by Eric Meyer
"You’d want that, to stay here?"
She gave him an incredulous look. "Would you?"
Fair point.
"Okay, kid, let's move out. We have some distance to cover."
They returned to the stone building where Akram was looking after the two children, and he called them to come outside. The girl told them here name was Ghada, which she told him solemnly meant beautiful. When she saw the two young children, her eyes lit up. No question, her heart was in the right place, and they wouldn’t need to persuade her to care for the children. In this dark and harsh place of infinite violence and death, she’d kept her humanity.
As they walked, Ivan was trying to work something out. Something strange. He felt an emotion, which for him was something alien. Guilt. He’d pushed Stoner too far, and it was sheer luck they'd taken Sara Carver prisoner as well. He’d taken advantage of that fact. Because of her, Stoner would take insane risks to get them out, risks that could lead him and Blum into serious trouble. All he could do was hope he'd be in time to help.
They set out from the tiny cluster of dwellings, which Garda told them had no name, and he once again used the satnav to guide them into the hills. They continually climbed and descended, climbed and descended, and he cursed the anti-aircraft crew who'd downed the gunship. Now, they had no gunship, no mini gun, just them, five men, including the crew of the helicopter, and three children.
He took Gorgy to one side. "If we run into trouble, I want you to make sure the children are kept away from any gunfire. The minute you hear a shot fired, get them out of it."
Akram's eyebrows rose. “You’re sure about this, Ivan? It’s not like you to worry about children."
He stared at him for several seconds, and it wasn't hard to interpret the meaning. It wasn't just children he couldn't give a damn about. It was anybody, except himself. Ivan adopted a hurt expression. "You got me all wrong, Akram. I care, I really do."
They carried on walking, and he estimated they were no more than one kilometer outside Chilas when they heard gunfire. Akram didn't need to be told. He led the children away, and the four men carried on walking. They reached the town, in time to see Stoner walking toward a group of hostiles, and it was an incredible sight. The moon was high, and they’d even lit a small fire to brew coffee. For some reason, he hadn't been able to stay out of sight, and it wasn't difficult to work out what he planned.
General Khan was in the center of the group, and seconds later Stoner was running. A big automatic in each hand, heading straight for Khan. His intention was to kill him, and the Haqqanis’ intention was to fill him full of holes. All that saved him was a stumble on some obstacle on the ground, and as he fell, bullets lashed overhead where he'd just been. He saw Stoner start to push himself up, get to his feet, and keep on running. Running into oblivion, and there was nothing they could do to help him. They were too far away.
He's pushed his luck too far. This time he’s screwed.
* * *
He felt and an overwhelming sense of despair and failure. One chance to kill Khan, and he’d failed. A man was standing over him, his rifle aimed at his belly. He murmured something in broken, heavily accented English. It sounded like, "Die, infidel."
He stared back at him.
Fuck you, too.
The thick lips parted in a snarl, revealing broken, blackened teeth. He could smell him, a rank, unwashed stench. It was a stupid thought, but he wondered why it had to be such a miserable creature who finally killed him. He forced his eyes to remain open, and the movement took them both by surprise. Through the dark shadows, another shape detached itself, streaking out of the night. A moment later, Archer was on him. Like the U.S. Marine Corps had trained him, he sank his teeth into the hand that clutched the gun and began to savage. The man screamed in shock and surprise, and the rest of the hostiles stared in astonishment. One man ran help his comrade, and he aimed his rifle at the dog. They were twisting and tumbling on the ground, and he couldn't line up a shot. He moved to the side, but he was too late. Javed stepped up from behind cover and put two bullets into him.
"Mr. Stoner, Mr. Stoner, you must hurry."
The Haqqanis were scrambling toward him, and Khan was bellowing orders. He crawled to safety behind the stone wall of a nearby cottage. They were coming in fast, shouting savage war cries, bent on revenge. They wanted the dog. They wanted Javed, and above all, they wanted Stoner.
