Heroes of Afghanistan 09 Righteous Strike by Eric Meyer

Author:Eric Meyer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Swordworks
Published: 2018-03-29T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

He was watching the action on the ground at Chilas. The images beamed

back from the Predator drone were clear and graphic, and it was all going

wrong, as wrong as it could possibly go. He’d watched them attack and seen

them thrown back by enemy gunfire. He’d watched Stoner race toward the

enemy, a suicidal charge, and he didn’t have a clue what was in his mind.

Only that he was running to his death. As if he was holding out his arms to

welcome some dark spirit to come and take him.

He felt guilty. He’d pushed him into going into Pakistan, and so far all

he’d done was pay a fat bribe to have the use of the Afghan Mi-24. Now they

were in trouble, and the end would come soon. There were just too many of

them.

The real shock had been the identities of the hostiles and their leader.

The last man he’d have expected to see shooting at Stoner and his pals,

Colonel Rahman and his trainee Special Forces unit. Tasked by the Afghan

President to support the effort to free the women, he had it on video. The

bastards had changed sides, sold out to the enemy, and the reasons didn’t

matter. They were there, shooting at Stoner. He was obviously wounded and

in trouble. Soon, the rest of the Haqqani insurgents would turn up from

wherever they’d gone, and the operation was about to descend in a bloodbath.

They’d have to kill the hostages to prevent them pointing the finger at

Rahman’s men. They’d have to kill all of them to save their own skins. They

could pay ransoms until hell froze over, and it wouldn’t make a scrap of

difference. An American Congresswoman, dead, and her entourage, dead.

Stoner, the man he’d sent out on many dangerous missions, and he always

got a result. Dead. Ivan’s instructions were clear.

‘Do not have any involvement across the border. Do not get into a fight

with the Paks. If Stoner can’t handle it, that’s too bad. Over in Pakistan, he’s not our responsibility. Keep Islamabad happy. Don’t upset the delicate

diplomatic status quo.’

His mind was racing, and he made a decision that surprised even him.

He took out his cellphone and called down to Gorgy, waiting with his

armored Land Cruiser.

“We’ll be leaving soon. Make sure you’re ready. I don’t want Akram

holding us up because he’s humping some whore in a local brothel.”

“I’ll go get him.”

“You do that. Ten minutes, no more.”

He ended the call and keyed in the number for his tame pilot.

“Captain Stori.”

“Ivan. I want you in the air in thirty minutes.”

A pause. “That could be difficult.”

“Otherwise you can return that little payment I made into your

retirement fund.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Good. Make sure you’re fueled and fully armed, ready for anything.”

The man chuckled. “You sound like you’re going to war, Ivan.”

“You got it in one. Thirty minutes.”

They parked behind a civilian maintenance hangar and walked over to

the Mi-24 waiting on the pad. Captain Stori saw them approaching, and a

moment later the twin Isotov TV3-117 turbines whined, and the rotors began

to turn. They walked through the side portal, and Ivan entered the cockpit.

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