Stinger

by Stinger (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m serious, Jeff. If you don’t feel right about this, pull out of it now. You won’t be letting me or the side down. They can have another co-pilot here inside twenty-four hours. No one will think any the worse of you.’

  ‘We both know that’s not true.’ He jerked his head towards the building. ‘I’ve got to do it, or every one of those guys in there would know I’d bottled it.’ He seemed close to tears. ‘And I’d know too.’

  As I watched him walk off across the parade ground, I tried to remember the faces of his wife and children. I’d flown with him for the best part of three years, but I doubted if I’d met them more than twice in that time. All I could recall were three shy girls at the open day at our base in the UK, and Jeff’s wife, an adult version of her children. He’d introduced us, but she’d hung back behind him, tongue-tied, and after a minute he had taken her arm and led her away. The children trooped along behind them and they all sat down on the grass together, some distance from everybody else, quiet and self-contained.

  I turned and headed back into the building. I found Dave in the office at the back. He glanced up as I walked in and turned the papers he had been reading face down on his desk. ‘What can I do for you, Sean?’

  ‘I—’ I broke off as I caught sight of Amica sitting at a table at the back of the room. ‘I wanted a private word.’

  ‘This is as private as it gets around here. Fire away.’

  I glanced back towards Amica. She had not looked up and was making notes from a file in front of her. I took a deep breath. ‘I want you to take Jeff off the job.’

  Dave studied me for a moment. ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s lost it. He thinks it’s suicide.’

  ‘But he won’t refuse to fly?’

  ‘Of course not, but in his present state I’m afraid he’ll jeopardise the mission.’

  Dave remained silent, staring at me, and I grew uncomfortable under his prolonged scrutiny. ‘I’m sorry, Sean. I appreciate that you’re trying to help a friend, but I can’t do what you want. You heard yourself that there’s a good chance of an Immediate Action being called at any moment. Jeff’s familiarised himself with the Hydra; he knows the routes and the operational plan. I can’t take him off and throw someone else in at the deep end.’

  ‘If he cracks up you’ll have to.’

  He shook his head. ‘But we both know he’s not going to do that, don’t we?’ He picked up his papers again, ending the conversation.

  Chapter Eight

  I had ferried soldiers on several training missions before, but in every case I had been nothing more than a glorified chauffeur, dropping them off at their destination and picking them up again when the job was done.

  If all went according to plan, that was all I would have to do this time, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that once inside Afghanistan this operation would prove very different. I had not been directly involved in combat since the Falklands, but while I stayed in the forces the risk was there. I accepted it with some sort of fatalism, but I tried never to think about it. The thoughts evoked memories I preferred to leave buried.

  I looked up and saw Amica come out of her hut and walk towards me. Her face was in shadow, but I saw the glitter of her eyes. She stared at me in silence for a moment. ‘You look so different with dark hair. It seems to change your face.’ She gave a distracted smile. ‘I’ve been waiting for a chance to speak to you alone. I just wanted to say’ – she paused – ‘that I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before about my real role in Afghanistan.’

  I held up a hand. ‘Forget it. You wouldn’t last long if you told every stranger you met.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I was not happy about deceiving you.’ She held my gaze until I looked away. I was unsure whether I was reading more into her words than she intended.

  ‘We’ll be back there soon,’ I said, to break the silence. ‘Are you worried?’

  ‘Not about returning to Afghanistan. I worry more about what may happen to you – all of you. It’s foolish, I know, but I cannot shake off a feeling of personal responsibility, as if you were guests in my house, not soldiers fighting in my country.’

  ‘We all have a responsibility to each other.’

  She nodded, a little impatient. ‘That’s not what I mean. You’ll go into the mountains, you will fight there, perhaps you will die – like my husband – with no one to know where you fell or where your broken bodies lie.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to him?’

