He was thankful they followed a slightly different route to the steep gully he had escaped down earlier; he didn’t need to see the remains of his partner. Ice would live on in his memory as the indestructible and ever-poised warrior, not a mangled corpse.
“How far now, Mirza of the mountain?” Syed asked, turning in his saddle to look back at the Indian.
“A little further.” Mirza pointed at the crest a few hundred meters above them. “Across the ridge and then down onto the Taliban.”
“Good, good.” The grizzled warrior grinned, spurring on his horse. Mirza’s pony followed suit, breaking into a trot, the jarring action nearly dislodging him from its bare back. He clung desperately to the little animal, failing to register the approaching helicopter until it thundered overhead and disappeared beyond the crest.
“Hurry, Mirza,” Syed yelled over his shoulder. “Now they know we are coming.”
Mirza was more worried the Taliban would get away, not with the chemical weapon, but with their lives. He wanted to avenge Ice. He wanted to kill every last one of them. He finally understood the rage that had driven Bishop through the refugee camp so long ago.
***
“Wolf Troop, this is Eagle. I am approaching your position.”
“Acknowledged, Eagle, we have you now. You’re clear to land,” answered one of the Afghans at the air-defense site. They were ready for the approaching helicopter; all three men spread out, facing different directions, with the SA-18 missiles on their shoulders. Now the chemicals had been recovered from the Russian facility, they were at their most vulnerable, and Khan was taking no chances.
The Mi-17-1M high altitude helicopter had no problems dealing with the thin air of the mountains. It powered up over the ridgeline surrounding the excavation site, hovering above the camp. One of the Afghans waved it onto a makeshift landing zone. The helicopter followed his directions, slipping sideways before descending onto the pad in a whirlwind of dust. The rotor-wash wrenched one of the camouflage nets from its poles, sending it dancing into the sky like a giant plastic garbage bag before it was caught on a rock high up on the cliffs. The pilot quickly throttled back the turbines, flattening out the blades to minimize the down wash. The side door swung open and the loadmaster jumped out of the helicopter.
Yanuk moved forward from where he was standing with Khan and his shrinking band of Taliban followers.
“Greetings, comrade,” he addressed the loadmaster in Russian, shaking his hand.
“Greetings to you, my friend. I take it you are ready to load?”
“Nearly. We are preparing the cargo for movement now.”
By working their slaves to the bone, they had finally broken through to the secret Soviet facility. Two full canisters of the Novichok agent had been recovered, more than enough to complete their mission.
“I was told to expect a payload of two hundred kilos cargo and thirty persons.”
“No, now we only have seven persons, and at most, one hundred kilos.” Khan’s handful of remaining men would leave all their heavy equipment for the local Taliban.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but at least with less weight we will not have to refuel before reaching the border. I will prepare the hold for your cargo. We will leave when you’re ready.”
Yanuk nodded, turned away from the aviator and walked back towards Khan.
“Oh, one other thing, comrade,” the man yelled after him. Yanuk paused, turning back. “We spotted a large number of horsemen coming up the mountain from the other side. I wasn’t sure if you are expecting them.”
Yanuk’s face went blank. Khan had not mentioned any more Taliban. He rushed over to the Afghan warlord, blurting out in his halting English, “Khan, the helicopter spotted horsemen coming up the mountain.”
Khan’s face turned a livid shade of red. He screamed orders to the group, sending them sprinting away.
The warlord turned back to Yanuk. “Tell your peasants to load the canisters NOW. We have little time, we must—”
He was interrupted by the air-defense position cutting in over the radio. “Khan, we’ve spotted a Russian transport plane on the horizon. Are we free to engage?”
“Engage it. Shoot them down!”
***
Onboard the Pain Train, the atmosphere was tense. The entire crew had heard the desperate call from Mirza, and to a man they had worked relentlessly through the night to get airborne.
