Soldier M: Invisible Enemy in Kazakhstan

by Peter Cave

  Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before Hailsham reappeared again at the top of the escarpment. He was alone. He picked his way down the slope until he was in prominent view and paused. Raising both hands in the air, he made clear signs for everybody to join him.

  Andrew allowed himself a sigh of relief and then turned back to his men, still deep in cover, and said: ‘Looks like it’s party time, fellers.’ He glanced up the hill to his left, noting that Tweedledee and Cyclops had already risen to their feet and were scrambling down towards Tweedledum. Nodding in their direction, he said to the Thinker, who had just reached his side: ‘Go and give them a hand – they could probably use it.’

  ‘You got it, boss,’ the Thinker shot back before striking off at a tangent up the hill to help pick up and transport the wounded trooper.

  Looking more like a bunch of battle-worn stragglers than an élite fighting troop, they all started to make their way up the hill to where Hailsham was waiting for them.

  ‘So, what’s the deal?’ Andrew asked, when he had got his breath back.

  Hailsham smiled at him and said: ‘Looks like you’re the flavour of the month. Shooting down that chopper had made you a national hero.’ He paused for a moment. ‘They’re Uzbek, mostly refugees from a Kazakh massacre about five days ago. They find it almost impossible to believe that anyone would want to help them. The fact is, they’re almost universally feared and despised by both the native Kazakhs and the immigrant White Russians. It seems they have a reputation for overbreeding. The men are supposed to be super-potent and the women oversexed.’

  Andrew nodded knowingly. ‘Yeah, and I bet they all like loud music and have a natural sense of rhythm,’ he said sarcastically. Somehow, it was a story he seemed to have heard before.

  Hailsham let the comment pass. ‘Anyway, they want to do whatever they can to help us in return. If nothing else, they can probably give us the best route through the higher mountains and provide some valuable intelligence on known rebel positions.’

  ‘What about Tweedledum?’ Andrew asked. ‘Anyone up there with any medical skills?’

  Hailsham shrugged. ‘Probably not much above the witch-doctor level,’ he admitted. ‘Folk medicine, a few herbal remedies, that sort of thing. But at least it will give us a chance to dig that bullet out and patch him up as best we can. This way he’s got a fighting chance, at least.’

  The major turned back up the hill and began to lead the way to the temporary camp. Some twenty or thirty swarthy, beaming faces greeted them as they climbed over the top of the escarpment and started to descend into the gully below it.

  Andrew looked around, whistling faintly through his teeth. ‘Not bad for a bunch of refugees,’ he said.

  The set-up was impressive, considering the nature of the terrain and the people who had created it. In less than a couple of hours the Uzbeks had managed to build a small-scale mountain fortress out of bare rock and earth which would have done credit to a trained military outfit. Apparently using their bare hands, men and women alike had scooped out miniature caverns beneath the larger rock formations and established four protected lookout positions built of rocks, stones and piled earth which gave them panoramic views over the full 180 degrees of the surrounding hills and the valley below. One natural rock fissure had been cleared of loose stones and shale and built up into a fireplace fully protected from the biting wind. Although there was no sign of even the most stunted scrub or brush in the immediate area, they had somehow managed to gather enough wood to create a more than adequate supply of fuel, and a small but welcoming fire was already crackling away merrily.

  ‘Looks like these guys could teach us a thing or two,’ Andrew conceded.

  Several of the Uzbek women scurried to help the Thinker, Tweedledee and Cyclops as they carried the wounded Tweedledum into the camp. With frantic hand signals and a great deal of fuss, they managed to guide the impromptu stretcher party to a sheltered area near the fire and hastily created a makeshift bed with blankets and animal skins. It was probably not the most hygienic of places to lay a wounded man, but at least it looked comfortable.

  Hailsham glanced aside at Andrew as an elderly Uzbek approached them, with a clearly worried younger man trailing miserably in his wake.

  ‘Oh, perhaps I ought to explain something,’ Hailsham whispered quickly. ‘Rank and uniform don’t appear to mean too much to these people. So as far as they’re concerned, you’re the boss because you’re the one with the weapon which can knock helicopters out of the sky. I’m just the interpreter.’

