The Sixth Martyr, page 15
part #1 of Alpha Squad Series
"He is a religious man. Why would he lie?"
Then he stopped talking. They'd seen their target, about half a kilometer away. An American flag and an Afghan flag flew close together, and beneath them, a forest of radio aerials sprouting from the vehicles they'd been told to look for, the mobile command post. He pointed.
“Our destiny lies ahead of us, and we must not falter.” He spoke louder, so the others could hear him, “Keep walking, and talk to each other. Crack jokes, play games, do anything to avert the soldiers’ suspicions. Remember, Paradise awaits."
Some of them struck up a desultory, broken conversation. But the smiles were forced, and they spoke in a series of terse sentences that were anything but relaxed.
No one stopped them. The Mullah was correct. The soldiers didn't perceive a threat in the group of six children strolling along the road. After all, other Afghans were using the same route. They were on foot, motorcycles or battered trucks, some even leading donkey trains or small herds of goats. What were children, but part of the innocent life of the country?
Fifty meters from the target, he called them to cluster around him, and to keep smiling. Still muttering threats of what would happen to their families if they failed to obey. They’d reached the objective, and the Coalition generals would be inside. He twisted his face in the grim rectus of a smile, and told them to sit at the side of the road. They were less than ten meters from Paradise.
His instructors had told him ten meters would be near enough to destroy the target. They sat, and they talked. If anyone had understood Pashtu, they would have heard the children saying their goodbyes to each other. And Maryam was still trying desperately to dissuade Akram from committing suicide. Even though she knew all hope had gone, and they were waiting for an unseen hand to press a button on a remote detonator, and there would be nothing.
* * *
Three klicks out Sarah slowed. The last thing they needed was to approach at speed in a shot up vehicle. Not unless they wanted to invite the troops ahead of them to get suspicious and put more holes in the bodywork. She slowed to twenty miles an hour, and they almost missed it. He was glancing out the window when he saw the robed figure duck out of sight.
"Stop! I saw something."
She jammed on the brakes, and behind them the Alpha Squad Humvee rolled to a halt. He climbed out and started walking toward where he'd seen the man. A moment later, a machine gun opened up. Sheets of bullets tore through the air around him, and he hit the deck. Behind him, Sarah and Javed were already jumping out of the Toyota, and they threw themselves behind a pile of rocks. Hammett and his two men joined them, looking for targets, and not finding them.
Tyler crawled forward, and he spotted him. Twenty meters above the track, speaking into a walkie-talkie, probably to the machine gunners. He took aim and snapped off two shots, but the man ducked back behind cover, and he couldn't reach him without being torn apart by the machine gun. He crawled back to the vehicles, and after a swift glance to make sure Sarah and Javed were okay, he joined Hammett.
"We don't have time to deal with these bastards. First, we have to warn them about the bombers."
Hammett nodded. "We’ll take care of this. You go and warn our people. We'll catch up with you when we're done."
"You’re sure?"
He grinned. "Damn right I'm sure. Besides, we have a couple of nice surprises in the Humvee. I was thinking along the lines of our old friend the M240 grenade launcher. Pop a couple of grenades into them, and they'll run like rabbits. If there’s anything left of them.”
"That sounds like a plan. Thanks, Tony."
He offered his hand, and they shook. "No sweat. You just save those people. Even our generals don’t deserve that.”
Hammett crawled back to his men and started forward. Chris Murphy, his neck covered by a bloodstained dressing, gripped his M249 machine gun, and Diaz carried a grenade launches fitted to the barrel of his M4.
Sarah started the engine of the Toyota, and they drove away. She kept the speed down; the soldiers were beginning to look curious after hearing the shooting. He noticed the machine guns mounted on the armored vehicles starting to point toward them. Best not to give them any cause for concern.
