Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  He glanced at Lena. “We’ll have a word with them.” He looked at Greg, who nodded. “We have to head them off before there’s a massacre. Once these people get started, it’ll spread. It won’t stop with your place. They’ll hack down anything that moves.”

  He didn’t realize his face had gone white, his skin stretched taut as the memory of that terrible day flooded back to him.

  She gave him a curious glance. “This means a lot to you.”

  “A human slaughterhouse is never nice, and that’s what we’re facing.”

  She grimaced. “Do you speak Pashto?”

  “Not a word.”

  Apart from stuff like ‘whore’ and ‘whisky.’

  “I’ll come with you, otherwise they won’t understand what you’re saying. Perhaps I can persuade them.”

  “Bring along an M-60 and it might just do the trick,” Stoner muttered.

  “What is an M-60?”

  “Scares the hell out of Muslims.”

  “I’m a Muslim,” she said solemnly.

  “Not today, you’re not, lady. Not when you’re facing a bunch of Mohammeds with AK-47s. Let’s go. We’ll take the Jeep.”

  They went outside and climbed into the Wrangler. Lena took a seat in the back. He took out each Desert Eagle in turn and checked the loads. Greg picked up the Barratt and reached for an M4 A1 to give to Stoner. Then he slammed a fresh clip into the big sniper rifle, put several spares in his pockets, and took a Makarov pistol from under his coat.

  “It’s Russian,” he said with a note of pride.

  “Heap of shit,” Stoner mumbled, “Let’s run these whackos off the lady’s property, and we can get on with our business.”

  He started the engine, slammed the lever into drive, released the parking brake, and floored the gas pedal. The Jeep shot forward, and they raced over to the truck park adjacent to the airstrip. He turned his head to speak to her.

  “You should get those aircraft up in the sky. They can’t come to any harm when they’re off the ground. Call the pilots on your cell, and tell them to make it quick.”

  She grimaced as she held onto the rear of the driver’s seat to stop herself being thrown all over the interior of the racing Jeep. “I should have thought of that. I’ll do it now.”

  She made the call but was only able to raise Chow. She told him to get into the air and try to raise the other two pilots. She ended the call and was about to speak when they spotted the marchers. Stoner braked to a halt in the shadows of a warehouse. In the distance, they could see flaming torches and a shadowy mob moving toward them.

  “More like thirty than twenty,” Greg murmured.

  “Right. Take the Barratt and find somewhere you can keep the whole yard in view. Keep Archer with you as well. There may be some shooting. I’ll stay on the ground with Lena, and see if we can’t talk to them, get them to see sense. If you think anyone’s about to pull the trigger, blast ‘em. If something develops, I’ll touch my cap, in which case it’s open season.”

  Greg jogged away, and Archer went with him.

  “You can’t just shoot them. They’re local people,” she protested.

  “Sure, you’re gonna let them kill us all,” he said, “No one’s gonna shoot, unless they shoot first. They want to draw first blood, it’s their choice.”

  She didn’t reply.

  Maybe she’ll start to see her Muslim pals in a new light.

  He pushed her back and peered around the corner. Men were waving guns, the ubiquitous AK-47s that had caused more casualties in the world than the atom bomb. Teeth bared in snarls, shouts of, ‘Allahu Akhbar!’ It was so familiar.

  What is it with these people? Why are they so quick to the slaughter, to abuse women, to torture and murder their neighbors? Weird.

  He gripped his M4 A1 in his left hand and waited until they were close, only twenty meters away. Then he took her arm and pulled her with him out into the open. He muttered, “Translate what I say, and make sure they understand.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  He held up his right hand like a traffic cop. “Stop right there, folks. There’s no need for any violence.”

  He waited for her to shout it out in Pashto. They halted, shocked by the unexpected confrontation. Greg was right. There were thirty of them. He cursed Max Olin for underestimating their numbers.

  I would have brought something heavier, like a grenade or two!

  Someone shouted something back at him, a lean, weasely-looking man in the front of the mob. His words were hard and harsh, filled with menace and spite.

