The Sixth Martyr, page 12
part #1 of Alpha Squad Series
Chapter Seven
Tony Hammett, Alpha Squad leader, held up a hand to halt. They’d tracked the warband across the barren landscape, across rocks and over hills, once along a dried-up watercourse, and then lost them. Somehow, they’d melted away, and the reason they’d ducked out of sight soon became apparent. Diaz pointed up to the clear, blue sky, and the drone reflected bright sunlight as it banked into a turn.
“They’ve gone to ground again. Those bastards, if they’d hit them when we first told them, this would be over.”
He shrugged. “It’ll be over when it’s over, and there’ll be plenty of foul-ups before that day comes. We should get some rest, instead of chasing around the countryside looking for this bunch of bearded crazies. Now we know where they are.”
They looked at him in surprise. Chris frowned. “Boss, all we’ve seen so far is a couple of scouts. We’ve yet to set eyes on the warband.”
“That’s right, and where there’s scouts, the main force won’t be far behind. We’ll make camp here, and watch and wait. They’ll come, sooner or later. How could they miss a juicy target like the ranch? They’ll steal the horses, loot the house, and move on like fucking locusts. That’s the way they work. Bunch of thieves.”
“Sounds about right, except there’s one tiny flaw in your plan.”
“What’s that?”
“There’ll be at least fifty of them. How do we handle them?”
He shrugged. “We’ll take a fancy photo for General Pike. Send it back with the coordinates, the time it was taken, and a message. Here they are, come and bomb the shit out of them.”
“Do you think General Pike will take notice this time? He wasn’t too interested, for some reason.”
“He has to take notice this time. Think of the alternative. Photographic evidence, timed and dated, with proof of a large enemy force, any Commander who ignores that kind of data will be looking at early retirement. It’ll work. It must work. O’Donnell, how about you rustle up some coffee. I reckon we’re gonna be here for a good while.”
* * *
They walked the horses toward the outskirts of the town, careful to stay off the main track. They kept to the verges, and where possible, moved through adjacent fields to steer clear of the enemy. They were almost close enough to smell them. No more than half a klick from the edge of town, she abruptly stopped them. Sarah had been in the lead, guiding the horses across the unfamiliar ground.
He moved up next to her and spoke in a murmur. “What is it?”
“I heard a noise. I’m not sure what it is, but it sounded like the scrape of a boot.”
He stared ahead and saw nothing. Heard nothing. At least they hadn’t been spotted, the absence of bullets lashing around them testified to that fact. But now, he wasn’t sure what they were facing. Had she reacted out of nerves, spooked by a shadow, a tiny noise made by a small animal? Or was it something real. A threat.
The silence was like a thick blanket around them. He listened, looked everywhere, and still nothing. He even smelled the air, tasted it, and there it was, a mixture of gun oil and cheap scent. Not an uncommon odor in this country, and it spelled one thing.
“Taliban outpost,” he murmured, “Stay out of sight”
“I’ll find a way around it.”
“There’s no time. I’ll take them. There won’t be more than two of them. I have the PSS. Wait here.”
He crept forward. Five meters away, he found their position with ease, downwind of the growing stench. Another fragrance blended into the mix, tobacco. They were both smoking, hidden behind the rusting hulk of an old farm tractor. Now he could see the tiny glow from the cigarettes. From three meters out, he could hear the low tone of their conversation. Another meter, and he could pick them out their shapes in the gloom, two men, as he’d surmised. They were so absorbed in their conversation they neglected to guard the approach to the town.
Big mistake, suckers.
He slid forward, and from a meter away, took aim. Two shots, and two men should have fallen, had not the second target moved at the last second. The silenced bullet ricocheted off the metal breech of his rifle. The round collided with the metalwork of the tractor, and the hostile was already moving like lightning. He was young, fit, and fast. Instead of running, he bent to the ground and picked up the rifle dropped by his buddy. With no time to aim and squeeze off a shot, he used it to strike out like he was holding a baseball bat.
