Righteous Strike

by Eric Meyer

  The first dwellings came into sight, and he was close to the outskirts of Spin Boldak, which in Pashto meant White Desert. He drove into the small town, and to his astonishment, he saw him almost at once. Ishaq Khan, and he was a different man; weary and bedraggled, accompanied by just one man, and about to climb into a truck. Stoner rammed his foot down on the gas and drove toward him. The warlord looked up, saw the vehicle charging toward him, and recognized the driver. Both men threw up their assault rifles and fired a hail of bullets that hacked toward the Wrangler. Stoner skidded around the nearest corner. The street was a dead end. He shouted at Javed to stay in the vehicle with Archer, grabbed the M-60 and spare belts of ammo, and went after him.

  He didn't have to go far. When he rounded the corner, they were racing toward him. Their jaws dropped when they saw him. They’d seen him drive into the blocked off street. Their assumption would be they could cut off his escape and tear him and the Wrangler apart in sheets of assault rifle fire. The last thing they expected was to see him coming toward them.

  The second last thing they expected to see was him carrying the M-60. He’d loaded the first belt, threw it up to his shoulder, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon shuddered in his grip as bullets spewed out of the muzzle. The two men darted away, diving through the door of an adjacent cottage. He went after them, reached the door, and kicked it open. The dwelling had a single room, and he fired a long burst. It ricocheted around the walls, to no avail. When he glanced inside, they’d disappeared. A window at the rear lay open, the only way they could have escaped. He was about to enter and chase after them when something heavy and metallic pressed against his neck.

  "Put up your hands, infidel.” The voice was a harsh rasp, in thickly accented English, “Drop the machine gun.”

  He froze, neither putting up his hands nor dropping the machine gun. He was working to calculate the exact position of the man behind him. It wasn’t Khan. So he had to take him before he could continue after Khan. He was preparing to drop flat, swing his legs around, and sweep the man's legs from under him, when a muscular arm clamped around his neck. They guy was ahead of him.

  "Don't even think about it. I give you five seconds to drop the machine gun, and then you die. One, two, three, four…

  He didn't reach five. Javed was unable to take orders, to do what anyone told him. The kid had a mind of his own, the mind of a warrior, and he’d followed him. The first he knew was when the man behind him was suddenly thrown to the ground by the huge German Shepherd, who snarled and savaged at his gun hand, forcing him to drop the pistol. Javed arrived a few seconds later and called the dog off, which meant he'd managed to establish a rapport with Archer. As the big German Shepherd backed away, the dagger plunged down and into the man's heart.

  "You see, Mr. Stoner. You did need us after all."

  I’m sure I could have taken the guy, although a mistake could have cost me my life, and let Khan off the hook. God forbid. The bastard has to die.

  A renewed burst of gunfire tore up the ground around their feet, and he shoved Javed behind the body of the man he’d just killed. Archer was a Marine dog, and he had the sense to dive for cover. He simply leapt through the open door of the house. Stoner threw himself flat on the ground and fired off a quick burst with the M-60. Khan was no fool, and he made himself a difficult target. Sprinting between the cottages, he only caught a quick glimpse as he appeared for a second and then disappeared. Each time, he squeezed the trigger of the M-60, sending a hail of bullets to tear into the place he’d just seen him, but he was too quick and avoided the bullets. Until he disappeared completely, and he got to his feet, ejected the belt, and inserted a new one. With the gun tucked under his arm, he started walking on the street. He turned quickly when he heard a noise behind him. It was Javed, who’d once again ignored his order to stay behind. He was walking just a half pace behind him.

  There was no sign of Archer, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The dog had enough sense to stay out of sight. He was wrong. He appeared suddenly and fell in on the other side of him. He didn't stop, couldn't stop. The man who'd caused so much death and destruction, and who could cleave a path of destruction in the future if he let him off the hook was ahead, and so he kept walking. The three of them, the man in the center with the machine gun, the boy on one side touching a pistol, and on the other the dog.

  One man, one boy, one dog, and ahead of them, a savage man, for whom no amount of cruelty and death was too high a price to pay in order to place him at the top; his goal, overall command of the Islamic insurgency in the countries of Pakistan and Afghanistan. Stoner shuddered to even think about it, ISIS, al Qaeda, the Taliban, and every other tin pot outfit that chose a stupid name before they went on a killing rampage. Ishaq Khan, the Hammer of God could unite these disparate elements. Even now, when his organization was in tatters, his men dead or deserted, he had the charisma to carry it off. All he needed was one thing. His life. To escape Spin Boldak, reach Kandahar, and he'd start again.

  Where is he?

