The Sixth Martyr, page 16
part #1 of Alpha Squad Series
"Not Taliban, these are children. They've been conned into wearing vests filled with explosives."
"It’s true. You have to listen to him," Javed blurted out, "My sister Maryam is with them. They made her into one of the martyrs, and she will die if you don't stop them."
He shook his head. "Bullshit. Take them back to the cell."
"Hold it."
The Humvee had skidded to a stop a few meters away, and Tony Hammett climbed out. "Sergeant, what are you doing with these people? They’re the good guys."
He grimaced. "Good guys, are you kidding me? They were trying to escape."
"I doubt that. Why did you lock them up in the first place?"
"They stole a vehicle, a United Nations SUV."
"That’s a heap of crap. They were trying to warn you about the bombers."
He looked dubious. “I don’t believe you.” He stared at the mercs, “Who are you guys, what unit are you with? You're not wearing any uniform I recognize."
"CIA Alpha Squad. It doesn't matter who we are, what matters is you let these people go, and find those bombers."
Hardman’s face creased in indecision. Then the need for him to make any kind of judgment ended. Two older men approached, with their entourages straggling behind them, three-star Marine General Robert Pike, and a flabby senior officer wearing General’s stars and the uniform of the Afghan National Army. They stopped before the MPs.
"What the hell is this?” Pike growled, “What's going on here, Sergeant?"
The MP turned, and he flung up a parade-ground salute. "General, they’re giving me some cockamamie tale about suicide bombers. They said there are children carrying bombs, trying to blow up your headquarters."
"Children?" He looked at General Kabir Shah. "You saw those Afghan kids sitting outside the command post a few minutes ago? Did they seem like a threat?"
The Afghan pursed his lips in thought. "It's possible, there was something strange about them. They wore loose robes, which meant they could have been hiding something beneath. But they ran away, so perhaps we’ll never know.”
Javed gasped, “They ran away? Then they are still alive.”
Pike ignored him, asked Hammett to identify himself, and he showed his CIA credentials. He explained how he knew Tyler from before, and Pike listened to him in silence, but the frown was eloquent. Hammett ignored his disbelief and went on.
"I understand you'll be attacking soon, Sir, the start of a sweep north, toward Mazari Sharif. Chances are you'll run into those suicide bombers again sooner or later, so I'd be damn careful if I were you."
Pike’s eyes hardened. "You're not me, Mister, and you’re not even a part of the military. You and your men are just a bunch of spooks running around my area of operations playing soldiers. I suggest you get back to doing what you're supposed to be doing, and leave the real soldiering to the men whose business it is."
He looked at the MP. "Sergeant, you'll impound the vehicles these men arrived in. If they don't have transport, they won't be able to swan around and get in our way.” He looked back at Hammett and Tyler. "I'm giving you men a final warning, and there won't be another. You can go free, but without your vehicles. I suggest you get out of here and start walking, before you get yourself into serious trouble."
"Sir…"
Pike wasn't listening, he’d finished. He swung on his heel, and the two Generals walked away with their entourages in tow. The MPs drove the vehicles away, and they were left on their own, watching the soldiers around them prepare for war.
"The battle will be soon," Sarah said, "Will they win?"
Tyler nodded. "Yes, they'll win. They have to win, they can’t lose with all this materiel.”
Javed looked at them, and his face had filled with anger. "They'll win, but my sister will be dead."
Tyler gave him a sympathetic glance. "We know how you feel, and we’re not done yet. Javed, we need to find them, and I reckon Chiras is our best bet. General Pike has stopped us taking the direct route, but we can travel via Panjab, and then cut north."
“Except we don't have a vehicle," Hammett pointed out, "Making that journey on foot would take days. We’d never make it."
Tyler nodded. “True, but we’ll get someone to help us. The United Nations, they’re known to be generous in handing out aid. They can aid us with their Land Cruiser."
He regarded the brilliant white SUV, with the blue logo and UNHCR lettering. Katz and Steadman were sitting on folding aluminum chairs. Beside them they had an insulated container from which they’d removed a variety of pre-packed snacks. They were munching through a selection of fine foods, unusual in Afghanistan, although not for the UN.
