Insurgency (9 page)

“The others have been what, hibernating?”

“Like Russian Bears in winter. The facility was designed by Dratshev to be impenetrable but this also made it a perfect tomb. Once it was sealed it became air tight, no living thing was able to survive in there. For The Vampires the lack of blood would have caused the survivors to fall into comas, comas which lasted until you Americans arrived.”

“I still don’t get why you want to stop them?”

“When a man is turned vampire, he generally takes on the blood lust of his sire. He may behave like him and adopt the same moral code. He loses himself. I am fortunate not to have gained the blood lust of Dratshev. You are not a murderer neither am I. These men are not like me, not like you. They are predatory animals; they have not survived for all these years by being polite and respecting others. They are cold blooded killers, they kill for the blood they crave but they also kill for sport. I have been with them when they have herded men like cattle into a pen and then taken their time to toy with them, tearing off a limb here, a head there. I have no qualms about killing every single one of them. This was not your fight but I am afraid that Dratshev will now be after you. You are the creature he has been trying for so long to create and he will stop at nothing until he has you chained to an operating table.”

Black shivered, not from the cold. His mind still tried to tell him this was all nonsense, the nonsense of a lunatic, but from somewhere inside a voice told him to listen. A voice told him that this was the truth, that he was a vampire. It was time to embrace the new. “So what do we do now?”

“We are going to sleep, it will be light soon.”

“In a cave?”

Krasnov laughed again, this time with humour. “We may be vampires but we are not savages. There is another hut that I use, it contains supplies and ammunition.”

“And then what?”

Krasnov looked Black in the eye. “We find Dratshev and we kill him.”

***

The gunfire had stopped as had the sound of men dying. The sound of trucks leaving had given way to an unnerving silence over Firebase Python. Hakim lay motionless under a pile of sandbags, his vision limited to an inch of star speckled sky. He did not know if anyone else had survived the Hadama attack. The sun would be his saviour, once its rays started to heat the earth around him he would move and he would escape. He felt like a coward but it had been the only way to survive, after Yusuf had been hit he played dead burying himself amongst the sandbags. As a teenager he had tried to fight back, had been made to watch as his parents were slaughtered before he had been flung off the side of a cliff. Only Allah himself knew how he had survived, but survive he had and vowed revenge. He had recognised some of the men who had attacked; they were part of the clan headed up by Ghulam Ali. The man whom in his twenties, had sided with the Russians against his own people rather than act as a warrior and drive them out of his lands. Once Hakim and Ghulam Ali had been friends, Hakim had seen him as an older brother a role model…his heart started to beat faster as he saw the sky lighten. He had long given up on his revenge but as he lay protected by sandbags his mind filled again with murderous thoughts. And then the sun seemed to explode into his vision. Hakim threw up his arms and rolled out into the open, he grabbed his AK and warily got to his feet. The vista that greeted him was chilling. The ground was littered with corpses, the buildings that still stood were splattered with blood and strike marks. Then he saw movement. A Taliban, a Hadama, he didn’t know what to call it, had spotted him. The Hadama ran out of the darkness of the medical shack. Hakim slowly raised his AK. One step, two steps, three steps four...then the Hadama faltered and slowed. It looked at its hand, smoke started to pour from it, and then flames leapt from the exposed flesh. The Hadama fell to its knees as more flames engulfed its body. A smile crossed Hakim’s bearded face. He walked past the burning abomination and saw another Hadama, still in the shade feeding at the neck of an American soldier. Hakim switched the selector on his AK to single shot, aimed and fired a round into the Hadama’s head. The Hadama toppled away from its prey and into the sunlight, head hitting dirt and then sunlight hitting head. Immediately the Hadama started to scream as flames engulfed its face. Hakim pumped two more rounds into the vampire and carried on walking. Now he started to hear screams from all directions. He stood in the middle of the base as figures on fire, Hadamas scurried into cover, attempting in vain to beat the curse. He knew that the rounds in his AK could not kill them but it would slow them and prevent any from escaping the sun. As the sun engulfed the entire base it replaced the shadow of night with the fiery death of dawn.

