Acts Beyond Redemption

by S. Burke

  Each team consisted of four men trained as a cohesive unit. Four teams in all. Apart from the initial day they were brought blindfolded to the base, none of them had been in contact with any of the other teams of four men for the entire duration of training. The only thing they needed to know was that the operation was a go. They would deploy, shoot the designated targets, with a minimum of twelve animals in the group to be hit. They would then leave the area and make their way back to the drop zone where extraction would take place exactly twenty two hours after the initial drop.

  They had been trained to move silently. Conversation was kept to a minimum and the team had devised their own signals on an order from the CO.

  Quentin and Charles- or Quinn and Chuck, as they were known to the others in the team- were the designated shooters. Brad and Danny were charged with watching the human element in case of detection. If any of the team were injured, they were to be removed and taken back to the extraction point. No trace of their operation could be left behind.

  He refused to think about what was inside those projectiles; it was not his concern. They would leave in the morning, their destination a long flight’s distance. That was all they were told.

  “We are good to go,” Ranger reported.

  “Contact me when extraction of all four teams is complete.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ranger? Don’t disappoint me.” The call ended.

  01:30 hours

  The Black Hawk hovered as it dropped its human cargo into the designated area. The snow was gone from the high peaks, yet the chill in the air made breathing uncomfortable. Alpha team moved out; they had eighteen miles of rough terrain to cover. The operation had been planned and timed to perfection; only a thin sliver of moon was apparent, and cloud cover ensured it was not visible. Three other teams were being deployed to similar locations many miles apart.

  Intelligence gathered over the preceding months gave them intimate knowledge of where to expect their targets. The four men moved soundlessly, pleased that the Intel had warned of the lack of tree cover. There were boulders in groups scattered across the rough floor of the canyon, which provided them with their only cover.

  They made good time. Quinn checked his compass. Right on track. He signalled the other three, about two miles to go.

  And so it began.

  Abdul-Saboor was pleased. His sons did well today in the training. They would not disappoint him when the game of Buzkashi was played in Mizar-I-Sharif in two days’. They would ride as he had taught them from babies, this right-of-passage handed down from father to son with the great expectation that they would, one day, be his equal on the field. For now, his pride was in presenting them as part of his team at the games.

  The fire was warming, for in spite of the spring the nights were still cold. It was time for sleep. The horses were fed, and corralled loosely on the green area of grass, away from the fire.

  The animals would sleep. There were no predators here.

  Abdul-Saboor pulled his garments closer and lay down between his boys. Sunrise would awaken them for another day of training. He was content.

  Alpha team moved in behind a large outcrop of boulders. They took their positions in silence, Brad and Danny moved off to the left and sat with rifles ready, watching through their night vision scopes. They counted three unfriendlies sleeping at approximately one hundred-and-thirty yards distance; easy range for their sniper rifles.

  Quinn and Chuck moved quickly, they took positions eighty-five yards from the animals corralled together. They had practiced this until they could do it in their sleep.

  Chuck would shoot six, right to left. Quinn targeted six, left to right. There were more than twelve animals, but twelve was all they were ordered to hit.

  The faint sound of the projectile’s swoosh echoed in Quinn’s ears like a cannon roar. He took aim again and squeezed off his remaining five shots.

  One horse danced a little and then quickly settled, rubbing its muzzle against the implanted stinger on its shoulder.

  The team waited. There was no movement from the sleeping men around the fire.

  Alpha team moved out. They made their way back to the drop zone slowly and quietly. Extraction would be at 23:30.

  It was now 22:00; they had made good time. None of them talked much, their nerves on edge waiting for the Black Hawk to arrive.

  Quinn looked across at Chuck, bent over double and shaking badly. He nodded at Brad and pointed out their team mate. Brad shrugged. Not his problem.

  Quinn moved quietly across the short distance. “Chuck? Chuck … you doin’ okay? The extraction team will be here soon, man. Just take some deep breaths; you did good work, man. It’s almost over.”

  “Almost over? It’ll never be over. Don’t you get it, you stupid bastard? Don’t you understand what we may have done here? Don’t you know what they have done to our heads? It’ll never be over!”

  “Whoa, easy, buddy, try and relax, and for fuck’s sake keep your voice down!”

  “You relax, Quinn! You relax!” Chuck stood up and began pacing, muttering under his breath as he walked. He pulled his knife and began slashing the air around him. “We are gonna die. We are all gonna die! You don’t understand, man. They have killed us. We are already dead. Well, not me. Not me!” He began screaming.

  “Jesus Christ Almighty, shut the fuck up, or you will get us killed, you fool!” Brad stood and moved towards his team mate.

  “Back off. I’ll handle this,” said Quinn. He moved closer to the panicked man, his hand extended towards him in an open gesture designed to calm him. “C’mon, buddy. Easy now, hand me the knife and we’ll talk about this thing. Okay?”

  Chuck looked at him, but Quinn couldn’t see the expression on his face in the dark.

  “C’mon now, easy, give me the knife.” Quinn had moved slowly forward and now stood close to the other man.

