by Eric Meyer
The aircraft was close enough for him to see the helmet and oxygen mask of the pilot as he stared down at them, and he noted the munitions loaded on the weapons pylons. The Fighting Falcon wasn’t on a simple training fight. It was loaded for bear. The aircraft banked away and roared up into the sky, almost standing on its tail. As it gained height, the pilot performed a flashy roll. The bastard was confident, enjoying showing off to his victims. Giving them a taste of what awaited them. The aircraft turned through one hundred and eighty degrees and came hurtling back in at them. The fighter hadn't launched a missile yet; standard practice against a small target, an unknown vehicle, and a group of armed fighters.
He thought about waving to try to persuade the guy they weren’t hostile, but a second later, the aircraft came in for an attack run. He took a couple of seconds to slash the ties that bound Jamal Sama to the hood, and still with his wrists and ankles trussed, tossed him on the back seat, where he would at least be less exposed. He dove for cover at the side of the track. The F-16 wasn't using missiles for good reason. The pilot had decided to have some fun, and the hammering of the internal M61 cannon was loud above the roar of the engine. As if someone had imported a jackhammer into the remote region, but this was no jackhammer. The heavy cannon rounds smashed into the ground around them, throwing up clods of earth and stones that rained around them as they fell back to earth.
Noyan and Nadiri, old hands at dealing with attacks from the air, were already on the other side of the track, hugging the ground. Javed ran from behind the GAZ and sped toward the pool of water that lay across the track. He dove in amidst a huge splash of spray. Greg came out from under the hood, shouted to Archer, and man and dog joined Stoner. The F-16 came in for a second pass, and more cannon rounds thumped into the ground around them. Several smashed into the GAZ, but so far, they’d taken no casualties.
The fighter banked away, performed a flashy wing overturn, and came back for a third time. The two Afghan Talibs had taken enough. When under attack from the air their practice was to return fire with assault rifles on full auto, and the 7.62mm bullets arced up toward the incoming fighter.
Hitting a fast-moving aircraft with assault rifles from the ground is an almost impossible task, but this time, the gods of war smiled on them. They scored a lucky hit. By some miracle, a bullet hit the Perspex canopy. The toughened plastic crazed, leaving the pilot almost blind. He pointed the nose upward, and the aircraft sped away. They’d survived this round, and they were alive. For now.
The silence returned, and Stoner let out a breath. "I think he's gone."
Greg nodded. “He didn't have any choice, not when those crazy Afghans hit his canopy."
They walked over to Noyan and Nadiri, who were casually reloading their assault rifles. Calm, as if they’d just taken tea with the pilot, not almost shot him out of the sky.
"That was good shooting," he said to Noyan, "You saved our lives."
The Talib shrugged. "It was nothing. Most of our bullets missed. If the bastard comes back we’ll open fire sooner. God willing, we’ll bring him down. A pity we don't have any missiles. Back in the day, we would have blasted him out of the sky with a Stinger."
Stoner didn't point out the Stinger was American-made, and probably the aircraft they were shooting at back then would also have been American-made, piloted by an American. Some things were best left unsaid.
Javed joined them, shaking off the water from his clothes like a dog. "Are you hurt?" Noyan asked him.
"Just wet."
"Good. What about the engine? We need that jeep. Can you get it started?"
Greg was about to reply, but Javed got there first.
"Sir, there isn’t a vehicle made I can’t get started.” He grinned, "If I couldn't start them, how would I be able to steal them?"
Stoner suppressed a smile.
A skilled mechanic and a ruthless killer, some upbringing for a young boy!
Javed continued to work on drying out the electrics. Greg gave the jeep a thorough check for damage, and when he’d finished he looked relieved.
"We took three cannon shells, one through the rear seat, one the trunk, and one of them went through a box of ammunition. Thank God it didn't cook off."
Stoner had a sudden thought. "What about the prisoner? Is he alive?"
Blum chuckled. “You ought to take a look. He’s alive, sure, but it looks like he could do with a change of pants."
Stoner looked in the back of the jeep. Where the Pakistani had been lying on the back seat, tied and unable to move, a cannon round had smashed through the upholstery, directly between his legs, missing his genitals by less than two inches. He was still shaking with fear, and Greg was right, he could do with a change of pants. They were soaking wet after he'd pissed himself with terror. Not that surprising, after he’d come close to losing the family jewels.
Less than a minute later, the engine roared to life, and Javed gave them a huge smile. "I told you I’d get it started."
Greg grinned. "I didn't believe him, but damn, if he ever wants a career as a motor mechanic, he'd be a natural."
Or as a killer, this kid has multiple skillsets.
"We need to get going now," he told them, “If we stick around here, he’ll be back."
Noyan gave him a searching look. "And how long do you think it'll take them to bolt on a new cockpit canopy, or send a replacement aircraft to kill us? I doubt we have more than an hour."
"How long before we reach Chilas?"
“Four hours, no less."
"Then we need to leave. We can't find somewhere to hide in the hope he'll miss us. There is nowhere, not in this barren place.”
“He won’t miss us.”
“Then we'll just have to deal with the next attack when it comes."
