by Alex Shaw
Krasnov made no attempt to stop him. “That is my Spetsnaz issue side arm. It is over thirty years old, but like me has been very well preserved.”
Black held the Soviet pistol in a two handed grip and aimed it at the head of the Ukrainian. “Which way is it to the nearest ISAF base?”
“South, two days walk.”
“You don’t have a car?”
Krasnov lied. “The Taliban took it when you Americans scared them away.”
“I’m going to need all the water you have.”
“No you will not.”
“I don’t want to shoot you, but I said I need water.”
Krasnov shrugged. “If you insist upon it there is a well outside.”
“Now I’m going to leave.”
Black moved towards the door and pushed it open, instantly feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. He stepped outside and saw the well. As the rays of the sun touched his neck he felt his throat constrict and then his whole body start to shake. Black fell to his knees and put his hands in front of his face, his fingers were starting to smoke - the skin bubbling. The Ukrainian grabbed his shoulders and dragged him back into the shadow of the hut. Krasnov slammed the door and then pulled the American into a sitting position against the wall. He handed Black a glass bottle. “Drink.”
Hyperventilating, Black looked down and saw that the content of the bottle was blood red. He put it to his lips and then knew that it was indeed blood. He tried to remove it but something inside stopped him. He hungrily drained every drop. Again his body shook but this time a wave of cold surged through him followed by a sheet of fire. “You’ve poisoned me?” Black stood then lunged at Krasnov.
The Spetsnaz commando stepped sideways and using a Sambo move hurled Black against the far wall. “Yes.”
Baring his teeth, something inside told Black to attack again. “I’m going to kill you.”
Black leapt and collided with Krasnov. The pair seemed to tussle in the air for a second before landing in a heap. Black now saw that the other man’s eyes were blood red and that he had fangs. Black hit him with force in the neck and rolled away. Krasnov got to his haunches, rubbed his neck and stared. Black scrabbled for the Makarov still lying in the doorway and pulled the trigger. The roar was ear-splitting in the small room. The round travelled across the space in a millisecond and hit Krasnov in the chest. The Ukrainian grunted and stumbled backwards. Black fired twice more in quick succession, a double tap to the head. Krasnov fell and lay still.
“Shit.” Black wiped his brow and tried to steady his ragged breathing. The man had given him no choice. He prodded the Ukrainian with his boot although he already knew the man was dead. The Delta operative backed away shaking his head; whatever weird gig Krasnov had been part of was nothing more do to with him. He looked around the small room, his eyes seemed to be more adjusted to the gloom now and he started to search for anything that may be of use. He found a map on the table and was surprised to see that Firebase Python was clearly marked, circled in red ink. The map also showed the location of the target Taliban camp and caves. There were notes in Cyrillic at the bottom and a diagram. As he strained his eyes to make out the markings, the letters seemed to make sense and he was able to read them. Black turned the map to orientate himself and then smiled as he realised that he knew where he was. Looking around once more, Black saw nothing else of importance or anything intelligence worthy. As he left the hut the Afghan sun still burned but he no longer felt the heat. Map and pistol in hand, Black took a deep breath and started to walk he had a long way to go.
Firebase Python, Pasaband District, Ghowr Province, Afghanistan
“How ya feeling soldier?” Gonzalez asked as he and the rest of the team looked down at Styles.
“Like I’ve been eaten, chewed up and spat out.” Styles held his hand against the bandage on his neck; he could feel the vein below throb.
“You got a nicked artery, the Doc said you lost a lot of blood and were lucky you didn’t bleed out.”
“What time is it?
“Half three, but it’s gloomy as hell in here so you wouldn’t know.” Gonzalez moved to the widow and pulled the heavy curtain. Rays of bright sunlight streaked across the room falling on the foot of Styles’ cot. Unseen by all an imperceptible smoke started to rise.
“Don’t! Don’t open them. The Doc says that my eyes need to adjust.”
