Rogers shrugged. “That’s not a problem. Hawkins, I’ll pass it on to Sergeant Jones, he can ride with you. Is that okay, Lieutenant?”

  The Afghan nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

  Eddie stared at him in instant recognition. Many of his teeth were missing.

  Jesus Christ, it’s the guy I heard shout out loud last night. And we’re saddled with him. Does Colonel Hosseini know? That’s the sixty-four-dollar question.

  Both Afghans were looking at him with expressions of abject hatred, and he reckoned he knew the answer.

  Chapter Four

  Rogers looked at the Afghans. “I need to speak to Hawkins alone.”

  They took the hint and left.

  “Private, I don’t believe a word of their bullshit. But the Afghans are our allies, so I have to at least pretend. Watch that raghead lieutenant, and report back if you see or hear anything suspicious.”

  “Isn’t that a risk, Sir?”

  He shrugged. “I admit it’s something of a risk, but it also gives us an edge. We can feed him information and…” He grinned, “Who’s to say if it’s accurate? If we see the Taliban setting up an ambush right where Baba has been told we’ll be traveling, we’ll know the score.”

  “What do we do about him?”

  “The Afghans may get upset if we tossed him into a cell. My guess is he’s likely to die in battle, a brave solider to the end. Just on the wrong side.”

  “I get it, Sir.”

  Lieutenant Baba followed him out of the building. “Where to now, Private?”

  With you along, hell would be about right.

  “You’d better meet the rest of the guys. They were having breakfast when I left.”

  “Shouldn’t you call me Sir?”

  He stared back at him. “Nope.”

  He grimaced. “As you wish. I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, will there be time?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  They entered the canteen, and Dan was still there with the others. Baba went to get food, and the Sergeant looked at Hawkins. “Who’s your friend?”

  “The local Taliban spy, Lieutenant Baba.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “I wish. Sarge, there’re questions about the identity of the hostiles last night. Some Afghan Colonel reckons they could have been legit.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Yep. In the meantime, he’s riding with us, some sort of liaison to make sure there are no friendly fire incidents.”

  “Shit. Does he know you suspect?”

  “No, and we have to keep it that way. Find a way to catch him out.”

  “Roger that. Sonofabitch.”

  He spent a few hours in the sack, and Baba disappeared to meet with the Afghans. Either that or plot with them. At the end of the afternoon he reported for duty, and there wasn’t about to be any respite. Dan had just returned from a briefing. “We’re going out again, dawn tomorrow.”

  Al put his head out from the inside of the heater that has just packed up. “Damn thing, I wouldn’t have stolen it if I’d know it was no good.”

  Dan smiled. “Thieving can be a hard business. Listen up, guys. They’ve had a report of some gomer planting IEDs on the highway to Jalalabad. We have a new officer, Second Lieutenant Lewis Clifford. Fresh out of West Point.”

  Taylor groaned. “All stuffed shirt and spit shined boots.”

  “Pretty much.”

  He turned up an hour later. Al was right. His boots were like twin mirrors, and his shirt was, well, starched. An average looking guy, a bit overweight, and with blonde hair, he looked more like a college kid than an infantry officer. They stood to attention, and he told them to relax.

  “I’m Second Lieutenant Lewis Clifford, your new platoon officer. I’m new to this, guys, so help me out. You know we’re out on patrol in the morning.”

  “We do, Sir.”

  “Excellent. I don’t recall the purpose of the mission, can you enlighten me?”

  “Kill Afghans, Lieutenant.”

  He chuckled. “Sure, sure. But I’m serious, what’s the mission brief?”

  “Kill Afghans, Lieutenant.”

  He sighed. “You’re serious? They’re not all our enemies.”

  “Nossir, it’s just the Afghans with assault rifles.”

  “Don’t they call carry assault rifles?”

  “Exactly, Sir.”

  He still wasn’t sure when he walked away, and they gave up and went to grab some sleep. Eddie even managed a half hour of Call of Duty, but the connection was worse than ever, and he slipped further down the high score rankings. He slept badly, and he kept hearing that weird grunt, ‘Awahu Akwar.’

