PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (19 page)

Rostam couldn’t see the effect his words had on Saneh, her free hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles white. “Yes, Sir.”

“If the opportunity arises, I want you to seduce this Fischer, whoever he is. Gain his trust. You can use the information about the nightclub if you need to.”

“Then what, Sir?”

“If this team recovers the chemical, we’ll use our strike team to snatch it from them.”

“Sir, if MI6 is successful, then isn’t the mission complete? The Guards will have been denied their goal?”

“No. I want that weapon, Saneh. I don’t expect you to comprehend this, but that weapon is the key to MOIS finally taking the position it deserves.” Saneh noticed the fanatical edge creeping into Rostam’s voice. “The Guards have had their day in the sun, now it is our turn.”

“Yes, Sir. I was planning to go to the nightclub. Do you want me to contact Dostiger directly?”

Rostam pondered the proposition. “Yes. Let him know we’re back on the market for a nuclear warhead. It might give him the opportunity to look for a better deal than the contract with the Guards.”

“What about MI6? Do you want me to let Dostiger know Fischer is onto him?”

“Do you listen at all, Saneh? Fischer’s going to work for us. We need him to succeed, not fail.”

“Yes, Sir. Of course.”

“Report to me at 2200 your time tomorrow. Oh, and Saneh –– ”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t mess this up. There won’t be a second chance.” Rostam terminated the call.

Saneh folded her phone and slid it back into her pocket, slumping into the back seat of the Toyota. This mission wasn’t going at all how she had planned it.

Chapter 33

Khod Valley

Mirza and Ice were were powerless to stop the Taliban from exacting a heavy toll on the soldiers trapped in the valley. They’d managed to claim a few kills but their precision fire was ineffective against the fortified enemy positions.

It had been over twenty minutes since the ambush started and the weight of fire had barely decreased. The Taliban were focusing their mortars on isolated groups of Afghan Army soldiers, forcing them to move from cover, then mowing them down with machine guns. Over half of them lay dead or wounded and most of their commanders had been killed in the initial onslaught. Without leadership there was little they could do other than cower in what cover they could find. They clung to the earth, seeking refuge from the death that lashed them from high on the valley wall.

Ice watched them through his scope, willing them to fight back. He ejected the empty magazine from his assault rifle, replacing it with another twenty-round clip. Within seconds the weapon was nestled back in his shoulder and he fired five rounds at one of the machine gun pits on the other side of the valley, blowing chunks of rock off their defenses. The barrel of a machine gun was sticking out of a small gap, firing steady bursts of lead down into the valley. Ice leveled his cross hairs on the weapon and squeezed off a single shot. Half a second later he saw a puff of dust as the round ricocheted off the rock.

Ice closed his eyes. Breathing out fully, he opened his eyes, aligning the cross hairs on the target. He waited for the camouflage netting that covered the Taliban position to sag as the wind lulled, then squeezed the trigger. The barrel of the machine-gun flashed as his round smashed into it, silencing the weapon.

“Ice, this is the Pain Train. We’re two minutes out,” Mitch’s voice came in loud and clear over the radio.

“’Bout time, guys. Texas 1-3 is getting seriously fucked up down here,” Ice replied, his usual calm drawl replaced with a hint of urgency.

“Sorry, my good man, refuelling at Kandahar was slow.”

“Do you have all the targets?”

“Roger, plus I’ve tagged a couple of extras. I now have seven targets, five bombs each.”

“Give me everything you’ve got. Kill ‘em all.”

***

The Pain Train came in hard and fast. Mitch had already programmed the thirty-five Viper Strike munitions with their GPS coordinates. Each one would deposit just over five pounds of ‘enhanced blast’ explosives directly onto their designated targets. Compared to conventional bombs, 175 pounds of explosives was insignificant, but when every individual warhead was landing simultaneously and with precision, the effect would be devastating.

“We’re thirty seconds out. You clear of the ramp?” Mitch asked the loadmaster over the intercom.

“Roger. Bombs are on the ramp. I’m all clear.” The loadie had moved the Viper Strike weapons pod to the back of the ramp. When Mitch fired the bombs, a small charge would launch each one clear of the aircraft in a single wave of ordnance. Like hounds on the scent of a rabbit, they would home in relentlessly, their GPS smart chips guiding them to their targets.

