker had hit it off straight away after he asked about the sticker. Chase had plans himself to find and restore a ’68 or ’69 Dodge Charger once his tour was complete.

Tucker keyed his radio to address the rest of the column. OK, we lost Mojo and the terrain ahead looks like a no-go. Air cover is half an hour out, so let’s back it up and take the long road. We back-track and move through that little village we passed on the way in to the north. That road takes us around the ridge, then we can straighten up and get a straight shot back to base. It’ll take an extra half hour or so, and the sun is going down. We just burned ten minutes and a PackBot, so let’s make it quick. Make sure your night-vision gear is good to go in case we have to go lights-out.

Behind them, the rest of the column of Humvees was cautiously backing away, one by one, until a safe, smooth place to back into could be found. The rear Humvee finally found a spot with no rocks, mounds, or disturbed earth, and successfully swung out, then turned back onto the road the other way. One by one the others followed.

Chase sat back in his seat and the cabin of the Humvee fell silent, apart from the rumble from the big engine and the sound of the giant tyres clawing at the gravel road. Every time he heard the name Ramirez it reminded him of his fallen comrade, a fellow EOD who had been killed trying to save one of his team members from a landmine they had stepped on. Normally an EOD would dig down and come into a landmine from the side while whoever had stood on it kept way the hell still, but Chase figured either the young private with his foot on the mine had panicked and moved his weight, or it was an old unstable mine. Either way, their Forward Operating Base, formerly Talladega, had been re-named Ramirez, in honour of his efforts to save a fellow soldier. Too many bases, which had started out with inane titles, had been renamed after fallen soldiers for Chase’s liking. Every base with an adopted surname had a similar story.

The line of Humvees rumbled forward, casting shadows ahead of them onto the road as dust kicked up and swirled around them. After another ten minutes or so of driving, they neared the T-junction they were aiming for and swung left onto the road that would take them north of the imposing rocky ridgeline. In the distance, Chase could see buildings rise up from the otherwise largely featureless landscape. They were all one-level, low, flat structures. The village itself was roughly split in half, straddling the road that ran through it.

As they grew nearer, Chase could make out people moving around the village. Nothing unusual, just going about their daily life despite living in a war zone. As the column of Humvees moved into the village Chase continued to scan around him for any threats. For a moment he locked gaze with a young girl who was sitting on the front step of what he assumed was her home. It was set slightly back from the road, and she was playing with a small doll, looking up as the convoy rolled through. Her dark brown eyes seemed calm, no signs of stress or worry, despite being old enough to realise that the next explosion or gunshot could come at any time. She turned away, and Chase realised that she had probably grown up with war, not knowing any other way of being.

He continued to watch the rooftops, the doorways, alleyways between buildings but there was nothing out of place. Soon the Humvees had rumbled their way through the village and were moving back out onto the open road. There would be nothing but open road until they reached FOB Ramirez. Chase and the men kept their eyes moving all the same. The light was starting to fade now as the sun dropped below the horizon.

Tucker keyed his microphone to address the convoy. It came through louder in Chase’s ear than his unamplified voice, despite the fact that Tucker was sitting right beside him. The radio and his earpiece helped seal out the droning rumble of the Humvee.

Roadrunners — it’s blackout time, gentlemen. Night vision at your discretion. Every angle.

Chase could see slivers of light on the tail lights of the Humvee ahead come to life. In their own vehicle, the corporal in the driver’s seat unlocked the switch for the lights, and turned on their own blackout lights. He kept his night-vision gear flipped up on his forehead, obviously content that the weak glow that his specially designed headlights offered was good enough. The blackout lights were hooded, so that the convoy could not easily be spotted from a distance, and cast only a small sliver of light downwards, rather than a fully-exposed lamp as in a regular car. Because they were following another Humvee, the driver probably didn’t need any more light from his night-vision goggles. They were more of a preference thing for the drivers when they were this close together, except for maybe the lead vehicle. The corporal had told him that the night goggles could boost the range of his vision but at the same time affected his depth perception.

Chase sat back in his seat, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see much more in the gloom. He kept his own night-vision gear handy but he couldn’t see much to the side of the Humvee now as it rumbled past the desert landscape. Next to him, Lieutenant Tucker had eased back into his seat. Chase could barely see him but he could sense the tension that their commanding officer was carrying. He didn’t want to be out at night, especially when their intended path home had been targeted, herding them like sheep down a different road. There could still be something, or someone, out there waiting for them.

