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CHAPTER 16



Kyle and Wade were on their knees, then their feet. Kyle slung the rifle, grabbed his ruck, and waited in a crouch. Wade stuffed the scope into his pack, scurried back, and took a defensive position. “Move,” he said, and Kyle crawled back past him. Then Wade. Then Kyle. Gol gave them a triumphant grin and a raised fist as they passed his position.

The thrill didn’t last long. It was less than ten seconds before massive fire came their way—14.5mm Russian, or perhaps Chinese. Either way, it was heavy, aimed with skill and vengeance, and lethal.

Splashes of splinters came off the rocks around them, and for a moment, Kyle lost it. He saw a repeat of Bosnia, saw Wade dead, saw fire blowing around him and himself bound for hell with the next burst.

Then Wade grabbed his arm and pulled him, and he was back to normal. “Come on!” Wade shouted. “We’ve got cover fire, let’s move!” Then he lobbed a 40mm down into the square before retreating again. It was extreme range, but it couldn’t hurt, and might keep people’s heads down.

They ducked and crawled. The fire was heavy, but other than the one machine gun, it wasn’t very well aimed.

It struck Kyle just like that. These assholes can’t shoot for shit! It applied to both the enemy and his allies. They were enamored of long, raking bursts, but only the most experienced were using their fire wisely. To the untrained, automatic fire is better because it puts more lead out. But one crucial lesson in training is to see how widely a burst disperses after the first three rounds. A few minutes of angle leads to missing by yards, and that’s what was happening.

Still, it wasn’t fun to retreat while bullets lashed the hills around them. There were interspersed ear-shattering bangs from something larger, perhaps a recoilless rifle or grenade launcher. Hell, it might even be a small mortar. There was no telling what those jerks were firing, and the growing grayness, smoke, and dust made it impossible to look.

Nor did Kyle particularly care. He wanted out of there, and now.

He had no idea how they made it up to the ridge, but then they were over it and heading down. As they ran, he peeled off the ghillie. It had served its purpose, and was a hindrance now. He dropped it behind a rock.

At least the trip was easier than it had been with Qalzai’s morons. The terrain was better, and the troops knew how to retrograde. They were shouting, joking, cursing while they burned through three or four magazines each in the growing dusk. Give them this, they’ve got plenty of ammo, Kyle thought. Wade wasn’t firing at all; there were no targets. But he kept dodging past Kyle, low and fast, taking a position and covering him. No doubt, the man was professional. It might be his first time in a war zone, but he wasn’t panicking, wasn’t wasting fire, and wasn’t freezing. Kyle couldn’t have asked for a better spotter.

The slope of the hill was relatively gradual. They went down fast, but that meant the enemy would, too. There was no time to slack off. Every second of distance would improve their safety, and Kyle relished the pending ride in the trucks almost as little as he did the incoming fire. It was going to be brutal. But at least they’d bagged the right guy, and the Army’s part of the mission was done.

Surviving and extracting was nice for the troop, useful for the Army, but secondary to the mission. If he died now, the Army would give him a medal and a nice funeral, and that would be all. The men and women of the Army would do everything they could to keep him alive on the way out so he could be used again, but the Army as an entity was done for the time being.

Not that it mattered. Wits were what were going to keep them alive for that time being.

The trucks were waiting, their tailgunners watching the rocks and panning back and forth. They weren’t firing yet, and looked disappointed at the lack of targets. The drivers were waving and shouting.

Then Kyle and crew were skidding out on the scree slope at the bottom of the hill, and making a mad dash for the vehicles. At any moment, their pursuers might reach the peak and have a beautiful view straight down. It wasn’t reassuring. The armor value of these vehicles wasn’t enough to stop a BB gun, much less a 7.62 Russian round or any support weapon.

They leapt into the bed of the lead truck, Nasima clutching at their free hands while they tried not to crack her skull with the rifles. She shouted, “Penza! Shpag!” as they tumbled in. Gol was next, and she called, “Owa!”

Bodycount, Kyle realized. Then, “Ata!” as the last man came aboard. Five, six, seven, eight. Plus four on the trucks, plus Nasima. All accounted for. While Kyle was sorting that out in his mind, the driver nailed it.

He banged his head against the bed, falling on the rifle painfully. He stayed still for a few seconds, though the truck’s motion continued as it turned.

Once oriented, he rolled and twisted carefully among the feet and weapons, until he was on his back. The bouncing ride was banging his head repeatedly and painfully against the bed, and he tilted up quickly, then heaved himself to a sitting position.

