‘Take them down!’ Balmer bellowed sighting on his first target. His initial burst missed, but the second struck the sprinting figure in the chest.
They were now within a hundred yards of the wall, and with half his men firefighting, the rest were spread thin.
‘Get on the Claymores!’ He ordered the remaining defenders—men from the 667th.
The mines were configured to be detonated remotely by an M57 firing device, known as a clacker, rather than by trip wire. Balmer saw a trio of men pick up the clackers and squeeze them.
Sand exploded from the desert floor as the three mines spat out thousands of steel ball bearings. They’d been placed thirty yards outside the wall, pushed into the ground and hidden under a loose covering of sand. In all, five enemy combatants were caught in the blasts, leaving nothing more than bloody stains on the ground to mark their passing.
That still left around two dozen, and Balmer and his men laid down heavy fire as the enemy sprinted onwards.
One made it to a hole in the wall created by the RPGs. He let rip with his AK-47, taking down two infantrymen and three Seabees before he was stopped by concentrated fire from two angles.
Another two drove through a similar gap a hundred yards away and they managed to take seven more American lives before being cut down.
More Claymores tore the night apart, claiming another six kills, but the remaining Taliban were undeterred. They piled forward, seemingly impervious to the hundreds of rounds streaking their way. Ten were cut down in mid-sprint, but another four made it to the wall.
‘Breach, north wall!’ Balmer announced over comms.
* * *
‘Len, Sonny—get over there and help!’ Smart heard in his earpiece.
He acknowledged Gray’s instructions and ordered the men on the west wall to keep their eyes peeled before he sprinted towards the fire burning to the north. When he got there he saw a Seabee in a digger about to dump a load of dirt on the truck, but before he could empty the bucket, a burst from an AK-47 hit him in the chest. He fell forward, the arm of the excavator hanging impotently over the flames.
Smart got the shooter in his sights and hit him in the chest with a short burst, then yelled for someone to get on the digger and dump its load just as more rounds chewed up the ground at his feet. Smart ran, throwing himself behind a pile of timber. He stuck his head out and saw that the three remaining Taliban had also found cover—but they were in a hopeless position. They were heavily outnumbered, and the American troops were already beginning to flank them. One was killed by small arms fire, and another took the full force of a hand grenade.
The last of the insurgents made a brave last stand, taking two American lives before he stuck his head out too far and Smart nonchalantly sent him to meet his maker.
* * *
‘Cease fire!’ Balmer bellowed, as the infantry took pot-shots at shadows. He ordered a few of the men to look after the wounded, while the rest were instructed to keep an eye on the perimeter in case there was more to come. He told them to report any movement, no matter how insignificant.
Gray trotted over. ‘How bad?’
‘We lost twenty seven in all, plus about fifteen wounded. It would have been a lot worse if that missile had hit the fuel truck. What about your team?’ Balmer’s men were all accounted for.
‘All made it.’ Gray glanced over as the last of the flames were extinguished in the cab of the bowser after a dozen men had run relay to carry buckets of water to cool down the main tank. ‘I think they used Javelins.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Balmer said. ‘Where the hell did they get them from?’
‘A few of the Gulf States purchase them, including the Saudis. I reckon they were either stolen or sold to the Taliban.’
‘I’ll mention it to Durden. He can find out if any of our allies have reported any missing.’
‘They’re hardly likely to admit it,’ Gray said. ‘It would jeopardise any further sales if it’s thought they can’t keep hold of them.’
‘The CIA have their ways. Come on, let’s take a look at who we were up against.’
Gray followed Balmer over to the body of one of the attackers.
‘He looks like a school kid,’ Gray told Balmer, who nodded in return.
‘Same as the ones who ambushed us a few nights ago. This is Dagher’s doing.’
They wandered the camp, checking each of the dead. Like the first one, they were all young—most of them still in their teens.
‘I have to admit, that was a pretty slick attack.’
Gray agreed. ‘I was expecting them to just rush the gates. How the hell did they get so close to you?’
‘They must have crawled across the desert. We were so busy watching the horizon we didn’t see what was under our noses. Well… that won’t happen again.’
Chapter 23
Abdul al-Hussain got out of the 4x4 and cast his eyes around the camp. It was set on a plateau high in the mountains, with rock formations protecting both sides, in the middle of which was a single track that led to the gate. He was immediately met, inside that gate, by Ali Kamal—a man who had served with him for over thirty years.
‘As-salamu alaykum,’ al-Hussain greeted him.
‘Wa-alaykumu salam. Come, we have much to discuss.’
Kamal led the way to a sand-coloured tent and then Dagher emerged from the vehicle and followed. Inside, tea had already been prepared and Kamal barked instructions for food to be brought in. A soldier at the entrance ran off to fulfil his wishes.
Al-Hussain took a seat in a folding chair that faced a collapsible table; Dagher sat next to him. Like everything else at the camp, the furniture was ready to be packed away at a moment’s notice. There were no permanent structures, just temporary shelters that could be bundled into vehicles should the need arise.
‘What do you make of the boy I sent you?’ al-Hussain asked.
