So, Finn was starting to feel pretty good when everything changed. One-by-one the Changhe Z-18 helos began to take off from their position behind the palm trees.

  They were transports and only lightly armed. But the machine guns mounted in the open doorways could be devastating if fired straight down into the Allied compound. “Missile teams! And Strykers!” Finn yelled. “Fire on those helos! Bring them down! Over.”

  One Stryker was already doing so and a second joined the fray. But there was a limit to how high their 30mm Bushmaster guns could elevate. A Stinger flashed upwards and Finn held his breath. The lead helo seemed to stagger, lurched, and lost a rotor as the missile exploded. The chopper fell sideways, landed on its port side, and exploded into flames.

  Finn allowed himself to breathe. One down. Three to go.

  A Javelin missile struck the second machine head on. There was a flash of light followed by a clap of thunder. Pieces of the helicopter were still twirling toward the ground as the third chopper bored in.

  Strykers, machine guns and missile launchers were all focused on the clattering machine. It rocked from side-to-side as it took hits but it seemed as if nothing could bring it down. Smoke was trailing behind the helo however, and it was losing altitude.

  “It’s going to hit the HULK!” Finn shouted. “Clear the area!”

  The prediction soon came true as the aircraft’s canopy shattered, the pilot slumped sideways, and the Changhe crashed into the HEMTT called the HULK, missing the bomb truck by thirty feet, and destroying the ROLLER SKATE in the process.

  Both the HEMTT, the chopper and the Stryker were consumed by flames, and machine gun ammo began to cook off as medics hurried to pull wounded soldiers clear of the conflagration.

  The last helicopter was directly overhead by then, hovering so the door gunners could fire down into the makeshift fort, and blowing sand every which way with the downdraft from its rotors. Like the rest of them, Finn was firing his weapon up at the machine, and screaming his rage. Machine gun bullets stitched a path across the compound, found Lieutenant Pinnick, and cut her down.

  Then like a warrior from another age, Sergeant Major McKenzie marched out to the center of the fort with a Javelin launcher on one massive shoulder. The target was close, too close, when the noncom fired. And the blast brought the Changhe down on top of him.

  Strangely, from Finn’s point of view, the helicopter didn’t burst into flames. It just sat there, like a monument atop McKenzie’s tomb.

  That was when the 53rd’s piper began to play, and Captain Howard rallied his troops. “Standby to receive enemy troops from the north! Aimed fire only! For Scotland!”

  Troops from the north? What the hell was Howard talking about?

  Then, as Finn peered through the gap between a HEMTT and Stryker he saw them. Iranian regulars! Come to claim what was theirs. “Sea-King on the radio, sir.”

  The radio operator’s left sleeve was drenched in blood, but his eyes were steady. What was he? Twenty years old?

  Focus, Finn thought. Focus. “Medic! See to my radio operator … Good job son. I’ll take the radio. Sea-King? This is Alpha-Six actual. How close are you?”

  “Fifteen out,” came the reply. “Over.”

  “We’re taking heavy casualties, Sea-King. My TACP is dead. Bring in some air support if you can. Out.”

  The Iranians sensed that the infidels were vulnerable and they came hard. An officer led the way, pistol in hand, flanked by at least fifty soldiers to the right and left, all determined to roll the foreigners under and capture the bombs.

  Two Strykers were positioned to fire on them, one of which was the SWEET LIBERTY. And when Finn saw that the fighting vehicle’s top machine gunner was slumped forward, he hurried to climb up and take control of the gun.

  The body was in the way. So, Finn pushed it down into the cargo bay, and took its place. The gun’s grips were slick with blood as Finn swiveled the barrel around to bear on the Iranian soldiers. He opened fire. Bodies fell like wheat to a harvester. But then the tanks appeared. And, when the first one fired, it scored a hit on the WHEELER DEALER.

  The Stryker lurched and stopped firing. Finn feared the worst, and was happy to see the crew exit via the rear ramp, as more shells fell.

  Finn had left the radio behind in his rush to mount the tank. So, there was no warning as the Harrier Jump Jet flashed overhead and sent four gravity bombs tumbling toward the enemy tanks.

  It was followed by a second plane which fired air-to-surface Maverick missiles at the Iranians. Explosion followed explosion and left nothing other than smoking hulks as the Harriers pulled up, came around, and attacked with guns. “It’s here,” Owens said via Finn’s headset. “The LCAC is on the beach.”

  “Thank god for that,” Finn said, as his body went slack. “How many? How many did we lose?”

  There was a long moment of silence. “Maybe half,” Owens ventured. Her voice was tight with emotion. “They fought well.”

