Friendly Fire (A Spider Shepherd short story)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘It was bad enough before this Afghanistan thing,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now she’s really on my case. Wants me out and back in Civvie Street.’

  ‘Women huh? Can’t live with them, can’t put a bullet in their heads.’

  ‘That’s not funny, mate,’ said Shepherd.

  Spud held up his hands. ‘I take it back,’ he said. ‘But I’m serious about the Major’s sat-phone, he’s let a few of the guys call home.’

  ‘Cheers, I’ll give it a go,’ said Shepherd. He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. ‘This is foul,’ he said.

  The boy was back within five minutes with a cup of hot, sweet green tea. Shepherd took it from him and tossed him a dollar bill, which he tucked inside his shirt. ‘I can’t keep calling you kid,’ Shepherd said. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I am Karim, son of Qaseem,‘ the boy said, touching his hand to his heart in the traditional Afghan gesture of greeting.

  ‘And he’s Spider, son of a bitch,’ Spud said, laughing loudly at his own joke.

  ‘Pleased to meet you Karim,’ Shepherd said, ignoring the interruption. ‘I’m Dan, but everyone calls me Spider.’ He held out his hand and the boy solemnly shook it.

  The boy’s brow furrowed. ‘Spider? Like an insect?’

  ‘Yeah, I ate one once for a bet.’

  ‘And not just any spider,’ Spud said. ‘He ate a fucking tarantula.’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘I killed it first though, so it couldn’t bite me before I bit it.’ He grinned. ‘Tasted like chicken.’

  ‘Really?’ said Karim. ‘Spider tastes like chicken? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘I was joking,’ said Shepherd. ‘Anyway, what are you doing hanging around Bagram?’

  ‘My father is here working for the Americans as a translator. He used to be a teacher. But before that he fought with you Inglisi against the Russians.’

  ‘That’s why your English is so good? Your father taught you?’

  Karim nodded. ‘He is a very good teacher. I shall be one too when I’m older, but for now I am a businessman.’ He paused. ‘You want a watch?’ He pulled up his sleeve to reveal four or five watches strapped to his forearm. The cyrillic lettering on the face of each one showed their Russian origin.

  ‘I’m not even going to ask how you got hold of those,’ Shepherd said.

  Karim shrugged. ‘The previous owners had no further use for them.’

  ‘No watches, thanks Karim,’ Shepherd said, patting his arm. ‘But you can keep the mint teas coming if you like. One every half hour till I tell you to stop.’

  Karim grinned and then limped off in search of fresh customers. Shepherd began checking his rifle, cleaning it and wiping off the dust. Spud studied him for a moment. ‘You keep rubbing that like you hope a genie’ll appear,’ he said. He was about to say something else when they heard a booming shout from across the compound. ‘Spud! Spud my friend!’

  A huge, black-bearded figure in a flowing, striped robe and a round cap lined with black lamb’s wool was bounding towards them, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth in a broad grin.

  He embraced Spud, planting a smacking wet kiss on both cheeks. ‘It’s been a long time, my friend.’

  ‘And you’re still an ugly bugger,’ said Spud, entangling himself from the man’s arms. ‘And didn’t I lend you a hundred bucks last time I saw you?’

  Taj gave a piratical smile. ‘Surely that was a gift, not a loan, my friend, and anyway it’s long since spent.’

  ‘Spider, this is Taj,’ Spud said. ‘He’s one of us, I trained him and his men back in the late eighties when they were fighting the Sovs. Taught him to use Stingers.’

  ‘Great days,’ Taj said. ‘We killed many, many Russians together.’

  ‘You shot down a few helicopters, too,’ Spud said. ‘You know the Yanks are offering a reward for the return of the remaining Stingers, don’t you? Any idea where they might be?’

  Taj’s expression was deadpan, but there was a glint in his eye. ‘Why? Are the Americans worried that we will do to them what we did to the Russians?’

  ‘Maybe. So you know where they might be? It’s a very large reward. I’m serious, Taj. Be a nice bonus for you if you could bring a few in.’

  ‘I heard rumours that perhaps the faranji fighters, the Arabs, may have some,’ said the Afghan. ‘I know no more than that, but I do have other information, Spud, valuable information.’ The tip of his tongue moistened his lips.

