Insurgency (7 page)

“Untie me, Osman!”

Osman blinked and reached for his belt, doing it up as he continued to pull his pants up over his stomach. “You are a prisoner. You shall stay there until we transport you back to Kabul.”

ANA soldiers now poured out of their tent in various stages of undress, some wearing dirty white vests others in uniform shirts but all to a man clutching their shiny new M4’s funded by the international community.

Osman shouted at his second in command. “Yusuf, go to the command centre, see what is happening. Men take defensive positions on the wall!”

“Untie me you fool! I am the most experienced man you have!”

“Hakim you are a goat. Now keep your mouth closed or I shall have it gagged!”

Dratshev tapped Vaha on the shoulder. “Go.” The Chechen nodded and the Black Hawk lifted away from the firebase. Dratshev looked at the men in the chopper, two originals and two new ‘recruits’. The Americans would add new blood, new skills to the Brigada and would aid him in his quest. They would now take the hostages and give them to Ghulam Ali who would do whatever he wished with them to further his own cause.

The warning shots had gone unheeded; in fact the Talibs had returned fire. Jinks sighted the cross hairs on the lead Taliban pick-up and yelled. “Hammer time.”

A stream of lead, highlighted by evenly spaced tracer rounds tore towards the Toyota Hi-Lux. The front of the vehicle was ripped to pieces as the grill disintegrated. The fuel tank then went up in a fireball. Two flaming fighters staggered out of the cab and another two fell from the back. Jink’s eyes widened as he saw the fighters continue towards them on foot, AKs raised. He depressed the trigger and sent more .50 cal rounds into the insurgents. They went down hard, all but disintegrating under the heavy rounds. He then saw more vehicles emerging from the green gloom. As he swung his binos left and right, trying to make sense of what was happening Lieutenant Mullins joined them.

“A grenade has taken out the comms shack; we don’t know where it came from. We are being attacked on two fronts; I need you to keep the Talibs at bay until we can somehow get hold of air support.”

“Must be the friggin ANA.” Jinks growled; he’d never trusted the native army.

“Just keep the Talibs away.” Mullins took the steps down and made for the next watch tower. En route he saw Captain Osman and pulled him to one side, ignoring the fact that the Afghan out ranked him. “The comms are down. Are all your men accounted for?”

“Yes and as you see they are fighting!” Osman waved his arms expressively at the top of the blast walls. Mullins nodded and was about to speak when a round ripped his skull in two. Osman froze; the American’s blood sprayed his face. And then he too was hit. A round tore into his back. His legs buckled. Osman fell to his knees over the American’s corpse, he felt himself sway sideways and raised his arms to stop himself from falling but his arms would not respond, his arms would not move. His head lolled and he fell into the dirt, his brain blearily registering the impact before darkness enveloped him.

Hakim pulled at his chains as he saw Taliban fighters on the wall above Osman. They dropped into the firebase apparently immune to the impact of the fall and hurriedly searched for targets. Hakim heaved at his shackles but they would not budge. He let his head loll to one side and feigned death as two Taliban fighters came his way, one peeled off and into Osman’s tent. The other leaned over Hakim and prodded. Now was the time, a split-second to act. Hakim quickly raised his arms, wrapping the chain around the insurgent’s neck and pulled as hard as he could. This move should have at the very least rendered its victim unconscious but the Taliban dropped his AK and wildly grabbed at the chain affixed to his neck. He straightened up and tried to move away, the chain tightened but he pulled again and a link snapped. Both men fell forward and hit the dirt. Hakim landed half on top of the Taliban still holding the chain to his throat. The fighter bucked. Hakim was thrown sideways, his right arm reached the Taliban’s AK. He grabbed the pistol grip and pulled the trigger. On full-automatic a cluster of rounds exploded from the barrel and created a large hole in the fighter. Hakim got to his feet, and then saw the fighter move and his eyes open. At that instant Hakim knew that he had been right, he knew what he was facing and he knew what he had to do. He placed the Kalashnikov’s barrel against the Taliban’s neck and emptied the magazine. The rounds obliterated the neck, severing the head. Hakim had killed his first vampire for a quarter of a century.

“They’ve breached the perimeter!” Anders yelled as he saw movement along the blast walls. The next tower to them went silent.

