Firefight (15 page)

'The village gets its electricity from a generator,' Ismail
whispered. 'But it can only supply electricity for a few hours
a day. They have switched it off now.' He pointed in the
direction of the building in front of them. 'That is where
the generator is kept.'

'We'll head there,' Will replied. 'It's a good place to leave
you.'

They moved towards the generator building. As they
approached, Drew and Kennedy crept around each side,
guns at the ready, to check no one was standing guard. As
soon as the place was clear they signalled for the others to
approach.

The snow in front of the entrance to the generator was
well trodden, but now that the electricity had been turned
off for the night it was unlikely anyone would come back
here, so it would be safe for Ismail. It was difficult to make
out in the heavy snow, but the village ahead of them looked
much as Ismail had described it - not too big, maybe 200
buildings crudely created from some kind of breeze block.
The roofs were covered in snow and there was, of course,
nothing in the way of street lighting.

'Ahead of you is the main square,' Ismail told the unit as
he pointed away from the building. 'Most of the dwelling
places are along the west and the south sides of it and I
think it unlikely that anyone will be held prisoner in that
area. On the far side are some other buildings - a schoolroom
and various run-down shacks. I think you will find
that a more profitable place to start searching.'

Will nodded. 'Get inside,' he told Ismail, 'and stay out of
sight.'

'You will come and find me?'

'When we've done what we need to do, yes.'

Ismail bit his lip. 'And how long will that be, do you
think?'

Will glanced towards the village. 'As long as it takes,' he
replied. 'But if we're not back in half an hour, you can
assume something's gone wrong.'

'And what do I do then?'

'Fucking run for it,' Kennedy said, tersely. 'And hope the
X-rays don't feel like chasing.'

Ismail looked at the SAS man as though he could not
work out if he was joking or not. 'What are X-rays?' he
asked, his simple question betraying the total innocence
that marked him out as being totally unsuitable for this
situation.

'Enemy combatants,' Will said, quietly. 'But don't worry
about it. We'll have them covered.' He gave the scared
Afghan what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then handed
him his Sig 230. 'In case you need it,' he said. 'Good luck,
Ismail.'

Ismail took a deep breath. 'Thank you,' he replied, before
slipping quietly inside the generator room, leaving the fourman
unit outside.

'Thank God we've ditched him,' Kennedy muttered, and
it was true. Will might feel sorry for the guy, but it was a
relief to be on their own. They had needed Ismail to get
them this far, but from now on a man who gibbered at the
sight of a firearm was only going to be a hindrance. Silently,
they removed their NV goggles from their packs and placed
them over their heads. Will blinked as his eyes adjusted to
the sudden, green-tinted clarity. Ahead of them was a cluster
of single-storey dwellings; from most of these places he
could see smoke curling from the chimneys - clearly the
inhabitants of the village had fires in their humble houses
to keep away the chill. It suggested to Will that not many
people would be about.

A sudden howl filled the air - a dog, probably, scavenging
around the village. The sound seemed to echo over the
snow-covered plains. Will hoped for the dog's sake that it
didn't come across any of them. They wouldn't be able to
risk it alerting anyone else to their presence, so their only
option would be to put a bullet in its head. The dog howled
again. It was eerie, like this whole fucking place. The sooner
they could get out of here, the better.

He nodded at Drew and Kennedy, who took the lead,
skirting around the back of the crude, box-like dwellings,
while Will and Anderson aimed their Diemacos forward,
ready to take out anyone who caught sight of them. But
so far they had seen no one. There was nobody outside.
There was nothing to suggest their arrival had been clocked.

Drew and Kennedy stopped, pressed their backs against
the wall of one of the buildings, then gave Will and Anderson
the cover they needed to advance. They continued in this
way, silently, for a couple of minutes until the dwelling
places started to thin out. Up to their left, fifty metres away,
they could see the larger buildings Ismail had mentioned.
There was movement here, men standing outside carrying
guns. Overt security. It looked hopeful.

