“You see?” Reza said. “Allah has taken care of us.”
They turned another corner and straight into the barrel of an Afghan Army tank.
Bernadette nodded her head to the front. “You best have some divine help with this one, Reza. I don’t see them letting us slip by.”
“That’s a T-sixty-two Russian tank,” Jason said.
“Great, nice to know what’s about to make this little car disappear into bits,” Bernadette replied
The tank sat there, motionless and ominous, its very presence threatening the occupants of the little Toyota Camry. It was painted in a sand and brown camouflage. Its long gun barrel hung down and slightly to the left as if it needed a target to aim at. Two hatches were open on the top turret, both hatch lids opened towards them, but they couldn’t see if there was anyone behind them.
One large machine gun pointed skyward beside one of the hatches, as if you needed more weaponry than the big gun on this forty-plus ton of steel mounted on two wide tracks.
A hatch opened in the front of the tank below the turret. A soldier stared at the Toyota and began to speak into his radio.
“What do we do now?” Bernadette asked.
“We get the hell out of here,” Jason said, throwing the car in reverse and accelerating.
Bernadette stared at the gun on the turret. “Won’t they fire at us?”
“They can’t move the turret while the drivers hatch is open.”
The car accelerated. The tank’s engines revved. A cloud of smoke erupted from its rear. It started to come after them.
“The tanks coming after us.”
Jason stared over his shoulder maneuvering the car backwards. “Don’t worry, it’s only got a top speed of fifty kilometers per hour. We can outrun it.”
Bernadette looked behind them, then back to the tank. A head appeared beside the machine gun. The man grabbed the weapon and began to rack the ammunition chamber. “The machine gunner woke up. How fast can you back up to avoid the bullets?”
Jason yelled, “Get down.”
Reza threw himself onto the floor of the car. Bernadette grabbed Almas, pushing him to the floor and covering him with her body. A stream of tracer shells flew by the car hitting the buildings on the right side. A cloud of dust and dirt showered the car.
Jason threw the car into a sharp left turn. They were in the cross street. Making a three-point turn he headed the car forward. Residents came out of their homes to see what had happened perhaps wondering if the Taliban were making a final attack, and many pointed at the car.
“It’s okay,” Jason said. “We’re in the clear.”
Bernadette sat up. Almas shook his head and sat beside her. “That was way more excitement than I needed for the morning. How soon until we get to the convoy?”
Jason reduced speed and turned into a large market where the shops were beginning to open. The smell of fresh bread and coffee wafted into the air. If they weren’t in such a hurry, and if Bernadette wasn’t wanted by the Afghan police, it would have been wonderful to have stopped for warm bread and coffee filled with fresh milk and sugar. Bernadette let the thoughts flit through her brain and then descend into the depths. She needed to concentrate on here and now—on staying alive.
Making their way through the market, they came to a plaza. Heavy walls banked both sides. There was an opening with several military personnel standing in front.
“This is the meet up point,” Jason said.
“There’s no one here. Have they left already?” Bernadette asked.
Jason checked his watch. “It’s zero six-thirty hours. They were to assemble at zero six-fifteen. There’s no way they’ve left unless they went out early. That usually never happens with the military.”
Jason stopped the car a long distance from the soldiers. He walked towards them with his hands raised. He smiled and waved his hands in a greeting to them.
The soldiers watched him walk towards them, they tracked his movements through the sights of their weapons.
Bernadette watched from the car. Tension gripped the back of her neck. One pull of a trigger finger, and Jason’s life would be over. He got within two meters of the soldiers and stopped. With his hands still raised he explained he was there to join the convoy.
The soldier on the radio checked Jason’s story. Bernadette watched with relief as they lowered their weapons and Jason put his hands down by his sides.
The first vehicle in the convoy nosed out of the gate. A Humvee with a machine gun turret on top roared out into the square, screeching to a stop a few meters from the Toyota. The young soldier on top trained the large bore machine gun down on the car.
Jason waved at the gunner and called over to him, “Hey, it’s okay, they’re with me. We’re your escort for the trip.”