Jinks continued to pick off targets with his heavy calibre rounds, but then he noticed something impossible. Some of the targets were getting up and continuing forward. He was hitting the trucks but the occupants seemed to be immune. He drilled more rounds into three Talibs, advancing in a tight group in what should have been tactical suicide. All three fell. One immediately stood up and continued on. And then the Taliban were within AK range. Uncontrolled rounds wildly spun in the night air, without tracer they were invisible to the naked eye. Then grenades started to fly. Anders and Jinks ducked as a metallic object arced towards their position. It exploded in the air behind them. Jinks raised his head, Anders did not. Jinks shook his comrade in arms. “Anders…Anders!”

“W...what?” Anders seemed concussed. “I...I’m fine.” He smiled weakly and then his mouth fell open with shock as a round from an AK tore away Jinks’ face. Anders scrabbled for the .50 cal when suddenly he was lifted and thrown from his firing position. He landed heavily outside the blast walls. He tried to move but couldn’t and then he was held aloft as a Talib with red eyes attacked his neck like a rabid dog. As Anders’ world dimmed the last thing he heard was a Black Hawk powering away from the base.

In the darkness far away Black heard what sounded like thunder, as colours started to swim in front of his eyes he realised that it was gunfire. Then another sound attacked his ears, screams. His eyes snapped opened he saw the two camp medics at the windows, using their rifles. He swung his legs from the bed and stood.

“Give me your side arm!” Black yelled at the nearest. Without complaint the pistol was tossed towards him.

Black left the medical shack. Something was very wrong. Uniformed bodies littered the ground. He could see Taliban fighters engaged in hand to hand combat with the firebase’s troop. But something was wrong. The Talibs were winning. A turbaned figure saw Black and headed straight towards him. Almost in slow motion, the Afghan loosely aimed his AK and started to spray on full automatic. Black retreated into the doorway as rounds impacted all around him. He paused counted to three and as the insurgent’s mag emptied he sprang back out from cover, pistol in a two handed grip and double tapped the Talib. Two holes appeared in the fighter’s chest and he stumbled. Black fired again and this time sent a further two rounds into the man’s forehead. The fighter dropped. Black advanced and grabbed the Afghan’s AK. It had two magazines taped together for quick reloading. Black pulled out the mag, spun it around and drove it back in. A hand grabbed his ankle and almost pulled him to the ground. Amazed, Black sent two more rounds, 7.62mm this time into the Talibs face turning it into a red mess. Black looked for his next target. He shot a second Talib in the back of the head causing him to fall from the roof of the nearest pre-fab. He advanced into the open, a foolhardy but necessary move. His base was under attack and he was not going to let it fall. In the open now he saw the true picture of the attack. The comms shack and several others were billowing smoke, each of the guard-towers were manned but the 0.50 cals’ had been made to point inwards and were picking off ISAF targets. Men fell and were instantly set upon by Taliban fighters who clawed at them like wild animals. To his left at the far end of the firebase a group of ANA soldiers had manned a Gimpy and were attempting to make a last stand, to the right he saw three American soldiers retreating tactically backwards in formation firing controlled bursts. Everyone else was dead. The base was lost. Black never thought he would die like this, cut down in his own base but he took a perverse pleasure in the fact that he would be going down fighting. He chose the nearest gun emplacement and charged towards it. Heavy rounds zipped over his head and then he was hit in the chest by something with the force of a sledgehammer. Black was lifted from his feet and slammed to the floor. He lay motionless for several seconds as he realised that he’d been by a 0.50 cal. That was it he was going to die. He moved his hands to feel the wound then looked at his fingers, dripping in his own blood. A white hot rage took over him, it masked the pain. He had no idea how he could, but he knew he could stand again. Pushing himself up Black ignored the fire in his chest and charged at the tower. He reached the rough-hewn steps and without pause took them two at a time. At the top he emptied his mag into the nearest Talib fighter and then threw himself at the second who was manning the .50 cal. The gunner fell sideways and Black pushed his thumbs deep into the man’s eye sockets. The Afghan screamed, arms flailing and then became still. Black pushed the corpse sideways and grabbed the heavy machine-gun. Lining up a target he fired. The heavy round tore the head from the shoulders of its target. “Scratch on more Talib!” Black muttered to himself before lining up the next insurgent. It was a target rich environment, but he knew his time was limited. Within seconds twenty fighters, some armed others not were heading his way. Black continued to fire, he felled the first two yet those behind stepped over the fallen and continued to come. Then a trail of smoke raced towards him. An RPG…Black threw himself sideways as the grenade impacted a meter from his position. The explosion was deafening, the shockwave contained within the wall horrific. Black couldn’t move and his hearing had gone. Then he felt vibrations, heavy thuds of boots. His entire body leaden he managed to sit as the face of an Afghan appeared above the steps, eyes wild, mouth open to show bloody teeth. Instinctively Black bared his own teeth and for a moment there was stillness then his hearing returned and so did his strength. He grabbed the fighter by the neck and hauled him up. With a power he had not known he possessed, he squeezed the man’s neck until he felt the cartilage buckle. Pulling the Afghan nearer he sank his teeth into the exposed neck and felt blood pour into his mouth. His victim thrashed wildly before becoming limp. This act had taken no more than five seconds yet it was enough for two more Talibs to appear at the top of the steps, both now leapt at him.

