Grant's War Book 1 by Eric Meyer

Author:Eric Meyer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

He’d be cutting it fine, finding the hospital, locating and kidnapping a medic, and getting back to the courtyard. He’d have to make it fast, which would mean taking risks. Otherwise, Burns would be dead before he returned. He headed east and quickened his pace. Found the crossroads Primakov had indicated, and feeling as if hundreds of eyes were on him, turned into the next street. It was wide enough to take four lanes of traffic, unusual in the primitive infrastructure of Afghanistan, especially since traffic had disappeared since the coming of the Taliban.

He found the hospital where the Russian said it would be, and he paused across the road to give it the once over. Unlike most of Kunduz, the building showed lights in some of the windows. He speculated how they’d managed an electrical supply, when he heard the hum of a generator. Without it, they’d have almost been back in the dark ages, like most of the city.

An ambulance drove up and stopped outside what he assumed was the emergency room entrance. Two men helped a woman out of the back and carried her inside. No gurney, they picked her up under the arms and legs and carried her through the door. Her screams echoed up and down the street, and no one bothered to look.

The door swung open, and the screams were still loud from inside. The two paramedics emerged and lounged in the street, smoking. He couldn’t get close enough to take them without them seeing him. He strolled away, casually heading to the opposite end of the building, keeping his pace slow as if he had all the time in the world, an innocent man going about innocent business.

He was searching for another way in and found it. A roller shutter door, closed and locked, but a smaller portal at one side, also closed and locked. On the other side a small window. Not closed, not entirely, he forced it open and squeezed inside. He was in a wide space, dimly lit by emergency lights screwed to the wall. The room didn’t smell like any hospital he’d ever been in. The stink of gun oil was strange, something he was more familiar with in the gunshop. Stacks of wooden crates lay piled around the room, most stenciled with what looked like Russian Cyrillic markings, and some with the peculiar Chinese squiggles.

Grant was certain the boxes didn’t contain medical supplies. He roamed around the room, opening boxes, ripping lids off crates. Inside them he found artillery shells and cases of C4 explosive. Grant assumed it was for making IEDs, a weapon the Taliban were employing with devastating results. He found more boxes filled with hand grenades, and long wooden crates each with an RPG launcher nestling inside. A further search revealed portable missile systems and crates of Chinese-made assault rifles. In the corner, squat and deadly, ten machine guns. Not squad automatic weapons like the M249, but bigger, more powerful 12.7mm heavies. The room was around four hundred square meters, and packed with enough ordnance to fight a limited war.

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