by Eric Meyer
* * *
Ivan was in the cockpit of the Mi-24 gunship, standing behind the pilot. They'd just popped up from the deep valley they'd been following; in time to see the Pakistani F-16 Fighting Falcon attacked the convoy. He focused his binoculars on the bus and recognized a group of women. Western women. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder.
"That bus down there, it’s our people. Somehow Stoner and his pals managed to free the hostages. You see the convoy that jet just attacked, that has to be Khan. They’ve taken some hits, but half their vehicles are still intact and undamaged. That fighter is lining up to hit the bus, and those women will die. You have to do something."
He looked at Ivan and shook his head. "My friend, you must be mad. There's no way we can take on a fighter interceptor. If we tangle with the F-16, we’re dead.”
He wasn't prepared to take no for an answer. "Look, pal, that's my friends down there. There’s also a bunch of women, including an American Congresswoman. Find a way to hit that fighter."
"I could try a missile, but the second we launch, he'll turn on us, and he’ll be madder than hell."
"Do it. Otherwise, all bets are off, and you won't get any money. I’ll also report you to Kabul for taking bribes to misuse Air Force equipment."
"You wouldn't do that."
"Try me."
He sighed. “This is suicide.”
“We all die sometime. As soon as you’ve launched, head for the hills. We’ll hide out of sight in a valley until he’s gone.”
His reply was sulky. “I don’t like this, but I’ll do my best.”
“You’d better.”
He increased speed and armed an air-to-air missile. A moment later, it exploded off the rails and hurtled toward the Pakistani fighter. The fighter spotted it and roared away on afterburner, heading west.
The pilot shot Ivan a triumphant expression. “It is done. I’ll set a course for home.”
He swung the nose of the Russian helicopter around, heading north back to Afghanistan.
* * *
Captain Pervez Ashraf felt a lurch in his guts when he saw the missile launch. Behind him, Senior Sergeant Hussain screamed in terror. The helicopter had come of nowhere, and now it was shooting at him. He took his thumb off the fire button and pulled back hard on the stick, simultaneously hitting the button to release bundles of chaff and flares to trail in his wake. The decoys failed to fool the missile, and the missile kept coming, twisting in the air to follow the fighter.
Ashraf automatically swung the nose over to confuse the relentless pursuit of the missile, and he banked again as it drew nearer. He was congratulating himself he’d managed to avoid it when it struck the nose of the aircraft. The explosion tore into his cockpit, killing him instantly, and his broken body began the long, slow, descent to earth. Senior Sergeant Hussain had seen the missile about to impact, and he did the sensible thing. He punched out. As Ashraf’s body fell to earth, he was heading in a similar direction. Propelled from the stricken aircraft by his ejector seat, and the parachute had functioned as it should. He watched the ground come near and saw the puff of dust as his pilot’s body hit the ground. Moments later, he landed rather more gently, and began to untangle his harness. He climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, and started walking.
* * *
Stoner looked up at the sky, and if he’d blinked, he’d have missed it, a Pakistani fighter about to tear them apart with cannon fire, and an Afghan gunship that appeared from nowhere. The helo launched a missile that looked like it hit the F-16.
Praise the Lord and all the saints. But what the hell is an Afghan gunship doing in Pakistani airspace? I doubt we’ll ever know, but if I discover the name of the pilot, he gets a one-year free pass to Ma Kelly’s. The full deal, booze, broads, and breakfast.
Further along the track, Khan’s convoy was stationary, licking their wounds, and counting their losses. It would be some time before they were ready to fight, and at that moment, they were in the clear.
“Barbara, get this thing moving. Back to Chilas, fast, before they recover.”
She didn’t move. “You said there was no way out, except this track. There’s also something you’ve forgotten, Rahman and his men.”