Noyan smiled. "We’ve done this before, many times. I have a few suggestions."
"I'm listening."
"We need to cover the GAZ with the canvas tarpaulin to blur the outline. We can cover the canvas with sticks, branches, anything we can find. As we travel, we will watch the sky for when the aircraft comes back, and if he spots us, we defend ourselves. There’s one way to stand a chance of stopping him, and that’s for us to fire together on full auto. Let the bastard taste our lead.”
“Anti-aircraft style.”
Except we don’t have multiple barrel heavy machine guns.
“Yes. Last time we were lucky, but next time the chances of hitting him will be remote. Four rifles firing on full auto may give us a chance."
He stopped as Javed grabbed his AK from the GAZ. “Five rifles, Mr. Noyan."
"Five rifles," he agreed, "At least it may put him off his aim."
Stoner frowned. "Then he'll stand off and hit us with a missile."
"In which case it is in God's hands. However, as I said, there are steps we can take to help ourselves. First, we camouflage the jeep, and second, we watch the sky in case he comes back. I doubt they will give up, not after we damaged their aircraft.”
They set to work, dragging the heavy canvas tarpaulin over the vehicle, and they cut holes for them to see out. Next, they scouted the area for debris, dead branches, loose scree, anything they could throw over the makeshift camouflage. When they’d finished, the GAZ bore a faint resemblance to a small hill parked on the track, at least from a distance. They were in with a chance to elude the F-16, in the event it came back. And they were sure it would be back, thirsting for revenge.
Greg climbed back into the driving seat and got the jeep moving. They had to go slow to avoid the camouflage blowing off in the slipstream. Visibility made driving difficult, and the rest of them scanned the sky through the holes they’d cut, watching for the enemy. The first hour went past in nervous anticipation, but there was no aircraft, and every man prayed the Pakistani jet might not return. They were almost at the end of the second hour and starting to relax.
The track took them into a shallow valley, and a storm of machine gun bullets cut through the air two meters
in front of them. Automatically, they scanned the sky, looking for the fighter, surprised they hadn't seen or heard him coming. Stoner thought about it some more.
Something’s wrong. It isn’t the F-16.
"The fighter doesn’t carry a light machine gun. He has a cannon. The gunfire is come coming from somewhere else, somewhere higher up. Look at the sides of the valley."
Another burst came from above them, and he spotted muzzle flashes.
"There, over to the south, high up. There’s no shelter, so we’ll have to hide behind the GAZ until we can figure a way out of this."
They leapt out, just before the next line of bullets stitched holes in the seats, and they had to hug the ground, using the wheels for cover. Knowing that all it took was for the shooter to target and shred the tires, and they'd be trapped.
Stoner was gazing up at the place where he’d picked out the muzzle flashes and estimating the distance to the foot of the slope. About fifty meters, and every step would be across open ground. Yet they had no other options, and he had to try. He explained what he required from them.
"When I start running, pour fire onto that machine gun position. Keep their heads down until I reach the slope."
"You’ll never make it," Greg shook his head, "Look up there. The guy is tucked well in out of sight. No matter how many bullets we fire, I doubt we'll be able to put him off his aim."
"There is another problem," Noyan said, "We don't know how many men are up there. Even if you do make it to the slope, it will be a very difficult climb without any cover. Perhaps impossible.”
"Do you have any better ideas?"
"I do," Nadiri grunted. He was impassive as ever, and only the glint in the eyes told of his thirst to get to grips with the enemy, "I'm coming with you, and we can leapfrog up the slope. One gives cover, while the other climbs to the next stage."
“I've done it before," Stoner said, "And I need every gun firing when I make my run."
Nadiri shrugged. "Regardless, I shall come with you.”
“Forget it. Just give me the covering fire. I'll handle this."
Without waiting for further disagreements, he catapulted from behind cover and started to run. The machine gun opened up at once, and the gunner walked his bullets toward him. The men crouched behind the jeep began sending up covering fire. Burst after burst smashed into the rocks around the gunner, and the fire faltered. Behind him, Stoner could hear the pounding of boots over the rough ground, and the heavy breathing of a big man as he chased after him. When he reached the slope, Mohammed Nadiri flung himself down beside him.
"I told you I could handle this."
He gave him a flat stare. “I said you couldn't. I'll take the first sprint."
"You…"
He didn’t have time to say any more. Nadiri was up and running, climbing the hill, and in spite of his huge, heavy body, he went up the slope like a gazelle. Until the machine gun found him, and bullets chipped up dust and small chunks of rock around his running feet. He dove behind a shallow outcrop of rock and began to return fire. Stoner didn't need to know more. He was already running, following Nadiri up the slope. He bounded past him as Nadiri fired burst after burst at the machine gunner. He made another fifty meters, halfway up when the next burst smashed down from above, and he had to dive for cover. He aimed his AK upward, pulled the trigger, and sent up another stream of bullets. Nadiri was on the move again, almost up with him and about to race past, when the shooting started again. But this time it was from about twenty meters to the east of the machine gun. Several men were firing assault rifles, and the bullets smashed around both men. With a sense of despair, Stoner realized he’d underestimated the enemy. They'd worked out how to counter the two men coming up toward them by splitting their force. Now they had them trapped between the two sets of gunfire. Sooner or later, the enemy would find the range and kill them.
