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When we emerged on the street, my teammates were there with Ingmar’s body. They’d carried him back with them; there was no way they were leaving him behind for the enemy to desecrate.
Rachel was there, too. Her face was caked with sweat and grime, and she stared at me numbly.
“Lars,” she said softly.
It was the first time she’d called me by my first name.
“Rachel,” I replied.
She cracked a weary smile. “I think I owe you a fucking drink.”
I smiled back. “I think you owe me a couple.”
The mission was a huge success. That much was apparent from what the ground troops found inside.
Besides Massoud’s corpse, there was a cache of weapons – including two dozen shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles. No telling how much damage they would have done if the Taliban had been able to use them.
There was also $1.4 million in US dollars, and blueprints for the New York City subway system and the London underground.
Rachel took one look at the markings on the plans and said, “Oh my God… they were going to target the five busiest stations in all of London…”
One of the Americans confirmed it was the same for New York.
Times Square… Grand Central… Penn Station…
There was no telling how many lives we had saved by taking out Massoud.
If only Ingmar hadn’t had to pay the price.
28
The celebration didn’t start until a couple of hours after we got back to base – and it would have been a far more muted affair if the American brass had their way.
The US military didn’t allow its service members to drink alcohol at Bagram. Officially, anyway. Their officers tended to turn a blind eye to infractions unless they were particularly egregious.
However, the rest of NATO wasn’t having it. You try prying a beer out of a thirsty German soldier’s hand and see how far that gets you.
As a result, European soldiers from NATO countries were allowed to imbibe – which made European soldiers the most popular people on base, especially after a hard day.
Following the mission debrief and a shower, the Special Forces guys from the raid crowded into the Swedish barracks. Absolut Vodka is from Sweden, and our unit was known for our copious supplies.
Rachel was there, too. After showering the grit out of her hair, she’d left it down to dry – and she was absolutely stunning. It fell down to her shoulders in waves of dark brown.
“What?” she asked when she caught me staring at her.
“I think you need a drink,” I said, pouring some vodka into a paper cup.
“I thought I was supposed to buy you one,” she replied. “A couple, actually.”
“Can’t buy it on base, thanks to the Americans,” Gunnar said with a smile.
“I officially apologize on behalf of the United States military,” shouted one of the Delta Force guys, and everybody from the other countries started razzing him good-naturedly with cries of Fuckin’ Americans!
I handed Rachel the paper cup. “You can buy me a couple of rounds once I get back from deployment.”
She smirked at the implication I would see her again. “…alright. Sure.”
The mood in general was celebratory… but me, Gunnar, and the other Swedes were thinking of Ingmar, so we were on the somber side.