“Sure do look red.” Eaton peered down at his buddy, who’s head started to slump. “Whoa. You ok Marv?” Eaton moved his hand to place it on Styles’ shoulder, but before he could do so Styles’ left had shot across his body and grabbed his wrist. “Whoa, take it easy!” Styles looked up, for a millisecond his pupils were crimson before he blinked and they returned to their normal blue. Eaton unlaced Styles’ fingers from his wrist; they had left a red mark. “If you wanted to hold hands you should have joined the SEALs.”
“Performing seals, maybe.” Flagon chuckled.
“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the invalid!” Styles rubbed his eyes.
Gonzalez became serious. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Didn’t you see the film?”
Gonzalez shook his head. “Taken and sent to the Pentagon.”
“Oh.” Styles screwed his eyes up. “Something jumped on me, must have been a runner from the camp we missed. How many were there Ghost?”
“I couldn’t tell, they kept moving. Sorry. I messed up.” Miller was despondent.
“Hey we all missed him. The bastard was like an animal, clawing at me and then,” Styles touched his neck, “he bit me!”
“Love bite?” Flagon asked.
“He must have mistaken you for a SEAL.” Eaton added.
“There was no one else in the cave, no one else alive that is.” Styles paused as if realizing that the team was one short. “Where’s Peter Pan?”
There was a moment’s silence, Gonzalez spoke first. “Brad didn’t make it.”
“What?” Styles sat up.
Miller nodded gravely. “There was a secondary explosion that brought down part of the roof. I saw him get buried. Nothing I could do. You were lucky I got you out. It missed us by inches.”
“But I can feel him…” Styles’ voice trailed off.
Gonzalez looked at his team. “We’re going to go back there and find him. I’m not going to leave a man in the field.”
Styles swung his legs out of the bed and stood. For a moment he swayed unsteadily before regaining his balance. “Did any of you bring me a steak?”
***
It was night. There was a firm knock at the door. Rockbridge looked up not expecting anyone, annoyed at being disturbed and weary from a long day. “What?”
“May I come in?” The man with black hair asked in accented English.
“And you are?”
“Vladimir Dratshev, GRU.”
“Russian military intelligence?”
“Yes.”
Rockbridge stood. “Please come in.”
The Russian entered. “Thank you. From your expression I sense that you were not expecting me?”
Rockbridge noted the man’s rank insignia. “No General. But that is nothing new; my small team here is ignored by ISAF. We just do the dirty jobs and are not important enough to know what else is going on. But it is always a pleasure to meet our international colleagues.” Rockbridge extended his hand, Dratshev shook. The grip was firm but the Russian’s hand cold.
“I am afraid that the reason for my intrusion is a serious matter.”
“Oh? Please take a seat, General.” Rockbridge nodded at a small fridge in the corner of what was laughingly referred to as his office. “Can I get you a drink, a coke perhaps?”
“No, thank you.”
“So what is so serious that warrants a visit from a General of the GRU?”
“War crimes.”
“What?” Rockbridge was puzzled and somewhat concerned. “Please explain.”
“Of course. A team of your ‘operatives’ recently
discovered a cave within a Taliban camp.”
Rockbridge felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, the mission was classified no one outside of his chain of command should have known of its existence. “I’m sorry General; I really can’t discuss any operational details with you, without express permission from the Pentagon.”
“Here.” Dratshev handed Rockbridge an envelope. “I think you will find this is in order.”
Rockbridge opened it and read the letter inside. “Ok. It seems that they want me to offer you ‘every assistance’.” He placed the envelope on his desk, placated but slightly annoyed. He looked at his guest, he’d let him ask the questions but he was dammed if he was going to offer up anything extra.
“In the cave network your men entered, a man-made chamber was discovered. Is this the case?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe what was found therein?”
“Bodies.”
“Were the bodies dressed in Soviet uniforms?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“From memory, six.”
“Could you tell what the cause of death was?”
“I’m not a homicide detective General.” The Russian remained silent, gaze fixed on Rockbridge waiting for him to answer the question. “Two had been decapitated.”
Dratshev nodded. “That is as I feared.”
“General I will offer you all the assistance I can, but can you please tell me what this is all about?”