  Spud gave a cynical smile. ‘How valuable?’

  ‘The man the Americans seek? I know where he may be hiding.’ He paused, glancing around to make sure no one else was within earshot, then beckoned Spud and Shepherd closer.

  ‘You remember the White Mountains?’ He pointed away to the southeast, where a range of towering, snow-capped peaks filled the horizon. ‘That was our kick-off point and our main base when we made our raid on Bagram.’ He laughed and slapped Spud on the back. ‘A whole squadron of Mig 21s - their best aircraft - destroyed on the ground. What a day! From that moment we knew, and the Russians knew too, that they were beaten.’

  ‘Aye, that was one hell of a scrap,’ agreed Spud. ‘We gave them a right bloody nose that day.’

  ‘What about the White Mountains?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘There are no roads there, but there are a handful of tracks and passes into Pakistan,’ said Taj. ‘The valleys are steep, twisting and very narrow, and a few men on the ridges above them can hold up an army. In the heart of one of the most narrow and inaccessible valleys of them all, there is a complex of caves. The main one is called Tora Bora in Pushtu, the Black Cave. We used it as our base. Russian aircraft and helicopters dared not penetrate those narrow valleys and those who did, we shot down. We could fire down on them from above. Then they sent ground troops against us, but we retreated before them, luring them on ever further into the mountains and then we struck. They sent five hundred men against us and we killed them all, except one.’ He paused. ‘The last one, we cut out his eyes so that he could not see the caves we used, or the passes and tracks to reach them, and we cut off his manhood, so that he should father no sons to seek blood revenge against us. Then we sent him back to the Russians as a warning of what would happen to any more they sent against us. There were no Russians in the White Mountains after that.’

  Shepherd could see that Taj enjoyed telling stories, but he needed the man to get to the point. ‘And why are you telling us this now, Taj?’

  ‘Because no one moves in those mountains without me hearing of it, and recently many faranji - Muslims, but Arabs and Chechens, not Pushtuns, Tajiks or Uzbeks - have been seen there. Many pack trains of supplies have come through the mountains and a satellite dish has been installed on a ridge near Tora Bora.’

  ‘So the Taliban are bedding in? Is that your big news, because that’s no surprise. They’re taking a pounding from American bombs and missiles on the plains, so why wouldn’t they be retreating to the mountains?’

  Taj shrugged. ‘Because there are very few Taliban in the caves, according to men I trust. The Taliban are guarding the approaches to the mountains, but the valley itself is heavily guarded by faranji fighters, not Taliban, and they’re fortifying it to resist a siege.’

  ‘Any heavy weapons?’ Shepherd said.

  ‘They have RPGs, of course, plus heavy machine guns, mortars and perhaps even tanks.’

  ‘And Stingers?’

  ‘I do not know. It is possible.’

  Shepherd thought for a moment. ‘So what are you saying? You think they’re protecting something - or someone - of high value?’

  Taj crushed him in a bear hug, filling Shepherd’s nostrils with the acrid stink of sweat and the oily smell of lanolin from his wool clothes. ‘Exactly my friend,’ he boomed. ‘And who is worth that kind of protection, if not our honoured guest? He was with us when we fought the Russians but now, how do you say it? He has overstayed his welcome.’

  The Afghan was talking about Bin Laden, Shepherd realised. The most wante
d man in the world, the mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks.

  ‘That’s one hell of an assumption you’re making,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Who else would merit such activity?’ said Taj. ‘But if you do not believe me, let’s go and we can look for ourselves.’

  Shepherd studied him for a few moments. ‘Why is this important to you Taj? Are you after the bounty on Bin Laden’s head, is that it?’

  Taj shook his head fiercely. ‘You have heard of Ahmad Shah Masood?’ he asked.

  ‘The Northern Alliance guy who was killed by a suicide bomber? Sure.’

