by Paul A. Rice
After a while longer spent playing dodgems, the two Spears broke into the outskirts of Kandahar, and although there was still plenty of devastation apparent, it was now more thinly spread. So, with less to circumnavigate, their progress speeded up slightly. Out of his side window, Ken saw the rooftops of various buildings in the distance, most had some form of damage and a lot of them had collapsed altogether. All the mud walls that used to line the route had disintegrated, their demise allowing vast amounts of human litter to be blown hither and thither. There was garbage everywhere, it had always been a filthy place anyway, but now the walls had gone there were six-foot-high piles of the stuff all over the place. Little dust devils, rubbish devils, spun their way between one pile of garbage and the next.
However, the smell of smoke and faeces, which normally filled the air, was strangely absent. Ken figured it was either the length of time everyone had been gone, or more likely the air conditioning system on his Spear that prevented the smell from assuming its normal place in the general order of things. Either way, the rank odour was now lacking and that suited him just fine. He thought about the dream, about the scenes where he’d seen the unbelievable things his kind had done, and were going to do, to this planet. The thoughts made him wonder.
‘Perhaps this situation really is for the better after all?’
The notion chilled him with its clarity.
There was obvious evidence of plant growth everywhere. The further they travelled from the built-up area, the more prominent it became. It was unlike any Afghanistan he had ever seen, the greenery multiplied by the mile and Ken felt certain they were in another country, or perhaps even on another planet...
He and Mike passed various witticisms back and forth as they travelled along. Humour is the life-blood of any soldier’s normal day, the constant banter and piss-taking helps to keep the morale high and ensures that people stay on their toes. Any mistakes, professional or personal, are severely punished. Legends have been born from such tales. The two men were masters at the game and played it endlessly as they made progress toward their quarry, their ponytailed prey – Red.
After some two hours they cleared the city altogether and turned onto the main highway, or what was left of it. The tarmac had only ever had a tenuous grip – even before the storm arrived, the roads had always been littered with pot holes and cracks, huge lumps appearing in their surfaces overnight, the bitumen seemingly disintegrating of its own accord. It was a mess and had made Ken laugh at the billions of dollars the West had poured into the road-building projects. Corruption, insurgency, and plain old shoddy workmanship would ensure this place stayed in the Dark Ages for a long time yet. He wondered what the tax-payers would think if they ever saw how much of their money was being wasted.
It had been bad a long time before the storm arrived and had a say about things, but now, in the post-storm era, there was hardly a yard of tarmacadam to be seen anywhere, great swirls of it lay in piles along the route. Large chunks littered the road, leaving gaping pot-holes in their wake, dangerously sagging dips teetered on the verge of destruction and one carelessly-placed wheel would cause an immediate collapse into the hidden voids underneath. The place was a mess and nothing like a highway at all. The two Spears coped with it easily whilst all the time the bright dash of the Light Maker’s location blinked on their screens, its mesmerising glow keeping the two friends focused and heading in the correct direction.
After having a lunch break, during which Ken scanned the surrounding area with his amazing glasses, they continued their journey with Mike leading. Both men successfully negotiating the rough terrain without problem, the Spears never missing a beat, no flashing warning lights, no overheating, and, most importantly, no flat tyres – the only thing they had to contend with was perfect, rhythmic power.
Ken enjoyed following in Mike’s wheel tracks, it was also easier than leading, he let the lead vehicle pick the route whilst spending more time looking at the surroundings. The transformation to the countryside was something else, there was plant life springing forth from every nook and cranny. It filled his heart with pleasure for he knew this awful land had reaped the sowing it had so long cried out for. It made him happy. ‘Who needs mankind around here, huh?’ he asked the hawk as he watched it wheeling high above his transparent roof. Ken imagined he heard the bird’s shrieked reply.
