Another couple of bullets whacked into the engine block of the Mitsubishi, and John scrambled backward, then rolled across to the far side of the vehicle, putting as much of the vehicle between him and Abu Mujahid as possible.
More fire came from the pickup, but it wasn’t aimed at him. John turned his head to look for Karam. He was flat in the ditch again. John slid over and peered around the side of the pickup. The remaining fighter wasn’t even bothering to aim, staying hidden and holding his AK at arm’s length above the cab, firing wildly in John’s general direction.
There was a shout from John’s right, followed by an answer from the pickup. John looked out again, and a hail of bullets rained into the dirt to his left. He rolled back in front of the vehicle as another round of fire hit the dirt to his right. Shit. He pulled his legs into his chest, pressing himself up against the front bumper. He was hyperventilating, fighting to gain control of his breathing as his hands and legs trembled with adrenaline. He was pinned down and couldn’t go left or right.
Then he noticed the engine noise and looked up to see the Hyundai mini-truck speeding toward him. The windshield starred as it drew fire from the H.T.S. pickup, but it kept on coming. John stared in horror, the truck showing no signs of stopping. The driver’s door opened, and John saw a figure leap out. The sight spurred John into action, and he leaped to the side, rolling off the road into the field as the truck plowed into the Mitsubishi, forcing it backward toward the pickup. John rolled over twice, wincing as stones dug into his sides. He oriented himself, raised the AK, held his breath, and squeezed off a burst of three shots. He missed, but the fighter ducked down behind the cab of the pickup as the truck and Mitsubishi came to a stop. John cursed and crawled forward to where he had last seen Karam.
“Karam,” he hissed, but the boy didn’t move. John crawled closer and saw a sticky crimson patch staining the back of the boy’s jacket. John was overcome with rage, adrenaline coursing through his body, and he roared. Pushing himself to his feet, he sprinted toward the pickup, his vision narrowed to a single point as he fired round after round at the cab. Dirt fountained up around his feet, but he didn’t see or hear anything, just a pounding in his head. He fired continuously into the cab until he heard a click. He pulled the trigger again, but the magazine was empty. Rounding the cab, he flung the empty AK47 at the fighter as he picked himself up off the bottom of the tray where he had been sheltering. John’s AK bounced off him and landed in the dirt, and the fighter grinned and raised his weapon, pointing the barrel at John’s head. John heard a bang and flinched but saw a look of surprise on the fighter’s head as a hole appeared in his forehead and the back of his head exploded behind him. John spun around to see Mansur kneeling beside Karam, the Glock held in a two-handed grip pointed in his direction. John breathed out, realized his legs were shaking, and collapsed against the side of the pickup. Shit. There was a constant ringing in his ears, and his heart was pounding away. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, but they couldn’t relax yet, there was still Abu Mujahid.
“Mansur,” John called out. Mansur looked up and John held up one finger and pointed toward the place where John had last seen the H.T.S. commander. “There’s one more.”
Mansur nodded and ran at a crouch to the side of the mangled remains of the Mitsubishi.
John ducked down and moved around the back of the fighter’s pickup. He picked up the AK, then remembered it was empty. “Shit,” he cursed and dropped it on the ground. He needed another weapon. He was about to reach into the pickup tray when he heard a shot and a man crying out in pain. John peered around the side, then heard a familiar voice.
“I’ve got him.”
83
John straightened up and looked out from behind the pickup to see Steve standing in the field, pointing the Glock at a figure lying on the ground.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, mate. He won’t be going anywhere quickly.”
John walked around the pickup. A movement inside the cab caught his eye, and he looked inside to see another fighter slumped against the seat. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled for breath, a wound in his chest bubbling pink froth as he breathed, a hole in his lung. John reached inside and pulled the fighter's AK from his reach. The fighter’s lips moved silently as he struggled to say something. John looked down at him and searched inside himself for any feeling of sympathy or compassion. He couldn’t find any. Grabbing the fighter’s combat jacket by the shoulder, he pulled him closer, the fighter slipping down onto the seat. John lifted the hem of the jacket and found a firearm in a holster at his waist, removed it, and tucked it into the waistband of his cargo pants. Picking up the AK, he turned away from the vehicle, leaving the man to bleed out.
On unsteady legs, John walked over to Mansur, who sat in the dirt, holding Karam’s body in his arms. He looked up as John approached and shook his head. Tears ran down from his eyes, and with one hand, he reached up and gently closed the boy’s eyes. For the first time in many years, the child was finally at peace. The sight rekindled John’s anger, and he turned around and walked around the wrecked Mitsubishi and across the road to Steve. Lying at his feet in the dirt, his face screwed up in pain, Abu Mujahid’s breathing was rapid and shallow, low moans escaping from his mouth.
“I shot the bastard in the knee.”
John looked down at Abu Mujahid’s leg. Where his knee should have been, was a bloody mass, the lower part of the leg sticking out at a strange angle.