  Could I be wrong? It’s possible, but I don’t think so.

  After an early breakfast, they set out on the highway to Jalalabad. Lieutenant Clifford took point in his Humvee, and Lieutenant Baba suggested Dan’s vehicle rode back marker. There was something strange about the Afghan.

  It was cold, and snow lay thick on the ground in places. They all wore every scrap of warm clothing they could lay their hands on. But Baba had gone a step further. His outer coat was so bulky he looked like a grizzly bear in army uniform. He wore so much clothing, his skin was damp with perspiration, and if bulk wasn’t enough, he carried a submachine gun, a Russian AKSU assault carbine slung over his chest. He kept his hand close to the trigger.

  Jones frowned when he saw it. “Lieutenant, keep that popgun pointed away from us, or I’ll take it off you.”

  He glared at him, and sensing their dislike, huddled in the rear of the vehicle, as far from the crew as he could get in the cramped space.

  “This is all wrong,” Al grumbled, “Spotting those IEDs ain’t easy. It needs good eyes, experienced eyes. You’re pretty good at it, Eddie, you should be on point.”

  Baba listened intently. “Is it not important to be ready if an attack comes from behind?”

  “IEDs don’t come from behind,” he murmured, “Least, not any IEDs I’ve ever seen.”

  “I see.” He digested this for a few seconds, “When the first one explodes, what do we do?”

  They stared at him for several seconds and stared at each other. Not, if an IED exploded, but when. “Lieutenant,” Dan said to the Afghan, “What do you know that we don’t?”

  He looked around wildly, knowing he’d made a slip up. His hand was diving to the Makarov pistol in his holster when Eddie leaned down from the cupola and whacked him over the head with a heavy wrench he kept there, just in case. He’d never had cause to use it until now. Baba rolled his eyes once, and he went out. The others looked shocked.

  “Eddie, you keep doing it,” Dan intoned, and he was still thinking, “Twice inside Bagram, and now Baba out here. You sure you’re not wrong this time?”

  Al jumped to his defense. “He made a good call, Sarge. You heard him. Besides, what did we see? A wrench fell down from the cupola, an accident.”

  It took a lot to convince Dan Jones. “Maybe he mixed up the words.”

  Winston had been listening, and he snorted with derision. “He didn’t mix up his words, no way. He’s expecting an IED to hit us, and I’d guess it’s not far away.”

  Al Taylor didn’t hesitate. He bent to the radio and called Clifford. “Lt, this is Sergeant Jones’ vehicle. Heads up, we believe an attack is imminent.”

  The reply came back, and they noted the quiver in his voice. “This is Clifford, what do you have?”

  “That Afghan riding with us, he slipped up.”

  A pause. “That doesn’t sound convincing. Is that all you have?”

  Dan grabbed the mike off him. “Lt, you listen to me. This is Jones, and I was doing this while you were still in college. We’re coming up front to take point, so shut up and get the hell out of our way.”

  “Sergeant, you can’t…”

  “I just did, Lieutenant. Tell your driver to let us pass. Unless you want to die young, Lieutenant.” He took his finger off the transmit button. “Winston, pedal to the metal, hit the front. Eddie, you know what you’re looking for.”

  “Affirmative, Sarge.”

  “They’ll be waiting at the roadside for us to hit the first IED. Let’s go get ‘em.”

  * * *

  Mohammed Hosseini, sometime senior officer of the Afghan Army, had slipped out of Bagram the previous night after he’d put a call through to his men to mine the road. His attack had failed, and now he needed to lure the garrison outside and kill them piecemeal. He met up with his fighters part way to Jalalabad, and they were putting their finishing touches to the bombs.

  He glanced at Major Khan. “Have you selected a secure place for my command post?”

  His number two nodded. “A cave just off the highway. A short climb of no more than two meters over the rocks, and you will be safe inside. The detonator is already in position.”

  “And the men?”

  “They will rush the vehicles firing on full automatic, and overwhelm the crews immediately after the first IED detonates.”

