Will Jordan - Something to Die For

For everyone who believed in me

It was a quiet night in the suburbs of Abbottabad in north-eastern Pakistan, with a light breeze and a clear sky studded with stars. A thin sliver of moonlight cast its pale glow on a gentle landscape of small, cultivated fields, fast-flowing rivers and trees heavy with spring blossom. The roads were deserted, windows shuttered and residents fast asleep.

Most of the properties in this district were generously sized and well-constructed, and were owned by educated professionals, prosperous merchants and wealthy entrepreneurs. It was a popular, desirable, though quite unremarkable area.

But there was one curiosity amid this bland suburban conformity. At the end of a dirt road that set it somewhat apart from its neighbours was one property in particular. Made up of several smaller plots amalgamated into one sprawling triangular compound, it had been constructed from similar materials and of broadly similar design to its neighbours.

But it was the little details that marked it out as different. The outer walls, topped with barbed wire to deter thieves, were higher than most would have considered necessary up to 18 feet tall in places.

The main building was also larger than normal, even for the extended families common to Pakistani culture. A third floor had been added in recent years, complete with a private balcony. Indeed, privacy seemed to be of great concern to the owners. The main dwelling contained few windows; those that did exist were rarely opened.

The residents ventured out infrequently, playing no part in the local community. They didnt speak with neighbours, didnt allow their children out to play, and didnt let anyone inside.

Waziristan Haveli, as it was informally known, was the kind of place that invited speculation and gossip. Rumours of shady business, illicit drug deals and money laundering lingered around the place. Some even entertained the wild theory that the compound served as a private retreat for some famous actor or public figure.

None of this speculation came to much. Unsociable and mysterious they might have been, but the residents of Waziristan Haveli did nothing to anger their neighbours.

Let them live quietly behind their high walls if thats what they want, the men in local tea houses concluded philosophically. A man is entitled to his privacy. And if he causes no trouble, then who cares?

None of them could possibly know that, before the night was over, Waziristan Haveli would become one of the most infamous places on earth.

It began with a low, rhythmic thudding noise coming from the north-west, barely audible at first and easily dismissed as the sound of the distant highway. But rather than fading away into the night, the sound grew in intensity slowly but steadily.

A stray dog, asleep in a dried-up drainage culvert nearby, stirred and looked up at the night sky as a pair of massive dark shapes swept past, accompanied by the shriek of engines and a sudden gale that stirred up clouds of grit and pieces of discarded litter. Startled, the dog cowered, yipped in fear and darted off into the night.

The two Black Hawk transport helicopters, both heavily armed and outfitted with stealth adaptations to reduce their noise and radar cross-sections, descended on Waziristan Haveli. One took up position over the main yard while the other prepared to land in the more distant north-east corner of the compound.

Inside the first Black Hawk, a dozen heavily armed US SEAL team operatives in full body armour got ready to deploy. They had been preparing for this moment for weeks, training relentlessly, memorising every detail of the intricate assault plan.

The crew compartment door slid open and fast descent ropes were hurled out into the night, the first men taking up position in the doorway as they prepared to deploy. That was when things started to go wrong.

The downwash from the Black Hawks massive main rotors kicked up a storm of dust in the yard below. Normally this would present little concern, but the compounds high defensive walls prevented the downwash from dispersing, creating a dangerous air vortex that began to pull the Black Hawk downwards.

As the pilot fought to maintain altitude, the aircrafts tail swung to port, striking the compound wall. A violent bang shivered through the fuselage as one of the tail rotor blades sheared clean off. Unbalanced by the sudden change in the complex dynamic forces holding it aloft, the chopper began to yaw dangerously. Alarms blared and the men in the crew compartment grasped at restraining harnesses to keep from being hurled out the open door.

With mere seconds to act, the pilot took the only option open to him and shoved his control column all the way forward, bringing the ailing helicopter down in a barely controlled crash landing. The impact shattered one of the landing struts and pitched the chopper over at a precarious angle, but it was still in one piece.

More importantly, so were the men inside.

Shaken and battered by the crash, the assault team hastily composed themselves, leapt out of the stricken aircraft and advanced across the open yard, pressing on with their mission despite its inauspicious start. Lights were coming on in nearby buildings as local residents, awoken by the noise and commotion, stumbled out of bed to gawk at the drama unfolding.

The SEALs paid them no heed as they swept in against the building, weapons up and ready. A secondary unit peeled off to breach a smaller structure on the south side of the yard, while teams from the other chopper quickly scaled the inner defensive walls, but the main force advanced on the central three-storey residence.

That was where their target would be.

Breaching charges were planted against the door, and barely a second later they detonated with a resounding boom, the shockwave shattering windows in the upper floors.

Flash out! the team leader cried, hurling a stun grenade in through the smoking doorway before ducking back behind cover.

The lightning flash of the grenade explosion was accompanied by a deafening bang that seemed to roll up through the very core of the house.

Go! Go!

The first three-man assault team went straight in, their night vision devices illuminating the darkened interior in a ghostly green. Adrenaline was coursing thick in their veins now, heightening every sense as they advanced inside.

This was it. This was the most important mission of their lives.

First door on the right. A single hard kick sent it crashing open. A woman and two children screamed in terror.

Get down! one SEAL yelled. Down on the floor!

Civilians. Unarmed. They were no threat, though one of the SEALs shoved the woman to the floor, securing her hands behind her back anyway. Even civilians could throw a hand grenade or detonate a suicide vest.

Room clear! Move up!

The team pressed on. More shouts and screams were coming from other rooms. Chaos and confusion everywhere. The air was thick with acrid grey smoke.

Suddenly the booming chatter of automatic gunfire resounded from their left, and a door splintered as a burst of 7.62mm AK rounds tore through it. Instinctively the nearest SEAL dropped to his knees, avoiding the lethal but inaccurate gunfire. The powerful kick of an AK-47 caused severe muzzle climb, meaning shots often went high.