  “He says we’re to stand aside, or they’ll kill us,” she explained.

  “Yeah, I gathered it was something like that. Tell him we don’t want to hurt anyone. We just want them off your property. Now.”

  She shouted again, and this time the weasel laughed.

  “There’s no need to translate. I catch his drift. Tell him they must go back.”

  “Are you sure? There are so many of them.”

  “Tell them.”

  She called again, and the weasel looked even more amused. He shouted again, and she said, “We’re to get out of their way, or they’ll kill us.”

  The man raised his assault rifle, dragged back the cocking lever of the Kalashnikov, and pointed it at his guts. Stoner sighed. He’d have preferred to do it the easy way, but weasel face was having none of it. He had no choice. He reached up, slowly, smoothly, and brushed his cap.

  The .50 caliber round smacked out of the Barratt and smashed into the man’s chest. The impact threw him back into the crowd, and his stunned companions stared in disbelief at the damage caused by the heavy round. Another man had been standing behind the target, and he too went down, as the bullet exited from the victim and drilled into him.

  There was a stunned silence, as they contemplated the awful death that came out of the night, like a Djinn, the supernatural, fire-breathing creatures of Islamic mythology. Except no Djinn came accompanied by the thunder of a heavy caliber rifle shot. They stared at each other, uncertain. The seconds ticked by, and then Stoner watched the expressions on their faces start to change. He gripped Lena’s arm.

  “We’re about to make a move. Be ready on my word.”

  “Move where?”

  “Into cover.” He saw the first AK-47 barrel move barely a fraction. It was enough. He pulled her to the ground, just as the first shots cracked out and disappeared into the night. He knelt in front of her and pulled the trigger of the M4 A1. Two men in the front rank went down to his burst of shots. Greg put down another man before the rest of them scattered for cover and started to shoot back. The incoming fire was heavy, and he pushed her flat on the ground and slowly dragged her behind the cover of the warehouse.

  Bullets tore through the metal skin of the building, and his eyes widened. They’d hit his Jeep Wrangler. The window of the rear door was cracked and holed, and he suspected some of the bullets had ripped through the black leather upholstery.

  “Fuck!” he cursed, “They damaged my Jeep. What is it with these guys, why can’t they leave my Jeep alone?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re worried about a Jeep at a time like this?”

  “Too right I am. It’s only just come out of the shop after the last time they took pot shots at it.”

  They ducked as a further long burst of bullets shredded the aluminum side of the warehouse, and hot lead whistled past them in the dark. Before he could stop her, she moved to the corner of the building to peer around. More bursts of fire split the night, and she ducked back into cover.

  “Some of them must have run away. There’re about ten men still out there. They’re keeping low, shooting at something up on the roof.”

  “That’ll be Greg. Problem is, there’s nothing solid to hide behind. Are all these buildings made of thin sheet metal?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “In that case, he’ll need some help. He’s a sitting duck up there. Can you shoot?”


  She looked uncertain. “My father taught me how to shoot a rifle, but it was a long time ago.”

  “Time to remember the lessons.” He handed her the M4 A1, “I need you to poke the gun around the corner and pull the trigger, single shots to keep their heads down. Do it now.”

  Stoner ignored her protests and dragged out the two Desert Eagles. He spun on his heel and raced around the other side of the warehouse. He heard the sound of shooting, which announced she’d open fire, and he broke into a sprint. When he came around the building, he was behind them. Keeping low to make sure he didn’t catch a bullet from Lena’s sporadic fire, he fired a single warning shot from the Desert Eagle in his left hand. They froze and started to turn. He knew what they could see. Two huge automatics pointed at the Islamists, like the accusing fingers of a vengeful God; a wrathful God, a .50 caliber God.

  “Tell them it’s their last chance to go home, otherwise I’ll kill them all!” he shouted at Lena.

  She translated, but they were Islamists. Uppermost in their minds was the desire for blood, revenge, and death. One man started to take aim, and then another and another. He had no choice. He aimed the Desert Eagles and started to pull the triggers. They went down under that withering fire, eight men consigned to Paradise by their arrogant, ignorant stupidity.