Although they knew it might be too late to save the two PRIMAL operatives, they were still focused on the chance they could salvage the mission. The pilots had redlined the Pain Train’s turbines all the way from Kandahar. The hastily repaired engine was running hot and burning oil, but it was functioning.
Tucked in behind his weapons station, Mitch had tracked Khan’s helicopter as it approached and landed at the excavation site. Flashing icons on the digital map showed the release point for the bombs that would seal the excavation site and destroy the Afghan missile position. The time-to-target counter indicated eight minutes to release. In a few minutes he would activate the aircraft’s targeting pod and acquire live video of the actual dig site.
An icon appeared in the menu bar at the bottom of the screen, a flashing blue speech-bubble with a camera in it. Mitch hit the icon and a screen jumped up with the face of Vance.
“Mitch, how ya doing, buddy?” Vance asked.
“Yeah, I’m OK, all things considered.”
“Listen, buddy, we need you to hold fire on your attack run. We’ve established a hundred meter weapons exclusion zone around the excavation site.”
Mitch’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “What the hell, Vance?” He leant in towards the camera. “Ice and Mirza are probably dead and you want us to just—”
“Shut up and listen, Mitch,” Vance snapped. “I know how close you and Ice were, but you have to ditch all thoughts of vengeance. That helo you’re tracking wouldn’t be there if they weren’t ready to load it. We’re too late.”
“Vance, we’re seven minutes out. We’ll bomb the chopper, destroy the target. We’re not too late!” Mitch responded angrily.
The calmer voice of Chua interjected. “Mitch, we can’t do that. I know you’re upset but we have a damn good reason. Dostiger’s men are attempting to recover a nerve agent called Novichok. If you hit the target and the canisters are in the open, you’ll kill thousands of villagers downstream. The entire waterway down from the Khod Valley will be poisoned.”
“You’re kidding me? Nothing’s that deadly!”
“This shit is. It’s ten times more deadly than VX. Blast and heat resistant, and persistent enough to make it downstream in the next rains,” explained Chua.
Mitch wasn’t buying it. He wasn’t prepared to accept they may have lost Ice and Mirza for nothing. “What if it gets away from us? What if it ends up in a city and kills millions, then what? I say we hit it now and take the chance. If it kills a few Afghans, so be it.”
Vance’s commanding voice interjected. “The decision has been made, Mitch. Follow your orders. Bishop is in place to interdict the weapon in the Ukraine. I’m making the call on this. We will not run the risk of killing civilians.”
“So that’s it then, is it, chaps? We’re done?” Mitch sounded defeated.
“Negative,” Vance continued. “Our satellite imagery shows a large ground force posturing to assault the extraction site. We don’t know who they are, but we think Mirza may be with them.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
“We can’t be sure, but there’s a good chance. I want you to abide by the exclusion zone and provide what air support you can.”
“Acknowledged, sir. If Mirza’s down there, we’ll support him, and we’ll track the helo if it takes off.”
Vance nodded. “OK, buddy, good hunting. We’ll leave you to it. Bunker out.”
The video screen disappeared, replaced by the feed from the aircraft’s targeting camera. Mitch could make out the flat area at the top of the valley, remnants of the
old Russian experimental weapons facility. A red circle had been superimposed around the site, designating the no-fire zone. He toggled the joystick and the camera panned upwards to the Afghan air-defense position near the top of the mountain, well outside the zone. He smiled.
The pilot’s voice came over the headset. “Mitch, we’re in SAM range. Standby.”
Down on the mountainside, all three Taliban had the missile systems on their shoulders aimed at the rapidly approaching aircraft. As each man activated his weapon’s seeker head, the argon cylinder in front of the handgrip vented, blowing a cloud of freezing gas onto the firer. Mirza’s sabotage was successful. Without the gas to cool the thermal seeker head, the missiles would never lock on to the Pain Train.
As the cargo jet thundered over them, the Afghans scrambled to prepare additional missiles. They were too late. The Pain Train’s fragmentation bombs exploded amongst them. Blast and shrapnel tore them apart.