He pointed his two automatics at the spot where they’d appear and spoke rapidly to Javed, "Take the dog back. There's no way we can hold them. If you stay, we’ll all die."
The boy’s voice was filled with strength and determination, "Mr. Stoner, I'm staying with you. I won’t leave."
They were almost on them, footsteps a few meters away around the corner, and then he heard them coming in from behind. They’d split up, and they’d soon be all over them. He had one chance to get Javed and Archer out of there. He ran around the corner, firing repeatedly from both guns. He wasn't counting, but he estimated he’d taken out four men before he ducked back around the corner to reload. It halted their advance, but they were still coming in from behind. He turned to face the threat, and when his face appeared around the corner, bullets hissed passed his head. They were heavily outnumbered, and the enemy was still coming. Reluctantly, he had to face facts. They weren't getting out of here. Not him, not Javed, not Archer.
He looked at the boy. "You’d better get ready to use that rifle, kid. They’ll be here in a few seconds."
“Can we beat them?"
Javed could die here, so he deserves to know the truth.
"I doubt we can win. But we can deal them a world of pain before they kill us."
"We’ll die together, Mr. Stoner." He didn't sound frightened. Like he'd gained strength from the knowledge his life was about to end, and yet he'd end it like a brave warrior. Kill the enemy, or at least some of them, before they killed him.
They waited, and Stoner continued to cover the other end of the stone dwelling, while Javed covered the front. Archer was crouched down next to the boy.
A pity it has to end like this. They have become bosom buddies, lifetime pals. Lives that are going to be cut short.
They came from behind. He aimed the two Desert Eagles but paused before he pulled the triggers. A storm of rifle fire hacked into the Haqqanis from a different location, maybe fifty meters away. First, he thought it came from the house where the women were holed up, but he dismissed the idea. It came from somewhere else.
So who is it?
"Stoner, get over here. Hurry."
Ivan! How in hell has Ivan turned up here?
He didn't stop to consider the reason. He grabbed Javed by the shoulder, dragged him to his feet, and ran, Archer loping along beside them. The enemy fired after them, but Ivan's men poured on a hail of bullets, and they retreated.
Stoner powered along, pulling Javed with him, and they leapt over the wall, throwing themselves to the ground. He was looking up at Ivan the Terrible.
"Where the hell did you spring from?"
He nodded a greeting to Gorgy and Akram and glanced in surprise at the two Afghans who accompanied them. They wore flight suits emblazoned with the insignia of the Afghan Air Force, and his spirits rose when he worked it out.
"Dammit, Ivan, you came here in a helicopter to get us out."
Ivan looked embarrassed. "Yeah, that’s right. Problem is, they shot us down.”
“So, no helicopter?”
“No. Where are the women? Are they okay?”
"They’re okay. Well, would be if we could get them out of here. Follow me.”
He raced toward the house where he’d left the women tending to Greg. When he turned his head to make sure they were following, he got a big surprise, a girl and two young children, partly hidden behind the Afghan aircrew. When they walked into the house, Noyan saw them, bellowed a shout of joy, and rushed to embrace them. The reason was obvious. Ivan had come across them and brought in them with him.
At least someone’s happy.
First he checked on Greg, who was still out. Barbara and Sara were with him. It took several minutes to calm the Taliban commander, and it was time to face the sobering reality. They’d got the women out, and they’d found the children. But they were still trapped, in a region controlled by the enemy, and with no way out. Except a single, narrow track that led to Chitral, and they’d blast them to smithereens.
He had an idea then. They had a prisoner. A Haqqani more than willing to tell them anything they needed to know, provided they didn't kill him. He was lying in the corner, and two women had rifles pointed at his body. A third woman was standing between them, and her rifle was aimed at his crotch. If a man ever needed an incentive to behave, he had it.
He fixed him with a glare. "We need a way out of here. If you want to live, start talking."
He looked up, his face frozen with terror. "I already told you, there is no other way out. Just the single track."
