Nomad: Damocles Thriller

By Darren Guthrie

A U.N convoy escorted by U.S marines is ambushed and brutally slaughtered by Al-Qaeda fighters in remote Afghanistan.

This seemingly random attack sets off an investigation by Sergeant Tommy Reeves, British S.A.S and the only survivor of the ambush. As his lone investigation unfolds, Reeves learns that much larger forces are at play.

The bodies begin to fall and a conspiracy starts to unravel. As Reeves puts the pieces together, he learns that powerful nations are moving in the shadows, plotting an attack immense enough to shift the balance of power across the entire Middle East.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darren Guthrie
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223991311

Book preview

DARREN GUTHRIE

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Copyright © 2020 Darren Guthrie All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

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Cover design by: Onur Aksoy, onegraphica.com

ONE

Kunar Province,

Afghanistan,

Present day

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He strode quickly through the camp, his legs carrying him at a pace just short of breaking out into a jog. His breathing was heavy and sweat threatened to break across his brow, but not from exertion. He kept his head down and tried to avoid eye contact with the uniformed soldiers that milled about, going on with their business. Each of them eyed the man with open suspicion. Each of them was wondering the same thing. What kind of visitor feels the need to wear body armor inside a friendly military camp? The man was used to suspicion about himself and was a professional at keeping secrets. It went with the job. Now, though, something unexpected had occurred. He clutched the satellite phone hard in his fist as he strode, his knuckles white around the hardened casing. When he finally felt he was out of earshot of anyone, he dialed the number he knew from memory. The international connection and dialing felt like an eternity.

Yes? the heavily accented voice on the other end said without preamble or pleasantries.

We have a problem. One item has been misplaced.

The silence dragged out, and when the voice spoke again; it was cold as ice.

What do you mean ‘misplaced’?

Seems there has been a logistical error somewhere. One of the marked items has been loaded and shipped out by mistake.

The man in the body armor provided details.

I see,- replied the voice on the phone, staying calm. Do you still have your contact in the area waiting?

Of course.

Give them the details and tell them to act immediately to recover the item.

The man in armor stopped dead in his tracks.

But-

They have enough numbers and equipment to recover the item, yes?

Yes, but that’s not-

Excellent. Make the call.

The line went dead. The man in armor lowered the phone, hesitant in his next action. He told himself he had no choice, that his orders were clear and coming from far above. It did not help.

This wasn’t the first dirty thing he had done during this assignment. He doubted it would be the last, but keeping secrets was a dirty business. He lifted the phone and made the call.

The midday Afghanistan sun beat down relentlessly, its heat indiscriminately oppressive.

Limey! Get up. We're moving Captain Dale Evers called out.

Sargent Tommy Reeves, 22 Regiment S.A.S, hid his sigh under his breath. He hated that nickname. Not because he thought the yanks he was working with were trying to insult him. He knew they meant it in good fun. Or even because he felt it offended his native homeland he didn’t feel the obsessive patriotism he had been witnessing here. No, Reeves hated being called ‘Limey’ because it was just so lazy. He had been with 401st squad for five weeks now and from day one and every day since he had been ‘Limey’, just ‘Limey’. Reeves hated it but was smart enough to know that bringing any attention to it would only spur them on. So he left it and for now at least, ‘Limey’ he would be.

Reeves pushed himself up off the wheel of the Humvee he had been sitting against for shade and looked around, blinking. He pulled his sunglasses out of one pocket of his chest webbing and slipped them on his face, blocking out the harsh glare, and retrieved his rifle from next to him. He had stood the rifle in the sand barrel up, but he still checked the action, magazine, and the scope for any signs of sand. Satisfied, he reattached the rifle to the sling around his shoulder. Hasty weapon inspection complete, he climbed into the Humvee, out of the merciless heat and light. Everyone was mounting up. They would all be moving out soon. Reeves took his seat, the same one that had been his home for the last five weeks and would be for the foreseeable future. The vehicle was roomy for a military vehicle, at least compared to what he was used to in the British army.

