Insurgency

by Alex Shaw

  Turner put her hand on Raymond’s back. “Stay here, I’ll go and ‘chat’ him up.”

  “Tart.” Replied Raymond as he remained hidden.

  Rockbridge watched the Delta team leave and sipped from a water bottle. He hated being woken up, always had done and always would. Dratshev had left the base without warning and without clearance in the helo he had arrived in. Rockbridge had stuck to his word and had wasted no time in ordering Delta to follow, but Gonzalez had been annoyed at having to stay back and oversee Styles. Hearing footfall, Rockbridge turned. He rolled his eyes but then quickly smiled professionally. “And what can I do for you Ms Turner, a cup of coco perhaps?”

  “Good Evening Major. What’s up?”

  Rockbridge liked her bluntness. “We have just received some flash Intel, a possible sighting of an al-Qaeda player.”

  Turner nodded accepting the lie. “Who?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Where?”

  “I can’t tell you that either.” He changed the subject. “I hear you are returning to Camp Bastion tomorrow?”

  “That’s right; I’m doing one last day patrol with Lieutenant Mullins and then jumping on a helo. But I could stay if something interesting were to pop up.”

  “If anything ‘pops up’ I’ll be sure to let you know. Good night Ms Turner.”

  “Goodnight.” Turner watched him walk to his prefab quarters. He was hiding something but… but nothing. She was tired, dead on her feet. She wearily trudged back to her cot. Raymond arrived moments later and plonked the camera down on his bed.

  “Don’t even think of looking at that now.” Turner warned him. “Just let me sleep.”

  Raymond smiled. “Fine, just don’t snore.”

  “We are being followed, Comrade General.” Vaha tapped the radar screen.

  “It is to be expected. Just keep us at an even pace. There are still three hours of darkness and we shall be in the cave in forty minutes. We have nothing to hide.”

  Vaha had known better than to question Dratshev earlier, but now as they finally neared their target he could no longer hold back his curiosity. “These men in the cave, they are the originals?”

  “They are ‘The Vampires’, Vaha. The most deadly fighting force this world has ever experienced.”

  There was a silence as Vaha absorbed this information. Dratshev could hear the Chechen’s mind working. “I have commanded some of these men for centuries. Now Vaha, you are to join them.”

  “I am honoured, Comrade General.”

  “As well you should be.” They continued on in silence. Dratshev thought back on the battles he and his men had fought, some of which had been recorded in the great books of history. Many had died to be replaced over the years with the most promising fighting men, those he had turned ‘vampire’. Vaha was one such sire. Battle hardened against the Islamic militants in Chechnya, where Dratshev had relocated his research after the cave had fallen. Vaha would now swell his ranks. Dratshev still however needed others.

  “We are here.” Vaha announced.

  “Do not circle but descend immediately.”

  “But Comrade General, we must recon the landing strip for the enemy.”

  “There is no need, I have made arrangements.”

  With the lightest of touches, a testament to Vaha’s ability as a pilot, the Black Hawk landed and Dratshev stepped out purposefully into the night carrying a matte black case. Vaha followed several steps behind, Kalashnikov raised. A full moon illuminated what remained of the Taliban camp. Dratshev saw the outline of the first cave entrance and entered. As he and Vaha strode deeper into the cave the light of the moon faded and their eyes adjusted. Better than any pair of NVGs, both immortals could see as though it were day. They reached the rock fall. Dratshev placed his case on the ground and pushed against a huge bolder. Vaha joined him and it gave slightly. They pushed again, their combined strength that of many mortal men. With a thunderous cacophony the rock slide gave way revealing a gap and the facility beyond. Now hands on the other side pulled and within moments there was enough of a gap for Dratshev to step into the chamber. Four Soviet Red Army soldiers stood in a line to greet him.

  Dratshev saluted. “Vampires, welcome to the 21st century!” As they saluted he looked at each in turn, Petro, Kirill, Oleg and Victor. “Your imprisonment is over, now we shall take our revenge.” Vaha handed Dratshev the case. He opened it. “But first you must feed!”

  The Vampires stepped forwards, took bags of blood from the case and piercing them with sharp teeth fed hungrily, their eyes becoming crimson.

