The Warlord of Tora Bora

by Eric Meyer

  It was as if he hadn’t spoken. “Yes. I will take you to Sheikh Tarzi. He will want to deal with you.”

  He was still struggling to believe what he was hearing. “I still don’t get it. You helped us get away from the cave and killed several of his men. You’re confused about all this, Wayne, can’t you see that?”

  Again his eyes glazed over. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, shaking his head, as if to clear it. Stuttered a word, then another, and finally he spoke, “I was confused, but now I know what to do. We’re going back.”

  He’s insane. The problem is making him see it.

  “Tarzi has played mind games with your head, Wayne. He’s a nasty, psychotic little shit. Don’t you…”

  His eyes narrowed, the rifle jabbed into his belly, and he doubled over. “Sheikh Tarzi is a good man. He means to free Afghanistan from the yoke of foreign oppression. And return it to what it once was, blessed by God.”

  “Bullshit. He’s crazy, and he’s got into your head.”

  “No, no, he’s a great man.”

  Stoner reflected how for fifteen years he’d been a hermit, living in the mountains above Tora Bora, after his Marine unit went home without him. Fifteen years can do a lot to drive a man off his head, and he cursed himself for not realizing how fragile Evers’ mental state was. Somewhere deep inside his brain, there was something askew. Still, whatever the reason, he’d become an enemy, and his rifle barrel was pointed at his belly. Wayne Evers had betrayed a trust. The former marine had become a traitor.

  “If you believe he’s a great man, you’ll believe anything. He’s turned you into a traitor, and if I had the chance, I’d rip your guts out through your throat.”

  He didn’t respond. “Turn around and start walking down the slope. You can leave your weapon on the path. My people will collect it later.”

  My people!

  He had no choice. Stoner walked slowly downhill, each step bringing him closer to the man he’d come to kill. Wayne’s rifle barrel prodded his back the whole way. Tarzi’s men met them halfway down, escorted them to the bottom of the slope, and they entered the cave system. Mohammed Tarzi was waiting for him, grinning from ear to ear.

  “So, Mr. Stoner, you are back and about to meet your fate. There was never any doubt, the message from God made it clear you would die soon. All that remains is to determine the way you leave this Earth, and how painful I decide to make it. Have you reconsidered submitting to Allah’s mercy?”

  He returned his cold stare. “How did you get this message?”

  “How? What do you mean?”

  “This message from God. I mean, are you on email, do you use a cellphone, or what?”

  Tarzi glared, his face beetroot. Nodded to a guard, and the man rammed a rifle butt into his injured back. “Your words are heresy, infidel. Do you know the punishment for heresy?”

  “Death?”

  “Death,” he gloated, “What else?”

  “Thing is, I’m not sure how this works. Which comes first, the death sentence you already imposed on me, or this new one for heresy? I mean; you can’t kill a corpse, can you? Did your message tell you that?”

  “I warn you…”

  “Yeah, well, fuck you! Listen to me, shithead. My people are coming for you. You may kill me, but there’re a hundred others, a thousand others, and you should start counting the days, pal, because you don’t have many left. Your glorious jihad is going to be a damp squib. It’s going straight down the toilet.”

  He turned to Wayne. “And you should think again, you sad bastard. Your pitiful hero Tarzi here is nothing more than a dribbling, psychotic, self-obsessed killer. If he weren’t going down in the near future, they’d certify him. I’d think seriously before you decide who you’re going to listen to.”

  Evers looked even more confused, and Tarzi was glowing like hot coals. They dragged him away, using fists and boots to inflict pain, their leader screaming obscenities and threats behind him. The guards tossed him into a different cell, a larger room than before, and chained him to manacles set into the wall. They didn’t leave him alone, but stayed with him. Four men, two inside the cell with their gun barrels aimed at him, and two outside. Shackled, and under the guns, he wasn’t going anywhere. The chains allowed him to sit, but there was not enough length for him to lie down. He squatted on the hard, uneven floor, and the guards watched every movement. He ignored them, couldn’t do anything about them, so they were of no consequence.