  The piper began to play Heilan Laddie, a bullet hit Finn, and his world snapped to black.

  ***

  Tacoma, Washington, USA

  Finn had grown up in a handsome two-story brick house that sat on a bluff looking out over Tacoma’s Commencement Bay. Finn liked to watch ships come and go as he ate breakfast.

  It was a sailor’s view rather than a soldier’s. Finn had considered Annapolis prior to choosing West Point. What if he’d gone there? Where would he be now? On a ship? In the Med? There was no way to know. “Would you like some more coffee?”

  The voice belonged to Finn’s mother Grace. She’d been fussing over him for months by then. First at Walter Reed hospital, then at home, where he was recovering from a bullet to the head.

  The slug was spent by the time it hit him. That’s what the doctors theorized. Had it been otherwise he’d be dead. The blow cracked his skull, created a nasty wound, and caused a concussion.

  Since then, Finn’s cranium had been repaired, the wound was nothing more than white scar tissue, and the dizzy spells had vanished. He still had headaches, but fewer of them. Over-the-counter painkillers were sufficient to quell the pain.

  As for the PTSD, well, that wasn’t going anywhere. That’s what the shrink said. But it was livable. And he’d been cleared for a return to duty. The requirements for which were becoming increasingly liberal as thousands were killed and WWIII wore on.

  Finn smiled. “No thanks, Mom … It’s time for my walk. Then I’ll come back and finish packing.”

  Finn’s mother was in her early seventies and fit. Her eyes were blue and resembled chips of turquoise. “Emily called. Are you going say goodbye?”

  Finn sighed. His mother didn’t like the fact that he was single, and saw Emily as the solution to the problem. “I’ll send her an email,” Finn said, as he took his dishes into the kitchen.

  Magnets held the clippings to the refrigerator. “Nuclear bombs captured.” “Tacoma soldier wins the Distinguished Service Cross.” “War hero promoted to Lieutenant Colonel.”

  And more. All of which embarrassed Finn, but meant a great deal to his parents. “Be back by three,” Grace said. “Your dad will be home by then.”

  “I will,” Finn promised. “So he can beat me at Pinochle again.”

  Finn believed that the long walks had been an important part of his recovery. And the doctors at Fort Lewis-McChord agreed.

  The route took him through a large residential area that consisted mainly of post-World War II homes, and to a busy east-west throughfare, which he usually followed to the sleepy downtown area. But not on that particular day.

  Finn had passed the shop at least a hundred times. And now, having given the matter considerable thought, he was ready to enter.

  Two tattoo artists were present, vaping, and shooting the shit. They turned to look as the bell hanging from the door tinkled. The man had a gray beard and was dressed biker style.

  The woman had green hair. It matched the color of her fingernails. She smiled. “I’m Katy. What can I do for you?”

  “You can give me a tattoo,” Finn replied. “On my right forearm.”

  “Do you know what you want?” the woman inquired. “I have lots of examples.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Finn replied. “It’s a name.”

  “Okay hon,” Katy said. “Sit over there. I’ll be ready in a minute. Is this your first tat?”

  “Yes.”

  Katy smiled. “It’s going to hurt. But not too badly. A two or three, on a scale of one to ten.”

  “Understood,” Finn said as he rolled his sleeve up. “Go for it.”

  “Large letters? Or small?”

  “Small.”

  “Do you know what font you’d like to use?

  Finn gave it some thought. “Times … New Roman.”

  “Black ink? Or color?”

  “Black.”

  “Fine. What’s the name?”

  Finn managed to swallow the lump in his throat. “Keaton. Molly Keaton.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Namak Lake is quite real, covers 690 square miles, and is visible on Google Earth. The rocky hill located at the south end of it can be seen as well. And, when you zoom in, you’ll see the primitive road that leads to Kashan and the Natanz nuclear facility.

  The Natanz facility is real, and on April 15, 2021 Politico ran an article about it under the headline: “‘Suspicious’ blackout strikes Iran’s Natanz nuclear site.”

  Part of the article read: “Iran’s underground Natanz nuclear facility lost power Sunday just hours after starting up new advanced centrifuges capable of enriching uranium faster, the latest incident to strike the site amid negotiations over the tattered atomic accord with world powers.

  “As Iranian officials investigated the outage, many Israeli media outlets offered the similar assessment that a cyberattack darkened Natanz and damaged a facility that is home to sensitive centrifuges. While the reports offered no sourcing for the evaluation, Israeli media maintains a close relationship with the country’s military and intelligence agencies.”

