Charlie Foxtrot (Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers Book 9), page 1
part #9 of Delta Force Unleashed Series
CHARLIE FOXTROT
A DELTA FORCE UNLEASHED THRILLER
J. ROBERT KENNEDY
BOOKS BY J. ROBERT KENNEDY
Please click here for the intended reading order.
* Also available in audio
The Templar Detective Thrillers
The Templar Detective
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress
The Templar Detective and the Sergeant's Secret
The Templar Detective and the Unholy Exorcist
The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker
The Templar Detective and the Black Scourge
The Templar Detective and the Lost Children
The Templar Detective and the Satanic Whisper
The James Acton Thrillers
The Protocol *
Brass Monkey *
Broken Dove
The Templar’s Relic
Flags of Sin
The Arab Fall
The Circle of Eight
The Venice Code
Pompeii’s Ghosts
Amazon Burning
The Riddle
Blood Relics
Sins of the Titanic
Saint Peter’s Soldiers
The Thirteenth Legion
Raging Sun
Wages of Sin
Wrath of the Gods
The Templar’s Revenge
The Nazi’s Engineer
Atlantis Lost
The Cylon Curse
The Viking Deception
Keepers of the Lost Ark
The Tomb of Genghis Khan
The Manila Deception
The Fourth Bible
Embassy of the Empire
Armageddon
No Good Deed
The Last Soviet
Lake of Bones
Fatal Reunion
The Resurrection Tablet
The Antarctica Incident
The Ghosts of Paris
The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers
Rogue Operator *
Containment Failure *
Cold Warriors *
Death to America
Black Widow
The Agenda
Retribution
State Sanctioned
Extraordinary Rendition
Red Eagle
The Messenger
The Defector
The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers
Payback
Infidels
The Lazarus Moment
Kill Chain
Forgotten
The Cuban Incident
Rampage
Inside the Wire
Charlie Foxtrot
The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries
Depraved Difference
Tick Tock
The Redeemer
The Kriminalinspektor Wolfgang Vogel Mysteries
The Colonel’s Wife
Sins of the Child
Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series
The Turned
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Table of Contents
The Novel
Author's Note
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Acknowledgments
Don't Miss Out!
Thank You!
About the Author
Also by the Author
For Angela Lansbury,
whose portrayal of Jessica Fletcher helped inspire me to become a writer.
“The struggle for democracy and human rights in Burma is a struggle for life and dignity. It is a struggle that encompasses our political, social and economic aspirations.”
Aung San Suu Kyi Imprisoned State Counselor of Myanmar
“Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look upon them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death.”
Sun Tzu
AUTHOR’S NOTE
There is much debate as to whether the country once known as Burma should still be referred to as such, or as Myanmar, the new official name chosen by the military junta in 1989 and recognized by the United Nations though not by all member states including the United States.
This debate will be left to the scholars.
For the sake of clarity, this author has chosen to refer to the country as Myanmar rather than Burma, and the people as Burmese rather than Myanma, as they still refer to themselves as such.
No offense is intended.
PREFACE
Arlington National Cemetery, located in Virginia, across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C., is hallowed ground. It covers over 600 acres and is the final resting place of many of America’s heroes, including military and political figures.
It was established during the Civil War, the first burial taking place May 13, 1864, when Private William Henry Christman was laid to rest. As of this writing, over 400,000 men and women have been buried there including former presidents, almost 400 Medal of Honor winners, and countless heroes who fought and died for their country.
The criteria to be met for burial are strict as the space is limited, however, when one of America’s heroes dies in the line of duty while fighting his nation’s enemies, there is never any doubt of their eligibility.
And today, one more plot will be prepared for a member of America’s elite Delta Force, who will make the ultimate sacrifice.
And die a hero, saving one of his brothers-in-arms.