  “Sure, Quinn. Sorry … sorry. I just … you don’t get it? You made me do this. You made me do this!” Before Quinn could react to the threatening tone, Chuck lashed at him with the knife, slicing down from shoulder to hip.

  “Mother of God …” Quinn fell to the ground as Brad took aim with his silenced weapon and shot Chuck in the head.

  Chuck was dead. Quinn had been slashed through his clothing and lay bleeding on the ground. Brad took Chuck’s shirt from his lifeless body and tied it firmly around Quinn’s abdomen. This whole deal had gone to shit. Danny put pressure on the bandages and watched Brad carefully, hoping like hell he wasn’t next on the hit list.

  He broke radio silence. “Team Alpha, we are at the extraction point. Two men down. One dead. One close to it.”

  “We’re on our way. ETA ten minutes. Remain where you are.”

  The message came through an encrypted line.

  “Holliday.”

  “It’s done.”

  “Problems?”

  “Packages delivered. We lost one man in Alpha Team. Body recovered. Second man down, but recovering. No contact with unfriendlies.”

  “Well done, Ranger. When the man down has recovered, cut them loose, you have your orders. I will be in touch.” Holliday hung up, and smiled.

  Ranger was pleased, laughing inwardly at the idea of cutting these teams loose. He’d questioned Holliday just once about why they were being allowed to leave. The only response he got made sense in a strange way. Holliday had told him that the teams may be required again; best to have them in place and able to be activated quickly. Time and the huge funds necessary to train another group would be time and money better spent elsewhere. Ranger wasn’t satisfied, but had no option than to follow orders.

  He would be less pleased still when his own orders came through. Orders he had no choice but to follow if he wanted to stay healthy. His new task would cause him anger and frustration beyond what he had ever previously dealt with.

  Quentin surfaced through a layer of morphine induced fog. He was aware of pain and the feel of clean sheets. His mouth was
caked in dried saliva and his throat was dry and sore. “What …? Where am I? Hello?”

  “Nice of you to join us again, Quentin. Don’t try and move too much, you are stitched up big time, boy,” Ranger said as he passed Quentin a cup with a bent straw to allow the younger man to drink without too much movement.

  “What happened? Did we complete the mission?”

  “The mission was completed. Well done. As for what happened, Charles went ape shit; you tried to settle him down and he sliced you like a ripe tomato. Brad shot him. Don’t fret none. You did all you could to prevent the situation escalating.”

  “How bad hurt am I?”

  “You got lucky. It’s a long ugly slice, no denying that. Good thing is it isn’t deep. No major organs were damaged too badly. The wound did slice a few muscles, but the surgeons are confident you’ll make a complete recovery, with no more than one mother of a big ugly scar to show for it.”

  “How long will I need to stay here?”

  “A week, give or take. Enjoy it while you can, boy. Once you’re set loose on your own it’s not like you can just drop in any old place for post-surgical care. We’ll get the docs to come up with a feasible story for that scar. Okay? Now rest up. Oh, and fine work, boy. You did great.”

  “Thanks, Ranger. That means a lot comin’ from you.” Quentin put the cup down and soon drifted back to the welcome morphine fog.

  Chapter 46

  April 27

  Mazar-I-Sharif, Afghanistan

  The Buzkashi Tournament played each Friday always drew a large crowd, but this was the highlight of the year. Nauzus- New Year- guaranteed to attract teams of riders and horses from across Afghanistan and beyond its borders. Neighbouring Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan often had teams participate.

  Abdul-Saboor and his sons readied the animals they would ride. He was excited at the prospect of being on the field with his boys; they would do him proud. His high standing amongst the owners of the mounts he rode to victory would rise again; he had prepared his sons to ride in the service of the merchant ready to pay the best price for their talent.

  His sons would never know poverty. His skill on the Buzkashi field was renowned and, in addition, the merchants saw to it that he and his children lived well.

  “Majeed?”

  “Father.”

  “You will ride Mahali. He is sure of foot. Remember all I have taught you. You will make me proud.”

  He embraced his eldest son, his firstborn boy, and his heart swelled with pride. This son truly comes from blessings of Allah.

  His youngest boy Jaabir had much to learn. He was still a child, but even so, his father saw the light in his eyes and his kinship with the animals he rode. He would one day become a famous man, a Chapandraz to outshine his own father.

  “Today, young one, you will ride, but on the outer circle only. Time enough for the danger when you are a little older. Watch me and your brother, get accustomed to handling your mount amidst others. Be aware that they will try and unseat you if they can. New riders are good sport.”

  “Yes, Father. May I not attempt to gain the calf?”

  “What?” The man doubled in laughter. “Arrogance, my son. Men who have ridden Buzkashi many years have yet to set their hands on the calf. It is a sport of skill; you will only understand what lies in the hearts of these men as they ride when you have ridden with them. The calf is prized by all that ride. Almost no other feeling compares with being the Chapandraz to throw the carcass into the ‘circle of justice’.”

  The teams were ready, and the spectators passed the hashish which propelled the anticipation of what was to come.