‘Irshad? A blessing from Allah himself. Please tell me there are more like him.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ al-Hussain smiled. ‘And yes, there are more. Tens of thousands more.’
Kamal’s eyes betrayed his shock. ‘And you only tell me now? I thought we were friends!’
They were more than just friends. Ever since they’d first fought together in the Mujahideen against the Soviets, the bond had been strong. After surviving that conflict, they teamed up again when the new invaders arrived. Kamal had been his first port of call as he set about building up a militia to deal with the allied forces. In one of his first engagements with the Americans, Kamal had lost a hand. Although it was enough to take him off active duty, al-Hussain wasn’t about to cast him aside. With so much combat experience, Kamal had been the perfect choice to head up the training camp just outside Quetta in Pakistan. Al-Hussain had been sending promising recruits there for the last seven years, but he doubted any of them had been like Irshad.
‘Would you believe me if I told you Irshad had never seen a rifle until two weeks ago?’
Kamal looked puzzled, then laughed. ‘Right now, if I had to pick my best three soldiers, Irshad would be among them. Nobody becomes that good in a few days.’
‘They do now,’ al-Hussain said, turning to his companion for the first time. ‘This is Professor Miriam Dagher. She is the one responsible for Irshad’s remarkable progression.’
Kamal now looked downright confused. ‘A woman?’
‘A particularly gifted woman,’ al-Hussain corrected him.
Between him and Dagher, it took fifteen minutes to explain how they had turned a timid teen into a killing machine, and when they’d finished, Kamal looked as excited as a child about to receive his first horse.
‘How much of this virus do you have?’
‘Enough for a few thousand doses, and that is just the beginning. We have forty litres with us, plus a few thousand needles. The professor will show your men how to administer it so she doesn’t have to be here every time I send you new recruits. Her time is better spe
nt in the laboratory.’
‘When will the first batch of boys arrive?’ Kamal asked.
‘In the next couple of hours,’ the Taliban commander said. ‘There will be around two hundred at first, but my men are scouring the countryside for anyone capable of holding a weapon. You will soon have more than you can handle. I have spoken to ISI and they will be bringing you tents and equipment in the coming days.’
‘It would be better if we leave the camp at its current size,’ Kamal suggested. ‘Any larger and we risk drawing attention to ourselves. I will instruct my second-in-command to create more camps in the area and I will oversee them all.’
‘That would be wise. Another thing we need to establish is the need for secrecy. The Americans are desperate to find the professor, but more importantly they will want to prevent us from using her creation. If they discover that the virus is here, nothing will prevent them from attacking.’
‘Even though we are in Pakistan?’ Kamal asked.
‘They will not hesitate launching an attack on a sovereign nation to halt our plans. No-one must know you have it.’
‘I will make sure my men understand,’ Kamal assured him.
‘Excellent. Now, while we wait for the new intake to arrive, tell me about your recent victories.’
Reports of Kamal’s battles had filtered through to him, but al-Hussain enjoyed hearing the details from someone who had first-hand knowledge—he knew his old friend wouldn’t have any need for embellishment.
They chatted for a couple of hours, mostly about the virus and al-Hussain’s plans for it, until the first truck packed with new recruits wheel-spun its way into the camp. It parked under a huge awning alongside several other vehicles and Kamal led his superior and guest outside to welcome them.
‘They are barely teenagers,’ Kamal noted, the disappointment evident in his delivery. ‘Look! That one’s shaking like a leaf in the wind!’
‘Trust me,’ al-Hussain said, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘What you are about to witness will be the most amazing thing you will ever see in your life.’
Thirty minutes later, Kamal stood with his mouth open, trying to find words to describe his amazement.
‘It’s impressive, isn’t it?’ al-Hussain laughed.
‘It’s… I can’t… If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I would have called any man a fool who claimed such a potion existed. It is truly astounding.’
‘Just imagine what we could achieve with ten thousand warriors of that calibre.’
‘I dare not think,’ Kamal said. ‘Please tell me this isn’t a dream.’
‘Far from it, my friend. Though in the days and weeks to come, our enemy will endure many nightmares. However, there is more to be done. The virus gives them focus and eliminates fear, but it does not make them true soldiers. They still have to be taught the art of warfare.’
‘Then they are in the right place. What do you have planned for their first mission?’
‘A repeat of the attack on the compound they call Vincent.’
Kamal looked concerned. ‘I heard about the last attempt. It was a crushing defeat,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you want to waste good men on such an impenetrable target?’
‘I can think of no better test for them. We sent fifty men to attack Vincent, and used four of the Javelins. This time we will use the remaining eight and send four hundred men. They won’t stop until they are dead or victorious. At the weekend, thirty men managed to crawl to within two hundred yards of the base before they attacked it. Those tactics worked even though the Americans knew we were coming and had reinforced the base. We can do the same again, but this time we will catch them unawares.’
Kamal bowed his head slightly. ‘I will teach them well. When do you wish to strike?’
‘Two weeks from today. Set up a new camp specifically for this mission, and ensure no-one knows the target until the very last moment. I will provide everything you need.’
A smile crept across Kamal’s face. ‘If this works, if these boys manage to overrun the Americans and capture their base, it could be the turning point in the war.’
