by Leo Gher
A miracle, then? Not likely.
For Jake, religion had always been about ritual, not faith nor fanaticism. But he realized that he would now have to make some adjustments to his thinking. His world would not be the same. And as he sat on that cottage stoop in the middle of Azerbaijan, he finally understood that his brother was not his enemy. They had both suffered, deep wounds that were hard to shake off.
Then Jake glanced at the thing resting beside him. Tomorrow, he decided, I will talk with Conor and test this animosity between us.
28
Who Was He? She Wondered
Tied up, gagged, and blindfolded, Tali awoke from her drug-induced stupor several hours later. Immediately, her head exploded with a throbbing pain like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Nausea and difficulty breathing followed. Clearly, she’d been sedated to keep her still and compliant. She wondered, How long? The question only made her head ache more, this time right behind her eyebrows. Her eyes burned, and she wanted to claw at them unceasingly. She couldn’t help herself, where am I? Her eyes longed for light, but there was only blackness, shades mutating in bizarre colors and shapes. “Bastard!” she screamed, but she knew that no one would respond.
Then she heard the sounds of engine and propeller – no, twin engines – and realized she was in an airplane and shackled to a seat, probably a window seat. It was hard to make sense of it all. Tali had no recollection of the order of events, just scenes of terrible violence. It slowly became clear, and then she remembered: the explosion at the maître d’ stand, the terrifying sprint from Turga’s, the wind welling up from the Bosporus, the blood splatter as Kazimov lay dying at the statue… and, most terrifying of all, her mother going down in a hail of bullets. Dead? She weighed, but I can’t know for sure! Tali’s head pulsed painfully.
Next, she picked up the sound of voices from the back of the plane. Oddly, it was reassuring. I’m not dead. Tali’s hearing took over where her vision was stymied. She twisted her head upward, and pushed hard against the seatback, stretching out to understand what was being said. She recognized three voices, their cadence and pace rising and falling in an agitated conversation. One thing was for sure: they were speaking Armenian. But the shadow man who’d stood over her at the ambush site had spoken Azerbaijani. For the time being, Tali had no way to solve the puzzle.
Next, she tried to relax, hoping to restore rhythm to her breathing and to calm the pounding of her aching head. A few minutes later, she heard her kidnappers coming her way. She pinned her ears back, hoping to detect that Azeri voice, but it wasn’t among these villains. Then she heard someone say, “We’ll be landing soon.” The sound was high-pitched, almost squeaky – a woman, perhaps. The voice had a distinctive mountain dialect. Tali had known such people. They lived along the Armenia-Azerbaijan border, and she would remember that.
“Time for another nap.” It was someone different, a man’s voice. What Tali couldn’t see was the hypodermic syringe, half full of a milky green liquid that the person was holding. “Take off her sock. I inject her foot this time.”
“Don’t you dare!” Tali screamed through the suppressor in her mouth. She began squirming against their restraints, and when one of the men grabbed her foot, she kicked at him as hard as she could.
“Hold the bitch down.”
Once she was subdued, the brutalizer inserted the needle into the fleshiness just under the nail of her big toe. “Be still, Tali Nadirov. We don’t want to leave any scars for the boys, do we?” Then pushed the plunger down until it emptied. Because Tali was agitated and exhausted, the drug took effect instantly. She wouldn’t reawaken for three hours.
“Serge, will Kos be at the lake hideout when we arrive?” asked the one with the squeaky voice.
“He said he wouldn’t be there for at least a week.”
“What does the man intend to do with this bitch?”
“Have his way with her,” said the third kidnapper, laughing. “Take her flower, and then send her back to Kedar with a bastard child.”
Day 3. It wasn’t really the third day. There was no way of knowing if 72 hours had passed, but it was the third event in a blurry sequence that Tali used as a reference: the kidnapping, the plane ride, and now this – the prison where she was being held captive. It was a great room, of sorts. There was a dining table with six chairs, a study with dozens of books shelved in one corner, and a queen-size bed next to a massive potbellied stove. Understandably, someone had removed the living room furniture to make room for the bedroom set. There was an en suite bathroom at the far corner of the room, and next to that was the only door. Because it was an interior room, there were no windows, which was meant to keep the captive disoriented.
