by Alex Shaw
From his ledge near the very top of the peak, Ghulam Ali looked down at the valley below. His compound, his home was clearly visible by the light of the full moon. His choice to kowtow to the ISAF forces had been a deliberate one. As a tribal leader he’d had nothing to fear from the ISAF forces but as a Taliban commander they would have eliminated him. He had played the long game of pretending to accept the Americans into his home, of abiding by their ‘rule of law’ and of giving them just enough information on insurgent activity that they believed him to be on their side. Ghulam Ali had been convincing. He had learnt this skill when the Soviets had first invaded and given an ultimatum to all Mujahedeen to accept the new Afghan government they had installed or find themselves on the receiving end of a red army bayonet. Tribal groups were torn apart as some chose to collaborate whilst others vowed to fight for the removal of ‘the Russians’. Ghulam Ali chose to bow to the mighty Soviet Union and it was then that he met Dratshev and was given yet another choice, assist or die. Again he collaborated and was well rewarded. When the Soviets finally left his country he had gained enough status and power that he feared no retaliatory attack by any other Mujahedeen faction and then the Taliban had arrived and another deal had been struck and an allegiance formed. Ghulam Ali viewed himself as a master at hiding his true allegiance, but when ISAF had found Dratshev’s cave he decided he no longer cared for the charade. An old agreement had come into force, he would alert Dratshev. Contacting the Russian had been easy and the reward far exceeded all his expectations. Now he had real power, now he would show the West that Afghanistan was not theirs to control, Allah was his true master. As he basked in the prospect of his future glory he saw a distinctive dark shape in the night sky, an American helicopter. It came in fast, low but almost soundlessly and then seemed to hover just off of the ground, disgorging soldiers into his compound. His anger exploded, consuming his entire being. How dare the infidels, desecrate his house! The last foreigner to see inside his home had been that English woman reporter who was nothing more than a travelling prostitute. He had felt unclean for days after her visit but knew that not to agree to a meeting would have been tantamount to turning his back on IASF. Now however this was different, these men were attacking his house and as such the house of Islam. They would pay heavily for this insult. As he watched he saw one explosion and then another. The flames seemed to be magnified tenfold in the night sky. The IEDs planted around his compound for protection had worked. His anger turned to glee. The Americans were predictable and had thought that brute force alone would prevail.
Silently Dratshev appeared. “I hear the American’s have arrived.”
“Yes my Russian friend, as you said they would.”
Dratshev knew it will not be long until their ‘eyes in the skies’ found the caves. He had no doubt that their progress had been watched with digital pupils. ISAF, in particularly the Americans relied too heavily upon such trickery. Machines were not men, men died, men made mistakes but machines too failed and they failed to interpret. The machines would lead the Americans to them but would also lead them to their death. Their machines had no answer to his Vampires; some of the Afghan’s men too would die from lucky rounds severing necks or perhaps being vaporised by ordnance. And then the American soldiers would arrive, mortals against immortals. It would be a charnel house. Dratshev looked at the self-important tribal elder. “You will stay here?”
“Of course, my place…is with my men. We shall now make another film, shoot another hostage, perhaps a real one? Show the American’s that they have made a mistake by not negotiating.”
“I understand.” Dratshev had learnt that the Afghan had sent his family to stay with cousins over the border in Pakistan, a safe haven at least from sanctioned ISAF attacks. He had thought the man himself may leave but now saw that Ghulam Ali believed he was unbeatable.
“You have been a man of your word, a true ‘comrade’.” The Afghan placed his large hand on Dratshev’s shoulder.
The Russian vampire nodded but inside he felt nothing. The Afghan was a research tool and nothing more.
Hakim had wanted to enter the compound but the Americans had refused, they were the experts at detecting and dismantling IEDs. Back at Firebase Python Hakim had attempted to tell the Americans of the Hadamas but they had not understood or perhaps not wanted to. They had then checked the bodies of the fallen and the charred remains of the Hadamas but had not believed what they had seen. The Americans had however taken photographs and videos. Hakim had given up with any explanation, if the Americans were going to attack those responsible, then that was all he wanted. He knew the exact location of the caves used by Ghulam Ali; they were the same caves that both men had played in as boys. Now he hoped that their childhood playground would become a tomb for his old friend. The Americans readied to detonate another IED. They were well aware that they were being watched and were acting as a decoy for the assault from the HRT which was about to take place.
