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  Relentless

  A Team Reaper Thriller

  Brent Towns

  Relentless

  A Team Reaper novel

  Relentless is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Brent Towns

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Wolfpack Publishing, Las Vegas.

  Wolfpack Publishing

  6032 Wheat Penny Avenue

  Las Vegas, NV 89122

  wolfpackpublishing.com

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-64119-822-6

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-64119-823-3

  Contents

  Get your FREE copy of Eugowa Gold: An Action Adventure Short Story

  From the Central Intelligence Agency World Fact Book:

  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

  Epilogue

  If you Liked Relentess, you might enjoy The Termination Protocol (Scott Stiletto Book 1)

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  About the Author

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  Relentless

  From the Central Intelligence Agency World Fact Book:

  Italy: Important gateway for and consumer of Latin American cocaine and Southwest Asian heroin entering the European market; money laundering by organized crime and from smuggling.

  Belgium: Growing producer of synthetic drugs and cannabis; transit point for US-bound ecstasy; source of precursor chemicals for South American cocaine processors; transshipment point for cocaine, heroin, hashish, and marijuana entering Western Europe; despite a strengthening of legislation, the country remains vulnerable to money laundering related to narcotics, automobiles, alcohol, and tobacco; significant domestic consumption of ecstasy.

  Ukraine: Used as a transshipment point for opiates and other illicit drugs from Africa, Latin America, and Turkey to Europe and Russia.

  Chapter 1

  Team Reaper

  Somalia

  “Reaper One, you have two technicals inbound with what looks to be a bus following. Estimate they’ll reach your position in three mikes.”

  John “Reaper” Kane, known so because of the large tattoo on his back, fired a single shot from his suppressed HK416 and saw another pirate fall. A hail of bullets rattled off the forty-four-gallon drum he was sheltering behind, forcing him to drop back down. “Copy, Bravo Three. We could use that air support about now.”

  “Roger. Latest intel has the two Super Hornets from the U.S.S. George Bush at least fifteen mikes out.”

  “Copy,” Kane said, then muttered to himself, “I get it, we’re fucked.”

  “Say again, Reaper One?”

  “I said thanks.”

  “Sorry, Reaper. It’s the best I can do.”

  More bullets ricocheted off the rusty drum, and Kane ducked lower almost laying his solid six-foot-four frame on the burning Somali sand. It was amazing how fast things had turned to shit. The op was meant to be simple. Go in, set the charges on the drug shipment, then get out. But things had gone sideways because of a mongrel dog that was hell-bent on biting Brick.

  They’d inserted under cover of darkness, made their way by foot along the coast to the deep-water harbor of a small slum village, where their target vessel was. It was the rusted hulk of an old container ship which was being utilized as a drug storage facility. On the release of ransomed vessels, huge quantities of illicit substances were hidden aboard, to be collected at the destination by people on the payroll. The current intel had a substantial shipment being transferred to the MSC Zoe, which was a large vessel flagged in Panama, owned by a company in the U.S., now sitting in the turquoise water of the harbor, waiting to be liberated upon payment of fifty million U.S. dollars. The only problem was, there were no drugs and plenty of tangos.

  Since being taken by the pirates twenty years before, and due to the shifting sands over that period, the storage ship that had once stood at anchor in the water, now sat derelict, mired in the sand.

  “Reaper One? Reaper Two. Copy?”

  Reaper Two was Kane’s second in command, Cara Billings; a single mother in her mid-thirties, short dark hair, slim, and one hell of a team sniper. Who, at that moment, was on the bow of the hulk, providing overwatch armed with an M110A1.

  “Copy, Reaper Two.”

  “Reaper, we’ve got three tangos circling around to the north of our position. Over.”

  “Roger. Can you see what they’re up to?”

  “Negative. They ducked around behind a shanty. Although I think one might have an RPG.”

  That’s all we need. “Keep an eye out, Reaper Two.”

  “Copy.”

  Kane changed out an empty magazine and grabbed another from the webbing on his tactical vest. He slapped it home, loaded a round into the 416’s breach and leaned around the drum just in time to shoot another advancing pirate.

  Adjacent to his position, Brick was leaning across the rusted hood of an old Land Rover. He saw the tattooed ex-SEAL fire his carbine, his shaved head glimmering with perspiration in the heat haze as a new wave of bullets came hammering in, opening holes in the metal skin like an invisible can opener.

  “How’s your ammo, Brick?” Kane asked into his comms.

  “I’m down to two mags plus what I’ve got for the M17.”

  The M17 to which he referred was the SIG M17, the team’s handgun of choice. Kane said, “Reaper Two, Three, and Four, ammo sitrep.”

  “Two is good.”

  “Four is good.”

  “Three is down to two mags.”

  “OK. Conserve ammo. Only shoot at what you can hit,” Kane ordered. “Reaper Four, shift position and move to Reaper Two. When the technicals come in, take them out.”