No MREs, ‘meals ready to eat,’ for these folks. Nothing but the best, and as they approached, Steadman pulled the cork from a bottle of wine and began to pour it into a pair of tin mugs. He handed one to Ben Katz, and they sat sipping the wine. They were relaxed and absorbed in the meal. They failed to notice Tyler and Hammett until they were standing next to them.
"That looks like a nice spread you have there."
Katz had the grace to look embarrassed. Steadman glared. "We do important work, Tyler. We need decent food to sustain us, otherwise people will suffer."
"But you two guys won’t suffer, no fear of that. That wine looks interesting, what vintage is it?"
"I don't know," he snapped.
"I'll bet it tastes good." They didn't reply.
"I need a favor from you two. You lied to the military and told them we'd stolen the Toyota, so they seized the truck and we don't have any transport."
"It was no lie," Katz said, "The vehicle was stolen. We know that for a fact. We also know the aid workers driving it were murdered, otherwise we would have heard from them."
"But you know damn well I had nothing to do with it." Katz opened his mouth to protest, but Tyler held up a hand, "No, listen to me. We need a vehicle, and we're taking yours."
"The hell you are. You try a stunt like that, and we'll get the military on your tail. They'll hunt you down wherever you go, and when they find you, you'll be in serious trouble for interfering with a United Nations aid mission."
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself." Hammett stepped forward, "I work for CIA." They stared at him like he was the devil incarnate. CIA was not known to be a friend of the UN, "The situation is simple. If you kick up a fuss about your vehicle going missing, I'll contact Langley, and tell them about a big aid swindle I've uncovered in Afghanistan. I'll bet if I give them a description of you two men, they'll recall you within hours to face charges.”
"That’s crap, and you don't have any evidence," Katz snarled, "You can't have, no one..."
"No one what? No one knows, what have you been up to, pal? Diverting UN funds, selling aid supplies on the black market? Taking kickbacks for turning a blind eye to illegal drug shipments, or all of the above?"
The two men looked at each other, and back at him. "You don’t have any evidence," Katz repeated.
Hammett grinned. "We have all the evidence we need at CIA. We just need to put your name on it. We're taking the vehicle, like it or not. The question is, do we do it the hard way, or the easy way? Where are the keys?"
He capitulated. "In the ignition."
"Very wise. There’s something else you can help us with. We'll take a couple of bottles of that tasty looking wine. I can see the year on the label, a good vintage, I believe. Fifty dollars a bottle last time I checked. I guess that came out of the aid budget as well." He grinned at Tyler. "That’s takes care of everything. We’ll leave our high-minded and honest friends to their executive lunch. It's time to saddle-up. We're leaving."
They climbed into the Land Cruiser and drove away from Bamyan, leaving the lines of military vehicles and battalions of soldiers behind them. The Land Cruiser was a pleasant surprise, or maybe not a surprise. The most expensive, luxurious, and top of the range model available. In the trunk they found boxes of uniforms for UN nurses and doctors, and more bottles of the vintage French wine. There was also a second insulated container, containing food, all vacuum packed, and ready to eat, nothing but the best for the servants of the poor and downtrodden. They munched on the snacks and shared one bottle of wine as they drove.
Javed pointed out the turning they needed, and Tyler turned the wheels toward the city of Panjab. They bumped over the rough ground, keeping away from the main thoroughfares. The Taliban and al Qaeda were massing everywhere, ready to defend the region against the Coalition, scores of fighters and all hungry for infidel blood.
The city of Panjab loomed about five klicks ahead, and Javed pointed out the next stage of the journey. "There isn't a track as such, but the ground is level, and in this magnificent vehicle we should be able to make good time."
An hour later, Tyler had reduced speed to five miles an hour, and they were picking their way across a barren landscape of broken rock and deep rutted holes.
“Jesus, Javed, this is like the surface of the moon.”
"I didn't have any trouble when I was grazing my goats," Javed murmured.
“Maybe you never tried grazing a herd of Toyota Land Cruisers," Diaz muttered.