  Andrew regarded his superior warily. ‘Why do I get this feeling that you’re trying to prepare me for something?’ he asked. ‘Who are these two guys coming over, anyway?’

  Hailsham smiled thinly. ‘The old fellow is called Mukhtar. He’s sort of the head man around here,’ he explained. ‘As for the younger chap – well, you’ll find out about him in a second. Basically, I think you’re going to have an executive decision to make.’

  There was no time for further explanation, even if it had been forthcoming. Hailsham turned to face the older man, muttering a greeting in Russian. The Uzbek nodded in Andrew’s direction, then pointed to his companion before rattling off what seemed to be an impassioned speech.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Andrew hissed.

  Hailsham translated for him. ‘He says you are a good friend,’ he explained. ‘And he bitterly regrets that one of your men has been shot. However, he is quite prepared to make reparation.’

  ‘What sort of reparation?’ Andrew asked.

  Hailsham grinned. ‘That’s the decision you’re going to have to make. The young man is Safar. He’s the one who opened fire. Without putting too fine a point on it, Mukhtar wants to know if you would like him shot.’

  ‘Christ Almighty, boss,’ Andrew exploded. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to say?’

  Hailsham continued to grin infuriatingly. ‘Yes or no, basically.’

  Andrew looked relieved. ‘Then tell him no, for Christ’s sake. Tell him I forgive him … it was an accident. Tell him anything.’

  Hailsham turned back to the old man and spoke rapidly. Finally, Mukhtar nodded sagely, and Safar looked relieved. With curt, almost formal nods, both men walked away again.

  ‘You bastard,’ Andrew growled, though now grinning at last. ‘You knew that was coming, didn’t you?’

  ‘Just thought I’d let you glory in the power of command for once,’ Hailsham said over his shoulder as he strode towards Tweedledum.

  The young trooper had regained consciousness and was looking weakly up at Tweedledee, who hovered anxiously over him, looking almost embarrassed at his concern. Hailsham dropped to his knees beside the improvised bed and examined the man’s wound more carefully. Most of the bleeding had stopped, and the amount of caked and dried gore on Tweedledum’s throat and clothing did not seem quite as much as Hailsham had initially feared.

  Tweedledum’s eyelids fluttered weakly as he recognized the major. An apologetic smile formed on his pale lips. ‘Sorry about this, boss,’ he managed to whisper. ‘I guess I should have ducked.’ The smile faded, to be replaced by a plea in Tweedledum’s watery blue eyes. ‘How bad is it, boss?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Don’t try to talk,’ Hailsham urged him. ‘Just try to relax. You’re going to be all right.’

  Tweedledum’s eyes flickered uncertainly. He wanted to believe, but he knew the form. ‘You ain’t bullshitting me, boss?’

  Hailsham forced what he thought to be a suitably reassuring smile. ‘I’m not bullshitting you, Trooper,’ he promised. ‘Once we get that slug out of you, you’re going to be as right as rain.’

  Suddenly, feeling an insistent nudging in his ribs, Hailsham glanced up and saw a young Uzbek woman standing over him, a small cooking pot filled with boiling water swinging from one hand. With the other, she was doing the nudging, while babbling away in a dialect which Hailsham did not recognize. However, it did not require a great deal of translation to realize that she was t
elling him to get out of the way. He moved aside and the woman knelt down and began to attend to Tweedledum, washing away the dried blood around the wound with a piece of surprisingly clean-looking fabric. She knew what she was doing, Hailsham thought, noticing her gentle and careful strokes. Clearly these people were more than used to dealing with bullet wounds. Rising to his feet, he strode away in search of Mukhtar to elicit more information.

  The woman, it seemed, had been a nurse before the troubles started. Forced by ethnic hatred out of the city hospital where she had worked, she had returned to her native village. There, circumstances had quickly elevated her to the position of doctor, anaesthetist and chief surgeon all rolled into one. Only there was no anaesthetic left, Mukhtar explained apologetically. There had been no drugs at all for some months now.

