Righteous Strike

by Eric Meyer

  They climbed back down the slope and reached the GAZ. Greg came out from behind cover. "How does it look up there?"

  "Like a cemetery."

  He grinned. "That's good enough for me. Who would have believed it? That Pakistani pilot saved our lives."

  "I’ll remember to send him a bottle of Scotch," Stoner grunted, "Right now, I suggest we get your jalopy moving. Mohammed here reckons they were Haqqanis, and they weren't waiting up there for a picnic. They knew we're coming, and they intended to stop us." He looked at Noyan. "Is there a different route we can take?"

  He shook his head. "We are on the different route. There is no other. However, in future we take more care."

  "From the Haqqanis, or from the Pakistani Air Force?" He grimaced, "Not forgetting Colonel Rahman’s Special Forces. We know they’ve thrown in with Khan in return for a share of the ransom, so I doubt they’ll be far behind."

  Greg whistled. "Stoner, that's three separate enemies chasing our tails. Even for you that's a record. How come you manage to piss off so many people?"

  He smiled. "I reckon it must be my warm and engaging personality."

  He didn’t reply. He felt something wet sliding down his leg, and when he looked down, his pants were dark, and it had to be blood.

  Too bad, I’ll attend to it later, once we’re away from the ambush site.

  He put a foot forward and felt his leg collapse. Waves of pain tore through his body, and all of a sudden he was lying on the ground, with Greg kneeling over him.

  “Stoner, you’ve got a hole in your leg.”

  “Right. Nothing too serious?”

  “Apart from the loss of at least two pints of blood, no.”

  “Help me up. We need to get out of here.”

  He was shaking his head. “No way, buddy. You can’t even walk, let alone fight. We have to get you out of here, back over the border, and get medical treatment. This operation is a bust, at least for now.”

  “No, no way. We go on. Greg, don’t even think about it. I’ll crawl if I have to, but there’s no way I’m leaving her.”

  “Her? You mean the Congresswoman? Stoner, there’re a lot of women taken hostage, they reckon as many as twenty. As well as Noyan’s kids.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant. Them.”

  Greg stared back at him. “I know what you meant, buddy. Okay, we go on. We’ll get her out, along with the rest of them. But before we leave, I’m gonna put a dressing on that leg.”

  “It’s only a bit of blood.”

  “It’s making a mess of my GAZ. Shut up, and let me handle this.”

  When he’d finished, Stoner slumped on the passenger seat, doing his best to hide from them the waves of giddiness washing through his head. Archer wasn’t fooled, and he gave him a sympathetic whine, licking his hand in a show of affection and support. He stroked the dog’s head.

  When I make a list of my friends, Archer, it’ll be a short list, but you’ll be near the top.

  Chapter Five

  They drove on toward Chilas, and Stoner felt worse than ever. At least the bullet he'd taken in his leg had gone all the way through, which was some consolation. He almost smiled, thinking about the number of wounds he’d sustained during his checkered career. He drank a full canteen of water to replace the fluid loss, but he still felt terrible. All he needed now was for the wound to become infected, and he'd be in real trouble. Still, he'd had worse. Besides, there was no way he’d give up when they'd come so close. And when the objective was the most valuable thing in his life. Sara Carver, and he wondered how she was holding up.

  Javed shouted a warning that brought him out of his reverie. "I can see men on the hillside ahead of us."

  Greg brought the jeep to a halt, and they stared ahead. At first there was nothing on the distant hill, but after watching for almost a minute, something moved. Stoner knew what it was. “They’ve set up a secondary ambush position. A fallback in case they missed us first time around."

  Greg nodded. "That's the way it looks, and this time we won't have that Pakistani pilot to fight our corner."

  They stood in silence, trying to work out an alternative. Stoner looked at Noyan.

  "You said you’d been here before, and you know your way around. Is there a way we can get past the ambush?"

  His expression was grave as he shook his head. "There is no other route apart from the main Chitral to Chilas road. Perhaps we should go back and get more men," he growled, "We are but four men and a boy, and there could be a score of fighters up there. Well dug in, and with every approach covered by machine guns. I don't like to duck a fight, but we don't have a choice. I say we go back."