‘Inshallah.’
Chapter 24
Miriam Dagher was exhausted. She’d been working non-stop creating her virus and injecting subjects for almost a fortnight, surviving on just five hours of sleep a night. It was all beginning to catch up with her.
Thankfully, her job was almost done.
With her hands inside the rubber gloves of the hermetically-sealed Perspex chamber, she secured the stopper on the last of the phials and put the glass container through the decontamination process. Again. Probably for the three-thousandth time—enough for approximately ten thousand doses.
She wanted her bed—not the hard, unforgiving one that had been provided by her hosts. She wanted the luxurious dual-sprung, super-king-size mattress that had cost her over a thousand British pounds—the one that was lying unused in her rented London home. She also missed her wardrobe; the cool breeze of a British autumn; the occasional glass of wine.
She’d known when she’d made the decision to come to Afghanistan that she’d have to make sacrifices, but it was eye-opening to discover how different her birth country was from her adopted home. Still, she reminded herself, she was doing this for the country she loved—that made it all worthwhile.
After packing the last phial in the box along with the others, Miriam closed the lid and carried it to the cooled storage room. She placed it with the other boxes that were all ready to be shipped out and administered in the next twenty-one days. That was the shelf-life she’d given al-Hussain. Beyond that, it was doubtful the virus would be as effective, if at all. How he was going to find ten thousand volunteers to infect was not her concern. She’d played her part, and only one thing remained.
Miriam went to the main house, where her host Samir was reading to his two young children. She recognised the passages from the Qur’an and waited patiently for him to finish.
‘How may I help you?’ Samir eventually asked. He’d been a pleasant enough host, but like everything else in this country, she would soon be glad to see the back of him.
‘I am finished for today,’ she replied. ‘The next consignment of boxes is ready to go.’
‘I will arrange a collection later this evening. Would you like something to eat?’
‘That would be wonderful. I’ll take it in my room, if that’s okay. I’d like to shower first.’
Samir nodded his acceptance, then called for his wife and told her to prepare supper for their guest.
Miriam thanked him before heading to a bedroom that had the luxury—if it could be called that—of an en-suite toilet and shower; though both were functional at best. Miriam locked the bathroom door, quickly stripped and got under the drizzle of tepid water.
Her final act was to let her masters know where she was. She did this by putting her hand under her large left breast and locating the tracking device that had been sewn into her body prior to her flying to Afghanistan. The instructions were to squeeze the unit, which was an inch long and three millimetres wide, until the casing cracked in the middle. This would activate the tracker and pass her exact location to the coalition forces designated to rescue her.
Miriam hesitated with her thumb and forefinger pressed lightly on the device. Although the entire mission was fraught with danger, this was the most unnerving part. British and American troops would be sent to rescue her, the finest soldiers available, by all accounts. The trouble was, they wouldn’t know her true role in Afghanistan. To them, she would be the traitor who provided the Taliban with the deadly weapon that had probably resulted in the deaths of their friends. She’d been told that there was a small chance that rather than rescue her, they would be seeking revenge.
‘We’ll do all we can to get you home safely,’ they’d said at the final briefing. ‘We can’t divulge the details of your mission to the insertion team, but they’ll be told that you are needed alive at all costs.’
‘And what if they disobey orders?’ she’d asked. ‘What if they decide to concoct a story? They could say I was killed by the Taliban before they could rescue me, or I died in an explosion—one of their making. Why not just tell them the truth and swear them to secrecy?’
‘Because at the moment, maybe ten people know about this mission, including you, me, the president and the British prime minister. We all have top-secret clearance. If we start adding a few grunts into the mix, it’ll be in the papers before we know it, and that puts all of us—you especially—in a dangerous situation.’
It had been spelled out specifically how much danger—revenge attacks from Taliban supporters in the US, for one.
The possibility of the allied forces killing her first was real. She’d heard al-Hussain talking to his men, bragging of great victories brought about by her virus. That news had crushed her. Deep down, she’d hoped it wouldn’t work as well as it was designed to, but her worst fears had been realised. She’d been complicit in the deaths of American and British soldiers, proud young men who wouldn’t be returning home to wives, parents, children...
She’d tried to tell herself that it wasn’t entirely her fault, that they were there to fight and had been given a fighting chance, and that it had all been for the greater good. Though, it still made her physically sick as she thought about it each night. She might have done some good for her country, but she would have to bear the pain for the rest of her life.
Perhaps if her rescuers decided to put a bullet in her brain they would be doing her a favour.
She took a deep breath, then squeezed the capsule and felt it break in the middle. All she could do now was wait.
Chapter 25
When Gray got the summons to see the CO he hoped it was for news of replacements for Josh Miller’s team. It had been three weeks since his friend’s patrol had been wiped out, and Gray had been short since then. The first four men sent out to reinforce the troop had been caught up in a quarantine situation at the staging area in Kuwait. They’d arrived just as the flu had spread through the base and in an effort to prevent it reaching the front-line troops in Afghanistan, no personnel were allowed to complete the last leg of their journey to Kandahar. That had meant Gray and his patrol doing the job of two teams, and the fun was beginning to wear off.
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