Before long it was time to change direction as the flashing beacon was now starting to edge toward the right side of their monitors. They turned off the main highway and headed toward their destination, keeping the beacon in the centre of their screens. The route took the men more northwards than before. It was possible to follow the Helmand River as it would have most likely led them straight to their destination, but that route was too obvious. If they were going to run into an ambush, then along the river banks would be the most likely place. So, following their instincts, they opted for the more mountainous route, which, although certainly more time-consuming, definitely gave them a chance of finding better cover, should they get into trouble.
As they progressed, the road started to become much worse with more and more deep gullies starting to appear across its rocky surface. A heavy rainstorm had left all sorts of debris behind, a trail of boulders, trees and great lumps of earth lay strewn across the track. The two men negotiated the obstacles with care, just cruising around most things and then, occasionally, using the Pusher to assist with some of the larger, more stubborn obstacles. Such was the density of the debris that it wasn’t long before their pace had become a crawl. There wasn’t a lot more they were able to do, and so, taking their time, they manoeuvred their big vehicles across the broken terrain.
A sharp bend appeared to their front, its deviation causing the track to disappear to the right behind some sparse woodland and scrub. The steep slope on the right prevented any view of what lay around the bend, Ken realised that they were going to have to negotiate it blind unless he was able to get the bloody screen to show him what lay out of sight.
He quickly scanned the monitor, but, unfortunately it didn’t show him what was around the corner, merely a view straight over a valley to the front.
With an almost physical jolt, Ken’s senses heightened. Looking up, he saw that Mike was already starting to negotiate the bend; Ken decided to warn him of his concerns. Reaching across, he pushed the transmit button and sent his hurried warning crackling across the airwaves. ‘We need to watch ourselves here,’ he said. ‘This doesn’t feel so good, Mikey!’
With the message sent, Ken looked back at his controls and desperately tried to remember how to get a wider view to come up on his screen.
Mike answered immediately. ‘Roger that, you drop back a bit, and if we get whacked then we’ll reverse back around...’ His voice was drowned out by the sound of rifle fire – Ken heard the metallic clatter booming through the speakers.
Mike screamed: ‘Enemy ahead! We’ve got contact – contact!’
25
Killing Time
Watching, Ken saw the Australian’s Spear swerve to one side, its violent deviation saving Mike from the swarm of red tracer rounds that were now hurtling past his roof. Looking forward, past his friend’s vehicle, Ken saw that four men were standing behind a pile of logs about three hundred yards away. Without hesitation, they had begun firing at the two vehicles approaching their position. If Ken hadn’t have known any better, he would have guessed that the Afghans had read the bloody script. The thought alarmed him.
‘They must have known we were coming, what the hell is going on?’
By now a few bullets were starting to find their mark – the warheads making the weird ‘bloop-bloop’ sound Ken had noticed earlier as they smashed into his vehicle. The strange noise was so unreal that Ken was tempted to stay put and listen for a while. He’d avoided more than his fair share of bullets over the years and knew exactly what they sounded like. Yes, he knew that noise instinctively and it bore no resemblance to the soft splashing sound he was current
ly listening to. Ken would never cease to marvel at the abilities of the awesome Spear, no other vehicle, military or otherwise, had ever provided him with such protection.
Snapping back into the present, he yelled into his communicator. ‘Reverse, Mikey, come back around the bend!’
Almost as one, the two men slammed their vehicles into gear and hurriedly retreated in a cloud of dust. The enemy were still firing in uncontrolled bursts, the faint sound of their shots fetched a grin to Ken’s face – all they were doing was wasting their ammunition. Once safely out of the firing line, he skidded to a halt and waited for his friend. It wasn’t more than a few seconds before Mike pulled up next to him, the heavy momentum of his vehicle causing yet more dust to billow into the air.
‘What now?’ The tension in Mike’s voice was clearly audible as it crackled over the speaker inside Ken’s cab.
