Mirza spoke first. “Sir, what sort of backup do we have if this turns into a shooting war?”
“The priority is to remain covert but if the shit hits the fan, the Pain Train will back you up. We’ll have full coverage from the drones so you shouldn’t get caught with ya pants down.”
Ice followed on. “What about the extraction plan. How are we getting out?”
“We’re gonna contract a chopper out of Kandahar,” Vance clarified.
“So what happens if one of is injured?” Mirza asked softly.
“You stabilize the casualty and we’ll get the closest medivac in,” Vance stated. “The US Air Force aero-medical unit at Kandahar Airfield can have a chopper in the area within 90 minutes. Use your false call sign and we’ll worry about the rest after they evac you.”
Mirza looked confused. “False call sign? Won’t the US air controllers pick up the Pain Train and question the call sign? You’re not going to be able to fly around US-contolled airspace without being detected.”
“We’re registered as a CIA contractor. No one’s going to ask questions. It also means we can dail-up US casualty evac. It’s a pretty standard procedure and it’s worked well in the past.”
“Still, we don’t have our own dedicated CASEVAC or extraction plan? This all sounds a little ad-hoc, Sir.”
“Don’t I know it, Mirza. Look, I’m not real happy about this but it’s the best we can do at short notice.”
Ice interrupted. “As Bishop would say, no dramas, Vance. With the Pain Train providing close air support, we’ll be OK.”
“That’s right. Mitch will be your guardian angel, boys. If there’s anything else you need, just holler.”
Mirza lifted his iPRIMAL up to face the laptop camera. “All hooked up, Sir.”
“OK, team, kick some ass and stay safe.”
The link to the Bunker closed and Ice pulled up an image of the area. Mirza pointed to the contour lines on the digital map. “The terrain looks heavy. It might be wise to leave our armor behind.”
“I agree. I’m going to run with just my vest and a day pack with extra water and ammo. We’re going in a little light but we’ll move fast. The quicker we find the target, the better.”
“Any preference on weapons?” Mirza asked, unzipping a weapon bag. He ran his hand over a .50 caliber XM500 sniper rifle.
“That’s Dorothy,” grinned Ice. “Probably be a bit heavy for this mission. I’ll run with my 417, you want to roll with a sniper rifle?” Ice favoured the Heckler and Koch assault rifle. It had a faster rate of fire than a sniper rifle but still had good range.
“I will take the suppressed SVU. A silent option might be useful.” The Russian-designed sniper rifle had been a favorite of the Indian during his time in the SFF.
The two men worked methodically as they prepared their gear, checking their weapons, ammunition, and other vital equipment. Ice waved Mirza over as he pulled a nylon bag from the overhead netting. “You used a Skyhook before, Mirza?” he asked as he unclipped the sack’s compression straps.
“A what?”
Ice unzipped the bag and began pulling out the contents, laying it out on the aircraft floor. “Skyhook is an old favourite of Vance’s; he put it to good use down in Latin America. Naturally he brought it with him when he started PRIMAL.”
“Vance started PRIMAL?”
“Yeah. Got tired of doing the CIA’s dirty work.”
“You were there in the beginning?”
Ice looked up from the nylon harness he was laying out. “I was.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Ice, why did you leave the CIA and join PRIMAL?”
“I got sick of the politics, Mirza. Got tired of having fat cats decide which bad guys got away scott free and which ones took a bullet. One man’s terrorist was another man’s oil broker. We had a unique opportunity to start PRIMAL and we took it. Simple as that.”
“Bishop mentioned a wealthy benefactor.”
“Yeah, someone had to cough up the cash; this isn’t a cheap business were in.”
Mirza watched silently as Ice laid out the final pieces of equipment.
“People do this for their own reasons, Mirza. I guess I’m trying to make good on the bad guys I had to let go.” The former CIA man finished with the contents of the bag. “We’ve got twelve hours till we’re over the target area. Could be an additional half an hour till we get an exact fix on the drop zone. Once I take you through this, I’ll catch some zees, and you should probably do the same.”
