Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  “We’ve got ‘em beat, Sir, no matter where you look. They’ve been given a bloody nose, here, here and here. Even Helmand Province is back under our control. The time is ripe to counterattack and give them a real bloody nose.”

  “Good. Vance, are you ready to go?”

  “I am, General. The boys are getting cabin fever, stuck behind the defensive lines. They’re waiting to go out and finish these bastards. You heard about my infantry, Sir?”

  Westwood nodded. “I did, it’s good news. A pity about their losses, but they shouldn’t have been ordered to go out in those M113s. When this is over, I want that bastard hung, drawn and quartered. Make sure you deal with it, Vance.”

  “I hear you, General. He’ll answer for what he did, don’t worry about it.”

  “Good. Those mercs who helped them out of there, does anyone know where they’re at?”

  “They’re still here, General. We brought them in and gave them facilities to clean up, some hot food and a good night’s sleep. Last I heard, they were checking out their weapons ready to make their way back to Peshawar.”

  Westwood grunted. “Damn, I’d like to thank them personally. And that pilot, Hoffman, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, he did good work. He’s in Peshawar, working on a CIA backed contract.”

  “Peshawar, eh? Pity, he sounds like a resourceful guy. Let me know if he’s ever up for grabs, we need contractors like him in country. He’s wasted with the CIA.” He turned to his intelligence officer. “You get any more leads on Mullah Omar? The President is anxious to see that guy taken down. Wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere near Peshawar? I guess that after discovering Bin Laden’s hidey hole, we can assume that our Pakistani intelligence friends are offering him the same cozy hospitality?”

  Colonel Brooks nodded. “I’ve no doubt, Sir. He’s sure to stay close to the border, Tora Bora, the Khyber Pass. It’s easy to slip away in bandit country.”

  “Keep on it, I’d like to catch up with that character. Fix up for me to meet those mercs. I mean it. They’re not leaving here without a handshake. And good luck, Vance, ace those suckers.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Both colonels saluted and left. One of them to get his wish and go out on the warpath; the other to continue his patient tracking of the important Taliban targets, and one target more important than any of the others.

  * * *

  We landed in Peshawar, in an airfield that was dominated by Pakistani military aircraft and helicopters. The airfield was surrounded by rolls of barbed wire, and with sandbagged machine gun emplacements at regular interviews. Not exactly a fun holiday destination. I taxied over to the Double Eagle hangar and switched off. Joe Ashford waited outside to greet us next to a pair of white painted SUVs. While the medics helped unload the body of Ed Walker, I climbed down to meet him. He stared at the lifeless form of his subordinate.

  “How’d it happen, Hoffman?”

  I explained how we’d been hit by a last minute Taliban attack just as we were preparing to leave. He looked angry, which I guess was to be expected.

  “There was nothing anyone could do?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing, just bad luck.”

  He grunted. “That’s too bad. I asked for a replacement officer to be sent out from Langley, and he should be here in a few days.”

  “Replacement? How did you know he was dead? I thought you only just found out.”

  “Oh, yeah. But he was about to be promoted, so the new guy was already lined up for the job.”

  It sounded a bit lame to me, but I couldn’t work out any possible way he could have known, except the satphone. Of course, I hadn’t recovered Luk’s satphone. So maybe one of his men had contacted Ashford direct, but who? Kyle Macdonald, probably, but it could have been either of them. I made a mental note to ask for the return of the phone. It belonged to Luk, or his father Abe. The medics had cleared the aircraft, and a gang of cargo handlers was loading a number of wooden crates.

  “What’s going on, Mr. Ashford? No one said anything about another cargo to me. She’s shot full of holes. We need time to repair the damage and make sure there’s nothing badly damaged.”

  He leered at me. He was so huge, I felt as if I was facing a hungry bear. “As I recall, your contract is to run cargos, not hide in a maintenance hangar. This one can’t wait. It’s a humanitarian mission.”

  “I prefer that to running guns and mercenaries.”

