Black Ops Heroes of Afghanistan

  * * *

  Archer had stopped outside a warehouse. He didn't bark. The Marines had trained him to stay silent when he located a target. His job was to lead in the pack, to direct the Marines to the target, and wait for them to do their stuff. It could be a Taliban tribal leader, and the last thing they would want was for the bark of a dog to alert the target and have him run. Stoner inspected the doors. Big, solidly built double doors to give access for a vehicle. They were padlocked from the outside. The side door appeared to be bolted from the inside. He put his head to the woodwork and was certain he heard a low groan of pain from inside.

  She’s in there, but probably not alone. There has to be someone else with her.

  Greg whistled from across the street, and he turned. A vehicle was coming toward them, the big diesel engine loud in the quiet of the night. Not a cop, so a truck maybe, it could be a delivery. He grabbed the dog, raced back across the street, and they took cover in a bombed out storefront.

  "She's in there. Archer was on target."

  He explained about the groan he'd heard from inside the warehouse. As they watched, a strange vehicle slowed and stopped outside the locked doors. White, with red crosses painted on the side. The Unimog. A man climbed out from the driver's seat, an American, a familiar figure. Vernon Parks. There was no one else in the vehicle. The American deserter pulled a body out into the snow and dragged it to a low wall, then tossed it over, out of sight of the road. They exchanged glances. Both men had glimpsed the white thermal anorak with red crosses on the sleeves, the same as that worn by the dead paramedic. The driver had also paid with his life.

  Stoner nudged Greg. "We'll take him when he opens the doors. If the others are in there, we can take them all and finish this. When we go in, remember, Marina is in there, too. Watch what you shoot."

  "I'll be careful.

  "You'd better be, Russian."

  He put down the M-60 and pulled out the Desert Eagles. A darkened building was no place for a machine gun almost powerful enough to rip apart the entire building. They watched as Parks went to the side door and knocked quietly. It was clear he wasn't about to open the main doors. When he went inside, he could bolt the door behind him, preventing them from gaining access.

  He glanced at Greg. "Our only chance is to hit him now. Let's go!"

  Without waiting for an answer, he catapulted to his feet and raced across the road. Greg went after him, but tripped on a stone and fell to the street with a clatter as his rifle struck the ground. Parks glanced across, saw them, and moved as fast as a mongoose striking a cobra. He dived through the door as it opened, and a second later it slammed shut. Stoner collided with the woodwork a split second too late.

  He wrenched on the door, but they'd built it to withstand a police raid. He tried the double doors, and they moved a fraction, but heavy strips of steel reinforced the heavy timbers. There was no way they could get through. He looked around, and his eyes came to rest on the Unimog. A big, heavy, go anywhere vehicle. Built like a dozer. It would go through those doors like a knife through butter.

  "Greg, cover the doors in case he comes out." He didn't wait for an acknowledgement, as he jumped into the cab and pressed the engine start button. Nothing. He looked around for the problem, and his eyes came to rest on an isolator the ambulance operator had installed to prevent theft. Parks had taken the isolator key. Without it, he'd need a box of tools and plenty of time to start the engine. Time was something he didn't have. He jumped back down to the road and briefly considered going for the M-60. A second later, he dismissed the thought. There was little doubt he could blast away the hinges on the door and get inside. A couple of grenades would achieve the same aim. They could also kill the girl.

  He looked at Greg and shook his head. "I just don't know. If we wait them out, who knows how many shooters could turn up? Besides, they could kill her at any moment."

  "Assuming she's not already dead."

  "I heard someone moaning. She's alive," he snapped, his expression fierce.

  "Okay, okay, she's alive, I get it." He looked around. "Did you see what happened to Archer? After he brought us here, he disappeared."

  "No, I didn't see the dog. Greg, if we don't get in there soon, they could kill her."

  "So how we get through those doors?"

  Stoner didn't reply. He raged, so close, and yet so far. He knew she was alive, yet in minutes, she could be dead.

  Marina, I don't want to lose you. We could do so much, you and me. I can't let it happen, but I don't know how to stop it.

  They heard the sound of another engine coming toward them, and they stepped back into the ruined storefront. Minutes later, just as the first rays of dawn lit up the street, the vehicle came into view, a tractor, an ancient tractor. Ahmed's Fordson model F, and the boy was sitting upright in the driver's seat, fierce and proud. The dog was next to him, sprawled awkwardly next to the seat. As they drew nearer, Archer barked furiously.

