Stowaway (Redleg in Space Book 1)

  STOWAWAY

  Z.D. DEAN

  STOWAWAY

  REDLEG IN SPACE

  BOOK 1

  Z.D. DEAN

  Copyright © 2015 Z.D. Dean.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  If you would like permission to use material from this book, please contact zdeanbooks@gmail.com

  First printing, 2020.

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Acknowledgements

  I want to give a huge thank you to Erin Shaw, my editor. She took a chance on a new author. Her hard work and dedication has polished this book into something special.

  Thanks Erin

  Z.D. Dean

  Contents

  STOWAWAY

  Acknowledgements

  Preface

  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

  End of Book 1

  Preface

  Alex Zade joined the army looking for excitement and danger, but since his graduation from West Point it had been nothing but bureaucracy, boredom, and repeated disappointment. Zade had chosen West Point hoping to become an infantry officer. Despite his intelligence, he couldn’t maintain interest long enough in the lower level class work to keep his grades high enough. He found himself putting off classwork to immerse himself in Sci-Fi books and video games, and researching the far more interesting principles and probabilities contained within. At graduation, he didn’t have the class rank to get infantry. His second choice was armor, but again, too low of a class rank, and the branch closed before he got to make his choice. Zade got his third choice, field artillery, which wasn’t as bad as he had thought.

  After graduation he was sent to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where he was trained on the finer points of calling in indirect fires from over 15 kilometers away. The instructors at the schoolhouse recognized that Zade had a unique capacity for strategic planning and implementation. In his file, it was suggested that he be put in charge of a Fire Support team—a FiST. Just before graduation from Sill, Zade pulled orders to go to Fort Bliss, Texas, where he would be in charge of a company level FiST for an armor battalion. Still bright-eyed and naive, Cherry Second Lieutenant Zade couldn’t have been more excited. The rumors going around the schoolhouse was that Zade’s future battalion was already deployed to Iraq. Zade was sure his time had finally come; he was going to get his excitement as soon as he got to Texas.

  Upon arrival at Ft. Bliss, Zade was immediately in-processed and given his equipment. Within 36 hours he was on a flight to Iraq where he would meet up with his first unit. He didn’t remember the flight or layovers on his way to theater. The anticipation almost drove him crazy, and he strategized about how to not make an ass of himself in front of his men.

  Iraq wasn’t what he had expected. As the final unit in the country, the operational tempo had slowed dramatically from what it had seemed to be in the news stories he had watched growing up. There was no need for a field artillery officer in country, as any form of indirect fires had to be approved by the president. Zade’s company commander assigned him as an infantry platoon leader to stand in for someone who had been injured.

  Zade spent the deployment running patrols that the commander felt were too risky for his actual infantry platoon leaders. Captain Schmit was a stocky ranger that was well past his prime. He had loved being a ranger and reminded Zade daily that “he ain’t shit, cause he ain’t got a tab.” Rangers stuck together, and because the current infantry platoon leaders were slotted to go to ranger school upon their return stateside, Schmit assigned Zade to any mission that had any risk. Schmit would not do anything to risk sending his infantrymen to ranger school because they had gotten hurt on some mission in Iraq. When he looked at Zade, however, he saw a subpar field artillery officer who would never amount to anything. That made Zade expendable.

  A few months after returning from Iraq, Zade pulled orders to deploy to Afghanistan as part of an advise and assist team. Not the ideal mission for an officer trained to call in artillery, but the orders required that Zade to call in air support. Zade was sent back up to Ft. Sill prior to deployment to learn the fine art of controlling air strikes. This schoolhouse time also meant that Zade didn’t have to participate in any of the spin up activities, such as cultural awareness classes or connex load planning. Win-win in his mind.

  Afghanistan was more action packed than Iraq, but didn’t seem as exciting. Maybe “the new” had finally worn off and the deployment thing had become boring. Or, perhaps the lack of excitement came from the fact that he was once again subjected to toxic leadership. Zade’s team leader was the battalion commander from the logistics battalion, and he had an ax to grind with every combat arms officer he ran across. Lieutenant Colonel Goddman had started his career in a peacetime army where he had been bullied constantly by the combat arms officers he worked with; this giant of a man was going to get his vengeance on any combat arms officer unlucky enough to be under his command.

  Zade spent the better part of the deployment rolling with the local infantry units, both American and Afghan, providing air support functions. As the only joint fires observer in the Paktia province, Zade stayed busy. Across the nine-month deployment, there were only a handful of days that Zade didn’t leave the wire—exactly how he liked it. When award time came around at the end of the deployment, all Zade wanted was his Combat Action Badge. It had been denied by Schmit because, in his opinion, any officer who wasn’t infantry didn’t deserve to be recognized for being in combat. Zade wasn’t an award seeker, but he did want his CAB. It would be a symbol that he had been tested in combat, and Zade hoped that it would add validity to his leadership. Goddman however, had different plans. Even though Zade had been on over 250 missions, many of which ended in enemy contact and air support, Goddman refused to submit a CAB for Zade because. When Zade had asked him about it, Goddman had replied, “I, a lieutenant colonel, don’t even have one. What makes you think I’m going to give an artillery lieutenant one?”

