The long november, p.1
The Long November, page 1
Praise for
THE CHOSEN ONE
“Military writing at its level best, making Gragg the chosen one in his own right when it comes to this kind of tale…. A must-read for all military thriller fans.”
—The Providence Journal
“If you’re a fan of war novels, this is the one for you.”
—Red Carpet Crash
Praise for
THE RED LINE
“[An] impeccably researched, riveting first novel…. This is must reading for any military action fan. Nearly every page reeks of the smoke of battle and the stench of death.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“As much Philip Caputo or Tim O’Brien as Tom Clancy, Gragg’s writing is as masterful as his plotting, and The Red Line has all the makings of a classic.”
—The Providence Journal
“The Red Line is a smart, timely military thriller from a promising new author.”
—The Real Book Spy
“[An] intense and gripping debut thriller.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“A superb political as well as military thriller, The Red Line stitches an all-too-plausible doomsday scenario that pulls no punches in scoring a literary knockout. Terrifyingly prescient in its premise and scarily spot-on in its execution, Walt Gragg’s debut novel channels both Tom Clancy and W.E.B. Griffin.”
—Jon Land, USA Today bestselling author of Strong Cold Dead
ALSO BY WALT GRAGG
The Red Line
The Chosen One
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Copyright © 2024 by Walter Gragg
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Gragg, Walt, author.
Title: The long November / Walt Gragg.
Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley, 2024.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023031473 (print) | LCCN 2023031474 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984806352 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781984806369 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Thrillers (Fiction) | Novels. Classification: LCC PS3607.R3326 L66 2024 (print) | LCC PS3607.R3326 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20230717
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023031473
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023031474
First Edition: May 2024
Cover design by Steve Meditz
Cover image of missile by Shutterstock-Pixelsquid
Book design by George Towne, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
pid_prh_7.0_147032507_c0_r0
CONTENTS
Dedication
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Epilogue
About the Author
_147032507_
To my wonderful grandchildren, Adan, Alan, Ethan, Ava, Alison, and Grayson.
May a fulfilling life find each of you.
1
Man has no need to fear any future hell. For by his actions he has created his own in the here and now.
Walt Gragg
11:11 P.M., OCTOBER 31
ALPHA COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH MARINE REGIMENT, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
SPINAGER AIR BASE, NORTHWEST INDIA
Marine captain Samuel Erickson stood watching as the loading of the King Stallions began in earnest. In the swirling dust and consuming darkness of a nearly moonless night, the company commander observed the expanding activity around the six widely spaced CH-53K cargo helicopters. At India’s insistence, before arriving, any identifying information on the King Stallions had been painted over, masking what they were and to whom they belonged.
Groups of recently roused men rushed in every direction. For many, a fitful sleep still clung to their eyes. Each was gathering weapons of war and depositing them near the noisy craft. Anxious directives from their platoon and squad leaders filled the air. All understood that if they were going to prevail in their desperate attempt, little time remained. An hour at most before the Marine Company’s incursion inside Pakistan had to begin.
They’d arrived on the previous night and been secreted away in a desolate portion of the Indian air base. They weren’t supposed to be here. And India’s government strongly desired to keep the Americans’ presence secret. Nonetheless, given the severity of the situation, they’d reluctantly agreed to allow them onto their country’s soil. Even if only briefly.
Erickson had been told his men were to be the backup portion of the American rescue plan. In all likelihood they wouldn’t be needed. The situation called for them to remain sequestered at the air base for no more than a couple of days prior to being airlifted out of the country. They were to sit on their packs and wait for word to come. Only if things went unforeseeably wrong would they be called into action. They were to be ready but could anticipate doing nothing more than sweating beneath an unrelenting Indian sun before being withdrawn.
Yet, to their surprise, things in Islamabad had, in fact, gone awry. And Erickson had received the frantic call to action. With little notice, he was readying his men to rush headlong into the middle of a vicious civil war that already had claimed millions of lives. While they prepared to depart, the secrecy of the operation was of paramount importance. They couldn’t risk the rampaging jihadists across the border being warned of their activities.