1 |
Yangon, Myanmar Present Day
Sergeant Donald “Sweets” Peters crouched as they took heavy fire. He raised his M4 and squeezed the trigger then glanced over his shoulder to see the civilians crouching against the wall, the Marine embassy guards and the flight crew from the downed Black Hawk covering them with their weapons and physically with their bodies, all willing to take a round should it mean saving the lives of one of those they were here to rescue.
Myanmar’s former capital of Yangon had erupted into chaos, and only God knew how many were dead at this point. Hundreds of troops were closing in on their position, and unless they could keep moving, the enemy would zero in on them shortly and all would be lost.
They had to get out of here. Now.
A woman screamed behind him and he spun toward the anguished sound. One of the embassy staffers collapsed to the ground, gripping her shoulder. He rushed to her side and moved her hand away. “Let me take a look at that.”
She winced as he ripped her sleeve off, revealing the bullet had passed through and the bleeding was minimal.
“You’re going to be fine. Let me just get you bandaged up.”
“Are you sure?”
He grabbed his med kit and went to work. “Hey, I’m a pro. You’ll be better than new before you know it with a cool story to tell.”
She giggled, immediately regretting it. “It better be a damned good story.”
“Bring up the eighty!” shouted Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme from behind him. Sergeant Eugene “Jagger” Thomas rushed past them with the Carl Gustaf 84-millimeter recoilless rifle as Red took a knee beside the wounded civilian. “Status?”
“She’ll live. Through-and
She grunted. “That’s about the politest way I’d describe it.”
He tightened off the bandage as Jagger fired the 84-millimeter, the resulting explosion shaking the ground and silencing the .50 cal.
Red rose. “Let’s get the hell off this—”
Two shots rang out and he went down in a heap, unmoving. Sweets dove toward his fallen comrade and cursed. Two rounds to the chest. He checked for a pulse and found none. He activated his comms.
“Zero-Two is down! I repeat, Zero-Two is down!”
2 |
En Route to the American Embassy Yangon, Myanmar Present Day, Two Days Earlier
Louise Chambers closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was exhausted, though she wasn’t one to feel sorry for herself. As the wife of an ambassador, she had a job to do, and that was to run the household and deal with all the problems that came with doing so in a hostile foreign country like Myanmar. Her husband was good at his job, excellent at it, if his superiors were to be believed, which was why the president had chosen him for what was a shit assignment—they needed an experienced person for a delicate situation.
Myanmar was a horrible country compared to most assignments he was qualified for. It wasn’t the people—they were lovely. It was the government. It was a constant struggle for democracy, the experiment having failed, the Sunday morning quarterbacks mistakenly blaming Aung San Suu Kyi for the failure without understanding that the government she had led was never truly democratic, the military continuing to influence things far too freely, including the crackdown on the Rohingya Muslims. Now, she languished in prison because she dared to challenge the generals.
The military was fully in charge once again and things were untenable, the violence escalating with each passing day. It made her husband’s job far more difficult and far more dangerous than it should normally be. It also made her life more difficult. All non-essential staff had already been sent back home, and many of the locals were too scared to work and had simply stopped showing up. It meant closing up the official residence had become her responsibility with little assistance, but the job was done despite her husband’s insistence it wasn’t necessary.
He had wanted her on a plane with all the others, but she was having none of that. Her place was at his side. It always had been. She was the wife of a man in the service of his country. She would never abandon him, especially in stressful times like these—she was the only bit of normalcy left in his life now that the children had families of their own back home.
They were a team.
She leaned her head back against the sumptuous leather of the Lincoln Navigator as her driver, Devon Crane, expertly guided them through the streets of the former capital of this confusing nation, once known as Burma, now Myanmar, the city where the embassies of the nations of the world were located, Yangon, once Rangoon, no longer the capital. The military government had moved the capital to Naypyidaw, a purpose-built city to the north, the jury still out on whether it was a failed experiment.
She opened her eyes and stared out the window at the poverty. There was poverty back home, vicious poverty, but it couldn’t compare to this. Millions of people crammed together, most not knowing from where their next meal was coming. She felt terrible for them and had hoped she might do more to help during their tenure here. Unfortunately, all charitable activities ended when the military took back complete control.