  He suffered an entire night in the cold cave, wondering about Sara and Greg. Once or twice he managed to doze, but in the morning, he was stiff and had to struggle to regain some fluidity of movement. He was also thirsty and hungry, but no one brought him so much as a drink of water. The interior of the cave system began to come to life, and shortly after, Tarzi arrived, accompanied by two armed guards and Wayne Evers.

  “I have decided on your punishment, infidel.” His lips stretched in the characteristic sneer.

  “Is this for trying to kill you, or heresy?”

  “You’re making things worse for yourself, Mr. Stoner.”

  “Is that right? You think I give a shit!”

  The Islamist leader waved his insults away and beckoned to a guard, who pulled a long, sharp dagger out of his sash. He gave it to Evers. “My friend, as a loyal Muslim convert, the honor of killing this man will fall to you. Cut his throat.”

  Evers took the blade and stared at it with fascination. “You want me to…cut his throat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes were far away, maybe thinking about the last time Stoner and he had been together, fighting for their lives, back to back, against overwhelming odds. That kind of action creates an esprit de corps that is hard to ignore. The room was silent, and they waited. Tarzi tapped his foot and looked at his wristwatch. Stoner knew the pressure Evers would feel he was under. Until at last, he shook his head, and forced a smile.

  “I have a better idea, my Sheikh. One that will appeal to you much more, and give some of your fighters a chance to sharpen their skills.”

  “Go on.”

  “As I said before, many of your men need a chance to improve their shooting. You are aware of my military specialty.”

  “A sniper, yes, I know.”

  “Right. Your fighters need to learn how best to carry out their holy tasks. I can teach them how to shoot straight, and the best way is against a human target. When it gets light, we’ll take him out, and tie him to a post, downrange. I’ll show your men how to kill a human target, just like they’ll need when they go out to fight the jihad.”

  The Sheikh stroked his beard, thoughtful. “I’m not sure. It would be better if he died immediately.”

  “I assure you that shooting a real, live target makes all the difference. The woman, too, she’s still up there on the slope. I’ll take some of your men and bring her back here. She will make a second human target. You have scores of men in these caves who have yet to be in action. They will have a chance to experience the real thing.”

  “I thought there were two people left up there, a man and a woman.”

  Evers shrugged. “The man is as good as dead. He’s not worth the effort. He’ll be dead within hours. A waste of time.”

  Stoner felt his anger and outrage reach a crescendo. The rage that had been building ever since the former Marine sniper revealed himself as a traitor. Now this, he intended to murder Sara, and leave Greg to lie a lonely, cold, and painful death. He leapt at the traitor, and the chains stopped him.

  “You worthless piece of crap, Evers. I promise you, when Tarzi gets his, you’ll be right behind him. Your career as a murderer is gonna be mighty short.”

  “It is in Allah’s hands,” he said, his voice gentle. As if he’d accepted his fate was controlled by some mythical being who gave orders to a miscellaneous band of stone killers. But Mohammed Tarzi still looked doubtful, and he addressed his next comments to him.
“My Sheikh, he has killed many of our Muslim brothers, and now it is time to repay the blood debt. When it is light, we’ll set up the target, him and the girl, and they can shoot at them. Offer a prize to the man who kills each of them first.”

  After another pause, Tarzi smiled and nodded. “Very well, take some men and bring the girl down here. She can watch him die first. When his body is riddled with bullets, then it will be her turn.”

  They left the cell, and he hung from the chains, still under the gaze of the guards, alone with his sense of hopelessness. How could he have been so wrong about Evers? He’d trusted him, believed he was on their side, and the stab in the back was ten times worse than the vicious flogging that had cut deep into his body. What could he do? Making threats was easy, and they made him feel better. Except they were empty, and Tarzi was aware they were baseless. He would die tomorrow, and Sara would watch before they shot her, too. Greg alone in the cave, his lifeblood leaking out onto the rock floor until he breathed his last.