  “Copy. Reaper Four moving.”

  Reaper Four was Axe. Axel Burton, ex-recon marine and Team Reaper’s second sniper when required. Otherwise, he just got down and dirty with the rest of them.

  Carlos Arenas was Reaper Three. The ex-special forces commander from Mexico where he’d served for ten years, was in his late thirties. His hair was dark, and his jaw square, and his special forces background made him an asset to the team.

  Again, more bullets rattled the drum as AK-47 rounds hammered into it. Kane spoke quickly into his comms, “Cara, I’m pinned down by the son of a bitch behind the stack of pallets to my ten o’clock.”

  “Copy, wait one.”

  A few heartbeats later, she came back. “Tango down.”

  Kane peered around the drum and saw the shooter, a man with skin the color of burnished copper, his clothes remnants of filthy rags, was lying in the sand beside the stack of pallets. The team leader nodded to himself and said, “Reaper One moving.”

  Traversing the gap to the Land Rover where Brick was sheltering, he made it safely and crouched down beside him. Brick looked at his team leader and said, “Holy shit, this is really fucked up, Reaper.”

/>   “Isn’t it?”

  “Reaper Four in position,” Axe said as he took up his spot beside Cara on the bow of the run-down hulk.

  “Copy, Reaper Four.”

  “Who do you suppose those fuckers are that’re coming in with the technicals?” Brick asked.

  Kane shrugged. “Could be anyone.”

  An accurate statement. It might be more pirates, al-Shabaab, or even al-Qa’ida. The known factor was that should they bring their heavy caliber weapons into the fight, then all kinds of shit would rain down, and a good chance that Team Reaper would be no more.

  Kane rose and shot a wild-eyed Somali who was waving an AK around his head, encouraging others to push forward. The back of the man’s head blew out in a spray of blood, and bone, and his knees buckled as his brain ceased all communication with the body’s extremities.

  “Reaper One? Zero. Copy?”

  “Copy, Zero.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Reaper, but we just picked up a transmission calling for reinforcements, from your vicinity,” Luis Ferrero, Team Reaper’s operations leader said.

  Kane’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Thanks for that snippet of good news, Zero.”

  “That is the good news, Reaper,” Ferrero confirmed. “The bad news is we’ve just been informed that al-Qa’ida moved a terrorist training camp into that area about two weeks ago. Those technicals and the bus are the tip of the spear. We now estimate that you have around eighty fighting-aged males on their way to you as we speak.”

  Kane and Brick stared at one another, and the man everyone knew as the Reaper said, “Thank you very much.”

  U.S.S. George H. W. Bush

  Gulf of Aden

  12 Hours Earlier

  Mary Thurston entered the briefing room, carrying a folder which she placed on the desk in front of her. The general was in her early forties, and her athletic build attested to her days as a Ranger. Her long dark hair was tied back, and she carried herself with an air of confidence.

  Beside her was Luis Ferrero, also in his forties, but where Thurston’s background was military, Ferrero’s was in law enforcement. The DEA to be exact.

  Both had stern expressions on their face. Thurston was the overall commander of the Worldwide Drug Initiative, the official name of Team Reaper. Ferrero was in charge of field operations. Together they made a formidable team.

  Before them in the gray-painted, drab-looking room sat every one of their charges—each with their own special job.

  Kane, Cara Billings, Axe, Carlos Arenas, and Richard “Brick” Peters. They made up Team Reaper, with Brick a trained combat medic. Then there was the Bravo element. Brooke Reynolds, trained UAV pilot and sometimes field agent, with long dark hair and a tall, athletic build.

  Pete Traynor; ex-DEA undercover, tattoos on his arms, unshaven, late thirties, and a good man to have in the field when required.

  Pete Teller was the second Pete. He was an air force master sergeant who’d trained as a UAV tech. He, too, had served with distinction in the field.

  And lastly, Sam “Slick” Swift, the team’s computer tech. Capable of hacking anything electronic. If it was traceable, Slick could find it.

  All together, they made one hell of a team in the fight against drugs.

  “OK, listen up,” Thurston began. “Tonight, you’ll be inserted by a CV-22 onto the Somali coast.”

  The CV-22 was a variant of the V-22 Osprey Tiltrotor Aircraft that Special Operations used. It was equipped with extra fuel tanks and directional infrared countermeasures, as well as terrain-following radar.

  A map on the bulkhead became visible to the team when Thurston stepped to one side. She pointed at the map and said, “Here’s where it’ll put down. And this is your target. They’re five klicks apart. You’ll infil by foot to be in position well before dawn. You’ll find the drugs aboard this old hulk.” Thurston paused and pointed at a picture beside the map. “Once you locate them, plant the explosives and get out. Walk back to the LZ, and you’ll be picked up from there.”