  “The Americans are not slow to respond. Our men could run into a hail of gunfire, and many will be killed.”

  A shrug. “They are soldiers. Soldiers die.”

  * * *

  They drove another seven klicks without hearing a peep from Clifford. Winston opined he was sulking after Jones explained the way things were in Afghanistan. Out in front, every man kept an eagle eye out for the enemy and their lethal IEDs. Find one, and the other would be as close as a tick on a hound’s back. Winston saw it first.

  “Head’s up, people, there’s a disturbance in the road surface about four hundred meters ahead.”

  Dan and Al craned their heads forward to stare through the windshield. Eddie looked away, up ahead to the rough ground at the side of the highway. Where they’d be hiding, waiting for the first explosion to blast the leading vehicle into little pieces, before they rained machine gun fire and RPGs down on the survivors. He saw the movement. First, a small flash of dirty white cloth, which appeared and immediately disappeared; on the right side of the road tucked behind a small hillock, small, but enough to conceal a score of men.

  He touched the transmit button. “Hostiles, around three hundred and fifty meters behind a hillock on the south side of the highway.”

  The transmission went out on the platoon net, and Clifford’s voice replied. He didn’t sound like he was enjoying himself. “Stand by to halt the vehicles so we can evaluate the situation.”

  Eddie winced.

  Is that what they teach in West Point?

  He needn’t have worried. Dan was on it in a flash. “Negative, negative. Lt, if we stop, they’ll hose us down with machine gun fire, and we won’t even see them. There’s only one way to deal with these characters, and that’s to hit them hard. Get in close, and stuff as many rounds as we can into their throats.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “I’m damned sure. Anyone wants to live, follow me. Winston, hit it.”

  The hood tilted up as he floored the gas pedal, and right at that moment, an RPG rocket smoked away from up ahead, missing them by inches as it flew past and exploded harmlessly on the verge. Another rocket followed, and another. Suddenly, explosions and machine gun fire engulfed them.

  “Sarge, what do we do?” Winston asked, “That’s an inferno up ahead.”

  He replied with a single word. “Shit.”

  Chapter Five

  Eddie was still searching for a target, waiting for them to show themselves instead of firing from behind cover. He heard Sergeant Dan shout, “Keep to plan, hit them hard, before they wipe us out.” His patience was rewarded when a two-man machine gun team broke cover, believing they had the Americans beaten already.

  He aimed and fired, and a storm of .50 caliber bullets chewed them into blood and gristle. They were getting nearer, and he searched for another target. A dark shadow on the hillside looked promising, and he watched it for a couple of seconds; only shifting his gaze when he saw a bunch of hostiles moving closer to the road, obviously preparing for the final, devastating attack. He gave them a long burst, saw four men go down, and three others race back into cover.

  No more appeared, and once again he focused on that shadow. As they drew nearer, he managed to make it out, the entrance to a small cave.

  Where else would they be hiding?

  He was tempted to spray it with bullets, but he paused.

  Why let them know I’ve seen it?

  Besides, more targets had appeared. They were one hundred meters from the IED site, and suddenly, men poured out from either side of the road. He didn’t have time to count, but they were all over them, brutal-faced Afghans, their vicious faces screwed into hate-filled masks. The Americans fired and fired again. Bullets spewed from each of the four jeeps in the platoon, and men went down, but more replaced them.

  A turbaned hostile, his lips pulled back into a kill or die grimace, leapt onto their Humvee, and Eddie obliged him with a short tap from the M2, making the choice for him. Die. But more were climbing onto the vehicles. Others had rolled boulders into the roadway behind them, making any retreat impossible without clearing the blockade. But Dan didn’t want to retreat. They had a single option, and he took it, snatched the microphone, and hit the transmit button.

  “All of you get out of the vehicles and fight them. We can’t fight them from inside.”

  Clifford’s voice attempted a feeble reply. “I don’t think…”

  “Get out of the vehicles and fight them!” Dan roared.