He glanced down at the GAZ, and they were still sending short bursts up at the machine gunner. The idea was to encourage them to keep their heads down. Except they weren't keeping their heads down, almost ignoring the incoming gunfire from below, and treating it with contempt. They’d seen the main threat came not from the men behind the GAZ, but from the two men climbing toward them. The gunfire increased as they maneuvered into new positions, and it was almost like they had bullets to burn. Pinned down, there was no opportunity for Stoner and Nadiri to press home the attack.
The four shooters to the east were getting closer, using the bursts from the machine gun to cover their approach. When they were less than thirty meters away, they resumed firing, and Stoner could now see the machine gun crew scrambling to bring their weapon to a new position where they’d have a clearer sight of the target. Between the two groups of hostiles, they were closing off every escape route, and the two men were stymied.
“I was right,” Nadiri grunted from beside him, “You couldn’t do it on your own.”
“Sure, you were right. Why lose one man killed when you can lose two?”
The Talib scowled. “We’re not dead yet.”
Almost.
Stoner glanced every which way to a solution, and there was nothing. If they went forward, they'd tear them apart with a storm of bullets. If they stayed where they were, the inevitable would happen, and they'd get close enough and pour fire down on them. They’d be flayed by a hurricane of lead, most of it ricochets from the impacts of cannon shells on the surrounding rocks. Their final option was no option at all. To retreat back down the slope, which would leave them exposed, and they’d die just the same.
He struggled to work out the least worst option. Go forward, stay, or to fallback, and there was a hair's breadth between any of them. He was still trying to work it out when he heard an aircraft and looked up. They had yet more trouble. The F-16 was back. Maybe they'd repaired the canopy, or this was a replacement aircraft, but the difference was moot. A fighter jet was a fighter jet. The pilot brought it down in a swooping dive, leaving them in no doubt as to his intentions. The Falcon came nearer and nearer, and Stoner waited for the GAZ to erupt in a fury of cannon fire, but it didn't happen.
Whether the pilot had overlooked the camouflaged vehicle, or had something else in mind, he had no way of knowing. The fighter swept overhead, and they knew the pilot was the same man. Flashy, and he barrel rolled above the valley, zoomed up into the sky, flipped the nose over, and came back at them. Stoner tensed, waiting for the gunfire to rip them apart. But the pilot still wasn't satisfied, and he roared past for a second recon of the target. Stoner wondered if from the cockpit he'd seen the two men sheltering in the rocks. They’d have been difficult to spot from the air, but surely he couldn’t miss the jeep. They'd know when the cannon fire thundered down, and the aircraft performed another flashy barrel roll, the nose flipped over, and the fighter came back in.
This time it was for real. No hesitation, and he came lower and lower, a hunter, not wanting to stand off and fire a missile from afar. No, he wanted to do it the old-fashioned way, up close with bullets, to rip them apart using his skill to destroy the target. The cannon fire started, spurts of smoke puffed from the nose of the F-16, and a line of tracer hurtled down toward them.
He had time to shout, "Down!"
They flattened even lower against the rock. The bullets missed them, although they felt the impacts of the heavy gunfire smashing into the rock all around them. It took him a moment to understand what was happening. The pilot had seen the ambush positions above the valley. The group of shooters to the east, the machine gun position to the west, and he’d identified them as his target. He was doing the job for them, and by a miracle, the man who'd tried to kill them was now saving them.
Screams came from above, and one man stood up to try and run. Heavy cannon shells ripped his body apart, and chunks of flesh flew into the air, as if churned by an awful machine. The machine gunner attempted to target the aircraft, but the pilot was in no mood to screw around after he'd already taken damage from ground fire. Once again, h
e barrel-rolled up into the sky and banked over, but this time, he'd exhausted his patience. A missile dropped off of the starboard pylon and ignited, hurtling down toward the machine gun position, and his aim was good. The explosion was massive, and Stoner found himself thrown into the air by the blast wave.
The pilot zoomed away, turned, and came back in a slow pass to check his handiwork. He didn't see Stoner or Nadiri flat against the rock, perhaps because they were covered in dust and debris from the blast. Nothing was moving, and he evidently decided he’d completed his work. The aircraft zoomed away, gaining height, and disappeared into the distant clouds. Once again, the region went quiet, and the two men slowly picked themselves up.
First, they went to the machine gun position a few meters above them. There was little need to check. The heavy shells had torn the weapon apart, and there were four men, the gunner, the loader, and two fighters. At least there’d once been four men. Now all that remained were their dismembered corpses and body parts, torn out of recognition by the awesome power of the 30mm cannon. They went to check the secondary position, and the four shooters were similarly lifeless. All that remained were bloody scraps of flesh and bone.
Nadiri nodded to himself in satisfaction. "I'm certain these men are from the group we seek, the Haqqanis. The evidence is there, the religious beads each man carries, and the remains of a Koran in their robes. Haqqanis, no question."