Savage Deadlock

by Don Pendleton

  The corporal followed the sounds of the firefight, even as it died down. He could track Zia by the soldier’s firing pattern. Every man had some slight variation in the way he used his weapon. If you listened carefully, you could learn to differentiate. Jinnah had mastered that art.

  As long as Zia had been shooting, Jinnah had been able to pinpoint his position, but now the young soldier had ceased fire, presumably as he tried to backtrack. The dearth of return fire suggested the enemy had lost visual on him, and he’d likely be hair-trigger nervous. The last thing Jinnah wished to do was surprise him, so he slowed as he got closer to the young soldier.

  Although he’d anticipated Zia’s reaction, Jinnah was still shocked when the figure of the young soldier came into view. He saw Zia raise his AK as if in slow motion. Jinnah felt his legs refuse to slow or change direction as his mind grasped what was happening faster than his body could respond. His mouth grew dry and he couldn’t find his voice to cry out in warning.

  Friendly fire. It would be an understandable error. But this was no comfort to Jinnah as he felt the world slow to a heartbeat.

  * * *

  ZIA COULD NOT prevent the tap on the trigger, but he could jerk almost involuntarily, swinging the muzzle of the AK up and to one side of the corporal. It skimmed past Jinnah’s shoulder and ear, close enough to singe his hair. But the shots whistled harmlessly into the air behind him.

  For the briefest moment, the two men faced each other. There was so much to say and no time to say it. Zia was both appalled and relieved at his actions, and he wanted to gabble an apology even though he knew they couldn’t afford to stand around any longer. But they were both frozen by the shock of what had just happened—and what had been averted.

  The impasse was broken by the sudden chatter of fire from three sides, homing in on where they stood. The enemy was closer than either of them had believed, and had located them by the single tap from Zia’s AK. Bullets shattered on rock and threw up mud around them. Zia realized his efforts to drive the enemy back hadn’t been as successful as he’d initially thought. They had to move, now, to save themselves and to save the women in the convoy. Right now, Davis was the only experienced soldier with the women. No way could she hold back the Taliban on her own.

  Jinnah grabbed Zia, pulling him in his wake as he began to dodge the fire and backtrack.

  There was still work to be done.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Davis held her rifle with the barrel pointed down as she prowled the area around the moving group. She skipped over the ground, avoiding uneven rocks slippery with running water and mud, eyes cast into the sheet of water that obscured almost everything over a yard away. She trusted that the women were staying in formation, with the wounded soldier and his stretcher bearers protected in the middle.

  The sounds of a distant firefight abated. This only made her more nervous. Did it mean her military associates had been killed? Or did it mean that they had taken down the opposition and were headed back to join the main party? The silence that had fallen in the distance was oppressive rather than reassuring.

  The women clearly felt this way, too. Tension pervaded the group. Shazana Yasmin trudged along next to Suri. Davis knew that the flask of fissionable material was in the doctor’s backpack. Even if it was adequately protected, the thought of Yasmin carrying it so close to the others—of it being taken or lost—was enough to send a chill through the captain. The last forty-eight hours had been a roller-coaster fight for them all just to stay alive, and in the midst of this, the original objective had almost been lost. They were going to get Yasmin and the material back to the authorities, but the journey was not proving to be the smooth ride she had hoped for.

  Her musing was broken by the sudden crack of a rifle shot, followed by volley upon volley of automatic fire. A ripple of fear and discontent passed through the PWLA convoy and straight down Davis’s spine.

  She stared into the rain. If the storm ceased, then they would be visible on the flat terrain, but at least they would know what they faced.

  Unconsciously, she pressed closer to the main group. Closer to Yasmin.

  “Tamara, what’s going on?” the young physicist asked. “You’re a soldier, you understand this shit.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Davis shot back. “I might have two tours of Afghanistan, but I never saw anything like this....”

  “Great, so it’s the blind leading the blind,” Suri grumbled next to Yasmin.

  “You got a better idea, you just tell me,” Davis muttered. “Meantime, just keep moving. A moving target is harder to hit, ladies.”

  The firefight in the background had died down again. The occasional chatter was too desultory to even qualify as an exchange. Whichever parties had engaged had lost each other once again in the curtain of water.

  What really worried her was that the gunfire had sounded a whole lot closer than it had any right to be.

  Where was the enemy?

  * * *

  THERE WERE THREE of them. Weighted down by their sodden robes, they moved slowly. Slowly, but with a certainty that they were headed in the right direction. The short burst of fire had alerted them to the military presence, and although they knew they had failed to score a hit, they had been able to circle around the two men they had glimpsed through the rain and continue on their quest to find the women.

  There was a mass moving through the mist ahead of them that could only be the PWLA convoy. They were slow and shuffling, as if they were carrying some of their personnel. This would make them easier to take down.

  The fighters weren’t close enough to count their opposition, but they were women, after all—they would not present a problem in a firefight. And the men were either dead or too far away to matter.

  Without words, the most senior man indicated that one of his men stay back and cover the rearguard position, closing up gradually to gain better visual contact, while he and the third man would flank the convoy in a pincer formation. When he whistled, they would open fire, taking down the taller women first until the depleted numbers made it easier to close in for hand-to-hand combat.

