The Sixth Martyr, page 18
part #1 of Alpha Squad Series
The Afghan ignored him and peered into the interior of the Land Cruiser. He inspected each of the occupants, one by one. His gaze lingered a few seconds longer on Sarah and Javed, who wore the distinctive white dresses of UN nurses. Both had wrapped headscarves around their hair, in deference to Islamic tradition. The scarf did at least serve to disguise the boy’s unmistakable male appearance. The rest of them wore blue surgical scrubs. They looked good, at least as good as could be expected in the desolate wastes of war-torn Afghanistan, until someone put them to the test. In which case the Talibs would discover the truth and deal with them in a summary and very final way.
“You are American?”
“United Nations. We’re a medical team, heading toward Mazari Sharif to carry out minor procedures and inoculations for the civil population.”
“I asked if you are American.”
With a shock, Tyler realized the man spoke perfect English with an American accent, suggesting he’d spent much of his life there. Although he’d learned nothing good, choosing to return to Afghanistan to follow the path of poverty, squalor, and death.
“American, yes.”
“Americans are our enemies. You are now prisoners of war, and my men will escort you into the city. We will decide what to do with you later.” He smiled, and once again, Tyler shuddered at the absence of dental hygiene.
What the hell did he do in the States? It’s not like there’s a shortage of dental surgeons.
He tried bluffing it out. “Mister, it’s like I said, we’re a United Nations medical team. We’re not your enemies.”
“We will make that decision, and if you are lying, may Allah have mercy on your souls.” He shouted something in Pashtu to one of his men and looked back at Tyler, “If you’re lucky, we will allow you to carry out medical duties for our fighters during the coming conflict. If not, we will kill you before the end of the day. Now go!”
He took a last, long glance at the two nurses in the back, muttered something in Pashtu, and then two men jumped on the Land Cruiser. They stood on the step either side of the vehicle. One gave a grunted command to Tyler, and he started the engine and drove toward the city.
He called back to Javed. “What did he say back there?”
A pause. “He said I was the ugliest nurse he’d ever seen.”
Tyler smothered a guffaw. “That’s not true. You look good in that uniform.”
Is that the right thing to say? I don’t know.
The boy didn’t reply. As they reached the outskirts of the town, more and more fighters appeared, together with their engines of war. Trucks with heavy mounted machine guns, and at the side of the road, temporary emplacements made from rubble they'd sourced from tumbled buildings.
He drove slowly, looking for everything that may be of use to the Coalition. Assuming they survived. Close to the center, a snarled shout made it clear the guard wanted him to stop. He halted the vehicle, and while the other man kept them covered with his AK, the one who'd ordered him to stop went inside the building.
A small group of Talibs emerged, all shaggy beards, black turbans, and spitting hate through mouths filled with rotting teeth. They talked to each other for several minutes, until finally the man who appeared to be in command snapped an order and walked back inside. The gunman resumed his place next to Tyler and pointed for him to drive on.
He breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared they'd passed the first hurdle. After driving another few hundred meters, he ordered him to stop outside a square building. Constructed of concrete blocks, it had once been painted white. Most of the paint had peeled, and it looked shabby and derelict.
He switched off the engine, and the guards ordered them out. They pushed them through the doors, and they were inside a hospital. At least, the building had been designed that way, even if now it was almost derelict. They pushed them through the interior, along a corridor and through a swing door into a primitive OR. The guard grunted final few words in Pashtu and left them. He didn't go far but stood outside the door, visible through the round Perspex window, with his gun pointing toward them. If they tried to get out, he'd blast them.
He looked at Javed. "What did he say?"
"He said to clean and tidy the room ready to receive the first casualties. And to be quick, the battle could start any moment."
“Anything else?" He noticed the young boy had flushed when the guard finished speaking.
"He also said I was ugly.” He looked stricken, “Mr. Tyler, I have to change out of this dress."
He managed to contain a smile. "Not yet, you're doing fine. If they find out you’re not who you appear to be, they’ll kill you."
They started to clear up the mess, inches of dust and dirt, and what instruments they found were blunt and almost certainly useless for any kind of surgical work, even if they could undertake such work. They were all ex-military and had rudimentary training in battlefield first-aid. At a pinch they could remove a bullet, even stitch up a wound and apply a dressing, but that was about it. Anything more, and they’d be uncovered as impostors. And they’d die.
They finished the work, in time to hear the first bombs and missiles land on the city.
"It's started," Hammett said, "They'll be hitting the outlying defensive positions, and any command and control facilities they’re aware of. Now would be a good time to make a move. The Talibs will have hunkered down in their defensive positions, so we have a chance to look for Junior and Maryam."
"And Akram," Javed said firmly, "Despite everything, he was once my friend, and he deserves a chance to escape."
"We'll do what we can. The first obstacle will be getting out of here. There's at least one guard guarding the door with an AK."
He walked to the circular window and glanced out.
"Make that two guards. There's another guy leaning against the wall of the passage."
"We have guns," Murphy scowled, “If they think they can keep us here, they can think again. We’ll blast the bastards out of the way.”
