The Sixth Martyr, page 6
part #1 of Alpha Squad Series
“I’ll manage.”
“No, you won’t.” Sarah gave him the benefit of a hard gaze, “You need transport to carry food and supplies.”
“I can’t use a vehicle. They’d see me coming.”
“Not if you’re on horseback. I can lend you a mount, which will enable you to carry more of a load.” Her eyes met his, and her gaze softened, “I’d sooner you didn’t go at all. I can’t see how you can make it there and back without running into a Taliban warband. But if you insist on doing it, you’ll need to carry supplies, and I guess more important, weapons. That old rifle Javed brought along won’t do you much good where you’re going.”
“I have a handgun, a Colt 1911.”
She smiled. “That should frighten them to death. One look at your Colt and they’ll laugh like crazy. Joe, these men are armed to the teeth. You need firepower.”
“Firepower.”
She nodded. “Gary always said we needed to be prepared for when the trouble started again. He kept a stock of weapons, in case we needed to defend ourselves. After all, it’s a lawless country even when it’s peaceful. Would you like to look?”
“Sure.”
She stood up, and he followed her. A door from the kitchen opened to a basement staircase, and at the bottom, a steel door almost like a bank vault, with a sophisticated combination lock. She swung the door open, and he was in gun heaven. Racks of rifles, boxes of ammo, and in one corner an ancient First World War Soviet Maxim heavy machine gun; the model with two wheels and a steel shield to shelter the gunner and loader from enemy fire. No doubt a relic of the Soviet occupation, and still a weapon to be wary of if it ever made an appearance on the battlefield. He was aware the Taliban still used them in significant quantities.
She waved a hand. “Help yourself.”
He chose two carbine-length M4A1s, and stuffed a canvas shoulder bag with spare mags. A couple of extra mags for his Colt, and he smiled his thanks. “I’ll bring it all back safe. That’s a promise.”
“You’d better bring yourself back safe. Don’t worry about the guns. And don’t die out, there, Joe.”
“I take a lot of killing.”
She didn’t reply, but went to the corner of the basement room and opened a cardboard carton. She took out a small pistol and handed it to him. “Where you’re going, you may need something like this to keep you alive if you get into a tight spot.”
‘Something like this’ was a special kind of handgun. Compact and rare, he’d seen one like it once before. His outfit was on a mission inside the jungles of Panama, taking out a notorious drug lord who’d been a thorn in the side of the DEA for many years. Drug lords loved the look, feel, and status of rare and unique weapons, like this one. He inspected the PSS silent pistol, developed by the Russians in 1983, and intended for assassinations. Still under production, the Special Forces of many nations, including Russia, used PSS pistols.
He hefted the weight of the compact automatic. “How many bullets does it carry?”
“Six, and I can give you one spare magazine, that’s all I have. It fires 7.62mm pistol rounds, like the Tokarev, and I can assure you when you pull the trigger, it makes almost no noise. Not very accurate, but it’s a good gun for silent work. Or for the time when you’re backed into a corner.”
He tucked it into his coat pocket. She closed and relocked the steel door, and they went back upstairs. Javed had gone. They’d taken him upstairs and put him to bed. His Uncle Nasrat was staying with him. She pointed to a sofa in the spacious living room. He sat down, and she sat beside him. “I’ll sort out one of my best horses for when you leave. If you’re going to make the journey, you’ll need a mount that is both fast and surefooted. In the meantime, how about a drink?”
“Scotch?”
“Brandy would be better. You’ve had a rough time. I always find a few glasses of cognac is just the thing to make a fast recovery.”
He didn’t argue, and they sat sipping the fine old French brandy. For a while she talked about her husband. How he’d died, and how she’d never really found out the truth about his murder. They were in similar situations, and he talked of Joe Junior, and his wife Jessica, both victims of a pointless attack.
He smiled at her. “That’s some coincidence, your son Junior. The name reminds me of my son.”