  The kid read the expressions on their faces. The desperate, frustrated urgency. He could see the double doors of the warehouse. He raised his eyebrows, and Stoner nodded. Ahmed waved an acknowledgement and swung the wheel over. The Fordson wasn't fast, but it was heavy, astonishingly heavy and very low geared. The massive rear wheels, with their steel blades to dig into the earth to give traction, gripped the roadway like the tracks of a primitive World War I tank. It was unstoppable, a huge mass of steel, driven by a boy who had the courage of a lion.

  The ancient agricultural tractor smashed into the heavy double doors and didn't stop. The locks and hinges just gave way, and as the machine drove inside, it dragged the mangled remains of the doors in its wake. They heard the dog barking, then the sound of shooting, and they moved.

  "Let's go get the bastards!" he shouted.

  Greg was right behind him as he dived through the wide-open entrance into the dark shadows of the warehouse. The smell hit him almost immediately, the sickly sweet odor of raw opium, combined with the astringent stench of antiseptics. She was here; it was all the confirmation he needed. Bullets spat chips of concrete from the floor close to him, and he rolled to one side and fired back. In the darkness, he glimpsed Parks race toward a gurney, and then call out.

  "Stoner, stay back. I've got the girl. If you don't break this off now, I'll kill her."

  So near, and yet so far!

  He crouched behind a pile of sacks filled with opium and waited for an opening. There was no sign of Greg, no sign of Ahmed, and no sign of the dog. All he could do was negotiate, play for time.

  "Parks, this doesn't have to end like this. All you need to do is get out of here. Leave her alone, and you can live."

  Another voice intruded. Parks wasn't alone.

  "Kill him, kill him. Kill her as well, kill them all!"

  The voice was shrill, panicked. Sheikh Daud, the Imam from Mehtar Lam.

  He shouted back, "No, if you kill her, I'll kill both of you. Your only chance is to get out now while you can."

  Parks' grating laughter came back to him. "Do you think I'm a fool? It's not going to happen, Stoner, but we can still talk about it. I have the barrel of my gun next to her head. I'll give you five seconds to walk away. That's the only option. I don't have anything to lose if she dies. It's your choice."

  Stoner came to a fast decision.

  If I walk away, she’s dead!

  He stuffed one Desert Eagle in the waistband of his pants and stepped out into the open. The sky was lighter, enough for him to aim better. Slowly, very slowly, he put the big automatic on the floor and raised his hands.

  "I've put the gun down, Parks."

  The other man stepped out. His face was cruel, twisted, and ugly after a life filled with sadism. Sheikh Daud stepped out with him and shrilled, "You must kill him now, Parks. Do it, while you have a chance."

  That grating laugh came again. "A chance! I don't need a chance against a piece of shit like this. No, I'm enjoying myself. Come nearer, Stoner. I want you to see the girl di
e. Did you fancy her? I guess you must have, to take all this trouble to save a whore. Was she a good screw, is that it?"

  "Let her go. She's done nothing to you."

  "Why should I do that? I want to watch your face when I kill her."

  "We had a deal."

  He sniggered. "I'll tell you something, pal. I lied. I'm gonna kill both of you."

  "Do it now," Daud shouted, his voice hoarse with fear, "Quickly, you have to kill them."

  Parks turned his sneering face to the Imam. "Tell you what, pal, you kill her. Take this." He dragged a pistol from his belt and handed it to Daud, "Go ahead, do it. Kill the bitch."

  Daud looked at the pistol, and his hand shook as he felt its weight. Abruptly, he went to the girl lying on the gurney and took aim. His face adopted a strange expression, almost of pleasure at what he was about to do. The shot was loud in the enclosed space. Daud looked astonished as a round hole appeared in his chest right over his heart. Without a cry, he slumped to the ground, and the gun fell to the floor.

  In the corner of the warehouse, where the tractor was stationary, Ahmed's face stared in shock at what he'd done. His AK-47 rested on the top of the hot engine block, and a wisp of smoke emerged from the barrel of his rifle, the rifle that had just killed Habib Daud. They both reacted fast. Stoner shouted, "Ahmed, get down!"