"And bring a dozen hostiles down on our heads like a pack of howling hyenas. No, we need something subtler."
"I have an idea."
They all looked at Sarah, and she explained what she had in mind. It sounded far-fetched, but those are the kind ideas that often work.
"We still can't use guns, and none of us are carrying knives,” Hammett pointed out.
“We have knives,” Diaz said gleefully. He was pointing toward the surgical scalpels they’d picked up off the floor. They were too blunt for any serious surgical work, but for swift and silent killing, they'd be perfect. The four men armed themselves with a scalpel apiece. Javed accompanied Sara, and she knocked at the door. The guard opened it cautiously, with the barrel of his rifle pointed at her belly. He grunted a question.
"We need the bathroom. Where is the lady’s bathroom?" He rattled off something in Pashtu, and it didn't sound friendly. When he realized she didn't understand what he was saying, he switched to English.
"No bathroom. You go back."
For a moment there was stalemate, when Javed pulled off the performance of a lifetime. He walked through the door, ignoring the rifle, and approached the man. Giving him a sickly smile, he rattled off a stream of Pashtu.
They argued at length, and the other guard joined them. Finally, they nodded their agreement. One would take them to the bathroom, while the other stayed to guard the men. Both Sarah and Javed had maneuvered themselves so the guards were looking away from the OR to talk to them. They failed to notice the four men who silently slipped out through the door, each brandishing a blunt scalpel.
The end was swift. A hand clamped around the mouth, the blade swiped across the neck, and they were dragging them back into the room. Blood had dripped on the floor, so Sara and Javed ripped off the turbans of the victims to wipe it away.
Tyler took a last look around. "It's all clear. We need to go now. Keep the weapons out of sight. If anyone sees us, we use the scalpels on them." He grinned, "After all, isn't that what we’re supposed to be, a surgical team?"
No one laughed. He led the way along the corridor and out the front. Their Toyota Land Cruiser with the UNHCR lettering had disappeared, and the street had emptied of people. Just as he’d assumed, they had gone to the defenses or taken cover. He stepped out in the street, and then stepped back quickly as another a raid came in. Two blocks away, a building disappeared in a blast of high explosive. The planes left, and they started out again, heading toward the center of the city to find Junior and Maryam. The plan was to find and capture a Talib and interrogate them. No matter what it took, Tyler was prepared to push hard to find out what he wanted. They walked through deserted streets, stepping over rubble and piles of rubbish, until they entered a wide square. They made another ten paces, and a bunch of men came swarming out of the nearest building.
For several seconds they confronted each other in wary silence. On the one side the Taliban, on the other the medics. The lack of any visible weapons and the medical uniforms saved them. The older man who’d ordered them to go to the hospital appeared and glared at them.
"You are the United Nations medics I instructed to stay in the hospital. Why did you disobey me?"
"They sent us here to patch up the wounded after the air raid," Sarah said quickly.
He stared back at her with empty, soulless eyes. "Who sent you?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. It was one of your men. That's all I know."
Beside him, Mullah Habib Ahmadi was watching them intently, and his eyes flared in puzzlement for a brief second when he inspected Javed’s face. He looked again and shook his head. The disguise had held up well, and he said something to Samar, who nodded.
"You will return to the hospital, and stay there under guard until we need you. If we see you on the streets again, we will kill you. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," she murmured, her voice as cold as his. At a shouted order, two fighters detached themselves from the group and herded them back toward the hospital. They were almost there when the next air raid hit, and they had to dive into a nearby building for cover.
Bombs and missiles rained down on the city, and the attack lasted for nearly twenty minutes. The whole time, the guards watched them carefully, keeping them covered with their rifles, and they had no chance but to wait. When the planes finally left, they emerged. Large chunks of the city had been leveled, with the streets littered with even more rubble and a few dead bodies. The guards again pushed them toward the hospital, when in the distance they saw a line of horses coming toward them. They were in a narrow, shadowy alleyway, and the guards pushed them to the side to allow the horses to pass.
When they were alongside, Sarah's eyes widened in shock. "Those are my horses. Look, the man at the back. It's Nasrat. He's given my mounts to the Taliban. The bastard is even helping them. I always thought he was loyal."
But Tyler wasn't listening. He had eyes for one man, the second rider in the line of mounted men. A tall man in a white robe and a long, straggly beard flecked with grey. Eyes the color of dark ice, and sallow, olive skin. He carried an AK-47 with the iconic wooden stock, and his carriage was calm and regal, almost like a king.
The King of Hell.
He didn’t look from side to side, but kept his gaze fixed ahead, always ahead, always to jihad, and to death.
"Jesus Christ," he spat, but he kept his voice low. Hammett’s men tensed, but so far, they'd made no move to drag out their guns. Yet he couldn't allow him to get away, couldn't. "You know who that is? It's him. Osama."
Then she had her arms around him, making sure he was unable to move, impossible to grab for the gun hidden beneath his blue scrubs. He struggled. "Let me go."
She put her mouth close to his ear. “Joe, think what you're doing. If you kill him now, they’ll kill us all, and you’d condemn Junior to death. They'd kill him and every other Westerner they could get their hands on, every single one."
