The Sixth Martyr, page 10
part #1 of Alpha Squad Series
“Everything?”
“I mean, is there anything else you’d like?”
Through the ocean of tiredness, he managed a grin. “It all depends on what I find beside me in the bed.”
Chapter Six
They met on Friday mid-morning, right after prayers, Mullah Habib Ahmadi and his senior aide, Mahmud Pazira. The occasion was one for celebration, for the Regional Taliban commander, Ghulam Samar, had come to Chiras. Blue robed and veiled women brought them coffee, anonymous in their shroud-like burqas. The men shared polite conversation about the crops, the weather, and their dreams for the future Islamic State of Afghanistan.
The coffee finished, Samar sat back, waiting for them to begin. Ahmadi had issued the invitation to show off his volunteers, and the Mullah gestured to one of his men to start the show. A line of children emerged, and Samar leaned forward with interest. Six children, and the smallest of them, walking at the back of the line, looked to be no more than ten years of age. Then he realized it was the young girl, and he stared at Ahmadi.
“I can see the girl you mentioned amongst them, are you sure that is wise?”
He grimaced. “Her brother was selected, but the coward ran away. My men are still looking for him, and I ordered her to take his place.”
His eyebrows rose. “You told me they were all volunteers, yet you say this boy was selected. Which is it?”
“Volunteers, as I said, I will call one of them forward and you can speak to him.” He looked up. “Akram, come here. I want to introduce you to our Commander Samar.”
The boy came forward eagerly, his face alight with enthusiasm. The bulky bomb vest covered his upper body, and men edged aside as he passed them. “Commander, this is an honor.”
His gaze was neutral. “Tell me why you volunteered for martyrdom.”
“It is my duty, as a good Muslim. We are all prepared to make any sacrifice for Islam, isn’t that true?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He hesitated, “Are the rest of the martyrs as dedicated as you?”
“All of them, Sir. Paradise awaits all of us, so why would we not be happy? We are counting the hours and days until we can take our place in heaven.”
He nodded thoughtfully. If it were true, then Ahmadi had a potent new weapon, one they could use to turn the tide of the war and push the invaders back. Although he cursed the name of Osama bin Laden; The Sheikh had struck a mighty blow for Islam, it was true. At the same time, he’d brought down the forces of Satan on their heads, and the Taliban were in full retreat. Unless they could do something quickly, they were likely to lose the war, which would mean another long, hard guerilla struggle, just like the one they’d waged against the Soviet Union.
Something about the boy’s glib replies worried him.
There are always foolhardy youths, dropouts, and anti-social misfits willing to die for a cause. If so, they’re no loss, and their deaths could serve the cause well, but how many feel the same way?
“The girl at the end, send her to me. I wish to speak to her.”
The Mullah tapped him on the arm. “Ghulam, she is not well, that girl, and not very coherent. When she has recovered, perhaps you can meet her.”
“I will speak to her now.”
“Yes. Akram, tell her to come here.”
She walked slowly, trancelike, as if in a dream and halted before him. He noticed the bruises on her wrists and ankles, as if she’d been manacled. Nothing unusual in that, no doubt she’d been guilty of some crime. He also noticed the vest. Overlarge, it hung almost loose on her, but fastened by straps and wires to prevent her taking it off.
“What is your name, girl?”
At first, she didn’t reply. He asked again, and clarity came to her. “Maryam.”
“Maryam what?”
“I, er, I’m not sure.” He noticed further bruises on her face, and her eyes were dull and lifeless.
“Her second name is Amiri,” Akram supplied.
He scowled at him. “I am asking her, not you.” Samar studied her for several seconds. He was thinking of his own daughter, who was of a similar age, back home with her mother, two other sisters, and her brothers.
It doesn’t seem…right. A young girl, destined to die the most appalling death. Then again, if she really volunteered, it is a matter between her and God.
“Why did you decide to become a martyr?”
A pause. “A martyr?” Her eyes were unfocused, distant, “What was that?”
“A martyr.”
“Yes, a martyr. I remember.”
“Well?”