  “I couldn’t give a shit what you prefer. There’s a cargo of medical supplies waiting at Kabul that needs to be delivered to Kakulah. That’s the village those MCF medics are heading for. There’s no point in going out empty, so they’re loading a cargo for me right now. You’ll need to collect the medical supplies from Kabul, and then make a stop on the way back to Pakistan to unload the cargo they’re putting aboard now. It’s an easy stop close to the border. They have a temporary airfield, no control tower or landing lights, but it’s no sweat for a daylight landing.”

  “Is there a strip at Kakulah?”

  “There’s a flat field, it’s been used before, and you’ll have no trouble getting down.”

  “And what’s this other cargo?”

  “It’s just my cargo, Hoffman. That’s all you need to know. I want a fast turnaround, so get your wheels up inside of two hours.”

  I left him then and went to supervise the loading of the cargo. The wooden crates were heavy, very heavy, so I assumed they carried weapons of some sort. Walker’s two men, McDonald and Madden, had their things together ready to leave. I went over to them.

  “I’d like Luk’s satphone back if you don’t mind.”

  Saul Madden looked surprised. Clearly, he hadn’t realized it had been stolen. McDonald opened his pack without a word and handed it to me.

  “I trust the satphone was useful to you,” I remarked.

  “Yeah, it worked fine.”

  “Good. I’d hate for Joe Ashford to be left out of the loop.”

  He glanced at me in surprise, then shrugged and left. Madden started to follow, but he turned and shook hands.

  “I never knew he’d taken that phone. Did it cause you any problems?”

  “No. Joe Ashford doesn’t need any help to make our lives difficult.”

  “You’re right there.” He seemed to stop and think. “Look, are you returning to Kabul?”

  “Yes, we are. Why?”

  “Could I bum a ride? I’ve had a gut full of Joe Ashford and the psychos he had on his payroll. I need to look for a new contract, and there’s plenty of work going there.”

  “I imagine there is. You’re not planning to ask Ashford for a new job?”

  He grinned. “In your dreams. I lost some good friends when Walker led our people into that ambush. It was Ashford who put him in charge, and he knew the guy was inexperienced. I don’t need that kind of work.”

  “I guess not. I’d be glad to take you back to Kabul. We leave in two hours, maybe less, so stick around.”

  “I appreciate that, Max. How about I wander over to the passenger terminal and rustle up some coffee?”

  I nodded. “It’ll pay the fare to Kabul.”

  I handed Luk the satphone, and he nodded his thanks. He stuffed it into his pack and was about to speak when Najela signed something to him.

  “She says that she’d like to make a quick visit to her uncle who lives here in Peshawar. He lives close to the airfield, so we’ll be back in just over an hour.”

  “Ok, but don’t be late. It’s a long walk to Kabul.”

  They waved and walked over to the terminal where there was a line of waiting taxis. Rachel had been in the cockpit, making the usual shutdown checks and calculating the figures. She jumped down.

  “So we’re going back to Kabul?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve calculated the fuel, and the tanks are just under half full. It’s not a problem, provided we don’t fly to any distant destinations with no refueling facilities.”

  I
explained that we had a series of short hops, to Kabul, a stop on the return leg, close to the border, and then back into Pakistan with the medical supplies.

  “I’d assume that we’ll be come back here, to Peshawar, for the next cargo.”

  She looked doubtful. “That won’t be a problem, but if Ashford wants us to pick up anything else, we could run low on gas.”

  “I’ll tell him to keep it in mind.”

  We stood in silence for a few moments, watching the activity taking place around us. A military helicopter clattered in for a landing. A few minutes after a commercial jet made its final approach and dropped neatly onto the tarmac. It had the letters PIA stenciled on the fuselage, Pakistan International Airlines. Their safety reputation wasn’t the most envied in Asia, and more than once I’d been advised to stay clear of them. Maybe it was true, or maybe it was sour grapes.

  “I’m sick of this,” Rachel spat out abruptly in a show of passion that surprised me.

  “Sick of what? Pakistan, Afghanistan? Or something else?”

  “Working for the CIA. When we’ve finished the immediate contract, I’d like to get out. For both of us to get out and start again.”