  At the same moment, Parks fired. His single shot CheyTac was incredibly accurate, but not designed for snap shooting inside a dimly lit building. The shot clanged against the chassis of the old tractor, and by the time he fired again, the boy had snaked away into the shadows. Stoner ducked back into cover, but Parks had closed with the gurney, and he pulled the girl toward him and held her close to his body.

  "The next time you take a shot at me, she dies. Get out of here, Stoner, and leave that gun on the ground. You can tell that fucking kid to get rid of the rifle, and he can join you. Do it now, or she dies!"

  At that moment, Stoner saw Greg. He was lying on top of a heap of bales about four meters off the ground. He had his rifle ready to shoot, but the girl was in front of Parks, making it an impossible shot. There was no other way.

  "It wasn't down to me, Parks. I didn't tell him to kill the Imam. I'm coming out now, and the gun is still on the ground."

  For a second time he walked out into the open with his hands high. The barrel of the CheyTac swung over to cover him. The deserter held his aim on Stoner as he scooped up the automatic that Daud had dropped. With his eyes still focused on Stoner, he pointed the handgun at Marina's head.

  "Last chance, sucker, tell your little pal to come out, or I'll kill both of you."

  The girl's body still obscured Blum's view. He had one chance only; the big automatic in the waistband of his pants, but Parks was ahead of him.

  "I recall you carried two of those fancy pistols. Yeah, toss the other one on the ground. If I don't see both those .50 caliber handguns, your girlfriend's brain will be on the ground instead. Move it, but slow, real slow."

  With a sickening sense of despair, he reached behind him for the gun, and his hand touched cold steel. He started to draw it out when a dark shadow leapt out of the gloom. Archer had his jaws aimed like a missile at Parks' gun hand. He reeled, dropped the big Colt, and struggled to swing the rifle around. His boot lashed out, and the dog squealed in pain. The boot kicked again, a furious blow that lifted Archer up into the air, in front of the barrel of the CheyTac. At the same moment Parks pulled the trigger, and a flash lit up the dingy warehouse. The dog howled in agony as a bullet tore a hole into his flank.

  It all happened in split seconds. Parks was out in the open, a target, not a threat to Marina. Stoner brought the Dessert Eagle around in a swift movement and emptied the clip into the deserter's chest. At the same time, Greg took the shot, and three rounds cracked out from the Dragunov, one in the chest, one in the neck as he start to fall, and the third in his head. The force of multiple hits smashed him back. He dropped Marina, and she fell to the floor. He crashed to the ground a second later. He'd made his final desertion, this time from the mortal coil.

  Ahmed raced out of the shadows and cradled the dog. "Archer!"

  While Stoner ran to pick up Marina, Greg joined the boy to look at the dog and found he was panting softly, almost inaudibly.

  "He's alive, but he's hurt bad," he shouted to Stoner. "What about the girl?"

  "She's still alive, but the bleeding's restarted."

  As one man, they shouted, "We need a doctor."

  Greg picked up the dog, Stoner cradled the girl, and they ran. Out into the snows of the new dawn, racing through the streets back to Ghazni Provincial Hospital. Inside, they ran into the doctor, who was about to leave. Stoner blocked him.

  "Doc, hold on! She's bad, very bad. You have to deal with her."

  The man took a fast look at her pallid face and nodded. "Get her inside quickly; I'll prep here for surgery right away. There's no time to get her to Jalalabad. I'll have to deal with it myself."

  He shouted for the nurse and stopped. Greg was standing in front of him. "Doc, he's bad. You have to take a look at him."

  The man looked at Ahmed, who was helping to support the dog. He had a rag pressed over the wound, but blood dripped to the floor. The German Shepherd's eyes were shut, and his tongue hung out of his mouth. "You mean the boy? Is that his blood? Where is he hurt?"

  "Not the boy, the dog. He took a bullet."

  The man's eyes widened. "I'm sorry. I'm not a vet. I don't deal with dogs. You'll have to go elsewhere." He went to push past him, but Greg put up a hand and stopped him. "I want you to deal with this dog, Doc. He saved all our lives. Without him, we'd be dead."

  A nurse and an orderly emerged with a trolley. Stoner gently lowered the girl and the nurse started to put a needle into her arm. "No, it's not possible. I have to go."