  He looked everywhere, checking each cottage. The boy stayed in the center of the street with Archer, as if Stoner had two sidekicks with him, one each side. It would have been funny if it weren't so deadly. Yet he couldn't get rid of them, for this was a tiny town, little more than a village. Wherever they went, Khan might find them. He was almost at the outskirts of the town, and still there was no sign of him. They got to the last house, a squalid coffee shop, and he peeked inside. Nothing suspicious, apart from the rank odor of Afghan coffee. A fat owner sat on a stool behind the counter, staring back at him, and an old, toothless man was slurping coffee at a table just inside the front window.

  He was about to turn away when Archer growled. He thought he'd smelled something inside the coffee shop, but he wasn't looking in that direction. Instead, he was making low growling noises and staring at the small building on the other side of the street. A crude hut, probably intended to store goods of little value. Winter fodder for the goats, perhaps. He looked at the dog who returned his gaze.

  "What you think, boy? Is he in there?"

  The dog growled twice more. It was good enough for him. Khan had gone to ground in the hut, hoping they’d miss him. He signaled for Javed to lay flat on the ground. They were entering the endgame, and he pushed Archer behind him. He walked forward, getting nearer and nearer. When only ten paces from the hut, a plank smashed up the side. The steel muzzle of a rifle was thrust through, and bullets began spitting toward him.

  He dove to the side, rolling on the ground and putting out an arm for Archer to go down with him. From inside the hut, he heard harsh laughter as Khan reloaded the rifle. He’d expended a full magazine in that first wild burst, and assumed he’d kill Stoner with his next shots, which meant he had a split second to spare. In a single, fluid motion, he brought around the M-60, with the full belt of one hundred 7.72mm rounds loaded and ready. He aimed in the general direction of the hut window and squeezed the trigger.

  He kept the trigger squeezed, pouring on a hurricane of bullets that tore apart the fragile structure. The air was filled with chunks of flying debris, wood, glass, and even straw from inside. Chunks of human flesh began to appear, along with clothing, and even pieces of the bright medals and decorations of a General's tunic. When the trigger clicked on empty, he snatched out the empty belt, and threaded in another. He jerked the cocking lever to load in the first round and pulled the trigger again. Another one hundred rounds tore into the building.

  He was blind to everything, his blood racing, his mind filled with fury at the thought of the vicious, psychotic piece of scum who'd tried to murder so many women, children, and other innocents. Who'd single-handedly done his utmost to bring Pakistan to the dark depths of the insurgency that had ripped Afghanistan apart.

  When the last round left the muzzle of the M-60, he tossed it aside, jerked out the Desert Eagles, and walked forward. Not that he was expecting trouble. After the amount of lead he’d poured into that small timber
building, if Khan were still alive, he’d truly deserve the title of Hammer of God. He didn't need to go inside. The sheer weight of fire had torn the structure apart, and on show were the remains of what had once been a man. Khan was dead. By some strange coincidence, most of the bullets had missed his head when they ripped his body apart. But the head was largely intact, and there was no question about identifying him. It was Khan. Or what had once been Khan. The Hammer of God had become the Hammer of the Devil. A righteous strike.

  The Devil’s more than welcome to him.

  "Mr. Stoner, Mr. Stoner…"

  He looked around at Javed, who'd rushed up behind him. He didn't have the heart to scold him for not obeying orders to stay on the ground.

  "What is it?"

  The rifle left by that man I killed. May I take it?"

  The guy who’d stuck a gun to his head had carried a rifle on a sling over his back. While he'd been busy tearing Khan apart with machine gun fire, Javed had gone back for the gun. A shiny, almost new AKM 7.62mm, and he felt a twinge of sadness.

  The boy deserves it. After all, he killed the weapon’s owner, and the reward is his. But still, I feel sad.

  "If that's what you want, take it. It's yours."

  The boy grinned. "Thank you. You know how much I can get for this in Jalalabad? Fifty dollars, American."

  Stoner felt better.

  The kid has the right idea. His pistol and the dagger are enough. What he needs now is an education. A life.

  "I'm happy for you, Javed. I reckon it's time to get you back to Abbas Noyan, after we've visited the hospital to check on how Greg is doing. It’s time to leave this place and go home.”

  They drove through the night, and throughout the following morning, arriving back in Jbad just after midday. He had a feeling of dread when he went into the hospital. Everything would have changed, and Greg had died, but he was very much alive and sitting up in bed. Faria had her arm around him, as if to protect him from everything bad the world could throw at him.

  They left Greg and Faria and walked back out into the waiting area, where they bumped into Barbara Adams and her errant husband Seth. Barbara was all smiles, although the Ambassador stayed clear of Stoner.

  "Seth got word of what you’ve been up to. I don't know if you know, but they had a drone overhead, and he watched the end of General Ishaq Khan."

  "Yeah, he's gone to another place. And it's definitely nothing good. The fiery flames of hell for that bastard."