“I didn’t forget. We killed plenty of them. I doubt he had more than four or five left. It’s the softer option. They’re on the back foot, and they’ll be frightened and looking for a way out. They won’t want to fight, so if we hit them hard, we can finish them. Including Colonel Rahman. Then we prepare for Khan’s men. It’s the best we can do.”
She pressed the starter button, and they headed back to Chilas, five klicks down the track.
“We have something going for us. We outgun Rahman’s remaining men. When you reach the town, they’ll start shooting, and I want you to drive straight at them. We’ll lose the windshield and punch out some of the windows each side. Then we position our guns, two each side, and four facing forward.”
Nadiri was nodding in satisfaction at the coming action, but Noyan looked worried. “My children may be in that town. I don’t like the idea of a pitched gun battle.”
“We don’t have a choice, but there is something we can do. We found Chilas after we took a prisoner, so we’ll do the same. Keep one man alive, and they may know where the kids are being held. Okay, Barbara, go for it.”
He reversed the rifle and smashed out the windshield. Greg and the Afghans knocked out the remaining glass from the side windows, and they got into position. Stoner and Blum up front, with Noyan and Nadiri, where they expected the action to be hottest. Javed, already considering himself an expert with firearms, instructed the women with rifles to stand on either side. The boy assured them he’d bolster any part of the defenses that came under heavy attack. No one smiled, and no one missed the grim, determined look on his face. He meant business. He meant to kill.
They lurched back toward the town. Javed had a last-minute thought and called to the dog.
“Archer, here. Get behind the seat and lie down.” The dog obeyed, “That’s it, stay.”
He began walking up and down the central aisle, wearing a warlike expression. Stoner smiled to himself, the kid was changing. The mind of a killer, which wasn’t surprising, considering his upbringing. He’d also been brought up a Muslim, to despise dogs as the devil’s creatures. His mentors, Noyan and Nadiri, reinforced that warped viewpoint. Yet here he was, forming an unmistakable bond with Archer. If they survived, there was hope for the boy. Probably not for the adults, their negative fixation on canines was too heavily ingrained. But the boy was, without realizing it, becoming a dog lover.
They were nearing the town, and the first shots cracked out. Two from the windows of low, stone buildings, and two from the dome of a makeshift, crumbling mosque. They were still some distance away, and the shots went wild. He pointed out the shooter to the others.
“They’ll be the easiest to knock out. Take them first, and we’ll have to get inside those buildings to kill the others. Greg, there’s something wrong.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Just about everything’s wrong. Men are shooting at us.”
“No, it’s not that. There should be more. I count four rifles. There should be five.”
“Why don’t we leave it at four? There’s no point in wishing for more.”
“I believe the fifth man is Rahman. I want him.”
“Yeah, I get that. Why don’t we deal with what’s in front of us first? There’s no other way out from here, so he has to be in the town somewhere. There’ll be time enough for Rahman when we’re done. Don’t forget, Khan will be on the way soon. He’s lost half his men and vehicles, but he still carries a lot more firepower than we do.”
“You’re right, but I’m worried about Rahman. Where he goes, there’s trouble.”
“We’ll bear it in mind. Hey, they’re getting close.”
Bullets peppered the bus, and a woman in back screamed.
“Fire!”
The two men inside the b
uildings were behind thick walls. Not so those in the flimsy dome on top of the mosque. All four men emptied their rifles at the targets, and the shooting from the dome stopped. The men inside the buildings paused as they realized their numbers had halved, but then they began shooting again. Another woman in the center of the bus, lying on the floor, screamed as she took a bullet, and then Barbara rounded the building and screeched to a halt.
Stoner shouted, “Cover us,” and leapt out through the door.
The men followed him, and he shoulder charged the door. The rotten woodwork gave way, and he entered the dark gloom of what had once been a sizable dwelling. The two men were at the other end, shouting at each other as they debated how to handle the men who’d come back to kill them.