Ten minutes later the Skyhook was packed away and Mirza watched the huge soldier relax back into the web seating and almost instantly doze off. There was no way Mirza could sleep; he was both nervous and excited. The equipment Ice had shown him was insane, to say the least. The thought of having to use it was enough to make him nervous. Yet Ice had explained it to him as calmly as a mother teaching a child to tie his laces. At least now he understood why they called him Ice; the former Marine’s veins must have run cold with it; nothing fazed him.
Chapter 19
The Pain Train, Southern Afghanistan
While Ice and Mirza dozed, Mitch Ferry was busy in his control centre at the front of the aircraft. Just behind the cockpit, he sat in a high-backed swivel chair, busy operating the computer terminals that controlled the aircraft’s sensors and weapons, as well as the deployable drones, or UAVs.
Three large LCD touch-screens were affixed to the walls of the control centre. The central screen displayed the aircraft’s position on a digital terrain map, while on the other two Mitch was running diagnostic tests on the aircraft’s targeting pod and weapons. His favourite Prodigy track blasted through the cordless communications headset as he nodded his head to the bass, fingers flashing between his keyboard and the touchscreens. The music faded out as the pilot opened a channel on the intercom.
“Mitch, we’re ten minutes out from the UAV launch site.”
“Acknowledged. I’m powering up the systems now.”
“We’ll drop back to 150 knots for the launch. Can you run the UAV till we circle round to drop the team?” the pilot asked.
“No problems at all.” Mitch tapped the screen in front of him, bringing up the latest weather data. “Looks like we have a little over two hours until first light. We need to get the lads in under darkness.”
“Acknowledged. We’ll be well within that time-frame.”
“Excellent,” Mitch replied before switching radio channels to the cargo hold.
“Look lively, bucko. You awake?” Mitch raised the Pain Train’s Loadmaster at the back of the aircraft.
“Just woke up, buddy. What’s happening?” a voice answered.
“Are you ready to launch the bird in ten?”
“Yeah, she’s good to go.”
“Tip top, I’m coming back to brief Ice now.”
“Ready when you are.”
Mitch slid down a short ladder behind his workstation and opened the small door that separated the flight deck from the cargo hold. He saw that Ice and Mirza were fully kitted, wearing their helmets with night vision goggles flipped up. Mirza looked up from his iPRIMAL but Ice still looked fast asleep, slouched back on his parachute.
Mitch reached out to shake Ice’s shoulder and the big man spoke as his eyes snapped open. “We good to go?”
“About to launch the UAV, chocks away within the hour.”
“Roger, can we check comms in the next fifteen?” Ice said.
Mitch nodded. “Soon as I get back to my station, I’ll bring you both online yeah.”
Mirza gave him a thumbs up and Ice replied, “OK.”
Mitch made a move to return to his station, but then paused. “Oh, and Ice.”
“Yeah, buddy.”
“Let’s fuck these clowns up.”
“Fuckin’ A, man. Fuckin’ A.”
Chapter 20
Khod Valley
“I’m looking for a graveyard,” Mitch muttered as the Pain Train reached the UAV release point. Th
irty dead Americans and their vehicles.
The Brit had used the aircraft’s targeting pod to scan around the last reported location of the ambushed patrol but as expected, from 30,000 feet the resolution was average. He would have to rely on the lower-flying drone to locate the ambush site and a suitable drop-zone for Mirza and Ice.
Mitch felt the aircraft shudder as the pilot throttled back and the loadmaster lowered the Pain Train’s ramp. Three of the compact delta-wing Sentry UAVs were lined up in the cargo hold.
“Drone Chute out. UAV is away!” the loadmaster reported as the little aircraft disappeared into the night.
Mitch felt the Pain Train accelerate back to cruising speed as the ramp closed. Within seconds a flashing symbol popped up on the master control screen as the drone went live. He tasked it to fly over the target area, maintaining a four kilometer standoff to avoid detection.