After another twenty minutes or so of driving through the darkness, Chase flipped his night-vision goggles down for about the fifth time. Still nothing out there he could see, other than the sliver of light from the tail lights on the vehicle ahead. Then, in the distance, he could see a glow and breathed a small sigh. The lights growing out of the gloom were FOB Ramirez, visible just slightly off to the right of centre from his side of the Humvee.

He turned to Tucker. I see Ramirez, sir.

Tucker let out a small half-sigh himself. They were almost home — still in danger, but the closer they got to those lights, the safer they would be. Copy that, Chase. He keyed his radio again to address the column. Almost home, gentlemen. Keep your eyes peeled until those gates are locked behind us.

Chase grinned. He liked Tucker, who was a good CO to have because he was a safety-first kind of guy. The rest of the platoon felt the same way. He never risked his team unnecessarily, and would probably be a rank or two higher if he hadn’t chosen to place the safety of his men higher than the priorities of the occasional mission that he considered to be ill-conceived. It was his job to be the eyes on the ground and make those calls but it took guts to do it.

Tucker’s cautious approach also meant that they saw eye-to-eye on a lot of things, where Chase had to advise how to safely manoeuvre the men around likely IEDs and choke points. His every angle motto was a shortened version of take no risks, check every angle and the whole platoon had adopted it.

Chase no longer needed to lower his goggles to see the surrounding road. As they lumbered their way towards Ramirez, the light it cast outward around the surrounding terrain grew. There was no point in hiding the location of the base under the cover of darkness. It never moved and its location was well known by all. Instead, spotlights along the perimeter faced out into the darkness and gave sentries posted in watch towers a better view of any approaching people or vehicles.

The convoy slowed towards the gate, which swung open to greet them and finally Chase and Tucker’s Humvee passed through the gates. Chase turned in his seat to watch them close behind them. Once they were secured, he cracked a smile.

Good to be home, LT.

Amen to that, Master Sergeant.

Tucker keyed his radio for the last time that evening, as the Humvees found their way to the parking bay.

Quick debrief in the bay, Roadrunners. He turned to Chase. Let’s go debrief the Colonel when we’re done.

Chase nodded a quick Yes, sir, and as their Humvee swung last into the row with the rest of the platoon, they swung out of their seats and headed for the base commander’s office. The rest of the platoon had gathered together beside the lead Humvee and Tucker paused in front of them briefly, noting their generally dusty appearance.

Good work out there today gentlemen, thank you. Go hit the showers, get some chow and grab a beer if you can find one. We’ll be in the office, so expect word on tomorrow’s patrol.

His words were met with a cheery chorus: Yes, sir!

With that, Tucker turned back to the road and Chase quickly locked step alongside him. They made their way past several rows of large tents, gravel crunching under their feet and dust kicking up behind them. The road up to the office, as they called it, was a straight line up from the parking bay through the centre of the camp, which made it easy to head to their debriefings whenever they came back in from the field. They eventually came to a tent that looked like the others save for a radio and communications mast next to it, which ran a series of wires down to the command centre itself. Chase reached for the flimsy door and held it open for Tucker.

They were greeted by a burly staff sergeant just inside the door, who was clearly expecting them. He nodded towards the rear of the large tent, past a partition.

The Colonel is in the back.

Tucker made his way through another internal door with Chase right behind, and they entered into the command centre, where Colonel Jeremy Winters was leaning over a map next to a young corporal. He heard the men enter and stood to turn and face them. His close-cropped grey hair seemed somehow at odds with his muscular physique and still-youthful face. Chase had no idea how old the Colonel must have been but it could be anywhere from forty to sixty-five. There was a betting pool running in the camp on guessing that age, with a payout on the closest year and birth month. Chase figured that Winters hadn’t really aged in the past couple of decades, because regardless of where he was stationed, his morning routine had never changed; up at 5 a.m. on the dot without needing to set an alarm, into the gym for heavy weight-training and straight to work with no sustenance save for a cup of unsweetened black coffee. Chase had been stationed with him on and off for several years and the Colonel had not aged a day or slowed a step in that time.

He nodded to them, eyeing up the two dust-covered soldiers before him. Lieutenant Tucker, Master Sergeant Chase.

They both saluted and the Colonel returned with a salute of his own. At ease.

Tucker and Chase both stood at ease, their hands behind their backs, waiting for the Colonel to start the debriefing.

So you lost Mojo, huh?

Yes, sir, said Tucker. We used the PackBot to check out a suspect roadblock on the way back to camp. There was an old car dragged into the road and the only way past with room for the Humvees looked suspicious.

The Colonel nodded. What did it look like to you, Chase? How was it triggered?

"Remote, I think, sir. I got pretty close and just as I noticed that there was a small remote aerial on it, it was detonated. I’m not sure if the roadblock and IED were designed to