Righteous Strike

by Eric Meyer

  “There’s no one else?”

  “No, Sir, the other pilots are off base. Most on training courses, and two are on vacation. It’s a quiet time, Sir.”

  He sighed. “Very well. My aircraft is ready?”

  “No, Sir, they’re still waiting for a spare canopy. The Lieutenant’s F-16 is ready, fueled up, re-armed, and ready to go.”

  “Lieutenant Ali’s aircraft? The two-seater training aircraft?”

  “That’s the one, yes. But it’s combat ready, like I said.”

  “Who’s flying with me?”

  “There’s no one available for the back seat, Sir. You’ll be on your own, and they’ll radio the coordinates when you’re in the air.”

  “I know how it works, Sergeant Hussain.” He had a sudden thought. If they were giving him a hard time, when he should have been relaxing at home with his young wife, he may as well have some fun, “Sergeant, have you flown in an F-16?”

  “Yes, of course. A ground crew familiarization flight three years ago.”

  “Nothing since then?”

  “No.” His face was sullen when he began to understand what was coming, “Sir, I can’t fly a combat flight. It would be against regulations.”

  “Which regulations are those?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Find a jeep, and drive us out to the flightline. Sergeant Hussain, you’re coming with me.”

  “But, Sir, I can’t. I have a wife and …”

  “Move your ass, Sergeant, unless you want a transfer to a forward position in Kashmir. They’re about to fight a war over there, how would you like that?”

  “I’ll get the jeep.”

  * * *

  They dragged him away, and he felt their boots slamming into his body as they delivered a series of hard, vicious kicks. A man cursed and spat at him. When they had him out of sight of Greg and the two Talibs, they delivered another barrage of kicks. He pulled his body into a fetal position to protect his vital organs from damage, and then they stopped as a new man arrived and shouted a word of command. He recognized the voice, and he opened his eyes. Colonel Rahman was staring down at him, his face beaming with satisfaction.

  "Well, well, this is indeed a gift. Another hostage, and what a hostage, the man they told me always completed a mission. Unstoppable, they said. A legend.” A snort, “You don’t much look like a legend to me.”

  Stoner spat out a gobbet of blood. "Colonel, we need to make an agreement about freeing the women."

  Rahman sniggered, an oddly high-pitched, almost female sound. "You still don't understand. There’s nothing to talk about. You've lost. Lost, because if you think we can release you to go back to Afghanistan and open your mouth about what we’ve done, you can forget it. You’re done, finished. Dead. It’s just a matter of time.”

  He thought of Sara and shuddered at the terrible fate she’d suffer. "Colonel, I can negotiate the ransom. If you kill the women, you won't get anything."

  "You think? I will report to the Ambassador that the Haqqanis have agreed to release the prisoners, in return for the agreed sum. One hundred million dollars was the figure, I believe." He chuckled, "Perhaps we’ll add another million dollars for your release."

  "They’ll never go for it. Not without proof of life, and there’s no way they’ll hand the money over unless it's in exchange for the prisoners."

  "You know nothing," he snapped, "I’m an officer of the Afghan National Army. I will tell them everything they want to know, that the women are all safe, and I will handle the transfer of the cash. Afterward, my men and I will disappear with enough money to live in luxury for the rest of our lives."

  Through his agony, he glared up at the smug Afghan. "I thought you were an officer, a man with some honor. You’re nothing but a common thief.”

  He smirked. "I have all the honor I need. I also have a duty to my men, to make them all wealthy.” He clicked his fingers at the waiting troops. “Enough of this, take him away, and put him with the women. Be careful, this one is tricky."

  They kicked and booted him toward the entrance to the cave, and he heard Rahman shouting to Greg that they had him prisoner. If they didn't surrender, they would kill Stoner, and drag out the Ambassador's wife, Barbara Adams, to kill her as well.

  When there was no reply, he shouted louder. “If you don't surrender, you will be sending them to their deaths."

  There was a long pause, and then he heard Greg’s voice. He’d give his answer in one hour. He didn't hear any more.