  Again he tried to leave, but this time Stoner blocked him; the man's eyes nearly popped out of his head as the two Desert Eagles appeared, as if by magic. "What is this?"

  "Change of career, Doc. You treat the dog."

  "But..."

  "Pal, you don't get it. You have two patients, and they're both important to us. The bullet that dog took, the shooter aimed it at me. I'm not offering you an alternative, Doc. But if you deal with it, there's a pile of dollars coming your way."

  "Dollars?"

  "I'd say about the amount of dollars a truckload of opium could fetch."

  He was an Afghan, and he did the math in seconds. "That's a lot of dollars."

  "They're your dollars or the hospital’s dollars. It's up to you. I don't care how you spend the money. Believe me, it's a much better offer than the alternative."

  The man looked down at the .50 calibers and looked thoughtful. "I once considered training for veterinary surgery. I always wondered if I'd have been any good at it." He looked around and shouted at a passing nurse. "Take this patient, and prep him for surgery."

  She stared at Archer. "But, he's a..."

  "He's my patient. Do it now, Nurse, or do I need to replace you with someone who will?"

  "At once, Doctor."

  When they had Marina and the dog safely ensconced inside the theater, the two men found a hard wooden bench and slumped down. Ahmed went back for his tractor parked outside and came inside to join them. He promptly fell into an exhausted sleep. Stoner felt a blackness descending over him. They'd come so far, yet there was a good chance it was all for nothing.

  Daud’s dead, so Greg and Faria have some measure of security. Parks is dead, too. It was time someone popped that sadistic bastard.

  Yet Marina lay close to death, and in the care of a man who'd previously expressed doubts about his ability to stem her raging infection. Archer, too, was in the hands of an admitted veterinary amateur. He started to doze, exhausted by too many hours battling the freezing conditions and a bitter enemy. There'd been too many fights, and too many men trying to kill them. As a result, a girl lay close to death, one life too many, especially after Maddie's de
ath.

  Is this the legacy I have to leave behind? Death? Why does everyone I get close to have to die? Why do the bad ones have to get away with it? Or do they? Fuck 'em!

  He catapulted to his feet.

  "Where're you going?" Greg said.

  "Unfinished business. Massoud."

  The boy was sound asleep, his young face creased with worry over the fate of the German Shepherd, the dog that had become his pal, his bosom buddy, his soul mate. He cried and mumbled in his sleep, and his pain was hard to watch. Without a word, Greg got to his feet and followed him out.

  "Where to?"

  "The warehouse, we'll try and pick up his trail there."

  They'd left the place only three hours before. In that time, it had been emptied. Only the bodies of Sheikh Daud and Vernon Parks lay in the dust. The sacks of opium were no longer there. Neither was the Unimog.

  "Massoud used it to move the opium," Greg exclaimed in astonishment, "Jesus, that was fast. He must have a dozen men working for him."

  "The question is where did he go?"

  The town was awake, and they went into a coffee shop along the street to question the owner. He was reluctant to speak, but the sight of the guns loosened his tongue almost as much as the dollars they put in his hand. This time they were Greg's dollars. Stoner was almost cleaned out.

  "He went that way," he pointed to the east, "Toward the Grand Trunk Road."

  Greg stared at him, and his meaning was clear. "If you're lying, you know we'll come back and kill you."

  "I'm not lying," he said, sounding affronted by the suggestion an Afghan cafe owner may be less than honest, "I saw him go in that direction with my own eyes."

  "What vehicle was he in?"

  "A strange truck, white with red crosses, one of these NATO cross-country trucks. What else could travel in this weather?"

  They stared at each other. Greg said, "We'll get the GAZ and go finish this. You know, back at that hospital, she'll be..."

  Stoner nodded. "I was just thinking the same. She's safe. I know it. The Doc will fix her up. That girl is tough, much tougher than anyone would realize. The fact she survived that journey, ambushed by Massoud, and then brought back here through the blizzard without anyone looking after her, only goes to prove the point. She'll come through."

  "Right. And Daud's dead, so me and Faria can start planning a future." He hesitated, "I don't know about Archer, whether he'll make it."

  "He'll be okay. Do you think that kid would let him die? Not in a million years. Archer has a lion watching over him. Let's go finish this."