Horns of the Minotaur

By David Ross Wood

Captain Thomas Ritter is critically injured during a firefight in Afghanistan, his fighting career over, he retires to a desk back in the United States. Meanwhile, George Pollard, CEO of Minotaur Resources is tired of his company's assets, particularly his shipping line, being under threat from pirates and terrorists. He decides drastic action is needed and instructs his Operations Manager to organise a team of specialists who's task will be to protect the global assets of Minotaur Resource's.
Ritter is approached to put a team of mercenaries together and with almost unlimited resources he seeks out the very best soldiers the world has to offer. This elite team of killers, nicknamed The War Boys, come with their own personal baggage, accrued over years of fighting under the worst possible conditions. Ritter's challenge is not only to meld them into a functioning unit but he must help his men deal with their ever present mental demons and those of his own.
The team are sent on their first mission into the dangerous and stormy seas of the South Atlantic, where they must protect an Oil Rig owned by Minotaur Resources. Under threat from the Argentinian Navy, the Oil Rig is far from the Falkland Islands, isolated and vulnerable to attack. The War Boys complete their mission after an explosive and bloody battle. With the success of the mission and the vindication of Pollard's plans the team is quickly sent to the Arabian Sea where a company Supertanker has been hijacked. The War Boys find themselves in the fight of a lifetime as they take on Somali Pirates and deal with their own betrayal back home.
Includes Reader Discussion Guide

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Ross Wood
• Release date: Nov 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463320440

David Ross Wood

David Ross Wood lives in Adelaide, South Australia. He began publishing his work in 2012 and has now published four novels. David is currently working on a fifth story which he hopes will be out by the end of 2019. He lives with his wife and two of his three sons and enjoys reading, movies and sport, (at least when he can find the time.) He also enjoys taking his writing buddy, a Miniature Schnauzer called Tex for long walks.

Book preview

Horns of the Minotaur

A War Boys Novel

David Ross Wood

Published by David Ross Wood at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

For Annie for her support and encouragement and for Lidia for two decades of patience.

It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that can thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on.

Sun Tzu, The Art of War.