On one of the other screens he brought up the gray-scale image of the terrain being beamed from the UAV’s sensors. It looked like a moonscape as the UAV’s camera panned over the rocky Afghan mountains. Using the joystick, Mitch zoomed onto a thin winding river running north south, and immediately spotted the thermal blooms from a small village perched on its banks.
“Early risers, eh, already cooking breakfast,” he said to himself.
He moved the sensor north, searching along the main track as it paralleled the river. Ten minutes ran into twenty and he still hadn’t found what he was looking for. He glanced up at the timer ticking down on the top of screen. As the image passed over a narrow point between two ridgelines, he spotted the remains of the American patrol. Five burnt-out vehicles.
He immediately zoomed out, searching for a suitable drop zone. On the near side of the western ridgeline was a flat, open area halfway up the feature. He touched it on the screen, marking it with a waypoint, and sent the coordinates to Ice.
In the cargo hold Ice looked down at the iPRIMAL strapped to his forearm as it flashed. “Game time,” he said.
Using his fingers he panned out from the digitized map and noted both the position of the destroyed patrol and the DZ Mitch had selected. It was a good choice: fairly flat. He hated hard landings.
“You happy with it, chaps?” Mitch enquired over the radio.
“Looks good,” Ice responded.
“Tip top, five minutes out, lads. Coming in upwind; you’ll have a two-knot tail chaser. First light is in approximately thirty minutes.”
“Roger, can you light up the DZ.”
“As soon as you jump, the UAV will laze.” Through their night-vision goggles Mirza and Ice would be able to see the infrared laser pointing out of the sky like the finger of God, marking the drop zone.
The two men struggled to their feet, adjusted their harnesses and tightened up their helmets. The loadmaster switched off the lights in the hold, activating a dull red fluorescent glow that would aid their night vision. The packs and weapons strapped to their fronts caused them to move like pregnant women as they waddled to the rear of the aircraft, past the palettes of Viper Strike munitions and the two remaining UAVs. The loadie was waiting near the ramp, at the side door purpose-built for parachutists.
“Two minutes,” Mitch announced over the radio and the loadmaster held up two fingers.
“One ready,” Mirza said, nodding to the man.
“Two ready,” Ice responded behind him.
“One minute,” Mitch stated as the loadmaster slid the door up. Wind ripped into the hold, tugging at their equipment and clothing. Mirza felt the rush of adrenaline as he glanced out of the door into empty space below. Despite the rushing wind, all he could hear was his pulse pounding in his ears.
“GO! GO! GO!” Mitch’s voice bellowed over Mirza’s headset. Training overcame his apprehension and he stepped forward out of the doorway. The blast of air and noise buffeted him as he was ripped clear of the aircraft, then there was just the rush of the wind as the Pain Train disappeared behind him and he plummeted through the pitch-black night towards the earth.
He reached for the parachute release handle and wrenched it free. The chute was ripped upwards, snatching him from his free-fall like a giant hand grabbing the harness. He flicked down his night vision goggles and activated them. They revealed a pixelated landscape with no light sources other than the night’s stars. He spun the parachute in a tight circle, searching for the laser.
“Mirza, you OK?” Ice’s voice sounded in his headset as he spotted the finger of brilliant green light and used the chute’s toggles to turn towards it.
“I’m OK.”
They were now under their nylon canopies, deep in hostile territory and gliding rapidly down towards the drop zone.
The almost alien voice of Mitch broke in over their radios with a burst of static. “Gents, the Pain Train is off-station in five. We’ll be back in 4 hours once we refuel. I’m handing over the UAV control to the bunker.”
“Get back as soon as you can, Pain Train. I feel like my balls are swinging in the wind without my Guardian Angel,” Ice responded.
“Wilco. Good hunting, lads. Pain Train out!”