Upon returning from the bathroom the first time, the female jailer failed to immediately secure Tali’s ankle bracelet to the 20-foot chain that kept her from escaping. Tali had tried twice to kick her way to freedom. The first was on the plane, and the second as they stripped her naked earlier in the day. As she was being restrained, Tali waited for the opportune moment, and then viciously kicked at one of the men. They all scuffled and went to the floor. One held her down while another handcuffed Tali to the large potbellied stove. Stubborn, she soon tried a third time. But the kidnappers had learned their lesson. They brought a billy club to the fight and slugged her repeatedly until she fell unconscious on the floor.
When Tali woke, she thought, that was asinine. I need a different tactic. She was naked except for panties, so she decided to appeal to her female captor. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Karun.”
“Is this your home, Karun?”
“No questions, Nadirov,” she barked. “I am your keeper, not your counselor.”
“I am well aware of what you are,” Tali replied. “My face has the bruises as proof. I just thought you might have a little kindness for a woman captive.”
“The chain and padlock will remain.”
“No, no,” Tali said. “I know you must keep me shackled. I just wondered if I could have a robe. I’m cold, and… you know, embarrassed.”
The next day (the fourth?), Karun brought a silk dressing gown for Tali to wear. It wasn’t useful as a bathrobe, but it did cover her nakedness as she paced like a restless tiger in the cage that was her bedroom. Tali was pleased with her new approach, It’s a start.
That night, Tali was slammed with nightmares about the attack at Turga’s. Rayna was dead, she knew that, but what about her mother? She had witnessed Mira’s collapse and her gaping hip wound. She had rushed back to help and had seen the pool of blood, but was Mother dead? The assassins had stopped firing. After that, there was a man speaking – a shadow in the darkness – he said, “They are all dead, Tali.” He was lying, Tali knew. She had just heard Mira’s cry for help. Others quickly came and injected her with a sleeping agent. But before she passed out, Tali remembered that voice of darkness saying, “Take her to the hideout. Make sure she cannot escape. I will return in a week.” Who was he? she wondered.
I must find an escape, Tali thought. Tomorrow! So, to help alleviate her ever-present anxieties, Tali devised a course of physical and mental therapy. She wished she could swim her way to fitness, as she had as a young girl. But Karun wasn’t going to let her swim in the nearby lake. So Tali worked out, hour after hour, day after day, on her muscles, stamina, and flexibility.
She became tougher and more determined as time passed.
29
Battle at Kars Castle
After Ali said goodbye to Sam, Iza, and Chris at Ninots, he hiked to Javak National Park and stayed the night. The next morning, he crossed the Georgia-Turkey border and then found the main highway. At that point, Ali had a choice to make: retrace the long way home or head south towards Kars. Ali decided on the southern route, not because it was faster, but because he was curious about this Vartan Defense Wing and the test it was planning.
> Ali was lucky that afternoon. It was sunny, but the early March air was still crisp and excellent for hiking. A truck farmer picked him up after only 15 minutes. “My place is off the highway, just a few miles from the outskirts of Kars,” he said. “I can drop you there.”
“That would be great,” Ali replied.
“Where are you going?”
“I live in Sarikamis. Ever come that way?”
“Only a few times a year.”
It was a slow trip. The farmer’s truck was shabby and probably on its last legs, but Ali was glad to have the ride. Home was still several hours away, and he thought he might have to stay at Kars for the night. When they reached the cutoff, Ali said, “If you’re ever down my way, I’ll buy you lunch.” He thanked the man, waved, and then headed south once more.