He spat the word out, growing impatient with the halting replies. Then he gave up, waved her away, and confronted Ahmadi. “She appears to be drugged.”
He was nonchalant. “I have no doubt she is drugged. Something to relieve her illness; that is all. I assure you, she will do her duty when the time comes.”
He nodded, not liking what he’d seen. He was also doubtful it was the whole truth, but he didn’t argue.
Despite everything, I need to use the Mullah’s weapon to hit the American and Afghan Coalition. Strike them a blow so hard they realize the power and strength of the people they’re dealing with. And afterward, at least they’ll go to Paradise, won’t they?
“Mullah Ahmadi, when will you attack? The enemy is getting nearer, and they are camped at Bamyan. Our forces will soon meet them in battle, and I’ll need every advantage I can get.”
“They are ready, my friend. As soon as you give the word, they will travel to the headquarters, their martyrs’ vests hidden beneath loose robes. They can attack within hours.”
He rose to his feet. “Good, good. You have done well. When we have achieved victory, I will make sure you receive a senior position in the new government.”
“Thank you, Ghulam. That would be an honor.”
Ahmadi hid his satisfaction. Soon, he would have everything he wanted. The price was low, just a few miserable, worthless children to cut off the head of the monster, a good price to kill the enemy leaders. They would run, and soon he would have the ultimate prize. Power.
* * *
The Alpha Squad unit traveled through the night in the Humvee, and as dawn began to break, they were close to the hillside where Tyler reported he’d seen the Taliban forces camped in the caves. They were very close, too close, and Hammett told Julio Diaz to find somewhere they could stash the jeep and go in on foot. He discovered a ruined grain store, and the stone walls were high enough to shield the distinctive outline of the Humvee.
They made last minute checks of their gear and set out on foot. Three men carried their personal weapons, M4A1 assault rifles in addition to the personal sidearms in the webbing shoulder holsters. Except Chris Murphy, who had an affinity for machine guns, and had dismounted the M60 from the cupola on the Humvee. He was a big man, hard and fierce, and he carried the heavy, twenty-four-pound weapon like it weighed no more than an M-16. He’d draped bandoliers of ammunition over his shoulders, and he looked like a bandido, a fearsome, one-man fighting machine. Hammett grinned to himself. He’d seen him in action, and if he was anything, he was fast and mean.
He stepped out in front, the rest of them strung out in a line behind him. Keeping their distance in case of an unseen landmine, of which they knew plenty were scattered over the ground, sewn in even greater numbers than the ubiquitous poppy plant, and even more deadly. Chris Murphy followed, and then Diaz, with Jimmy O’Donnell bringing up the rear. They moved fast and silently, as always. They weren’t in country to fight a war, but to win it by providing intelligence to the Coalition.
He stopped when they crested the last rise, and in front of them saw the same hillside. There were no insurgents, just a few men, civilians, herding their animals. Goats, sheep, and some were sitting around a makeshift fire, drinking coffee. What was strange was none carried a weapon. In Afghanistan, especially in the boonies, men always carried a weapon. He’d heard they issued them with an AK-47 at birth.
Was Tyler wrong about what he’d seen? No, something’s out of place, badly wrong, it’s like they’ve been warned. Told the Coalition was onto them, and so they’ve changed position, and put this innocent, bucolic scene to fool the enemy. Unarmed Afghans, yeah, sure, that’s like a Wall Street trader without his cellphone.
He explained his thinking to the others. “We have to locate those Taliban. They’re even more of a threat now they’ve disappeared. They could hit our guys from just about anywhere.”
Chris gestured with his free hand. “Boss, there’s only a limited number of places they could have gone. How many did he reckon there were, a hundred? That many men can’t hide too easily. They could even be tucked inside those caves on the hillside.”
“Unlikely. A hundred Talibs crowded in together, they couldn’t hide that number.”
He nodded. “Good point. So where are they, where did they go?”