Just under three minutes later, their assigned charges in the UN trucks radioed readiness, and the convoy was under way again. There were six vehicles two Humvees at the front and two at the rear of the convoy. The remaining vehicles were the ubiquitous two and a half ton trucks with ‘U.N’ emblazoned in large black letters along the side that carried supplies.

The convoy Reeves and his unit had been waiting on to form up was finally under way. The order was simple. 401st squad would escort the UN supply convoy from Camp Blessing, the Forward Operating Base in the Pech district, to a smaller outpost and back again. The same pass they had made every week since Reeves had joined this unit.

Even though it was a dull chore, Reeves could see their reasoning. Recently, Al-Queda forces had been making a resurgence in the region, pouring back in from the power vacuum left by the shattering of the Al-Queda leadership into smaller, disbanded cells. Zealous and aggressive, Command was correct to be wary of them. In Reeves’ opinion, the U.N were stupid trying to build relations with the local populace while they were still active in the area. There had already been many ambushes and Improvised Explosive Device attacks on convoys in the last several months, not to mention bizarre rumors of supplies being stolen in bandit-like highway hold ups. 

The U.N had come out for a hearts and minds mission, regular supply runs of food, medicine and water donated to the local military outposts to be distributed amongst the local populace. To work with some of the local village leaders, with the hope that they could cut off some of the growing Al-Queda influence and recruitment. It hadn't gone particularly well, hence the request for escort and ‘on the ground’ protection. Half of the villages were hostile, wanting nothing to do with them and demanding they leave. The rest of the villages were terrified of reprisals. That was all too frequent an occurrence. U.S and U.N forces usually had to pull back to a military base at night, while hidden radical militants lived among them. These people needed protection, not food and water, which Reeves didn’t think would ever happen. That would involve the United Nations actually growing some teeth and it had been his experience that the U.N either wasn’t interested or wasn’t capable of pushing back.

None of this particularly bothered Reeves at all. This wasn’t his unit, this wasn’t his mission. He was just here as a fill in for the 401st, who suddenly and unexpectedly lacked a primary shooter and he had been in the area until they could find a replacement. Reeves might not have cared about the mission, but Captain Lee Eves, however, hated it. This was his last rotation, and from what Reeves had gleaned over the last few weeks, he wasn't looking to return. Reeves didn’t mind Evers, thought he was a solid enough guy and a halfway decent leader. He had learned a bit about him and the others he shared a vehicle with. Evers was a career military man, had spent the better part of three decades in service and he wanted something to cap off his career. Helping push insurgents who were oppressing the locals out of the Pech valley would have done just that. It seemed more and more likely to Tommy Reeves that wouldn’t be the case. It had been his experience that this wasn’t the place noble thoughts survived.

The Convoy rolled along the packed dirt trails that would lead them up into the mountains and finally down the valley before exiting onto the desert flat that would guide them toward their destination. While there were only about thirty American servicemen and a combined hundred Afghan and United Nations personnel stationed at the destination outpost to support and supply patrols and missions into the valley, Command kept these supplies running weekly but at irregular days and times. It would be difficult for any enemy to plan an ambush for a convoy they couldn’t predict. Difficult but not impossible.

The return trip was always the more dangerous leg of the journey, and everyone in the convoy knew it. They all believed that Al-Qaeda had people watching the roads, that they knew when a convoy was coming in. In such rugged mountainous terrain like this, though, there was little alternative. The tension was much higher on the return, but for now, the atmosphere in the vehicle was more relaxed.

An hour passed, and the convoy rolled slowly into the mountains, taking time to navigate the winding tracks. Reeves sat in the rear right seat of the lead Humvee, his borrowed sniper rifle pointed out the open window as he continuously scanned the horizon. The lead vehicle was a hundred meters ahead, keeping a loose formation. Even spread out like they were, the dust kicked up by the trucks on these dry mountain roads was horrendous. Visibility was appalling, and it forced the convoy to limit their speed to keep from dropping off an unseen cliff face or colliding with another obstacle. Reeves kept his trained eyes focused, observing small shrubs, large rocks, and crevasses in the hillside. Places people would hide were they planning an ambush.