The Pain Train banked, moving into a holding pattern above the excavation site, allowing Mitch to zoom the targeting pod in on the target.
He cursed to himself as the image of a helicopter came into view. The white-hot plume from its engines was clearly visible through the infrared camera. Mitch could see the rotors gradually turning faster. It was preparing to take off.
Chapter 55
Khod Valley
The wild band of horsemen crested the ridgeline and halted on the small plateau, just a hundred meters from where it dropped down to the extraction site. This was the ground Mirza had covered earlier, He looked back down into the gully that was Ice’s final resting place, then turned towards the Taliban position. Mirza handed his mount to one of the Hazarans as they pegged their horses. He looked around and noticed the body of the Afghan sentry he had shot at dawn was missing; someone had dragged it away.
“Mirza, come now,” Syed demanded. “The bomber, it’s coming.” The Hazaran leader pointed out towards the horizon.
The man had eyes like a hawk. Mirza could barely make out the tiny dot in the sky.
“Spread out, my brothers,” the grizzled warrior ordered, dispersing his men across the ridgeline. “Radio the bomber, Mirza.”
The PRIMAL operative took the small emergency radio from his pouch and activated it. His headset filled with white noise as he adjusted the settings.
Without waiting, Syed initiated a blood-curdling scream that echoed off the cliffs. “Aiiiiii!”
The Hazaran warriors charged down the slope and the chatter of fully automatic gunfire filled the air. Below them in the excavation site, Taliban guards rushed to find cover, blasting away at the charging warriors with their own weapons.
Mirza sprinted after the Hazarans, firing his AK-47 from the hip with one hand as he keyed the radio with the other.
“Pain Train, this is Mirza, over.” Nothing.
“Pain Train, this is Mirza, over.” Still nothing.
A burst of fire showered him with splinters of rock. He crouched down behind a boulder, steadying his weapon. The Hazaran assault bogged down as the Taliban mounted heavy resistance. Khan’s warriors had the advantage of better cover, fighting from behind sandbags and piles of excavated rock. The few enslaved workers outside the mineshaft cowered amongst them.
The firefight raged, Hazarans inching down the slope. Mirza could see the Afghan helicopter still on the ground, its rotors turning faster and faster as it prepared to take off. He looked up at the airplane circling high above.
A huge explosion answered his prayer. A few seconds of silence blanketed the battlefield as everyone stopped to look at the SAM site that had disappeared in a cloud of dust. Expecting they would be next, he hunkered down behind the boulder and frantically ripped the radio from his harness, checking the frequencies. Rounds cracked through the air around him.
“Pain Train, this is Mirza, over. Pain Train, this is Mirza, over,” he repeated, thumping the radio with the palm of his hand. The gunfight was still raging. He spotted another group of Taliban appear from a gully, reinforcing Khan’s men.
***
“Mitch! You hear that?” one of the pilots said over the radio.
“Wait, I’ve got it. We’re picking up a signal,” Mitch replied over the headset. His fingers danced at lightning speed across his keyboard. A frequency bandwidth indicator replaced the battle map. “It’s one of our tactical radios: patching through now.”
The signal was weak. Mitch made some quick adjustments. The targeting pod slewed over to a new group of armed men on the ridge overlooking the site. Finally a clear voice came in over the carrier wave.
“Pain Train, this is Mirza, over. Pain Train, this is Mirza, over.”
“Mirza, this is Mitch. Damn, are we glad to hear from you. We thought we’d lost you.” The Englishman could hear intense gunfire in the background.
“I’m still here; Ice is gone. Mitch, you need to cease fire. There are friendlies on the target,” said Mirza.
“Acknowledge your last. We already have a weapons exclusion zone over the site. I repeat, we will not engage.”
“OK, Mitch. We’re assaulting from the north-western side. Have you got visual?”
“Yes, I have you,” Mitch confirmed. He could see the flashes of gunfire on his screen.
“Resistance is heavy. They have us pinned on the slope. Can you engage the Taliban moving into the camp from the south?”
