Adams Terror in Our Homeland

An Avenging Enemy. A Reluctant Hero. An Impossible Mission.
1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-925590-83-8
Verlag: Vivid Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 200 Seiten

All Steve Wallace wanted was to be left alone, but his war-torn past was about to catch up with him. Was he having yet another painful flashback, or were the two Taliban soldiers he had just killed really here in rural western Queensland. He had no way of knowing he had just stumbled on one of the most sophisticated terror networks Australia has ever seen. For the first time since 1915, Australia is under attack from Islamic terrorists on home soil. Does Australia have the answers, the resources or the resolve to fight against these attacks, or will more innocent men, women and children die? Can Steve Wallace convince the Australian National Security Centre that his discovery is not some Jack Daniel's fuelled PTSD hallucination? The reluctant hero finds himself drawn back into what he had worked so hard to escape.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Adams, David

Leseproben

ONE   Afghanistan 2005 Near the town of Tarin Kowt or TK as we called it, Australia had set up its main base, it was up close and personal being located between the Taliban strongholds of Kandahar and Helmand to the west and Pakistan and the tribal areas to the east. This meant to us as soon as we were outside the wall we were in it deep, anything could happen any time through the last of the check points getting thrown from one side of the vehicle to the other with their chicanes, boom gates and wooden sand bagged guard boxes built up on stilts. The guards waved us through we knew that if there was any trouble they were well armed with either a MAXIMI Machine Gun in 7.62 or that crowd pleaser the 50 Cal Machine Gun. The Humvees pushed between the HESCO barriers, the big galvanised mesh cubes filled with dirt blocking any breeze and all light other than from straight above. As we exited the chicane a hot wind blowing from the East filled our vehicles and our senses with the putrid smells of stagnant water, rotting garbage, diesel and raw sewage. It reminds all of us where we were as though that was ever needed. The first time I was over here in 2002 Char China Valley was a Taliban area, a no-go zone, where no coalition patrols would dare go. Things had improved this tour, things were a little better as a result of various allied forces pushing into the Valley. Although it was not safe at least we could come and go. Some Intel had been picked up from some chatter on ICOM the Taliban Radio Network. Two specialist Talibs were going to be at a compound held by the Taliban in a big open valley west of Deh Rawood. These guys were bad news and were expert in making and teaching about IEDs made from hard graphite rather than steel. This meant our metal detectors couldn’t pick up on them. These were skills that we wanted to shut down rather than see multiplied and spread by training others. Our six-man patrol had been tasked to eliminate both the Taliban, designated Tango 1 and Tango 2. Up until recently our Tactics Techniques and Procedures (TTPs) was to be flown in fairly close and walk in from there, however things had changed. After hearing our choppers and noting the direction we were flying the Talib outpost could figure out where we were heading. The outpost would then warn their brothers resulting in them bugging out before we got there. To counteract this, we had adjusted our TTPs by getting the fly boys to fly one way then another creating misleading directions confusing the Talib’s warning outposts. It meant walking in a lot further, but it paid off in immediate results. These Talibs or their supporters were just about everywhere. Even the locals that hated them were still so oppressed and scared they would report our presence. So just to make sure we hadn’t landed right on top of a nest it was standard practice as soon as we landed to lay low for at least fifteen minutes listening hard for any baddies who might be coming our way. As with most Intel tip offs, the IED Maker and the Teacher were Time Sensitive Targets. We had been given a certain time and a certain place the targets would be present. This translated into a six hour walk across a hundred-crumbling shale covered ridges. We had brought in a hundred litres of water in twenty litre jerry cans which we now used to fill up our water bottles. We buried two jerry cans so that on the way back we could access it in case we had a wait for the Helo to arrive to evac us. Trying to forget our seventy kilo packs and our aching legs we walked in a pitch-black night using our Night Vision Googles (NVGs). We had a simple plan, to hide on top of the ridge overlooking the compound ready for the Talib specialists to show up the next morning. NVGs were awesome in so many ways but using them on these long walks knocked us round. We were continually falling over rocks that we couldn’t see because they were close and low outside the goggle’s fields of vision. “ Falling over yet again Smitty my Spotter spat. “Steve have I ever told you how much I hate these fuckin NVGs?” “I think that’s about six times tonight old mate.” As the designated Sniper on this mission I was more worried about