Dratshev watched the monitor linked remotely to the video camera. It was one of three cameras he had positioned strategically to record the attack, the aftermath and collect data. Dratshev had devised the assault plan with Ghulam Ali. The one hundred Taliban vampires to attack the base had been split into three assault groups. One that would lead a frontal assault and two that would attempt to flank the base. It was a very basic military tactic and not one that he would have chosen if he were commanding mortal men, as the casualty rate would be high. He had personal experience of such having witnessed it first with the Romans and then much later with Napoleon. But these were not mortal men, they were vampires and as far as Ghulam Ali was concerned they were unbeatable. However each group had been given a different infusion of vampire blood. One was the control group who had received normal vampire blood, the second and third received different combinations engineered with the aim of producing a vampire immune to sunlight. After the firebase had been taken a percentage of the men had been ordered to return to their own camp whilst an equal number of each group were to stay to maintain control of the Americans base. It was not a perfect test but the biggest yet that Dratshev had been able to mastermind. Roughly thirty vampires were still in the base as the sun came up, they had been told that a real Hamada is immune to sunlight, that the only vampires to burn in daylight were those of fiction. Now with the sun washing the firebase Dratshev watched intently to see which group lasted the longest. He noted, as expected that the control group, whom he had wear black waistcoats immediately immolated themselves by standing in the sun. Their deaths were quick but excruciating as they burst into flames. The second group wore green field jackets, as favoured by the late Lion Sheik Osama. Those that were outside too perished but at a much slower rate, a couple even managed to take cover and may have survived in the shadows but to Dratshev this was of no impart. The remaining group wore the traditional black Taliban turban without either jacket or waistcoat. This was the group that he believed would outlast the rest. He had not taken any pleasure in seeing both the American and ANA soldiers cut down to be fed upon, they were merely lab-rats. He had not expected to see anyone escape, yet he did see one Delta climb over the wall. How the man had done this he did not know but the man had shown highly developed combat skills and deadly speed. As he continued to watch he saw something else that did not make any sense, another figure with a Kalashnikov.

Hakim stood his ground. A couple of Hadamas had run at him, vaporising before they had taken two steps but now one was approaching him that seemed to be immune to sunlight. Hakim felt his pulse start to rise but not with fear. He placed his Kalashnikov on the ground then stood erect and retrieved his knife, he would take this one out like a man; he would prove again that he could beat them. The Hadama came within striking distance; teeth bared its left fist swinging up at his face – a giant haymaker from a drunken fighter. Hakim sidestepped and thrust his knife into the Hadamas neck. The Hadama swung both arms violently; Hakim lost his grip on the knife and was knocked heavily from his feet. He was winded. The Hadama now standing over him tugged the blade free of its neck and leered at him, it raised the knife…Hakim booted the Hadama in the side of the knee causing it to lose its balance and then sprang up on his haunches. Moving swiftly for a man of six foot five he launched himself at the Hadama in turn knocking it to the floor. He grabbed his knife and thrust it down to stab as a flame suddenly exploded from the Hadama’s right eye. Hakim rolled clear, up and back to his feet. A flame now shot from the left eye. The Hadama furiously rubbed at its eyes, its feet beating a death tattoo on the ground and then its entire body caught alight. Hakim stepped away and looked around. With the exception of the flames licking a dozen or so bodies he was the only living thing left in the base. Overhead he now heard the rotors of a helo and as he looked up he saw a Black Hawk approach. Hakim became prostrate and thanked Allah for his deliverance.

The dust-cloud kicked up by the Black Hawk made Hakim cover his eyes, as he did so two ropes dropped out of the helo swiftly followed by figures in digital camo fatigues. Immediately on hitting the ground they fanned out, HKs up and ready.

Hakim held his arms aloft and exhausted his knowledge of English. “Afghan National Army…no shoot… Afghan National Army…no shoot… Afghan National Army…no shoot…”

“On the floor!” The command came in Pashtun. “Hands behind your head.”

Hakim lay on his stomach as the Americans advanced. He was roughly flexi-cuffed before being searched. One Delta member stood watch over him as the rest searched what remained of the base. Looking visibly shocked the team leader pulled Hakim to his feet. He stared at the Afghan with incomprehension. “What the hell happened?”

