Authors: Craig Simpson
Rogue Predator
This ebook edition published in 2012
Franklin Watts
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
Franklin Watts Australia
Level 17/207 Kent Street
Sydney, NSW 2000
The author has asserted his rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Task Force Delta is a work of fiction. Any resemblence of characters to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended and all statements purporting to be facts are not necessarily true.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 4451 1341 8
Franklin Watts is a division of Hachette Children’s Books,
an Hachette UK company.
The Real Delta Force
Task Force Delta is inspired by one
of the United States’ top-level secret
military units, the 1st Special Forces
Operational Detachment — Delta (1SFOD-D)
also known as
Delta Force
Delta Force’s main missions are direct, counter-terrorism action. They also carry out many secret assignments including hostage rescues and raids behind enemy lines.
Delta Force (also called “The Unit”)
is based at Fort Bragg, Carolina, USA.
Delta Force’s motto is:
“Surprise, Speed, Success”
ONE
Code Red
TWO
An old friend
THREE
Connor’s promise
FOUR
Search for intel
FIVE
Bomber in the bazaar
SEVEN
Hassan escapes
EIGHT
Painful memories
NINE
Captured
TEN
Scorpion Valley
ELEVEN
Masud’s plan
TWELVE
Tracing Hassan
THIRTEEN
Delta Force move in
FOURTEEN
Party time
FIFTEEN
Time to go
If you liked this, you’ll love…
Code Red
Fort Brannigan US Air Force base, Nevada desert
A voice crackled through Flight Lieutenant Travis’s earpiece.
“Predator Alpha One, this is Halo Forward Patrol. High Value Targets heading south towards Mazar-e-Sharif… Three red Toyota pickups kicking dust. Local intel confirms occupants are Taliban… Proceed with Operation Demon and engage, over.”
Travis sat in his leather fighting chair. He watched the convoy on a row of TV screens in front of him. The live images were beamed thousands of miles from Afghanistan via satellite to the safety of his blast-proof Ops Room. “Roger that, Halo Forward Patrol. I have positive visual ID from Predator Alpha One, over.”
Travis popped a fresh piece of gum into his mouth and began chewing. He was in charge of the coolest computer combat game ever; the coolest in the world because it was real. His Predator Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicle, called a drone, was circling the sky in Afghanistan at ten thousand feet. Travis was going into battle. He needed to focus. He shut out the annoying hum of computers in the Ops Room.
The Predator’s controls resembled those in a fighter plane. He gripped the joystick and applied gentle pressure. The drone responded to his commands after precisely one and a half seconds. That’s the time it took for the signal to bounce via satellite.
Travis began the Predator’s descent; reducing height and closing on the target vehicles. The latest digital cameras on the Predator became his electronic eyes. The cameras could read number plates, track vehicles, and even evaluate suspect locations for IEDs — improvised explosive devices — the roadside bombs dreaded by all soldiers on the ground. Best of all though, were the Predator’s impressive weapons. The drone was armed with Hellfire air-to-ground missiles. Perfect.
“Steady as she goes,” Travis muttered. He levelled out the Predator at five hundred feet. “Nice and easy.” He reduced airspeed to one hundred miles per hour and armed a Hellfire missile. Then he zoomed in the camera on the Toyotas. He locked on to the middle of the three pickups by activating his laser-guidance system. “Halo Forward Patrol, this is Predator Alpha One. Target locked. About to engage. Just sit back with a cool beer and watch the show. You all have a nice day now. Over and out.” Travis reached for the missile-firing button.
The screens blinked, pixelated, and went blank. Travis’s jaw froze. “What the…?” He pressed a few buttons. Nothing. He swivelled round. “Hey, you guys, is there a glitch with the sat-link?” The tech guys looked up and shook their heads. “Then, what the—?” Suddenly the screens came alive again.
“One of these days those goddamn gremlins will give me a heart attack,” Travis joked, hiding his relief. “
Adios amigos
.” He leaned forward and pressed the missile firing button.
Nothing happened. He pushed the button again. Still nothing. The image on the screen drifted away from the convoy of pickups. Panic stricken, Travis had to think fast; either the camera had a mind of its own or the drone was altering course. Both possibilities pointed to a serious malfunction. He no longer had control.
“Code Red,” Travis called out in alarm. “We’ve got a rogue Predator… Aborting mission.” He lifted a flap which concealed the self-destruct switch. He flicked it. The screen should have gone blank as the Predator blew itself up. Instead, what unfolded before his eyes drained the blood from his face. The drone’s targeting system had locked on to the men of Halo Forward Patrol. Travis let go of the joystick and clasped his head with both hands. “No!” he cried out as the drone’s weapon system confirmed missile launch. Shaking, Travis fumbled for his phone and its direct line to three-star General Patterson, Head of Central Command.
An Old friend
North of Mazar-e-Sharif, Afghanistan
Earlier that morning, Delta Force’s 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?”