The Warlord of Tora Bora

by Eric Meyer

  “Stoner, move it. They’re dying up there.”

  “Right away.”

  He followed them outside. The battle still raged on the mountainside, and Tarzi’s group was pouring heavy fire up at the mercenaries. Further up the slope, Ivan’s men returned fire in a desperate effort to keep the insurgents from overrunning them. The battle was being lost, and the mercenaries had no choice but to retreat further up the mountain, away from Tarzi’s men, beneath the target area of the B-52s on the way to flatten the area.

  He identified three separate positions where piles of fallen rock would offer some protection for a shooter. Akram nodded as he pointed them out. “We can hit them hard from there, and they’ll find it difficult to dislodge us. But they’ll try, and they’ll send men back down to hit us. This is going to be more than tough.”

  “We’ll have to be even tougher. Sara, over there, and wait for my order to open fire.”

  Her glance was scathing, but she jogged toward the position he’d indicated. A limited view of the slope, but she’d be more protected from incoming fire than the other two positions he’d selected. Akram took a position fifty meters to the west, a little higher up the slope, and Stoner climbed to the highest position. He took cover behind the rocks, rested the bipod stand of the weapon in a convenient niche, and glanced back at the others. They were ready.

  He made a rapid calculation. The enemy was in a loose group about three hundred meters away and eighty meters above. He tried to remember what he’d learned years ago about shooting uphill, recalling the words of an old instructor whose skill with a rifle was legendary.

  ‘When a bullet’s path is angled high or low, remember that trajectory suffers less of a downward bend and the bullet flies on a straighter path. However, bullets hit high when shooting both down and up.’ The rule was simple. Shooting upward, aim low.

  He sighted up at a group of insurgents, aimed low, and squeezed the trigger. An instant later, the other two RPD machine guns joined in, and a torrent of bullets arced up the slope. The effect was instantaneous. Pandemonium, and at least two men fell as the others raced to find cover from the unexpected attack from their rear. When they showed themselves, some fell to the furious fire from Ivan’s men, and they retreated. Back into the bullets of the three RPDs, and more fighters fell. But someone up there had kept his head, Tarzi maybe, or even Wayne Evers. Men dove for cover, and a minute later, the slope looked empty.

  He waited. They all waited, and the area was silent. Not a single shot, nor a shouted command or scream of a wounded man, not even a bird screeching its anger at the humans who’d invaded its habitat. Minutes drifted by, and five minutes later the firing restarted. They hadn’t been idle. Bullets flew from less than a hundred and fifty meters away, and Stoner’s group had to duck low to avoid the flying lead and chips of stone the bullets threw up.

  They’d been quick to recover, and he was convinced Evers was running things up there. Whoever it was had split his men into three groups, and a moment later they charged at the machine guns. Other insurgents had remained in position to fire long bursts to keep their heads down. He peeked through a gap in the rock from where he could watch them get closer. They’d split again, and two men blazed away on full auto while two others raced forward under the covering fire. Then the two men behind them leapfrogged past while the two men left behind repeated the process. Classic military tactics, and it almost never failed.

  He popped up and let loose a long burst that hit one man, but they were even nearer, and the advantage of the three machine guns was almost stymied by the tactic of attacking behind covering fire. He estimated they had no more than minutes before they were overwhelmed, and then he saw more of Tarzi’s men racing down the mountainside to join in the fight. Stoner’s group had taken the pressure off Ivan’s mercs, but it had worked too well. Tarzi’s entire group had turned on them. And then something occurred to him.

  What is Ivan doing? Why isn’t he supporting us?

  They’d disappeared, and he strained to look higher, assuming they’d started climbing to escape. Although it wasn’t likely, knowing hundreds of tons of bombs were about to fall on the slope, so where were they? They had to have gone to ground for some reason, which seemed like a crazy idea. They’d die in a nightmare of high-explosive. A second later, the incoming fire increased, and again he ducked down low.

  Ivan, where are you?

  Bullets were spattering the rock all around him as the enemy drew close. He searched for a place they could retreat to; somewhere they could regroup away from the enemy about to surround them. He found nowhere and decided to join Sara to defend her to the last. He picked up the machine gun and raced across to her position, dodging the incoming fire plucking at his heels. When he threw himself down beside her, she finished emptying a drum of bullets at the oncoming hostiles and glanced at him.

  “You know what we’ve done? Brought a hornets’ nest around our ears, and for some reason, Ivan hasn’t followed up. He should have hit them from behind when they came at us.”

  “Forget Ivan. We have to save ourselves.”

  “How? There’s no place we can go, not without them picking us off as we run.”

  “There is one place.”

  “Where?”

  He pointed, and she gasped. “The caves? You’re crazy. Akram said the bombers are about to unload overhead.”

  “Not yet. We don’t have a choice, Sara. It’s that or nothing.”

  She sighed. “Okay, call it when you’re ready.”

  “You loaded?”

  She slammed a spare drum into the RPD. “I am now.”

  “Me, too. One moment.”

  Her waved to Akram, who was watching them. Pointed toward the cave, and he nodded an acknowledgement. Stoner glanced at Sara. “Hit them now, everything you have. Then we run.”