  It was enough. Men flung open the doors and went into the attack, firing from the hip, and M4A1s blazed, some on full auto as they fought back. Eddie fired a last burst from the M2 at another group of turbaned insurgents moving in from the opposite side of the road. He put one hand on the edge of the cupola, using it as a support for him to jump down. He jumped down and stopped. The perspiring face of Lieutenant Baba was staring at him, and he was unbuttoning his bulky coat. What he wore underneath wasn’t calculated to keep him warm, unless going to the fires of hell counted the same.

  He wore a suicide vest, canvas pockets roughly sewn onto a sleeveless garment, and each pocket connected by wires to the other. The wires stretched into the sleeve of his coat, and in his left hand he held a small black plastic box. In his right, he held the butt of the AKSU, and the muzzle pointed at Eddie’s head.

  “Do not move, or I kill you.” It came out as, ‘kwill you.’

  “You’ll kill me if I don’t move,” he pointed out, “I assume that’s a bomb and not fancy dress.”

  He laughed, and the noise was like a faulty engine moving into a higher gear. “The bomb will finish those men not killed by our brave fighters. It is the will of God they all die.”

  “Uh, huh. The thing is, Baba, it’s not the will of God, it’s the will of the wrench.”

  His forehead furrowed in puzzlement. “The wrench?”

  “Right. This.” While he’d been talking he’d felt along the edge of the cupola with the fingers of his left hand until they wrapped around the handle. With his right, he pointed in the opposite direction. The Afghan’s eyes followed the movement. A classic misdirection, and he never saw the heavy steel wrench descend on his head. Hawkins didn’t pull the blow and delivered it with full force. The Lieutenant slumped unconscious, and he made a grab for the detonator button.

  Just in time, he snatched it away as the man’s fingers closed over it in a reflex movement, and he eased it away from him. Baba was groaning, and he hit him again, harder still, burying the wrench deep into his skull. This time there was no groaning. He wondered if he’d killed him.

  Maybe I did, but who gives a damn, the lying treacherous piece of scum.

  Gripping his M4, he darted outside the jeep, and he was in the middle of a whirling group of men fighting for their lives. There’d be no time to switch magazines, and he selected single shot and began putting down the enemy. Several times he felt the hammer blow of hits on his Kevlar vest, but sheer luck kept the bullets away from his vulnerable areas.

  A bearded man rushed at him, his blackened, rotting teeth bared in a snarl, and he fired a single round that slammed into him, yet he failed to go down. The next moment he’d closed with him, hands outstretched, and in one he held a knife. Eddie brought around the butt of the M4 and used it like a club. The guy flinched, and he hit him again. He was down on one knee, and quick as a flash he brought the rifle around and put a second bullet into him. It hit him in the center of the chest, a heart shot, and he went down. More were coming toward them, and something was driving them on, some fanatic urge to kill and keep killing.

  Something made him look up. He saw the cave he’d seen earlier, and the guy was screaming orders at them. With astonishment he recognized him, Lieutenant Colonel Hosseini. The guy had lied about the attack on Bagram, and now the worthless piece of goat crap was there, killing American soldiers. His incendiary shouts to kill and go on killing were having an effect and driving on his fighters. Which meant the most effective way to deal with them was to stop him.

  He’s the head. Cut off the head, and the body will die, but how? I can’t carry the M2 up there, and the bastard will retreat into the cave if I shoot at him from down here. I have to get in close, like they used to say, see the whites of his eyes. I can’t race up there carrying my M4 and hope it’ll be enough. It won’t.

  He gazed around, and his eyes fell on Baba. He’d pulled off the vest when he knocked him out, and it lay on the shotgun seat with the AKSU. An assault carbine, short, squat, and deadly, the perfect weapon for close quarters fighting. Without thinking, he picked up the suicide vest and detonator, grabbed the AKSU, and took off, heading for the cave. He hadn’t made it halfway when they saw what he intended. AK muzzles swung toward him, and the first bullets cracked out.

  The rounds slammed into his vest, and he stumbled. The gunfire was increasing in intensity as he reached the halfway mark, and he still had a long way to go. Ahead was the cave entrance, and behind the Humvee with the M2 poking out of the cupola.

 

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