Book Excerpt: Berlin Insurgency - A Hard Lesson in Trust

Book Excerpt: Berlin Insurgency – A Hard Lesson in Trust

The plan was simple enough on paper, but out here simple had a habit of bleeding into lethal without warning.

Editor’s Note: SOFREP is pleased to give readers a look at the latest military thriller from C. A. Roberts, a writer who knows how to pull you straight into the tension of a real-world operation. This is the first of three excerpts we will publish in the coming weeks, and it drops you right into northeastern Syria on the kind of mission where preparation, nerve, and timing decide who walks away. Let us know what you think. – GDM

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According to the flight plan, they landed shortly before sunrise on a landing strip southwest of Hasakah. First light streaked the horizon, turning the barren landscape amber and rose. Ashraf waited by the vehicles: a Toyota HiAce minivan and a Hilux pickup. Omar and Ali stood nearby. Kris greeted them warmly. He’d trained both former YPG fighters years ago but hadn’t seen them since.

They didn’t linger at the airfield. Even among friends, you couldn’t be too careful. The two vehicles drove to a safehouse on Hasakah’s outskirts where Ashraf delivered his situation report.

He’d negotiated with the kidnappers as instructed. The exchange would happen at 1830 hours in a field north of Tall Tamir, north of the M4 highway. Deep in their territory. Not ideal, but predictable. They divided responsibilities accordingly.

Griffin would drive the Hilux with Ashraf translating and Ali providing security. The ransom money would ride with them. Kris would take the HiAce separately with Omar, whom he’d trained as a spotter, and provide overwatch. They checked weapons, communications, equipment. Studied satellite imagery on Google Maps, identifying approach routes, departure options, possible cover.

Griffin worked through contingencies with Ashraf and Ali. Actions on contact if things went sideways. Between planning sessions, they rotated rest and food. Kebabs with rice. The meat was tender, perfectly spiced, filling the room with aroma that made Griffin’s mouth water. The nine hours of preparation passed quickly. By 1615, shadows lengthening across the compound, they were loaded and ready.

Kris and Omar left first. They needed position before Griffin’s team arrived. Thirty minutes later, the second vehicle departed. Griffin received regular updates via Threema about checkpoints along the route. Ashraf had provided local SIM cards. Standard operational security, though foreign cards couldn’t roam on Syrian networks anyway.

After an hour’s drive, they reached the field north of road 716. Four checkpoints passed without incident. The police had shown minimal interest in their vehicle. That could change on the return trip. Griffin felt tension building in his shoulders. He hadn’t run an operation like this in years, but muscle memory took over. Like riding a bike. He said a silent prayer as they turned onto the spur road leading to the exchange point. Faith had always anchored him, redefined during and after the war, reflected in the tattoos covering his right arm.

“Contact Blue.” Kris’s voice cut through his thoughts. Visual confirmation. His friend had taken position 150 meters northeast of the transfer point as planned. Knowing Kris was behind a scope, watching his back, settled something in Griffin’s chest.

Walker’s Silencer 2.0 electronic hearing protection sat in his ears. Active amplification of ambient sound, filtering of loud noise, Bluetooth connection to the radio. He could hear everything, communicate constantly.

Two ways to continue to read this article.

“Game on,” he muttered as they stopped on the gravel road marking the exchange point. Tires crunching on loose stone. They exited. Griffin positioned himself behind the vehicle, facing the dirt road with Ashraf and the ransom. Ali took position on the far side. Thirty minutes passed before Kris radioed visual contact. Two technicals approaching from the south at speed. Pick-up trucks with mounted weapons. Griffin spotted the headlights moments later, closing fast. The militia was late. Probably hadn’t bothered scouting the site first. Couldn’t even show up on time for a ransom delivery. All the better. The trucks stopped thirty meters out. Four men dismounted and approached. Three in their early twenties, one mid-forties with a silver beard. The leader. All four carried Kalashnikovs, probably Bulgarian AKMs though the light made positive identification difficult. Armed either way. Griffin and Ashraf walked forward with the money bag, meeting them halfway between vehicles. Ashraf and the militia leader exchanged rapid Arabic. Ashraf translated: they wanted to see the ransom. Griffin remained calm. They could see the money when Yasmin was produced. The kidnapper responded with threats and excuses, unaware that Kris had already reported Yasmin’s location in the rear vehicle, guarded. Same for the gunner at the mounted machine gun. Ashraf persisted. Finally they agreed: show the journalist at the back of the trucks while Griffin opened the money bag. During the exchange, Griffin struggled to identify Yasmin against the headlight glare. Kris confirmed from his position. The transaction could proceed. Then the militia leader changed the terms. Through Ashraf, he announced it would take too long to count the money here. He’d keep the journalist. Take Griffin and the money as down payment. Immediately, three militiamen raised weapons. Metal clacked as rounds chambered. One advanced toward Griffin, boots crunching gravel. Ashraf was still translating when their body language made everything clear. Griffin keyed his radio. “Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!” Plan B.