Mitch was watching the enemy position through the Pain Train’s targeting pod located under the aircraft’s nose. On his screens he could see the release point rapidly approaching. “Twenty seconds out,” he stated as the pilot made a few final adjustments to their approach.

“Ten seconds.” Mitch armed the bombs with a click of his mouse; 175 pounds of explosives were now live and ready to drop. His finger hovered over the enter key. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, bombs gone.” The Pain Train shuddered slightly as the pod launched all thirty-five bombs simultaneously. Mitch watched emotionlessly as the warheads descended upon the Taliban positions.

***

Captain Kev Daley didn’t notice the small silhouette of the Ilyushin-76 aircraft high above him and hadn’t heard anything more from the Nemesis call sign. His men had reported a sniper engaging the enemy and he knew someone friendly was still up there. Without that suppressing fire, he had no doubt that all of his Afghans would be dead by now, massacred in the dusty corridor of death that stretched out in front of him.

Out of the twelve Green Berets in his detachment, Kev only had six still capable of fighting. One was dead, the remainder wounded or out there somewhere in the ambush zone. To make matters worse, he still couldn’t raise his headquarters for any air support. 

Kev was lying on a rocky mound in front of the last functioning Humvee. As it launched another volley of grenades, he raised his M4 assault rifle and steadied it on a rock, firing off a few rounds. Next to the heavy thump of the big automatic grenade launcher, it sounded like a firecracker. The nearest enemy were over 800 meters away and his rounds were barely able to make the distance. He felt totally helpless; his men were dying and there was nothing he could do. Kev ducked as machine gun fire bounced off the armored truck, the rounds ricocheting into the dust.

Kev had fought the Taliban numerous times during his three tours of Afghanistan but never had he come up against such a well-trained and equipped enemy. He shook his head at the hopelessness of the situation.          To his front he saw two of his Afghans dash across the open ground as the enemy machine gun fire lapsed. The two Afghans sprinted towards the Humvee, desperately trying to escape the engagement area. Kev fired a few single shots from his carbine in an attempt to cover their movement. In response a machine gun opened up along the ridge, the distinctive sound of a
PKM
firing a ten-round burst. Kev watched in horror as the two men were cut down, their bodies riddled with bullets.

With a scream of frustration, the Green Beret leapt to his feet, scrambling to the top of the mound of sand and rocks that protected him from the enemy gunfire. Another burst of machine gun fire laced the dirt around the dead Afghans, the ricocheting rounds zipping past his head.

“FUCK YOU! C’MON, FIGHT ME, YOU BASTARDS,” he screamed as he brought his rifle up to his shoulder, pumping round after round in the direction of the enemy. The gunner in the Humvee joined him, thumping away with his grenade launcher. Within seconds the rest of the team were standing side by side with Kev, screaming at the tops of their lungs, blazing away in fury. Their rounds impacted uselessly on the distant slope while the Taliban positions continued to fire. Suddenly, in a blinding flash, the enemy disappeared, a dozen plumes of dust forming a cloud that blocked out the hillside.

The men on the crest stopped firing, looking at each other with disbelief. A second later a thunderous shock wave ripped through them, dust and grit pelting their bodies, forcing them to turn and take cover behind the small mound. The noise was deafening, like a storm cloud had broken directly over them. As the wave of violence passed, it was replaced with an eerie silence.

Kev gathered himself from the bottom of the small slope, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. He cautiously made his way back up to the top of the mound where the rest of his men were back on their feet.

“Goddamn! They’re fucked, boss.” Jimmy pointed up at the enemy positions. The hillside was covered in smoking craters.

“That’s a truckload of bang,” Kev muttered.

“Boss, look!” Jimmy pointed skywards, almost directly above them. The dark outline of what looked like a military transport could be seen banking around hard. “I bet that’s a pain train!”

“Looks like a Russian transporter to me,” Kev responded.

“Well, it did a good job on the towelheads,” said Jimmy, stuffing another wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth.