'We should attack from both sides,' Anderson breathed.

Will addressed Drew and Kennedy. His voice was tense.
'You two, stay here. We'll skirt round to the other side.
Once we're there, take them out.'

'Roger that,' Kennedy replied.

Will and Anderson waited until they were sure the guards
were not looking their way, then ran to the back of the
large building, confident in the knowledge that if anyone
saw them, Drew or Kennedy would nail them in seconds
- and at fifty metres they would be sure of hitting their
targets. Once there, they peered around the other side. There
was a large concrete building with a corrugated iron roof
on the north side of the village. Standing outside it, rifles
in hand and surveying the surrounding countryside, were
two men. In front of them was a metal bin, flames flickering
from the top. The snow around it had melted. They
did not seem to want to stray far from the warmth of that
fire and Will didn't blame them.

It was instantly clear to both SAS men that they would
have to take these guys out if they wanted to alert Drew
and Kennedy to their presence here and a cursory nod
between them was all it took to establish that this was what
they were going to do.

They raised their rifles, got the targets in their sights and
fired. Their suppressed weapons let out two almost silent
shots as they doubled-tapped each of their targets. Two
head-shots: they fell immediately.

Will didn't even see them hit the ground. Once they
were neutralised, his attention had to be elsewhere. He
edged round the corner of the building and looked back
towards the area where they had left Drew and Kennedy.
His NV illuminated all the dwellings they had sneaked
behind, he could see the snow-covered square in the middle
of the village and the two guards in front of the main
building were in plain view.

But he couldn't see the two SAS men.

He gave it thirty seconds. Still no sign.

'Shit,' he whispered. 'Where the fuck are they?'

As he spoke, Will turned round to look at Anderson. He
was facing Will, the butt of his weapon still dug firmly into
his shoulder, ready to take on anything that came at him.
What he wasn't ready for, however, was what came from
behind.

The instant Will saw the three Taliban fighters approaching
from behind the building, he raised his gun to fire.

Anderson inclined his head slightly - it must have looked
to him as though Will was aiming the weapon in his direction.
The surprise was not allowed to register for long,
however, because within a split second the sound of gunshot
filled the air and Anderson hit the ground, a bullet lodged
firmly in the back of his skull.

'Anderson!'
Will roared. The situation had gone noisy now
and there was no need for silence. His stomach was turning
over as he realised that his partner had just been nailed.
Sheer rage descended on him and on instinct he started
pumping bullets into the Taliban who had just killed
Anderson. Two of them fell, then a third. For a moment all
thoughts of the mission left Will's mind - he just wanted
to kill these people.

But suddenly they were swarming around him - four of
them, maybe five, all armed, all pointing their guns directly
at him. His weapon was knocked from his hands and landed
with a clatter next to Anderson's still-warm body.

Instantly they were upon him, smashing the NV goggles
from his face, beating him with their guns and then, when
he was on the ground, kicking him brutally in the stomach
and the head until he was helpless with the pain. Finally,
he felt himself being dragged to his feet and pulled out
towards the central square.

Drew and Kennedy were there too, captured, their hands
bound behind their backs and their NV goggles ripped
from their faces. They looked stunned. And well they might.
It had all happened so quickly and none of this made any
kind of sense. They had approached in darkness; they had
kept out of sight; the mission had barely even begun and
nobody in the village could have known that they were
coming.

Nobody, Will realised with a sickening lurch in his
stomach, except one person.

As he was pushed roughly towards Drew and Kennedy,
his eyes scoured the groups of bearded Taliban extremists
who had congregated to witness the capture of the SAS
unit. He knew who he was looking for and he saw him
soon enough.

Ismail was standing on the corner of the square, flanked
by two Taliban men, both considerably taller than him. One
of them had a deep scar on his lower lip. Ismail hadn't been
roughed up; he hadn't been bound. As Will's eyes met his,
he gazed at him expressionlessly.