He was just in time for the incoming fire from al Qaeda.

At this distance, with those troops, small-arms fire was of negligible import. However, someone had an RPG on the ridge, with a beautiful field of fire down at them, and someone else had a heavy machine gun mounted on a vehicle. A quick glance, in fact, showed three of them. It also showed the RPG round incoming in a blur, the setting sun a boiling halo behind it.

Luckily, it missed. The explosion was in the dirt to the right front of the vehicle, which meant they drove right through the debris cloud. The explosion was horrendous, even from thirty meters away, slapping at them and beating them. Dust and dirt choked the air, particles got in their eyes, and a few chunks of rock crashed down. One scratched Kyle as it crashed into the bed of the truck. Wade cursed as a smaller piece hit him, dislodging his hat. Luckily, the thick wool cushioned the strike. There were curses in Pashto, and several bangs as rocks pelted metal or glass.

But they were through that one. The driver braked hard, the truck nosed down and stopped, and the gunner aimed a burst up that way. The range was about 500 meters, but Kyle took advantage of the bare few seconds to snug up the rifle, wrap his arm through the sling, aim and squeeze. He had just fired when the truck started rolling again, the recoil merging into the forward momentum as if he’d moved it all by himself.

His shot was good enough; the RPG gunner staggered and dropped his weapon. His assistant scampered back from the cover he’d taken from the fire and scooped up the launcher. But by then Kyle’s crew were moving fast and the threat was greatly diminished.

The incoming fire from the machine guns, however, was getting closer. The men fired long raking bursts, but they had plenty of ammo and were walking the bursts closer. Even with the truck’s evasive maneuvers, they were going to hit sooner or later.

Then three more vehicles pulled into the chase.

“This is not good!” Kyle said. He leaned over the back to try a shot on the fly, hoping to damage a vehicle or driver enough to reduce the threat. Wade leaned next to him and started rapid firing, the shots synched to the vertical movement of the oncoming truck. It wasn’t made easier by the setting sun in their eyes.

One of them hit a radiator, and fluid sprayed. That vehicle wouldn’t be in this chase for long, but it was still driving at present. Also, when it stopped, it would be a stable platform to shoot from as soon as the gunner figured it out.

“Nasima, have us stop again!” Kyle yelled. He knew the word “wadrega” but not enough grammar to get anything substantial across. “I can hit better if we stop for five seconds,” he added.

She shouted, the driver stopped hard again, leaning Kyle and Wade backward.

“Get the gunner,” Kyle said. It had nothing to do with penetration. Contrary to folklore, 5.56mm rounds will handily punch through vehicle glass and metal. It did have to do with Wade being able to put out more fire against the gunners who could move easily, while Kyle would have only one shot against a driver who couldn’t dodge in the seat.

Wade said, “Gunner,” in confirmation, and they both settled down as the vehicle stopped. Kyle let the sights settle over the driver, squeezed, and watched a hole punch clean through the windshield. One. Above that, three rounds from Wade ripped through the gunner, tearing him and his clothes to shreds. Kyle cycled the bolt with his thumb, slipped it back in, and swung across at a second vehicle, just coming around the first. It was a larger, heavier truck, likely a Mercedes cargo hauler, but it still had a driver behind glass, and his snapshot was adequate, cracking the windshield as it entered at an oblique angle. He’d at least wounded whoever was in there, and Wade blew the second gunner’s head open a moment later. Then Wade leaned back and fired a grenade. It was extreme range, but the explosion couldn’t hurt and would make the enemy think twice.

Then they were moving again, the truck weaving and evading. It was that moment that the al Qaeda troops concluded they could use the same trick. They stopped, and the machinegun muzzles pointed dangerously.

“Duck!” Kyle said, gathering Nasima close and dropping flat in the bed. Wade was alongside in seconds, and their own gunner poured out a burst, empty cartridge cases and belt links bouncing and stinging over them. Gol had climbed through the missing back window into the passenger seat, and was shouting orders while he fired.

At least, Kyle thought, we don’t have any break in fire. Moving or stopped, we’re shooting constantly.

But they were outnumbered, and the pursuit was dogged. Kyle fought a moment’s panic. They were still alive, no mistakes had been made, and if they got shot, it would be because of the disparity of forces, not because of any errors he’d made.