Ken answered him, saying: ‘You go back up there and draw their fire, get out and take cover behind the Spear, then suppress them! I’ll see if I can get around on the high ground to the right, make sure that put your armour on, Mikey!’ A cold flood of adrenaline began to charge through his veins.
The excitement in his partner’s reply only added to the sensation. ‘Roger that, moving now – watch your back!’ Mike yelled, flooring the accelerator.
Ken watched as his friend’s Spear rocketed back uphill towards the enemy. He heard their rate of fire slow, as if in surprise, then all of a sudden increase by tenfold as the small group of men began to realise what was happening. The sound of automatic weapons filled the air with a ripping, metallic clatter which penetrated the interior of his vehicle. He pressed the Pusher button on his steering controls and let the vehicle bludgeon its way up the steep slope to his right, sending a mental challenge to the device as he did so.
‘Let’s see if you’re bored now, shall we?’
The Pusher answered him with consummate ease, its invisible pulse of energy brushing all and sundry aside for its master’s command. Ken saw a crest line ahead and turned left to stay below the horizon. After pushing forward for about another hundred yards, he stopped the vehicle and looked up at his screen. He saw the heat signature of the Afghans ahead of him, the white glow that radiated from the men’s warm bodies was intermittently disrupted by the much brighter glare of their weapon’s muzzle flashes, long spurts of light gleaming like strobes as they flashed across the screen’s blue surface.
He watched for a few seconds and then, seeing no other signs of life, nodded in satisfaction. Ken was cautious of any flank interference as he knew the rest of Red’s men could be waiting in ambush for him, years of experience having taught him to avoid becoming fixated by the target. Blindly heading towards the enemy without thinking about the flanks might easily allow a man to be caught unprepared. He saw no other movement on the screen and so decided to wait for a few more moments, just to let the dust of his arrival settle.
After a final check of the monitor, he dismounted from the vehicle, grabbing the weapons holdall and hefting it onto his shoulder. Picking up the AK, he began to make his way forwards on foot, hearing the soft clunk of the Spear’s door closing automatically behind him as he did so. The sound was like a signal, a final act, no more talking, no more thinking. This part was going to be all about the blood and the killing. With the blood roaring in his ears and eyes firmly fixed ahead, Ken began his slithering advance towards the enemy.
Loose shale tumbled down the slope to his left. With difficulty he slowed his pace, took a deep breath and whispered to himself: ‘Patience, Kenny-boy, have some patience!’ He froze and cocked his head to listen to the crazy rate of fire which Red’s men were putting down – the thundering crash of their weapons echoed sharply across the valley. Ken listened for Mike’s return fire. Sure enough, every time the Afghans’ fire slowed, he heard the more deliberate shots that his friend was returning. Ken heard the sound of a man screaming and then a confused babbling of shouted voices.
Mike’s rate of fire increased and the shouting stopped.
‘That’s one down and three to go, you’re in the shit now, boys. Well done, Mikey!’ Ken whispered, smiling grimly at the sound of his own words as he crouched below the crest of his final firing position.
Unzipping the holdall to remove the sniper rifle, he checked the magazine and then laid the rifle down next to the bag. Taking two grenades, he placed them on top of the bag along with the AK. With luck he would get the job done using only the sniper rifle, but if things went badly, well...‘Then an assault rifle and a couple of frag grenades are gonna come in real handy!’ he thought.
With a quick glance over his shoulder, he picked up the sniper rifle and crawled around the edge of the mound. Two hundred and fifty yards away, down to his left, he was able to see directly behind the pile of logs the enemy were using as cover. Three of the men were still operational and they were all taking turns in firing at Mike – crouching up one at a time and wildly loosing off half a clip in his general direction. The return fire was far more accurate and Ken saw lumps of wood exploding into the air where Mike’s well-aimed shots had the men pinned down. The fourth of their number was writhing around on the floor. Even from this distance, Ken was able to see that the man was gut shot.