  It was certainly one step up from the witch-doctor he had predicted, Hailsham reflected. At least the woman had some clinical skill, and an understanding of basic hygiene. Even as he returned to watch, she had produced an old but still serviceable scalpel and was attempting to sterilize it with a burning brand from the camp-fire. When the steel blade was glowing a dull red, she immersed it in a fresh pot of boiling water and set it aside on a flat stone to cool. Producing another piece of clean cloth, she rolled it into a thick sausage and thrust it between Tweedledum’s teeth, gesturing for Tweedledee to hold it in place.

  Hailsham did not stay around for the actual operation – not because he was squeamish, but because there were more important matters to attend to. He sought out Andrew, who was being feted by a small group of younger Uzbek freedom fighters, including Safar, who seemed to have adopted him as a father figure.

  ‘So, how’s the national hero business?’ Hailsham asked, jokingly.

  Andrew looked embarrassed. ‘How do you say “no thanks” in this lingo?’ he asked. ‘These guys have virtually nothing, yet they keep on trying to give me presents. Blankets, bullets, all sorts of stuff.’

  Hailsham taught the big Barbadian a polite refusal and waited patiently until he had repeated it to his assembled group of admirers. He began to walk away slowly as Andrew finally got himself free and fell into step beside him, with Safar trotting happily on his heels.

  ‘You’re very honoured,’ Hailsham said, impressed. ‘What they’re offering you is their most precious possessions. Life or death, in fact.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘Yeah, I sort of got that idea myself.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘I suppose there’s nothing else we can really do for them, is there, boss?’

  Hailsham stopped in his tracks, eyeing Andrew warily. The sergeant was thinking about leaving the Stinger with them, he could tell. He shook his head, firmly yet with a trace of regret. ‘We’ve already interfered enough,’ he pointed out. ‘Our orders were not to get involved, remember?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Andrew sighed, nodding faintly. ‘Just like Captain Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise. Prime Directive and all that.’

  ‘Something like that,’ Hailsham confirmed, smiling. ‘I didn’t know you were a Trekkie.’

  Andrew grinned. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, boss.’

  ‘There’s a lot I don’t know about a lot of things,’ Hailsham said. ‘That’s what makes life interesting.’ He led the way over to the rest of the men, who were huddled near the fire, guarding the equipment.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to get some hot scran,’ the Thinker said hopefully, nodding towards two Uzbek women who were busy cooking something up in a couple of large pots.

  ‘There you are – I told you we’d find a McDonald’s,’ Barry put in. ‘Anybody fancy a Big Mac?’

  ‘More likely a Big Rat,’ Jimmy snorted, bringing them all down to earth.

  There was a sudden silence as Tweedledee slowly walked over to join them. He sat down moodily, ignoring them all, obeying the conventions. It was not done to talk about either the dead or the wounded. Nevertheless, Hailsham was aware of the man’s eyes on him, a mute plea underlying the sadness in them. He understood. Although they were all comrades, the two Tweedles shared a special relationship. Saying nothing, Hailsham climbed to his feet and went to speak to the nurse to get some sort of prognosis.

  They were definitely guests of honour, Hailsham realized, noting that the food had been prepared for them alone. He felt slightly guilty as the Uzbek women served them small bowls of a thick, pungent stew, for he was aware that it probably represented half their meagre rations for the week. But it would have been churlish to refuse their hospitality, and he and his men had their own food supply problems to worry about.

  Following their example, Hailsham tucked into the meal gratefully, ignoring the strong smell and rather unusual taste. He scooped up the thick stew with pieces of dry, biscuit-like bread, and when that ran out, he used his fingers. Regardless of the taste, it was hot and nourishing, with plentiful lumps of a chewy, whitish and unidentifiable meat, along with roots and brown rice to give it body, and the flavouring of various steppe herbs, which lent a strong and aromatic bouquet. The meal finished, Hailsham was not sure if it was considered good form to belch, as in some Arabic cultures, so he restrained himself. As it happened, the Thinker did it for him, albeit from a natural tendency rather than ethnic etiquette. Two of the Uzbek women smiled proudly, Hailsham noticed, so the gesture was obviously appreciated.

  Having put down his bowl, Hailsham sidled over to Tweedledee, who was still picking somewhat halfheartedly at his own portion.

  ‘He’s going to be all right,’ he assured the trooper. It was more than just optimism, for Hailsham had been greatly impressed by the young Uzbek nurse’s handiwork, and she had seemed in no doubt that her patient would make a rapid recovery.