  Strange, after all he’d been through. The people close to him who’d perished over the years, and each time he’d wanted to join them. To end his life, end the pointless, miserable stupidity of his existence. Now he felt different. He would die. He knew he would die, but strangely, he felt for the first time that he wanted to live, and there was nothing he could do about it. All of them dead, victims of the Islamic thirst for blood. Always more blood, and not one of them gave a damn whose blood it was, or where it came from. Suddenly, he felt ashamed. He was behaving like a frightened kid. It was time to start thinking like a soldier.

  Okay, there may not be a way out, that doesn’t have to stop me trying. That’s the way the SEALs trained me. Never give up, not until the last bad guy is dead. And there are a lot of bad guys.

  * * *

  She looked up and smiled as Evers entered the tiny shelter. “Wayne, I thought something had happened to you. Is Stoner okay?” He didn’t reply, and she looked at his face intently, at the glazed eyes, “Is something wrong?”

  “Sara Carver, you are a prisoner of Sheikh Mohammed Tarzi. You will come with us, and tomorrow you will meet the fate which is prescribed for infidels.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Wayne, what is the matter with you? You sound like one of them.” At that moment, two men entered the cave behind him. She glanced at the beards, the robes, the turbans, and she paled, “You are one of them.”

  He nodded. “One of Allah’s chosen, yes. You will come with us.”

  Her face tightened in a fierce expression. “What about Greg? I have to stay with him.”

  “You will do as I say! Leave your friend to die here. It makes little difference.”

  “Wayne, I must take care of Greg. He’s…”

  She walked toward him, her arms waving at the almost lifeless body on the floor. He drew his arm back and smashed a hard fist into her belly. She expelled the air from her lungs and collapsed to the floor. He gestured to the two guards.

  “Bring her down to the cave. Leave this man here.”

  “Should we kill him first? It would be more merciful.”

  “Let him die here. He should suffer for his sins.”

  They shrugged. “As you say.”

  They picked her up from the ground and dragged her outside. Took and arm each, and began manhandling her back down the slope, deaf to her pleas to let her return and tend to the severely wounded man. Back in the tiny cave, Evers peered down at Greg. He knelt close to him and listened to his breathing. Checked the state of the dressing, and he was satisfied he was very close to death. Although he’d begun to respond to the antibiotics, and in his opinion they were keeping the blood poisoning at bay, although for how long was a moot point. In the end he decided to call some of the men back and take him down to the cave as well. He then left to walk back down the slope, to his master. Sheikh Mohammed Tarzi. And to his destiny.

  * * *

  One man fell into the rocky chasm, and it was a tribute to his strength and discipline that he didn’t cry out. Ivan had promised double rate, but only on condition each man did what he required, which meant no noise. Make a sound, and the bonus was cancelled. He was an older Afghan by the name of Abu Khalid, with a wife and six children, out of a total of ten his wife had given birth to. They had lived for many years in abject poverty and squalor until he started work with Ivan. Since then, they’d had food in their bellies, clothes on their backs, and even the roof of their stone dwelling had been repaired. His last act was to ensure they had money to enable them to survive the winter, and a few more besides.

  “He was a good man,” Akram said, his voice low and respectful.

  “Sure he was, but I need live men, not good men,” Ivan muttered, “Now let’s move on, hurry it up, find these suckers, and kill them.”

  “And get them out of here before those bombs start to drop.”

  “Amen to that.”

  They moved silently around the side of the rocky hillside, working around the flank of the watching men. It had taken too long. Dawn was breaking, and already men were emerging from the caves, assembling in the open ground. They counted almost sixty, and they knelt to bow their foreheads low.

  “Morning prayers,” Ivan muttered, “Now would be a good time to take them. Right when they stick their asses in the air. That’s what I call a sitting target.”

  Akram didn’t smile. “Except you’ve forgotten twenty men back there, who’d come charging back the moment the shooting starts.”

  “We could take them, Akram.”