“Yes.”
As they drank more cognac, he felt warmer, and when she moved closer to him, he put his arm around her. He pulled her close and kissed her gently on the lips. They embraced, showering each other with kisses. Moments later, they were on their way up to the bedroom, and if the brandy had been intended to get his circulation moving, she supplied something that was even more guaranteed to help him make a fast recovery.
He awoke in the early hours, a habit from his Navy days. She was still asleep, and he went into the bathroom, found what he needed to wash, and returned to the bedroom to dress. Her eyes were open, and she watched him.
“Joe, that was quite something, just like old times. You know you’re the first since the death of my husband.”
“I hear you. Sarah, you sure know the way to give a guy a good sendoff.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
He felt a stab of regret that he’d just found her, and now he was losing her. “I don’t want to go either, but I don’t have a choice. A girl’s life is at stake, and if there’s a chance I can save her from those butchers, I’ll take it.”
“Even if it kills you?”
“Even if it kills me, yeah.”
“Come back to me, Joe.”
“I will. That’s a promise.”
Chapter Four
She dressed quickly, and they went to the room where Javed lay in bed. Nasrat was asleep on the floor by his side, but the boy was awake.
He grinned. “Mr. Tyler, good morning.”
“Good morning, Javed. How do you feel?”
He looked terrible, but he managed a wan smile. “I feel fine, but I’m still worried about Maryam.”
“She’ll be okay. I’m going to look for her this morning.”
“To Chiras?”
“To Chiras, yes. With any luck, I’ll have her back here soon, and you’ll be reunited with her.”
“Which way will you go?”
He shrugged. “I’ll head north-east. Follow the paths through the hills, stay out of sight.”
“You’ll never get through the minefields. Chiras is an island, surrounded by thousands of antipersonnel mines the Russians left behind. There are not many ways to get through, and they’re hard to find. I will have to go with you.”
“Negative. You’re still sick, and you need time to recover. Sorry, Javed, but this is something I have to do on my own. But you can help me, tell me the routes to follow.”
The boy spent the next half-hour going over everything Joe needed to know. What to look out for, the paths that were safe, and more important, the signs he’d left during his time roaming around with his herd of goats, looking for better pasture.
“When I knew a path was clear, I left three stones, laid out in a triangle at the start and at the end of the path. When you see those three stones, you know you’ll be safe. If you don’t see them, you could be stepping into a minefield.”
“I’ll be careful. And thanks. You take care of yourself, and I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yes, tonight.” They went downstairs, and Sarah prepared food for him.
“A hearty breakfast to keep you going all day, and I’ll pack food and water in the saddlebags as well. Just make sure you come back.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
When he’d finished, she took him out into the yard. The rain of the previous day had stopped. She led him to a stable and put a saddle on a sleek, black stallion. He looked big and mean, enough to frighten away any Talib that tried to stand in his way.
She patted his neck, and her words were tinged with pride. “His name is Thor, and he's a wonderful animal, the pride of my stables.”
Tyler was skeptical. The horse was snorting and pawing the ground, looking around with staring eyes as if it was scanning for a target to trample. He hoped it wasn’t him. “That’s good to know. Is he friendly?”
“Usually. He’ll be fine.”
She strapped the saddlebags on his back and put her arms around Tyler’s neck. “You’ll be careful?”
“I will.”
“You’d better make sure you bring that horse back to me. He belonged to Gary, and he’s my pride and joy.”
“I’ll bring him back.”
He gave her a long, passionate kiss. As he swung into the saddle, she shouted something to him. “What was that?”
“I said come back to us safe, Joe.”
“To us?”
“To me and Junior.”
“Sure.”
He swung into the saddle and gave her a wave. It had been a long time since he’d ridden, but he tapped the horse’s flanks with his heels, and the animal started forward. He left the ranch behind and immediately turned onto the track that led into the hillside. The big stallion, Thor, was every bit as good as she’d said, and when he urged him into a trot, he went forward with a smooth, powerful motion that ate up the ground. Soon, he was into the hills, and the ranch was two klicks behind.