The gunner looked back at Jason, then down at the car. He lifted the weapon up and gave Jason the thumbs up sign.
Bernadette let her heart go back down into her chest. She could imagine the large caliber bullets tearing through the thin metaled car and ripping them to shreds. Almas stared up at the Humvee with amazement.
Several more vehicles came out of the gate. Large armored vehicles bristling weapons, painted in sand color with the NATO flag fluttering from their antennas roared into the plaza. The entire area became a cloud of diesel fumes and dust with the loud hum of the massive engines.
Jason walked up to one of the vehicles. The man on the top of the vehicle smiled and waved at him, they talked, laughed, and gave each other an okay sign. Jason walked back to the car smiling.
“It’s all good,” Jason said, getting back into the car. “We’re going to take the second from last spot, that way we don’t stick out of the convoy.”
“I didn’t know that was possible in a military convoy, having a civilian vehicle inside the unit. They’ll let us do that?” Bernadette asked.
Jason laughed. “This is Afghanistan, all things are possible or probable.” He turned back and started the engine. The car’s engine coughed a few times and caught. “Damn, should have replaced the spark plugs last month.”
He pulled the car into formation behind an armored vehicle to wait for the convoy to start. “You’ll be happy to know that this unit had a listening trawl out. There’s been little phone traffic from the Taliban on our route.”
“And a listening trawl is?” Bernadette enquired from the back seat while trying to adjust the firearm on her leg that had slipped down to her ankle.
“That, Bernadette, is all the information scooped up from satellites and phone calls or Internet portals. There’s a whole team of guys that sit in a room and pull up everything that’s going on. Then they do an analysis and pass it to the troops daily.”
“That’s super. Do you know if my name has come up anywhere? You, know, something about the crazy Canadian detective searching for her fiancé who supposedly stole their sacred robe of Mohammed?”
Jason winked. “Nobody mentioned it. But if they did, I’m sure the Taliban, the Afghan Police and the Afghan Army all want you dead. Don’t take it personally.”
“Thanks, I won’t.” Bernadette adjusted the handgun, pulling it back to her thigh. She stared out the window of the car as they roared by the streets of the town. A small boy watched the convoy. Both his hands covered his ears to block out the noise. A mangy dog cowered at his feet.
Bernadette wondered if this was such a good idea. The convoy had fifteen vehicles, it made noise, it was a large moving target, and they were now stuck inside it. But if Jason thought this was the best way to travel, she’d go with it.
29
Large snowflakes started to fall as the convoy thundered out of Kandahar. A patch of blue light pushed its way into the dark morning sky. Bernadette breathed a sigh of relief. No rocket propelled grenades, and no gunfire—perhaps this convoy would be fine.
The ramshackle dwellings started to thin out. The countryside with sparse dwellings, mounds of dirt, and snow dusted mountains became the monotono
us backdrop to their journey west.
There was a time when Bernadette had taken a trip with her grandmother from the far north of Canada all the way down to Wyoming. They had left the poplar and tamarack trees of Northern Alberta, ventured straight south down to Calgary, and Bernadette had marveled at the big sky and wide-open plains. This was different. All of western Canada and Montana and Wyoming had seemed peaceful. Sure, her Cree ancestors had fought over the land with the settlers, but that had been two hundred years ago.
This land, though, everything about it had a mixture of blood in it. Bernadette could feel it, just the way her Native Cree Grandmother Moses had told her, “The native people can sense the land, they know when it is in harmony and when it is not.”
None of this land felt in harmony to Bernadette. The small dwellings disappeared. They were in open countryside with little foliage, mostly rocks. The snow increased.
A squadron of fighter jets screamed overhead in formation. They left a stream of white contrails against the sky. Two Blackhawk helicopters came in low keeping pace with the convoy. One pilot gave a salute then both helicopters veered off.
Bernadette watched the Blackhawks float off into the distance and wondered if having them around would have any deterrent on the Taliban. She leaned forward to Jason.
“Don’t these convoys usually have air cover?”