  Greg finished the other two with shots from the Barratt, and suddenly the compound was quiet. There was only the distant sound of an aircraft engine warming up. Chow was preparing get the Otter in the air, out of harm’s way.

  Better late than never.

  He walked toward her, stepping over the bodies. She was looking down with distaste at a stream of blood only a meter from her feet. It had pooled in a narrow rut and was slowly running away to the edge of the yard.

  “I think we got them all,” he said to her, “It’s over, for now.”

  She was shaking her head in disbelief. “I can hardly believe it. Some of these men work for me. Used to work for me, whatever did I do to upset them?”

  “You were born a woman. That’s enough for most of these guys. You were also born wealthy. In a Muslim country, being wealthy and a woman makes you a target. It’s as simple as that.”

  He smiled as Archer ran up to him, barking and wagging his tail. If he needed it, the barks were a signal the threat from the men with guns had gone away. Greg joined them a few moments later and surveyed the grisly scene. His expression was grim.

  “They’ll be back.”

  “Probably.”

  Lena looked scared. “You think they’ll come back?”

  “As sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” Stoner replied, “Do you know if they were Sunnis or Shias?”

  She stared at the faces for a few moments. “Sunnis.”

  He nodded. “That's what I thought. Someone told them to come here, and that someone has to be the head honcho. Mullah Mahmoud Khan.”

  She gave him a worried look. “You’re still going after him?”

  “What else would I do? I made a promise.”

  “Killing Mullah Khan won’t be enough to head off another attack, especially after they put the fatwa on me.”

  Stoner shrugged. "Don’t worry. I'll stick around until it goes quiet. But first, I have business with Khan."

  "I'm going with you,” Blum said.

  Stoner shook his head. “There’s no need.”

  “I promised Faria I’d stay with you and watch your back,” he replied, “My friend, we need more men. He’ll pack a lot of firepower, that Mullah.”

  “You’re right. That means Black Bob and his boys,” Stoner nodded, “I’ll give him a call. In the meantime, we need to shove these bodies out of sight, and get this lady safely home.”

  It took them almost a half hour to tidy up the scene of the skirmish. Lena found them a handcart, and they used it to load the bodies. They carried them to a nearby store where they were at least out of sight. After that, it was a case of clearing away as much of the detritus of battle as they could in a short time. She switched on the overhead yard lights, and they picked up weapons and equipment, even pieces of clothing and personal possessions dropped by the fallen. When they’d finished, the yard at least had a semblance of normality.

  Lena climbed into the back seat of the Wrangler, and Stoner was about to go to the driver’s seat when he saw she was shaking. No doubt the aftermath of the shooting, he knew it was something she wasn’t used to. A soldier was at least able to deal with the worst of it until it was all over. Besides, a soldier had other men in his unit, friends to talk to, to share their experiences and even out the horror.

  Yet for her, it was anything but over. He knew it, and she knew it.

  “Greg, you drive. Lena doesn’t look too good.”

  She didn’t object when he climbed into the rear seat and took her in his arms. Her body felt good, and she smelled sweet, but he kept his mind on the target. Mullah Khan, the son of a bitch who’d ordered the killing of the girl he loved more than anything else in the world. It occurred to him Lena Stori wasn’t all that different from Madeleine Charpentier, petite, pretty, and with the courage of a lion.

  When it mattered, she stood with me to face down a bunch of armed hostiles. That took guts. Real guts. Madeleine had real guts. So does Lena.

  Greg drove them back to the house, and he kept his arm around her to shepherd her inside. He sat her down on the sofa and asked Greg to keep an eye out for any further trouble, while he made the call.

  Bob Crawford answered his cellphone after the first ring. It was no surprise. When people called Black Bob and his men, it was life or death. Always. He’d read Stoner’s name from the incoming call.

  “Stoner, what can I do for you?”

  “I need you, Bob. How’re you fixed right now?”