Joe stepped back, avoided the blow, and tried to make space for another shot, but the Talib crowded him, and his back was to the tractor. Tyler felt the hard, knobby lumps of metal pressing into his back, and then the guy made a mistake. He stepped back to make room for a killer blow. A mighty blow designed to shatter his skull. He’d reckoned without the PSS, or maybe didn’t realize the snug little pistol was in play. He brought it up, and with no time to aim and no need, the target was that close, he fired. Once, and then again, both shots hit the target in the chest, but he was still not finished. He opened his lips to shout, and no sound emerged. The third 7.62mm bullet from the PSS angled slightly upward, tore into the open mouth, and ripped through his brain. He slumped to the ground, and in some macabre coincidence, lay next to his buddy, like two lengths of cordwood.
Tyler dragged the bodies into the semblance of a sitting position, to at least make it look like they weren’t dead. He reloaded the handy little PSS with his last magazine and went back for the others. They started moving again, closing on the town. This time it was Javed who stopped them with a quiet hiss.
“What is it?”
“Wait.”
The boy gave his reins to Sarah and scuttled forward into the gloom. They saw him moving, digging around some object on the ground, and when he came back, he was holding a dark, round shape.
“Another mine.”
“How did you see it in the dark?” Joe asked him.
“I didn’t, but I remembered it was there. The locals don’t come this way, not since a boy blew his leg off. I think we’re clear now to enter the town.”
“You think?”
“I’m almost sure.”
“Almost? Great.”
Minutes later, they reached the outskirts and rode past the first house. They were inside the town.
The horses would attract too much attention, and they had no choice but to abandon them. Nasrat volunteered to take care of them until they got back. The hiding place he chose was perfect, a grain barn that was long empty of any grain. Nasrat solemnly promised Sarah to look after them, and they continued toward the center of town.
Javed led them through the darkness along narrow, fetid alleys. They had to stop each time they came across groups of Taliban, forcing them to hug the shadows. Many of the fighters were drunk, or drugged, which amounted to about the same thing, enjoying a final fling before the battle. Women screamed, some whimpered, children cried, and men shouted angry threats. It was like they were entering Sodom and Gomorrah. They crept nearer to the mosque and the madrassa, but the night sky was beginning to lighten, and they were running out of time. Tyler glanced up and frowned.
"We can't carry on. It's almost dawn. We need to get off the street while we work out how to go on."
"It has to be soon," Sarah said, "Those kids may not have that amount of time left. Javed, you're the local boy, what do you suggest?"
He smiled. "I have the very thing. A coffee shop."
Tyler raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that a bit public?"
"Not this coffee shop."
He walked away, and they followed him through the streets until they reached a darkened doorway. Inside, the rich smell of coffee was strong and the place busy with customers. It was also very dim, and they were virtually anonymous as he led them through to a room at the back. He grinned at Tyler.
"We’ll be safe here. This place caters for the criminal elements, smugglers, and bandits."
"I can imagine. And United Nations personnel." They’d just passed a table before they entered the back room, and he recognized the two men sitting there. Ben Katz and Frank Steadman, their heads close together as if they were negotiating an underhand deal.
Criminal elements, smugglers, and bandits, that fits.
Katz looked up, and his mouth dropped open in amazement.
"Tyler! I thought you were…"
"Dead? No, not yet, but they’re still trying. What brings the honest, upright staffers of the United Nations to a place like this?"
He gave a sickly grin. "It’s the best coffee in town."
"Yeah, right. I thought it was something like that. Nothing to do with the fact it’s the best place to negotiate shady deals.”
“Absolutely not!” Katz got to his feet, "Look, Tyler, I'm really sorry I didn't get back to you about the girl, but we've been real busy. Believe me, we hunted the town for her, and we didn't find anything. No suicide bombers, nothing like that. In my opinion, they don't exist."