  The other two nodded their understanding and began to put the plan into action. The leader moved quickly and with stealth over the terrain. It did not take him long to get into a position where he could use whatever cover was available to disguise his progress. At the same time, he was confident that the women could not see him through the mist. Unlike him and his comrades, they were inexperienced in these conditions.

  He circled around to the front of the convoy, taking the opportunity to count the numbers and to pick out the women who could potentially be their target. They progressed slowly, their anxiety obvious. This only encouraged him—they were women, and when challenged, they would soon crumble.

  He pursed his lips and emitted the signal.

  * * *

  DAVIS HAD THE feeling that they were being watched, but she had no way of knowing if this was paranoia or genuine intuition. She scanned the immediate area, but her visibility was still impeded by the rain. Still, she raised her rifle so that she was ready to fire off in the direction of any sound she picked up. She cast an anxious glance back across the convoy, and could see the women were on edge, too.

  When the whistle came, her reaction was instant. She didn’t know who had made the signal or why, and it didn’t matter. Her own people would not be so stupid as to approach in that way—it could only be the enemy. She fired three rounds toward the sound while yelling at the women to hold their formation and be ready to fight.

  Her words were unnecessary, and drowned out by the gunfire that answered her own from two other directions. She tried to turn to answer the fire that seemed to come from behind them, but the sole of her combat boot slid on a mud-slick rock and took her leg out from under her. She fell backward, hitting the ground wi
th a jar to her elbow that made her firing arm go numb. She cursed and shook it, not noticing at first what had happened behind her.

  The fall may have temporarily disabled her, but it saved her life. The bullet that had been headed for her flew harmlessly past as she tumbled. Unfortunately, Suri was directly behind Davis, and the bullet took her in the forehead, spraying Yasmin with blood and as she stood beside her friend.

  Yasmin screamed as Suri crumpled and fell without uttering a sound.

  Despite all that she had learned in the past couple days, Yasmin was still a young woman and a city scientist, not a hill fighter. Before Davis could stop her, she broke into a run, disappearing into the mist.

  Davis yelled after her as she struggled to her feet, still trying to shake feeling back into her firing arm. She hefted the rifle as she ran after the fleeing Yasmin, screaming incoherently in anger and pain as she tried to catch her while readying herself for defense or attack.

  Behind her, the ranks of the PWLA convoy broke up as the volleys of fire took out two more women. The others scattered seeking cover. Some flattened themselves to the ground and fired into the opaque rain. The enemy was in a better position to see them than they were to scope the enemy, and without their defensive formation, they were sorely exposed.

  The women were blind both in terms of visibility and in terms of tactics. And the one person who could have rallied them was now chasing after her primary objective.

  * * *

  YUSEF KHAN COULD not believe his luck. Though he’d managed to take down one of the women, he couldn’t tell which one was likely to have the flask. He knew any moment of hesitation could be disastrous. As he struggled to place his aim, a small woman, spooked by her comrade’s sudden demise beside her, broke ranks and began sprinting right for him. All he had to do was wait for her to run straight into his arms, then disable and secure her before his men finished the job.

  The American woman who was chasing her might be a problem, but as she limped after the Pakistani woman with her gun arm limp at her side, she didn’t seem to present too much of a challenge. Khan was about to fire when the American woman heaved her AK upright and fired wild and wide. The shots rang uselessly over his head, but instinct still made him duck. The sound made the terrified Pakistani woman change direction, so that she was now running away from him.

  With an oath dropping from his lips, Khan turned his attention away from the American and focused on catching the young Pakistani woman before she was swallowed up by the rain and fog. He loosed one last volley to deflect the American soldier, leaving the rest of the PWLA convoy to his two remaining men.

  * * *

  JINNAH AND ZIA TOOK cover behind a rock. They had no idea exactly how many opposition fighters were out there in total, but the arcs of fire told them they were now in a two-on-two situation. The two Pakistani soldiers had to eliminate the threat of the two men on their tail and track back to the convoy.

  As they waited, they could hear a whistle and the chatter of AK fire. They exchanged glances—time was tight. Footsteps drew nearer and both men racked their weapons, waiting for the figures to reveal themselves.

  Two robed men suddenly became visible, eyes flashing wildly as they tried to locate their prey.

  The Taliban fighters raised their rifles as they caught sight of the two Pakistani soldiers with their AKs resting on the top of the rocks, only the tops of their heads visible.

  Steeling themselves and ignoring the sound and fury, Jinnah and Zia squeezed gently on their triggers, a short burst of automatic fire from each man taking care of their targets. Hit full in the chest, the robed men froze for a fraction of a second before the impact threw them back onto the muddy rocks, eyes unblinking as the rain poured into them.

  The Pakistani soldiers paused to see if the brief firefight would bring any other forces down on them. But the air was silent, punctuated only by distant gunfire. There was little doubt where the action was happening now, and it was their task to get there as soon as they could.

  As they left the corpses behind them, they could only hope Stone was already on the scene to help Davis.