They took aim at Stoner, and the first man died, riddled by bursts from four rifles. They ran to cover the second man, who’d flung down his rifle and put his hands in the air. Greg picked up their rifles, searched their clothing for spare magazines, and Nadiri secured the prisoner.
He stared at Stoner. “He’s mine. This is for Noyan’s children. Or do you think those who make war on children deserve mercy?”
He shook his head. “Take him. He’s all yours.”
The Talibs stayed with the prisoner, and Stoner felt a momentary twinge of pity for the man, very momentary. They ran back out of the building, and the screams had already started. Sara was waiting with Barbara next to the bus.
“What’s going on in there?”
“The Talibs have a prisoner. They’re asking him where Noyan’s two kids are imprisoned.”
“They’re torturing him.”
“He doesn’t have to endure it. If he tells them where they are, it stops. It’s his choice.”
“It’s not right.”
“And if it was your kids whose lives were at stake? You’d make him a cup of coffee and ask nicely?”
She didn’t answer, but Barbara was more forthcoming. “I’d beat the crap out of the motherfucker. You never heard that. No U.S. Congresswoman would say such a thing.”
He grinned. “Noted. Did anyone see Colonel Rahman? Tribal dress, and an ornate, dark blue turban, black beard, paunchy.”
“No, there was no one like that amongst the dead.”
Shit.
“Okay, let’s get ready for Khan. Barbara, use the bus to block the street. Then we need to prepare a little surprise for the Hammer of God.”
She muttered something about, ‘hammering his ass,’ and climbed into the bus. First, she shooed out the rest of the women, and Sara handed over the two extra rifles. Screams still issued from the building, and they gave it nervous glances. Barbara set them straight. “Don’t worry. It’s a guy who fancies himself as an abuser of children.”
She didn’t say any more, and the expressions hardened. He reckoned if the women had got hold of the guy, his suffering would be a whole lot worse.
Barbara drove away and parked the bus across the road, blocking it to anything bigger than a bicycle. Stoner led the armed women to their positions. He explained about the surprise he had in store for the enemy.
“When they come, they’ll stop before the roadblock and assume some of us are hiding inside the bus. Wrong.” He pointed to the houses at the edge of town, “We’ll be in there. They’ll stop for the roadblock and start shooting it up. When they’re fully occupied, we hit them from the flanks. It’s the only way to take out a superior force. When you start shooting, use single shots, and aim well. We don’t have a great deal of ammo. If they look like they’re recovering for a counterattack, we’ll hit them with automatic fire, and then slip back into town behind the buildings. Any questions?”
They smiled. There were no questions. Even Sara looked happy.
Maybe she’s discovered life and death in this region isn’t so cut and dried.
“We have two more rifles. Sara, hand them out to anyone who knows which end the bullets come out of, and we’ll start preparing a warm welcome for when Khan’s men arrive.”
She took the rifles from Greg and ran to the bus, where the women were still lying on the floor. Noyan and Nadiri emerged from the building, and they didn’t look happy. The first clue it hadn’t gone well was the absence of the man they’d interrogated.
“What happened to the prisoner?”
“He is unconscious.”
“Okay. So where are the children?”
He looked sheepish. “He passed out before he could tell us. All he said was they were holding them somewhere remote, not in Chilas.” He pointed to the hills and mountains looming in the distance, “We will leave now, before darkness falls, and start looking.”
Stoner put a hand on his arm, and Noyan flinched. “Abbas, when this is over, I’ll help you find them, like I promised. But first, we have to prepare for Khan’s men. Otherwise, they’ll be all over us, and if they win, they could kill your children before you find out where they’re holding them.”
He nodded. “We will stay until we’ve dealt with Khan. Then we go looking for them.”
* * *
They were halfway to the border, and Ivan was still thinking about what they’d left behind, like Congresswoman Adams. He’d need to explain why he hadn’t brought her back. He looked forward to the cockpit, and the pilot. The man had flatly refused to linger in Pakistani airspace, so the blame would fall on his shoulders. Still, he didn’t like it. They’d seen off the threat of the F-16, and they could have landed and taken some of the women back with them. Yet the Afghan pilot was too scared, and he reckoned he’d pushed him as far as he could.