A sharp bend in the road put solid ridge between them and pursuit for a moment, and shadow almost at once. Kyle heaved a sigh and then realized he’d been holding his breath. He inhaled deeply and said, “Sit up.” He checked himself over for injuries, then glanced over at Wade and Nasima. She was panting, but appeared unhurt, though disheveled and scared. She certainly put out heat, too, he thought. It had to be the exertion, because he’d felt the heat off her in waves. Wade was sweating and panting as he replaced his partial magazine for a full one. That reminded Kyle to slip another five rounds into the SMLE, thumbing them hard and tossing the clip. He had limited ammunition anyway; there was no need to worry about a fifty-cent metal spring.

“We need to split up,” Gol said. “We can attack them from the trucks if they dismount. Nasima should go with you. She will be safer.”

“Is it that bad?” Kyle shouted back.

Nasima nodded even before she translated Gol’s reply. “Yes. They will pursue us until they completely lose us or destroy us. They won’t be discouraged by casualties. If they chase us, you are safer, if they stop to dismount, we can attack them. You’ll have less pursuit, and so will we.” “Okay,” Kyle nodded. “You’re taking a hel . . . a major risk,” he said, wanting not to even get close to religion. He didn’t know the way the colloquialism would translate. “We appreciate it.”

“It is an honor,” Gol said. “You have shot well, and perhaps we can get rid of the rest of these dogs soon.”

“I’m not thrilled at the prospect, I have to admit,” Kyle said.

“I’d feel safer with you than chased by those thugs, Kyle,” Nasima said.

Gol made one last comment and she translated it. “Gol says he hopes we can meet again some day, and extends the hospitality of his village to you or any relatives. That’s a gesture of friendship, like a diplomatic offer.”

“Sounds like it,” Kyle said. Turning to Gol, he said, “Sta na shukria, de kuday pe aman, as-salam u alaikum.” He finished by hugging Gol and shaking with both hands.

“Out at the curve ahead,” Gol said. He snatched a ragged map from his old Russian pack. “It’s here,” he said, pointing at the approaching bend. The road turned back out from the ridgeline, and they’d be visible again.

“Right,” Kyle said. “How?” Were they going to roll or stop?

“We’ll stop for Nasima for a moment. We’ll drop any other gear as we drive off.”

It was a measure of trust and respect that Kyle didn’t think Gol would take the opportunity to abscond with the equipment.

“Good,” he said. “Wade, carry the prick,” meaning the PRC-119. Because trust aside, no SINCGARS encrypted radio equipment was left out of U.S. control. “We’ll head for that outcropping and up from there.”

“Got it,” Wade said, shouldering his ruck. He clutched the SMLE and got ready to bail. Kyle grabbed the M4, which he’d use for any needed cover fire, and his ruck could be dropped.

It was seconds only before the curve came up, and at a signal from Gol, the truck skidded with a roar of pebbles as the driver slammed the brakes. Nasima was lifted out quickly but gently by Gol and a man whose name Kyle had never gotten. Kyle was out the back and ready to shoot from a low crouch. Wade dropped over the side to his knees and stood. They sprinted off as the driver peeled out, throwing up dust to add concealment, Kyle detouring five feet to grab his dusty, tumbled pack. Kyle again noted the professionalism of these people as he shrugged into it. Give them some proper training in fire discipline and radio, good support and equipment, and they’d be a very competent force. The Special Forces should look into it. He made a mental note. He followed the others up the hill, and dove behind a rise as soon as he saw movement to his left.

Then Gol and his people were manning the machine guns on the racks in their vehicles. They were off in a noisy clatter of gravel on undercarriage and with much banging of metal.

But the pursuit knew they had split forces. While the fire from Gol’s crew was plentiful, the maniacal idiots weren’t being deterred. One truck stopped and spilled out men, then another.

“Shit, they’ve got radios!” Kyle said, seeing an old Russian rig.

“So we run and call the helos,” Wade said.

While the al Qaeda troops were bent on pursuit, they had to pause against the fire from Gol’s crew. One of his people fired an RPG round that took out a truck in a bright flash and bang. Taking the better part of valor, Kyle motioned for them to move low and fast up the hill, providing overwatch positions as they went.

“I feel like a rabbit,” he muttered as he passed Wade on one movement. He dropped the M4 in front of him.

“So find a hole,” Wade quipped back, voice low. There was fire down below, close enough to be a sharp reminder. He passed the SMLE over.

