Kill or Capture (2 page)

“What’s happening?” asked Connor.

Baxter saluted. “Major, we’re preparing to go in. All platoon leaders have been issued with hand-held fingerprint scanners linked to the ISAF prisoner database. Our orders are to check every adult male. If they’re in there, we’ll find them.”

Nodding, Connor snatched the map and studied it. The ancient old town occupied a rectangle covering over a square kilometre. The area was divided by four main streets converging at a central square. Low-rise brick and concrete houses were crammed in with shops and bazaars.

“Where’s Colonel Khalid?” Connor asked Baxter.

The sergeant shrugged. “Not seen him, sir. I’d heard he’s already gone in with a small ANA team. Something about receiving a tip-off and wanting his unit to have the glory of recapturing Jabir Hassani themselves.”

“Just like Khalid,” Connor muttered. “It’s bound to be a trap. Jabir’s no fool. I figure he’ll be long gone by now. OK, carry on. But when you move out, for God’s sake keep your wits about you and make sure CENTCOM gives you constant aerial updates from our drones.”

“Yes, sir.” Baxter strode off, got his men into line, and then moved beyond the barricade.

While travelling into town from Camp Delta, Connor had texted some of his contacts, unscrupulous shopkeepers in the bazaar who sold the most precious and expensive of goods — information. Replies confirmed his suspicions that Jabir had most likely fled the city. But to where? None of his contacts knew. Connor had only one option left — to hang around in the hope that Baxter located one of Jabir’s men who might have the answers they needed.

Connor returned to his GMV and climbed into the front passenger seat. He took a swig of water from a bottle as Baxter’s men left the first building empty-handed.

Lieutenant Jacko Alvarez rested his arms on the steering wheel and groaned resignedly. “Major, I think we’re in for a long day.”

Connor nodded. “Sparks, see if you can get hold of Colonel Khalid on the radio. I think he’s hellbent on becoming a hero.”

“Yes, sir.”

A deafening explosion rocked the street. Jacko leaned forward and gazed straight ahead at the cloud of smoke rising over the old town. “Quite possibly a dead hero, sir.”

“That’s what’s worrying me. Sparks, any luck?”

“I’m through, sir,” Sergeant Sparks announced from the back of the vehicle. “Khalid’s alive and in the central square. A car bomb’s taken out four of his men and the rest are pinned down by Taliban snipers. His personnel carrier’s out of action, too. Took a hit from an RPG. I’ll get CENTCOM to patch through a visual feed to us.”

Connor and his team studied the small screen on Spark’s comms gear. Amid rising, acrid smoke from burning vehicles they could see Khalid and two of his men crouching behind a low wall.

“Hell! There’s no time to mess around. We’d better go get them.” Connor leaned out and yelled at a sentry. “Move that wire barricade, marine.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, sir,” said Jacko as he started up their GMV. “We could be walking into a trap as well. We all heard Jabir Hassani swear he’d get his revenge against us that day we captured him.”

“Just drive, lieutenant… Danny, you’re up top. Point that M2 at anything that breathes… Sparks, tell Khalid to sit tight. And see if you can get air support to lay down some suppressing fire around the square. Those snipers need distracting… Ben and Sam, keep your eyes peeled. Knowing Jabir’s men, I bet these streets are littered with IEDs.” Connor swung round his M4 carbine and released the safety catch. “OK, guys, time to go hunting.”

Jacko drove steadily for the first fifty metres, but hit the brakes when Connor raised his hand. Baxter was emerging from a building. He gave Connor the thumbs up as an escapee with his hands cuffed behind his back was dragged out of the doorway. “Three hundred and forty-six to go, major.”

“Hey, Baxter, want to see some real action?” Connor shouted.

“Yes siree, major, sir.” Baxter grinned.

Connor quickly briefed him. “So, you and your men secure this street and follow us towards the square. You’re our backup, sergeant. This is going to be our exit route. Maintain radio contact with us at all times. Getting Colonel Khalid out of here isn’t going to be easy.”

Connor instructed Jacko to edge forward slowly. Sporadic small arms fire could be heard coming from the square ahead. But that wasn’t what worried Connor most. It was the eyes staring at him that gave him a sinking feeling; eyes peering out of windows, eyes of men in the street, on balconies, on bicycles and mopeds. Who was friend and who was foe? It was impossible to tell.

Danny aimed the GMV’s swivelled, topmounted M2 machine gun threateningly at anyone who came too close. He yelled at them to back off. This wasn’t the time for winning hearts and minds. Any one of them could be a suicide bomber.