It was getting cloudy, and he worried that it might snow, or worse, start raining again. He knew Kars was a muddy mess, and he hoped to find transportation as soon as possible. There was a bus service to Sarikamis, but Ali almost certainly would miss the last one scheduled that day. Worst case, he knew he could stay with TJ, a friend. TJ had an apartment on Takuu Street, just below Hotel Katarina, where he worked as a bellman.
Ali had been walking about two miles when he sensed change on the highland terrain. Stillness hung in the air. But it wasn’t a calmness that brought relief; it was one that conveyed alarm. A small rise in the road ahead blocked his view, and the sight of scavenger birds circling overhead startled Ali. He jumped off the road instinctively, and, ducking low, began a steady trot down the embankment. When he popped up on the other side of the hill, he stopped. A Turk ZPT patrol car was sitting on the side of the road. Ali thought he recognized it as one of the scout vehicles he’d seen in the past. He couldn’t be sure, however, and no soldiers were visible, so he proceeded cautiously. When he went around to the other side of the ZPT, Ali found three Turkish infantrymen on the ground – dead.
Beads of sweat dripped from the young man’s brow, stinging his eyes and temporarily blinding him to the blood splatter, the splintered bones, and the missing left arms of Scout Team 2023. The clamor of the skirmish had died away, and all that remained were the empty eyes of the unburied. At that instant, Ali thought of the vultures above. His mouth felt parched and his tongue sour. The taste of bitterness filled his core. He knew these men.
Ali wondered if history would record such a minor clash of men. Somewhere, Ali thought, a mother will weep, and a father will ask about his son. Nevertheless, Ali gathered himself and searched the grounds nearby. The 2023 had been firing RPGs. Five or six spent powder boosters were evident, and two other RPGs were ready to be launched. He looked in the direction that the rockets had been fired and saw several plumes of smoke rising in the distance. Without a doubt, it was the Vartan Defense Wing convoy. They had parked their trucks, offloaded equipment and personnel, and had set up some sort of encampment.
Not more than three hours ago, Ali reckoned, this Battle of Kars.
Not wanting to be seen, Ali ducked low, found a vantage point, and then abruptly fell to the ground. He retrieved his binoculars, and in the prone position, began checking out the situation.
There had been five lightly armored 18-wheel transports, but three had been wholly destroyed by the RPGs. Further up the road, troops of the Vartan force were loading two X-65 Marauder drones and one Krunk-3 onto the undamaged carriers. Now Ali understood what wing meant in the name Vartan Defense Wing. They could call it anything they chose, but it was not a defensive force – it was a striker team, utilizing the latest drone technology.
They did a recon of the Turk’s base camp with the Krunk-3, he said to himself, then launched the Marauders. He saw that there were no missile systems attached to the wings of the Marauders, only large carryalls on the belly of the X-65s. They must have used militarized micro-drones for the attack. The real damage would be at Kars Castle. The 2023 patrol just happened to have spotted the intruders and fought back.
Six hours earlier, the Vartan programmers had completed their work and were ready to fly their drones. The encoded target for the engagement was not man or machine, but the red insignia that all members of the Turkish Armed Forces wore on the left arm of their uniforms – al bayrak, the Crescent Moon and Star of the Turkish flag.
The battle at Kars Castle started with a speech. Tad Tadesian reminded his men they were sons of St. Vartan, and that the plateau upon which they now stood was formerly part of their Armenian homeland. “It is your sacred calling to take this land back from the Turks,” he cried out, “and your duty starts today!”
The raid was intended to be something of a kamikaze mission, a bolt from the blue, and suicidal if need be. But Tadesian and the commanders wanted to degrade the Turk garrison, not destroy their arms and equipment. That was a central benefit of drone warfare – kill the men, keep the munitions. Tadesian, however, had no way of knowing if 20,000 swarm drones, equipped with high explosive ordnance, was enough to subdue the enemy. This would be their test.
At precisely 11 that morning, two X-65s lifted off the highway and flew directly toward the Castle. At the halfway point, the aperture of one carryall opened, and 10,000 Perdix drones fell out of the sky like a swarm of angry hornets on the hunt. Once they deployed, each drone was self-directed, programmed to find the encoded target and then explode. If the first drone didn’t get the job done, a second would strike, and then others would follow until the kill had been completed. There were 20 Perdix drones for each Turk in uniform, and another X-65 Marauder waiting on the wing.