Hakim answered with one word. “Hadama.”

Unknown Location, Afghanistan

Rockbridge expected to squint as he opened his eyes but found the outside world just as black. He opened and closed his eyes to try to make things clearer but he still saw nothing. In the complete darkness he heard breathing and craned his neck. Yes there was someone else with him. Gingerly he tried to move and found that his hands had been tied behind his back and that his feet were also bound. He twisted his legs slightly and heard a faint tap as the heel of his boot hit something solid. He moved his ankle again, again it connected. A thought then struck him. He had no idea where he was or who was holding him. He could not risk speaking. He would use Morse. He started to tap his heel:
.
….
_ .. … _ …. ._ _ ‘
W H O I S T H A T’

There was a moment of silence then a name came back also in Morse: ‘G I A N T . W H O Y O U ?’

Rockbridge tapped out his name.

“I am glad that both of you have remembered your training, my Morse is a little rusty which is why I have decided to use my voice.”

“Dratshev what in hell’s name is going on? Where am I?”

The Russian looked at the two hostages, the darkness to him nothing more than twilight. “You are now the esteemed guests of Ghulam Ali. If you do not make a fuss or attempt to escape, you will be traded back to the ISAF forces unharmed.”

“Shed a little light on this for me. Why did you snatch us Dratshev?” Gonzalez’s sarcasm cut across the cave.

“We had an agreement, which I had to honour.”

“Honour?” Rockbridge’s voice was laced with anger. “You disgrace your uniform and then speak of honour!”

“Yes Major, honour. Ghulam Ali upheld his side of our agreement. Now gentlemen I suggest that you both cooperate with your Afghan hosts, you are after all the only two survivors from your base.”

“What!” Gonzalez tried to stand.

“Oh, that it correct you were not aware. Firebase Python has been overrun and destroyed by Taliban fighters.”

“Impossible, my men and the ANA are more than a match for anything that the Talibs can throw at us.” Rockbridge bristled and waited for the Russian to reply but there was silence. He then felt rather than saw Dratshev leave as a slight gust of air moved across his face. Even though they were now apparently alone, neither Rockbridge nor Gonzalez spoke. Sensory deprivation was an effective form of torture, in the pitch black they had no way of knowing if they were truly alone. Another gust of air and then a fist connected with Rockbridge’s jaw, he sprawled sideways and fell onto Gonzalez. A pair of hands then lifted him clean off the ground and threw him. Rockbridge did not know when he would hit or if he had been thrown into a void. Before he had time to brace his right shoulder landed first causing him to gasp as his collar bone fractured.

“Major!” Gonzalez broke his silence then wished he hadn’t as a heavy boot made contact with the side of his head. Pin-pricks of light erupted in front of his eyes.

“What will you do with them?” Dratshev asked his host.

“Whatever I want.” Ghulam Ali eyes glazed, exhaled a cloud of smoke. “What would you do?”

“Eat them.”

The Afghan almost dropped his pipe before he pointed his finger at the vampire. “You joke. Come on Russian, tell me your ideas, what would the GRU do with such men?”

“Bleed them slowly for intelligence and then when they could tell us no more we would either trade them or forget them.”

“That is as I thought. I have a man, he has many metal tools that once were used to replace horseshoes and now are utilised to open mouths. They will talk.”

Dratshev nodded but did not agree. An American lead Hostage Rescue Team would be on its way. It would be implausible for Ghulam Ali or any of his men to survive. It may prove amusing to stay and watch the battle but he had had enough of Afghanistan. He did however have another idea. “You should make a film, setting out your demands.”

“Like the Lion Sheik himself?”

“That would draw attention to you as a great man. How many men have ever captured the Commanding Officer of an American base? None.”

“You are correct and remember I also have the leader of a Delta Force unit.”

“I am certain that both Mullah Mohammed Omar and Ayman al-Zawahiri would be extremely pleased with what you have achieved.” Dratshev could see the glint in the Afghan’s eye, the idea that he had planted. Humans were so easy to manipulate that he had almost lost all interest in doing so.