Then, unable to keep up that stare for long, the young
Afghan's eyes fell to the ground. He turned and wandered
off, alone, through the door of a small hut in the shadows
beyond.

The brutality that their Taliban captors inflicted on them
happened in a blur. Hugely outnumbering the SAS men,
they seemed to take pleasure in kicking and beating them
to a pulp. One of them struck Will so hard on the forehead
with the butt of his gun that blood streamed down
over his eyes, stinging them and blinding him. Only when
the three of them were bruised and battered almost beyond
recognition did they hear a man bark a single word that
they didn't recognise. Immediately the beating stopped.

Held at gunpoint, their hands were tied behind their
backs with lengths of roughly made rope.

'It was that fucking informant,' Kennedy gasped under
his breath as they were being tied up. 'He sold us down
the fucking river.'

'I know,' Will said, quietly. He glanced over to the corner
of the square to see if Ismail had reappeared, but there was
no sign of him. For now they had other things to worry
about. Their Taliban captors began talking harshly to them
in Pashto, jabbing them with guns and pushing them in the
direction of one of the buildings they had been trying to
storm. The three of them were marched through the main
door and into a dark room. Their packs were taken from
them and the door was locked from the outside.

The moment they were alone, curses started to fly around
the room - most of them from Kennedy and most of them
aimed at Ismail. 'Little raghead bastard!' he fumed. 'All that
bullshit about his wife and kid. Anderson was right about
the fucker all along.' The fact that his face was cut and his
body was bruised seemed to worry Kennedy far less than
Ismail's treachery. Will, too, was less concerned about the
physical injuries that had been inflicted on him, choosing
instead to feel his way around the dark room, searching for
a way out.

As soon as Anderson's name was mentioned, however,
they all fell silent. What a great Christmas present for his
family back home this was going to be. They wouldn't even
have a body to bury - just a plaque somewhere in St
Martin's, Hereford, and a few kind words from someone in
authority. Will tried to put from his mind the thought that
must have been going through the heads of Drew and
Kennedy too - that unless they experienced a sudden and
remarkable change in their fortunes, that plaque in St
Martin's would be joined by three more.

The door opened and they were blinded by the light of
a couple of torches shining in on them. A man walked in,
his body silhouetted in the doorway. Will could tell that he
was aiming a gun in their direction.

This is it, he thought to himself. Strangely, he found he
didn't much mind the idea of his impending death. All he
felt was a vague sense of remorse that he would not be laid
to rest alongside his wife and daughter.

The man spoke. Slowly and in deeply accented English,
he addressed the SAS soldiers.

'You were foolish to come here.'

No one replied.

'Your friend is dead,' he continued. 'At first light, his body
will be dragged to the outskirts of the village. The wild
animals will be glad of it. The rest of you have until dawn
to consider the grave insult you have inflicted on Islam in
coming to this place. Then you will be executed and you
will join your friend.'

Without another word, the man stepped backwards into
the darkness and the door was firmly locked once more.

'Happy fucking Christmas to you, too,' Kennedy said,
under his breath. But there was no mirth in his voice.

Their room was windowless and pitch black. In the darkness,
Will edged towards the door. Standing with his back
towards it, he gave it a rap with his bound hands. It sounded
solid. There was no way they'd be able to break that door
down, not in these conditions.

It was freezing cold, too, although their snowsuits offered
them some protection. The cold wasn't their biggest worry,
though. The chilling words of their Taliban captor rang in
Will's head.

They were stuck in this place.

There was no way out - not even for men of their ability.

All they could do was wait until sunrise and the horrors
that it would bring.

*

Her feet were ravaged by the branding she had received
earlier. She would have had difficulty standing up, even if
she had wanted to. Instead, she remained huddled on the
cold, hard ground, foetus-like.

She was beyond hunger now. Her stomach, which for
days had shrieked at her to satisfy it with food, had withdrawn
into a dull ache that seemed always to be there. Her
exhaustion caused her to exist in a semi-drowsy state, somewhere
between sleep and wakefulness, a half-coma from
which she was only roused when they came in to question
her or to inflict more brutality upon her person.