  “And the other men up on the mountain?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah, well, I was just surmising, that’s all. We’ll wait and see what happens, and choose a time to hit them later.”

  They watched even more insurgents exit the cave mouth, and then his jaw tightened. They dragged Stoner and Sara Carver out in chains, and willing hands shoved them roughly across the open ground. Two hundred meters from the cave entrance, two tall posts had been driven into the ground, ten meters apart. They reached the poles, and fastened Stoner to one and Sara to the other.

  “It’s a fucking firing squad.”

  Gorgy dropped down beside him, and he tapped him on the shoulder. Pointed to the cave mouth, and to his amazement, Wayne emerged. He wasn’t in chains, and he carried an assault rifle. Just like the other insurgents.

  “Are my eyes deceiving me, or has that bastard joined the enemy?”

  “Your eyes don’t deceive you. He’s joined them.”

  Ivan spat on the ground. “When I get hold of him, I’ll, I’ll…” He floundered for words, “I’ll work it out later, but that piece of shit is going to suffer!”

  His rage boiled, and they could see what he wanted more than anything was to charge in and kill Evers. But he held back. They had a greater priority. To save the two people tied to the posts. So far there was no sign of a firing party anywhere close. He got his next big surprise when ten of the men who’d finished their prayers lay on the ground in a line, facing the posts, each clutching a rifle. He wondered if they were praying for help with their shooting. They loaded their rifles and took aim. All of a sudden, it dawned on him what they were up to.

  “It’s fucking target practice. Jesus Christ, I’ve seen it all now.”

  At a word of command, the ten men fired, and not one bullet came near the targets. Bullets chewed up dirt from the ground, whistled overhead, and went anywhere except where they were intended to go. And then Evers stepped into their midst and began giving them orders.

  “He’s a sniper,” Gorgy reminded him, “He’ll be teaching them how to correct their aim and shoot straight. They don’t have long.”

  Ivan nodded. Now he was up against two time constraints, the bombers incoming from Guam, due in hours, and the two American tied to the posts. They had minutes at best. What to do? Every man was looking at the posts with their helpless victims. It was as good an opportunity as they’d ever get. He glanced at Gorgy and waved Akram over. Explained what they were
going to do, and they both looked relieved.

  Gorgy said, “I thought you were going to hang them out to dry, Boss.”

  He looked pained. “Me? You can’t be serious.”

  He shrugged. “Course not.”

  “Damn right. If I left them to die, my retirement plan would be in ruins. But we need to make our move. If we don’t hurry, those B-52s will be dumping their bombs on our heads. Here’s how we’ll play it.”

  His plan was simple. Keep working around their flank until they were close enough to blast them point-blank. Except for Akram, ordered to crawl in the opposite direction and free the two prisoners from the posts. Then get them into cover for when the shooting started, and the shit hit the fan.

  He took two spare pistols from a merc and handed them to him. “Take these handguns, so they’ll have something to defend themselves with. And make sure you keep that girl’s head down when the shooting starts. My bosses want to keep her alive.”

  “Worried about your retirement plan?”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  Akram set out toward the prisoners, and Gorgy crawled across to the waiting mercenaries. He explained Ivan’s plan to them, especially the most important part. The traitor.

  “You all know Wayne Evers, the American who’s gone over to them. Ivan said no one’s to touch him. He’s gonna roast his ass when he gets near enough. The others are fair game.”

  “What about the leader, the guy who’s giving the orders?”

  Gorgy nodded. “Mohammed Tarzi. The guy who reckons he’s their new prophet, sent from God or something. If you get the chance, send him home. God’s welcome to him.”

  They grinned and started toward the enemy. Keeping low, taking a long, wide detour.

  The insurgents were terrible shots, which was just as well for Stoner and Sara. Ivan took up a position where he could see everything. The amateur shooters, the two posts with their human targets tied to them, and Wayne Evers. He waited for his moment while monitoring Akram’s progress. Waited for the right moment, and it came when the shooters were reloading. Their rifles were empty, and he gave the order.