  She was silent for so long I thought she had not heard me. When she spoke, her voice was very low and I had to strain to hear her words. ‘The day the Taliban took Kabul they began beating any women they found not wearing the burka. Several were beaten so savagely that they died of their wounds. Anyone who tried to intervene was also beaten. A woman bled to death on the street outside our building as a group of Taliban stood by and watched.

  ‘They came into the university that afternoon. I was wearing no make-up, but my clothes were “un-Islamic”. They hacked off my hair with a knife and tore the gold earrings from my ears.’ Her voice was flat. ‘When my husband tried to protect me, he was hit in the face with a rifle butt. They lined us all up in the courtyard and began piling up books in the middle. Then they set fire to them – like the Nazis burned books. In the long years of fighting we had already lost many students and teachers. Buildings, laboratories and lecture rooms had been destroyed – but we had kept the spirit of the university alive. Now the Taliban were destroying even that. They burned everything but the Holy Koran – books, manuscripts, research notes – everything.

  ‘My husband pleaded with them, begged them, then tried to stop them by blocking the way with his body. One of them – he was so young he did not even have a beard, just black down on his lip – shot my husband as if he were a dog.

  ‘They would not even let me hold and comfort him as he lay dying. I was kicked, punched and dragged away to be raped. The commander forced the barrel of a Kalashnikov inside me. He even pulled the trigger. It was his idea of a joke – the magazine was empty. Sometimes I wish it had been loaded. The injuries they gave me that day mean I can never have children.’

  I hesitated, then put my arms around her. She let her head rest against my chest for a few moments and I felt the wetness of her tears on my shirt. Then she pulled away a little and her expression hardened again.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘It was Salan.’

  ‘When he had finished with me, I was thrown into the street with the other women. We were told to go home and put on the burka. There was to be no more university, no more education for women – not even for girls.

  ‘Our house had been ransacked, but we had a little money hidden. I bribed a merchant to smuggle me out of the city and joined the refugees fleeing the fighting by crossing the mountains to Peshawar in Pakistan. The Taliban are very powerful there – it was where they were formed – but I made my way to Islamabad and sought refuge in the American Embassy.

  ‘They took me to the US, trained me and provided me with a new identity, then I was sent back into Afghanistan with AMCO, travelling on an Egyptian passport. My friends and contemporaries are either dead or in exile and there are no records to contradict me; the Taliban have destroyed everything.’ Her eyes were again wet with tears. ‘I hoped to at least find my husband’s grave, but it is impossible. I cannot ask questions without arousing suspicion, and in any case so many people were killed in the fighting and its aftermath that there are thousands of unmarked graves.’

  ‘What will you do after the operation?’ I asked.

  ‘My cover will be blown. I’ll have to get out.’

  ‘And where will you go?’

  She searched my face before replying. ‘To America, or perhaps to Europe.’ She touched my face with her hand, then I felt her breath like a silent whisper against my cheek, and she kissed me. Her lips were warm and soft on mine, but as I began to respond, I froze for a fraction of a second, remembering the last kiss I had shared.


  She sensed my hesitancy and pulled away from me at once. ‘I’m sorry. I thought.’ She began to walk away across the parade ground.

  ‘No, wait. Amica, please. You surprised me, that’s all.’

  She turned and searched my expression again, then shook her head. ‘No. It’s too soon for you. I’m sorry. I should have realised.’

  * * *

  I saw little of her over the next couple of days. We trained at maximum intensity for the mission, testing the limits of the flight envelope and absorbing every facet of the heli’s flight, loading and unloading pallets bearing dummy fuel bladders and practising rolling drops and fast-rope insertions until we could do it in our sleep. Each night I fell into bed exhausted, but dreams and the heat still troubled me and I woke each day feeling little rested.

  * * *

  As we walked outside I saw Dave waiting for us by a Herc drawn up alongside the dirt strip.

  ‘Looks like this is it,’ I said.

  Jeff followed my gaze. His pale face seemed lined, and far older than his thirty-five years.

  ‘Tonight’s the night,’ Dave said. He jerked his thumb towards the Herc. ‘Take a look at these before you go and get yourselves ready. They’ll be shipped out tonight as well.’