The rough ground finally came to an end, and they turned onto a track that was clear of obstacles. He picked up speed, and Hammett prepared for the inevitable meeting with the enemy. Chris Murphy tucked into the trunk, with the M249 pointing to the rear. Tyler and Javed covered the driver’s side, and Hammett and Diaz the passenger side. Five weapons bristling from the UN vehicle, and Hammett grinned. “If anyone mistakes us for a peaceful aid mission, they’re blind.
They hit the first problem ten klicks from Chiras. He was driving at thirty miles an hour, doing his best to avoid the ruts and potholes. A bunch of robed men suddenly stood up at the side of the track, less than fifty meters away. They held their rifles nonchalantly, but the message was clear. The nearest man held up a hand for them to stop, and Tyler glanced at Hammett.
"It's a shakedown, no question, like last time, they think we’re UN. There’s a good chance they'll want to kill us and take the Toyota as well."
He grinned. “Sure they do. We'll blast ‘em as we drive past."
Tyler kept his M4 on his lap, ready to grab it and fire one-handed, while he steered the vehicle with the other. He kept up a steady speed. When they were less than twenty meters away, the enemy began to suspect the Toyota wasn’t going to stop. One man fired warning shots over the roof of the vehicle, and then they were alongside. Too late, the Talibs realized what they were facing, almost a United Nations gunship. The friendly blue logo, instead of bringing relief supplies of leaflets and powdered milk, only carried a large quantity of death spitting out from either side.
Four rifles blazed. Tyler didn't slacken speed and drove past the ambush. The hostiles were already scattering, at least, those few still on their feet after the first volley of fire. Chris Murphy in the back piled on the misery, pulling the trigger of the M249 and hosing down both sides of the track. Hammett kept firing, sniping at the hostiles who thought they'd made it to safety, picking them off one by one as they scrambled for the cover of the rocks. Then the Toyota crested a low rise, and the ambush site was behind them.
Tyler grinned. "I reckon that'll make them think twice about upsetting the United Nations.”
Even Sarah managed a smile. "Perhaps they'll put in a complaint to the United Nations Headquarters in New York."
"It better be in triplicate, and on the correct form," Diaz grunted. He looked at Hammett. "Boss, shouldn't we be wearing blue helmets on this gig?"
"Blue helmets? Not on your life. Blue helmets are for UN soldiers. We’re not soldiers. We’re aid workers."
"Aid workers?”
"Aiding them to get to Paradise."
He chuckled. “That means we’re doing good and worthwhile work. Maybe they'll give us a medal."
"You can always hope."
Hammett started to talk about an earlier skirmish. “We took down a bigger bunch of Talibs yesterday. There was this ranch, the Taliban had ransacked it, and killed the employees. We hit them hard, and when we’d finished, the place was nothing more than a graveyard."
"A ranch?" Sarah’s eyes narrowed, and Tyler spun around. "What kind of a ranch?"
He waved out the window. "It was over there somewhere. We thought it looked like a horse ranch. I could see saddles and tack inside what was left of the barns, although they'd torched most of them. They fired the house, too, and carried off most of the valuables before we got there."
Sarah spoke in a hoarse whisper. "My son Junior was there, with Layla and Fatima. She said she’d help take care of him. Did you see any young women or children, Mr. Hammett?”
She meant did he see the corpses, but she couldn’t bring herself to use the word. Tyler hung on the answer, his tortured brain spinning with a kaleidoscope of agonizing thoughts.
“Children? No. But there was a young girl, I’d guess about sixteen, next to the body of a young woman.”
Layla and Fatima.
“Were they both dead?”
He inclined his head. “No, the young girl was battered and bruised, but she seemed okay. She was frightened but said she was going to find her friends. She ran off before we had a chance to ask any more. I didn’t see any children, but she kept muttering that they had taken the boy.”
Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s alive,” she said, her eyes wet with tears.
The relief was short lived. “But a captive of the Taliban,” Tyler murmured, “He could already be dead. We don’t know what they’re doing to him.”
“We have to get him back.”
“You can count on it.”