  They pushed him into a long, low tunnel, and he had no choice but to crawl through. Rifle butts beat him when he slowed, and he crawled on. The tunnel opened out into a wider space and a solid, heavy door. Two men covered him with their rifles, and a third opened the door. They pushed him inside, and he rolled into a dark, enclosed space. It stank of sweat and fear. And women. When his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he saw the women looking at him.

  The hostages, I made it.

  Sara Carver knelt and took him in her arms.

  "Stoner, what happened to you?"

  “I took a couple of lumps, is all. They weren’t happy, and they took it out on me.”

  "No, no. Your leg is bleeding. It looks like a bullet wound. It's also filthy, and it stinks." She grimaced, "How could you not know? Didn’t you think to get it treated?"

  "There wasn't time."

  "Fuck the time. At a guess, I’d say you have gangrene setting in. That means you could lose the leg, and that's if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky, you’ll die of blood poisoning, and it can happen mighty fast."

  He stared at her face and relaxed.

  Nothing else matters, I’ve found her, and she’s alive.

  "Sara, it’ll have to wait. We need to get you all out of here."

  “Out of here?” Her eyes narrowed, “We’ve tried that, and it didn’t work. All that happened is they beat the crap out of some of the women. If you look around, you'll see a half-dozen of the women have deep cuts and bruises, and two have suspected fractures. We managed to get hold of their guns, but it won’t happen again. If we make a move, they’ll shoot us. Without a gun, there's no way we’re getting out."

  "We have a gun." He groped inside his crotch, and her eyes widened, but he grinned, "It's okay. This isn't what it looks like."

  Barbara Adams’ voice was edged with venom. "It’d better not be. This is hardly the time or the place."

  His hand emerged showing the flat, dull sheen of the Tokarev, and she relaxed.

  "Like I said, we have a gun. Now tell me how we can get out of here."

  Before he could stop her, Sara snatched it out of his hand. "You’re in no shape to fight, so I'll handle this little popgun. You’re all in. I doubt you could hit a barn door if you were inside it."

  "I'd better take a look at him," Barbara said, "If we’re going to get out, we won’t be able to carry any passengers. I doubt he could crawl out of this cave, let alone escape a bunch of hostile Pakistanis. Lay flat on the floor, Mister, and I'll see what I can do."

  "You’re a nurse?"

  "I’m a U.S. Congresswoman, and no, I was never a nurse. Before I met my husband and started a career in politics, I worked as a masseuse. Believe me, I've got a lot of experience. If I haven’t lost my touch, I’ll soon have you on your feet.”

  She unbuttoned his shirt and began to manipulate his joints and limbs. She told Sara to pull down his pants, so she could work on the leg wound. Both women grimaced when they saw the state of the wound, and Barbara’s nose flared at the smell. Sara said she'd redress it. Congresswoman Adams went to work with a vengeance. For what seemed like forever, she manipulated and pummeled his body, and something strange happened. To his extreme embarrassment, he began to get an erection, and he moved his hands down to cover it. Barbara grinned.

  "Yeah, it happens like that sometimes."

  "What kind of a masseuse were you? Did you work in a hospital or a clinic?”

  She didn't reply at first, but she seeme
d to come to a decision. "Okay, I guess we’re not likely to get out of here alive, so there's no reason you shouldn't know. I was the other kind of a masseuse."

  "Other kind?"

  "Yeah, the kind that works in parlors. I made a lot of money, and that's where I met the Ambassador. I was younger and thinner in those days, and it was love at first sight. At least for him." She gave a low, throaty chuckle, “For me it was a ticket out, and the rest is history.”

  “So you could say your relationship had a happy ending."

  Her lips twitched. "You could say that, yeah, plenty of happy endings, although lately, we’ve spent a lot of time apart. Seth has a wandering eye, if you know what I mean."

  "I'm sorry."

  She smiled. "Nothing to be sorry about. Perhaps I should brush up on my technique and get back to the way things used to be. Now shut up and relax."