“Good.”
“It seemed the least I could do.”
John stepped closer, and with the toe of his boot, gave the damaged knee a nudge.
Abu Mujahid screamed in pain.
John did it again, a little harder
He screamed again, then seemed to pass out, his face white, his forehead a sheen of sweat.
Steve raised an eyebrow at John. “Are you okay, mate?”
John nodded. “Take his weapons, and let’s go.”
“What do we do about him?”
“Leave the fucker.”
John turned, then hesitated.
“On second thought.” He reached behind him and removed the Glock from his waistband before crouching down beside Abu Mujahid. With his left hand, he slapped him in the face.
“Hey.” He slapped him again, and Abu Mujahid stirred, blinking his eyes open. He looked lost for a moment, then his eyes widened in recognition. John nodded. “I wanted you to be awake for this.” He stuck the barrel of the Glock into Abu Mujahid’s groin. Abu Mujahid’s eyes widened, his chin trembling, and he tried to wriggle out of the way. John kept the barrel pressed into his groin.
“Allahu Akbar,” he said and pulled the trigger.
84
John reversed his grip on the Glock, stood up, and handed it to Steve, who was watching him with a frown.
“Let’s go.”
He turned and walked back to Mansur. He had laid the boy’s body on the ground and was kneeling beside him, his hands raised in prayer, his eyes closed, and his lips moving silently. John knelt beside him and placed a hand on the boy’s arm.
“Oh, fuck,” Steve muttered as he walked over and stood beside them. They waited until Mansur had finished and opened his eyes. He looked at the two of them, but said nothing, his eyes still moist.
“He was a brave little bugger,” Steve said, and Mansur nodded.
John placed a comforting hand on Mansur’s arm.
“We have to go, my friend.”
“I know.”
John stood and scuffed at the ground with his toe.
“The ground is hard as rock. We can’t bury him.” He sighed, his hands on his hips, and turned to look at the vehicles. “And we can’t take him with us. What do we do?”
“Bring some rocks.” Mansur stood. “We’ll cover him with them.”
John and Steve gathered rocks and stones from the side of the road while Mansur gently laid Karam out straight in the shallow ditch. He arranged his arms,
so his hands were crossed on his chest, then the three of them covered him with the rocks. Finished, they stood and looked down at the pile of stones that were now the only thing that remained of the lion-hearted boy.
“Wait,” John said. He walked over to the pickup and retrieved his discarded AK. Walking back, he wedged it barrel first into the pile of stones. Stepping back, he said, “If there is such a thing as heaven, little warrior, I hope you find it.”
“Amen.” Steve placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Let’s go, mate.”
“Yeah,” John sighed and looked at Mansur. “Where are the women?”
“I left them about a kilometer up the road.”
“Let’s go get them.” He slapped Mansur on the back. “I’m glad you came back, my friend. You saved my life. Shukraan jazilan.”
“Afwan, habibi. Don’t mention it. You would have done the same for me.”
They heard a voice calling from the cab of the Mitsubishi, and the three of them exchanged puzzled glances. Walking over, they peered in through the window and saw Naeem trapped in the crumpled footwell, wedged between the dashboard and the seats.
“Naeem, there you are.” Steve turned to John and muttered, “I wondered where the little shit had gone.”
“I can’t move.”
John looked closer and saw the edge of the accelerator pedal wedged into Naeem’s thigh.
“Steve, give me a hand.”
“Do I have to?” Steve muttered but came forward to help John wrench the buckled door open.
John reached down, grabbed Naeem by the shoulders, and tried to pull him free. Naeem groaned in pain but didn’t move.
“Steve, go around the other side and see if you can move him from that side.”
Steve walked around the back of the pickup, grumbling to himself, and pulled the door open on the other side. He looked down at Naeem’s legs and winced.
“He’s wedged in pretty tight, mate. It’s not going to be easy.”
John frowned and straightened. He looked up at the sky. They needed to get out of there. Judging by the sun, it was already after midday, and who knew what attention their gunfight would have attracted.
“Can we lever the dashboard back?”
“Hmmm.” Steve puffed his cheeks and scratched his head. Leaning over, he grabbed Naeem’s lower leg. “Naeem, I will count to three, and on three, I’m going to try to pull your leg free. Okay?”
Naeem nodded and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the pain.
“Ready?”
“Yup.”
“One...” Steve tugged hard on Naeem’s leg. Naeem screamed as Steve straightened and winked at John. “His leg’s free now.”
John shook his head, grabbed Naeem under the shoulders, and dragged him free from the vehicle, laying him on the road. Naeem laid panting as John looked at the wound in his leg. He suppressed a wince as he glimpsed the white of bone inside the wound.
“It’s a nasty gash, Naeem, but you’ll live.” John removed the pocketknife he had found earlier and cut two strips of cloth from Naeem’s jacket. He balled one up and pressed it on the wound, passing the other to Mansur, who tied it around Naeem’s leg, securing it in place.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so,” Naeem grimaced.
