The Tillerman's Gift

by C J Brown

CHAPTER 1

  Saturday June 29th 0930 hours - Highway A1, Afghanistan

  Given the size of the country and the great distances he often travelled Ahmed Khan considered the highway drive from Jalalabad to Kabul to be relatively short and safe. The business he had conducted in Pakistan had come to a successful conclusion and although the weapons would not be available for another two weeks he was exceptionally pleased with the quality of the product. He was relieved also - relieved that he was able to convince the arms dealer to give him a considerable discount in return for a guarantee of further business in the future. It was inconvenient that the previous supplier was out of circulation indefinitely due to the annoying diligence of United Nations investigators. The man he had just met in Pakistan, on the other hand, was a newcomer to this dangerous game and was as yet unknown to the western authorities.

  As usual, crossing the border into Pakistan and then back again into Afghanistan had been easy enough. He was always surprised as how little money the border guards were willing to accept in return for allowing the gold Mercedes G-500 virtually unchallenged passage. Of course it had to be American dollars. Any other currency and the price would double. Still cheap, he reckoned.

  “Drive carefully, Abdul. This road has many twists and turns.” Removing his thick-framed glasses, Khan allowed himself a brief moment to rest. The cool air streaming from the vent washed over his face as he absent-mindedly played with the silver key that hung around his neck.

  Outside it was already a searing thirty-nine degrees. Half a kilometre away and at a vantage point above this section of road, Major Rob Harris wiped the sweat from his eyes as he spoke urgently into his VHF radio.

  “Zero Alpha, we have eyes on the target. We are good to go. Catch or kill? Please confirm. Catch or kill?”

  The commanding officer on the other end of the line had given the kill order the previous day but the politics of these decisions changed quickly, sometimes hourly, but always unpredictably. Harris had been instructed to gain confirmation of the order immediately prior to executing it.

  To Harris's left, the Carl-Gustaf  M3 rested comfortably on Corporal Paul Chan’s shoulder.

  “Zero Alpha, window is closing fast, sir. Twenty seconds.” Still no reply.

  “Confirm. Catch or kill?” Harris shouted again. The radio crackled an indistinct reply. At this range the difference for Chan between catch and kill was less than one degree. But he was, at least by his even-if-I-say-so-myself reckoning, the best the Australian Army had to offer. A call of capture would see one shell cause the car to stop and a second take out a front tyre. A call of kill would see one shell smash through the driver’s bullet proof window and a second blow-up the engine, destroying the vehicle and its occupants.

  "Zero Alpha, come in! Ten seconds, sir... Sir I need a call, now!"

  "Dammit!" Harris gritted his teeth. He turned to Chan. "Capture! Capture!"

  The missile blew open a crater thirty metres in front of the speeding car. The Mercedes screeched to a spinning stop.

  Private Len Smith shoved another 84 millimetre missile into the breach of Chan's weapon and slapped him on the shoulder. "Go!"

  With the car at a standstill the second shot would be a cinch. The front passenger tyre exploded forcing the car to roll one complete turn eventually coming to rest on its remaining wheels in gravel off to the far side of the road. Regaining his senses, Abdul tried without success to restart the engine. He looked around to see Khan bleeding profusely from a deep wound caused by his head having smashed against the reinforced steel window frame. His broken spectacles hung from one ear.

  "Get me out of here, you fool!" Khan screamed.

  "The engine is dead! We are not going anywhere. We will have to run for it. We might make it to the cover of those trees." He was looking at a thick grove of white poplars about fifty metres north of the car.

  "If you step out of this car you are a dead man."

  "If we stay here we are both dead men."

  "If they wanted us dead, then we would be dead by now." Ahmed Khan leaned forward, vomited on the floor and passed out.

  Harris lowered his binoculars. "Well done, Corporal. You just might be as good as you say you are after all."

  "If you say so, sir. Pack it up, Smithy." Private Smith took the rocket launcher and handed Chan his F88 assault rifle.

  The Afghan security forces had set up road blocks ten kilometres away in both directions from the assault site so the possibility of another vehicle straying innocently into the target zone was minimal.

  "Now we wait," Harris sighed. "In this heat it shouldn't be long. At least I hope not. These camouflage uniforms might make us invisible, but if we melt away to nothing then we won’t need to be.”

  At that moment the radio crackled back to life. "Amber 21, come in!" The voice of Lieutenant Colonel Frank Elliott sounded urgent.

  "Amber 21. Go ahead."

  "Can you confirm the capture?"

  Harris breathed a heavy sigh of relief but tried to inject some urgency into his voice. "But, Sir, my orders were to kill." He winked at Chan. "Your transmission broke up. I couldn't make out your last message, sir."

  "Dammit! The situation changed. We wanted him alive."

  Chan gave the major a look that said you’re braver than I am stirring the boss like that.

  "Don't worry, sir," Harris continued, deciding not to push his luck too far, “Capture confirmed. We're just waiting for the oven to heat up. Amber 21 over."

  Without air conditioning, the temperature inside the car was rising rapidly. Barely ten minutes after the assault, the driver's door opened just enough to allow Abdul to hold up his arm and wave his white handkerchief.

  “Major, we've got movement. Should we give the signal?"

  "Not yet, Smithy. That's the driver. Let him get out, but keep him in your sights. If he tries to run take him out. Khan is probably in the back seat. I want to see his hands before we move in."

  Slowly the driver's door opened fully. Abdul swung his legs out and stood. He held his right arm high above his head waving the cloth. He pressed his left hand to the back of his head. He stood there for a full minute expecting the assailants to reveal themselves. Then, realising what they must be waiting for, he took a slow step towards the back door. Keeping his please-don't-shoot-me cloth high, he reached out with his left hand and opened the door. Still making sure he made no sudden moves, Abdul leaned into the car and dragged Khan's limp body out onto the ground. He then lay face-down beside him and held both of his hands behind his head.

  Harris spoke into his radio again. "Amber Three Zero. We’re good to go. Let's pick up the package."

  With that, the M113 APC roared out from the thick grove of trees a mere thirty metres from where the men lay on the hot gravel. In less than two minutes the Mercedes was a burning wreck and the two Taliban operatives were handcuffed, secured inside the armoured personnel carrier and on the way to the Australian base hospital.