The first of the company’s lethal up-armored Humvees eased up the rear ramp and disappeared into the belly of the foremost helicopter. Under the King Stallion senior crew chief’s direction, it edged forward to the front of the hold and settled into place. Before its driver could turn off the engine, the aircraft’s pair of crew chiefs began securing the combat-ready vehicle in preparation for the coming flight. Soon a trio of Humvees would be nestled inside each of the six large helicopters. The company’s men would then bring on board the heavy machine guns, mortars, Javelin and TOW antitank missiles, ammunition, medical supplies, rations, and materials needed to support the company’s men for up to a week of intense combat. The list was nearly endless. When filled, each heavily laden transport would contain three Humvees, stacks of boxes and equipment, and up to thirty men.
As the pace quickened, the company’s executive officer, Scott Tomlin, approached Erickson’s position. The first lieutenant’s somber face carried the uneasiness each of the Marines felt.
Erickson had to shout to be heard over the helicopters’ droning engines and the frenetic activity around them. “Scott, I know we’ve had little time to prepare for whatever it is we’re walking into, but have you been able to brief the platoon leaders and platoon sergeants?”
“Yes, sir,” Tomlin replied. “I’ve gone over the situation and laid out each platoon’s role. As soon as we’re airborne, they’ll brief their squad leaders and men. With things evolving so quickly, even with the embassy’s Marine security detachment doing their best to establish a semblance of control over the landing zone, when we get to Islamabad, I’ve directed our men to treat this as a hot landing and to be prepared for any eventuality.”
“Good. I don’t want any slipups. We need to be ready for whatever it is we’re about to face.”
“I’ve made your expectations clear. Once we’re on the ground, 1st and 2nd Platoon will form on the roadway south of the embassy. At the same time, a squad from 3rd Platoon will establish a perimeter while the remainder of the company empties the King Stallions. As each helicopter’s unloaded, we’ll fill it with the first of the waiting civilians and get them headed back here.”
“That should work,” the dark-haired Marine commander replied. “I’ve spoken with the King Stallion flight leader. He said on each round trip his six CH-53s can handle four hundred or so of those we’re evacuating.”
“When we arrive I’ll make sure the embassy folks are briefed on that, sir,” Tomlin said.
“The King Stallion flight leader’s confident that after the four hundred evacuees are unloaded, there’ll be adequate time remaining for his crews to fill each CH-53 with all the food and water each can carry. Once they have, they’ll head back to Islamabad, dump their loads, and pick up a second four hundred of those fleeing Pakistan. So if all goes well, we should be able to get eight hundred out of harm’s way before the sun rises.”
“If we can pull it off, freeing eight hundred from this mess in the first few hours is a pretty good start, sir.”
“Yeah, but that’ll be it for tonight. Given the circumstances, there’ll be no possibility of evacuating more until tomorrow evening. With what we’re going to be facing, attempting daylight excursions would be suicidal. So it’ll be up to us to hold off the crazies while waiting for night to arrive once more. Even with darkness masking our actions, each rescue attempt’s going to be iffy.”
“How many flights do the pilots estimate we can get in each night, sir?” Tomlin asked.
“Given the distance, along with the loading and unloading at both locations, we’re estimating four hours for each round-trip. That means if things go perfectly, the helicopters will be able to complete three rescues before each night ends.”
“So we’re looking at twelve hundred escaping this nightmare prior to every sunrise. That doesn’t sound too bad. Have we received a count on how many people are waiting in Islamabad?”
“Not an accurate one. When I spoke to the embassy security detachment’s gunny, he said they didn’t know exactly what we’ll be facing numbers-wise. So we’re going to have to play it by ear until we’ve gathered everyone and can make an actual determination. We know we’re going to have to evacuate the staffs and families from multiple embassies along with the four thousand civilians waiting at the Islamabad Marriott.”