But, he killed Chuck…"
"Think of the others," she continued in soothing tones, "What about Javed, how would he feel after they kill Maryam? The other children, too, is revenge worth that much to you?"
He was about to say yes, but he paused. Revenge was worth paying any personal price, but not if the price meant seeing others killed. People he loved, people he'd vowed to protect. And children.
She’s right, killing him would see them all dead. Won't that make me as guilty as the black-hearted piece of scum himself?
With a huge effort, he forced himself to relax. "You're right. It's okay now. I'll stand down and leave this for another time."
Her hold on him relaxed, and he watched the Al Qaeda supremo ride away and turn a corner out of sight. The adrenaline was still racing around his body, but she'd been right, and he'd made the right decision. The only decision, at least for now. He’d chosen life over death, but it didn’t feel right. He still wanted more. He wanted revenge. He wanted death.
The guards pushed them on, giving them hard, challenging glances. They'd been aware their idol and demigod had just ridden past, and for them it was an auspicious moment. But they were also aware of the rising tension in their captives, and they were warier than ever. With guns at their backs, they were prodded back to the hospital and into the OR room. If the guards had taken the trouble to look around, they'd have seen the two dead bodies of their comrades hidden behind a tattered screen in a corner, but they didn't check. They went back outside and started walking again. A few minutes later, a salvo of artillery shells slammed into the city. It sounded like the battle was beginning. Hammett looked at them, and his face wore a satisfied smile.
“This is perfect. The entire place will be in chaos, so we have the best possible chance to look round for the kids.” He looked puzzled, “You okay, Joe?”
Tyler was anything but okay. The shock of seeing the mass murderer so close he could almost reach out and touch him had left him in a fog of confusion. He still wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing by staying back. Sure, the life of Junior would be at risk, as well as Maryam and the other children. It would unleash a national, or even an international orgy of bloodletting. Although if bin Laden was on the loose, he would wreak havoc across Asia and much of the world. People would die. The bastard had lit the fire beneath the world of extreme Islamist, and it was no secret men were flocking to join his banner.
Should I have taken the chance? Thrown all caution to the winds and popped him with a quick burst from the rifle concealed beneath these scrubs?
He pushed thought to the back of his mind. Playing Monday morning quarterback would get him nowhere. He thought about Chuck, and his terrible fate in the collapsing, burning tower. Then there were the thousands who’d died in that same attack, and the thousands more who would die, all because one savage psychopath had taken into his head to hit the Jihad Trail.
Sarah sensed something was bugging him again, and she gripped his arm.
"Joe, what is it? Are you still thinking about him?"
He couldn't lie to her. "I am."
"You have to put him out of your mind. We have a lot to do here, like finding the kids, and we’ll be lucky if we manage to get away with our lives. Forget bin Laden."
"I can't forget him." It came out almost as a shout, and the guards looked nervous. One muttered threats. She calmed them with a smile.
“We could do so much together, Joe, you and me. Do you want to throw it all away for revenge?"
He was thinking hard, and he felt calmer. It was a dilemma that seared to the very depths of his soul, and he didn’t have the answer. He wondered if he ever would.
How much is it worth to slay the monster? A lot, but that much? No.
"I'm okay. I’ll worry about him another time."
“Are we good, Joe? I mean, you and me?”
A pause. “We’re good.”
Hammett was walking close to him, and he'd overheard. "Joe, before we can make our move, we have to shake these guards. It may not be as easy as the other two. These guys look a lot older and a lot tougher."
Joe nodded. “There’s a battle starting, Tony. When the bullets start flying, we’ll just shoot the bastards, and then we can go looking for the kids."
“Right, the noise won’t matter a bit.” His voice lowered, “Sarah’s right. He’s not worth it. Leave it to the others. This country is filling up with military, drones, bombers, Special Forces. They’ll get him.”
“Sure.” But he wasn’t convinced.
Life over death, or a huge sacrifice. Chuck, what would you have me do?
Chapter Eleven
Outside, the battle raged. The constant crump, crump, crump of artillery resonated through the buildings, but in the dark confines of the narrow crawlspace above the false ceiling, everything was muted. His vision was limited to almost zero, and he had to feel his way inch by inch, testing each foothold. Careful where he placed his boot, for fear if he put it in the wrong place, it would go through the flimsy ceiling. Or if he made too much noise, a hurricane of gunfire would erupt from below as the hostiles turned their rage against the unknown person above them. He crept forward and climbed over a low dividing wall. He found he was above an adjacent part of the hospital. Away from the guards, and with the danger lessened, he could increase speed. He clambered from steel support to steel support, seeking a way out. He thought he saw it, a narrow strip of light a few meters away, and in his haste he made a mistake. What he assumed was a solid girder had in fact corroded and broken at some time in the past. When he put his weight on the metal, it collapsed like rotten wood, and his boot went through the ceiling, throwing him off balance.
In the distance, someone shouted in alarm. He had two choices, to stay where he was and try to regain his foothold in the crawlspace, or to take advantage of the hole in the ceiling he’d created, and drop to the floor below.