The mines were his biggest worry, and he’d been watching the ground carefully. Almost immediately he came across the first marker, three stones, and without them he would have been lost. They marked a fork in the track, and he could easily have taken the wrong route. He began to feel optimistic. He was well armed, and he should arrive on the outskirts of Chiras well before dark. That meant several hours to look around. Then he’d find her, bring her out, and reunite her with Javed.
He’d already decided where to look for Maryam. She’d be with the other martyrs, and they’d be well guarded. The madrassa next to the mosque was the most likely place, and he’d check it out first. The horse plodded on, and he stopped several times to give him water and to eat some of the food she’d packed. He began to feel he was going to make it, reach Chiras without blowing himself up on an antipersonnel mine. Rescue the girl, take her back to her brother, and get back to Sarah. He knew she would be overjoyed to see him, and for the first time in months he felt he had a reason to live.
Until they appeared out of nowhere, standing in front of him, blocking the track, mean, confident, and just two and a half klicks out from the ranch.
Taliban, four men, one moment the path had been empty. The next, they stepped out in front of him, and they were there. They stared at the horse, as astonished to see the strange Westerner riding a huge, black, mean-looking steed. Thor looked more than mean. For the medieval mind, steeped in the absurdities of arcane Islamic myth, they would be staring into the eyes of the very incarnation of Satan on Earth.
Which gave him a chance. They hesitated, looked at each other, uncertain. He knew immediately why they were there. Behind him the path pointed like an arrow at Sarah Glass’ ranch. Unless they intended to dogleg back along the fork he’d just passed. Unlikely, as it would take them back in the same direction they’d come from. They were going to attack the ranch.
No fucking way, you miserable sonsofbitches.
He felt flushed with anger.
They’re Taliban, as evil as evil comes. Hey, they’re going to attack a woman who is a good friend, much more than a good friend. A woman who gave me and Javed shelter and food, and I’m not about to let anything bad happen to them.
He rammed his heels into the horse’s flanks. Thor reared on his huge, muscular hind legs and bounded forward. The leap took him unawares, and he had to grip the reins to stop him going backward. But the horse dropped back on all four legs and rapidly closed the distance as if it sensed what he intended to do.
He dragged out the Colt and pulled the trigger several times. Two bullets took the first Talib, and two more struck the man standing beside him. The other two threw themselves to the side, and the rest of his bullets missed. The horse pounded on, and he was reloading. He went past them, cresting a low rise as return fire spat lead around him. But the shooting was panicked and wild, and he turned and took a chance. He stood upright in the stirrups and jumped off, landing on his feet. Tyler pulled an M4A1 off his shoulder with one hand and gave the horse a hard slap on the rump to keep it running. He dove to the ground at the side of the track, bringing the rifle to bear, and searched for a target.
It had been a gamble with Thor, but he figured such a magnificent animal would have the brains and instinct to come back before too long. Either way, he wanted the stallion away from stray bullets, and a moment later the two Talibs appeared, running toward him. He squeezed the trigger, and three bullets tore into the body of the first man. He spun to the ground, his chest ripped apart. The other dove aside and disappeared into cover.
Tyler rose to his feet and charged him down. He fired round after round toward the place he’d last seen the hostile. It was too much for the Talib, and he leapt to his feet and started running in the direction of Sarah’s ranch. Tyler went after him, chasing him all the way back to the fork in the track. He deliberately sent several shots past him that headed him away from the path that led to the ranch.
The guy was sensible; at least he thought so. He understood the warning shots, that to run in that direction would have a disastrous consequence. The man would chase him down if he continued and fill him full of holes. He made the obvious decision and went to the right, doglegging around to the path not marked by the three stones. Tyler reached the junction and sent several more shots after him, not caring too much whether he hit him or not. He didn’t follow, but waited for less than two minutes. Thor came trotting back and shied nervously at the noise of the explosion, an antipersonnel mine, followed by the echo of a shrill scream.