Cap, Claire sent me an email this morning. She said you never RSVP'd for the wedding, Private Jacob West hollered to Evers, yelling to be heard over the noise of the vehicle and the wind through the open windows despite the Sergeant being in such proximity.

Is that still on? Private Dean Coopers asked from the driver’s seat.

Yeah, we worked things out on my last leave, West told him.

Reeves thought West was a good enough kid, but he was just a kid. A kid with a mouth. He wished West would shut up now and then, just for a while. West would talk in the backseat with Reeves about anything and everything, most of which Reeves didn’t hear because the noise was so loud that it provided him with a good enough excuse for him not to listen. Two years into his first deployment, Jacob West was still full of that excitement of adventure. That thrill of danger. Believing he was here doing good, making a difference. Reeves couldn’t really remember what that felt like. He had only been in the Regiment for four years, Royal Marines twelve years before that, but it felt he had experienced several heavy lifetimes.

"It got tough for a while, especially just before my last leave. Til’ then, she had been working hard on her doctorate and was pretty busy on her own, which helped. But we continued the long distance thing, and she had become more dissatisfied with the arrangement. Honestly, I was surprised we made it work with so little problems that long. Well, really, she made it work."

Reeves had already tuned out hallway through West’s explanation and found himself absent minded, wondering how long West could hold his breath for if he had to, given all the exercise he gave his lungs by talking.

I got the invitation, but from what you said before you went on leave, I wasn't sure if it was for real or not. Tell her I'll go, Captain Evers said. You had said she was pretty pissed. How did you convince her to say 'yes'?

We made a compromise, West told him. She said she didn't want to be an army wife, and she hated me being out on deployment. She's reaching the last year of her grad program and she made it clear when she finished, she wants to start a family. She knows my plan was to stay in for a while longer, so we agreed I would finish my deployment, then look at something in law enforcement, maybe S.W.A.T.

Figured you were bucking to take Sarge’s job one day, Coopers said with a mischievous smile on his face. He knew all about West’s ambitions and took delight in ribbing him about it at every chance.

That was the plan, but it was her or the Army. And as much as I love this job, she meant so much more. So we compromised. It still gives me some time. Another two years to boot you out and take your job. West clapped Evers playfully on his shoulder as he said this.

Ha, Evers retorted with a laugh, "Good luck, Private." Emphasizing his rank to make it clear there was no chance at all West would go from Private to Captain in two short years.

We'll see. Besides, with the current retention policies, odds are they will keep me deployed all the way through.

Unless we beat all the insurgents and get the locals up to speed to defend themselves, Coopers mumbled sarcastically.

Yeah, well, heres hoping. After that, I'm out. Let her bring home the big bucks.

Jesus, Dude, Coopers exclaimed, looking back over his shoulder at West, She totally has you whipped.

Fuck off Coopers, how many girlfriends have you had in the last three years? West asked.

Coopers didn’t respond. He was suddenly extremely focused on watching the road ahead. Coopers was a good enough soldier and, as near as Reeves had gleaned in the last few months, a fun bloke to have around on long hauls, but apparently he was a bit of a loser with the ladies. A point West brought up with no small amount of glee whenever Coopers gave him grief about his fiancee.

What about you, Limey? Evers asked, deflecting the awkward silence and trying to keep the conversation alive. You got someone back home in merry ‘ole England? He asked in a good natured mocking way, grinning.

Reeves wasn’t listening. Something had been niggling at the back of his mind for the last few minutes, and he had been focusing on what it could be. They had left the mountains and were on a long flat plain before the road descended into the valley before the outpost. Something was different. Something out of place from the regularity of the trip and that alone was enough to set Reeves on edge. He looked around at every feature he could see, trying to determine what had him uneasy. In a sudden flash, he suddenly saw what was out of place.