Steadman looked up at him and scowled. "They’re a figment of your imagination, buddy. People in this town just want to be left in peace."
He stared back at him. "Does that include the scores of armed men roaming around the town outside?"
"Those guns are for self-defense, that’s all. They're peaceful. Most of them are farmers. It’s the American army heading this way that has them worried. It’s not the fault of the Afghans.”
"Yeah, and I'm Santa Claus. I'll be seeing you."
They sat in the back of the shop, and a veiled woman brought them coffee. He was unhappy about waiting too long, and he questioned Javed. "We have to get past those people outside and check out the madrassa. We can’t wait for another night. What about over the roofs?"
He was thoughtful for a few moments, and finally he nodded.
"Yes, it may work. If we climbed to the roof of this building, we should be able to go from rooftop to rooftop and get most of the way there. Do you want to leave now?"
He shook his head. “Finish your coffee, kid. You may never get another one.”
Tyler was wondering about Nasrat. Could he be trusted? Could any Afghan be trusted? Not many. Okay, he was Javed and Maryam’s uncle, but how much weight did that carry? If he cleared out of town with the horses, their means of escape would be cut off. He could even sell them, a common practice in this benighted shithole. He just didn’t like relying on an unknown Afghan, no matter who he was. Then there were the United Nations men. Whatever their agenda, he knew one thing for sure. It wouldn’t help them, and likely the opposite. Then he recalled the time on the hill outside of the town, when someone had pointed the finger at them. Katz? He put down the half-finished coffee and climbed to his feet.
"We’re leaving right now. I've got a bad feeling about this place."
Sarah was puzzled. “I thought Javed said this would be safe.”
“That was before we ran into the UN’s finest. The bastards could have ratted us out."
Once again, Javed showed them the way, and they rushed toward the rear exit. The staircase to the roof was on the outside, and he put his hand on the back door to open it. Someone got there first, someone on the outside, and he fell back as the door was smashed open. The first man who came through had his AK-47 leveled and ready to fire. Tyler didn't hesitate. He pumped two bullets into his chest and ran past the falling body to check outside. Four more armed men were out there, and he ducked back through the doorway as a hail of bullets whistled past him and ricocheted off the wall.
"Javed, you’ll have to find another way."
He pointed to an internal staircase. "Up there, it's the owner’s accommodation. There must be a way out to the roof."
He ran up the stone staircase, and they were in a stinking, squalid room, with a stone fireplace at one end, and a stained mattress thrown on the floor. It was more like a homeless squat than the private quarters of the proprietor of a small business. They raced after Javed, who’d gone through to another room, little bigger than a storage cupboard. He pointed to the trapdoor in the ceiling. Tyler grabbed a rickety table and placed it underneath. He climbed up, and while Javed and Sarah held it steady, he pushed the trapdoor open and pulled himself out onto the flat roof.
Downstairs, men were shouting, and he heard more shots fired. By a miracle, they hadn't yet worked out where they'd gone, and maybe they assumed their prey was still inside the coffee shop. It was dark and dingy enough to conceal an entire platoon. But it wouldn't last long, and he reached back down. "Sarah, you’re next. Give me your hand."
He pulled her up, and then Javed. Then he closed the trap door, knowing that when the Talibs came upstairs to look around, they'd see the table under the trapdoor and put two and two together. There was nothing he could do about it, and he looked for their next move. A series of two-story buildings huddled close together offered a route that would lead toward the center of town.
They inspected the first gap, which was little more than a meter wide, and he jumped across. The others followed, and they went from rooftop to rooftop until they were two blocks from the mosque. They found no more buildings close enough to jump, and so they climbed down an outside staircase to the ground. The deep shadows of the storefronts gave them some concealment, but they almost ran into a volley of machine gun bullets. The hostiles had tracked them across the roofs and hastily set up an ambush position. Four men, two with a light machine gun, a Russian PK, and two with AK assault rifles.
