“Sure, you can tell yourself that,” Bolan returned. “But you need to face facts. You needed trained personnel to take down those men. They won’t be the only ones coming after you. There won’t be any military to catch your back next time. So you need to ask yourself what your people are going to do next time.”
He lapsed into silence. Let Yasmin and her companion think about it. All the way back to camp.
Chapter Ten
Jinnah made good time back to the small pathway where the military party had left the packs. He opted to leave the Americans’ two packs behind, and also three of those belonging to his men. Faiz’s pack contained most of the med supplies—the grim irony of that fact did not escape him—and he picked up his own and Zia’s. Each pack was heavy, and the combined weight of three made the rangy warrior strain as he heaved them up onto the plateau.
Jinnah was thankful that the route to and from the packs had hidden him from the Americans and the PWLA women. To be observed when he was disabled by the load he carried was the last thing he needed right now.
Faiz was badly injured. Cleaning and binding the wounds would only take him so far. At the very least, he needed a blood transfusion. If they tracked the Americans and the women back to the PWLA camp, there was a chance they would find the necessary supplies there.
There was, of course, no guarantee the women would cooperate, at least initially. But that was a hurdle to be tackled later. For now, keeping Faiz alive would be enough.
As Jinnah closed on the gully he slowed so he could scout the area. He wanted the Americans and the women to be out of sight, so he could deal with Faiz before setting out after them. There was no room for interference of any kind. When he was sure they were out of visual range, he dropped the packs into the narrow space before slipping down himself.
He silenced Zia as the younger man started to speak, and unpacked the medical supplies before turning his attention to Faiz. The older warrior lay still, the whites of his eyes showing as he drifted in and out of a semiconscious state. His wounds were bound with a rough tourniquet, but blood had soaked through the strips of rag that Zia had torn from his own fatigues while his corporal had been absent. Jinnah grunted his approval as he removed them and applied sterile dressings. He injected Faiz with a painkiller and let him rest for a moment.
Jinnah spoke to Zia quietly. “We’ll need to improvise a stretcher and carry him once we’ve got him onto level ground,” he began. “You’ve done a good job with him, Zia, and it will not be forgotten. Now, tell me what you saw while I was gone.”
Zia delivered as full and concise a report as possible, though he couldn’t help expressing his confusion at the American man’s attitude.
“I can’t understand why he gave in so easily, or why he was going to shoot Patel, or why he did nothing when one of the women did so.”
Jinnah ran his hands through his hair, puzzling over this, as well.
“I think Stone would have fired on Patel, but not at him. Consider our mission—our orders are to get Yasmin back alive, along with what she has taken. Patel had some rush of blood to the head, and Stone couldn’t let him derail the mission. Stone may even have feared for his own life. Patel’s death is partly his own fault—” he raised a hand to stay Zia’s protests “—I don’t like it, either, but I can see why it happened. Our mission overrides everything. That’s why Stone allowed himself to be taken. He will now be inside their camp.”
“And what about us?” Zia asked. “I watched them go, and now they’re out of sight.”
Jinnah sighed. “But they don’t have much of a head start. And they’ll leave a trail. Maybe not the Americans, but the women will. We’ll be able to track them.”
“What if the Americans realize there’s a trail?”
Jinnah grinned. “I doubt Stone will want to point it out to them.”
* * *
BOLAN, DAVIS AND the women didn’t speak as they marched across the terrain. They kept up a rapid pace, and Bolan guessed from their direction that Jinnah’s original estimate of the camp’s location wasn’t too far off the mark. He hoped the corporal had survived the firefight. Of all the Pakistani military men, he would have wanted the corporal and his number two at their side.
As they progressed, he noted that Lasi was careful about where they trod, making sure that they weren’t leaving a trail. Fortunately for the Americans, she was too preoccupied with marshaling them to notice that the far less wary women in the rear were leaving small traces of their progress for anyone who followed in their wake.
If any of the Pakistani soldiers were still alive, they could at least track them to the camp. Bolan knew that Davis was confused by this turn of events. She hadn’t spoken, but the way she glanced over at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention betrayed her. She was wondering why he wasn’t making a move.
Let her work it out herself. If he did anything now, he’d have Yasmin but he wouldn’t have the flask. It was imperative that he extract both from the region. If he secured her now, then he would have to attack the PWLA camp to get the flask. Better that he get on the inside and have to fight his way out than the alternative.
He figured that Davis, casting surreptitious glances at him, could not think her way through any of this right now. Her pride was sorely wounded. She had assumed Yasmin would understand that she was on her side and would, therefore, accept everything she said as sound advice. To have a gun turned on her by the woman she had come to help and to save from male oppression had stung her severely. As the small group reached the top of an incline, they came to a steep drop into a valley, where a twisting path took them to a blind corner. They approached the dogleg bend, and two figures emerged from crevices within the rock. Two women, both of them armed. One of them spoke to Yasmin in Urdu, and Davis whispered a translation. The woman questioned Yasmin and her compatriots about what they had found on their patrol, remarking that other groups had drawn a blank. They had heard the distant sounds of a firefight, and had guessed that Lasi had engaged with the enemy.