He was sitting in the rear troop cabin with Gorgy and Akram, and they wouldn’t meet his eyes. He looked from one to the other. “What?”
“We could have taken some of them off, Boss. Doesn’t seem right, getting out of Dodge when they’re in trouble.”
“We did what we could. I persuaded the pilot to launch that rocket to send that fighter packing.”
“Still…”
He didn’t answer, watching the scenery slip past below.
Should I have done more? Sure, we could have brought back some of the prisoners, and Ambassador Adams would express his gratitude. Which would put me in good stead with the Agency. I could have given Stoner some assistance. Dammit, the guy’s almost a friend. Would the pilot have landed if I’d pushed him hard? Who knows what he’d have done, and it’s too late now.
But still, the feelings of guilt were a kick in the guts. He raked the distant mountain with his gaze, trying to forget what he’d left behind. Some would say it was dramatic, but all he saw was remote, harsh desolation. Sure, it could have been developed into something more attractive. Problem was, they’d need infrastructure. Roads, pipes for water and sewage, the trapping of civilization, at least enough to tempt the occasional visitor. They’d also need to deal with the extremists. At last count, more than fifty terrorist groups operated inside Pakistan, and even in the cities, people ran scared. Outside the cities, terrorist groups reigned supreme, and the security forces found it impossible to deal with them. For that reason, they had few bases in the desolate northeast, and they preferred to use mobile units.
* * *
They’d deployed the Chinese-made LY-80 Low-to-Medium Altitude Air Defense System into the region two weeks before for testing and assessment. The LY-80 was capable of intercepting and destroying aerial targets flying at low and medium altitude. Lieutenant Malik, in charge of the four-man crew, was sick of the time they’d spent in the hinterlands of the Pakistan border. Sleeping in a tent, a private soldier heating up the tasteless food supplied by the Army that always tasted the same. Like warm cardboard. Worst of all, there were no women, although today was the last day of this miserable duty, and he looked forward to returning to the city.
So far, everything had gone well, and the tests had shown the system to be in full working order. They’d tracked aircraft crossing the sky and carried out several theoretical launches. All had been successful, and if they’d launched a real missil
e, the targets would have been destroyed. He checked his watch. It was time. He glanced at his corporal.
“You can start to pack up the gear. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
A smile spread across his face. “Yes, Sir.”
He was about to leave the command cabin when the alert sounded. A gong sound, endlessly repeating, and it meant the aircraft detected showed no Identification Friend or Foe, or IFF. He yawned and squashed his annoyance. Almost certainly a civilian aircraft, but it would show in the electronic log, so he had to go through the correct procedure. He leaned out of the door.
“Corporal, get the men in here. We have an unidentified aircraft to plot.”
The man gave him a dubious look and doubled away to round up the other two men. The radar system was tracking, showing the white blob of a moving aircraft heading north. The Corporal checked the signature and announced it was an Mi-24.
“One of ours, Sir.”
“With no IFF?”
He paused. “Perhaps it is faulty?”
“Contact base and ask for instructions.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The answer when it came astounded them. They stared at each other. Shoot it down, they’d said. This was for real. Were they at war? Impossible, but orders were orders. Malik activated the launch procedure, and this time they were tracking the target for real. The helicopter was close, and after the barest hesitation, he gave the order.
“Launch. Take it out.”
* * *
The first warning they had was the threat alarm, shrill and loud in the cockpit. Without hesitation, the pilot put the Mi-24 into a steep dive, banking over and veering away from their course. He was wasting his time. The LY-80 was state-of-the art technology, designed for intercepting enemy aircraft at low altitude. The missile tracked on the starboard engine and exploded. Instantly, the Mi-24 began to lose height.