He raised the rifle, brought it into the aim and then pushed the button for the range finder – the red digits in the eyepiece flickered as the invisible beam of light reached out and then reflected back from his target. The numbers flashed a few times and then settled at 236. Checking the surrounding foliage for any hint of wind...it wouldn’t have made much difference at this range, but drills are drills...he then took aim at the man farthest from him. The digits flashed again and then changed to 239. Ken clicked the elevation drum until the numbers changed to green and flashed once.
‘Two hundred and thirty-nine yards, with no wind, this just ain’t your lucky day is it, boys?’ Letting the unspoken words ooze through his mind, he breathed in, exhaled, and then paused. At the precise moment of complete stillness, when the breath is neither coming in nor going out, Ken used his right index finger and gently operated the trigger.
His first shot was about six inches too low and he cursed softly as he watched the bullet striking home, the shocking impact blowing the back of the man’s neck wide open – pink mist from his shattered spine spraying into the hot air. The man rolled over and flopped onto his side. The sound of his first shot had not even reached the enemy before Ken fired for a second time, on this occasion he didn’t screw up and watched through the scope as his shot blew the top of the man’s head clean off. The heavy bullet, with its velocity at well over two thousand feet per second, burst his skull like an exploding water melon. The man jerked into the air, did a short twitching rendition, rather like a Scottish jig, and then crumpled onto his shocked companion.
The sight of his comrade’s shattered skull must have broken the last man’s nerve, after one more glance at his downed companions, he rose to his feet, turned on his heels and began to flee the position. Ken adjusted his aim and squeezed off another shot, deliberately putting the bullet straight into the man’s lower back. His target screamed once and then fell face first onto the unfeeling surface of the rocky track.
Ken’s voice boomed off the surrounding hills: ‘Mikey!’
Mike’s reply reached up to him. ‘Yeah, mate! I’m all good! Great shooting...that’ll show the bastards! Are you okay?’
Ken heard the sound of ‘okay...okay...okay…’ echoing across the valley below him. He shouted back: ‘I’m on my way down, I’ll come to you...cover me!’
Not waiting for a reply from Mike, he stuffed the sniper rifle and grenades into the bag, grabbed the AK and sprinted back to the vehicle. Opening the door, he slid the weapons in first and then leapt into the driver’s seat, before spinning the Spear three-sixty and heading downhill in a hurry with the Pusher button pressed all the way in. Bouncing over the final crest, he saw that Mike was covering him from behind a large rock. Ken spun his Spear hard
right, the huge tyres showering his friend with dust and shale. Mike waved his hand in front of his face, gave him the finger and then ran to his own vehicle.
Ken waited until he had climbed in, before saying: ‘Come on – let’s get up there before that prick dies, I need to ask him something!’
In seconds both the Spears had thundered back up the track.
The men clambered out, Ken told Mike to provide cover whilst he ran across to check the bodies. Mike grabbed his rifle and stood by the side of his Spear, eyes scanning their surroundings for any hint of further enemy activity. Ken slid the pistol out of its holster and carefully made his way across to the pile of logs where the dead and wounded men lay.
The two he’d shot were long gone, whilst the third man, the one Mike had hit, didn’t have more than five minutes. Ken put a 9mm round through his head to help him along – the moaning was getting on his nerves anyway. Turning, he went up the track to where the fourth and final man lay, he was in agony and looked up at Ken with pleading eyes, blood bubbling from his lips as he lay there whining, the sound gargling from deep within his throat. There was a large patch of blood on his back, and when Ken rolled him over he saw where the bullet had exited through the man’s lower stomach. Faeces and blood covered the front of his trousers, flowing down his legs to collect in crimson pools around the man’s filthy, sandal-shod feet. The mixture joined in with the smell of cordite and clung heavily in Ken’s nostrils.
He looked at the man and said, ‘Where’s Red? Where is he? Is he in Kajaki?’ Ken motioned with his head in the general direction.