Tyler nodded in satisfaction.
Score one for Javed’s local knowledge. Thanks, kid, you saved me.
He climbed back onto the horse and steered him back on the path toward Chiras. Thor walked on, unfazed by the brief skirmish. Equally unfazed when he stepped over the bodies of the dead Afghans. Tyler picked up the pace to a trot, but after the first kilometer, changed his mind and slowed him to a walk. He’d almost walked into those Talibs, and he needed to be more careful. He rode for another hour, stopping to rest and feed and water the horse. When he started out again, he estimated he was halfway to Chiras, and making much better time than he’d anticipated.
Better time than those four Talibs who thought Sarah’s ranch would be an easy target. They ain’t going anywhere, not anymore.
Then he rode up a low hill and jerked the horse to a stop. On the far side, the ground was alive with activity. Hostile activity. A large group of Taliban, more than a hundred, resting outside a series of caves dotted around the hillside, caves that straddled his route to Chiras. Other than the route blocked by a minefield. There had to be another way through, but he needed local knowledge to find it. He wasn’t going to make it, not against those odds. Tyler turned Thor around to head back to the ranch. He had one card left to play. Javed. The boy would know every goat track, footpath, and hidden trail, and more important, which were mined and which weren’t. He’d find a different route and start again. There was still time, and Thor had plenty of energy left in him before he tired. He picked up the pace, and the horse responded like a thoroughbred. A half-hour later, he dismounted outside the ranch, and Sarah rushed out.
“What is it? What happened?”
“The Taliban happened. I’m okay, but I need to speak to Javed. The route to Chiras is blocked.”
She nodded her understanding, and after a swift glance at the horse to make sure he was okay, she led him back inside. Javed was lying on a sofa surrounded by pillows and covered in blankets. Nasrat was still at his side. The boy’s eyes opened in surprise.
“Mr. Tyler, what happened? You were very quick.”
“I didn’t make it, Javed. I need your help. Do you know of an alternate route to reach the town? The Taliban are everywhere, and I won’t make it through on that path.”
He furrowed his brow in thought. The boy was still weak, but thanks to Sarah’s care, well on the way to recovery.
“You must take the quickest way to get there before they can harm her.”
“That’s right.”
He hesitated and frowned. “There is a path, but it is very risky. You will need to ride along the edge of a sheer drop, and if you make a mistake, it would lead to your death.”
“That doesn’t sound so good.”
He whirled at the strange voice. An older man was standing several feet behind him, alongside Sarah. She smiled an apology.
“I’m sorry, Joe, you haven’t met our latest guest. He arrived soon after you left. Joe Tyler, meet Charlie Savage. He’s a reporter back in the States, and he was planning a riding vacation here when everything started to go bad. He was about to cancel, but he changed his mind and decided to use the experience to look for a story.”
The old man grinned. “I decided I could combine the two. A real adventure in the outback, or whatever they call it in these parts, and I’ll cover the war at the same time.” He grinned, “My paper picks up the expenses, and who knows, this could be the Pulitzer I’ve lusted after all my life.”
Charlie Savage looked out of condition, a bit too flabby to go riding around the Afghan badlands. He was short, less than five six, with receding hair, graying in places. His clothes were off the peg; L.L. Bean meets the African safari, canvas chinos, and a linen shirt under a leather waistcoat. His main feature was his eyes, sharp and piercing.
This looks like a man who wouldn’t miss much, and I reckon he’d be a formidable reporter. God help the politician or company executive who tries to spin him a yarn.
They shook hands. “Which war did you plan to cover, Charlie?”
He regarded Tyler with puzzlement. “The Afghan war, of course. What else?”