The shooting was wild, but they started to get the range. Two bullets slammed into him, one through the fleshy part of his leg, but the worst was across his belly. The pain was indescribable. Sarah looked at the wound in dismay. "Joe, you’re bleeding badly. We have to stop for me to put a dressing on it."
“Not now. Not until these shooters go down.”
Blood was leaking from the wound, and it felt like he'd been seared with a hot iron, but he set his mind to ignore it. The men who'd shot at them were still coming at them. When he glanced around the corner, they were racing toward him, less than twenty meters away. He pulled the trigger of the M4, and took down the machine gunner and another man with an assault rifle. One hostile dove for the ground, and the other raced back toward cover. He sprayed him with a long burst as he ran, and he fell. The man lying on the ground managed to aim his rifle and fire a burst. It was done in haste, and the bullets all missed. He ran toward him, firing the M4 on full auto. The body jerked a few times, and then was still. He signaled for the others to join him.
"The shooting will attract more hostiles, and we need to duck out of sight before they arrive.”
They barely made it. As they plunged into an alleyway, a score of enemy fighters appeared, running along the main street. They didn’t spot them and ran past. They carried on toward the mosque, and he didn't need Javed's directions. The building was one block away, and the minarets were the giveaway. He led them toward the odd-looking rooftop spirals, and they stopped before they reached the main door. Sarah ripped a piece of cloth from her shirt and wrapped it around his wound. She carried some elementary first-aid supplies in the deep pockets of her coat, and she secured the dressing with adhesive tape.
"We need help, Joe. You’re bleeding and sure to pick up an infection."
"Later. We'll hit the madrassa first. Javed, what you know about this place?"
He narrowed his eyes in thought. "I've been inside, but no more than twice in the last few years. They’ve installed barred windows at the back, so I imagine that's where they’d keep the martyrs. Just in case…" He went silent and looked ashamed. He’d meant to say just in case any of them tried to escape, like he did. Except he'd got out before they took them to the madrassa, so they’d taken Maryam in his place. It was mirrored in his face. If he’d gone to his death, Maryam would be safe.
Sarah tousled his hair. “Javed, it’s not your fault. You did the right thing. Blame the men doing this, not yourself.”
He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. The guilt was hard to swallow.
Tyler took a last look around, and there were no Talibs nearby. "Let's do it."
He raced across the last stretch of open ground, a square of hard packed earth, and reached the front of the mosque. Sarah and Javed joined him, and he went around the side to the madrassa. They found a door, and it was locked. He sized it up; judging whether he’d be able to shoulder it open, and decided it wasn’t going to happen. The portal was solid and well constructed. Like the mosque, the sole well constructed and maintained buildings in the town. He looked up and found a small window, too small for him to climb through, and too small for Javed. But Sarah was very slight, and he nodded at the window.
She caught on and grinned. "You want me to climb through that? Okay, there's no one else who can do it. Give me a hand up."
Javed made a stirrup of his hands, and she vaulted up onto Tyler's shoulders. Without hesitation, she put the barrel of her pistol through the glass, reached inside, and opened it. It was a squeeze, but she managed to make it through, and a minute later the main door opened from the inside. They slipped into the building and closed the door behind them. The madrassa was not unlike the mosque, a large main room, but with low desks for study. A door at the rear led to the accommodation block, or the cells, depending on your point of view. He looked inside and found a long row of tiny rooms, each with a barred window. They were all empty.
"They've gone," he said, his voice bitter. They’d pulled out the stops to get there, and he’d taken two bullets for his trouble, all for nothing, "They could be anywhere in Afghanistan, about to blow themselves up, and there's not a damn thing we can do about it."
"Unless they’re next door in the mosque," she suggested.
"We’ll check it out."
He didn't feel optimistic, and when they entered the mosque, which was unlocked, it was equally empty. Javed was shaking his head in puzzlement.
"I was convinced they'd be here. I’m sorry.”