  "Sirs, Sirs!" Javed was hopping up and down in excitement, and they stared at him.

  "What is it, boy?" Noyan glared at him.

  "It is the prisoner. He says he knows another way."

  Somehow, the man had got himself entangled with the canvas. He was gasping for air, trying to talk to them at the same time. They removed it, and Stoner glared down at him, suspicious he was trying to pull some stunt to lead them into a trap. "If you have something to say, now would be a good time."

  "Sir, I know of a way through. We can stay off the track and approach Chilas unseen on a little-known path."

  "Spit it out. Where is this path?"

  His eyes adopted a look of cunning. "I can show you, if you will free my arms and legs."

  "Not a chance. The moment we free you, what’s to stop you running, and then we find there is no alternative route to Chilas?"

  "No, no, I swear on the grave of my father. And my mother," he added after a few seconds, "The path is there. I have used it in the past. Please, release me, and I will show you the way."

  Noyan nodded at Nadiri, who pulled out a wicked looking knife. Eighteen inches long, the hilt was bound in soft leather for a better grip. The blade had a dull sheen that suggested the man kept it honed to sharp perfection. He slashed once, and the wrists were free. He leaned over, slashed again, and the legs came loose. In a blur of movement, the big knife disappeared back into his robes.

  "Thank you, thank you,” the man gasped, panting to fill his starved lungs with air.

  "Now tell us, which way do we go?"

  He glanced at Noyan and Nadiri, his face filled with fear. He knew what kind of men they were, for he was one of them. "You will let me live when I have shown you the way? Your word of honor, as the Prophet Mohammed is your witness?"

  "You keep your side of the bargain, and we’ll keep our side. In the name of the Prophet Mohammed."

  Stoner didn’t laugh, but it wasn’t easy.

  These people make and break solemn promises every day, Prophet or no Prophet.

  Sama nodded. "Very well. We must go back about one kilometer and turn off the track to the south."

  Noyan glowered. "There is no turn off. I was looking for another route, and I saw nothing."

  "Why would I lie? I know you would kill me."

  Greg chuckled. "You got that right. Okay, I say we go with this. I’ll turn the jeep around, and let's see if this place exists."

  They were convinced he was lying, and they watched him carefully. Stoner was working out when to put the prisoner out of his misery without letting Mohammed Nadiri slash him to ribbons, when Sama shouted, "Stop!"

  He pointed at the rocky hillside to the south, and at first they saw nothing. After another look, Stoner had it. A thin shadow in the side of what looked like a heap of boulders, and the prisoner said, "You have to drive through that gap. It is very narrow, but this vehicle should make it."

  Greg shrugged, made the turn, and at first it looked as if he was heading toward a solid wall of broken rock. But then they saw it, a possible way through. At some stage, perhaps centuries before, the rocks had tumbled down from above. One huge boulder had wedged three meters above the ground between the two sides, and the other rocks had fallen on top. It made what looked like the entrance to a tunnel. He stopped the jeep and regarded the dark clef
t in the rocks with a dubious expression.

  "We won't get through. There's no way. It isn't wide enough."

  "It is wide enough," Sama insisted.

  "Do you want to stake your life on it?" Nadiri said to him, his hand reaching for the blade.

  He stuttered over and over that they’d get through. He also mentioned his mother’s and father’s lives again. And there'd be no need to kill him, because what he said was true.

  Nadiri shrugged. "I believe him. At least, he believes it’s true.”

  Greg nodded, put the GAZ into gear, and started forward. He took it slow. After the first section there was nothing above them except open sky, and they were driving along a narrow ravine between two sheer rock faces. If the jeep had been another inch wider, they wouldn't have made it. Several times the bodywork scraped along the rocks, but Greg gunned the engine, and kept them moving.

  It took them two hours to get out of the narrow funnel between the rocks, but they made it out into the open. More important, they were out of sight of the ambushers. Stoner looked at Sama.