  They opened fire, and Akram added his machine gun to the weight of bullets thrashing around the enemy position. Stoner’s weapon emptied. He catapulted to his feet and shouted, “Now!”

  They raced across the open ground and sprinted toward the dark mouth of the cave. Halfway, the hostiles realized their intention and opened fire. But they were firing directly downhill, and evidently hadn’t learned the same lessons as Stoner had from the marksman who’d trained him. The insurgents’ fire went high, whistling overhead. They reached the cave without taking any hits and ducked inside, away from the gunfire raking the area in increasing intensity. They reloaded ready to defend themselves when the enemy appeared.

  Sara looked at him. “Are you sure this is a good idea? How will we get out before the bombs start to fall?”

  He realized Akram was watching intently. No doubt the same question was in the forefront of his mind. Truth was, it was in the forefront of his mind, too.

  “All I know is if we’d stayed out there, we’d be dead. Maybe we’ll get a chance to sneak away later.”

  The Afghan’s eyebrows rose. “In broad daylight, with fifty or sixty men blocking us?”

  He looked at Sara, and back at the Afghan. “This was our only option. Maybe we can get out higher up the mountain. There are other exits.”

  She grimaced. “Stoner, would that be the same mountain they’re about to drop the bombs on?”

  “Sure, but if we emerge higher up the slope, we can try to sneak away.”

  “And how long would that take?”

  A shrug. “A few hours.”

  “We don’t have a few hours.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Akram, go check out the armory, see what else they have in there. Maybe there’s something we can use.”

  “Like an M1 Abrams?”

  “Just do it, for Christ’s sake.”

  He left, and her eyes were still on him. She looked strained. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

  “Not to come back to this place?”

  She smiled. “That, too, but the B-52s coming in, they said they’re out of Guam.”

  “So?”

  “My bro
ther is in command of a B-52 squadron based on Guam. It’ll be him leading the bombers in.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re here?”

  “There’s no way he could know.”

  “Right. Listen, Sara, we’re not done yet. We’ll get out of this place, somehow. I don’t know exactly how, but I know we will.”

  “If we get out of here, what then?”

  Even under fire, in the back of nowhere and threatened with imminent death, he picked up a different note in her voice. After all, she was a woman, and a very beautiful and sensuous woman. One section of his mind got to thinking.

  If only…But what’s the point of thinking about the ‘ifs’? None. We have what we have, and we missed our chance once before. This time I’m just throwing out false hope. We won’t get out of here, but at least she doesn’t have to spend her final hours in abject terror.

  He gave her a grin, and it wasn’t too forced. “And then I’ll treat you to a slap-up meal, book into the best hotel in town, and we’ll pound the mattress the whole night?”

  She grinned. “I’d like that. Except…”

  “There’s no except. We’ll beat this, believe me.”

  He stopped thinking about the ‘and then.’ If they were going to find a way out, they ought to get started. “I’ll go look for Akram, see what he found in the armory, then we start moving. How much ammo do you have left?”

  “One drum.”

  “That’ll have to be enough for now. Cover the entrance. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He made a few meters along the rocky passage and stopped as Akram came hurtling toward him at a run. “What is it?”

  “Trouble. They’re coming down through the cave system from above. I’d guess we have five minutes at most before they reach us.”

  “We can’t go forward, and we can’t go back. Shit, we need a Plan B. What did you find in the armory?”

  “The usual, assault rifles, plenty of ammo, more machine guns. Several RPGs.”

  “Okay, grab as many RPGs as you can carry. We’ll hit them with the rockets, as they get nearer. Kill as many as we can, and bring down the roof to stop any more getting to us. Then we’ll go back out front and use the rockets to put a scare into them.”

  “You think that’ll work?”

  No, I don’t think it’ll work, not in a million years. But what else do we have?

  “Sure it’ll work. Find a place further up the tunnel where we can see them coming and prepare the rockets. I’ll warn Sara. Tell her what’s going on.”

  He nodded and raced away. Stoner returned to the cave entrance where she lay behind the RPD. She'd balanced the weapon on a flat rock that would also give her some protection from incoming fire.

  She didn’t look too happy. “What about the men out front?”

  “When we’ve blocked the tunnel, we’ll hit them with rockets. Clear a path through them and go out that way.”

  She frowned. “You know I was an infantry officer?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t bullshit me. That plan won’t work, and we won’t make it.”

  “It’s possible,” he insisted, “Hit these bastards hard enough, and we’ll slice through them and get away.”

  “Stoner, it could work, except for one tiny problem. We’d need a lot more men.”

  “We’ll have to manage. I’ll go back and help Akram set up the ambush. Stay here, and if I hear a lot of shooting, I’ll run back and lend you a hand.”

  “You might bring more drums for the RPD. We’re going to need them.”

  “Sure, I’ll bring plenty of ammo. Enough to hold them.”

  She grimaced. “They should rename this place.”

  “Rename it what?”

  “The Alamo.”

  He raced away. Past the armory, and two hundred meters up the passage Akram waited, sheltering just before a bend in the tunnel that would protect them when they fired the RPG.

  “Anything?”