  Another slap in the face by the big green weenie. To add insult to injury, Lt. Col. Goodman refused to award Zade with a Bronze Star, while awarding everyone else in leadership positions in his battalion, deployed or in the rear, with the Bronze Star with V. The Bronze Star, in Zade’s opinion, was really just a participation medal for any officer who had been deployed, so having one didn’t really mean anything. But not having one after a deployment was a black mark on an officer’s record. The “V” denoted that the award was given due to valorous action, usually in combat. Somehow, no one ever questioned why every squad leader in the support battalion, deployed or not, had been awarded a valor medal.

  After getting back from Afghanistan, Zade realized that bureaucracy and petty bullshit were never going to go away, but they were a little more tolerable if you were deployed. Zade petitioned every senior officer he knew for another deployment. Their initial resistance was based on the fact that three deployments in four years was unhealthy for most. Zade didn’t have any family other than his parents, he enjoyed being a warrior, and the
deployment money was really good. He had to be deployed again. Finally, after months of petitioning, and after mental health evaluations, Zade pulled orders for his third and probably final deployment. He was going back to Paktia province Afghanistan.

  ∆∆∆

  Lieutenant Zade had just gotten back from his last mission in Afghanistan. It had been a simple presence patrol through the northern part of Paktia province. Uneventful and quick, just like he was hoping for. After a quick debrief and shower he headed back to his combat housing unit, affectionately known by the guys as a CHU. Tomorrow would be the last day of the American field presence in Afghanistan, and Zade’s unit, Demon team, was going to be the one to close the gates. He returned to his CHU and finished packing up his gear for the movement out, which would happen just before daybreak the next morning.

  As the last unit left in the field, Demon team would catch a Blackhawk flight to Bagram Airfield, where they would hitch a ride via C130 to Manas processing station. Although Demon was the last field unit in Afghanistan, the US would be keeping BAF open. Something to do with the size and amount of funding that went into the base. Zade didn’t really care about the geopolitical circumstances surrounding the exit. This was going to be his third and final deployment to combat, and it had not really the grand finale that he had been hoping for. Either way, Zade laid down to grab some sleep before the move.

  Chapter 1

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  The pounding on the door of his CHU woke Zade up from a dream about wasting all of his deployment money on new cars and at the local strip club.

  “Lt. Zade, are you in there? The commander wants to see us at the Ops Center. Says he has a mission for us,” said the voice of Sergeant Fern.

  “What the fuck? Go away, Fern. I just got back from mission, and I want at least four hours of sleep before we SP tomorrow.”

  “Sir, you know how the commander is. We have to get down there,” Fern responded nervously.

  “I don’t care. Tell him I went AWOL. That I decided to join the Afghan army. Hell, I’ve spent enough time here to become a citizen,” Zade said, rolling over in his bed.

  Fern was one of Zade’s non-commissioned officers, and possibly the best fire support NCO Zade had ever had the pleasure of working with. This was his 11th deployment, and he was already working to get another one after they returned. The had met when Zade started doing the spin up for this deployment, and immediately hit it off. Fern was a true professional warrior: competent, driven, and he had the fighter spirit. Like Zade, Fern loved the excitement of being in combat and took every chance he got to deploy. Fern, a first-generation Mexican-American, swore that only Inca warrior blood ran through his veins. Zade loved the sentiment and could never bring himself to tell Fern that the Inca had never been in Mexico. What was the point of ruining the guy’s identity?

  As Zade sat up he popped open the door to his CHU. Fern was standing just outside in full kit with a fresh camel cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Fern tossed Zade a pack of smokes and two RipIts, the energy drink of choice for the modern warfighter. Fern always seemed to know exactly what could motivate soldiers, even disgruntled lieutenants.

  “Thanks. Did you get any more information from the commander on this one? If it’s about anything less than the first lady being raped by the Taliban, I may lose my mind,” Zade said, cracking open one of the RipIts and then slamming it in one slug

  After tossing the can out the door, Zade threw a smoke in and began rummaging around in his uniform pockets for a lighter. With no luck, Fern tossed a lighter to him and began discussing the known facts about the mission. As Zade dressed, Fern explained that the commander was informed about some suspicious activity on the ridgeline just north of the forward operating base.

  “I don’t like the way the commander was talking,” Fern said tentatively.

  After 15 months working with Major McElry, both men knew the man’s idiosyncrasies. The Major regularly spoke in the third person using his call sign when he was in “glory hunter mode.” The Major also began to use individuals first names when he was about to ask them to undertake an inordinate amount of unnecessary risk. For this particular mission, McElry had sent the message that “Demon 6 wants to see Alex and Jose in the talk.”