“I see the explosion, that’s our signal.” The pilot dipped the collective and the UH-60M Black Hawk highly modified for Special Forces operations plunged towards the unforgiving rock-face. Ropes dropped and immediately the HRT fast-roped onto the rear of the target. Fanning out they looked for targets as the helo rapidly retreated into the darkness. Motionless they waited and listened. The distant show had taken the attention of the Taliban, covering the Delta teams approach to target. A pair of Talibs appeared on the ridge in front of them; casually smoking their backs were squarely to the Deltas as they stared out over the valley. Another flash engulfed the distant compound and the Talibs were cut down by well-placed silenced rounds. Ibanescu, the team leader call-sign ‘Gypsy’ then double tapped the skull of each x-ray. The team advanced towards the cave entrance. Hastily acquired surveillance shots had shown them that this was the only entrance. The satellites were wrong. Ibanescu flipped his NV goggles down over his eyes he spoke quietly into his comms mike. “On me.”
“How did you know?” Black asked Krasnov as Ghulam Ali’s head centred in the Dragunov’s telescopic site.
“This place is where ‘The Vampires’ rid Ghulam Ali of those who would not accept his rule. Some they drained of blood instantly and others they let live whilst they were experimented upon. A lucky few were thrown over the cliffs untouched.”
“You were part of this?” Black felt like putting a bullet in Krasnov.
“I was the one who threw them over the cliff, some survived. It was all I could do.”
Black focussed again on the Afghan warlord. It was still alien to him to be able see at night without an NV scope. He also had not used a Dragunov before, his .50 cal was a different beast being heavier and packing a larger round, but one thing they both shared was a semi-automatic function. “How does the silver alter the trajectory of the rounds?”
“They are heavier due to the extra jacket and they are of limited use over any real distance.”
“Are saying that your silver rounds don’t work?”
“Niet. What I am saying is that they may not fly straight. After the silver is cast it shrinks as it cools, it deforms and pits. This poses a problem for accuracy. These rounds are best used at shorter distances on semi-automatic.”
Black grunted; it was still better than nothing. He needed to site the rifle with the heavier round but without the chance would just have to aim high and hope for the best. “If I had my Barrett I could take him now.”
“If I had breasts I’d be called Olga.”
It was the first time he had heard the Ukrainian joke and signalled the last of the pre-mission nerves. As he and Krasnov scanned the cave entrance and surrounding area they counted two vehicles concealed under camouflage netting and grasses on the access road and four sentries. Krasnov’s estimate at the size of the opposition made Black worry. If Ghulam Ali had a couple of hundred men where were they? Were they concealed within the cave network, if so that would make the complex potentially larger than even Tora Bora. “So why didn’t Dratshev b
ase his research here?” Black asked.
“The cave system was too large not remote enough, he did not want somewhere that the locals knew the layout of better than us. So Dratshev made a cave within a cave. I know what you are thinking, and you are correct there could be several hundred men within that mountain.”
“Great.”
“The sooner we move the sooner we can start to count them.”
“OK, let’s do it.”
“Davai…Davai…” ‘Go…Go…’Krasnov answered in Russian.
Black was about to stand but saw a movement in the distance. He looked again through the Dragunov’s scope and spied figures dressed in US fatigues. “Wait one.”
“What can you see?” Krasnov hovered on his haunches.
“Looks like an SF team, could be Delta or ST6.”
“So ISAF has chosen to attack?”
“Not enough men for an attack, looks more like an HRT.”
“Or perhaps a Kill/Capture? We cannot get there before the Americans so we must wait for them to draw the Taliban’s fire.”
Black continued to watch the team move. “Hell no, I’m not going to let any more Americans get taken out.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We join them.” Without waiting for Krasnov’s approval Black stood, slung the Dragunov on his back and picked up a short stock AK47. “On me.”
“As you wish.” Krasnov grabbed his own AK, slipped an RPG precariously onto his back with an improvised strap and followed Black.