the really bad headache I usually got from the extended use of these vision aides. The other fear we all shared, was shooting your mates as your vision was restricted to a narrow field and everything was green and hard to identify in detail. After slipping, sliding and tripping our way over I don’t know how many shale covered ridges, we arrived without any enemy contact or serious injury. At close on 0230 Hours we climbed onto a narrow rocky ridge around eight hundred yards above the compound. The boys laid a perimeter while my Spotter Smitty and I settled into working out angles and distances. We had the time so as best as we could we measured off applying these figures to the trigonometric table in my sniper data book. “Smitty, we’ve got more time than we usually have, so let’s make sure we’ve got that whole compound marked up.” “Roger that Stevo, no probs. I was just thinking about when I get home. You know how much I love surfing, I just hope all this sand hasn’t ruined the beach for me.” “You’ll be fine mate a week at home and it’ll seem like you never left it.” We always tried to anticipate where targets would be, and where they would run once things got loud. We marked where the targets would hide once the massive .50 Cal projectile sent the first of their brothers to paradise. Sleep was a rare commodity while on patrol, but all of us were trained in ‘Field Sleep’. Which in essence meant we were able to sleep but keep a part of our mind alert to danger. Our body and mind would rest but any movement or sound would result in us becoming instantly alert. The operation was supposed to be easy although no one ever really believed that about any mission, but some Officer said it in any case. There was always a stack of things that could go wrong from weather to goat shepherds stumbling onto our position alerting every Talib for miles. This op was a little bit different with one of our Afghani members Tariq Hassan going in undercover to tag the targets. The last thing we wanted to do was nail some underling and miss the bomb maker and the teacher. We were using a system developed by the original snipers back in the days of sailing ships. The snipers would be located up in the crows-nest look out atop the masts. The sniper’s crew would wear a hat or a cap with a Quadraforce sown on top. This would enable the sniper to shoot down on the enemy from above while avoiding his own men identified and protected by the clover shaped symbol. It was a bit of a challenge to brand Hassan’s clothes with the same purpose without making it too obvious, while ensuring we wouldn’t shoot him by mistake. Afghanis and Taliban always dressed to fit into the village crowds mostly in local garb sometimes with the addition of ex Russian Army vests. Hassan wore such a vest but with a small black square on his back, visible to us but grubby enough to look like some Russian soldier had scribbled the square on the back of his vest in the nineties. The mission had been progressing well on the walk in, we had made every check point on schedule and for once we had working Radio Communications (Comms). My Spotter and I had taken a vantage point above the compound and we had settled in and were waiting for our Tangos to show up and for Hassan to tag them. The sun was now high and straight above us in the empty blue sky when we observed a party of males arrive at the compound below our position. There were eight Talibs, some of them were carrying large black canvass bags; all were dressed in drab robes tied around their waist with a black chord. As usual they wore scarves covering their heads obscuring most of their faces. There were no weapons sighted initially but looking closer through the scope I could see flashes of metal beneath at least three of the robes as they swaggered into the compound. That confirmed that this was a group of armed Talibs now all we had to do was identify our targets Tango 1 the Bomb Maker and Tango 2 the Bomb Making Teacher. Hassan came out of the mud brick building with a large group of males, we observed a lot of kissing and welcoming and then they all disappeared through the same faded blue door that Hassan and the others had just exited. If you haven’t got patience your chances of succeeding as a hunter or a sniper are very slim. We waited, and we waited and then we waited some more. As they had said in training waiting is doing something and once you understand that waiting is no longer passive hopefully you won’t get bored because you are active. We figured because the visitors had arrived close on midday when Al-Zohr (Noon Prayers) was due they all went in and prayed together then they probably shared some Kentucky Fried Goat or some such. Now after nearly three hours the locals and the Talib visitors came back out this time carrying various items that must have been inside those bags. The other obvious change was there were AK47s everywhere carried by the visitors and the locals. They walked away from the house to an area that may have served as a goat pen at some time, but today there were several trestle tables set up in a shaded part of the rectangle. Smitty tapped me lightly on my shoulder, waking me from a light sleep. “Wake up super sniper time for us to earn our pay buddy.” Instantly alert I ignored his joke. “Thanks mate, as planned...