Alpha Contracts Read online

  The Four Horsemen: Alpha Contracts

  Book Ten of The Revelations Cycle

  By

  Chris Kennedy and Mark Wandrey

  PUBLISHED BY: Seventh Seal Press

  Copyright © 2018 Chris Kennedy and Mark Wandrey

  All Rights Reserved

  Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Gateway to Union”

  and discover other titles by Mark Wandrey at:

  http://worldmaker.us/

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  Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”

  and discover other titles by Chris Kennedy at:

  http://chriskennedypublishing.com/

  * * * * *

  Cover Design by Konstantin Kiselyov

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  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  * * * * *

  This book is dedicated to all the men and women who have given their lives defending our freedom. This book is for you.

  * * * * *

  “And when He had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the Word of God, and for the testimony which they held. And they cried with a loud voice, saying, “How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost Thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?” And white robes were given unto every one of them, and it was said unto them that they should rest yet for a little while, until it was fulfilled that their fellow servants and brethren were killed, as they had been.”

  ― Revelation 6:9-11

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  Contents

  Preface by Chris Kennedy

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 1

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 2

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 3

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 4

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 5

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 6

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 7

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 8

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 9

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 10

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 11

  Avenging Angels - 1

  Letter Home from Sandy - 1

  Asbaran Solutions - 1

  Asbaran Solutions - 2

  Asbaran Solutions - 3

  Asbaran Solutions - 4

  Asbaran Solutions - 5

  Asbaran Solutions - 6

  Asbaran Solutions - 7

  Asbaran Solutions - 8

  Asbaran Solutions - 9

  Asbaran Solutions - 10

  Asbaran Solutions - 11

  Asbaran Solutions - Epilogue

  Avenging Angels - 2

  Letter Home from Sandy - 2

  Winged Hussars - 1

  Winged Hussars - 2

  Winged Hussars - 3

  Winged Hussars - 4

  Winged Hussars - 5

  Winged Hussars - 6

  Winged Hussars - 7

  Winged Hussars - 8

  Winged Hussars - 9

  Winged Hussars - 10

  Winged Hussars - 11

  Winged Hussars - 12

  Avenging Angels - 3

  Letter Home from Sandy - 3

  The Golden Horde - 1

  The Golden Horde - 2

  The Golden Horde - 3

  The Golden Horde - 4

  The Golden Horde - 5

  The Golden Horde - 6

  The Golden Horde - 7

  The Golden Horde - 8

  The Golden Horde - 9

  The Golden Horde - 10

  The Golden Horde - 11

  The Golden Horde - 12

  The Golden Horde - 13

  The Golden Horde - Epilogue

  Alpha Contracts - Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Four Horsemen Titles

  Excerpt from Book One of the Omega Wars:

  Excerpt from Book One of The Psyche of War:

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 1

  Jim Cartwright took another long draw on the cigarette he held between gloved fingers as he watched the C-130 bank and line up on the runway. He held the smoke for a long four count and blew it out through his nose, cherishing the taste and rush of nicotine. The aircraft had the black iron cross with white flanks of the Balkenkreuz for the Republic of Germany. It hadn’t been that long ago that his grandfather had been shooting Germans, and his father had spent a lifetime in the U.S. military preparing for war, most of it in West Germany. Now they were allies.

  “You suck on that cancer stick any harder it’s gonna turn inside out.” Jim glanced mulishly at his XO. “You trying to smoke enough to make up for when you’re home and the old lady won’t let you smoke?”

  “Piss off, Ted,” Jim said. The other man laughed, then adjusted his tie. Jim smoked the cigarette down to the filter and dropped it in the slush at his feet. The snow had a brownish tinge to it. Sand. It was in everything in Kandahar.

  “I hate Afghanistan,” Ted said, as if echoing his boss’s feelings. Jim nodded. Nearby, a pair of MRAPs, Mine Resistant Ambush Protected trucks, waited. These were MaxxPro trucks, not nearly as big as the Cougar 6x6 variant that was so sought after by contractors. Jim had four on order, but production was delayed again. Ever since the bomb killed the Saudi crown prince last month, the entire Middle East was a hornets’ nest just waiting for the stick to get jammed into it. As the landing gear came down on the C-130, he couldn’t help but think the Germans liked poking things with sticks.

  He watched Kandahar Mountain to the northwest as the aircraft finished its approach, and he stopped himself from hoping he’d see a streaking rocket trail. Until the plane landed, the occupants weren’t his responsibility. A pair of German Eurofighter Typhoons were flying combat air patrol, or CAP, so Jim doubted the muzzies would get any bright ideas. Most of the really crazy ones had already served as target practice for their snipers.

  The plane’s wheels squealed as they touched down, and he turned to the MRAPs and made a swirling motion over his head. There was a roar and a belch of black smoke as the two vehicles came to life. He walked toward the nearest one, Ted close on his heels. Not far, a trio of Vietnam-era surplus M-113 armored combat vehicles sat, the red/green/black Afghan triangle painted on their sides. They stayed where they were. Perimeter security was their job, Jim’s was transport.