  "You did it, Stoner. You got us out and put a stake through Khan’s heart."

  Seth Adams chose that moment to approach. "You’ve put a huge dent in the insurgency and saved a lot of innocent lives." He glanced at his wife and took her hand, "It's not the only thing you did. Discovering my secretary was betraying me was a big deal."

  "What happened to her?"

  He frowned. "Nothing good. She left the State Department, and the last I heard she was heading back to the States, where I anticipate she’ll end up flipping burgers. Assuming we give her a reference, and that's by no means certain."

  "She deserves worse."

  "She’ll get worse," Barbara Adams said, her voice filled with Arctic chill. Leaving none of them in any doubt June Reeder would pay for her betrayal.

  He told them he was leaving and went outside, where Sara was waiting.

  “We need to retrieve Archer. Javed has him, and he’s staying with Noyan and Nadiri in a hotel close to Ma Kelly’s.”

  “Then what’re we waiting for.”

  The two Afghans greeted them, and Noyan threw his arms around him. “My friend, how can I thank you for the lives of my children?"

  He extracted himself from the embrace. "As I recall, it was Ivan who found them."

  "And you, who made it all happen. I'm in your debt. Tell me how I can repay you."

  He shrugged. "You don't owe me anything. Although there is something you could do. Give Javed a good life, and help him find a way to earn a decent living."

  His eyebrows rose. "In Afghanistan?"

  "Greg and Faria do it. They have a small farm, and he manages to make a living."

  The Talibs exchanged glances. "Farming? Is that possible?"

  "It is. Believe it or not, there are ways to get by without slaughtering people."

  They talked to each other in Pashto for several minutes, and finally Noyan nodded.

  "We will consider what you say. But there is something else you could help us with. We wish to acquire a dog."

  "That's a good plan. Go out and buy one."

  Again, the look of puzzlement; "Buy? Not take from its owner? There are scores of dogs running around."

  "Buy one. That's the way it works. Set a good example for Javed, and don't forget. He's young. He’s a great kid, but he needs to be brought up right. He also needs an education."

  "We have much to think about. Again, I offer you my thanks. My children are already on the way home. Their mother came to collect them. We’re leaving today to join them."

  Stoner had much to think about, too.

  I’ve grown to despise the Taliban, and every other insurgent group who drew breath. But I’m now able to see things differently. Sure, most of them are thieving, murdering scum. But maybe, just maybe, a few are human, a very faint ray of hope in a lost land.

  They shook hands and left, and he walked out of the hotel with Sara. "It's time to go home. I feel so tired I could sleep for a week."

  “First, I need to check that leg of yours. You never had it treated."

  He didn't argue. The wound had been giving him hell. So far he’d forced himself to ignore the pain so he could finish what he had to do. The thought of Sara tending to it, and easing the hurt was appealing.

  "My home is above Ma Kelly’s. You don't mind staying above the brothel?"

  She grimaced. "It's not ideal, but it's where you live, so for the time being, I'll put up with it."

  "I guess that means you’re coming back to me."

  "Of course I'm coming back to you." Her face darkened, "Although there are conditions."

  "I’m listening."

  "Your current girl, whatever her name is. Get rid of her."

  "Afifa will be disappointed. We had an arrangement."

  "Not any more you don't. She goes."

  "Okay."

  “There's one more thing. The booze, it's killing you. I talked to Faria, and she said when she and Greg came to visit, you were a candidate for alcoholic poisoning. It's a bit like that pretty girl you’ve been sleeping with. You have a choice, me or the sauce."

  "You mean giving up altogether?” He failed to hide his horror.

  "Not all of it. But you have to stop the drinking binges that are ruining your life. It's a simple equation, Stoner. Me or the booze. Choose.”

  He stopped walking and held her at arm's length, looking her up and down, still finding it hard to believe his luck.

  This pretty, smart girl who’s seen more and done more than most women do in a lifetime, and yet she’s offering me a chance to pick up the threads start again. Like a dream come true.

  He pulled her close. "Sara, there’s something I have to do. I’m going to Russia.”

  “Are you crazy? No one goes to Russia. And at a time like this, when I’m offering you a second chance.”

  He explained about Greg’s GAZ. “It’s the only place I can look for one. Sara, this is important. It’s the least I can do for my best friend.”

  She considered it for a few seconds. “Russia, you say?”

  “Russia, yeah.”

  “It’ll be cold this time of year.”

  “It’s always cold.”

  “True. I’ll pack my severe weather gear. They tell me it’s enough to stay warm on top of Everest.”

  “You’re coming?”

  “Of course I’m coming. I thought we were together, or did you…”

  “Sara, pack your gear. What’re we waiting for?”

  ric Meyer, Righteous Strike