  “You left us to rot.” Kirill was the oldest of Dratshev’s men and had centuries before lost all human emotion, existing now to merely fight and feed.

  “I had no choice. The Mujahedeen brought down half of the mountain on both entrances. I could not gain entry until now with the aid of the American missiles.”

  Kirill continued to drink. The Vampires had suffered a starvation induced coma. Unable to feed they had agonisingly slipped into darkness. It was only the faintest scent of the Taliban blood which had caused them to stir, as microscopic airborne particles entered the chamber. Dratshev understood the anger. Lesser men may have fed from one and other until only one remained alive.

  “Who is this?” Kirill asked; his mouth bloody.

  “This is our newest brother, Vaha.”

  “A Chechen?” Oleg questioned.

  “I was forced to take our research to Chechnya when we were attacked.”

  “The Chechens are fierce fighters.” Victor’s eyes locked on to Vaha’s. Vaha nodded and retreated to the outside where he would await the arrival of the Americans.

  “How long have we been in this tomb?” Oleg now asked.

  “Twenty five years and the world has changed. The Soviet Union is no more; the West’s enemy is now Islamic terrorists. Empires rise and fall yet we still live.” Dratshev saw the bodies of their dead brothers, respectfully covered and to one side. “They too were great warriors”.

  “They were young and made mistakes.” Kirill’s stated in an even voice.

  “Which one of you sired the American?”

  “I did. I was not strong enough to prevent his comrade from halting my feed.” Victor replied.

  Dratshev nodded slowly. In their weakened state, after having not fed for many years it would have been almost impossible to overcome several armed and highly trained Special Forces soldiers. “No matter, it has worked in our favour. I have placed him in a strategic position at the Americans base. Where is the second American?”

  Petro now spoke for the first time, his voice deep and monotone. “I was too slow, he was taken by Krasnov.”

  Dratshev’s face contorted with rage. “That traitor lives?” Petro nodded. Dratshev shook and bared his teeth, in a swift movement he crossed the cave and knelt beside the two corpses. Just before his escape Dratshev had seen Krasnov execute both men with an Afghan Pulwar sword. Then the main entrance and smaller escape tunnel had been blocked as the Mujahedeen had fired RPGs and hurled grenades into the cave. Dratshev had barely escaped the flames and Krasnov had fallen behind him. Dratshev had believed that Krasnov had been crushed and then incinerated. He placed his hand on the chest of each fallen man in turn. The bodies were years’ cold yet preserved due to the idiosyncrasies of the mineral rich environment. They had been young, turned during the hell of Stalingrad but had shown much promise. “We shall find Krasnov and we shall kill him and the American he has sired.”

  Steve Flagon call-sign ‘Road Runner’ was the first to arrive at the cave entrance, followed by Miller and Eaton. Road Runner saw movement and dropped to one knee. “Identify yourself.”

  “Vaha Grigoryevich, GRU.”

  “OK, very slowly now edge forward and show yourself.”

  Vaha stepped further into the moonlight. “Now please follow me, we have found your man. He is alive.”

  Behind the glass of his NV goggles Flagon blinked. “Alive?
”

  “Yes but we must hurry, we need to evacuate as the roof is unstable.” Vaha turned and took point, leading the Delta operatives towards the facility. They edged into the darkness, NVGs turning the midnight of the tunnel an iridescent green.

  “Stop.” Miller, who had now taken point, held up a clenched fist as they spotted the opening to the inner cave. Something was wrong. “Where are the rocks? When we left here the entrance was blocked with a rock fall, it just missed me.”

  “It was like this when we arrived. Now please let us enter in order to help your man.”