  "How close does this route go to the ambush point on that hillside?"

  "I think about one kilometer. It crosses the same hilltop, just further south."

  "Will they see us coming?"

  "No, but they may hear us. It would be better to turn the engine off and push the jeep past the position if you don’t want them to hear you. Or you could kill them.”

  The universal cure for every problem inside Afghanistan and Pakistan; a man causes you trouble. Kill the man. Problem solved.

  "Is the track uphill or downhill?"

  "Uphill for about three hundred meters, and then it’s all downhill."

  "She's pretty loaded," Greg said, "I dunno, pushing it uphill for three hundred meters doesn't sound practical."

  "There is an alternative."

  They looked at Noyan, and Stoner nodded. "Yeah, I heard the alternative. But the Haqqanis would know we're getting near Chilas. It’d be better to get past without them knowing we’re in the area."

  "Then we have a long uphill push. Three hundred meters the man said."

  "No time like the present. Let’s go."

  Greg drove slowly along the track, keeping the engine noise down, and at first it didn't look too hard, until Jamal Sama told them to stop. "We cannot go further without them hearing us. From here, we have to push."

  "It doesn't look too bad," Greg grunted, "The track looks level."

  "At first, yes. Soon, we will be at the foot of the gradient."

  They climbed up and started to push, the only noise the slight crunching of the tires on the gravel. There was no possibility of the hostiles hearing them. Stoner felt drained, and he knew the blood loss had affected him more than he'd cared to admit. Not that it made any difference. He would go on.

  I can breathe, and I have bullets in my gun. That's good enough for me.

  The gradient came suddenly. In the dark they hadn't seen the track sloping upward at a slight angle. Pushing the GAZ had become a little harder, but they assumed it was because of the wet mud making the going more difficult. He tried to push, but with just one good leg, the other dragging behind, he wondered if he was helping. Wondered if he was just hanging on, and they were pulling him along. The agony was indescribable, but he kept going, and then someone shouted.

  "Over there. Someone on the adjacent hillside."

  Greg pulled on the parking brake, and they waited, peering through the gloom to locate the enemy. Stoner saw him first. The guy was on patrol, no question, with his assault rifle cradled in his arms, walking without making much sound, continually glancing around him. He knew they had a problem, and they dove out of sight.

  "He's a sentry, patrolling the area. If he keeps walking in the same direction, he can't miss us."

  "Shit," Greg murmured, "As if we didn't have enough problems with this damn gradient, and now this."

  "I'll take him."

  Bloom glanced at him, already shaking his head. "Listen, pal, I've been watching you, and you’re all in. You can barely walk, and if you go after that sentry, he’ll kill you."

  "I’ll do it," Nadiri grunted, "I can handle this without any problems."

  "You’re also the strongest of us, and if they're going to get the vehicle up the gradient, they'll need you. It’s true. I'm all in. In military terms, that means I'm expendable. If something goes wrong, you'll still be able to keep going and reach Chilas."

  He didn't like it. Blum didn't like it, and even Archer gave a low wine of disapproval. Only Javed was enthusiastic. Provided he’d take him along.

  "Mr. Stoner, you've seen me use a knife. When we reach the man, I will kill him for you."

  He squashed that idea and told them he was going alone. "If anything happens, you know what to do. Keep going to Chilas, and free those women."

  They stared at him in silence. Nadiri put a hand inside his robe and extracted the huge knife. First, Stoner thought he was about to threaten him with it, but he tossed it in the air and snatched it back, holding it by the blade. "If you’re to kill him, you'll need this."

  "Appreciated."

  He scowled. "I don't want appreciation, but there’s one condition. You bring it back. If you fail to kill the man with my dagger and die in the attempt, I'll be angry. So angry, I’ll spit on your corpse."

  He forced a grin. "I’ll keep it in mind."

  They stayed huddled behind the GAZ while he limped away. The sentry was still moving about eight hundred meters away, and he closed the distance. As he drew near, he dropped to a crawl, trying to keep his profile as low as possible. Every moment he expected shots to ring out, but nothing happened. He saw the man's head moving, and he was close. Real close.

