Black Ops Heroes of Afghanistan

Chapter Six

 

  Stoner waited for the shooting to start. He knew they were taking a huge gamble, and he was relying on the other side being sloppy.

  "You're veering to the left, about a meter," he heard Marina say.

  "Got it."

  He corrected the steering by a whisker and kept the pressure on the gas pedal. He had a heavy rock next to him on the floor, and when they were closer, he intended to jam it on top of the pedal to make the vehicle run the house. They'd be sure to focus their attention on the threat of a charging, out-of-control SUV. If it worked, he and Greg would have a chance to get in close. Should have.

  A long burst of automatic fire smashed through the windshield. The body in the driver's seat jerked a couple of times. Another burst followed seconds later, punctuated by a number of single shots. He knew the ruse would only last for a short time, and he thought rapidly. He needed to draw that shooter out into the open where they could take him. If they thought the gunfire had killed the people in the SUV, they'd be sure to, in order to check. He explained it to Greg, who grunted an acknowledgement, and then let off the pressure on the gas pedal. The vehicle stopped, and they waited.

  "Front doors opening," Greg murmured, "Guy coming out. He has an AK-47."

  "That's Hassan Mangal," Marina said, "Massoud's number two."

  "Can you take him, Greg? I'd sooner not show myself, not just yet."

  "I've got him."

  Stoner waited, and waited.

  Why is that Russian bastard always slow in taking the shot? One day he'll leave it too late, and when I meet him in hell, I'll beat the shit out of him.

  "We're about halfway now," she murmured.

  Seconds later, a single shot left the barrel of Greg's Dragunov. "Got the bastard. Now where are the rest of them?"

  More single shots peppered the vehicle, and they kept their heads down. Stoner wondered when he should make his move. He had a simple plan, as most of the best plans are. He'd jam the rock on top of the gas pedal. Just before the Wrangler rammed the house, he'd roll out through the passenger door and start shooting. He had to hope the defenders would be too busy focusing on the Wrangler to take pot shots at Greg and Marina. For several seconds, they'd be easy targets, exposed in the open.

  He recalled there were two men left inside, Massoud and his American sniper, Vernon Parks. They could take them and finish this. He explained what he was doing.

  "I'll countdown from five. Make sure you drop flat. You'll be exposed to their fire. Four three, two, now!"

  He jammed the rock down hard, and as the Jeep accelerated, slid out of the passenger door and rolled across the snow. A heavy burst of gunfire smashed into the vehicle. The shooter had switched to automatic, but they may as well have thrown pebbles at it. More glass shattered, and the bodywork began to look like a colander. Worse, the two front tires dissolved into shredded rubber. Yet the SUV reached the house and scored a direct hit on a window at the side of the front door. The brickwork collapsed, and he glimpsed a bearded man inside, wearing a white robe and turban. He looked like the ghost of bin Laden, but this was no ghost.

  He catapulted to his feet and started running. "Massoud, you're done. Drop the weapon!"

  The Afghan trafficker was in shock, and slowly, he let the weapon fall from his hands. Stoner slowed to a walk, keeping the barrel of his rifle pointed at the man's chest. "Dead or alive, it makes no difference to me. If you try…"

  The sound of the rifle shot interrupted him, followed by a loud cry of shock and agony. He'd seen service in Afghanistan and worked with SEAL snipers enough to recognize the sound of a heavy caliber sniper rifle. The bullet had taken Marina low in the side. Sensing victory, she'd started to climb to her feet. Now the snow was red with her blood.

  Another bullet kicked up snow close to Greg, and several more targeted the engine block. He was already moving toward the girl to pull her to safety, and none of the shots hit him. Stoner looked up. The bullet had come from the top of the water tower. He should have checked. Now she was shot and bleeding badly, maybe to death. He looked back, but Massoud had disappeared. Fuck, he'd taken his eye off the ball and maybe lost it all. He ran back to the SUV and joined Greg. He was crouched low behind the hood, using the heavy engine block and wheel as a shield against the sniper. He had a hand over the wound, holding a dressing to staunch the blood, but still it pumped into the snow.

  "How is she?"

  "Not good, she's bleeding badly. I'm struggling to get it under control. Massoud?"

  "He ducked back inside. I almost had him, the bastard, almost had him. I screwed up badly."

  "We all make mistakes."

  "Not all the time, Greg."

  The Russian looked up, surprised by his tone. "What's up?"

  "Nothing. We need to get these bastards. I'll sprint to the house and take Massoud. You're safe if you stay hunkered down here. As soon as I'm done, I'll work my way around back and take out that sniper. It must be the American, Vernon Parks."

  "Whoever he is, he's pretty good with a rifle."

  "Not for long. Look after her, Greg. I don't want her to die."