  Haseeb-Raafi was a wealthy man, and the money he would make today would add immensely to that wealth.

  He looked across at where his horses were mounted. He had chosen well, and the addition of the sons of Abdul-Saboor was being discussed and argued about amongst the crowd.

  “Too young,” most said.

  He smiled at their negativity. New blood was always needed, and they had been trained by their father; they would one day make him a great deal more money.

  The game began. Thundering riders took to the field, intent on the carcass of the calf, the prize that must be snatched from the ground and each other and placed in the circle of justice. The best of the riders carried their whips in their mouths, booted feet bound into the stirrups to allow them to swing low to the ground from their mount and sweep up the calf.

  Injury was not uncommon in the sport, both horse and rider often came to harm. Such were the risks the Chapandraz were prepared to take.

  For three hours the teams battled, the animals grew tired and their riders bloodied from contact with the whips of the other team.

  Haseeb-Raafi was well pleased. Abdul-Saboor was victorious again. Between his winnings from the contest, he had also managed to sell a number of his horses. It mattered not to him that the buyers were rebels; money was money.

  Abdul-Saboor handed his reins to a groom and was welcomed to the winner’s area by the owner of the fine animals.

  The groom bathed the sweat from the beast, and gave it food and water. All the competing animals were cared for well. They would be stabled until training began again in two days’ time.

  Crowds of people pushed their way forward to admire the horses, and attempt to speak to the winning team. The children as always crowded around the animals and petted the ones they could reach.

  Abdul-Saboor ate well that night. He was pleased with the tenacity of his sons. They had remained seated on their mounts and played a good game. The merchant himself had commented on their riding skills, making the proud father smile.

  Exhausted, they slept.

  Two days of rest, and then the training would again commence.

  The home of Abdul-Saboor

  Abdul-Saboor had retired early. He was feeling a little unwell, his throat was parched and his limbs ached. No doubt the ride had worn him out, he acknowledged sadly to himself. He was no longer a young man. This may well be the last season of Buzkashi for him. The thought depressed him, yet he knew that everything had its season in the life of a man. Perhaps he would feel better after a good night’s sleep.

  “Father? Father, please wake up. Something is wrong with the horses.” Young Majeed shook his father’s shoulder to rouse him into wakefulness.

  Abdul-Saboor sat up, rubbing his weary eyes. “The horses? What?”

  “Please, you must come. I went to see Mahali to ensure the grooms had taken care of that slash on his side. He is unwell, and it’s not the slash causing it- that didn’t even break the skin. He can barely stand and he is in pain. Please, Father.”

  “Of course I will come. The animals are our livelihood. I love them as you do, my son.”

  The man dressed quickly and followed his son out to the stable area. Mahali was in the corral with several other mounts from the Buzkashi.

  Abdul-Saboor went immediately to the animal, and stroked the long beautiful neck and looked into the horse’s eyes and mouth. The animal was clearly distressed, his eyes reddened and spittle foamed around his muzzle. He swayed as he stood. Abdul was gravely concerned; this was not something he had seen before in all his years of horsemanship. Common ailments he dealt with and they occurred from time to time, but this? The beautiful animal sank to its knees, its legs no longer able to hold it up.

  “Call the veterinarian quickly, my son. I will remain with Mahali. Tell your brother to come to me, quickly now.”

  The young man ran inside to do as bid. He roused his brother and then went into his father’s private rooms to get the number for the veterinarian they normally used.

  Abdul-Saboor looked around at the other animals; two more were foaming around the mouth, and leaned heavily on the rails of the corral for support. Whatever this was, all the animals were at risk of getting it.

  He hurried across to the stables and awoke the other grooms. “Quickly! The animals are ill. I want them sponged down and kept calm. Isolate Mah
ali and the three mares. The vet will soon be here.

  Similar scenes were being played out across Afghanistan. Very few of the owners and stable hands thought to isolate the sick animals and fewer still gave thought to the possibility that this disease could be transmitted to humans.

  They would realize their folly too late to make a difference to the hell that approached.

  The veterinarian was concerned, justifiably so. He had never seen an equine disease the likes of this one. He drew blood from the animals clearly in distress, ordering Abdul-Saboor to keep them isolated. Blood was taken from all the animals for cross testing. He also ordered that anyone coming in contact with the animals be wearing gloves and a mask. It didn’t hurt to take sensible precautions until they knew what they were dealing with.

  He doubted the illness would be transmissible to humans; it didn’t present like Anthrax, and the Hendra virus he had read much about was relegated to the island country of Australia. Guessing would only make matters worse. He gave his assurances to Abdul-Saboor, promising the man he would rush the blood tests through and call him immediately the results were available.

  These animals were in the peak of condition, but even so whatever this thing was had brought them down, and rapidly.

  Early morning of the following day

  Abdul-Saboor woke in a lather of perspiration. His head ached and his limbs were heavy with fatigue. He put it down to the stress of worrying about the animals in his care. The merchant Haseeb-Raafi would be greatly displeased should any harm come to these horses whilst he was in control of them.