They continued their exchange, and it became apparent that the two women had brought the Americans back with them partly to stop Lasi from just killing them for the sake of it, and partly because they were worried about the military presence and wanted to interrogate Bolan and Davis—especially since Yasmin knew Davis from her time in the U.S.A.
The two women allowed the small party through, and Lasi led them down to the main camp.
Bolan looked carefully around, taking in as much of their surroundings as possible. The first thing that struck him was how small the camp was. If this was the full extent of the PWLA, then Washington and the NCA had seriously overestimated its size. The women might have support, but their numbers on the ground were poor. In terms of capability, he couldn’t be sure, but the women would probably argue that they didn’t need numbers or battle experience when they had the flask and Yasmin’s know-how. But that would be worthless if the Taliban or other trained fighters decided to walk in and just take it.
They were led across the small compound and came to a halt in front of the largest tent, which made Bolan smile. No matter what the organization, you could always spot the leader by the biggest office.
“Wait here,” Yasmin snapped at them before disappearing into the tent.
“I hope you have some sort of plan,” Davis murmured.
Bolan shot her a warning glance. “They’re not all from mountain villages, like Lasi. Most of the women here can probably speak better English than me,” he whispered back. He smiled and nodded at Suri, who was glowering at him, as if to prove his point.
“Screw that, and screw you, Colonel,” Davis spat. “It’s your job to get us out of this.”
“It’s my job to persuade Dr. Yasmin that she would be safer under the wing of the United States,” he replied coldly.
Davis
said nothing, but her glare was eloquent. Bolan was happy to ignore her and wait this out. He would need to gain the confidence of whoever was top of the food chain here, and he would be better doing that without Davis’s attitude.
Yasmin came out of the tent, followed by two other women.
“I hate to rain on your parade,” Bolan said with as much charm as he could muster. “But there will be more raiders. And they’ll be forewarned by what happened to the first group.”
“We’ve dealt with one attack, we can deal with another,” the older of the two women answered smoothly.
Bolan’s eyebrow shot up. “Two problems. The first is that your people didn’t deal with it. Mine did.” He could tell from the way the woman looked at Yasmin that she already knew this. He waited.
“You said two problems. You’ve only mentioned one. What’s the second?” she asked eventually.
“As far as I know, Captain Davis and I are all that’s left of the force that saw off your intruders, which means that when the second wave hits, you’re in serious trouble unless you lower your guns and start listening because I don’t want to die, and I’m certain you feel the same.”
* * *
JINNAH AND ZIA fashioned a hammock stretcher into which they placed the now-sedated Faiz. He was a big man, and one hell of a deadweight to carry between them, especially after they’d divided his supplies between their own two packs. With that kind of load and the pace they needed to keep up, their stamina was going to be seriously strained. They had to reach the PWLA camp before Faiz’s condition deteriorated too much more. They also knew that the PWLA women and the Americans had a good start on them, and even though they were easily able to pick up their trail now, the fragile traces would be erased by the elements before long.
As the afternoon began to darken to dusk and the temperature started to drop, Jinnah realized that the coolness may benefit them, but for Faiz, in his weakened state, it could mean hypothermia. Moreover, the fading light would make the delicate trail harder to follow. But to stop for the night would mean certain death for their injured comrade.
Jinnah urged Zia on with a few barked words, imploring him to keep his eyes on the trail and encouraging him with a reminder that their initial search area had been small, so the PWLA base could not be too far away. Still, he knew in the back of his mind that distance was relative when you were carrying a wounded man.
* * *
AS THEY JOGGED ON, following the trail and hoping they would hit the camp sooner rather than later, Jinnah was filled with misgivings, and based on Zia’s silence, he could tell the other soldier was, too. Both had become so wrapped up in their thoughts that they were not expecting to crest an incline and hit the narrow path into a valley. Their downward momentum was rudely interrupted when they hit a bend and heard voices from above, commanding them to stop.
Jinnah cursed his carelessness as three women appeared on the rocks, rifles trained on them. They had reached their objective, but unexpectedly and without the caution and reconnaissance he had wanted to bring to the situation.
Chapter Eleven
“You think they’ll take what you said to heart?” Davis asked with an edge in her voice that was half concern, half sarcasm.
Bolan chewed on the tough goat meat in the curry they had given him and shrugged.
“Their problem, not mine. If it comes to it, then I’ll grab the target and it’s every man for himself.”
“Or every woman?” Davis queried.
“Your tone suggests you know the answer to that,” he murmured. “You’re making your loyalties pretty obvious. You should remember who pays your salary and the oath you took when you started to wear a uniform. Nations are made of men and women, not just one sex—no matter who you think runs them.”
“So if this second attack comes? And as soon as you think it will?” she pressed.
“Then you need to make up your mind,” Bolan said. He was about to continue, when something on the path they’d taken into camp caught his attention.
“So we weren’t the only ones....”
