Rogue Predator Read Online Free Page A

temporary home to several hundred soldiers of the renowned 101st US Airborne Division. It was a sun-baked sprawl of tents, cargo containers and temporary structures housing pizza and hamburger outlets, all surrounded by Hesco fortifications; wire structures filled with rocks, sand and concrete. Security was tight. Incoming mortar fire was an almost daily occurrence.
    Connor paused by the makeshift memorial to the fallen in the central parade ground and studied the list of names. The most recent additions were those of Halo Forward Patrol, including Brad Somersby… Connor was in a reflective mood.
    “You wanted to see me, Major Connor.”
    Startled, Connor spun round. “Yes, padre.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    Every camp had a padre — or army chaplain — who ran church services. They were often the ones soldiers turned to when they wanted to talk about personal problems — in confidence. Connor glanced both ways to make sure no one was in earshot. He felt awkward — he hated the idea of appearing weak. “I’ve been having a recurring nightmare, sir. They started about a month ago. Haven’t had nightmares since I was a kid. And they’re getting worse.”
    “I see. Tell you what, let’s go grab a cup of coffee in my quarters.”
    In the privacy of the padre’s hot stuffy tent, Connor spoke of how every night he dreamed of raiding a village. Then he would frantically search house after house, but everyone was lying dead in pools of blood. He always awoke drenched in sweat. The padre listened carefully, but then coaxed out of Connor the trigger for his night terrors: the death of his friend, Assif.
    “You blame yourself for his death,” the padre declared with conviction. “Such guilt is a normal reaction. It wasn’t your fault and you know it, but sometimes that’s not enough.”
    “But will the nightmares go away?”
    “Time is a great healer, Major. They will fade. I’m sure of it. And you mustn’t see it as a weakness. You may be a highly trained soldier and taught to act instinctively, to kill the enemy without a second’s thought, but never forget the most important thing.”
    “And what’s that?”
    “You’re still human, Major.”
    “But what can I do to stop them?”
    The padre shrugged. “Hard to say. Finding that boy Hassan might do it.”
    “Thank you. You’ve been a great help, sir.” Connor got up from his canvas chair and shook the padre’s hand.
    The padre grasped Connor’s hand tightly and stared into his face. “You had a son, didn’t you, Major? If my memory is correct he was killed in a hit and run back home. Must be two years ago now?” He waited to see how Connor would react.
    Nodding slowly, Connor broke free from the padre’s grip. “Yes. Almost three years ago. I was in Iraq at the time.”
    “I see. Must’ve been very difficult for you, especially so far away from home. Listen, if you need to talk, Major, I’m always here, 24-7.”
    “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary, sir.”
    Connor strode back towards the Ops Room filled with a renewed determination to find Hassan.
    The padre flipped open his notebook and wrote: “Major Connor — early signs of instability. Possibly battle fatigue but more likely personal matters, maybe elements of post-traumatic stress. Keep a close eye on him.”

CHAPTER NINE
Captured
Foothills of Afghan mountains
    For three days and nights Hassan followed the Taliban as they moved from village to village. There they collected food and negotiated deals for their drugs, to sell over the border or exchange for guns. At one stop they took two donkeys and used them to carry supplies. Hassan stole what little food he had to in order to survive.
    They travelled on, keeping to hidden trails and deep gullies, and frequently they posted spotters. Hassan had to tread carefully, never getting too close or dropping back too far in case he lost sight of them.
    Slowly the journey took him into the foothills. Tall mountains seemed to grow