  I thought about that. The airline industry was in dire straits worldwide, and they were going broke in large numbers.

  “It won’t be easy to get a regular job flying commercial,” I pointed out.

  “I realize that. But if we can get out of this with a single aircraft intact, say the Twin Otter or something like it, we could make a new start. I don’t care where we fly, or what cargoes we carry, except for drugs and guns, of course. But I draw the line at the CIA. I’d almost prefer to fly cargoes for the Taliban.”

  “Almost,” I grinned.

  “Yeah, ok. Almost.”

  “I agree. We’ll finish up this current contract, and we’re out of here. Even if we don’t get out with the aircraft intact, we’ll find a way to start again.”

  “The two of us?”

  I pulled her into my arms and kissed her long and hard.

  “That’s a given. I’m not letting you go, Rachel.”

  “Do you love me, Max?” she asked, her eyes misty but watching me carefully.

  “I love the fact that I don’t have to pay you wages.”

  She pushed me away. “You bastard. Is that it?”

  I reached for her again. “No, that’s not it. Of course I love you.”

  “It’s not just the slave labor pay rates?”

  I chuckled. “That does help.”

  She punched me on the arm. “Bastard.”

  But it was an affectionate blow. She was one tough girl, and if she punched me and meant it, I’d sure know it.

  Saul returned with three coffees, not quite Starbucks, but it was fresh and hot. We drank it and began making the preflight checks for the short flight to Kabul. A taxi rolled up, and Luk got out with Najela. They looked unhappy about something as they climbed aboard. I wondered whether to ask them about it but decided it was their business. Rachel started engines, and I radioed the tower for clearance. They were not quite ready for us, and we had to wait while a pair of Pakistan Air Force F16s swooped in for a landing. Rachel watched them in frank admiration.

  “Hey, look at those two beauties. I was too late to fly one of those. They’re obsolete in the USA, but they’re still a great aircraft.”

  “They’re sure nice to look at.”

  “They call them the Fighting Falcon,” she went on. “Look at them, a frameless bubble canopy that give all round visibility. They have a side-mounted control stick to ease control while maneuvering, and a fly-by-wire flight control system that makes them handle like a racing car. They carry an internal M61 Vulcan cannon and eleven hardpoints for mounting weapons and other mission equipment. They kick ass, those babies.”

  “Rachel, let’s concentrate on getting this particular baby airborne first.”

  “Yeah, boss, I hear you,” she grinned. The tower came on with our clearance now that the Pakistani military aircraft had landed, and we taxied out to the main runway and took off for Kabul.

  The flight to Kabul wasn’t quite uneventful. Luk had been back in the cargo space with Najela. They came forward and sat on the jump seats. They obviously had something important to say, so I waited. Rachel was flying the plane, grinning from ear to ear. We both expected them to announce an engagement or something like that. They’d got so close in the past few days it was impossible to imagine one without the other.

  “Max, Rachel, there’s something important Najela has to say,” Luk began.

  “Hey, don’t hide behind her,” Rachel shouted good naturedly, “speak up for yourself.”

  He looked mystified. “But, it’s about her uncle, about what he said.”

  Rachel and I exchanged glances. It wasn’t what we expected.

  “Ok, Luk, shoot! What did he say?”

  “It’s a message from her father in Yaluk. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing keeping it secret, but he decided he wanted you to know. It’s about the man you saw in the stone hut on the outskirts of the village.”

  I pictured him, the magnetic gaze, and the astonishing sense of overwhelming strength in the feeble body.

  “Luk, don’t string it out. What has he found, a cure for cancer? Or is it for AIDS?”

  “Neither. He’s there for treatment, and he’s very ill. His name is Omar.”

  “Ok, and?”

  Then it hit me, like a meteorite in the guts. “You don’t mean…?”

  “Yes. Mullah Omar. He’s there for treatment, and Yaluk was the only place that would treat him.”

  “Christ, Luk, we were there with a force of infantry and mercenaries. We could have picked him up and walked out with him. And we didn’t know!”