He didn't notice the almost identical white Toyota Land Cruiser, like the one they were driving, parked close to the command post. Neither did he notice the two United Nations men watching their approach. Frank Steadman said something to Katz and hurried away to speak to the group of MPs standing nearby. They nodded, climbed into their jeep, and headed out to intercept the approaching UN Toyota.
The first they knew something was wrong was when the MP jeep slewed across the road, and they had no choice but to stop. The four MPs inside the jeep leapt out and covered them with their rifles. A beefy sergeant who looked to be in charge shouted, "Get out of the vehicle with your hands up."
He spoke quickly to Sarah and Javed. "This’ll just be a formality, nothing to worry about. Keep calm.”
He put down his rifle and stepped out, keeping his hands well away from his body. Sarah and Javed did the same. The MPs grabbed Tyler and roughly shoved him to the ground.
The Sergeant snarled, "I don't know what you're thinking of, buddy. Driving into a military headquarters in a stolen vehicle is not clever. Did you think we were blind? That we wouldn't notice?"
"We didn’t steal anything."
"The UN says different."
“They’re wrong."
An MP ran up to the Sergeant. “It’s like they said, Sarge. That Land Cruiser was stolen several weeks ago, and the United Nations aid team who were driving it disappeared, presumed murdered."
He nodded in satisfaction. "That's very interesting. Mister, you and your friends are in serious trouble." He snapped out an order, "Cuff them. We’ll find somewhere secure to hold them while we investigate. Hey, what happened to that kid?"
Tyler glanced around. Javed had disappeared. He smiled; at least he had the sense to get away. The MPs led him and Sarah to a steel shipping container they'd positioned at the side of the track, and put into use as a temporary prison. They pushed them inside and slammed the door shut. The bolts slid across from outside, and he looked through the gloom at Sarah. "Somehow they got the wrong idea. A wrong idea that came from those UN bastards.”
"It's not your fault. How long will it take to sort this out?”
He shook his head. “Too long. Those kids are goners unless we can find a way out of here."
They sat on the steel floor, and all they could do was wait. The shooting in the distance had died away after a series of explosions that sounded like grenades. They assumed Hammett had finished the job, which meant a few hostiles less to deal with.
The voice from outside was a whisper. “Mr. Tyler."
It was Javed’s voice, coming from a narrow slot in the floor of the container. He crawled over and put his mouth to the opening. "Javed, what are you doing?"
“I'm trying to get you out of there."
"There's no time. Go to our command post and warn them about the bombers."
"I can't. The martyrs are already there, and if I try to get near, Akram will kill me. But I can open this door.”
"What about the guard?"
"No guard. Just three big bolts, I can open them."
“Do it. We have to warn them.”
* * *
Mullah Ahmadi watched in dismay as one by one his men died, picked off by the three soldiers who'd arrived in the Humvee. He wasn’t too worried. The machine guns were still in position, able to rip apart a mere handful of attackers. The volleys of bullets would surely tear the infidels into shreds. That was before he heard the pop of the grenade launcher, and a second later, hot shards of steel ripped apart the first machine gun crew. The second gun continued firing, but three more grenades landed around it, and when the explosions died away, the gun was also silent. He was reduced to one man, Mahmud Pazira, his driver, who was waiting for orders.
"Mahmud, we're leaving."
"Mullah, we don't yet know if the martyrs are in position."
"They are in position, they must be. I will use the remote detonator as we leave, and our task will be complete. We must find somewhere safe where we can regroup our forces.”
“You mean Chiras?”
“Chiras is no longer safe. The enemy is too strong.”
“You mean the martyrs will die for nothing?”
“Not for nothing, no. People will see me differently when I have struck such a mighty blow against the enemy.”
“Surely it is the martyrs who are striking the blow.”
He looked irritated. “Whatever. I will report to Commander Samar that the job is done, and we can retreat to safety. We will organize the counterattack when we reach a safe place.”
"As you say, Mullah Ahmadi."