He was up and striding past Davis before she had a chance to take in what he meant. By the time she was on her feet and in his wake, he was already looking over the prone Pakistani soldier as some of the PWLA women clustered around.
Davis joined the group, Lasi close at her shoulder, while Bolan discussed the injured soldier with a lanky woman dressed in shalwar kameez and a fur waistcoat, who was examining Faiz.
“I will do what I can, I suppose,” the woman told him. “But my priority with the few supplies we have is to tend to our own people rather than the enemy. Besides, these men seem to have done a reasonable job with him.” She gestured with disdain at Zia and Jinnah.
Bolan was speechless for a moment. When he spoke, it was as much to the group as to the medic. “This ‘enemy’ soldier was injured fighting off an attack by a larger force that was out to overwhelm you. Frankly, if we hadn’t been there by chance, they would have Lasi succeeded. Lasi knows what she’s doing, but Suri and Yasmin look like they’ve hardly held a weapon. In effect, Lasi was outnumbered ten to one. Very few people can overcome those odds, even with luck. You should be thanking this man for putting himself in the firing line. You should be thanking these two soldiers for what they did instead of holding them at the point of a gun. And you should spare a thought for the three men who aren’t here when you are.”
His speech was met with a slow, ironic hand clap. The two women who had followed Yasmin out of the tent earlier cut through the small crowd.
“Very good...very...stirring is the word, I think,” one of them said. “But you are still U.S. military, they are still NCA men and you still want to take our prize from us. That makes you the enemy.” She spoke a few words in the local dialect that had Lasi aiming her rifle in the soldier’s face. “We will keep defending ourselves. So far we have survived. We can continue to do so....” She looked around at everyone in the small crowd before focusing her attention back on Bolan, Davis and the soldiers. “Now, all of you will go with Lasi and wait where she leaves you until we decide the best course of action. Your comrade will be tended to, as he may be a useful hostage. As may all of you.”
She dismissed the clustered PWLA members with a gesture and turned on her heel. Some had lapped up her every word, but Bolan could see that a few women—especially Yasmin and the woman who had been with her during the firefight—were not so sure. Their leader wasn’t stupid, but she was a fired-up zealot. Maybe the others were not so ideologically driven that logic and sense were lost on them.
As Bolan, Davis and the two Pakistani soldiers were led away from the main camp, he cast a look back at Faiz. The medic was still there, and two other women who appeared a little more enthusiastic about treating him had joined her. He also noticed that a small group had gathered around Yasmin and the taller woman, talking in hushed tones.
Maybe there was some hope.
* * *
JINNAH AND ZIA had said little since they had entered the camp. Like Bolan and Davis, they had been disarmed, and as they ate steadily and watched the PWLA go about its business, Bolan could see that the two Pakistani soldiers were sizing up the opposition and their chances of getting armed and getting out.
“It might not be the best way,” he said softly. “Some of the women don’t toe the party line on us being the real enemy. We could blow it if we try to get our weapons back by force.”
Jinnah stared at him, clearly surprised that his thoughts had been so transparent. “Then how do you suggest we get ourselves armed? You know as well as I do that the men we faced down won’t be the only ones on their way here. And I would feel safer waiting for them with a gun in my hand.”
Zia spat on the ground. “Maybe he just wants us to kowtow to the women. Maybe his orders are to join them, not take the woman away.”
<
br /> “Joining them does the U.S. no good, and it does Pakistan no good. This is bigger than their cause,” Bolan returned. “We represent our nations, joint...”
Zia smiled, but without any warmth. “That right, Colonel Stone? Didn’t look that way when you were ready to take down Vin. Only reason you didn’t was because one of your women got the first shot in.”
“He was going to charge down Yasmin, and he looked about ready to shoot me and Davis, too. My aim was never to kill him—just to stop him from compromising the mission.”
“This is basically what I told Zia,” Jinnah said. “He’s young, Colonel, and although he has experience, he has not yet lived long enough to see what we have. Now may I suggest that we concentrate on how the hell we get ourselves armed and protected? If there’s another attack before we achieve this, I truly would not give much for the chances of our target surviving, not to mention ourselves.”
“We’re on the same page about that, Corporal,” Bolan agreed. He eyed Lasi, who was still standing guard a few yards away. She studied them with rancor. The PWLA was missing a trick by putting her on guard duty. She might have combat skill and the right level of antipathy for them, but she apparently spoke next to no English, so she wouldn’t be able to understand any plans they were making. Bolan wondered how he could play this to their advantage.
He was about to point this out to Jinnah and Zia, but his words were stayed by the sound of distant gunfire. Lasi turned away from them, her attention drawn to the machine gun chatter.
In the camp, there was a stir of activity as the women came out of their tents. The two leaders emerged and started to shout orders in Urdu. The milling throng was slow to react at first, but as the gunfire grew closer with each second, echoing into the valley, many of the women were galvanized into action. But while some of them grabbed weapons and began to move off in the maneuvers they had practiced in training, the remainder were slower, clustering around Yasmin and the woman who had been with her in the field.
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