John stood and pulled Naeem to his feet, supporting him as Naeem tested his weight on the leg and gasped in pain.
“Are you okay?”
Naeem’s face contorted, but he nodded.
“Right, let’s go.”
85
All three vehicles were too damaged to continue, so the four men walked up the road to where Mansur had hidden the women.
They were well-armed now, having stripped the bodies of weapons and ammunition, Naeem showing them how to reload the AKs.
They spread out across the track, Steve and Mansur on each side, John in the middle, supporting Naeem with his right arm, the AK hanging from his left.
Naeem winced with each step, but they made reasonable progress, eager to put as much distance between them and the wrecked vehicles as possible.
“Do you think the gunfire will have attracted any attention?” John asked Naeem.
“I doubt it,” Naeem muttered between steps. “Not out here.” He took another step, and John heard a sharp intake of breath as he put weight on his wounded leg. “But...” Naeem pointed at the sky with the index finger of his right hand. “We never know who is watching up there.”
John was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Naeem took another breath. “Drones. Turkish, Russian, Syrian, American.”
John looked up at the sky. It was clear and blue, barely a cloud in sight, nothing moved. Would he be able to see a drone, anyway? Best not to think about it.
They walked for ten minutes before John saw a cluster of trees in a field ahead and to their left. Mansur went ahead while Steve hung back, alternately scanning the road behind and the surrounding fields.
As John and Naeem neared the trees, Mia ran out and grabbed hold of Naeem’s arm.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Naeem said through gritted teeth. “It’s just my leg.”
The women sitting beneath the trees watched silently as John and Mia lowered him to the ground with his back against a tree.
“Will he be okay?” Mia asked.
“Yup.” John didn’t see any point in having Mia worry about Naeem’s wound. “He’ll need stitches, but nothing antibiotics and painkillers won’t put right,” he reassured her.
Mia nodded and crouched down beside him, resting a hand on his arm as Naeem sat with his eyes closed, his forehead wrinkled in pain.
John looked around at the women gathered beneath the trees. Mansur was talking to them in Arabic, and judging by the way they were listening avidly, John guessed he was explaining what had happened.
One woman held Malak in her arms, the little girl still dozing. She seemed to spend a lot of time sleeping. John didn’t know much about kids but assumed they would be a lot more active. Hopefully, they could get her to a doctor soon and get her checked over. He saw Steve step over and whisper something in Mansur’s ear. Mansur raised an eyebrow, nodded, then spoke to the women in Arabic. After a moment, the women turned to look at John. Some nodded, a couple gave him a thumbs-up. Puzzled, John turned to Steve.
“What did you say?”
“I just told Mansur to tell them what you did to that Mujahid dude.” He glanced over at the women. “They seem to approve.”
John looked away. In the aftermath of the gunfight, with adrenaline running high and the sight of Karam lying dead in the field, it had seemed the right thing to do, but he didn’t want to think about it now. There was no place for guilt or regrets.
“Where’s Karam?”
John turned back to look at Mia. She saw his expression, and her hand went to her mouth. Shaking her head, she repeated, “No, no, no.”
John didn’t know what to say that would comfort her, eventually settling for, “He fought ‘til the end, Mia.”
“Yeah, he was a brave little bugger,” Steve added.
Mia sat back on her haunches, her shoulders slumped, and stared out into the field with dull, empty eyes.
John and Steve exchanged a glance. They would never forget the boy, but they still had a long way to go until they were safe. John squatted down beside Naeem.
“Naeem, how far do we have to go from here?”
Naeem opened his eyes. “About two kilometers that way.” He nodded toward the road. “Then there is a path leading across the field. About another kilometer or so, and it will come out near the M5 highway. The highway is in government territory.”
“So, maybe forty-five minutes on foot.”
Naeem nodded. “Maybe. These women... I don’t know, it might take longer. But we shouldn’t go now. Wait until dark. It will be safer.”
“Okay.” John looked around at the women, then up at the sky. “What time is sunset?”
/>
“Around seven.”
“What time is it now?” John frowned. “The bastards took my watch.”
Naeem turned his wrist and slid his sleeve up to show his watch. “One-fifteen.”
John exhaled and shook his head. “Six hours. Damnit.” He stood. “Okay, let’s hope no-one comes this way.”
“They won’t. That’s why I picked it.”
John nodded slowly, staring down at the young man leaning against the tree. He was a strange fellow. John despised everything he stood for and couldn’t figure out what was going on in Naeem’s head. Why was he helping them? What was his motivation? He had just seen all his so-called brothers killed, was betraying everything he believed in, and was leaving the land he had given up everything for. Was it really all for his daughter? Would John do the same? He thought of Adriana, how worried she must be. She hadn’t heard from him since yesterday morning. Yes, he would give up everything to make sure she was safe. He’d done it before. He shrugged. Maybe he was overthinking it.
Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Page 21