  The other man gave him a look but made no reply. Stoner checked his clip and gathered himself up ready for the dash to Massoud's house. He stopped when the Afghan narcotics trafficker called across to him.

  "Stoner! I gather your friend stopped a bullet. I'm surprised, you bringing women along to fight your battles."

  "There's plenty more surprises coming, Massoud. I'm coming for you."

  "I think not." The voice was confident, mocking, "The man up in the water tower is Vernon Parks, and you've seen what he can do with a rifle. There's no way you'll make it out in the open. He's just waiting for you to make your move."

  He looked up at the tower, at the distance in the open between the wrecked SUV and the house, and agreed with the Afghan's assessment. He wouldn’t make it, and meantime a plucky girl lay on the snow with her lifeblood pouring out of a bloody wound.

  "What do you want?"

  "We're leaving, me and my men."

  "Not all of them, Massoud. Four of them won't ever leave this place."

  A pause. "Men are cheap. I can replace them. I want to call a truce for one hour. Parks will cover me from the tower while I put my valuables in my vehicle. I'll drive across and collect him, and we’ll leave the Torgan Valley forever. In any case, this place had started to become known to the authorities. It was only a matter of time before they raided it."

  "Couldn't bribe them all, eh?"

  The man replied with an amused chuckle. "Most, but sadly not all. Do we have a deal?"

  He looked to Greg, who nodded. Quietly, he murmured, "She's going down fast. There's no way we could fight our way out of here carrying her with us."

  Stoner nodded. "You shot up my vehicle. I'll need to borrow one of yours to get us out of here."

  "Forget it, I don't have a spare vehicle. Even if I did, do you think I'd want to leave and know you're on my tail?"

  "She needs medical attention. It's urgent."

  Another laugh. "The answer is no. What I will do is leave a well-stocked medicine chest in the kitchen. Maybe you can patch her up yourselves. Time's ticking away, you have fifty-seven minutes."

  "It's a deal. We'll stay here until you've gone."

  "You'd better."

  They crouched over Marina. He took off his coat and draped it over her to try to keep her warm. Then he bent down to whisper to her. "Can you hear me?"

  Her eyelids fluttered, but it may only have been reflex. She was unconscious, out of it. Even so, he bent closer and said, "We're getting you out of here. No matter what it takes, you'll be okay."

  Her face was still and waxy. He looked at Greg, and the other man looked away. The prognosis was not good. They stayed huddled over her until forty-five minutes later, when they heard an engine start in the big garage to the side of the house. A roller shutter door protected the front, and slowly it began to rise. When it was fully open, a
vehicle emerged. A British Range Rover, the big V8 diesel model, painted in a pale metallic gray.

  One glance was sufficient to know the company had fitted the bodywork with armor plating. It rode low on the suspension, which meant when it hit a pothole, the bodywork wallowed because of the extra weight. Such vehicles were a familiar sight in Afghanistan, especially in the center of government, Kabul. When Afghans took a dislike to a government minister, they tended use their assault rifles to deal with the unfortunate person concerned.

  Greg was starting to take a bead on Massoud, the only occupant, but Stoner stopped him.

  "You may as well save your ammo. It'd take armor piercing rounds to put a hole in that thing. The moment you pull the trigger, that guy up on the water tower will start shooting. Our only chance is to wait for them to leave, get her inside, and check out that first-aid kit."

  He lowered the rifle, and they watched the heavy vehicle power across the snow. He stopped below the water tower, and a man shinned down like a monkey. Even if they'd wanted to shoot, the snow was coming in heavier, and they could only glimpse them when the wind was enough to put a brake on the white curtain. Parks gave them an ironic wave, climbed into the passenger seat, and the vehicle drove away.

  Both men lifted the girl, and with as much care as possible, rushed her inside the house. It was at least out of the biting cold and damp snow, but when they reached the kitchen, Massoud had emptied the contents of the first aid box on the floor and poured gasoline all over them. Maybe he'd considered setting them on fire before he left, but it made no difference. Drenched in gas, everything was ruined and unusable. He noticed a telephone smashed and broken, tossed into the heap of destroyed medical equipment. It meant they couldn't contact Ahmed.

  "We need to call for help," Stoner shouted in his despair, "Stay with her. I'll check out the house and see if they've left anything."

  Greg shook his head. "You're wasting your time. Even if you found one, we cut the line. There's no way we can call out. Neither is there any way we can drive out of this valley. The Wrangler's wrecked."

  "We'll have to walk out. I'll carry her!" he shouted back.

  Greg pointed to the view out the window. "Take a look. If we try and carry her through that lot, she'll die."

  He stared out the front window at the thick snow, which had reduced visibility to only a few meters. It had settled almost to the bottom of the doors on the Wrangler. There was no way out. Marina would die, and Massoud had got away. Fifty thousand dollars gone, and the girl close to death.

  Not again, please God, not again!