Ten minutes into the assault, Tadesian heard three loud explosions coming from the direction of the VDW encampment. He shouted, “Us or them?”
“Can’t be us,” Mike Bedrosian replied. “We don’t have…”
Commander Davidian, who was also on the observer team, interrupted, “RPGs! The enemy is fighting back!”
“Commander, we’re taking enemy fire at base camp.” It was Tadesian’s aide, JJ Frank, on the encrypted walkie-talkie.
“Who?”
“Don’t know,” JJ replied. “Turk patrols, I’m guessing.”
“Send counterforces immediately,” Tadesian ordered. “Must protect the convoy.”
Gregir Davidian sneered caustically, and afterward said, “I told you they would fight back. This isn’t a DC comic book.”
“We’ve got to get back there!” Lindy screamed. No one objected. When they returned to the convoy, the firefight with the Turk patrol was over, but three of the five operational VDW Flights had been destroyed, and 40 men killed.
The first-timers in charge of the VDW had not bothered to think about Force Protection. Everywhere within the camp was a whirlwind of dust and disorder. The souls of the dead had long since renounced the scene, and the wounded were being loaded onto the trucks that were still intact. Because the forward observers had abandoned their positions, no one knew the damage the drone swarm had caused to the garrison at Kars Hill.
“It’s over!” Tadesian shouted. “We’re outta here!”
What was left of the convoy – the heavy vehicles at least – headed north on the main highway. They hoped to escape to Turkey, then flee to the east, to Armenia. The others, the commanders who had not been injured, headed directly across the Highland Plain to Ani. It was the closest point of entry to Armenia.
Ali Tabak watched the VDW convoy split up and then leave. He walked back to the ZPT to see if it was still functioning. It was riddled with bullet holes, but when Ali hit the starter, the engine purred. He took the patrol car and headed straight for TJ’s apartment.
Fifteen minutes later, Ali found TJ outside his apartment on Takuu Street. He was helping two soldiers into an ambulance. “TJ!” he yelled.
When TJ saw Tabak, he waved, “Let’s get inside.”
Later, as TJ was making tea, Ali asked, “What has happened here?”
“I was walk
ing back from the hotel when I heard a very strange sound.”
“Something in the sky?”
“Yes. At first, I suspected it might be an ultralight or a model plane,” TJ said. “But it didn’t sound right, and there was no airplane in sight.”
“Drones.”
“Yes, drones… thousands of drones.”
“Attack drones,” Ali explained. “From an outfit calling itself the Vartan Defensive Wing.”
“Armenians, then.”
“Foreign fighters, I think. But definitely warriors for Armenia.”
TJ continued: “The previous day, Turk lookouts had discovered the intruders, and the command had deployed a parameter defense at the base of Kars Hill, while others manned the parapets of the Castle, and the balance of the troops were scattered out along the roads of the city and the access points at the river.”
“Those guys you helped into the ambulance, they were stationed on your street for security?”
“Right. Nice guys,” TJ replied. “They said they didn’t understand the threat. Said an attacking force against Kars Castle should be no less than three times the size of our 500-man contingent, and that the group coming down the highway was less than 100. They just didn’t see the convoy as dangerous.”
“But it was a grave danger.”
“I watched the drones scatter and attack the men below the Castle. There were no detectable sounds of combat, only hundreds and hundreds of low-level flashes and arcs across the hillside. I didn’t appreciate what was going on.”
“It seems the drones were programmed to strike the insignia on their uniform.”
TJ was amazed, “Yes! The soldier’s left arm!”
“Al bayrak,” said Ali, “the Crescent Moon and Star on the field of red.”
“Most men had bullet-proof vests,” said TJ. “But the drones sometimes came in twos and threes, and the men had no chance.”