Contents

ONE-AFGHANISTAN 20 MILES WEST OF GARDEZ

TWO - MINOTAUR HOUSE, LONDON

THREE - THE PENTAGON, VIRGININA, USA

FOUR - LONDON

FIVE - BLUE ICE NIGHTCLUB, MOSCOW

SIX - SAVOY HOTEL, LONDON

SEVEN - DJIBOUTI, NORTH AFRICA

EIGHT - COLWYN BAY, WALES

NINE - LONDON

TEN - BALLYNURE, NORTHERN IRELAND

ELEVEN - MINOTAUR HOUSE, LONDON

TWELVE - LOCHGILPHEAD AIRSTRIP, SCOTLAND

THIRTEEN - BELFAST, NORTHERN IRELAND

FOURTEEN - MARRAKECH, MOROCCO

FIFTEEN - LOCHGILPHEAD AIRSTRIP, SCOTLAND

SIXTEEN - MINOTAUR HOUSE, LONDON

SEVENTEEN - LOCHGILPHEAD AIRSTRIP SCOTLAND

EIGHTEEN - LOCHGILPHEAD AIRSTRIP, SCOTLAND

NINETEEN - FLEET STREET, LONDON

TWENTY - MINOTAUR HOUSE, LONDON

TWENTY-ONE - LOCHGILPHEAD AIRSTRIP, SCOTLAND

TWENTY-TWO - TRANSIT

TWENTY-THREE - FALKLAND ISLANDS

TWENTY-FOUR - POSEIDON SIX, SOUTH ATLANTIC

TWENTY-FIVE - SOUTH ATLANTIC

TWENTY-SIX - SOUTH ATLANTIC

TWENTY-SEVEN - POSEIDON SIX, SOUTH ATLANTIC

TWENTY-EIGHT - RED SEA

TWENTY-NINE - LONDON

THIRTY - SCOTLAND

THIRTY-ONE - ARABIAN SEA

THIRTY-TWO - LONDON

THIRTY-THREE - SCOTLAND

THIRTY-FOUR - LONDON

THIRTY-FIVE - OMAN

THIRTY-SIX - ARABIAN SEA

THIRTY-SEVEN -MINOTAUR STAR

THIRTY-EIGHT - MINOTAUR HOUSE, LONDON

THIRTY-NINE - OMAN

FORTY -ARABIAN SEA

FORTY-ONE - SOMALIA

FORTY-TWO - HOBYO, SOMALAIA

FORTY-THREE - SOMALAIA

FORTY-FOUR - OBBIA AIRPORT, SOMALIA

FORTY-FIVE - SEVENOAKS, KENT, ENGLAND

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

FROM THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

CONNECT WITH DAVID ROSS WOOD

READERS DISCUSSION GUIDE

ONE

AFGHANISTAN 20 MILES WEST OF GARDEZ

Captain Thomas Ritter, Operational Detachment Alpha 3336, 3rd Special Forces Group (Airborne) slowly raised his head and looked up at the majestic mountains ahead. The jagged gray peaks, dusted with a layer of snow appeared a lot closer than they actually were, such was the clarity of the clean, crisp mountain air. Two of his men along with an Afghan scout led the way along the steep rocky path, the other nine snaked along behind in single file. All but the Afghani felt the biting cold that swept down from the mountains through the narrow valley and seemingly passed through their winter uniforms unheeded. Most of them wore traditional drab brown Afghan scarves but these did little to stop the cold and their fingers felt numb even with the army issue gloves.

The current operation in and around the mountain passes near the Pakistani border was a dangerous one. The terrain was bad enough and all of them knew that they could come under fire at any moment from the Taliban that was surely hidden somewhere in the honeycomb of caves that riddled the mountains ahead. Some four miles down the goat track behind them sat the Hum vees that had transported them to their current location but the terrain was too narrow and too steep to get them any further. If and when they located any insurgents it was their job to assess numbers and engage the enemy to the best of their ability.

The ODA’s principal task was to capture or kill the rebel leaders and anybody that got in their way in the hope that eventually the prize catch, Bin Laden himself, would fall into their grasp. An almost impossible job made extremely difficult by the simple fact that the majority of the Taliban knew these passes like the back of their hand where they had to rely on Aghi, their Afghan scout who was not as familiar with the region. Their only ace in the hole was that when they did come across any significant numbers of the enemy they could ask for air support from the base on the outskirts of Kabul seventy miles to the north.

Ritter called the band of men to a halt and signalled to Warrant Officer Wade Blackjack Johnson, his second in command to join him. What do you think Wade?

Johnson removed his helmet and ran a large gloved hand over his close cropped scalp, his teeth white in his broad black face. I think this is a shit hole and that we should all go home.

Ritter and Johnson were good friends, their careers in the army had run a parallel course for a number of years. It was a friendship that had endured in sometimes difficult circumstances and was based on mutual respect as professional soldiers as well as implicit trust in the other mans judgement. Wades wife and son were often guests at Ritter’s home and their families were close.

Ritter smiled warmly. I appreciate your sentiment Warrant Officer but for now maybe we should concentrate on getting ourselves some bad guys.

Yes sir, replied Johnson with a grin.

Ritter shook his head in frustration, local intelligence, if there is such a thing, informs us that there are Taliban forces somewhere close around here. They’re not real good at reading maps and for obvious reasons are not keen to join us for this particular party.

Johnson looked at his captain, so for now we walk around in circles until we get shot at?

That’s pretty much the plan, replied Ritter, smiling.

Well it will be getting dark soon, sir. Maybe we should take a break and resume with night vision equipment in forty-five.

Ritter nodded his head in agreement. Tell the men they have got forty-five minutes to rest and eat. Tell Weps and Ernie they’ve got first watch for twenty, then swap with Doug and Pete.

Sir.

Johnson walked away and spoke quietly to his men. Two of the soldiers peeled away from the group, one slowly walked a distance back the way they had come, the other further up the track ahead of them. The remainder of the men sat on the cold, rocky ground and opened their packs, removing rations. It was one thing to sit and rest but none of them could afford to relax, not in this location, not now.

Ritter removed his helmet and took a long drink of water from his canteen, a small rivulet of the cool liquid running down over the blonde stubble on his chin. Twisting slightly to reach his pack he took out a map and ran his ice blue eyes over the chart pinpointing his exact location with the aid of his GPS. Pete, you got a minute?

Sergeant First Class Pete Hammond (Communications), scuttled over to the captain in a half crouch. Sir?

Pete radio Kabul and give them our current position. Tell them no sign of the enemy as yet but we will continue as a night op and see if we can flush something out under the cover of darkness. Colonel Yardley knew that we were probably going to have to do that anyway but I want you to confirm.

You got it sir, replied Hammond curtly.