  ‘He was a great man. I served him and my brother Mirzo served him. Mirzo was at his side when the bomber struck. He tried to shield Masood and….’ His jaw clenched. ‘He also was killed. So for me this is a blood feud. I shall not sleep until the blood debt has been repaid. They killed our leader and insh’allah, we shall kill theirs, even at the cost of my own life.’ He looked at Spud and Shepherd. ‘No man alive knows those mountains, and the tracks and paths through them, as well as I do. At Tora Bora we will have our revenge.’

  There was a long silence. ‘Give us a minute, Taj,’ Spud said. ‘Spider and I need to talk.’

  Taj nodded and walked away across the compound.

  Shepherd watched him go. ‘You trust him, Spud? He looks like he’d sell his own grandmother for a few bucks.’

  ‘Taj is okay, Spider,’ Spud said. ‘I’d trust him with my life - or yours.’

  Shepherd gave him a dubious look. ‘I’m hoping I won’t have to, but if he’s right about Tora Bora…’

  ‘We’ll need to take him with us,’ Spud said. ‘He knows the place like the back of his hand. He can lead us in and out.’

  ‘I don’t know Spud. He’s on a one-man mission for revenge. That makes him a pretty loose cannon.’

  ‘Trust me, Spider, I worked with the guy for three years back in the eighties. I’ll personally vouch for him. He’ll not go rogue on you and he’s got local knowledge that it would take you and me a lifetime to acquire.’

  Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. ‘OK, let’s see what the Head Shed says.’

  Their CO was Major Allan Gannon, well over six feet tall with wide shoulders, a strong chin and a nose that had been broken at least twice. He was a good ten years older than Shepherd but was one of the fittest men in the Regiment, regularly running the SAS’s selection course in the Brecon Beacons for the fun of it. He clapped Shepherd on the back when he saw him and congratulated him on his work in the Gulf state. ‘You’d be up for a medal if it wasn’t for the fact that it never happened,’ he said.

  ‘Can we have a word, boss?’ asked Spud. ‘We’ve just been given some intel that might make your day.’

  Spud quickly outlined what Taj had told him. The Major listened in silence until Spud had finished. ‘And this guy is trustworthy?’ he said at last.

  ‘No question,’ Spud said.

  ‘We need to be sure,’ said the Major. ‘This is big, but if he’s setting you up a lot of people could get hurt. Or worse.’

  ‘I’m happy to go, boss,’ said Spud. ‘I’d trust him with my life, no question.’

  The Major looked across at Shepherd. Shepherd nodded. ‘I’m up for it,’ he said.

  The Major nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Then let’s use some of our drone time and see what’s going on there. I’ll give you a shout when I get the intel. Until then, mum’s the word, obviously.’

  Spud left but Shepherd stayed put. ‘Boss, I need a favour.’

  ‘You want to phone the missus?’ Shepherd’s jaw dropped and the Major grinned. ‘I’m not psychic, Spud mentioned it earlier.’ He went over to a metal chest, opened it and took out a bulky sat-phone. ‘Take it outside, try to keep it below ten minutes, any longer than that and I have to do a memo. Crazy as it sounds, if you end the call at nine minutes and redial it counts as separate calls.’

  ‘Cheers, Boss,’ said Shepherd. He took the sat-phone outside and called his wife. ‘Hi honey,’ he said.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Sue.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said. ‘Sorry. It’s classified.’

  ‘You’re still coming back this week, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s looking unlikely,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Dan….’ sighed Sue.

  He could hear the disappointment in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, honey. There’s a lot going on at the moment.’

  ‘It’s Afghanistan, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘That bloody Blair. What’s he doing sending our troops to that God-forsaken place? We need you here, Dan. Not in some bloody desert.’

  ‘It won’t be long,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You’re always saying that. And then I get the phone call saying that you’ll be another week and another. And one day I’ll get a phone call that says you won’t be coming back.’

  ‘Sue!’

  She sighed. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. But this isn’t fair on Liam and me. You know that?’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he said, A Chinook helicopter flew overhead, its twin rotors kicking up dust around him and Shepherd shielded his mouth with his left hand. ‘Is Liam there?’

  ‘Of course he’s here. Where else would he be?’

  ‘Can I speak to him?’

  He heard Sue talking to Liam and then she came back on. ‘He says he doesn’t want to.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He just shakes his head and says he doesn’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘That’s stupid.’