Their vantage point was less than a half a mile away from the cave entrance and only accessible on foot. Krasnov’s Toyota was hidden, ironically, behind the rusted and burnt out shell of a Soviet T-72 battle tank on the side of the approach road. They had left some ordnance stashed in the back, taking only extra ammo for their Kalashnikovs and several silver frag grenades each. They tactically approached the target, first climbing down from their peak and then ascending the next. Black felt his thighs burn but Krasnov seemed immune as he moved with the agility of a mountain goat, ignoring the sheer drop on either side. Black raised his hand in a fist and crouched. Immediately Krasnov dropped. A Talib appeared with his AK slung over his shoulder. The man looked around before lifting up his long shirt and urinating. If he had been turned vampire the shadows would offer no concealment for Black or Krasnov. Before Black could react, Krasnov stood and casually walked towards the man as he adjusted his robes. Shocked the Talib tried to reach for his gun as Krasnov thrust his knife into the Talibs throat. The Afghan grabbed his neck and stumbled as blood poured from the large gash. Before he could make a sound Krasnov pushed him over the side of the mountain. If he was mortal he would die and if not he would have a long walk. They paused now and listened before moving on. As they crested a rise the cave entrance came into view as did the Special Forces team. The Americans moved as shadows towards the two Afghans who stood sentry. Soundless muzzle flashes were the only indication at this range that rounds had been fired as the sentries crumpled. The team pushed forwards and into the cave minus two who took the place of the guards. A minute later Black raised his arms above his head as he reached the flat plateau signalling the entrance to the cave complex. Silenced rounds hurtled towards them. Krasnov hit the dirt, flattening himself whilst Black ducked behind a boulder. Barely audible above the sound of the Afghan night feet crunched towards them. Black lay on his stomach; he could smell the rifle now and knew he had a millisecond to react before the shooter decided what to do. As fast as he could he rolled and kicked out with his legs, sweeping the American off of his feet. Black sprung up and grabbed the American’s throat with his right hand and his HK with his left.
“I’m Delta, call-sign Peter Pan.” Black said as the other soldier struggled but could not move. Black repeated the words again as a rifle but crashed into his shoulder knocking him sideways but not loosening his grip. “I’m…DELTA!” Black hissed.
“Identify yourself!” The order was spoken into his ear as the muzzle of an HK burnt his temple.
“Call-sign Peter Pan.” Black let go and was then pushed facedown whilst his wrists were flexi-cuffed.
“You shittin me right?” Gloved hands pulled him into a sitting position.
Black looked at the two Americans, faces hidden by NVGs and nomex hoods. “I escaped the attack on Python, I’m Peter Pan, Brad Black!”
“Black, I know who you are. Nomad, untie Peter Pan.”
“DJ, that you?”
Frankie Bones, call-sign DJ nodded. “Affirmative, now what the crap are you doing here?”
Black rubbed his shoulder. “Vengeance.”
Dale Hicks, call-sign Nomad tapped Black’s shoulder. “Just a kiss.”
“I’m fine.” Black shrugged him off and stood.
“Was he with you?” DJ pointed to Krasnov who lay face down with several bullet holes in his robes.
“Yes.”
“Shit.” DJ shook his head.
“Do not worry.” Krasnov slowly started to rise until he was standing. “They are better shots than I had expected.”
“What the? Never mind. Black, I don’t know what you are playing at but you need to stay here. My team’s been sent to rescue Rockbridge and the others.”
“What?”
“The hostages, dumbass. Now sit tight.”
“You don’t know what you are up against.”
“I think we have a fair idea…” A burst of AK fire rang out. Krasnov turned, saw the two Talib sentries on their feet only meters away and returned fire. The silver rounds from his AK sent them to oblivion.
Black thought fast. “The Talibs are wearing a new type of Russian vest that normal rounds don’t penetrate. Look we need in on this.”
“OK.” DJ pressed his comms switch. “DJ to Gypsy, over.”
There was a single squelch of static as a reply.
“Have two to send in, repeat two to send in. Peter Pan and a friendly. Confirm you understand.”
Another hiss of static.
“OK, go.”