  * * *

  BOLAN SHOOK HIS head once more. He was sure he had a minor concussion—his vision was blurred and starry, and his gut churned.

  He didn’t hear or see anything to indicate an enemy presence, and the lack of an immediate threat was good. But he’d lost his bearings in the rain and from the crack on the head, with only distant exchanges of fire to lead him in the right direction. He had to reorient himself and make up the ground—quickly, by the sound of it.

  Looking around, he realized he could see a little farther than before. He was too wet to tell from the impact of the drops on his skin, but the improved visibility suggested that the rain was finally easing. At least now he’d be able to see their opponents, even if that meant these opponents could track them a little more easily.

  Better the devil you knew...

  One of the firefights had reached its conclusion, and Bolan could only make out erratic exchange to the southwest. That was where the PWLA must be making a stand. He wondered how many of them were still alive, and how Zia, Jinnah and Davis were faring. Bolan hoped his fellow soldiers had emerged on top. Their strength and expertise would be needed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lasi was the first of the PWLA women to grasp that the firefight had stopped and that their attackers had withdrawn. She had sharper senses than any of her fellow fighters, even those who had also come from mountain villages. Still, most of the casualties within the group had been city-dwelling intellectuals rather than the rural women.

  Although the initial bursts of fire had taken the women by surprise and scattered them across a narrow area, forcing them to lose their formation, they had soon regrouped and directed their fire back at their attackers.

  As the battle proceeded, Lasi had been able to take stock of the situation and note that there were only three points of fire. She quickly figured out that although they had been taken by surprise, the PWLA outnumbered the opposition.

  This angered her. She hated the fact that three stupid bastard men had them pinned down, and she was determined to fight back, single-handed if necessary. Crouching, she kept up covering fire and rallied the women, pulling them back into position. So far, their opponents had been unable to score any more casualties than the first lucky shot.

  Lasi aimed to keep it that way. The stupid scientist had run in terror when her friend had died, and the idiot American had run after her. That didn’t surprise her at all—the city women were weak, and the American had only pretended to be a friend to all. Her only interest was Yasmin—at least the American man had been honest about that. The woman had pretended to be behind the PWLA’s cause, but she’d made her true allegiance known when Yasmin ran, leaving them exposed.

  Screw her. The scientist, on the other hand... She was valuable, and it would help the PWLA to get her back. Lasi determined to retrieve Yasmin once she had this situation nailed down.

  As she encouraged her troops, the opposing fire died out. The three Taliban fighters had run after Yasmin and Davis. If that wasn’t another indication of how important the stupid little girl was to everyone, then what the hell was?

  Barking orders at Indira to secure the group, set up defense, and wait, Lasi ran across the treacherous terrain as fast as she dared, blinking back the rain. The sky was clearing, and visibility was improving by the second. Being exposed on the plateau could be dangerous for some, but it suited her just fine. She’d be coming up from behind to kick them all in the ass.

  * * *

  JINNAH AND ZIA were now able to scout for cover and use it, and the thinning rain gave them a better view of approaching figures.

  “Corporal, what the hell—” Zia began.

  “Don’t ask, just wait,” Jinnah interjecte
d, silencing the younger man with a gesture. He, too, was unable to believe what he was seeing.

  Yasmin was charging across the plateau, slipping and stumbling as she ran toward them. She still had her backpack on, but she had no gun. Behind her, Davis struggled to catch up.

  Jinnah’s mind raced. Did this mean the rest of the women had been wiped out? What about Faiz? Why the hell was Yasmin running, and how had Davis let her get away?

  At the moment, these questions were irrelevant.

  “Circle around them, and seek and destroy any hostiles,” he snapped at Zia.

  “You think that—” Zia began, but Jinnah cut him off once more.

  “I don’t think anything. I just know Davis isn’t being careful, and any bastard could be on their tail.”

  Zia got the message and set off in a counterclockwise arc, leaving his superior officer to take the clockwise circuit.

  Jinnah figured that the whole mission was on the verge of going belly up. If anything happened to Yasmin because of Davis’s idiotic chase, then she had screwed up without needing the help of the Taliban or any local rebels. Now that would be fun, explaining their failure to the NCA.

  Jinnah caught sight of three shadows, one way ahead of the others, flitting from cover to cover. The man in the lead was gaining on the two women while the second trailed slightly behind. They’d be the ones to go for.

  The problem was that the third man was heading straight toward Jinnah.

  And if Jinnah could see the enemy, then the enemy could see him.

  The corporal cursed. Firing would rattle Yasmin even more, and he could no longer trust Davis’s reactions. A volley could also panic the two leading Taliban warriors, and a firefight was the last thing he wanted with the women out in the open.

  Jinnah was fortunate in the sense that the man running toward him was apparently smart enough to work out that gunfire would be counterproductive. But as they closed on each other, the warrior drew a long, scythed blade from a sheath under his robes. The grip was bound in hide and would be a more than adequate blackjack in its own right. Jinnah drew his own blade, which had a light grip and was razor sharp, but his blade was nowhere near as long. His opponent would have the advantage of reach.