Dust Storm (Jason Trapp Thriller Book 9) by Jack Slater

Author:Jack Slater [Slater, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

12

“You’re awful quiet,” Trapp remarked after holding up his fist to signal he needed a drink break. He and Sikorski were crawling down a dried-out irrigation ditch that ran parallel to the border of a field about half a mile from the edge of Ali Daud. The sun had set but had not yet completely disappeared below the horizon. There was just enough natural light to see by, but before long they would be forced to use their night vision.

“Makes a change, huh?” Sikorski replied, reaching for a water canteen that was contained in a soft pouch clipped to his belt to prevent it from bouncing off something hard and giving away their location.

“Makes me think I did something to piss you off,” Trapp said, lifting his own canteen to his lips.

“You mean aside from volunteering me for a suicide mission behind enemy lines?” Sikorski quipped before letting out a low chuckle to signal that he was just joking. “Nah. I was just thinking that you were right.”

“Now that makes a change,” Trapp replied. “But it’s about time you recognized my brilliance. About what exactly?”

“Something stinks about this whole operation,” Sikorski said. “Everything we know about this Jafari jabroni says he’s the kind of man who doesn’t make mistakes. I don’t know about the dead guy with the tat, Taheri or whatever he was called, but do you think a guy like that would allow amateurs to work with him?”

Trapp answered the rhetorical question. “I do not.”

“I figured,” Sikorski said dryly. “So that has me wondering what we’re all doing here.”

“Me too,” Trapp said quietly.

A click sounded as Sikorski reattached his canteen to his belt. “Well, I guess we’re not going to get the answers we need just lying here. Let’s go get eyes on this village. If something’s hinky, I guess we’re the only ones who can do a damn thing about it.”

“Let’s hope we’re just overthinking things,” Trapp said, sensing in his gut that they weren’t.

They continued to crawl until they reached the end of the field, where the irrigation ditch disappeared into a length of plastic pipe that was half blocked by stones and debris. They waited there until night fell in earnest to allow them to operate with a little more freedom.

“Hangman, Chopper, how copy?”

“Loud and clear,” Trapp murmured, his mind briefly filling with a picture of the man who had given him that nickname. He was also a Ranger, though not currently deployed to the sandbox.

Lucky bastard.

“We have eyes in the sky over your position. You’re clear until the village.”

Trapp radioed his understanding, then clipped his night vision goggles into place. He extended a closed fist toward Sikorski, who bumped it in return. “Happy hunting,” he said.

“Yeah, just so long as we don’t end up as the prey.”

Both men hoisted themselves out of the ditch and quickly crossed the small border at the edge of the field before stopping in the cover provided by the head-high stalks of Iraqi wheat. They dropped to one knee

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