  He shrugged. Najela looked miserable. “He couldn’t make his mind up whether to pass on the information or not. But since we left, he started to get serious about the women, making them cover up, you know what they’re like. His men punished a couple of women who defied him. They were whipped, and it was nasty. They thought that the presence of Western soldiers meant that they could relax a bit, but he cracked down hard. Ban said he was sickened by it.”

  “So what the hell do we do with this information, Luk? Pass it on and see the village saturated with drone launched missiles?”

  “That’s your choice, Max. You’re still the boss.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  There were times when I regretted that title. Times when I’d like to walk away, and let someone else take responsibility. And then I thought of my grandfather. He’d earned his spurs in Russia, fighting as an SS officer, and battling the overwhelming Red hordes that fanatically defended their homeland from Hitler’s invading armies. Then he’d joined the French Foreign Legion and earned a reputation as a tough and uncompromising warrior. And then he’d started his airline, the one that I was faced with losing. What would he do? But the answer was simple. He’d fight to his last breath. So be it. I’d work this problem through, and all the others as well.

  Once more the military held us up. Flocks of helicopters were taking off, followed by a squadron of F18 fighter jets. From a far corner of the airfield, I could see a ground crew getting ready to launch a drone, one of the Predators or even the lethal Reaper, the MQ-9. Finally, we received our clearance, and I took her straight in for a landing. I taxied over to the cargo area where a ground crew was waiting to unload the cargo. Saul came into the cockpit.

  “I wanted to thank you for the ride. Is there anything more I can do?”

  I was about to say no, but something flashed across my mind. He was a tough, brutal fighter, and no friend of Joe Ashford. I remembered the old proverb, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’.

  “Saul, we could do with someone to guard the aircraft, at least until we know what’s happening around here.”

  “You think Ashford will try something funny?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But we’ve had enough p
roblems lately, and I’d like to be ready if something did happen. At least until we’re out of his hair.”

  He nodded. “I’d be glad to. I’ll stay by the aircraft as long as you wish.”

  “I can’t pay you, Saul. Not yet, anyway.”

  “If I get a shot at Ashford, it’ll be worth it.”

  I smiled. “I think you’ve just joined a long queue.”

  I sat in the cockpit filling in the flight log, chatting idly to Rachel, when a military police Humvee rolled up and a squad of MPs jumped out. They stood outside the cockpit window, and I slid it open.

  “What’s up?”

  “Max Hoffman?”

  “That’s me.”

  “We want you to come with us, Sir.”

  “Where to?”

  “To Camp Phoenix.”

  “And if I don’t?” I had a bad feeling about this. What the hell had I done wrong?”

  The MP sighed. He looked hard and competent, and probably a veteran of countless Saturday night squabbles between rival groups of soldiers. He wasn’t particularly tall, maybe five feet eight inches, but his body was about the same width.

  “It’d be better if you didn’t force it, Mr. Hoffman.”

  “Ok, no need for any rough stuff, I’ll come.”

  “I’ll come too,” Rachel exclaimed.

  “There’s no need, I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve seen these military types. I don’t want you railroaded by some desk jockey colonel. I’m coming.”

  “Luk, stay here with Najela. Keep an eye her, and on the aircraft.”

  He nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep everything safe.”

  The MPs escorted us into the Humvee. It was cramped and hot when they piled in after us. It was only a short drive to Camp Phoenix. It was one of the most depressing places I’d seen. The journey through the impoverished capital was bad enough; ragged civilians, beggars, cripples, women in blue burqas, and men driving donkeys loaded with miscellaneous goods. I doubted it was much different to the way it looked hundreds of years ago. The presence of motor cycles and battered old trucks struck a modern chord, as did the occasional military unit, soldiers with M-16s patrolling the streets, fully kitted for war in camouflage uniform, Kevlar helmets and full body armor. There sure was a long way to go before this war was anywhere near won. Camp Phoenix did nothing to lift my spirits. Concrete and barbed wire were its main features, decorated with sandbags and machine guns at regular intervals. We drove straight through the gate and stopped at a low building.