To the south of the camp there was very little cover. The ground was flat and almost devoid of any crevices or outcrops. It was just one long expanse of rock. Any enemy approaching would have to travel fast and hit hard. Once they came into view, there would be little time for strategy or attempts at regrouping. It would be full on warfare and would be a bitter fight.
About a yard below the lip of the valley, there was a narrow path. The only thing Bolan could do was to line up the five women—including Shazana Yasmin and her friend Benazir Suri—and direct them to fire as soon as their opponents were in sight. But Bolan was determined to make sure the enemies who made it into the women’s line of fire were few and far between.
Leaving his troops in position, he set off across the terrain. Even in camo gear, he felt conspicuous. When there was no real cover, his only option was to hit the enemy hard, before they had a chance to fight back.
He’d brought a night-vision monocle on the mission, and it was invaluable now, enabling him to sharpen his perception of the approaching figures.
He still had a white-phosphorus grenade in one pocket, which had been in the pack supplied to him by the Pakistani military.
He threw the grenade into the center of the oncoming group, where it lit up the night sky as the phosphorus spread and turned some of the enemy fighters into flaming torches. Bolan turned away to avoid the blinding flash, and when he turned back he was able to pick off some of the blazing men with ease. He lay flat, hugging the rocky ground, and ignored the gunfire that ripped up the ground around him. The men were blinded by the blast and were firing wide and wild. Bolan, by contrast, was able to see clearly.
By the time the roaring in his ears had subsided, Bolan had succeeded in keeping his troops safe and had halted this wave of the attack.
He got to his feet and pulled back to the secure position above the camp. Hearing the firefights abate, he wondered how many casualties the PWLA had incurred.
More important, how long until the next onslaught? And how would they deal with that?
Chapter Thirteen
The cold light of morning revealed a camp that had been reduced by almost a third. The area itself was intact and secure, but the exhausted women that came back would never be the same again. This had been the first time that they had engaged in a serious action, and they had been found wanting. They all knew this, even the ones in Jinnah and Bolan’s detachments, where there had been no casualties. The gaps in their ranks and the empty tents spoke for themselves.
Davis looked shaken, Zia disappointed, and Jinnah—like Bolan—was trying to keep the concern from his face.
The women milled around the center of camp, unsure of what to do next. They were tired, grieving, jittery with adrenaline and on edge. They seemed to gravitate to the military personnel, even though Bolan could see that Indira was lurking on the fringes, as though fighting the urge to join them. He noticed that Shirani, who was always at her side, was absent—one of the casualties. Maybe that would change her mind. He counted four other missing women, but surprisingly there were no wounded. That was a plus. Now to rally the troops before they came under siege again.
“It’s been a tough night,” he said shortly. “You’ve seen things you haven’t seen before, and you’ve coped well. We saw them off, but only just. I’m afraid that if another force comes, we won’t have the strength to fight. Even though,” he added, “you’ve got the heart.”
“Then what do we do?” Suri asked him, looking around at the others. There were mumblings and nods of assent.
“First, we move camp. This location is blown. Get those tents down, and—”
“Where?” the tall woman cut in.
“You tell me,” Bolan said. “You all have skills and knowledge, you just need to learn how to apply them. We—” he indicated himself and the military “—don’t know this area as well as you. You’ve covered it. We need a camp that can be secured easily with few people.”
“But what good will that do us when they come again?” Indira called. “We’ll still be weak.”
Bolan shook his head. “No, you won’t,” he said emphatically. “You fought well tonight. You already have the guts, and we’re going to teach you what you need to know so that next time, you’ll be ready. But first, we need to move somewhere we can do that without interruption.”
A buzz spread through the group. Even those who had lost the women fighting next to them had seen the difference the military had made to their survival.
Bolan turned away, satisfied that he had been able to buoy their spirits enough to get them to a safer location and accept training. Now it was time to debrief. He led his people discreetly away from the women of the PWLA.
Once they were out of earshot, he sat them down and listened to their reports before delivering his own. When he had finished, he said, “Zia, you look upset about the situation. You did well.”
The young Pakistani soldier shook his head. “I lost two women. You know, I was wrong about them. They were brave, they fought well and I let them down.”
“You didn’t,” Bolan said firmly. “You lost two because that’s war.”
“I lost them because I treated them like they were trained men. They were not. I should have taken that into account and acted like you and my corporal. I should have led from the front, and taken the whole risk upon myself.”
“He’s right,” Davis agreed bitterly. “I lost more than him, and I’ve got more reason to know and understand who these people are.”
“Because you’re a woman?” Jinnah said with a sardonic smile. “Please. You may as well say I should relate to the PWLA better than you because I’m Pakistani and you’re not. The colonel and I took stupid risks, and we know that. Am I right, sir?” he asked Bolan.