Sam spotted him first. “Man on balcony to our right holding a mobile phone, sir.”

“Goddamnit, major, he’s got an accomplice, too,” Ben added. “On the roof. He’s carrying a camcorder.”

Connor understood — a bomb was waiting for them, to be detonated remotely by phone signal. The horror would be captured on video and no doubt uploaded to extremist websites. But, where was the bomb? His eyes darted left then right, before settling on a battered old truck parked up some forty metres ahead. If it was packed with explosives, they were in big trouble.

“Jacko, back up. Now!”

They had to move fast or else risk becoming prime time news. Jacko slammed the GMV into reverse.

“Oh, Jeeesus! The guy’s started dialling!” Sam shouted. “Get a move on.”

With the GMV lurching backwards, Connor made a snap decision. “Danny, take them out.”

It was too late. The bomb detonated, blasting debris high into the sky. The force lifted the GMV a metre into the air, flipping it onto its side. Danny’s grip on the M2 machine gun was torn and he was flung clear. A red-hot and razorsharp piece of shrapnel cut across his face as he tumbled heavily onto the roadside. More shrapnel peppered the GMV, as Connor and his men were thrown around inside.

A dust cloud crept along the street amid an eerie silence. The twisted bodies of innocent civilians lay still in the road.

“Major? Major Connor, sir? Are you OK?”

Connor’s ears rang. He felt light-headed. He opened his eyes and Baxter’s concerned face gradually came into focus. Connor grabbed Baxter’s outstretched hand and managed to scramble out. Sam and Ben crawled out of the back of the vehicle. Sparks followed, spitting out two teeth dislodged by Ben’s elbow. A winded Danny rose to his feet and wiped away the blood oozing from the deep cut across his face. Shrapnel lodged in his battle fatigues started to smoke and burn his skin. Hurriedly, he yanked the pieces out.

Baxter’s men helped extract Jacko from behind the steering wheel. “Jeesh, you guys had one hell of a lucky escape. Shall we fall back, major?”

Connor adjusted his helmet and took a deep breath. Gunfire could still be heard coming from the square. Colonel Khalid still needed rescuing. “No, sergeant.” He looked at the houses lining the street, all single-storey, all flat roofed. “Time for Plan B. You clear a path on the road, we’ll get to the square via the rooftops.”

Baxter hesitated. “Listen, major, it ain’t our guys in trouble, sir. Why can’t the ANA troops have a go?”

“Experience is going to count here, sergeant. Khalid isn’t just any old ANA commander either. He has the ear of the Afghan president and is extremely influential. He’s a useful bridge between ISAF and the government. Letting him get killed won’t look good. Rescuing him alive, on the other hand, will earn us top marks.”

The sergeant nodded. “All right then, major.”

“Sparks,” Connor called out, “warn those Black Hawks that we’ll be on the roofs. Friendly fire is the last thing we need.”

“Yes, sir.”

Connor gritted his teeth. “Right. Let’s do it.”

Delta Force moved swiftly across the flat rooftops and terraces in three pairs, Danny and Jacko leading the way. They pushed their way between the washing hanging on lines, using low parapet walls for cover. The sun beat down on Connor and his men. Everywhere they looked the air shimmered from the rising heat. Flies buzzed about their faces. It was easily 35 degrees Celsius. Connor kept one eye on Baxter’s progress below. Already the marines had managed to make good headway and were closer to the square, with Baxter out in front. Suddenly Jacko dropped to one knee and held up his left hand. Connor froze.

Jacko lay down and crawled to the next parapet and risked glancing over. He saw four armed Taliban below, crouching in the shade of a walled backyard and busily loading their AK-47s. Two women in black burqas were preparing bread dough. A clutch of young children were making kites out of plastic bags and string. Shimmying backwards out of sight, he signalled to the rest of the team. Connor ordered the others to fan out along the rooftop. He couldn’t risk moving past. They had to be dealt with. He signalled to Jacko and Danny.

They leapt to their feet. With the element of surprise, a short burst of rapid fire from their silenced M4 carbines dealt with the four armed insurgents, stray bullets punching out chunks of the yard’s wall. The women screamed. They grabbed up their children and ran indoors. Danny and Jacko hurriedly jumped down into the yard, Danny covering the open door while Jacko readied to search inside. He switched on his M4’s rail-mounted tactical light and visible laser marker. Cautiously, his pulse racing as the adrenaline surged, he stepped through the doorway. He supressed the fear — of enemies waiting in the dark — and swept the room. The narrow circle of light picked out furniture and cast weird shadows. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Clear,” he whispered into his mic.