  Yet there was something odd about his stance. He wasn't looking around, wasn't even looking at Stoner. Instead, he was staring fixedly ahead, as if concentrating on something. He closed even more until he was just a short distance away. Almost close enough to leap on him with the big knife, and he stopped when he heard a grunt of effort. With a sense of relief, he understood. The guy was taking a dump, and the last thing on his mind would be the prospect of an enemy creeping up on him with a knife so big it was almost obscene.

  He got even closer, and he held the knife ready to strike. He was lunging forward when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and a second man was looming out of the shadows. This time, there was no question he'd seen him, and he was coming close. Stoner saw him pull the trigger of his rifle, but it didn't fire. Whether he hadn't cocked the action, or had a jam, he didn't give a damn. Only that he had a narrow window to take advantage of, and he covered the last few inches, swinging the big blade.

  The first man was struggling to pull up his pants when he swung it at his neck. It was so sharp it almost severed his head from his body, and he went down without a sound. He swung around to deal with the other man, who was frantically trying to load his rifle. Stoner leapt on him and made an audible grunt as his wounded leg took his weight. He almost collapsed, but he made it. He had one hand on the rifle, trying to wrench it out of the guy’s hands, while he used the other to swing the knife.

  The hostile was no rookie. He'd evidently given up on the rifle and released it, bunching his fists to swing a hard blow that slammed into Stoner's head. He saw stars, fought to recover, and swung the knife again. He didn’t make it as the guy kicked him hard in his wounded leg. He couldn't have known, but the blow was for him a stroke of luck. Stoner had to contain the scream of white-hot agony that seared through him, and he collapsed to the ground. The Pakistani chuckled as he leapt on top of him and slammed a hard fist into his belly. Stoner reached up, grabbed hold of his shoulders, and headbutted him, taking the pressure off for a few seconds as he recovered, but the man responded with his fists. It took all of Stoner's dwindling strength, and the skill earned over the years in countless fights, just to defend himself.

  He wasn't making any progress, and the man slammed punch after punch int
o him. He couldn't breathe. The agony was terrible, and his vision had deteriorated into abstract flashes. He reached up with his hands to grapple with the man, but too late. Two hands closed on his neck, and it was almost the end. He punched out at the man on top of him, his strength nearly gone. He prepared to make one last effort to deal him a hard blow, and screwed up his energy, bringing his arm back. Behind his opponent, he saw a shadow, and another man had appeared. He was finished and losing the fight to one man, the second would clinch it beyond doubt.

  He saw the new arrival hold up a huge blade, and it resembled the dagger Mohammed Nadiri had lent him. He knew what was about to happen, but he slammed his fist forward into the man still trying to choke the life out of him. The blow did some damage, and the grip slackened a fraction, but then came back, squeezing harder than ever. He started to black out, when he realized the agonizing pressure on his neck had eased.

  He opened his eyes wide, and in front of them, something dull and metallic had appeared in the chest of the man on top of him. Astonishingly, he was able to work out what had happened. The shadow he'd seen was Mohammed Nadiri, who once again had ignored his instruction to stay put. He’d picked up the fallen dagger and plunged into his back with such force, and the blade was so sharp, it came all the way through and struck out several inches.

  He was all in, but Nadiri pulled the body off him and pushed it face down on the ground. With a casual jerk, he pulled his blade from the man's back and held out his hand.

  "They're both dead. We’re clear."

  Stoner allowed the man to help him up, and without another word, Nadiri started back toward the GAZ. He followed him, or at least tried to. The leg wouldn’t function, and he was tempted to crawl. But pride kept him going. He reached the jeep several paces behind Nadiri, and already the big man was behind the jeep. Waiting to start pushing again. Greg glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you okay?"

  "Never been better.”

  They started pushing again, and every step was like shards of glass pushing into his leg. He refused to give up, and after what seemed like forever, they reach the top. He went around to climb into the shotgun seat. He didn't make it. Greg ran to help.