He started the engine of Ahmadi's luxurious Lexus SUV. His boss climbed into the rear seat, holding up the cellphone-shaped black plastic remote detonator.
"Drive, Mahmud. As soon as we are outside of this valley, I will press the button, and we will have triumphed over the enemies of Islam."
"As you say, Sir."
He engaged drive and nosed the vehicle out of the narrow valley. He turned north onto the track that would take them to Mazari Sharif. In the rearview mirror, he watched Ahmadi hold the detonator out the window, to make sure there was no interference with the signal. Any moment now there would be a mighty roar when six suicide vests detonated in a single, massive blast to decimate the enemy command and control structure.
* * *
Tony Hammett was waiting for the vehicle to emerge from the narrow valley, and the three men were locked and loaded. It roared out onto the main track and swerved north. He was watching the occupants of the SUV through the optical site mounted on his M4. He’d once been a sniper specialist, and Hammett was no slouch when it came to good shooting. All he needed was a target, and his blood chilled when he saw the man in back holding up a black plastic device.
A remote detonator, no question! The bastard’s about to blast the six children into smithereens and obliterate the Generals.
He shouted to his men to hold their fire.
"If we open fire and miss, the guy will hit the button, and it's all for nothing. Quiet everyone. Let me concentrate."
He studied the hand holding the device, with a thumb hovering over the button in the center. His vision was obscured for a few moments, as the SUV lurched and jolted over the uneven surface, and he had to refocus to get the shot. The motion of the vehicle steadied, and he again took aim. Concentrated every fiber of his being, knowing when he fired, he'd get one chance. Once they knew he was targeting the detonator, they'd snatch it out of sight, and everything would erupt in a roar of high explosive, smoke and flame.
I have to hit it first time. Have to.
He relaxed and fell into that semi-trance that is part of the sniper's skill. In a last-minute change of mind, he selected three-shot burst mode. If he bracketed the device, he would have the best chance of destroying it with at least one bullet. For a few more seconds, he held his concentration, and estimated the range was optimum for an accurate shot. He controlled his breathing, keeping it even and shallow, and ever so gently squeezed the trigger.
Three bullets spat out of the muzzle. He kept his eye to the optical site, feeling the glow of satisfaction when the black plastic box tore out of the man's hand and smashed onto the road surface. A second later, it disappeared under the wheels of the SUV. For one bad moment, he thought the pressure might be enough to detonate the bombs, but the device was already a mush of smashed electronics, and nothing happened. The Lexus raced away, and he fired several more bursts, aiming at the occupants. But the driver was alerted to the danger and was swerving from side to side to make a difficult target. Then they disappeared around a bend, and he lowered the weapon.
"I'd call that a righteous shot," he murmured contentedly, “Let's just hope those kids are safe."
* * *
Ahmadi raged and shouted at his driver. "Mahmud, you idiot, you were too slow. Do you know what just happened? Those bullets destroyed the detonator and injured my hand."
He waved his hand in front of the driver's eyes, and Mahmud pushed it away.
"Mullah, I need to see to drive. What happened to your hand?"
"A bullet through it. I'll need treatment."
"The bullet went all the way through?"
“The bullet tore a slice out of my thumb. Of course it went all the way through."
"In that case, you were lucky, Sir. You have escaped serious injury."
"But the martyrs. Who will detonate their bombs?"
"Perhaps God did not want the bombs to be detonated, Mullah. Who knows, his ways are mysterious, to be sure.”
Ahmadi wasn't certain the man was taking it seriously enough.
"Get us out of there, as fast as possible. We will go to join Commander Samar with the main force. You may stop at Chiras before the town falls. I’m hoping they haven’t all fled and my personal things are still intact. Hurry, Mahmud, I must collect them.”
“Perhaps if you’d stayed there and led the resistance, they’d have fought that much harder." He couldn’t resist making the suggestion. He also knew what the response would be. The Mullah was capable of incredible bravery, but only when other men’s lives were at risk.