  Miller lowered his fist and the three operatives followed Vaha into the man-made chamber. They saw Dratshev, back towards them leaning over a body. Miller moved forwards. Suddenly there was a rushing which seemed to be at once all around him. A dark figure picked him up and flung him against the wall. Miller hit hard, the air was knocked from his lungs and slid to the floor. Eaton swung his HK-416 in an arc and in the eerie green light fired at another figure. The target twisted and fell. Flagon too managed to fire a few rounds before he was violently pushed to the floor. Sharp teeth snapped at him and cut into his neck like razors. Before he had the chance to move, the chance to defend, his jugular vein was pierced and his life greedily drained. As Eaton tried to retreat two dark shapes blocked his path. Their eyes glowed brightly and if he had not been wearing NVGs he would have seen that they were blood red. He fired directly at them; they twitched as rounds penetrated their flesh but did not fall. The HK stopped, magazine empty. The two vampires then came at him with fists like claws; their blows fractured bones and sent him to the ground. A second later Eaton’s neck too had been pierced. Miller lay on his stomach, dazed. His HK had been knocked from his grip. He got to his haunches and frantically reached for his secondary weapon but as he drew it a thunderous impact from behind sent him face first into the dirt. He tried to turn, to pick himself up but was lifted him like a rag doll. Dazed but not out of the fight he threw his head back and felt his helmet collide with flesh, he imagined rather than heard the cartilage in the nose explode. The hands momentarily loosened their grip enough for him to throw his attacker over his shoulder and onto the floor.

  “Stop.” Dratshev commanded.

  Miller turned, pulled his Glock back by its lanyard and quickly fired a double tap at the Russian’s head. Like a blur Dratshev stepped aside and the rounds hit the rock-face before ricocheting off at acute angles. Miller fired again but this time Dratshev lunged forward and grabbed both the American’s wrist and elbow joint. In one sharp move he broke Miller’s arm. The Glock fell to the ground and Miller dropped to his knees holding his arm. It was folded the wrong way. As a shot of cold surged through his body Miller saw the horror around him. Eaton and Flagon were dead; both had the jaws of Soviet Red Army soldiers clamped to their necks. Apart from the sound of blood being swallowed the cave was disconcertingly silent. Through a wave of pain Miller tried to understand what was happening but all he could think about was his favourite film as a kid ‘The Lost Boys’.

  “You have displayed impressive survival skills. Because of this I am now going to give you a choice. Would you like to live forever or die?”

  Miller grabbed his forearm with his left hand and attempted to yank it back into place. The pain was like no other he had ever experienced. As the edges of his vision greyed out he said the first words that came into his head. “Bite me!”

  Dratshev watched the Delta operative collapse into unconsciousness.

  Black shielded his eyes and looked up. Overhead a Chinook on its way from Firebase Python passed by, its rotors spinning like the wings of a giant dragon fly. The base was now in sight. Black slowed the Toyota to a halt and stepped out. He knew that continuing on in the vehicle would increase the risk of at any moment being mistaken for a Talib. It had taken almost two days but he had made it back to Firebase Python. He sensed rather than knew when the watchtower first saw him. Black removed his webbing, and raised his arms aloft. He waited motionless for a minute or so before cautiously walking forwards.

  Gonzalez stepped out of the stockade, swigged his coke and looked at the heavens. The mid-morning sky was once again an unnaturally beautiful shade of blue.

  “How is Styles?” Rockbridge asked with actual concern for a change.

  Gonzalez shrugged. “Still asleep but sweating some, sir. Doc thinks he has a fever.”

  “As I thought the Pentagon says it’s a no go on transferring him to Moscow.”

  “So the politicians are gonna let one of my boys die?”

  “Perhaps, but they want to send a team to check exactly what he has. They do not believe that it is Ebola, in fact they don’t believe the Russian.”

  “They said that to you?”

  “No Gonzalez, that’s a little above my pay-grade. I’m just filling in the blanks. Fact is Styles stays here until the medical team arrives.”

  “Friggin great.”

  “No, fucking awful.”

  Gonzalez turned to look at Rockbridge, surprised by his turn of voice.

  “I have opinions too soldier; just don’t care to air them.”

  “Maybe you’re not such a …”

  “Dickwad?” Rockbridge knew what some of the Delta boys had said about him. “Look I’m sorry we can’t do anything more for Styles, but if your men can’t get to Black’s body today I’ll formally request that JSOC give the go ahead for a dozer or something, whatever it is they need to excavate the site.”

  Gonzalez looked skywards again. One moment they had been a successfully mopping up the Talibs and the next one of his boys was crushed to death, buried in a collapsed cave. He crumpled his can and hurled it across the compound. “Shit man, what a way to go.”

  “You know you’ve got to pick that up?”