Chapter 21
Excavation Site
Far below the Pain Train, deep in the mountains above the Khod Valley, a makeshift camp was beginning to stir. As the first fingers of light spread across the camouflaged tents, the thumps of a starting generator resonated off the surrounding cliffs. It ran ragged for a few seconds before settling into a rhythmic pattern. A moment later the noise was joined by the chatter of a hydraulic drill emanating from a shaft burrowed into the side of the mountain.
Within minutes the first wheelbarrow loads of rubble appeared from the tunnel, grubby Afghan workers shuffling under the weight of the rock. The men looked weary, having been forced to toil at the task for nearly four days. Several had been killed the previous day when some poorly placed shoring collapsed.
The punishment was severe. The two dazed workers who were recovered alive from the rubble had been beaten to death, their faces smashed in by one of the Taliban wielding a shovel. The remaining Afghans worked desperately, in fear of the ruthless animals watching over them.
Yanuk sat on a pile of rocks watching the workers intently, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. The operation was supposed to be complete in forty-eight hours and things were not progressing well. A number of mishaps had slowed their progress: the shoring collapse, generator breakdowns, and even a landslide brought on by blasting.
“Bloody hajis are sabotaging me”, the engineer swore. Although Khan’s men had made an example of the two responsible for the tunnel collapse, he was still suspicious of the rest. He stubbed out the cigarette on a rock and crouched down to warm his hands on the small gas burner that was struggling to heat his coffee. How it could be this cold in the morning and still be 100 degrees by midday was beyond him.
Yanuk looked up from the stove to see that Khan and his entourage of fighters had climbed up from their camp to inspect the progress. The ten Taliban warriors all wore similar attire: plain robes with the usual wrapped headdress. A number of them stood out with modern digital camouflage body-armor, recently scavenged from the ambushed Americans. Yanuk thought they looked ridiculous with the distinctive camouflage vests worn on top of their more traditional garb.
Not once had the Afghan warlord invited him down to the tents they had erected below the work site. Khan and his group of Taliban had established a comfortable camp complete with carpets and servants. At night Yanuk watched them through his night vision goggles. While he slept in the open and ate from tins, these peasants were living it up like they were on some sort of camping trip, eating roasted goat and taking turns to sodomize one of their young servants.
The Russian engineer downed the last of his coffee and rose, slinging his assault rifle over his shoulder. He took a deep breath and walked over to where Khan was watching the workers.
“They are working too slowly, Yanuk.” Khan’s perfect English irritated him.
; “We will make the deadline.”
“Perhaps, but we have a problem.”
“There is no problem. We make the deadline.” Yanuk clenched his fists by his side. He wanted nothing more than to slip his fighting knife from his forearm and bury it in the arrogant warlord’s throat.
“The problem is not here, my friend.”
Yanuk looked confused.
“There are some vehicles approaching from the south,” Khan said, gesturing down the ridgeline towards the valley.
“What? Who? How do you know?”
“My comrades.” Khan gestured to the Taliban behind him. “They have informed me that men they think are American Special Forces are approaching the valley.”
“Your men must stop them. I cannot go faster!”
Khan pointed to the Taliban and said, “My friends are bringing more of their men to ensure we are safe. But now you understand why we must work quicker.”
“If your men help, we could dig faster—”
“No!” Khan fixed him with a cold stare. “My warriors do not dig. They will keep us safe. Make the Hazaran dogs work faster.”
Yanuk didn’t trust himself to reply as Khan turned away, his entourage following him as he moved back to his camp. As far as he was concerned, the Taliban were nothing but peasants with guns. He angrily tossed his lukewarm coffee into the dust and turned back to the dig site.
Chapter 22
Kiev, Ukraine
Bishop stepped out onto the business jet’s stairs and the icy cold air hit him, turning his breath into light fog. Without pausing he continued down the steps onto the tarmac where a man was leaning against the door of a black BMW.
“Welcome to Kiev, Mr Fischer.” The man stepped forward, greeting him with a thick Russian accent.
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