“You’ve got a point,” Bolan allowed. “Sure, we kept them safe in battle, but that was as much an accident of geography as anything else. And if we’d gotten ourselves killed because we were playing heroes, then where would it have left everyone else? No, we can argue from now until the next attack comes, but the fact is that we all did what was right in the moment, and luck helped some of those decisions pay off. Davis, you can’t do anything against a sniper until he’s revealed himself by shooting. Zia, you did your best for the women, but the circumstances were working against you. That’s war. All we can do is regroup, train them and try to persuade them to get out of the militant game altogether.”
“You really think we can do that?” Davis asked.
Bolan glanced at the huddle of women.
“They may be realizing on their own that there are better ways to achieve their goals than playing at being rebels,” he said softly. “If they are, then it’ll make our job a whole lot easier....”
* * *
FIVE MILES DUE east of the valley where the PWLA camp was pitched, there was another dip in the plateau, where a shallow valley was ringed with caves. This had not been the first choice for camp because it was a mile and a half from a stream, whereas their current camp was only a few hundred yards from running water. But the PWLA’s priorities had shifted. Water could be stored and carried; security could not.
The plan was to bottle as much water as possible, then pack up and embark on a march across the plain. Bolan and Jinnah would carry extralarge packs, so that two of the women could carry Faiz’s stretcher. The wounded soldier had slept through most of the night’s firefight, and when conscious, he had been barely aware of his surroundings. The previously indifferent medic was more attentive now that she’d witnessed his comrades’ actions. She’d expressed her concerns to Jinnah that his condition was not improving.
“She says we’ll have to get him to a hospital before too long, or he’ll simply fade away,” Jinnah told Bolan as they filled the last of the containers from the stream. “She’s doing her best now, but his wounds and blood lo
ss are beyond her skills and resources.”
“How long have we got?” Bolan asked grimly.
“Days...a week at most,” Jinnah returned.
Bolan said nothing, but as he stood up, he nodded and patted Jinnah on the shoulder. He hoped his gesture would communicate his intent: Bolan left no one behind.
They set out as the sun reached the middle of the sky. Bolan took point and Jinnah took the rear guard, with the women and Faiz strung out between them, leading mules and goats laden with the tents, water and arms. Lasi moved along the line; the few livestock they kept came under her watch. Davis and Zia flanked either side of the line once they’d crested the winding path out of the valley and were crossing the vast plateau.
Out on the plain, there was little cover. Even in small groups, it would have been difficult to find concealment. En masse, they were pitifully exposed to any approaching enemy forces, which would likely be traveling in small groups in order to hide more easily. This made the journey a nervous, edgy affair. The four military personnel took on the brunt of the recon, allowing the women to concentrate on forging ahead.
As they marched, Bolan wondered if they were being watched. If any of the rebel groups had access to satellite imagery, then they might be able to track them. They could have men out in the field, as well. One man on recon would easily spot the convoy, while it would be unlikely for any of them to see a single figure across the plateau.
Still, there was little sign of life, and all the soldier could do was greet this with cautious optimism. He had no doubt that the women could be molded into a stronger defensive force. And he firmly believed he and Davis could persuade them to at least return to Quetta. But everything depended on time—the time it would take to train them and convince them to return to civilization; the time it would take another rebel group to realize the last attack had failed and to mount one of their own.
The clock was ticking.
* * *
THE VALLEY IN WHICH they now set up camp wasn’t deep enough to safely conceal their tents. Instead, they opted to use the caves hewn into the rocks for shelter. From Bolan’s point of view, this was preferable to being out in the open. Their position would be more difficult to spot, and the rock walls provided more fortification and defensive cover than canvas. From the PWLA’s point of view, however, the grottoes were cold, damp and uncomfortable when all the women wanted to do was rest. Yet despite their complaints, none of them found it hard to welcome sleep when Bolan told them to rest and recuperate after their journey. The hard work would begin soon enough, but there was little point in starting while they were still this exhausted.
Bolan and Zia took first watch while everyone slept. The two men circled the rim of the narrow valley, meeting up on every circuit to report.
Zia nervously scanned the horizon. “We’re exposed up here,” he murmured. “I don’t like it. We could too easily attract attention to ourselves and expose the camp.”
“There’s little choice,” Bolan replied. “Chances are we would see them as they saw us, and at least we’d be able to prepare.”
“Would we?”
Bolan studied Zia carefully. He could see the genuine concern in the young man’s face, as well as the strain of the past forty-eight hours. “Yes. Listen to me—you’re tired and you need rest. You’re a good soldier. You’ve proved that. But we all need to rest. Believe me, when we’ve had a chance to grab some sleep we’ll be able to tackle this, no worries.”
Zia paused before assenting. He breathed out heavily. “Maybe...”
Bolan understood the soldier’s apprehension, but all they could do was see this out to the bitter end. He sent Zia back around the rim, watching him tread wearily.
When Jinnah and Davis came to relieve them, Bolan was glad to get to a cave, a sleeping bag and black oblivion.