  Gonzalez gave Rockbridge one of his stares but before he could say anything there was a shout from the watchtower on the perimeter wall. “Major, sir you’ve got to see this!”

  Rockbridge and Gonzalez climbed the steps that had been made in the wall. “What is it soldier?”

  The US infantryman pointed. “I see it sir, but I don’t believe it. Over there.” He handed his binos to the CO of the firebase.

  “Is that one of ours?”

  “I think so sir. I think it’s one of your Deltas sir.”

  “Give me those, sir.” Black took the glasses from Rockbridge. “Peter Pan? It’s Friggin Peter Pan!”

  “Black?”

  “Yes. That’s Black all right.” Gonzalez focussed the lens. In the distance a figure was swaying as it walked towards them through the bleak desert, a desert which stretched for miles in every direction. “How the hell did he get here?”

  Rockbridge shook his head. “I don’t know and I don’t care. But he made it and that’s all that counts.”

  Within a minute Gonzalez was on a jeep racing to intercept Black who was still some two hundred meters away. He pulled up abruptly, causing a cloud of dust to lift.

  “About time, Sarge.” Black said weakly before collapsing.

  THREE: Pasaband District, Ghowr Province, Afghanistan

  “Tell me who it was that betrayed me?”

  Sitting crossed legged, Ghulam Ali, the Afghan warlord regarded Dratshev with narrow eyes. He exhaled a puff of smoke from his traditional pipe and waited as it rose slowly to the ceiling of the hut. “It was a long time ago; my memory is not what it once was.”

  Dratshev dropped a bundle of US dollars at the Afghan’s feet. “Who betrayed me?”

  “I remember now. It was Krasnov. He gave away your location to my enemy, the enforcer - Hakim who in turn attacked you.”

  The Russian held grudges. Hakim too would pay with his life for the years of research lost, but he would suffer much pain first. “Where is Hakim?”

  “I forget.”

  Dratshev threw him another bundle of notes. “Where is he?”

  “He has joined the glorious Afghan National Army. I believe he is at the new base, not far from here.” There
was a silence as Ghulam Ali chomped on his pipe. “I have given you information about the ISAF forces, I have told you about the discovery of the cave. I have kept my side of our agreement Dratshev, now it is your turn.”

  “I will see to it immediately. Bring me a Shahid.” Dratshev used the Arabic word for martyr.

  “What? You expect me to bring one of my men to be experimented upon? I have a better idea.” The Afghan held up his hand and a younger man moved from the side of the room and crouched by his leader’s shoulder. Ghulam Ali whispered in the boy’s ear. The fighter left the hut and returned pushing a man who had his arms bound behind his back. “This traitor is a spy for the Americans. You may experiment upon him.”

  “Very well.” Dratshev stood and removed a cigar shaped container from his coat pocket. This he opened to display a miniature automatic syringe-gun. “I need his neck.”

  The captive seemed confused to hear Dratshev speak his tongue. Ghulam Ali nodded and the traitor was pushed towards Dratshev. Ghulam Ali continued to smoke his pipe, but now his eyes were wider with interest. The ‘spy’ was just under six feet tall, his face was full of fear as he looked up at the taller Russian. In one swift movement that the assembled audience all but missed, Dratshev plunged the needle into the Afghan’s neck and depressed it one click. A metered amount of a vampire blood based serum shot directly into the jugular vein. The Afghan’s eyes rolled back, his eyelids snapped shut then opened to reveal red pupils. Dratshev pushed the man away.

  Ghulam Ali stood. “That is it?”

  “That is it.”

  The Afghan regarded his captive who was now breathing heavily and rolling his head. “How do I know it has worked?”

  “Shoot him in the head.”

  “What? You want me to kill him?

  “No. I want you to shoot him in the head.”

  “Crazy Russian.” The warlord bent down and picked up his AK47. He pointed the rifle at the cowering man. Paralyzed by fear and two days of beatings, the captive made no attempt to move merely turned his head and hunched his shoulders. Ghulam Ali depressed the trigger, the sound deafening in the mud hut as a single round hit the man in the chest. The impact sent him stumbling back against the wall, blood seeped from the entry wound but he did not fall.