Dratshev remained still whilst Ghulam Ali flinched at the sound of the gunfire below. The real assault had started. The Afghan warlord ordered the hostages to be moved and swiftly scuttled along the escape tunnel towards the trucks. He burst into the night air as the shockwave from a large explosion forced the air out of the cave. Ghulam Ali was thrown against the side of his own pick-up, his temple hit metal and his world became a cold black. Dratshev remained above on the ledge, motionless and listened, his hearing sharpened by centuries of development. The American helo that had delivered the HRT had retreated a safe distance and was waiting, ‘rotors warm’. He withdrew into the cave and headed towards the sound of gunfire, lifting his greatcoat he retrieved his Spetsnaz issue Bizon-2, its sixty four round magazine making it a perfect CQB weapon. As he moved deeper into the cave his eyes instantly adjusted to the lack of ambient light, complete blackness became twilight. He heard the groans of the American hostages as they were kicked, shoved and moved, he did not follow rather continued to head for the fire-fight.
Black and Krasnov moved swiftly into the chamber, the fear of darkness and of death did not enter their thoughts. The distinctive barking of AKs in the distance let them know that the Delta team had been compromised. Now that the element of surprise had been lost, the hostages would only be alive if their jailors wished them to be so. The chamber started to dip before it rose and then widened. Cordite fumes scratched at Black’s throat as they neared the fire-fight and then they saw the Delta team. The Americans were pinned behind a rock-fall whilst rounds rained down at them from a fortified barricade made up of even larger boulders. Two Talibs were on the ground in between the opposing positions and trying to get at the Americans. Each time either would move another round would floor them again. Meanwhile the other Talibs were firing on full automatic; rounds flew in all directions ricocheting from floor, walls and ceiling.
“Identify yourself!” The command was yelled at Black and Krasnov by the Delta operat
ive acting as ‘tail-end Charlie’.
“Peter Pan.” Black shouted as they both dropped to their haunches, palms exposed. “Plus one.”
“Come.” The American beckoned the pair nearer and then pushed them towards the team leader.
“Gypsy!” Black shouted once within yelling distance. He was relieved that he knew the man in charge.
“Can you explain why it’s like we’re shooting friggin ‘bb’ guns?” The Delta team leader watched two more rounds hit a Talib who staggered before getting up once more.
“They’ve got some sort of new vest.” Even Black knew it was unbelievable.
“Bullshit.”
“Where’s your family originally from Gypsy?”
“What? Romania.” Ibanescu replied not understanding why Black has asked.
“Which is most famous for?”
Ibanescu turned his head to look hard at Black. “Strigoi – vampires? More bullshit.”
“Headshots slow them down, sever the neck and you will stop them.”
“Who are you?” Ibanescu pointed a nomex gloved finger at Krasnov.
“Spetsnaz.”
Under covering AK fire a Talib jumped over the barricade and ran at them. Krasnov popped up and delivered a three round burst into the Talib who was floored instantly. The Taliban fire intensified and like WW1 trench warfare a group of Taliban fighters charged over the top at the Delta team. Black unclipped a grenade waited for two seconds and then hurled it. It exploded as soon as it landed shredding three of the advancing vampires.
An explosion greeted Dratshev as he reached the first kill zone. Ahead the cave opened up into a larger chamber that had been barricaded by the Taliban to form a bottle neck with two fields of fire. Anyone entering the kill zone would have no chance of survival. The fortification would defeat most conventional weapons. The cave system itself could only be defeated by a thermobaric bomb or a GBU-28, tunnel buster. These however would never be used when American lives were at risk. Dratshev looked on as a solitary grenade gently whistled over the top of the barricade. It hit the rock-face to one side exploded, harmlessly he thought but then something unexpected happened. The nearest group of Talibs started to scream and then one fell sideways. Dratshev moved nearer and came to an abrupt halt. He could see shards of silver that had left one Taliban vampire dead and two more bleeding uncontrollably. As he tried to reason what had happened another grenade dropped. Dratshev ran, using every last bit of his supernatural speed. The shockwave caught the soles of his boots and nothing else. He chanced a look back and saw more dead. This had to be the work of Krasnov! No one else would know about the vampiric intolerance to silver. Dratshev walked away, he no longer had any desire to stay and fight. He would find Krasnov and face him on his own terms.