  The PJAK Kurdistan Free Life Party occasionally fights Iranian military units in northwestern Iran. It’s not farfetched to imagine that the Kurds would be willing to help the Allies by making it difficult for the Russians to move men and material south through the Alborz Mountain range that runs east and west across northern Iran.

  Road 77 runs through the Alborz mountains, and along with a limited number of other north-south highways, is important to commerce.

  Shamal dust/sandstorms are real.

  The Khangiran Gas refinery exists, as do natural gas compression stations.

  The little known, and little understood, tension between Turkmenistan and Afghanistan continues as of this writing.

  Qila Kom (fort Kom) is the (fictional) ancestral home of Warlord Akhtar Wali. It’s situated at the point where the borders of Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan meet. And it’s closely modeled on the real-world fort of Bala Hissar (High Fort) located on the south side of the old city of Kabul, Afghanistan. That said, I doubt Bala Hissar is or ever was equipped with an Archimedes Screw.

  The Russian Orion Reaper-like UAV is real, and while still in the developmental stage as far as I can tell, is likely to match the Reaper’s destructive power once it’s perfected. You can Google Kronshtadt Orion if you’d like to get more details.

  The Kahf Alqafila (Caravan Cave), in the Kavir Desert is fictional, but mostly consistent with the area’s geology. The desert was covered by a salty ocean millions of years ago. And yes, domestic camels can drink slightly salty water. Wild camels can consume water with a higher salt content than found in sea water.

  The deserted village of Rostam is a figment of my imagination, but the Kal-e Jeni Canyon is quite real, and is located southeast of the Kavir desert as depicted in the book.

  As for the bridge that Strike Team 3 must cross, that’s fictional. The notion that Rostam was deserted due to climate change is quite credible however, and real towns are likely to suffer that fate during the years ahead.

  As for impalement, there was a merchant named Jean de Thevenot who witnessed an impalement in 17th century Egypt, and described it. I did a little word tweaking to make his syntax sound more modern, but the content is his.

  For more on the subject read the Wikipedia article about Vlad Dracul, who ruled Wallachia in 1436. One line of which reads, “The town had been deserted, but the Ottomans were horrified to discover a ‘forest of the impaled.’ Thus, the name, “Vlad the Impaler.”

  And yes, Count Dracula, in Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula, is said to have been inspired by Vlad the Impaler.

  Office Thirteen doesn’t exist, but I wouldn’t be surprised if something similar did.

  Smugglers do cross the Lut desert, a huge not to mention very uncomfortable area, in which they are unlikely to be spotted.

  Bravo Company, 6th Battalion of the 53rd Highland Volunteers is fictional, but modeled on the very real 51st Highland Volunteers. Whenever possible I avoid writing about future casualties within serving units. That’s impossible to do in some cases, but I try.

  For those interested in geography and maps I must point out that there is a city named Rudbar in northern Iran, and a city named Rudbar in southeastern Afghanistan. It’s the second Rudbar that makes an appearance in chapter ten.

  Buzkashi (or goat pulling) is a very real sport, and is often played on Fridays, at matches which draw thousands of fans.

  The Chinese-Pakistani military base in Gwadar is very real, and a serious threat, if push comes to shove one day.

  ABOUT THE WINDS OF WAR SERIES

  In RED RIVER, the seventh volume of the Winds of War series, WIII continues to rage as Lieutenant Commander Leo Baxter and his Riverines battle Axis forces in the Gulf of Oman, the Gulf of Aden, and finally—on the Niger River in Africa. Nigeria’s rightful leader has been kidnapped by the Black Axe arm of the Neo Black Movement, and is being held for ransom.

  The Allies want Abeo Kabir to be freed, but Nigeria’s vice president doesn’t. Nor does the leader of the terrorist organization called Boko Haram, or the Chinese diplomat, charged with putting a puppet government in place.

  Should Baxter and his Riverines fail, China will establish a military foothold in Africa, and the people of Nigeria will suffer under the rule of a despot.

  RED RIVER will be available on Amazon by mid-2022.

  ABOUT THE CRICKETS DUOLOGY

  Those readers who are familiar with Dietz’s work prior to The Winds of War series, know that he has written a lot of military science fiction. And in the CRICKETS duology Dietz will combine near future-alternative history, with military science fiction, to tell an alien invasion story. Needless to say, Dietz wants to avoid spoilers, but he’s willing to reveal this much—the aliens are carnivorous.

  CRICKETS 001 will be released in early 2022.

  ABOUT WILLIAM C. DIETZ

  For more about William C. Dietz and his fiction, please visit williamcdietz.com.

  You can find Bill on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/williamcdietz.

 

 

  William C. Dietz, Red Sands

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
Share this book with friends