  She continued working on him, and apart from the erotic overtones, the massage made a difference, and he felt the pain in his body easing. Sara had a basic knowledge of battlefield wounds from her military service, and the two women worked on the leg. Sara managed to squeeze out much of the poisonous pus, and the pain worsened, so bad he passed out. But when he came to, it felt better. She scrounged up strips of cloth torn from the women's underwear and compressed a tight bandage around the wound. Finally, she pulled his pants up his legs and buttoned them. She did the same with the shirt.

  "Try it now. Get up, and see how it feels. See if you can walk.”

  Both women helped him to his feet. He was shaky at first, but he managed to stay on his feet, only swaying a little bit. The pain was tolerable, better than it had been. He felt better.

  "Well?" Barbara crocked an eyebrow.

  "Ma’am, I reckon it's time we got back into the fight."

  One of the women hammered hard on the door and shouted for the guard to open it. After several minutes there was no sign anyone intended to answer the call, not surprising after the last time. On that occasion, two men came to open the door and ended up dead. He felt his spirits plummet. He'd come up with a plan, and they had a gun to make it work. Yet there was no way he could get close enough to the enemy to use it.

  Sara's shoulders slumped, and he knew she was feeling bad. She'd been stuck in this dark place for days, after a harrowing trek cross-country, the line of women shackled like slaves. With no way out until that door opened. He held her to him, and she snuggled into his warmth. He felt better, holding in his arms, knowing she was still alive, and after the efforts of Barbara and Sara, the pain had receded to the extent he felt able to fight. He stared across the door, and again he cursed. That portal was like a solid wall, mocking him. Telling him after all he'd been through to get this far, it was all a waste of time. That door stood guard over their hopes for freedom. On the other side, all they would encounter was more death.

  He remembered what Colonel Rahman had said. The Haqqani commander, General Ishaq Khan, was due back before too long. He tried to recall what he'd heard through the waves of pain, and it was something like midday. With no way of knowing how much time had passed, all he could do was guess at it. It seemed there was no way they’d make it out in time. The last gasp hope was for somebody to open that damned door, and it didn't seem likely.

  The cell went quiet as they contemplated the end. He kept her close to him, and her face tilted up. She wanted to talk, and he understood, had seen it before. When people were about to die, they wanted to clear the air. Not to go to their death with loose ends, things they’d wanted to say, and hadn’t. They wanted to clear their souls and their consciences.

  "You know why I dumped you, don't you?"

  “The brothel, I guess."

  He felt rather than saw the slight shake of the head. "I've never liked the brothel, that’s true, but there were other reasons, your propensity for gratuitous violence, for one. Stoner, you frighten people. Sometimes you even frighten me. What makes it worse is you carry that violence with you like an aura. Those big automatics in the shoulder holsters are scary enough as it is."

  He felt puzzled. He’d been sure the brothel was the biggest stumbling block; the business of which he was proud, and that he and Ma Kelly had worked hard to build up. They ran a business that was both fair and clean to whores and clients alike, in a country where those qualities were rare.

  "I just do what seems to be right, Sara."

  The reply was like she’d punched him. "You kill people."

  Kill people? Doesn’t she understand?

  "Sara, you need to look around you. Look around this cell. The people that put you women in here, don't they deserve to die? Didn't you kill two of the guards earlier when you tried to escape?"

  "That was different. We were being held illegally, facing death. What you do is voluntary. You have a choice. This isn’t the Wild West, and you aren’t Judge Dredd. You’re a loose cannon, Stoner. A lighted candle placed on top of a barrel of gunpowder."

  He didn't answer at first, thinking about the trail of bodies he’d left in his wake during his career in Afghanistan.

  Every single one of them deserved to die. Dammit, they were bad people. Besides, I never took on a contract unless I was certain the target was a murderer, a torturer, or a rapist. Some were all those things.

  "Like I said, they deserved to die. If I didn’t kill them, others would die. Innocent people.”

  "And the girls?"

  "Which girls?"

  She spoke in a low murmur. " I know you’ve had it hard. You told me about the girls you've loved and lost, and how some of them died. What about the first one, the nurse, Madeleine Charpentier? Didn't she fall victim to a Taliban IED?"