  I glanced in through the loading door of the Herc and saw two fuel bladders on pallets chained to the sides of the aircraft. ‘Only one of them contains fuel,’ Dave said.

  I looked again. The grey rubber bladders looked indistinguishable from each other.

  ‘How can we tell them apart?’

  ‘Only by the serial number. The prefix is HE – that’s a bit of a clue, in case you’re the forgetful type.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not likely to forget this one.’ I clambered in through the door and pushed my fist against the bladder. It gave slightly. ‘It feels like liquid.’

  ‘It is; well, semi-liquid anyway. It’s actually an inert gel; high explosives surrounded by aviation fuel is a bit of a volatile combination. Inside there’s another sealed bladder packed with the tools of the trade – Semtex demolition charges, fragmentation and white phosphorus grenades, rocket-propelled grenades, general purpose machine guns, Kalashnikovs, ammunition and antipersonnel mines.’

  ‘What happens if the Taliban get suspicious and dip the fuel?’

  ‘Try it.’

  I unscrewed the cap and sniffed. A familiar odour filled my nostrils. I smiled. ‘Another bladder within a bladder? What’s it contain, about five gallons?’

  ‘Not even that much.’ He paused. ‘You’ll have two runs into Kabul from Bangur. You’ll carry half the team and the fuel bladder on the first one. That way if any of the populace get trigger-happy, you’ve only got to worry about a few thousand gallons of fuel exploding instead of five hundred pounds of Semtex.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That’s a great consolation.’

  ‘It’ll also give the Taliban the chance to have a snoop without finding anything to excite them. The rest of the assault team will go in with you on the next trip, with the bladder containing the surprise package. Obviously you’re on minimum turnaround between those two trips. It means you’ll be airborne from dawn to dusk, but until the kit is landed the assault force is virtually defenceless.’

  ‘When does Amica go back in?’ I said,

  ‘On the first trip with you. If the Taliban make trouble or the other AMCO people have questions, she’ll deal with them.’ He paused. ‘Right, you’d better go and pack your kit. We’ll have it shipped back for you. You’ll be taking nothing into Afghanistan that could betray your identity or origins – no clothes, jewellery, watches, dog tags, no personal mementoes and no money other than what we give you.

  ‘You’ll have gold and Afghan notes in your escape kit, not dollars, and everything you wear, right down to your underwear, is local, though it’s fitted with the usual concealed equipment – button compass, customised belt buckle and so on. Your new clothes are laid out in your hut.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And get some food and rest. We’re briefing at 02.30, take-off at 04.00.’

  I went straight back to the hut to pack my possessions as hurriedly and sparingly as I could. When my hand touched the shirt in which I’d wrapped Jane’s picture, instead of taking a final look I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up her image. I could see the long, blonde hair framing her face, could almost hear her voice, but her features remained vague and blurred. I pulled out the photograph and stared at it. The familiar face looked back at me, but it seemed altered in some indefinable way. I traced the contours of her face with my finger as I willed the old feelings to return. Instead I felt a wave of desolation sweeping over me.

  The fragile bridge linking me to the past was beginning to break.

  Jeff had already finished his packing and sat on the edge of his bed, watching me. ‘Sean? If – anything should—’

  ‘You can bin that right there. The last person I heard make that speech died not long afterwards. It goes without saying; I’d do it for you, just like you’d do it for me.’

  He nodded and lapsed into silence.

  We went to the Mess just after dusk, but for once even Jeff didn’t fancy eating much. We sat in silence, each wrapped in his own thoughts, then went back to the hut and lay down on our beds to rest. Jeff pulled his Walkman out of his bag and tried to lose himself in some music. The tinny sounds leaking from the earphones and the flies buzzing around my head made it impossible for me to settle.

  I walked out into the night, hoping to see Amica, but the parade ground was deserted and no light shone from the window of her quarters.