Jason looked over his shoulder. “You’d think it would be something they needed, but this is a small country. They have jets in the air all the time and the heli gunships are usually no more than ten minutes out. The Taliban would have to be pretty agile to strike and get out fast enough. Most of them, that be the non-crazy ones, want to shoot off their weapons and go home at night.”
“You think the bad guys will stay away from the convoy?”
“Hell, yeah. The Taliban don’t like doing anything like a major frontal attack, it gets them killed faster. They like to blow up convoys with IED’s, throw some RPG’s at the remaining vehicles, then run like hell when the they hear the fast-air—that being the jet fighters coming after them.”
“And we’re safe on this road from IED’s?” Bernadette asked as she stared at out the window at the potholed asphalt road.
Jason tilted his head and winked. “NATO has snipers out all night with night vision goggles from several units. That’s what I used to do. We’d stake out different patches of road near culverts. The Taliban would come there almost every night. We’d pick them off and leave their bodies for their buddies to find in the morning. They seemed to tire of doing it after a while.”
Bernadette sat back and tried to find comfort in Jason’s words. Maybe this road was clear of the IED’s. She’d heard they were getting bigger, that they could reach three to five hundred pounds.
A tense feeling came over her—the burka felt restrictive—and she pulled it off. Jason looked at her in the rear view mirror. He just shook his head. She rubbed her forehead, finally feeling free.
Almas looked at her and smiled, she smiled back. A wave of sound blew over them. The ground lifted. A wall of smoke mixed with dust engulfed them.
Bernadette felt her brain move backwards then shift forward, as if a large train had shot by and she was still feeling the motion. She knew the convoy had been hit by an IED, but where?
“Everyone stay here!” Jason commanded. Reza translated the words to Almas. He took hold of Bernadette’s hand and she squeezed it.
Jason jumped from the car and ran toward the front of the convoy. Bernadette looked out the window through the clearing dust. She could see figures running towards the convoy from the hills.
“Reza, Almas, come with me,” Bernadette yelled. She took Almas by the hand and bent down for the AK47. “Reza get your weapon. We have Taliban on the right side.”
Reza picked up an AK47 from the floor and rolled out of the car. He joined Bernadette and Almas on the ground beside the car. Bernadette flipped off the safety on the machine gun. The Taliban charged over the hills firing their weapons as they advanced.
Bullets pinged off the armor of the vehicles. The soldiers returned fire at the Taliban. A large caliber machine gun opened up. Its spent cartridges flew off the side of the vehicle and rained hot brass down on Bernadette and she yelled for them to move.
The Taliban realized the force they were attacking wasn’t going to back down. They turned and fled. Bernadette let a few rounds in their direction and closed her eyes in relief. She’d known in her core this was going to happen. Had her senses foretold this or was she paranoid and this was a coincidence?
Just seconds before the blast took place—she’d known it would, but how? She stood up beside the car and looked down at Almas. “You okay?”
“Okay,” Almas said. His smile said everything.
Jason came back to the car. “They got the second vehicle. That was lucky; they are the most heavily armored. The guys are a bit shaken, but they had all their ports and window closed so no percussion damage. They’ll still need to medevac them out, ’cause they got their bells rung pretty bad.”
Bernadette walked to the front of the convoy with her weapon over her shoulder. She came to the vehicle that had been hit. The large armored vehicle was leaning to one side in the bomb crater beneath it. Three men and a woman sat on the side of the road. A medic tended to a young man, who looked no more than nineteen or twenty.
Bernadette sat beside the lone woman in the group. She had her helmet off, her head cradled in her hands, as if she was still hearing the sound wave that bounced off their thick amour.
Bernadette grabbed a water bottle and gave her a drink. “You okay?”
The woman looked up. She appeared all of twenty-five, with a simple complexion of freckles that highlighted her blue eyes and blonde hair. “I think I’ll be fine. You know, this is the third time I’ve been in one of these—you never get used to it. I’d love to fight those bastard Taliban face to face, but this…” She let her word trail off and looked back down at the ground.