“We’ll have to look for them. It’s daylight, and you can’t move that many men without leaving tracks. Move out, and stay out of sight of those goatherders. They’re a plant, put there by our bearded friends to convince us they’re as innocent as the driven snow. My guess is the Taliban bosses would like nothing more than for us to hit them with an air strike. You can see the headlines, ‘Brutal Americans kill innocent farmers.’ They’d just love that kind of publicity.” He spat, “We’ll skirt around the hillside and go south. Chiras lies to the east, and I doubt they’re there, so we’ll start looking to the west.”
He didn’t look happy. “Boss, I don’t like the idea of leaving the Humvee. In case some raghead takes off in it.”
“We don’t have a choice, Diaz.”
“But we can make sure they don’t take it. I was thinking about leaving them a present, like plant a Claymore with the tripwire across the entrance to the barn.”
He nodded. “Do it.”
Ten minutes later, the mine was planted, and Hammett led them in a wide circle to the south. They trekked for two hours without sight of the enemy and turned to the west. After a half hour, they stopped, and he checked the map. “We could run into them at any time, so stay alert. This is wide open country, plenty of places to hide, perfect for a large force to hide out.”
O’Donnell pointed at a symbol on the map. “What’s that place? A village?”
He squinted at the pinprick-sized object. “Nah, it’s a ranch of some sort. See the icon, what is that, horses or something? Some local Afghan breeding horses, I expect, if it’s still in business, which I doubt. Forget it.”
“If there’re buildings, it would make a good place to hole up,” Murphy pointed out.
He acquiesced. “You’re right. We’ll sweep that way and check it out. Let’s go.”
* * *
They were finishing breakfast, and she stared at him for several seconds until he began to feel uncomfortable.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about, all the things that brought us together. You know, after the death of my husband Gary, I thought I’d never look at another man. He was something else. Tough, determined, and yet he had a sensitive side. Like you, Joe.”
“I’m not what you’d call sensitive, Sarah. I work hard, fight hard, and play hard. End of.”
Her eyes were twinkling. “You’re also good in bed.” He reddened and looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, “It’s okay. Javed and Fatima are outside, helping Nasrat with the horses. Layla is with Junior, getting him dressed.”
“Uh, right.”
“Maybe it’s fate that brought us together. Fate that brought you back to Afghanistan.”
It was death that brought me back to Afghanistan.
Her words had touched a raw nerve, and he was back in the U.S.A., watching the network news broadcasts. Listening to his brother Chuck Tyler on his last ever call, trapped inside a burning building, about to collapse after a bunch of Islamic maniacs rammed two civilian airliners into it. He savored his rage and pain, so soon after the loss of his wife and son. He couldn’t avenge their deaths, not when the shooter was already dead. But Chuck was another matter.
Unfinished business.
“It’s not why I came here, Sarah.”
“No.” Her voice was soft, filled with a gentle understanding, “I know you didn’t come here to see me, but like I said, it was fate brought us together.”
“You know I came because of Chuck. Someone has to pay.”
“They’ve sent an entire army to make him pay. Let them do what they must do. You’re one man.”
“All it takes is one bullet.”
Her face was filled with anxiety. “Then make it someone else’s bullet, Joe.”
A shake of the head; “He has to pay.”
“He will pay. Look at what you’re doing. The Taliban are using those young people as human bombs, filling their minds with poison until they’re ready to blow themselves up for some filthy, medieval concept of right and wrong. Rescue these children, and free them from this terrible threat, then you’ll have struck a savage blow against the Taliban. That will also hurt their buddy, bin Laden. You can’t do any more, Joe. You’re taking on too much already, and you’re likely to get yourself killed. We could all die.”
He looked sharply. “We?”
“We. Like I said, you’re one man. I’m coming with you, and this time, I won’t remain on the hillside. Where you go, I go. Into Chiras, and we get them out.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Javed told me he wants to come, too.”
“No.”
“Yes. It’s his sister. He knows the town, and he can make the difference between success and failure. This time it has to work.”
“No.”
“Don’t fight it, Joe. You need us. On your own, you’ll fail. And you’ll die.”
He floundered for words and came up with nothing. In the end he nodded, but she still wasn’t satisfied.