  “Listen.”

  He cocked his ears and in the silence heard them coming. Footsteps on the rocky floor of the passage, the muted murmur of men’s voices, and the scrape of equipment on the rocky sides as they progressed down through the caves. Akram hoisted the launcher on his shoulder. Stoner readied the RPD, just in case, but left it and waited with a second missile ready to load if they needed a second shot.

  Akram murmured, “You know there isn’t any way out of this? Even if we block the tunnel, kill a few and stop them getting to us, we’ll never get out the front way. They’re just sitting there, waiting for us to appear.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “We’re going to die in here.”

  “We could charge outside and take a few with us.”

  He looked skeptical. “Why bother? The bombs will get them anyway.”

  “Pride.”

  “Yes, pride. Perhaps you are right. We should go down fighting, and know that win or lose, our enemies will be destroyed.”

  He grimaced.

  Akram, that doesn’t give me much comfort.

  “Just don’t mention it to Sara. Let her live her final hours with hope.”

  “She’ll have worked it out, Stoner.”

  “Still…”

  * * *

  Gibbons was suffering. Wracked with guilt over what he was about to do. For the first time in his career, he doubted the rectitude of what he did, wondering if he should have considered doing something different. Right then flying as a bush pilot in the snowy wastes of Alaska sounded good. No bomb bay loaded with high-explosive, no worries about dropping the bombs on a family member. He considered resigning and heading north. He’d need a floatplane ticket, but that aside, he had the pilot hours to turn his hand to anything with wings.

  Problem was that was for the future. It was what happened now that mattered. Not killing his sister, like the plot of some ancient drama, where he’d be doomed to encounter her in the future as a ghost, forever returning to accuse her brother of her murder.

  What is it they call it? I read it in a book somewhere. Sororicide, yeah, that’s it. Dear God, what do I do? I want her to live. I want to see her face again. A real, live Sara Carver. Not some ghost.

  He blinked and focused his attention on Myron Reid, who had the controls and was about to hand over.

  “I’m about to head, Major. Make sure everything’s prepared for the drop. Anything you need? Fresh coffee, a doughnut?”

  He felt too sick to eat or drink. “Nothing, I’m good.”

  “I’ll be ten minutes.”

  He left the cockpit, and Gibbons looked around. The other aircrew, weapon systems officer, navigator, and electronic warfare officer were tucked away in their tiny curtained compartments. They’d carried out their checks, and most would be drinking coffee, maybe catching up on reports or letters on their electronic pads. The cockpit was empty of prying eyes. He pressed buttons on the console to activate the onboard computer system, and spent a few minutes checking out coordinates for navigation to target. As the lead aircraft, he could and did transmit the numbers to the other aircraft in his squadron, to ensure they all dropped on the same spot. A way to maximize the devastation of a bombing raid, instead of having the bombs distribute over a wide area.

  But he still couldn’t rid himself of the guilt, and when Reid returned, he looked concerned.

  “What is it, Major? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. The ghost of Tora Bora,” he chuckled, “Like the Phantom of the Opera. Maybe they should make a musical, sound effects courtesy of your friendly B-52 crews.”

  “That isn’t funny, Myron.”

  Reid flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I’ll shut up.”

  “Yeah, do that.”

  They flew on. With every minute, every kilometer, he felt worse.

  * * *

  He kept his voice low, they were that close. “Stand by, another few seconds and they’ll be in sight.”

  Akram nodded. They were out in the open to get a clear shot.
The next bend in the tunnel was about eighty meters away. When they rounded it, he’d squeeze the trigger, and they’d duck back before the missile exploded. He had the machine gun at his side and a spare rocket in his hands, in case by some miracle the first one didn’t do enough damage or misfired. The machine gun if everything else failed.

  “Almost there. Five seconds, and they’ll round that corner. Fire and duck back. It’s gonna be close.”

  “I’m ready.”

  The voices were louder now, and he heard something that triggered a memory in his brain. At first, he couldn’t make it out, and his mind continued to process the data echoing from further along the tunnel. Two seconds away. Then it came to him, and he swung around to Akram. “Don’t fire. It’s Ivan.”

  “Ivan? But how?”

  Then they appeared. Eighty meters away, and even in the dim light, he could see the familiar lean, muscular figure, the leather jacket and the typical hard, ruthless expression. He was about shout the order to his men to open fire, but Stoner got there first.

  “Ivan, it’s us! Don’t shoot?”

  “Who is us?”

  “Stoner and Akram.”

  “You! Yob tvoy mat, I don’t believe it.” Stoner couldn’t resist a smile. Even in adversity Ivan persisted with the fake Russian cursing, “I thought you were dead.”

  “Almost.”

  They came up to them, and he looked worried. “Where’s Sara?”

  Her jerked a thumb. “She’s guarding the cave entrance with a machine gun. Tarzi’s men are out there, and there’re plenty of them. How many mercs do you have left?”

  He sobered. “A dozen mercs, plus me and Gorgy, that’s it. They hit us hard on that mountainside. I guess Akram told you the bombers are on the way.”

  “He did. We must get back to the cave entrance and find a way out of here. Like mighty fast.”