  ‘That’s as may be, but I can’t force him.’

  ‘He’s okay?’

  ‘He’s fine. But he keeps asking when you’re coming home.’

  ‘Tell him, soon.’

  ‘I’ll tell him, Dan. But you’d better mean it.’

  ‘Honey, I’m sorry. Truly.’

  ‘You’d better be here for his birthday, Dan.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘You need to do more than try. You’ve missed his last two birthdays. And last Christmas. Last night he took one of your old sweatshirts and stuffed it with a pillow and slept holding it. He said it felt like he was hugging you.’

  Shepherd felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. ‘I’m sorry, Sue. Really. I’ll make this up to you.’

  ‘You need to think about what you’re doing, Dan,’ she said. ‘I know how important the SAS is to you, but we didn’t sign up for this.’

  Shepherd rubbed the bridge of his nose. The Chinook had flown off into the distance and the air around him was still thick with dust but that only half-explained the tears that were pricking his eyes. ‘Honey, I’m sorry.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I will make it up to you. I swear.’

  ‘Just be careful. And come back in one piece, you hear me?’

  ‘I hear you.’

  ‘I love you. We both do.’

  ‘I love you too, honey.’

  There was a lot more he wanted to say but he knew that there was nothing he could tell her that would make her any happier and the longer he stayed on the line the more he risked upsetting her, so he ended the call.

  *

  The Major arranged for a US surveillance drone to be routed over Tora Bora, and later that day he called in Spud and Shepherd to examine the footage on a laptop. Mist and squally snow showers made it hard to decipher much detail but it was clear that Taj was right – something was going on in the mountains. The valley was so steep-sided and narrow it could almost have been a ravine, but there were fresh tracks through the snow, following the river and then cutting away at a steep angle up a narrow, precipitous path. The path, barely wide enough for two men to pass, lead to a series of caves. Geometric shapes that might have been stone-walled defensive sangers were positioned on the ridge above and at intervals along the cliff face overlooking the track.

  ‘Something’s definitely going on there,’ the Major said, ‘but it’s hard to see exactly what. Someone’s going to have to go in for a look
-see.’

  ‘We’ll need a heli-lift for three two-man teams,’ said Spud.

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ said the Major. ‘That terrain and altitude are iffy. The approaches to the valley are crawling with muj and Taliban, so we’re risking compromise, and if they’ve got Stingers…’ He left the rest of the sentence hanging. ‘We’ll go in over land. We can use ex-Sov vehicle, there are enough of them lying around Bagram. The Sov UAZ 469s are just like Land Rovers. I’ll get the mechanics on the case.’

  Twenty-four hours later, they had three UAZ 469s fuelled and ready and the Major called everyone in for a final briefing.

  Major Gannon went over the map and the satellite imagery together, identifying possible sites for the OPs that the two teams would use to locate enemy sangers and defensive positions.

  The dirt-track road leading to the valley where the caves were sited was heavily defended and there was no possibility of approaching that way. The Major traced the line of the dirt-track road running up the valley to the north of the Tora Bora valley, and stabbed his finger at a point where the faint line of a side-track could be seen, ending in a straggling clump of trees by what might have been the ruins of a house or goat pen near the river. ‘You can leave the vehicles there,’ he said, ‘and climb the ridge, though it’ll be a stiff climb. It’s well over then thousand feet.’

  ‘There is a track,’ Taj said, pointing to a wavering line up the ridge, so faint as to be almost invisible.

  ‘What’s it used by?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Mountain goats?’

  Spud’s team and the other SAS team would be infiltrating the valley from the other side, crossing a lower ridge to reach their OP sites. The Para Support Group with the heavy weapons would move up to a Forward Operating Base near the entrance to the valley, outside the Taliban defenses but close enough to make a rapid intervention.

  The Major straightened up as he addressed the men. ‘You know the prime target we’re seeking is code name Muj 1, but snipers, if you make positive IDs on targets, make sure you have permission to fire from your Sunray before engaging. This may be highly sensitive and we don’t want any cock-ups.’ Shepherd and Spud exchanged a brief glance, knowing that the cock-ups usually came a lot further up the chain of command than the men in the front line.