Captain, where are the cattle?

In the previous passes, when the convoy had rolled out of the mountains, it forced them to divert around a small town on the steppe before entering the narrow passes of the valley, the U.N trucks too wide and long to navigate the streets. The town was nothing more than a few clay huts and villagers, but on the way out there was a minor farm where several head of cattle grazed on what meager foliage there was there. Every trip, Reeves saw cows grazing. Today, though, they were nowhere to be seen. Evers’ brow furrowed in confusion. Looking out the window, he scanned the fields to the right of the vehicle. His expression changed in an instant as he recognized what Reeves was saying and reached for the radio.

All rolling call signs, pick up the pace. Keep your eyes open. Out,

West piped up, not understanding how potentially dangerous the situation was.

Maybe they just moved to another field?

Maybe, Reeves agreed, not taking his eyes away from the horizon or the approaching hills. Or maybe their owner knows something we don’t, and he wanted to move his livestock out of danger.

The weight of what Reeves was implying hit West like a brick.

Shit, he cursed as he fumbled to get his rifle raised and pointed out his own window.

Stay cool Private, everything’s fine for now. Coopers, pick it up and keep it steady,

Rog was the only reply Coopers offered, laser focused on the road ahead.

The convoy rolled onward, the tension in their Humvee growing as the surroundings converged, narrowing from the open field to the tighter, winding pass that lead out of the valley. There was sudden movement up the hill. Reeves had only the fleeting glimpse of a man get to his feet, a long tube sitting on his shoulder. 

RPG! Reeves screamed as he saw the flare of a launcher ignition and the smoke tail tearing towards them. There was no to time to react. The rocket covered the distance from the firer’s position in the hills to the 401st convoy in a single second. The unguided rocket slammed into the road mere meters in front of the lead Humvee, cratering the ground and throwing stones with explosive force, battering the vehicle’s front window and turning it into a crazed web of cracks.

Out! Get the fuck out! Evers screamed as Coopers slammed the brakes with all his strength. Reeves was already halfway out of the slowing vehicle before Evers even finished giving the order. He pumped his legs hard away from the Humvee, certain another strike would hit in seconds. Evers mirrored his actions, dragging West by his collar as they leapt away from the vehicle. Coopers wasn’t as fast. Getting tangled up while trying to get his rifle past the steering wheel, he was still trying to get out when a second rocket-propelled grenade launched from the hills. This time it didn’t miss. It struck the lead Humvee directly in the side, detonating on impact. The car was violently rocked sideways by the force of the impact, the explosion ripping steel plating apart and igniting the gas tank. The secondary explosion flipped the Humvee and reduced to a twisted, burning wreck in the blink of an eye.

Reeves had found cover behind a boulder on the side of the road. He was in a dangerous position and he knew it. In the frantic flight away from the doomed Humvee, he had made a tactical error and now found himself with limited cover options and on the wrong side of the vehicles of the convoy with his body between them and the attackers up on the hill. He was weighing his options when his decision was made for him.

Reeves! He could only barely hear Evers yelled out from the other side of the convoy.

Captain? Reeves yelled back. He wasn’t sure if Evers was trying to get his attention for orders or simply trying to see if he was still alive.

To me! Evers yelled back.

The thunderous, metronome booming of the mounted fifty caliber guns opened up from the second and trailing military vehicles, giving Reeves a better chance of surviving the run back to the convoy.

Reeves heard the sharp cracks of the Marine’s carbine rifles joined the firefight and broke cover. He held his rifle in his left hand, his right swinging hard, urging every ounce of strength into his sprinting legs. He reached the second Humvee and slid the last few meters, frantically scrambling through the dust and sand to get into cover behind the second Humvee alongside Evers.

West, along with the rest of the second Humvee marines, had taken refuge in a shallow ditch a few meters back from the road, attempting to lay down suppressive fire. Evers had the driver’s door open. The radio stretched on its cord as he hunkered