Kyle found a hole. There was a crevice in a rock that gave him excellent cover and field of view. He took it, and Wade and Nasima hopped behind the outcropping it was split from. Then he scampered farther up and slid behind a scraggly bush that wouldn’t stop a fart but would at least break up his silhouette. That let Wade and Nasima dart to a flat ledge and move back. Lying there, they were out of sight and protected.

“I think we may have lost them in the confusion,” Kyle whispered. He crawled past and took a position in a gully anyway. He was panting for breath already. He was still carrying about a hundred pounds of gear, and while he’d trained for it, it wasn’t a walk in the park.

“No, they are definitely split and definitely following us,” Wade said. There was movement down below, and occasional pot shots.

“Oh, that’s great,” Kyle said, and threw out a string of creative obscenities he hoped Nasima didn’t understand. It was bound to be considered sinful to a Muslim, he thought, entirely outside her experience, most likely, and he had no idea what she’d think of him for it. But dammit, it summed up his feelings.

“Yeah, well, if we can break a crest, you can call,’’ Wade said.

“Right,” Kyle said, patting his pocket where the cell phone was.

Where the phone wasn’t.

As Wade ran past, then Nasima, he clutched at all his pockets. No phone. He swore again, stood, and dodged. As he passed them, he said, “Unless it’s in my ruck, we don’t have a phone.”

“That falls under the heading of ‘sucks ass,’ ” Wade said to his back, as he slid behind more rock.

“Let’s get over the crest and look,” Kyle said. “But I’m sure it was in this coat pocket, and isn’t. Must be on the road down there.”

“Might as well be on Mars,” Wade said.

“Yeah.” It was true. There was no way they’d ever get down there. Damn, damn, damn.

“Well, we’ve got the radio. As long as the battery is good, we can call in clear,” Wade said;

“We were going to have to do that anyway. But they’ve got a radio, too.” Dammit, they needed that phone! It was the only reliable way to contact their support.

“Yeah. Sucks all around.”

“I don’t understand,” Nasima said as she slid in with Kyle.

“The radio encrypts the signal,” he said. “But we’re out of the net and not encrypted. We’ll have to transmit in clear. That means they can possibly hear us and possibly find us with theirs.”

“Oh,” she said.

Wade was in cover, and Kyle and Nasima skidded out and up. They were near a saddle, now, and could be over shortly. That would give them some time to seek better position. “Looks like a valley with a bend to northwest. Heading that way gets us closer to the border, and gives us tactical position.”

“Good,” Kyle said.

Nasima said, “I have an idea.”

“Yes?” Kyle prompted as they moved again. “Once you make contact, do you have anyone who speaks French?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, seeing where she was going. “Likely.” And it was unlikely that any of the enemy spoke French. “But I don’t know if we’ll be transmitting long enough for that to matter. They know who we are. Any transmission helps them.”

Suddenly, with a quick glimpse for trouble, they were over the saddle. The pursuers were temporarily stymied, but they’d likely have backup soon.

Kyle was surprised at how dark it had gotten. His eyes had adapted to the dusk, but it was now rather dark indeed. That was of use, as they had night vision. The AQ might also, but would have the harder job of finding people who wanted to stay out of sight. The hunters had to move. The prey didn’t.

Meanwhile, it was time to get backup. “Wade, get the battery in now.”

“Suits me,” he replied. “Means I get to drop my ruck.” He unshouldered it, opened the compartment and pulled out the radio. He opened up the compartment and set the battery. He slipped the blade antenna in place and fastened it. “Here goes,” he said.

He warmed it, set the frequency, and keyed the handset. “Bossman, this is Roadkill, over.” Nothing.

“Bossman, this is Roadkill, over.”

There was still no reply. “I don’t think we’re in range,” Wade said. “They’re rather far north. Even at this altitude, we have mountains in the way. Have to catch them as they come over the horizon, or else get someone to relay.”

“Right,” Kyle agreed. “Meantime, we walk. It’s only about forty kilometers to the border anyway.” Only. The terrain wasn’t inviting. He looked around at the steep shadows.

“I’m not sure this group will recognize that line,” Wade said.

“I’m sure they won’t. But it gets us closer to our people, away from them, and it gives us fresh air and exercise.”

“All in all, I think I’d rather sit on the couch and watch football,” Wade said.

“You do that,” Kyle said, smiling.

In moments, they were up and moving again. The only support they had at the moment was position and distance. It was time to make the best of both.