Two helicopters appeared overhead. They dropped down on the side of the road. Bernadette helped the soldiers get the shaken crew into the helicopter and evacuated.
Jason came up beside her. “It’s the best thing to do, get the crew back to base. There’s no telling what kind of trauma they’ve been through. A near miss from massive IEDs can still damage internal organs.”
Bernadette looked up and down the convoy. The soldiers were getting ready to move again. “What’s the plan? Do they just leave the wrecked vehicle?”
“They’ll strip the vehicle of any ammunition, then have a heavy tow truck come in to deal with it. If they can’t salvage it, they blow it up. Never leave anything for the Taliban, those bastards are scavengers.”
Time seemed to drag. The sun kept dropping lower in the sky. The last of the light was being drained from the landscape before the convoy moved again. This time they moved faster as if the closing darkness was their new enemy. And it was. In the darkness, the Taliban could easily hide. They could fire from anywhere—the side of the road, the nearest hill.
Bernadette felt the tension close in on her once again. She still hadn’t donned the Burka. She clutched the large AK47 in her lap, leaving the window open in case she needed to fire the weapon or exit in a hurry. Her concern was Almas. How could she protect him and fire at Taliban at the same time?
Deep inside, the question was forming: How had she become so attached to protecting this boy? She’d thought she had no maternal instincts. Maybe she didn’t, maybe this was just her being the cop, doing her duty and trying to protect the innocent. She let that thought keep her company as she watched out the window for signs of hostiles.
Lights shone up ahead, and they stopped at an army checkpoint. Jason turned and smiled. “We’re just outside of Delaram. I’ll buy the cold beer tonight.”
Bernadette didn’t let herself relax until the convoy entered the town. The place looked no different than Kandahar, just smaller. They found accommodations in a guesthouse
in the center of the town.
The place had a real shower with an almost passable toilet. Bernadette felt revived after a shower and change of clothes. She came out of her room to join the others. The smell of roasted meat and spices filled the air. Reza, Almas, and Jason were sitting on the floor with plates of food, cups of tea, and a large platter of bread before them.
A woman dressed in a floral dress, her hands and face covered in henna tattoos, served her a plate of chicken and rice. Bernadette devoured the meal. The day’s events had drained her. No, she hadn’t been hit by the IED, but the proximity and the aftermath of seeing the young woman who’d had the earth beneath her rise up in an explosion, had rattled her to her core.
Between mouthfuls of chicken, rice, and bread washed down with tea, she managed to get a question to Jason. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
Jason mopped up the last bits of rice with his bread and swallowed his tea. “Tomorrow we head out of this town on our own. We’re okay until we hit Khormaleg. That’s about seventy-five klicks from here, then we have Taliban country until we hit Farah.”
“Which is in total control by the Taliban,” Bernadette said.
“Ah yeah, pretty much,” Jason said, taking a hard swallow of his bread and draining his tea.
“So, balls to the walls, and we take our lives in our own hands to get through the maze of bad guys. Have I summed that up?”
“Yeah, you’ve got it. Any questions?” Jason asked, putting his plate aside and resting his hands on his knees.
Bernadette looked at Jason and noted something in him that was defiant. She wanted to probe that. “My question is, why?”
“Why what?’
“Why would you risk your life for this? I mean, you could have found several other charities that needed handholding. Why did you take me on? Is the five thousand dollars really worth your life?”
Jason leaned against the wall, and he threw his head back. “Okay, you got me, you’re one hell of a detective. I’m in it for the buzz, the thrill of the chase, the fight or whatever you call it.” He leaned forward and pointed his finger in the air. “Look, I’ve done so many tours of the badass areas, that I’ve gotten addicted to conflict. I tried going home to my old hometown in Moose Jaw. I hated it. My old friends, and they were great, but they never seemed alive. They hadn’t seen what I had, lived like I had. My options back there were the Asphalt Factory or Starbucks. My PTSD would’ve had me hanging myself. Here, I’m still relevant, I’m real. Does that answer your question?”
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 14