But suddenly, from outside, a noise caused her bruised
eyelids to flicker open. A gunshot rang out through the air,
the harsh bang sending a shock through her as if she herself
had been shot.

And then there was a voice: '
Anderson!
'

The woman blinked. The name meant nothing to her,
but the voice that shouted it did.

It was English.

She had not heard any foreigners in this village. It was
full of ordinary Afghans and the brutal Taliban insurgents.
No British or American troops, as far as she could tell, had
come this way. Not in this weather.

Until now.

A tiny flame of hope sparked up within her and like a
small candle in a dark room it seemed to bring warmth
and light.

But as quickly as she was filled with hope, it drained back
out of her again as she heard the harsh voices of her captors.

'Bind his hands,' someone said in Pashto. 'And imprison
them in the schoolroom. We will deal with them at first light.'

There was a scuffling, then the banging of a door. The
woman felt sick. Then she felt numb. Then she closed her eyes
once more and for the first time since she had arrived in this
hellish place, she wept. And as the tears finally came, she felt
for all the world as though they would never, ever stop.

*

When death comes, it is best that it comes quickly.

Ever since he had started in the Regiment, Will had been
of this point of view. And when his family had died, he
had comforted himself in some small way that at least they
had known nothing about it. At least the end had come
quickly.

The end had come quickly for Anderson, too. A bullet
in the back of the head. If you were going to buy it on
an op, that was the best way to go. No torture. No anticipation.
It wouldn't be much consolation for Anderson's
family, but it was true. In a weird kind of way Will wished
he had been in Anderson's shoes. At least he wouldn't
have to go through this. The waiting. Waiting for the
inevitable.

In the darkness, it was impossible to tell how much time
passed - three hours, Will guessed, maybe four - but once
they had established that there was no way they could undo
the ropes binding each other's wrists, the three SAS men
were silent for a good deal of it. A deep, impenetrable
silence, broken only by the occasional sound of the Taliban
guards talking outside their building. Will wondered if the
same things were going through the heads of Drew and
Kennedy as were occupying him. The dog that they had
heard on the other side of the village barked a couple of
times, but then all was still. Midnight? One o'clock? Their
captors had taken their watches and time meant nothing.
None of them could tell whether it was passing quickly or
slowly.

It was strange to think that Latifa Ahmed, the one person
who could lead Will to his family's killer, might be no more
than a stone's throw away. Strange and unspeakably frustrating.
There were moments when it was all he could do
to stop himself from roaring with anger; at other times he
felt hopeless, helpless.

And then, as he closed his eyes in the darkness, in his
mind's eye he saw the photograph of Faisal Ahmed that
the Director General of MI5 had shown him only
yesterday. Ahmed's calm eyes seemed to stare out at him.
Will had never met this man and Ahmed probably didn't
even know that Will existed; yet their lives were inextricably
linked. Ahmed had taken everything from Will; and
now, because of him, Will was going to lose his life, while
Ahmed would be free to conduct his acts of terrorism
on London. And yet, Will had come here to rescue the
one person in the world Ahmed seemed to have feelings
for.

His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the
door. He looked in that direction, but all he saw were the
silhouettes of their Taliban captors. Three of them, maybe
four. It was difficult to make out in this light. Surely they
hadn't come for them already; surely there were a few more
hours of night-time yet. He got to his feet, just as the
Taliban threw something into the room. It flew past Will's
head and bounced against the back wall, hitting the ground
with a dull thud. They threw something else in - heavier
this time - and it fell just in front of the door, which they
closed without saying a word. Will heard them lock it.

'What the fuck—?' Kennedy started to say.

Will had already turned and was on his knees in the
darkness, trying to find the object they threw in. His hands
felt blindly until they came across something. It was icy
cold and damp in patches. It was only when he felt the
short-cropped hair that he realised what it was.

'Jesus!' he spat. 'It's a fucking head!'