  “We’re between jobs, me and the boys. What’s up?”

  “I’m in Panjab. It’s just the usual.”

  He chuckled. “That means the Mohammeds are on the rampage.”

  “Yeah, something like that. How soon can you get out here?”

  “Hey, hold on there, partner. What kind of money are we talking here?”

  “Hang on.” He looked at Lena. “Bob and his men don’t come cheap. Are you prepared to pay?”

  She looked up. “Anything. If they can help, please get them here.”

  He had a sudden thought. “They’re in Jbad right now. Can you send Chow to pick them up in the Otter?”

  She nodded. “He just took off to keep the aircraft safe. I can get him on the radio and tell him to change course for Jalalabad International.”

  “Do it.”

  He spoke to Crawford again. “The pay is top rate, and there’ll be a de Havilland Otter at Jalalabad inside of an hour. Can do?”

  “You got it. Do we need anything special?”

  “A lot of bullets.”

  Another chuckle. “That comes with the territory, Stoner. We’ll be there. So long.”

  He ended the call and waited for Lena to return. She’d disappeared to another part of the house to use the radio, and she came back after a few minutes.

  “I spoke to Chow. He’s on the way.”

  “Good. In the meantime, I suggest you get yourself some rest. Me and Greg will keep an eye on things here.”

  Her eyes flared with fear. “You think they’ll be back soon?”

  “Maybe. They’ll be sore, but they won’t give up, not now. I need to kill Khan. That’ll slow them down.”

  She shuddered. “I only wish the killing wasn’t so necessary.”

  “Me, too. Problem is, these ragheads don’t agree.”

  She looked irritated at his pejorative tone. “I wish you wouldn’t call them ragheads, I’m a Muslim as well. It insults me when you call them names like ragheads and Mohammeds.”

  “How about the insult when the Mohammeds start shooting at you? When they loot and destroy your property, wreck everything you’ve worked for? I guess that doesn’t insult you.”

  His tone
was harsh, and he regretted it almost as soon as the words had left his mouth. He had reason to feel sore, but the tough welcome to the city of Panjab wasn’t her fault.

  “Can we beat them? There are so many of them.”

  He stared back at her. “You’ve forgotten something, Lena. They’re not your only problem. There’s also the matter of the gold.”

  “Ivan,” she breathed.

  “Yeah, Ivan.”

  She held his gaze for a few seconds. “Can you help? You saved me from a catastrophe out there, but without the gold, I may as well lock up my warehouses, close up the house, and leave town.”

  “It’s not what I came here for.”

  “I know.”

  He sighed. “I made a promise.”

  “I know that, too.”

  Eventually, he said, “Okay, I’ll do what I can. When Black Bob gets here, he can keep an eye on things while I go talk with him.”

  “Ivan?”

  “Ivan the Terrible, yeah.”

  Chapter Four

  Mullah Khan watched the last of his men trickle in. He was aghast. He’d sent twenty-eight fighters to assault the Stori compound and make the stubborn woman see sense. Imam Mazari had assigned two of his best men to accompany them, a token of Shiite cooperation. After all, a lot was at stake. Mazari’s future wife, at least his third wife, together with a sizeable fortune and the means to pacify his Hezbe Wahdat allies, or at least to fend off some of their demands. Since the devastation caused by the ISAF forces in the country, with the resultant political fallout, they were desperate to rebuild their fortunes.

  They only had one way to restock their coffers with cash. Drugs, the hard currency of Afghanistan, and they had opium in huge quantities. Plucked from remote fields, the product cultivated by labor that was low paid at best. At worst, it was forced. The problem was distribution, and the solution, Stori Transport. He needed money as badly as Ali Mazari.

  Once the marriage had taken place, it would be different. His Sunni fighters outnumbered the Shias by a factor of almost fifty-to-one. It would only need an accident to befall Imam Mazari, and his widow would need another husband to replace him. This time a Sunni, a mullah even, a man like himself. He turned as Mazari walked through the door; it was his turn to sneer.