“I want you to promise me something.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Make this the last one. If we get those kids out, make an end to it. You’ll have driven a thorn into the side of bin Laden, al Qaeda, the Taliban and every other bearded, Koran spouting fanatic who carries an AK-47. Save those kids, six poor souls, let them live as a testament to the triumph of humanity over savage cruelty. For me, Joe, and for Junior.”
She was making a powerful argument, but he was shaking his head. “It’s not so easy.”
“It is,” she almost shouted, “I never met Chuck, but what would he have wanted? To see you gunned down in a hopeless quest for revenge? Or to see you carry on living, with six young people saved from the worst possible death.”
Her words stopped him, and he had to think hard, although there wasn’t much to think about.
Chuck would tell me to do the decent thing. Save the kids, and make it his epitaph. Maybe she’s right, and fate brought me here for a reason. But still…
He looked at her. “I’ll give it some thought.”
She sighed. “Joe, you are one stubborn bastard.”
“Yep.”
She hoped she’d said enough. Hoped he’d be satisfied to strike a heavy blow against the Islamic fanatics, and save young lives in the process. They finished breakfast, and she cleared the dishes away. They went outside, and Javed and Fatima were leading the saddled horses toward the house. Evidently, other people had made up their minds.
The boy looked at him and grinned. “When are we leaving, Mr. Tyler?”
But he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was counting the horses. Six, when they needed no more than five. If they managed to rescue any of the other children, they could always double up. “Why six mounts, Javed?”
He looked away. “The extra one is for Fatima.”
Not another child putting her life on the line. No way.
“Fatima stays. She’ll be safe here."
“But why?”
“Because I don’t want her death on my conscience. Just unsaddle the extra horse. We’ll be leaving soon. Fatima, this isn’t a negotiation. You’re staying. We’ll be back before too long.”
She could hear the sternness in his voice, and she nodded. “Very well. But Javed, you must be careful.”
“I will. I have another AK-47.”
She smiled dutifully. She was an Afghan and knew the weapon. And knew a single assault rifle was almost meaningless in the cauldron they were about to enter.
“That is good.”
They loaded the horses once more and set out for the final encounter with the enemy. Javed was filled with enthusiasm, despite a tearful farewell from Fatima. He led the way, and Sarah urged her mount forward to keep up. She carried a hunting rifle on her back, a Weatherby Vanguard .308. A tough, rugged bolt-action weapon well suited to the harsh Afghan conditions.
He brought up the rear, leading a rein attached to the chestnut mare Sarah had brought along for Maryam. He was still confused. What had started out as a one-man mission to seek revenge for Chuck had become too complicated. The invasion of Afghanistan, the search for bin Laden. The war against the Taliban and al Qaeda, and then there was Sarah, who’d become special.
And Javed, a million to one chance that had changed everything. He’d happened to get off the bus in Bande Pitaw national park. Just looking for some solitary peace, and then the boy was lying in front of him. From that moment, their lives had become inextricably linked.
I saved the kid’s life, and we’ve become like…what? Is Javed a replacement for Chuck, a surrogate brother? No, that isn’t it. Chuck was older, and I always looked up to him. Javed came to me after the playground bully gave him a bloody noise, and Joe Tyler went to sort it out. Is that it?
It still didn’t fit. He came up with an explanation, and it was complex. Like Sarah had hinted, fate had brought him to Afghanistan, made him get off the bus in that particular place, and encounter a young Afghan who needed his help. And now he’d vowed to get the other kids out along with Maryam.
Will it be enough of a blow against the men who’d conspired to kill Chuck? I’m not sure. I’ll put that question out of my mind until we get back. As I don’t expect to, maybe there’ll be no need to decide. This is crazy, even crazier having Sarah and Javed along. But I need Sarah to look after the horses. She’s the expert. Horses are the only way to make a sharp exit across wild country, without the enemy being able to follow, at least not easily. And Javed is a Chiras boy. He’ll find unseen ways to get in and out of the town. I just pray I can keep them safe.