'Anderson,' Drew replied almost immediately. 'It's his body
here.'

'The fuckers cut his head off, just to put the shits up us,'
Kennedy raged. Will heard him stand up and kick the solid
wall violently.

There was a silence as they absorbed what had happened.
The Taliban were giving them a message:
this is what you
can look forward to
.Will felt his jaw clenching. He was fucked
if he was going to give them the chance. But they were
without weapons and there was no way out of this room.

'I've got an idea,' Drew said in a soft voice.

'What?'

'Anderson. He carries a buckle knife. They might not
have seen it.'

Will felt a surge of hope. Buckle knives, which slid inside
the protective leather of your belt, were difficult to notice
if you didn't know they were there. If Anderson had one
on him, they might be in with a chance.

Instantly the three of them headed towards where the
body lay. In the darkness, Will could already sense that Drew
was on the ground with his back to Anderson's headless
corpse, unzipping his bloodied snowsuit and feeling for his
belt. 'Bingo,' he said after a minute.

'You got it?'

'Yeah, I've got it.'

Drew stood back to back with Kennedy first, so that their
tied hands were next to each other. Slowly, he started slicing
through his colleague's ropes. 'Mind my fucking wrists!'
Kennedy complained more than once; but minutes later he
was free and it was easy then for him to cut the ropes from
Drew's wrists, then Will's. Once they were free, Will sensed
a new determination in them. They had nothing to lose.
Will was fucked if he was going to give in to these Taliban
scum without a fight.

'How many guards do you think we have outside?' he
asked.

A pause. 'Don't know,' Drew said, quietly. 'A couple,
maybe. They're not going to be expecting much from us,
so it'll be light.'

'That's what I thought. Reckon we can take them, if we
can get them into the room in the first place?'

'Don't like our chances much,' Kennedy said. 'But I don't
fancy hanging around waiting for them to give us the fucking
Marie Antoinette treatment.'

'Me neither.'

Will ran through his idea a couple of times - it was
straightforward, but they needed to be sure they were fully
familiar with it, because if this went wrong, the Taliban
outside wouldn't wait until morning to shoot them. They'd
do it there and then.

'Bit risky,' Drew observed when he had heard what Will
had in mind.

'Fancy waiting till dawn?'

'Not really,' Drew replied, calmly.

When the impromptu briefing was over, they put the
plan into action.

Kennedy took Anderson's corpse and, standing in the
middle of the room, held it in front of him so that it acted
as a shield should the guards get a chance to shoot. In his
hand, he clutched the buckle knife. Will and Drew stood
on either side of the entrance. When everyone was in position,
Will started scratching on the inside of the door, trying
to make it sound as if he was tampering with the lock. It
was better than making an obvious fuss, he had decided;
this way their guards would be more likely to investigate.

Sure enough, after only a moment of worrying away at
the door, he heard voices outside, then the noise of a key
in the lock. He stepped aside, feeling his blood suddenly
pumping heavily through his veins.

If this was going to work, they'd have to move quickly.

A Taliban guard appeared at the door and shone his torch
directly into the room. Immediately Kennedy was illuminated.
The guard shouted something in Pashto and strode
towards them. His gun was in his arms, but it was not raised.

That, Will realised, would be his mistake.

It all happened in seconds. A second guard entered and
they made their move. Silently Will and Drew stepped behind
the two guards and each wrapped a single strong arm around
their necks. Will squeezed as tightly as he could, feeling his
biceps bulge against his victim's flesh. With his other hand
he grabbed the guard's gun and moved it away so that he
couldn't shoot randomly. A strangled sound came from his
throat and from that of Drew's man. Kennedy dropped
Anderson's body, which fell heavily to the floor, then
approached the now captive Taliban. Using the knife, he
started stabbing them in the eyes with a kind of frenzy.
Each time the knife went in it made a sucking sound and
he gave it a little twist. Blood was everywhere and for a
few brief seconds Will felt the limbs of his man flailing
uncontrollably. He squeezed tighter.