  Doesn’t this guy understand that awards have already been submitted? Zade thought pulling on his boots.

  After one final weapon and radio functions check, Zade and Fern began the 400m trek to the company tactical operations center, both finishing a RipIt and a couple more smokes on the journey. The FOB had the uneasy stillness of a place that had been forgotten to time. Zade remembered closing up Iraq. His team had been the last group of Americans in Iraq; for the two weeks prior to leaving the country, the FOB was deserted, and it looked like a scene from the rapture. People got their instructions to leave and just stopped what they were doing to pack and catch a flight out of country. Trucks were left on the sides of the road, doors open and keys in the ignition. Unfinished meal trays had been left sitting on tables in the dining facility. For two days after everyone had left, a strange whining noise was coming from the living area next to Zade’s. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, Zade took one of his guys to investigate. Upon their arrival at the other living area, Zade realized that it must have been where the contractors lived. After investigating for about 20 minutes, Zade found the source of the noise—a table saw that had been left running after its operator got orders to leave.

  As if the uneasy stillness in the FOB wasn’t unnerving enough, what was happening outside the FOB was the polar opposite. The locals knew that the Americans were leaving, and they were getting ready to cannibalize the FOB. Zade remembered looking at the feed from the aerial, where he could see hundreds of flatbed jingle trucks lined up waiting to start dismantling everything. So far for this closing, neither Zade nor Fern had been given information on what was happening outside their home. Both could guess, based on experience, that there would be an army of locals with vehicles waiting for them when they left the wire for this last mission.

  Just as the men rounded the corner of the TOC, a private ran square into the front of Zade, causing him to spill what was left of his drink on himself.

  “What the hell is the rush, Private? Watch where you’re going!” Zade chided.

  “S-s-sorry, sir. I was just headed out to find you,” the private stammered nervously.

  What is the rush on this one? It has only been 10 minutes since Fern woke me up.

  The men ascended the stairs to the TOC, and upon entering were greeted by an obviously flustered Major. Courtesies were rendered, and as Zade waited for the ass chewing and briefing to begin, he noticed that the TOC had been completely torn down and stored for the move later that day, except for one computer screen with lights moving across it. None of the graphics and support documents regular to mission briefs were present. There wasn’t even any staff present, just the Major. An uneasy sense of focus washed over Zade. Any mission this late in the game was bound to run across difficulties. In Iraq, when Zade’s unit was making their last movement out of the country, they had been harassed continuously by indirect fire and hasty ambushes. The enemy forces probably felt that if they could videotape their fires driving the Americans out of the country, it would be a huge propaganda win.

  “Demon 6 has seen strange lights on the ridgeline around the FOB. Demon 6 thinks that the enemy might be setting up mortar positions to stop our movement later. Demon 6 doesn’t like when people are on his mountains around his FOB,” MAJ McElry announced.

  Jesus. He’s in third person, glory mode, Zade thought.

  The major then proceeded to show Zade and Fern the video feed from the aerial. Sure enough, there was something going on about two kilometers north of the FOB, but it didn’t look like the standard mortar setup.

  “The enemy has never given away their position by lighting up where they were working like this before,” Zade stated.

  “Shut your damn mouth, Alex. You’
re going to do your damn job without the excuses this time,” the major replied coldly. “Demon 6 wants Alex and Jose to take the security platoon up to that spot and deal with the problem. I expect you to be rolling in 30. Dismissed”

  And now with the first names. What the hell is going on here? Zade pondered.

  The major abruptly walked out, slamming the door, and leaving Zade and Fern to work through the details of how best to complete this mission. Prep wouldn’t be too much of a problem. The platoon had been working together for months, and was running like a Swiss watch. What bothered the men was the utter lack of information on the mission, the ridiculous risk, and the timing issues. With that the men decided to meet by the trucks in fifteen minutes. Fern left to rally the men, and Zade stayed behind to try and raise FOB Salerno on his radio. FOB Salerno was the base with the helicopters that were going to airlift the unit out in a couple of hours, and he hoped that they had left some Apache gunships active to support the movement. Zade’s radio lacked the range required to reach Salerno without the TOC’s stationary antenna, and after a few minutes of trying with no luck, he headed to the motor pool to link up with his men.

  Zade entered the motor pool just as the 15-minute mark had elapsed. Fern had done a good job getting the men ready to roll, and everyone was in their trucks doing final checks. Fern had just finished his walk through and was headed back to his truck at the rear of the column. Zade headed to the passenger side of his truck, truck two, and pulled out a smoke. Waiting for the final checks to be completed, Zade stood there pulling on his smoke trying to pin down what was making him feel so uneasy about this mission.

  “Sir, all trucks have reported in. Everyone is REDCON 1,” Zade’s driver informed him.

  “All right, men,” Zade replied, taking one last drag and stomping out his smoke. “Let’s do this. Let’s be the last heroes in Afghanistan.”