Hammett turned to look at her as the truth dawned on him. “I didn’t know. I'm so sorry. It was all over when we got there. All we did was take down the last of the hostiles.”
Her face was white. "I've lost everything. My son, my home, and my business.”
“I’m sorry,” Hammett said again.
“It wasn’t your fault. What about the horses, did you see any?"
He shook his head. “None. When we left, like I said, it was just a smoking ruin with bodies heaped everywhere. Everything else had gone."
Tyler drove on.
What a goddamned country. Devastated since the Soviets came, and then the rise of the Taliban, made worse since their insane support of the mass murderer Osama bin Laden. Children condemned to blow themselves to pieces. Sarah's ranch destroyed, leaving her ruined, her workers dead, for no reason. Other good men have died, men like O'Donnell. And now Junior snatched, and he could be dead. All to satisfy the monstrous ego of a madman.
He kept one hand on the wheel and put the other on Sarah's wrist to soothe her.
"We’ll find him, I promise you."
She gave him a wan smile. "I appreciate it, Joe. You know, it’s all about the children. Junior, and Maryam, who I haven't even met. We must find them and get them away from those monsters. Before it’s too late.”
They drove on in sober silence toward Chiras, and reached the outskirts of the town in the early evening. The continuous buzz of aircraft overhead was even louder, and he figured the attack on the town would happen at any moment. Hammett elected to go in with him on foot, and the other two men, Murphy and Diaz, stayed in the Land Cruiser with Sarah and Javed. They left the SUV in a grove of stunted trees, just enough to hide it from a casual glance, and started walking through the streets. They were deserted, not even locals strolling around. They reached the center of town without encountering any trouble, almost as if the enemy had cleared out in a hurry, which didn’t seem possible.
The mosque was deserted, and the door unlocked. They entered, and the room echoed with the sound of emptiness.
“They’ve gone. I don’t believe it.”
Hammett nodded. “They’ve cleared out of the town rather than face the Coalition head on. The question is where did they go?”
“Mazari Sharif.”
They swung around, guns up, and looked at the woman who’d come up behind them in silence.
“Who are you?”
She looked old, very old, her face creased with the lines of poverty. “I am Parween. I came here to look inside this room while the mosque is empty. The do not allow women in here normally, but who is to bar me from entering?”
“Why Mazari Sharif?”
“Because the Taliban have gathered their forces to make a stand there. They left this place because they couldn’t defend it, but they aim to turn Mazari Sharif into a fortress, a deathtrap for the armies coming to attack.”
“A deathtrap? How come?”
“Commander Ghulam Samar is setting up a concealed ambush on either side of the approaches where they least expect it, five kilometers before the town. The fighters will remain in cover until the Americans come, and then they’ll shower them with every missile they have gathered in their inventory. They say it will be a massive attack of unparalleled ferocity. Enough to wipe out much of the attacking force, and while they are in chaos, the Talibs will fall on them and attack on either side. It will be a massacre.”
“So it’s to be missiles. Anything else?”
She gave him look that was hard to interpret. “They say they will use their remaining stocks of American missiles.”
“Stingers.”
“I have heard them described as such, yes.”
“Why are you telling us this? Do you not support the Taliban? Most people in this place do.”
“They killed my husband when he refused to take up arms for them. Why would I give them my help?”
She gave him a final, tired stare, and walked away into the darkness. Hammett shook his head. “The motherfuckers. A missile strike waiting for Pike’s men, and they’re walking right into it. We have to warn him, except he’ll have us arrested the moment we get anywhere near. Unless…” He nodded his head as he thought it through, “Yeah, I’ll bypass General Pike and send a flash message to Langley. He’ll have to listen, otherwise they’ll cut off his balls.”
Tyler was thinking of something else, of Sarah’s son, probably trapped inside the city. He had an idea, and what prompted it was the mention of yet another ambush, this time the attempted attack on the Medical convoy. He had to get inside the city. Maryam would be there, too, the human bomb, waiting to be sent against the next target. As would this bastard Mullah Ahmadi, the bloodthirsty tyrant who’d forced children to wear the bomb vests. He looked at Hammett.