“Roger. We’ll cover the approaches but we need you to push forward and stop the chopper.”
“Negative. The helicopter is airborne. I repeat, the helicopter is airborne and we cannot move.”
Mitch centered the targeting camera back on the excavation site. He could clearly see the Mi-17 had just taken off and was flying away from the target area, heading south.
“Goddamn it!” Mitch said, smashing his fist down on the keyboard. “We missed ‘em. Mirza, wait out, I’m going to engage hostiles.” He scanned further to the south, identifying a large group of armed men running towards the camp. Selecting the drop point, he allocated ordnance and fired. The aircraft shuddered as the last of the bombs were launched. Mitch watched dispassionately as the men on the screen were obliterated in a series of flashes.
“That one’s for you, Ice, old man.” Mitch activated his radio again. “That’s it, Mirza. We’re all out of bang. What’s the situation on the deck?”
“Facing light resistance. The Taliban have started to withdraw.” The Hazaran assault reached the first line of camouflage nets. The hardened warriors pushed forward methodically, executing any wounded Taliban as they converged on the gaping shaft in the mountain wall. “The site will be secure within a few minutes,” Mirza confirmed.
“Roger,” Mitch replied. “Your job is done now, champ. We have to pull you out.”
“Can you wait five?”
“Negative, Mirza, we’re finished at the site. The chemical’s on that chopper and we have to follow it. If we can’t get you out in the next five minutes, you’ll have to wait for a pickup from the Yanks.”
“Understood. I am ready to go now,” Mirza said.
“OK, I’ll drop the package. Be prepared to extract.” Mitch selected the landing point for the Fulton extraction package and the pilot banked the plane, bringing it on course.
“Acknowledged.”
“Good luck. I’ll see you on board in a few minutes. Mitch out.”
Chapter 56
Khan’s Mi-17, Heading West
Yanuk, Khan and a handful of the warlord’s fighters sat in the cargo netting seats that lined the hold of the Mi-17 helicopter. The Russian combat engineer sat in silence staring at the two stainless steel canisters strapped to the floor. They looked benign, about the size of a small fire extinguisher.
When they had uncovered the canisters, he had instantly recognized the Soviet symbol for Chemical Weapons etched into their metal skin. Fear had gripped his soul with an icy hand; he had only ever seen this symbol once before and the images of corpses, their heads tilted back in an eternal scream, st
ill haunted his dreams. He shook the thoughts from his mind.
Yanuk looked out the window at the rugged scenery flashing past, thinking instead of the money, the women. He had no idea what Dostiger wanted the canisters for. He didn’t care; this was simply business. All he wanted to know was that he was being paid more money than he could ever spend to deliver the two canisters intact. As far as he was concerned, the job was as good as done. All he needed to do was babysit the package for a little longer.
The Russian glanced across at Khan. For a man who had lost thirty of his best men and very nearly failed his mission, he looked completely at ease. Yanuk’s thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his satellite phone. He pulled it from his chest rig and answered it in Russian.
“Hello.”
“Yanuk, it’s Yuri. I want to confirm you have the items,” Dostiger’s head of security asked.
“Yes, I have two canisters.”
“Excellent, the helicopter will transport you as far as our staging base in Turkmenistan. My men will meet you there with transport. You will escort the canisters all the way through to Odessa.”
“What about the Americans? I don’t think you realize how close they came to stopping us,” Yanuk said.
“Turkmenistan is heavily guarded; the local military commander has an arrangement with us,” Yuri reassured him.
“I don’t think we should underestimate the Americans.”
“My friend, you worry too much. Everything has been taken care of. I will see you at the airport in Odessa.”
“I look forward to it, comrade,” Yanuk concluded. He was anything but reassured by the Ukrainian’s confidence. From what he had seen, the men trying to stop Dostiger’s operation were resourceful and tenacious. He just hoped Yuri was right and they were leaving the trouble behind in Afghanistan.
PRIMAL Unleashed (2) Page 25