For now, they moved on. It was slow going in the increasing darkness, but while they had the advantage, they’d take it.

“Wade, let’s go to night vision. We can guide Nasima.”

“Roger that,” Wade agreed. They’d barely touched the NVGs. They had batteries to last a hundred hours.

“Going to be cold tonight,” Wade said as he snugged his goggles on his forehead.

“Yeah. Exercise will keep us warm. That’s what they taught me in basic.”

“Funneee,” Wade said.

“I am tired and hungry,” Nasima said. “And I need a toilet.”

“Er . . . behind the rock, if that’s okay. We’ll wait here. I have a few nibbles.” He tried to think what else he might have.

“So do I,” Wade said. “Though I doubt any of it is halal.”

“Under the circumstances, I think Allah will forgive me for eating unclean food. As long as it’s not pork.”

“Spaghetti with beef.”

“That will be fine. Thank you. One moment.” She slipped behind the rock to take care of business.

“Have we even bothered with GPS yet?” Kyle asked. It was a change of subject, and it was something he wasn’t recalling.

“No,” Wade said. “As far as maps and routing go, we’ve been fine so far. The batteries are good. Holler if we need them.”

“If . . . when we get hold of support, we will need it. I want to give them a good grid from which to start a search if we lose the radio.” There was no reason to actually lose the radio. But the batteries could fail. It might get shot. There could be other issues. After everything that had gone wrong so far, he was not optimistic. “Yeah. This mission isn’t getting any better.”

Nasima came back. “Thank you,” she said.

“No problem. It’s not my rock,” Kyle said. “Wade, quick break?”

“Yeah, in turns. Cover me.”

Kyle had been about to say, “Try not to get it shot off,” but decided not to. Nasima was at once very tough and easily embarrassed. He would keep the innuendos to a minimum.

Shortly, they were trudging again. Nasima seemed happy with the spaghetti, loaded with Tabasco. Wade had an extra entree he was sucking from the pack, and Kyle stuck to a couple of strips of his hoarded jerky and a handful of cookie crumbs. Anything that lightened their load now was a good thing. Though there was little they could abandon, and nothing they dared leave to be found.

The terrain was easy to handle when moving at a comfortable walk. It required some care when placing feet, but there were plenty of things to grasp for support. They moved downhill steadily, hoping not to have al Qaeda hop over the ridgeline and start shooting. For all they knew, they’d been observed, and artillery was about to start dropping on their heads. The technology gap between the U.S. and al Qaeda and the Taliban was substantial. But the gap between them and the two snipers was just as vast, and didn’t depend on technology, but brute force.

After hours of moving obliquely down into the valley, Kyle said, “It’s after oh one hundred. Let’s find a place to hole up for a couple of hours.”

“You think that’s wise?” Wade asked.

“No, but I think it’s necessary. We need a break. And Nasima isn’t complaining, but I think she’s about dead. Nasima?”

“Yes, Kyle,” she said. “I am too tired to go much farther.”

“Two hours?” Wade asked.

“Three. Ninety minutes for each of us. A solid nap, then back to it.”

“Okay. There’s a depression there. It won’t be visible from behind us.”

“Good enough,” Kyle agreed. He was so tired, he wouldn’t even notice the cold. It was promising to be in the thirties again. Forties, if they were lucky. It wasn’t that cold to people dressed and active, but the ground would suck heat out of people holding still. He wished now he still had the ghillie.

“My turn to sleep first this time,” Wade said.

“Sure,” Kyle agreed. He needed some time to think, anyway. About that damned phone. They could have been back on base by now. Should have been.

Maybe the enemy would assume so, and leave them alone. Though he wasn’t betting anything on that, either.

Nasima and Wade wrapped in blankets and dropped down. Kyle stayed standing, because he was afraid of falling asleep otherwise. It had been a wise decision to rest, he thought. He could barely avoid hallucinations as it was.

He was sure of that when he looked at his watch. It was ninety-seven minutes since they’d called time to rest. He’d passed the time and not even been aware of it, it was just a hazy blur behind him.

“Wade,” he whispered as he shook Wade’s shoulder.

“Yo,” Wade said, waking fast. “Got it.” He stood, took the weapon and stepped out. “Anything?”

“Nothing,” Kyle said. He dropped down, grabbed the blanket and rolled up. Nasima was very cute and very young-looking hunched down in her blanket. He started to move a rock that was jabbing him, and was asleep before he got hold of it.


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