He grunted. "I am not a soldier, as you well know. When Chiras falls, I will establish a new headquarters in Mazari Sharif."
"Chiras may not fall, Sir. Especially if the defenders know you are going back.”
"A short visit, no more. I am too valuable to risk.”
Pazira’s thoughts were mixed. Every fiber of his being was Taliban. But he also knew some of the families of the children who may now live, after the failure of the suicide vests to explode.
If Ahmadi wants to kill infidels, he should do it himself, instead of getting children to do his dirty work. He should lead his men, a rifle in his hands, and singing the praises of Allah as they march into battle.
* * *
Akram knew something was wrong. They'd been there for almost a half-hour, and apart from the sound of shooting in the distance, some machine gun fire and explosions that sounded like grenades, nothing had happened. He'd waited, watching them carefully, seeing their frightened, white faces. Gauging the terror in the eyes, and although he'd never admit it, he shared that same terror.
If they were going to detonate the bomb vests, they'd have done it by now, before the infidels realize what we are doing. Does that mean they were never going to detonate them?
He came to a sudden decision. It wasn't going to happen, and they’d have to go back and report to the Mullah for fresh orders.
He looked at the children. "The bombs aren't going to detonate. We’re going back."
The terror on their faces changed in an instant to relief, and they scrambled to their feet. Chatting to each other side excitedly, hardly believing. They were going to live! Their hopes and dreams poured out in a flood. He opened his mouth to order them to silence. Too late, the four boys began to run, heading south, away from Chiras, away from the Mullah. Maryam rushed to join them, but he stretched out a hand and grabbed her dress.
"No, you can't run. We have a mission to carry out."
"Akram, please. It's over, can't you see that?"
"I see nothing." His voice was savage, "We’ll go back to Chiras, report to the Mullah, and ask for his orders.”
"Akram, they've all gone. This is stupid. We’re all that’s left.”
“Their families will die for their disobedience!”
She stared back at him. “Is that what your God really wants? To kill innocent people?”
“We cannot shirk what must be done. Come, we’re going back."
She tried to struggle and get away, but he punched her hard on the side of the head. He followed up a second later with a blow to her stomach. She was too winded to struggle more, and when he began dragging her back along the track, she couldn't resist. The plan for them to commit suicide had descended into farce. For him, all that remained was to fulfill Ahmadi’s order and Akram's insane desire to die in a fiery hell of smoke and high explosive.
Chapter Nine
Javed slid the heavy bolts aside and pulled the steel door open. Tyler and Sarah emerged into the daylight, blinking their eyes to adjust to the daylight. He nodded to Javed.
“You did well, but now we must reach the command post to warn them. The martyrs could detonate any moment."
The boy’s face was a mask of agony, and Tyler understood. Was Maryam about to blow herself into little pieces of bone and bloody tissue?
They started along the track and made a few paces when an MP stepped out from behind a truck, clutching a tin mug full of steaming coffee. He gaped at Tyler, dropped the mug, and grabbed for his sidearm.
"Hold it. You’re under arrest, all of you. Sergeant, over here, the prisoners are trying to escape."
Seconds later, they were surrounded by more MPs. The Sergeant’s nametag identified him as Hardman, a fitting description for his personality.
"Take them back to the cell, and this time make sure they’re securely locked in. I want a man on guard duty the whole time, with a rifle loaded and ready to fire. Get them out of my sight."
Tyler felt the despair of failure. At any second, the blast would erupt, leaving the army shocked and leaderless. "Sergeant, you have to listen to us." He put an urgent note into his voice, “There’s a Taliban plot to kill the senior commanders, and the bombers are already here. They could detonate at any moment."
Hardman gave him a skeptical glance. "That sounds like bullshit. We haven’t seen anything like that. What are you saying, a bunch of Taliban have somehow sneaked into this place disguised as regular soldiers? Crap.”