"There must be another way. What's the nearest town?"
A shrug. "Chitral. "
"What else is around here? Any military installations?”
"No." The reply was too quick, too pat.
"What is it? Spit it out, man."
A pause. “There is an emergency airfield, about ten kilometers to the south. But reaching it is impossible. There is no path, and the only way is to climb a mountain that at this time of year will be covered in snow. No one could make it. If you try it, you will die. We will all die.”
He grimaced. "We’re not no one. Tell me about this airfield. Do they have any aircraft there?"
"Just one. It’s a twin-engine prop plane, a Chinese Harbin.”
“Twin engine, high wing medium cargo plane?”
“Yes, I think so. I’ve only ever seen it in the air. They configured it for medical evacuation, when they thought the war could spread to this place."
Stoner didn't ask which war he was talking about, the war inside nearby Afghanistan, or maybe the ongoing war between Pakistan and India of Kashmir. It didn’t make any difference which war they’d prepared for. They had an aircraft. He knew the type, a Chinese Harbin Y-12, a widely used utility aircraft.
He stared back at the prisoner. “Can you lead us there?”
He looked around wildly, as if seeking an escape route. “I told you, it is inaccessible from the north at this time of year. We would die of exposure on the mountain.”
“You’d sooner stay here?”
“Er, yes.”
“With a bullet through your heart?”
His expression changed, and he forced a smile. “Naturally, I will do as you wish. Although don’t blame me if we can’t get through.”
“I’ll decide who’s to blame.” He looked at Nadiri, who’d moved closer, “We need to get out of here while it’s still dark. Any ideas?”
The grizzled Taliban veteran nodded. “They’ll be expecting us to go out the back way. If we convince them that is where we’re going, they’ll position their fighters around the back. We could make it straight out the front door if they fall for it. With luck, with a lot of luck, we’ll get away before they know what we’re doing. Although…” He looked at the casualties. Four women lying on the floor, and Greg, still unconscious, “It’ll be a slow business.”
“We’ll manage. I want you and Abbas to lend me a hand. We’ll fire a few shots out back, as if we’re about to come out.” He found Ivan, looking out the front window with his two men. “Did you get that?”
“Sure. It sounds crazy, but I get it.”
“The moment we start shooting, move them all out. You’ll have to help the wounded and carry Greg.”
He nodded. “Gorgy and Akram can handle Greg. The uninjured women can help the walking wounded. But what if you’re wrong, and they have men across the street?”
A shrug. “Shit happens. Nothing we can do about it.”
He nodded. “We’ll cover you when you come over.”
Stoner and the other two men went to the rear of the building, cocked their rifles, and waited until Ivan shouted they were ready to go.
“Fire!"
They emptied magazine after magazine, not caring to aim anywhere in particular. Some of their bullets found targets, confirmed by the screams and return fire that spat back at them out of the night.
Ivan shouted, "We’re moving out."
“Copy that.”
They gave them a few minutes and fired another long burst. They sprinted out the front door and raced across the street like they were competing in a hundred-yard dash. Except this time, the prize was life. They heard more shots from out back, and then they were diving into the shadows of the narrow alleyway between two houses, where the rest of the party was waiting.
Two women were helping each of the casualties, arms under their shoulders, as they hobbled along. Noyan scooped up his son, and Nadiri the daughter. The girl walked alongside them, and they left the town behind them. Gorgy and Akram struggled to keep up with the weight of the still unconscious Greg Blum.
The prisoner Jamal Sama hadn’t given up his protests. "We’ll never make it through. We’ll die on that mountain.”
“Shut up.”
He shut up. Stoner thought about his reasons for coming this way before and asked him about it.
"It was a fine day at the end of winter, and…" he stopped, and then shrugged, "There's no reason you shouldn't know. If they get their hands on me, they’ll kill me anyway. I was with a girl, another man's wife, and we wanted to escape."
"You didn’t make it."
He shook his head. “We didn't make it."