Ritter leaned back uncomfortably against a rock and considered the problem at hand. The enemy were good at guerrilla tactics, hit and run. They had honed their skills at this type of warfare for years against the Russians back when the Taliban was an ally of the west. That the ODI hadn’t been engaged almost certainly meant that they had yet to be seen. Often patrols were fired upon by the insurgents, usually just one or two shots from a sniper, enough to inflict at least one casualty. By the time the soldiers reached the point where the shots were fired from, the enemy had disappeared into the hills. But night-time was different. The army had the technology and NVG’s were a huge advantage. They could detect the faintest glow from a campfire from a long way off and the men could move quickly and silently under the cloak of darkness through the passes without detection.

Ritter folded the map and returned it to his pack, his thoughts momentarily turning to home. Things were not good. His wife was growing tired of his being away from home. This combined with the constant fear of the phone call that would confirm that he had been killed or injured put a pressure on their relationship that was difficult to overcome. He had not seen his eight-year old daughter Kate for some months now and he knew that the weight of responsibility for her upbringing fell squarely on the shoulders of Michelle, his wife. The rate of separation and divorce were high in the service because a lot of the wives just had no idea of the pressures they would be under for long periods of time. But, he told himself, she knew what he was when they married. She knew that he was a career soldier, it was what he loved, it was what he was good at. He also knew that he could never do a nine to five desk job, it would drive him absolutely nuts. He would be impossible to live with. She’s just gonna have to get over it, he mumbled to himself, only half convinced, forcing himself to concentrate back on the job at hand.

The remainder of the time went quickly as Alpha prepared for their night time incursion into the mountains. The team expertly applied their camouflage paint to their faces and checked their gear one more time. The men said little to each other, each one of them for the most part lost in their own thoughts. The night comes quickly in this part of the world and with darkness finally upon them the men stood as one, their world a strange green alien glow as they viewed their surroundings with the aid of their night vision goggles. Under a fantastic carpet of bright stars, they set off again up the track slowly and carefully. The wind had picked up now, cold off the mountains, tearing down the ravine in a steady stream. The team scanned the terrain ahead for any sign of the enemy, careful where they placed their feet, constantly on the lookout for booby traps that would be almost impossible to spot anyway. Even an injured ankle, twisted by the uneven track, would force the team to leave them where they lay until their return.

An hour and twenty minutes of laborious footwork found them at the base of a steady incline. Weapons Sergeant Clive Weps Cusack who had taken point halted the group of men with a fist in the air. Ritter came up with the Afghan scout, Aghi to where the sergeant was taking shelter behind a large rock.

What have we got, Weps?

Cusack wiped a gloved hand over his dry mouth before taking a sip of water from his canteen. About 80 yards ahead and slightly to the left. I didn’t see it at first but there was definitely a faint glow coming off the cave wall up there. It went pretty much straight away then as the wind blew stronger I saw it again, just for a second but it was definitely there.

Ritter stared at the area in question but failed to see any light even with the aid of the NVG’s. But just as he was about to turn, he too saw the unmistakable flicker of what had to be a campfire deeper in the cave. Ritter smiled, good work, Weps. Looks like its game on.

Could be some goat herder’s sir, suggested Cusack doubtfully.

Could be, Sergeant, Ritter acknowledged, but I kind of doubt it.

Ritter gathered his men around him and spoke quietly to the soldiers. Looks like the local intel was more or less right. Aghi reckons that there should be around twenty to twenty-five insurgents up here hiding out. It appears that we have found them. You guys know the drill, take prisoners if we can but shoot to kill if threatened. Got it?

The men nodded confirmation. Twenty insurgents in a cave was no match for a dozen Special Forces, with surprise on their side it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Sergeant Alex King Kwong crept slowly up the mountainside, carefully moving from one rock to another to remain behind cover for as long as he could. Twenty yards from the cave entrance there was no sign of life, but up closer the glow from the campfire could be seen much more clearly. The remaining men of the ODA stayed back about forty yards as Kwong surveyed the scene, approaching the cave mouth with caution. A darker indistinct shadow appeared on the cave wall, highlighted to some degree by the campfire within. A few seconds passed then an Afghan appeared at the cave mouth, his head swathed in a black turban and an AK47 rifle slung over his shoulder. Kwong moved swiftly, running across the open space as fast as he could. The sound of loose stones rolling down the hillside alerted the insurgent but his eyes were still adjusting to the darkness outside the cave as Kwong rushed in low and hard driving his knife to the hilt into the throat of the Taliban soldier. The man fell to the ground, a low bubbling sound escaping from his lips, his thick black beard hiding for the most part, the ugly slit in his throat that had already begun draining his life blood.