  The back door popped open as he approached, and one of his security team dressed in tan camo held the huge door open as Jim climbed the steps. Ted went to the other MRAP. Inside his, Jim found his three-man personal team ready. Alex sat just behind the driver’s hatch, laptop open and watching the screen. Nina was up in the cupola with both hands on the big Ma-deuce .50 caliber machine gun, eyes scanning for threats. Jake, the door gunner, pulled the door closed once Jim was clear.

  “Let’s roll!” Alex barked to the driver without looking away from his screen. He was currently controlling four drones—two orbiting the airfield, one tailing the taxiing C-130, and the final one above the MRAPs. During his time with the U.S. Air Force, Alex had spearheaded the next-generation drone program that was only now beginning to be deployed. Truth be told, the Pentagon probably wouldn’t appreciate some of the tech Alex had
integrated into Jim’s company.

  When the transport plane braked to a stop in the parking area, Jim’s MaxxPro was already backing up under the tail, even before the ramp began to drop. As the ramp lowered, four German KSK, Kommando Spezialkräfte, moved to the end and rode the ramp downward. They all wore state-of-the-art battlegear, reticles over one eye and weapons ready.

  “Wow,” Jake said when he saw their weapons. Jim glanced through the armored windows. The two on the end of the ramp carried Heckler and Koch MP7s, the two at the rear HK 417s by the same manufacturer. “These KSK guys are going full Blitzkrieg.”

  “Ease up on them,” Jim warned. “They’re not happy with the arrangement.”

  “Since when are the Krauts happy about anything?” Nina asked from her gunner position. Like the heavy machinegun in the other truck, she had hers pointed outward, away from the transport. It was mostly for show, anyway. If there was anything out there dangerous enough to need the big .50, Alex would have seen it long ago. The short blonde looked ready for action. Of course, she was always ready.

  The ramp hit the ground and the four KSK men spread out to make an armed and armored shield. They looked every which way, eyes sharp, taking in every detail. Jim waited. Finally the closest rapped on the door, which Jake popped on cue. The soldier on the ground had a lantern jaw and almost no neck. He looked up inside, taking in every face he saw. Jim smiled and held out his Government issued credentials for him to examine.

  “Herr Cartwright?” he asked.

  “Ja, das bin ich,” Jim said with a nod.

  “Sehr gut,” the soldier said with his own nod, then spoke through the throat mike taped there.

  “Wir sind klar, um fortzufahren.” A second later, a solitary woman walked briskly down the ramp. Jake prepared to offer her a hand up, but she didn’t look like she wanted it. Jim approved; so many people like that preferred to be coddled. Instead, the woman grabbed the handle to the side of the door and hoisted herself in. Jim held out his hand in greeting.

  “Chancellor Weidel, on behalf of Cartwright’s International, welcome to Afghanistan.” She took the hand and shook it firmly as the men outside buttoned her in and moved to board the other MRAP.

  * * * * *

  The MRAP rumbled across the runway and toward the highway. These had been retrofitted with air ride, and it still felt like rolling down a hill in an old-fashioned metal wagon. Of course, the roads looked like the surface of the moon. The drivers knew to not dodge the craters, because the people who left mines would take advantage of the tendency to dodge craters. While the MaxxPro could take almost any mine up to an anti-tank type, it would likely be disabled, and that left them open for ambush while trying to switch to their backup. Alex’s drones swept ahead, scanning for just that possibility.

  “I wanted to thank you for making yourself available on such short notice,” the German Chancellor said.

  “Think nothing of it,” Jim replied. “I was over in Damascus and had the assets.”

  “Damascus,” she said, her face darkening slightly. Despite his family’s dislike for the Germans, Jim liked working with them. They were real fighters, once you got them going. Discovering that undetonated nuclear weapon in Stuttgart two years ago had gotten them involved in a big way. That was a good thing, because after the Lyon bomb, France was out of it, and Britain was dealing with the results of their own imported Jihad. “Angela Merkel gave you high praise.”

  “Did she?” Jim asked, piling on the charm. She smiled back amiably. CI had done some embassy security contracts before Merkel was ousted after Stuttgart, though nothing since. The phone call from Alice Weidel’s aide caught him a bit off guard. Still, he’d probably pissed off a couple of other customers to high tail it over here. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

  “You can,” she said and used her politician’s smile. In other words; you can ask, but I won’t answer you. Jim grinned and shrugged. While they’d waited for the Luftwaffe plane to arrive, two others had come in and dropped off similar packages. One Lear Global Ace with Japanese tail numbers, the other a seemingly innocuous Gulfstream III that happened to have a pair of F-35 Lightnings flying CAP. Alex caught a couple frames of the Gulfstream’s occupant before he climbed into a huge armored SUV. It was hard to miss the head of comb-over blond hair. Something big was afoot.