“So maybe five or six thousand, sir?” The concern in Tomlin’s voice was unmistakable.
“Sounds about right. But even that number might be a bit low.”
For the first time, the company’s executive officer began to comprehend the enormity of the situation. “Six thousand people butchered in the most hideous of ways if Salim Basra and his fanatics get their hands on them.”
“That’s not going to happen, Scott. Not if we have anything to say about it. Until the final person’s on these King Stallions, it’ll be up to us to make sure those people are safe. Is that understood?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“You need to make sure our men realize what we’re up against. We’re going to save as many of those people as we can, but there’s no way this is going to be easy. Even if things go off without a hitch, we’re looking at at least five days of intense combat against thousands upon thousands of hell-bent assassins before the last of us reboards these helicopters and gets the hell out of Pakistan. And you know as well as I do that in these situations things rarely go as planned. So don’t be surprised if this ends up taking a week, possibly longer.”
The rock-hard Tomlin’s jaw clenched. He took a look around. There was determination in his response. “This company contains some of the finest Marines I’ve ever been associated with, sir. I don’t care what the enemy throws at us, we’ll handle it. And we’ll save those people.”
“For that to happen, while I’m leading 1st and 2nd Platoons to the Marriott, it’s imperative you get the embassy’s defenses laid out and our preparations underway.”
“I’ll start on them the moment we touch down, sir. Any chance of reinforcements arriving?”
“Not anytime soon. With the limits India has placed upon us, we’re all there is. And these six are all of the King Stallions they allowed us to bring. So this is on us. We’ve got to take advantage of every break to have any chance of succeeding. With the enemy closing in, you can anticipate being under attack long before the helicopters return tomorrow evening to pick up further evacuees.”
“What about air support, sir?”
“For now, we have none. The president has decided that unless the Pakistani leadership fully commits to us joining their efforts, he wants to do everything he can to stay out of this war. The only involvement he’s willing to risk is the rescue of all non-Pakistanis trapped in Islamabad. Beyond that, the United States is officially neutral in what he’s calling the Pakistani people’s ‘internal struggles.’ ”
“Understood, sir.”
“But tomorrow, who knows? This really is an evolving situation. Worse come to worst, that directive might change if those we’re protecting are in extreme peril or our government finds itself with little choice but to get further involved. That’s a call higher-ups tell me he’ll make if and when he needs to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s make this happen, Scott.”
* * *
• • •
The fleeting minutes rushed past as the company’s scrambling efforts continued without pause. Finally, all was ready. With the Humvees and equipment in place, the battle-tested Marines shuffled on board.
First Sergeant Claude Vickers stood watching as the last of the 175 men, all in full combat gear, silently headed up the rear ramps. “We’re all set, sir,” he relayed to the company commander.
As Erickson walked toward the lead King Stallion, he took a final look around. He’d done his best in the brief interval he’d been given. He had what appeared to be a viable rescue plan. Yet, given his unfamiliarity with the terrain and the exceptionally volatile situation in Islamabad, he realized in the coming hours that even the best of approaches couldn’t anticipate what his stoic force might encounter. There were bound to be surprises and split-second, life-defining decisions to be made. For all he knew, by the time they arrived in the Pakistani capital, hordes of jihadists could be swarming over both the hotel and the United States embassy. Each compound could be fully engulfed in flames, with no chance of escape at either location.
As he took his spot in the windowless hold, the ramp began to close.
The company commander’s mind was racing. He’d been in tough spots before, but this mission was one that could challenge him beyond even his immense limits. He had to wonder what horrors might be waiting. He had to question whether his unit would arrive in time to change a horrific destiny for thousands upon thousands of anxious people. Little did he know that the woman he’d fallen in love with three years earlier during another desperate struggle was among those waiting. If he had, his growing concern might have overwhelmed him.