Hakim raised his head from behind a sandbag, the firing had slowed and the remaining Taliban had moved away from his position. On either side of him dead ANA soldiers lay, they were the brave ones who had chosen to fight or the lucky ones whose lives had been extinguished by a bullet and not the jaws of a Hadama. He was one of only two left. The other ANA soldier to survive was Yusuf. “Now do you believe my camp fire stories?”

Yusuf nodded. He had seen the Hadama for himself. “We must tell Kabul, we must alert the rest of the army!”

“How?” Hakim glanced at the young officer. “We have no communication equipment and if we move they shall slaughter us. What we must do is to stay low and prey to Allah, peace be upon him, that these affronts to Him leave us. It is three hours to daylight then we shall be safe.”

“OK.” Yusuf nodded his assent to the older and far more experienced soldier. “But what drew them away?”

Hakim said humourlessly. “Perhaps they have found some more American beef to feed upon?”

Black ducked the blade that swung violently at his neck and at the same time stepped into his attacker. Black grabbed the wrist with his right hand and with his left hand he used an open palm strike to the elbow to shatter the joint. The Talib screamed and before he could react further Black grabbed the knife and slit the man’s throat. As the Talib fell to the ground the second Talib dived for his comrade’s neck, not in an attempt to save him but to feed from him. The steps were now blocked but it would be only a matter of seconds before more Talibs swarmed his way. Like lemmings headed towards the edge of a cliff they would not be deterred. He moved towards the .50 cal and saw that it was now no more than a heap of twisted metal, fused together by the heat of the RPG round. He stood up straight and willed a round to enter his flesh but the base was now in an unnerving silence. To his right he saw movement, two figures crouching behind a hastily arranged pile of sandbags and to his left he saw a solitary US soldier with his standard issue M4 carbine. Black slapped his cheeks and snapped himself out of his immobility. He was now more determined than ever. The American would survive, and so would he. Black dropped to his haunches and then springing forward like a sprinter, launched himself off of the wall and towards the compound floor ten feet below. He landed with a thud but somehow managed to keep moving, keep running. Behind him the Talibs were taken by surprise and momentarily did not follow. Black kept his head down and like a linebacker barrelled two Talibs out of the way who were making for the American. He could now see the eyes of his countryman, wide with fear as he neared him. The American raised his rifle and fired, the round just missing Black’s left ear, a second round swiftly followed. A Talib appeared between them. The American had missed and now he was out of ammo. He swung the rifle wildly as the Talib grabbed his arms, and then Black was on him. The Talib was forced into the dirt, Black reached down grabbed the head twisted it and tore it away from the body. Arterial spray bathed his face.

“Y…your SIX!” The American yelled.

Black spun as an AK round hit him in the left shoulder. The full focus of the remaining Talibs was now on them. Black swore. They couldn’t win, they wouldn’t live. Another round hit him and he staggered. The American next to him fell, screaming, dying. A third round caused Black to drop to his knees. This wasn’t how he was going to die; again he stood without knowing how and stared directly at an ugly, red-eyed knife wielding Talib no more than a meter away. The Talib bared his teeth then suddenly jerked left as a round entered the side of his skull. Controlled bursts from an AK felled three more Talibs in quick succession. Black picked up the knife and attacked a further fighter. Around him the Talibs scattered as more and more of them were taken out by AK rounds. As they retreated Black looked up and saw the Ukrainian, Krasnov standing on the blast wall with an AK 47.