  Chapter Nine

  I had slept for barely three hours when the alarm clock woke me. It was two in the morning. I washed and dressed in the gear laid out for me. The underwear was coarse and grey and the flying suit ill-fitting. I peered into the cracked and pitted mirror propped on the windowsill and smeared Vaseline on my forehead, cheeks and neck, then began staining the roots of my hair and beard where they showed blond. When I’d finished, I studied my reflection. The straggly growth of beard now covered my face, and my forehead and arms had been burned by the sun to a deep mahogany. Even my eyes seemed darker. I felt slightly reassured. If it came to it I might just pass muster – if not as a Pushtun at least as one of the other Afghan tribes.

  The other guys were waiting with Amica in the briefing room. Rami sat a little apart.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ I said.

  Dexy shrugged. ‘Dave’s pulled a couple of strings to get on the operation. He’s taken over as the leader. Rami isn’t too thrilled about it.’

  ‘Tough tit,’ Tank said, loud enough for Rami to hear. ‘Dave’s earned the right to be there. And he’s twice the soldier Rami is.’

  Dave led the briefing. ‘We have some new satellite imagery that you all need to see. You know why we’re going and what we’re going to do. You’ll arrive at Bangur early tomorrow morning. You’ll refuel, fit the AMCO panels to the chopper, load the fuel bladder and take off for Kabul at 10.00 hours.

  ‘The Taliban authorities have been informed by AMCO that a helicopter will be crossing into their airspace at noon and will be transiting to Kabul via Qandahar and the Tarkan river valley. Despite that advance clearance, even in the areas where the Taliban writ runs unopposed, there’s no guarantee that you will not be fired on. Any ground fire directed at you is most likely to be from AK47S. For that reason your safest course is to maintain a minimum height of three thousand feet above ground level during the transit through Afghanistan. There have been several instances of aircraft on the approach to Kabul being fired on by anti-Taliban forces.’

  ‘Tell us about it,’ Jeff said.

  Dave inclined his head. ‘When you get there, it may be wise to leave the helicopter unattended, with its loading doors open so that the Taliban can satisfy themselves that it is what AMCO have told them – another disarmed Hydra, usable only as a transport heli. If they’re satisfied on that score, they may not pay as much attenti
on to its subsequent flight – bringing in some rather more important cargo.

  ‘Some contact with the other AMCO personnel is probably inevitable. They are bound to be curious about the simultaneous arrival of so many new volunteers and perhaps jealous of your access to a new helicopter. Amica will give them the cover story that you’re a newly formed team willing to go into the most high-risk front-line areas to clear mines.’

  While he was speaking, Dave had been pinning up some satellite photographs. ‘This is the latest imagery we have of the target area, obtained at’ – he consulted his notes – ‘18.20 hours yesterday. There are no signs of alterations or new defensive emplacements and no traffic has been noted, other than the usual mule trains bringing in supplies. There is one change to note, however.’ He pointed to a circular shape perhaps six to eight feet in diameter, on the southern clifftop, almost completely hidden by a clump of mountain cedars.

  ‘A satellite dish,’ Tank said.

  ‘Right first time, and you can bet they haven’t got it in to watch the news on CNN. It suggests to me that their communications are being beefed up, and the only reason I can see for that is if a leader of some importance is planning to base himself there, either temporarily or permanently. We’ll keep a watching brief on that; if confirmed it may entail an increase in the mission tasks to include the elimination of all personnel at the site.’

  Rami looked up. ‘And then after lunch we’ll go and overthrow the Taliban regime in Kabul.’

  Dave turned to him. ‘No one is underestimating the difficulty of the operation we’re already undertaking, but if a terrorist figurehead were to put himself in the target area, we’d be insane to pass up the chance to take him out as well.’

  ‘If they’re in the caves when the charges go off,’ Dexy said, ‘you won’t have to worry about it being in the mission plans. It’ll take care of itself. But I’m sceptical about this being the right site. We trained them to route their communications through a remote site. They wouldn’t stick a satellite dish on top of a place they’re trying to keep secret.’