“Hey, look out!” One of the men pointed out a tiny dart shooting up from the top of the valley. They all recognized the distinctive spiral smoke trail as the missile locked onto the lumbering aircraft. Every one of the battle-hardened Green Berets held their breath. Was a Taliban missile about to destroy their savior? The big craft seemed oblivious to the missile until suddenly it banked, harder than any transporter should have been able, and plummeted directly towards them, spitting flares back from under its wings like some kind of mythical creature. The missile overshot the Russian plane, exploding into one of the decoys.

Still the aircraft ploughed onwards, a line of oily smoke trailing it. “Shit, it’s going down,” shouted Kev. It screamed overhead, throwing a wave of dust over the men. They shielded their eyes with their arms, bracing for it to slam into the earth. Just as it seemed the jet would slam into the valley floor, it gained altitude and thundered over a ridgeline, disappearing from sight.

The Green Berets cheered, pumping the air with their fists and slapping each other on the back. Whoever was flying the big jet had just saved what remained of their unit and completely destroyed the enemy force that had ambushed them.

“Alright, mount up. Our boys are wounded out there,” Kev ordered. He was already back on the job at hand. The men scrambled to the remaining Humvee and the two Afghan pickups. They needed to move fast if they were going to save lives.

As the vehicles raced into the engagement area, Jimmy was busy on the radio.

Kev looked back from the front seat of the Humvee. “Jimmy, how’s the comms?”

“Yeah, boss, HQ just came on net. They got two birds inbound for Casevac.”

“You warned them of the missile threat?”

“Yep, they’ll be coming in low and fast! Sixty minutes out.”

An hour was a long time and Captain Kevin Daley knew more of his men were probably going to die of their wounds before they were evacuated.

***

Back on the Pain Train, Mitch was running diagnostics on the aircraft. Shrapnel from the surface to air missile had damaged one of the four engines, reducing the aircraft’s power and causing it to leak hydraulic fluid. The situation was critical. If they continued to lose hydraulic pressure, the controls would fail and the aircraft would crash. His fingers flashed over the keyboard as he attempted to isolate the problem.

“Come on, old girl, come on,” he murmured to himself. “Bingo.” Mitch isolated the hydraulic leak, restoring full control to the pilots.

One problem solved, he moved to the next, breaking the news to Ice. “Ice, this is Pain Train. We have just taken evasive action from a missile attack.”

“Ice here. No shit! You just barreled past me fifty feet off the deck. By the way, you’re trailing smoke.”

“Yeah, we’ve sustained damage, returning to Kandahar. I’ll let you know when we’ll be back on-station.”

“Roger. Job well done. Target is a smoking hole.”

“Always a pleasure, lads. Once again Pain Train delivers the goods, toot toot,” Mitch said with a grin.

“Saved my ass again.” 

“Buy me a beer when you get back. In the meantime, how about you zap those rocket jockeys before we come back to play? You get a fix on their position?”

Mitch knew they had been very lucky to evade the missile without suffering more serious damage. The aggressive flying of the PRIMAL aircrew had saved them but Mitch did not want to tempt fate again.

“Yeah, we saw where the missile launched. Shoudn’t have any problems finding them,” Ice said.

“Alright, good luck, chaps.”

“Stay safe, Pain Train. Ice out.”

Chapter 34

Khod Valley

The harsh metallic taste of blood filled Khalid’s mouth and his ears rang. Despite the pain, he smiled. He knew his body was battered, but he was alive. Somehow he had been thrown clear of his pit when the bombs had exploded around him. “They will pay dearly for that,” he said to himself. “It is Allah’s will that I live to fight another day.” He knew it was not his destiny to die in battle. He would die an old man surrounded by his wives and the sons that would continue his legacy.

Khalid slowly pushed himself up from the ground and on to his feet, cynically surveying the damage from the strike. Each of his positions was a smoking hole in the ground. The charred bodies of his men looked like the battered corpse of a goat after it had been trampled under the feet of horses in a game of
Buzkashi
.

Death was nothing new to Khalid. He had seen worse and lost better men. It was facing the wrath of Khan that worried him; he had failed his master. Now only a ragged bunch of regular Taliban stood between the Americans and Khan’s extraction site.