  She’d touched a nerve, and he still felt the pain of Madeleine’s loss after so many years. “The men who did that deserved to die. How can you doubt it? They detonated a mine beneath an ambulance.”

  "They were entitled to a fair trial, Stoner. If someone like you summarily executes people, you’ve become little better than they are. Oh, I don’t deny they deserved to die. It’s just that you’re can’t continue to play God. Or pretend you’re judge, jury, and executioner, like the men who murdered Madeleine. Stoner, I don’t want to live with a man like that.”

  She left him deep in thought.

  Should I have handled things differently? Am I just a stone killer, like Griggs? I fought against overwhelming odds to free her and the other women. Sure, in the course of getting here, I killed a few men. Maybe at times I was a bit too hotheaded. Like in the past, when I got off on the wrong foot and shot the target dead before giving him a chance to explain himself. But this is Afghanistan, and Pakistan. That’s the way things work. Shoot first, or the enemy gets you right between the eyes. But I don’t want to lose her. Not again.

  “I’ll try to handle things better.”

  She nodded, and he wondered what she was thinking. This was a land where tribal connections ruled supreme, and the biggest influence of all was the bribe. Take a murderer, torturer, or a rapist alive, and if he had enough connections or money, he'd pay off the cop or the judge. Often he’d pay off both. Days later he’d be back on the street. Free to do it again. Murder, torture, and rape.

  He realized she was talking again. "What was that?"

  She wore a strange expression, as if embarrassed by what she was about to say.

  "Don't change just yet. You’re the best there is, and if we’re to stand a chance of surviving this, we need you to do what you do best. You can think about the rest of it later."

  "Sara, I don’t get it. What do you want from me?"

  "Now? Kill the fuckers. All of them."

  Isn’t that what she was railing about? She wants me to once again be judge, jury, and executioner. Afghanistan’s Judge Dredd? I’ll never understand women, not as long as I live.

  "I’ll do it. I’ll kill them. But first, we need that door open."

  He was about to say something more when he heard a man shouting, and he recognized the voice of Colonel Rahman. He w
as bellowing orders to his men, telling them the time was up. They weren't about to surrender, so they’d make an example of the prisoners.

  "Bring out Stoner and the Congresswoman. Line them up against the hillside and shoot them dead. Two bodies should show them we mean business. I'll tell them if they still don't surrender, we’ll kill two more of the women every half hour, until they’re all dead."

  The cell was silent, every woman digesting what was in store for them. Death for Barbara Adams, death for Stoner, and two more of them dead at regular intervals, until they were all dead.

  The women were whispering to each other. Maybe they were passing on final messages in case it was them who died soon, and the other women managed to get out and pass on the news to their families. A forlorn hope, for each of them had worked it out by now. They’d have faced reality. There was no way of getting out alive. They'd kill all of them. Whether or not Greg surrendered would make no difference.

  Stoner was thinking hard, wondering if there was any way he could warn Blum and the others, when the bolts outside the door rattled, and they slid back. The portal opened, and men with guns were standing outside. Colonel Rahman was behind them.

  "Stoner and Adams, get out here. If you don't; my men will open fire and kill some of the women inside the cell. It's up to you."

  He gave Sara a final kiss on the lips. "I promise you I'll be back."

  She managed a faint smile. "I never doubted you."

  He got to his feet, and with Barbara Adams, walked toward the door. The Afghans fell back, so he had no chance to grab for a gun or snatch out the tiny Tokarev. They crawled back through the low tunnel, and he dropped to his knees to follow them. Crawling toward the end.

  Chapter Seven

  She'd told him to ‘kill the fuckers,’ and it was language he understood. He'd tucked the Tokarev into the waistband of his pants, with his shirt hanging loose over the top to conceal the gun. He wasn’t confident he’d have an opportunity to use it. They were being extra careful, and they'd fill him full of lead if he made a sudden move.

  Then again, what do I have to lose? That’s what Sara doesn't understand. Life is an equation. Kill or be killed. In these badlands, there’s no other law, just the law of the jungle, the survival of the fittest.