“During the Soviet operation in Afghanistan...”
Rockbridge cut him off. “Occupation.”
Dratshev shrugged. “Let us not get bogged down by semantics. During the Soviet, occupation, there were reports of local people being abducted and tortured by Red Army soldiers. Now you in the West may have thought of us as ‘red devils’ who ate the children of our enemy but we were soldiers like you, just doing our jobs. The fact of the matter however was more serious than that. When the Soviet Union ceased to ‘exist’ classified documents came to light and certain officials started to cover their backs. I became aware of an unsanctioned covert operation that had been conducted here in Afghanistan. In short it was a biological weapons’ testing program, small enough to not be picked up on the radar and hidden by the chaos of war. The man-made cave you found, I believe, is the site of this and the men you found are the Spetsnaz operatives who ran it.”
Rockbridge whistled. “What type of biological weapon?”
Dratshev nodded. “As we are being open I can be candid with you. It was an airborne weapon, based on a genetically engineered strain of the Ebola virus. Highly contagious.”
Mouth dry, Rockbridge stood and opened the fridge to get a coke. He drank before speaking. “How many more of these dirty little secrets are going to suddenly appear, General?”
“Your guess is as good as mine Major. This is the only such facility I am aware of in Afghanistan. I understand that a video recording was made of the cave’s interior?”
“A video was taken, the Pentagon has it. I saw it briefly.”
“Is there be anything else on there that you can remember which may be of importance?”
The American finished his can. “Not apart from the headless corpses. What happened there?”
“I do not know for sure. We believe that the cave was attacked by the Mujahedeen, and they beheaded the men you found before triggering an IED which sealed the facility.”
“General, four of my men entered that cave. One is in a coma. Could any of them be infected?”
“Yes. The salient reason I am here is to screen your men and offer treatment if needed.”
Rockbridge felt the blood drain from his face. “General, my men have not been in isolation since the operation ended. They have been in contact with countless numbers of personnel. If they are infected we will have an epidemic on our hands.”
“Please calm yourself Major. This strain of the virus is extremely fast acting, if they were infected you would have seen signs by now. In fact my screening is probably not needed but I want to be completely certain that if any residue of the weapon remained it was not taken out of the cave by your men.”
“So what do you need?”
“I need blood samples from each man who entered the cave.”
“Done.”
“I will also need to go to the cave and asses it. I believe it is in only the neighbouring province? ”
“Yes.” Rockbridge frowned. How did the man from the GRU know so much? “But you have to navigate ‘bandit country’ to get there.”
The Russian smiled. “They shall have to navigate me.”
“So when do you want to test my men?”
“Immediately.”
***
Firebase Python was the newest such facility in Afghanistan. It was nothing more than a large area of land containing prefab buildings and tents that had been ringed by a high fortified mud wall. The wall on the outside looked like a medieval fortress but on the inside it had large concrete drums placed against it resembling sea defences. Here however it was the tide of insurgency that was being held back.
Gonzalez looked up at the stars that seemed to shine much brighter than back home. He shook his head. Afghanistan was one of the most ruggedly beautiful places on earth yet for more than thirty years it had been torn apart by war. The Afghans had fought the Russians, the Afghans had fought the Afghans and now the Afghans fought the Afghans who fought the International community. All because of religion, a religion that he did not understand. Gonzalez was a catholic like most Hispanics and wore a crucifix but more out of respect for his mother than for Mary, the Holy mother. Would Afghanistan ever change? He doubted it. The locals would find someone else to fight when the Taliban had finally been vanquished. It was a pity, a real pity. Miller, who was crazy on astrology, joined his team leader. They stood for a moment in silence, contemplating the universe.
“You two wanna hold hands?” Eaton approached with Styles and Flagon.
Gonzalez shook his head. “We should call you Brokeback.”
“Just as long as you call me.” Eaton mocked.
“Let’s eat.” Styles was starving.
“The Doc said don’t push it.” Flagon advised Styles, who to his frustration had been ordered not to leave his bed until he had been given the OK.