He awoke in the late afternoon. All the women were up and going about their business, and he saw that Zia was among them. Bolan was relieved to see that the young soldier looked much brighter and fitter now that he’d rested. Bolan ate from the pot of lentils some of the PWLA women had prepared, and as two of them took over lookout from Jinnah and Davis, the two military personnel joined Bolan and Zia in teaching the women necessary combat skills.
They divided the women into four groups, with each of the military personnel heading up one training station. Davis was detailed to prepare them for hand-to-hand combat, as she was of a similar build to most of the women and had a better idea of the small adjustments in unarmed techniques that would put the women on an equal footing quickly.
Zia’s task was to run the women through the hardware they had at their disposal. Since they needed to conserve ammunition and any gunfire could alert hostile forces to their position, they couldn’t practice shooting, but Zia had always excelled at ordnance, and he was able to explain concisely how each pistol, SMG and rifle worked and how it should be handled. They had little in the way of explosives or grenades, but Zia discussed them anyway. In the battles they’d fought so far on this mission, grenades had changed the game. He wanted each woman to be prepared to use one if the need arose.
Bolan and Jinnah concentrated on tactics and strategy. The senior military men wanted to educate the women on the ways in which they could use their newfound skills to their best advantage.
They shared as much as they could about organizing forces and placing personnel on the field; about judging a situation and responding to a threat; about planning an attack or defending against an attack that came from more than one direction; about recon and patrols.... Both Bolan and Jinnah knew these elements of combat were best taught by experience, but they did their best to impart their combined knowledge to the women, hoping it would count for something.
Of course, the PWLA did have some experience, and Jinnah and Bolan were able to use this to illustrate some of their points. The fight was fresh enough in the women’s minds that they paid close attention to men they may not otherwise have had any inclination to believe.
At the end of an intensive day, as a security patrol kept watch around the rim of the valley, Bolan and his people sat with the PWLA and ate.
Indira broke the initial silence. “I don’t like what you stand for or who you are, Colonel Stone. You must know this. But I’m not so stubborn that I can’t see when there is sense in what someone says. You must have seen us talking among ourselves....” She paused, waiting for Bolan to assent. “We are strong in spirit but we are not strong in experience,” she continued. “Coming out here, setting up camp, we thought we could make our voices heard. In truth, the only thing we’re doing is ensuring our own demise. There is no future in waiting out here to be killed by our enemies, whoever they might be. There are other ways to fight.”
Davis made to speak, and sensing how much strain it took the PWLA leader to admit this, Bolan deferred to the captain. “Are you telling us that you want to go back to the city?” she asked Indira. “To work through the judiciary and government?”
Indira gave an ironic laugh. “You say that like it was a choice. There is no real choice. Try to shout loud or be shot. Some choice.”
“At least you’ll be alive to shout,” Davis said softly. “Democratic change might be possible. Many of these fundamentalist groups aren’t the greatest admirers of democracy—or women’s rights. Imagine what they’d do if Shaz fell into their hands with what she has. And it’s not just them. For all we know, the Taliban is on our trail, too, and any number of factions who could benefit from a hostage and a flask of fissionable material. Do you want to lose everything you’ve worked for to some smugglers with big guns?”
Bolan could see from both Indira and Dr. Yasmin’s expressions that this had been a part of their discussion.
So they would head back toward Quetta. They’d rest for the night, and then start marching come daylight. Bolan was quietly satisfied. If they could k
eep their recon tight, then it would only be a couple of days’ march until the mission objective was sealed.
What could go wrong?
Chapter Fourteen
The morning was dark and overcast. From the east, heavy rolling clouds swept over the plateau, the dank, humid winds that carried them presaging a rough day ahead. As the PWLA group made their way up onto the plain from the valley that had briefly been their home, the weather seemed to reflect the downbeat mood that hung over them.
Bolan took point, Jinnah took the rear guard, and they fell easily into the formation that had brought them to this spot. Yet there was something different about them—an air of defeat, as though heading back to civilization was somehow an admission of failure. Maybe, in some senses, it was. As long as the PWLA had been able to remain outside the Pakistani mainstream, the government had been unable to silence them. The world knew they were there, even if they had so far achieved little other than to announce their presence and establish an identity as a group with an agenda. They stood out, and they could make the world take notice. Once they were subsumed into the mainstream, routing their concerns through official channels, they ran a very real risk of disappearing.
This feeling dragged the women down. They had come so far, lost many of their comrades, and yet what had they achieved except to give in and go back?
Bolan could have spent all day showing them that, in their case, it was better to fight from the inside, even if they were almost invisible, than to be corpses on a hillside with all hope of change gone. This was the only logical argument, but he understood that it would serve no purpose right now. He’d gained their trust in combat, and they’d agreed to return to Quetta on their own terms. But Bolan was well aware that the PWLA’s allegiance to him and the military personnel was shaky at best. The women’s ambivalence, if challenged, could prove to be dangerous.
* * *
SOUND TRAVELED WELL across the rolling hillsides and plateaus of Balochistan, and the rumblings of the firefight between the PWLA and the intruders had been heard at some distance.
Savage Deadlock Page 10