She sighed. She was looking forward to going home at the end of his assignment, which couldn’t come soon enough. Hopefully, after paying his dues, her husband would be named the ambassador to a much more desirable country where she could do the charity work that she so enjoyed.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Crane from the driver’s seat. She jerked forward as he hammered on the brakes, turning to swerve to their left. A sickening thud was followed by a cry, and her heart leaped into her throat as she recognized it was that of a small child. They came to a shuddering halt, the anti-lock brakes allowing Crane to steer while slowing, but not defy the laws of physics.
She leaned forward, struggling to see what they had hit, and was sickened to see a red bouncing ball come to rest in the gutter on the opposite side of the road. She removed her seatbelt and flung open her door.
“Mrs. Chambers, no!” cried Crane.
But she ignored him. She stepped out into the hot, humid air, and gasped at the sight of a small child, perhaps six years old, lying on the road, a pool of blood forming under her head. Louise rushed forward and dropped to her knees as Crane exited the vehicle, a crowd gathering.
A woman screamed, rushing from a nearby shop. It was clearly someone who knew the little girl, likely her mother.
Louise looked up at her. “I’m so sorry. Let us help.”
Crane stepped closer. “Ma’am, we need to get you out of here now.”
“We need to help this child.”
“Ma’am, there’s no helping her.”
The woman, now on her knees, held the little girl tight against her chest. She turned her head and screamed something toward the shop she had emerged from moments earlier. A man appeared, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. Louise made eye contact with him and his shock instantly turned to rage. He disappeared inside, reappearing a moment later carrying a large machete, screaming at her as he advanced, fury in his eyes. He charged, the blade held high, and she flinched twice as two shots rang out from behind her. The man collapsed and an iron grip on her arm startled her as Crane hauled her to her feet, dragging her toward their SUV.
The crowd erupted with anger as she was shoved into the back seat and the door slammed shut. More gunshots erupted and Louise’s shaking hands struggled with her seatbelt as she watched in horror as the crowd rushed toward Crane. He fired several more rounds, this time into the crowd, and they backed off slightly, allowing him to open the driver’s side door and get in. He closed his door and hammered on the gas, pushing through the crowd surrounding them. She clasped her face as the Navigator rocked violently as they ran over bodies.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
She didn’t hear him, the question merely background noise, the chaos that still surrounded them all she could focus on.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” he repeated, this time more forcefully.
She sniffed hard, snapping back to reality. “Y-yes, I think so. Are-are you all right?”
“I will be.”
She opened her eyes and finally took notice of her protector and gasped at the bloody gash on his arm. “Oh my God! What happened?”
“One of them got a little too close with a machete.”
“We need to get you to a hospital!”
He shook his head. “No, we need to get you to the embassy. That’s probably the only safe place for you now until we can get you out of the country.”
She stared at him in the rearview mirror. “Is it really that bad?”
“Ma’am, we have diplomatic plates and I saw at least a dozen cameras filming you. They’ll have you identified in minutes, and once the government gets their hands on this, they’re going to use it against us.”
She removed her seatbelt and climbed into the passenger seat.
“You should stay in the back, ma’am. It’s safer.”
“Nonsense.” She removed her scarf, a gift from her husband on her last birthday. She rolled it up then applied it to Crane’s wound as a tourniquet.
“Make it tight.”
She did and he winced. “Too tight?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s good. Now, put your seatbelt on.”
She sat back and did as told, eying him. “Are you going to be able to get us there or do you want me to drive?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll be fine. But in case I’m not, just push me out onto the street and take over.”
“I’ll do no such thing!”
“Ma’am, you’re not strong enough to get me out of this seat.”
“Then maybe we should switch now while you still are.”
He shook his head. “No. You don’t know the streets like I do. If we have to leave the main roads, you could put us down a dead end.” He pressed harder on the gas, doing everything with his left hand, his right arm limp at his side. “I’ll get you to do one thing for me.”
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