To the untrained the inside of Firebase Python resembled a construction site. They left the prefab box that served as the medical centre and headed for the open air canteen. It was here that the Americans and the Afghan National Army chowed down at the start and end of each day. There were food drops from Camp Leatherneck, which usually included some favourite dishes from back home, if they were lucky and if not just more packets of meals ready to eat, MREs for short. The Delta boys always sat to one side. Styles seemed to have made a full recovery but none the less Gonzalez managed to get him special treatment and a ‘blue’ steak had been acquired ‘no questions asked’. Only Gonzalez knew where it had come from and he wasn’t telling anyone about the helo pilot who had owed him a favour. Distinguished by their longer than regulation hair, stubble and relaxed manner, the Delta boys preferred to keep themselves to themselves and a safe distance from the occasional passing journalists. At the moment this consisted of a BBC film crew fronted by a blonde documentary film maker by the name of Paige Turner. Eaton had nicknamed her ‘head turner’ for reasons that were obvious to all. To one side of the canteen a few members of the Afghan National Army, who now more than ever were integrating with the ISAF forces, were taking part in an arm wrestling contest. This included a huge local who was unbeatable. Rumour had it that ‘Hakim’, as he was simply known, had been an enforcer for an Opium producer before joining up. Prior to that as a teenager he had battled the Soviets. Whether it was a hatred for the Taliban or a love of his country the Deltas did not know, but built like a pro-wrestler, the man demanded respect and instilled fear amongst the other Afghans. A US green army Lt was currently trying to best him as both Ameri
cans and Afghan’s looked on. The result was not in doubt; Uncle Sam’s finest would lose. The question was how quickly. Hakim smiled, to show a mouth of blackened teeth and effortlessly guided the American’s hand to the table top.
“I’ve heard he took on a Soviet patrol when he was twelve.” Miller stated matter of fact.
“What did he do kiss ’em into surrender?” Eaton grinned.
“Halitosis Hakim” Flagon chuckled.
“Hey, back off.” Gonzalez warned. “Anyone who managed to survive for forty plus years in this warzone gets my vote.”
Styles finished his steak, a small trickle of blood escaped from between his lips. He felt revived. “I could take him.”
Eaton nudged Styles in the ribs. “I think his kissing days are behind him, Marv.”
“You want to kiss his behind?” Flagon feigned incomprehension.
Gonzalez almost choked on his coke as he supressed a laugh. “Hey pack it in.”
“No. I’ll beat him.” Styles stood and before the rest could stop him, strode across the canteen and swopped seats with the defeated Lieutenant.
Hakim stared at the smaller American. “You want challenge Hakim? You think you beat me?”
“I know I can beat you.”
Hakim looked into the American’s eyes and his smiled vanished. He felt unnerved; he recognised something that he had not seen since his was in his teens. He felt a chill. The American clamped his hand. Hakim blinked and then the contest started. The onlookers gathered and saw what they had expected. Hakim’s hand pushed Styles’ sideways and towards the table. Styles remained impassive as Hakim started to shake with exertion as the momentum slowed and then stopped. Hakim pushed harder and nothing happened. The crowd grew as more diners realised that an upset may be on the cards. Styles made eye contact with Hakim, a red glow appearing in his eyes as he slammed the Afghan’s paw into the table. Hakim let out a yell and tried to pull his hand away. Styles let go on the second attempt.
With his left hand Hakim drew a knife from the cargo pocket of his fatigues and lunged at Styles. The blade entered Styles’ shirt on the right side of his chest. Hakim tried to draw it back for a second strike but as he did so Gonzalez was at the table grabbing the Afghan’s arm and twisting it to send the large local crashing to the floor. Immediately two Afghan’s sat on their colleague, trying to restrain him. Hakim started to shout furiously in his local dialect. A pair of Afghan National Army officers arrived and hauled Hakim away who was still screaming uncontrollably. The crowd started to disperse and got back to the important task of eating. Styles stood and removed the knife from his chest. He wobbled and Gonzalez caught him and the knife.