Johnson glanced at Ritter who gave a huge sigh of relief as Kwong signalled his comrades that all was clear. Hale the king, stated Johnson with a smirk.

Ritter raised his eyebrows mockingly in return.

As quickly as they could the ODA made their way over the open ground to the mouth of the cave, past the dead insurgent on the ground, ignoring the reflexive kick of the dead man’s leg. Removing the night vision goggles, ten of the men made their way slowly down the caves entrance, while Cusack and Hammond remained on guard at the cave mouth. The smell of cooking became stronger with each cautious step and garbled voices could be heard not too far ahead. As they approached the rear of the cave the light became brighter and they silently crept up on the enemy within. Ritter was in the lead his MP5N Heckler and Koch sub-machine gun pointed dead ahead. As the Special Forces detachment came into view Aghi yelled for the insurgents to raise their hands. Of the nineteen Taliban in the cave four raised their hands immediately, the other sixteen made a grab for their weapons. That was when all hell broke loose.

The MP5N is a deadly weapon at one hundred and fifty yards but at close range and in the close confines of a cave it is absolutely devastating. With a muzzle velocity of roughly 1,200 feet per second the 9-mm bullets from the Special Forces weapons literally shredded the insurgents where they stood. Ritter got down on one knee and fired as an insurgent raised his AK47, the man able to get off one round that buzzed above the captain’s head before he was cut down by the MP5N’s. Another Taliban fired off a number of rounds before he too was brought down, a ricochet off the cave wall hitting Aghi in the shoulder. Two insurgents raised their hands in defeat but were killed in the deadly crossfire, a bright line of red stitched across their chests from the vicious fusillade. Three or four of the enemy sprayed the cave wall with bullets as they fell, their fingers hard down on the trigger even as they died. The result, a deadly swarm of hot metal ricocheting off the walls in an avalanche of noise. It was over in seconds and as the dust settled and the smoked cleared four of the Special Forces team walked carefully forward toward the fallen enemy to see if any of them were still breathing. It was a matter of protocol but they needn’t have bothered, all nineteen of the Taliban lay dead, eyes open wide in sightless shock, their mangled bodies laying in a pool of blood which slowly seeped into the dirt of the cave floor.

Do you think we should question them now? smirked Sergeant Dave Ross.

Johnson surveyed the slaughter and shrugged.

Staff Sergeant Alan Doc Richards, calmly strode over to the Afghan scout and propped him up against the cave wall as he checked out his wounded shoulder. Ritter joined them after receiving the thumbs up from the four men standing amongst the enemy.

How is he doc? queried Ritter.

Through and through, replied Richard, he’ll be fine.

Ritter looked down at Aghi who appeared pale and far from fine. You sure doc?.

I’m sure. May be a bit of shock but nothing he…..

Richards’s words were cut off by gunfire coming from the mouth of the cave. For a split second nobody moved then every member of the ODA, besides doc and his patient ran full tilt towards the cave entrance.

Ritter and his men were unlucky. For 350 days of the year there may be at most fifteen to thirty Taliban in the immediate area at any given time. Unfortunately for them the enemy were meeting at this exact location and hidden amongst the caves close by were five Taliban leaders, each commanding a squad of approximately twenty-five men each. After hearing the fire fight the Taliban had exited their hiding places amongst the caves in droves and were now concentrating their fire on the cave entrance guarded by Cusack and Hammond. What had once been an advantage was now a trap. The ODA could not get across the open ground to the cover of the rocks and the cave was a dead end, as over one hundred and twenty insurgents engaged the Special Forces Unit.