  “What’s our alternate extract, Ma’am?” Kane asked.

  “If you get into trouble and can’t reach the extract point, there will be a SOC-R on standby to take you off the beach.”

  “Air support, Ma’am?” Axe asked.

  Thurston nodded. “If you need it, you’ll have it. The admiral has tasked a couple of Super Hornets to be placed on standby. Slick will also have a satellite tasked to keep an eye on things.”

  “Rules of engagement, Ma’am?” Cara asked the standard question.

  “You stay in stealth mode all the way in and out. Unless it can’t be helped. We estimate there to be approximately thirty hostiles on the ground. A firefight is the last thing you need.”

  Thurston went quiet, and Ferrero said, “Reaper, you’ve had a look over the intel. What do you propose?”

  Kane leaned back in his chair and said, “Once we insert, we’ll make our way to the target on the inland side of the dunes along the coast. On reaching the target, we’ll take out any guards, and I’ll have Cara and Axe set up overwatch on the hulk while Carlos, myself, and Brick go in and set the charges. Once that is done, we’ll exfil towards our extraction point. Should anything go wrong while we’re inside, Cara and Axe will be in a good position to hold off any tangos while we get the hell out of Dodge.”

  Thurston nodded her agreement. “Sounds good. Nice and simple.”

  “Nothing is ever that simple,” Kane said, unaware of how accurate those words would be. “What are the callsigns for the Hornets, Ma’am?”

  Thurston checked her paperwork. “Callsign will be Rattler. Any other questions?”

  Brick said, “Are there any HVTs on site?”

  “Not that we’re aware. The man in charge is low on the ladder. He just gets paid to hide the drugs on the liberated ships. We believe the real mastermind operates out of Belgium. Anything else?”

  The room was silent.

  “OK, then. Reaper, go over the plan with your people and then get some rest. You’ll be wheels up at twenty-one hundred.”

  Team Reaper

  Somalia

  The insertion and the trek to the target area had gone off without a hitch. So too had the team’s neutralization of the guards and placement of the explosives. The issue then was that they couldn’t blow them immediately because Axe and Cara were still on the rusted hulk and the rest of the team were in the vicinity. Now it seemed like the whole world was starting to drop on them, and their only help was still a lifetime away.

  “Reaper One? Reaper Two. Copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “I’ve got eyes on the technicals. They’re both white SUV trucks with what look to be fifty-caliber guns in the back. The bus is behind them is maybe five-hundred meters. It’s a big bus.”

  “Roger. See if you can slow them down some.”

  “Will do.”

  Kane asked, “Bravo Three, copy?”

  “Go ahead, Reaper One.”

  “Sitrep on the Hornets?”

  “Still ten mikes, Reaper.”

  “Copy,” a pause then, “Reaper Three, fall back on us, over.”

  “Roger. Moving now. Out.”

  “Reaper Four, cover Three from your position.”

  “I’ve got eyes on him, Reaper. He might need a path cleared for him.”

  “Then do it.”

  “Sending.”

  The M110A1 punched back into Axe’s shoulder, and the 7.62 caliber bullet exploded from the barrel. It reached out the hundred or so meters and hammered into the naked chest of an AK-wielding pirate. No sooner had the man fallen when Axe said into his comms, “Reaper Three, move now. I’ll keep their heads down.”

  “Roger that.”

  Through his scope, Axe saw Arenas break from the cover of an upturned dinghy which had offered him scant protection. As soon as the Mexican moved, the ex-recon marine shifted his aim and took down another pirate.

  “Just like shooting fish in a barrel, huh, sweet che
eks?”

  Cara never took her eye from the scope and said, “Call me sweet cheeks again, and I’ll castrate you with my teeth.”

  The M110A1 fired again, and Axe said, “That sure sounds painful. Remind me to keep my mouth shut from now on.”

  Cara smiled. “Now that is something I would like to see.”

  “That is just downright nasty,” the ex-recon marine said, feigning hurt feelings.

  Another shot and Axe said into his comms, “You’re clear, Reaper Three.”

  “Thanks.”

  Beside Axe, laying on the rusted deck, Cara was still monitoring the advancing technicals. She waited patiently, the crosshairs moving with the target. Breathing out slowly, she squeezed the trigger.

  Through the scope, Cara saw the bullet strike. The head of the Somali at the fifty-caliber jerked violently, and she saw the spray of blood from the exit wound. His legs gave out, and he slumped into an untidy heap in the truck’s bed. Then she shifted her aim and squeezed the trigger again. This time the front tire closest to her deflated catastrophically and the SUV swerved all over the dirt road before coming to a halt.

  The other technical was about two hundred meters out and had to brake sharply and turn to avoid the one in front. The bus, in turn, took evasive action, flinging up more sand and dust into the already large plume created by the small convoy.

  “Axe,” Cara snapped. “See if you can take out the driver of the bus.”