  The drive up from the airport was 35 miles, for most of which they couldn’t exceed 30 miles per hour. Jim had his team on high alert. The area had been pretty quiet the last six months, according to the advance intel reports he’d been sent by the German people. But a total of three hours had elapsed between the Japanese Prime minister’s arrival and the German Chancellor’s. He chewed his lip as they trundled along. One big arrival would have been better; now the whole region knew something was up.

  “Contact,” Alex said as they passed the mountain.

  Damn it, Jim thought, right where I expected it to be. He’d tried to get a couple helicopters for this transfer, but they weren’t available. And here he was plodding along in two trucks the size of North Dakota. He might as well have painted “Shoot me” on the side in red spray paint. “What do you have?” Jim asked.

  “Looks like a dozen locals pushing goats down from the hill. Only goat herders don’t have suspicious tall pointy things over their backs, poorly disguised with a blanket.”

  “RPGs,” Jake said.

  “What do you say, boss?” Nina asked from the roof. She still had her turret pointed forward, per SOP. Jim slipped past the Chancellor, who was alert but didn’t appear concerned, and leaned over Alex’s shoulder. The video from the drone was good enough to have been a movie shot from Hollywood. Either those guys had fishing poles under those blankets or they were rocket launchers. Shit, he thought, shit, shit, shit.

  “We have a bit of a situation,” Jim said to the Chancellor.

  “Well, deal with it, Herr Cartwright.” Jim was taken aback.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Herr Cartwright, I can assure you I am not some mountain lily that will wilt away at the thought of killing people who would kill me.” He started to say something but she continued, “I give you my authorization to use deadly force.” Jim touched the neck control of his concealed mic.

  “Phoenix two, this is Phoenix actual.”

  “Go ahead, boss,” Nick said from the other MRAP.

  “You tracking the hostiles?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Engage, I repeat, engage.”

  “Yes boss.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Nina laughed. The powered assist motor on the turret whined as it spun. The Chancellor leaned forward against her three-point seatbelt as far as she could, put her elbows on her knees, and covered her ears with her hands a second before the big .50 caliber roared to life.

  Chug, chug, chug, the gun thundered, and brass rattled down the side of the MRAP to hit the ground. Even with the advanced electronic hearing protectors, the sound was deafening. The Chancellor bore it with a stoic manner that impressed Jim even more.

  “Get some!” Nina laughed, having the time of her life. She’d been a heavy weapons expert with the Coast Guard, then the U.S. Navy, until she’d lit up a go-fast boat that made a run at her destroyer. She’d done the right thing—the boat was full of explosives—but she’d done it without orders. Her CO went to the mat and got her an honorable discharge, then he’d put her in touch with Jim for a good job after that was over.

  Spang, spang! the MRAP’s hull rang as heavy rounds bounced off.

  “They’ve got a PPM up the hill,” Alex said. Another round bounced off of Nina’s armored shield.

  “You want some of this?” she screamed.

  “He’s got good cover, want me to deal with it?” Alex asked. Jim made a face, already writing off the ordinance from his bottom line before he spoke.

  “Do it.” The drone cut loose with a pair of Hydra 70 air-to-ground missiles.

  “Three thousand each,” Jim mumbled as Alex gave a little chuckle. The
detonation of the missiles’ M229 warheads—with 17 pounds of high explosive—was quite audible, even over the thumping M-2 machine gun. Jim leaned over and slapped Nina’s leg.

  “What?”

  “Five bucks a round,” he said, “quit wasting ammo.” She looked back out and realized there was nothing left to shoot at.

  “Right,” she said, and the turret pivoted back forward. The vehicles continued on, leaving behind chewed up freedom fighters, and several dozen very dead goats.

  * * * * *

  The personnel of Cartwright’s International were drinking, smoking, and having a good time. The bar was frequented by contractors visiting Kandahar, so it had alcohol and tobacco, something that wouldn’t go over well outside the “Green Zone.” Still, they knew that just like a stop light, green could go to red at a moment’s notice. Everyone was armed with a variety of handguns, rifles, and other modes of lethality. Jim nursed his beer and tapped away on a tablet.

  “Why the long face, boss?” his XO asked, sitting down without asking.

  “P&L Ted,” Jim said. “It’s getting hard to get those fucking Hydras.” He mumbled something about three thousand and tapped more data into the spreadsheet. How had the crazy navy gun bunny gone through 180 rounds that fast? $900 was entered into another line.

  “We made money, right?”

  “If they don’t get in a fight and tear the place up,” Jim said, tilting his head toward a group of his people. They were chugging beer and molesting an ancient pinball machine. On that note, he glanced around to see who else was there. Only a few other contractors, the ones who’d brought the Japanese Prime Minister in. The U.S. President’s people would be Secret Service. They didn’t mix with the help. He was more worried about the German KSK making an appearance. They were angry drunks, and Jake was known for letting his kung-fu off the hook in such situations. The former Marine had been discharged after 6 months in Leavenworth for beating the shit out of four Army SOCOM boys who’d been grabbing ass without asking permission at a Houston nightclub.