Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip

CHAPTER 65

Couture went back into the office and picked up the phone. “Still there, Mr. President?”

“What the hell is going on over there?” the president demanded, very pissed at having been put on hold.

“Mr. President, one of our men on the ground is already dead. At this time, the two survivors and twenty-some of our Tajik allies are cornered in a canyon just outside the Panjshir Valley, south of the Khawak Pass in the Hindu Kush. They are surrounded by more than one hundred heavily armed Taliban and HIK fighters with hundreds more on the way. I’ve got two B-52s about to drop a JDAM strike, but that’s only going to buy these people ten or fifteen minutes of relief. I do have a few helos on standby to extract our men — both of whom are very badly wounded. What I do not have, Mr. President, is the means to extract the Tajik fighters who have risked their lives on this operation to save our people.”

The president cursed under his breath. “So exactly what are you asking me for, General?”

“Mr. President, I’m requesting permission to declare Winchester, sir.”

The president hesitated, embarrassed to admit that he didn’t immediately know what Winchester was.

“Mr. President, declaring Winchester means that I intend to call upon every single air asset at our disposal in a continuous series of sorties until I have annihilated all HIK and Taliban forces within the Panjshir Valley… leaving only the village of Bazarak itself untouched. This will not only eliminate the imminent threat to our personnel and our allies on the ground, but will also eliminate the expanding HIK military presence in the Panjshir Valley.”

Couture looked at the major and covered the receiver with his hand, giving the go-ahead for the B-52 strikes to commence.

“Are you aware, General,” the president asked, “of the parliamentary problems such a military strike against the HIK would create for President Karzai in the present political climate over there?”

“With respect, Mr. President — Mr. Karzai’s political woes are not my concern. My concern at this time are the lives of our people and our allies on the ground who helped to rescue Warrant Officer Brux. What are your orders, sir?”

Couture waited as the president considered his response, pensively watching the screen as the JDAMs struck all around the mouth of the box canyon. Men and truck parts were blown across the valley floor in great sweeping explosions, leaving gaping black craters in their place.

“General Couture,” the president said finally, “I’m going to grant you the authority to use every air asset we have in that hemisphere from Diego Garcia to London, England. In fact, I’m calling the chairman of the Joint Chiefs to tell him you have the tactical authority to call upon whatever you need — be it air, land, or sea. But understand me, General: if you decide to escalate this battle to that level, you had better make damn sure you can bring those people out of there alive. If you fail, I don’t want to hear any excuses. Is that clear? Because I’ve just given you everything you’ve asked for.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have a battle to direct.”

“Very well, General. Good luck.”

“Sir!” Couture hung up the phone and turned to his staff. “Winchester is in effect, people! I want those A-10s in the sky right now, and get those alert B-1s off the ground in Diego Garcia — I want them supersonic all the way to the target!” He stabbed his finger at the screen. “Our priority is to bring every one of these fighters trapped in this canyon out alive! Is that clear? Every one! Now get on the phones — brief your helo crews, your flight leaders, and crew chiefs! Everybody! I don’t want there to be any confusion on this! We are lifting those indigenous people out of the Panjshir Valley!”

Practically everyone grabbed for a phone.

Couture sat down on the edge of the table next to Captain Metcalf. “I damn near cried when they gunned down all those horses, Glen. Reminds of me of what my granddaddy had to go through on Corregidor back in ’42.”

Metcalf thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Your grandfather was a cavalryman?”

Couture nodded. “He was forced to eat his horse… and he never got over it to the day he died.”