“What happened to the girl?"
"She died. Her husband suspected she was two-timing him, and he killed her."
He didn't press him further, concentrating on not stumbling in the dark. A fractured ankle in this place would be a death sentence. They had enough casualties as it was. More than they could manage. One more would be the end.
The journey came became an endless slogging nightmare. With no path to follow, they picked their way across the rough ground. Constantly slipping and stumbling, but somehow they kept going without mishap. They reached the top of the first hill, and he called a halt. The four injured women were finding it hard to keep going, even with help, and they needed a break.
Stoner looked back the way they’d come, and although visibility was difficult in the darkness, the combination of moonlight and starlight was enough to see faint shadows moving in the distance. A name came to the forefront of his mind.
Griggs.
"They’re following," he announced, “We need to move on.”
Noyan hoisted the boy back onto his shoulders, and Nadiri picked up the girl. The rest of them were having none of it.
“We can't leave," a female voice shrilled in anger, "These women can't go any further. Not until they’ve rested."
“If they rest, they’ll die. It’s their choice. Live or die.”
They decided life was the better option, and they staggered on. The ground was rising steeply, and soon, they encountered the first snow on the slopes. He looked at the prisoner, Jamal.
"We’re on the mountain?"
He nodded. "From here on, the going will be harder, much harder. Until we get higher, and it becomes impossible. It's a tossup as to which will stop us first, the bitter cold or the thick snow. Probably both.”
They hurried on, and the long, hard climb was all they could think of. Enemy behind, enemy in front, and little chance of escape. All they could do was keep going. Step by agonizing step, limbs frozen, muscles in agony, breath rasping in their throats, and always the constant threat of hypothermia, or simple injury enough to prevent them going on. The men redistributed their loads and took on more weight. Mohammed Nadiri, immense and unstoppable, slung a casualty over his shoulder in addition to the child he carried. They fought on, and the temperature plummeted as fast as the snow thickened, until they were wading through the thick, cold drifts.
The snow was up to their knees, and every step became a battle. The conditions hadn't slowed the enemy, not enough, although they weren't gaining, not yet. A woman refused to go another step and lay down in the snow. He shouted, cajoled, bellowed orders, threatened, doing everything possible to keep her moving. Archer knew what needed to be done.
He ran around her like a sheepdog, barking and snapping, refusing to give up until reluctantly she got to her feet and resumed walking. Time lost all meaning, and they forced their way forward and upward. He knew they were on limited time. They couldn’t last much longer until he took a step and stared ahead in astonishment. They’d reached the top.
"Nearly there," he shouted to encourage them. They were still in a long, straggling line that stretched for several hundred meters, but they believed him, and they quickened their pace.
When they reached the top, they threw themselves down onto the snow, lying there exhausted.
Sara glared at him. "They can't go on. No matter what you say. Threaten to shoot them, and they still won't go on. They need a rest. They also need water."
He nodded. “Snowmelt. Tell them to eat snow. They won't get anything else up here. As for taking a rest, I can show them something to change their minds.”
“I doubt it.”
They sated their terrible thirst with snowmelt, some helping others to push lumps of snow into their mouths, but the rest and the liquid revived them. He told them to get up and walk forward a few paces, and they’d see something good. On the other side of the mountain, the clouds cleared from the moon. Below, they saw the most beautiful sight they'd ever witnessed.
"The aircraft," Barbara Adams murmured, her voice reverential, “Dear God, I thought it was impossible. Are you sure you can fly that thing?”
Stoner nodded. "It's nothing special, a high-wing twin-engine turboprop. If the engines start, I’ll fly it."
"And if they don't start?"
He frowned. "Then we keep walking."
He started down the slope, and they followed, refreshed and invigorated. They were out of the worst of the snow, all of them encouraged by the easier going on the downhill slope. He stopped them when they were within a hundred meters of the airfield. The flat ground was devoid of cover. He pushed them to the ground and told them to stay down.