Pete Hammond was the first to go down. An insurgent’s bullet ripping out half his throat in a dramatic spray of red. Cusack glanced at his comrade for a second but knew the man was dead before he hit the ground. Cusack continued to fire his sub-machine gun, short accurate bursts at the ever-increasing blooms of light from the barrels of the enemy guns. It seemed like an eternity until he was joined by the others who began firing as soon as they reached the caves entrance. It was impossible to tell how many of the enemy there were, let alone how many Taliban went down, the number of barrel flashes seemed to remain constant as did the number of bullets that buzzed and whined off the rock walls around them. Ritter dived down hard next to Engineering Sergeant First Class John Tokyo Lee, the captain’s sub-machine gun spitting out bullets in a deadly stream. Lee caught sight of Ritter in his peripheral vision but had no time to acknowledge his captain as he too continued to fire a constant barrage at the Taliban. A bright flash of light to their left gave the ODA a few seconds warning before a rocket propelled grenade hit the rock wall above the cave entrance. The noise was deafening but for the most part the rock remained stable with only the odd stone falling in front of the cave. As the dust blew away from the caves entrance, Doug Morgan and Ernie Edgebaston turned their weapons on the origin of the RPG not knowing if they scored a hit but hoping that their fire would at least keep the rebels heads down. Ritter kept on firing as he surveyed the situation below him. Explosions of sand and stone, flew into his face from the near misses that assaulted the units position. It didn’t look good. While he had no way of assessing exact numbers it was obvious that they were desperately outnumbered. Their only advantage the higher ground. Doug Morgan took a hit to his right leg, yelling a curse no one could here above the violent exchange of gunfire. On one knee now, he continued to fire his MP5N before a second round caught him just below the right eye, silencing him forever. Comms Sergeant Dave Ross grabbed Morgan’s collar and dragged him back into the cave where Richards felt for a pulse, shaking his head in frustration.

Ritter yelled for Ross to join him. This is more than we can handle. Get on to HQ, we need air support and we need it now, screamed Ritter, his mouth only inches from the Comms Sergeants ear.

Ross snaked backwards into the cave on his stomach as the bullets continued to whine overhead. Checking their position on the GPS, Ross grabbed the high frequency radio, and immediately got through to Kabul, requesting air support at their location. Help would arrive in about thirty minutes.

The Taliban slowly advanced up the steep slope using the rocks in the ravine for cover, firing their AK47’s more or less indiscriminately at the cave mouth. Many of the rounds missed their mark but the amount of fire coming from the insurgent’s position blanketed the cave mouth in a hail of bullets. Tokyo Lee felt the sting of a hit as the magazine he was about to load into his weapon was shot right out of his hand. Glancing down he noted with surprise that his right thumb was no longer there and he yelled for Richards to stop the bleeding, changing his magazine one handed before resuming fire. Richards stemmed the flow as best he could, motioning to Lee to come back into the cave so that he could do more. Lee, shouting obscenities, shrugged off the medic roughly, and fired his sub-machine gun at the slowly advancing enemy. Wade Johnson fired short sharp bursts across his field of fire, responding in kind each time he saw a muzzle flash from below. It wasn’t until Ross was an inch away from his ear before he realised the Comms Sergeant was even there. Sir, 1 minute till the Apache’s get here.

Johnson nodded his head in acknowledgement but continued to fire.

As best he could, Ross signalled to the rest of the men that the attack helicopters were imminent.

They didn’t see them at first. Two Apache helicopters screaming in from the east at 170m/ph. Both opened up on the enemy below with their M230 cannon sending a vicious spray of shells that created absolute carnage amongst the Afghans. The Taliban continued to fight however, with those who had not been killed by the first run returning to their assault on the cave mouth with fanatical vengeance. Here and there a rebel chose to shoot wildly at the retreating Apache’s but soon turned back to the Special Forces unit trapped in the cave. Another RPG was fired from behind the cover of a large rock, this projectile stayed on target exploding close to Ritter who was blown backwards by the detonation. The Apaches had returned hovering 100 yards from the cave entrance, this time opening up with Hydra 70 rockets, 10 pounds of high explosive warhead that blasted the enemy to oblivion. The second Apache finished the slaughter with AGM-114N Hellfire Metal Augmented rockets. The 48-lb. high-pressure charge finishing off any resistance that the enemy had left. Cautiously the Special Forces Unit picked themselves up from the cave floor slowly, wary of any residual fire from the enemy, adrenaline coursing through their bodies, heightening their senses. Blackjack Johnson glanced behind him and for the first time noticed that Ritter had been hit, with Richards hunching closely over the prostrate captain. Johnson rushed over to his friend turning away briefly with a curse as he saw Ritter's injury. Richards was trying desperately to stem the blood flow from around the captain’s head and it was difficult for Johnson to see exactly how bad his friend was, such was the amount of blood. As the medic wiped away even more blood with a wad of gauze, Johnson stared down in horror and amazement. It appeared that the upper right side of Ritter’s face was completely gone.

TWO

MINOTAUR HOUSE, LONDON

George Pollard stared thoughtfully through the smoked glass window