  Tweedledee’s face brightened, momentarily, before falling again. ‘We’re going to have to leave him behind, aren’t we, boss?’ he asked.

  Hailsham nodded. ‘But we’ll be leaving him in good hands,’ he pointed out. ‘As soon as he’s fit enough to move on his own, Mukhtar assures me, they’ll show him the way to the Mongolian border, where he should be treated fairly. So far, the Mongolians have refused to get involved in any of this. Once we get home, we can initiate diplomatic moves to get him out safely. There shouldn’t be a problem.’

  Hailsham was not absolutely sure about the latter part of this information, but managed to sound convincing. Tweedledee brightened up again, returning to his stew with renewed enthusiasm. Hailsham rose and tapped Andrew on the shoulder, urging him to his feet. He led the way across the camp to where Mukhtar and several of the younger Uzbeks were holding some sort of parley. As ever, Safar stuck to Andrew like a shadow, loping along at his heels.

  They were warmly welcomed into the group. Hailsham and Andrew squatted down on two blankets which were laid out for them. From underneath the folds of his khalat, Mukhtar produced a bottle of vodka, which he offered proudly to Andrew. After taking a swig of the fiery liquid, the sergeant passed the bottle around the group as Hailsham engaged in a conversation in which there was much pointing up into the mountains and much worried shaking of heads. Even though the language went above his head, Andrew was left in do doubt that the Uzbeks did not approve of their final destination.

  He nudged Hailsham in the ribs as discreetly as he could. ‘What are they saying, boss?’ he whispered.

  ‘They know of the region we’re headed for,’ Hailsham said quietly. ‘They say it’s a bad place. Animals, and men, die up there. There is a curse, they believe.’

  Andrew pondered this information. It all tied in with their own intelligence. Sudden and inexplicable death would certainly seem like a curse to simple and uneducated minds. They would know nothing of chemical or biological poisons, radiation sickness or any of the other possible dangers which might be lurking in the high mountains.

  ‘So basically they’re warning us not to go on?’ Andrew said.

  ‘In a nutshell, yes,’ Hailsham replied. ‘But if we are really determined, then Safar will go with us part of the way as a guide. Mukhtar says we
will never make it without help to find safe routes and passes through the mountains.’

  Hailsham returned to the negotiations, which were shortly brought to a conclusion by the draining of the vodka bottle and a round of handshakes.

  ‘I take it we’ve accepted their offer?’ Andrew said.

  Hailsham shrugged. There didn’t seem to be much choice,’ he said wearily. ‘Mukhtar painted a pretty bleak picture of the terrain ahead of us, although how much of it was a chance to boast about their own prowess and bravery, I don’t know.’

  Andrew glanced over his shoulder at Safar, hovering behind him. ‘They don’t need to boast about their bravery,’ he pointed out. ‘That poor bastard is probably scared shitless, yet he’s willing to go with us.’

  Hailsham shrugged. ‘Like us, I don’t think he has a great deal of choice in the matter. He owes you his life. Tribal ethics mean he’s more or less committed to you until he repays that debt. To refuse would be to invite being totally ostracized by his fellow tribesmen. The Uzbeks clearly set great store by honour.’

  ‘Probably another reason why they’re feared by many of the other groups,’ Andrew said. ‘People seem to find it hard to accept any culture which stays true to itself, retaining its own values. In the thirties it was the Jews. Now it’s the Asians and blacks.’

  Hailsham smiled gently. ‘Philosopher as well as poet. You continue to surprise me, Andrew.’

  ‘Fuck it, I surprise myself sometimes, boss,’ Andrew blurted out, struggling to assert a more macho image and failing.

  Hailsham stared up into the high mountains above them, noting the plumes of snow which were being whipped off the higher peaks by the swirling winds. ‘Weather’s getting worse up there,’ he announced. ‘Time to get moving.’

  Andrew understood the man’s reasoning well enough. Making ground into really bad weather minimized the chances of any unwelcome helicopter surveillance. It would also put them in country where any airborne drop of pursuit troops would be virtually impossible. Even so, it was a far from pleasant prospect. He nodded his assent, adding: ‘I’ll go and tell the men we’re ready to move out. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.’