The Afghan by Andrew Turpin

Author:Andrew Turpin [Turpin, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-78875-009-7
Publisher: The Write Direction Publishing

Friday, February 26, 1988

Hani

* * *

“We need to get farther away from the Land Rover,” Johnson said. “They will search all around it. Then we’re screwed.”

The Russian Mi-24 gunship advanced steadily in their direction at a height of around 150 feet, creating a strong downdraft. Its searchlights remained focused directly on the vehicle.

“I will give it another go,” the Stinger operator said. “I’ll get him this time.” He put the failed tube and gripstock on the ground and picked up the second one.

Johnson had already mentally ruled out trying again, at least from their current location. If there was another misfire and the Russian helicopter crew spotted the flash when the launch motor fired, they would have an instant target to obliterate. Getting away with it undetected once was good fortune. Risking it again seemed extremely foolish.

“No,” he said, raising his voice against the noise of the chopper. “It’s too dangerous. If it misfires again and we get spotted, we are dead.”

“Yes,” Spin said. “I agree. He indicated behind him with his thumb. “There is a ridge that way. I think we go there. There are a lot of caves in the cliff face where the ridge drops away. They may give us cover if we can get there without the Hind crew seeing us. Quick, let’s move.”

Johnson nodded. It crossed his mind that if Jameson and Jayne had received and acted on his emergency burst radio message, then the best chance of a successful helicopter rescue would be if they could get out of line of sight of the Hind. Trying to get below a ridgeline therefore seemed like a sensible move.

“Yes, let’s go,” Johnson said. “But let’s take the Stingers. We may need to have another go as a last resort if we get into real trouble.” He looked at the Stinger operator, who was visibly downcast at his failure but, accepting the situation, nodded. He tucked the Stinger he was carrying under his arm, while Spin and Toryal picked up the others.

Spin turned and led the way south, away from the village, along a footpath that wound its way between rocks.

As they hurried along, they could hear from behind a raucous metallic male voice erupting from a loudspeaker on board the Hind, saying something in Pashto that Johnson could only partly understand.

“The helicopter crew is warning anyone remaining in the Land Rover to get out and give themselves up, as they are going to blow it up,” Toryal said. “They have given them thirty seconds.”

“Okay, keep going,” Johnson said. “That’s a thirty-second delay that could help us.”

To the sound of the Hind engines clattering behind them, they continued in single file through the maze of rocks along a path that zigzagged steadily south. Johnson struggled to determine where the path led, but Spin seemed to have no such problems and led the way with a sure-footed stride.

Suddenly, there came a deafening bang behind them, followed almost immediately by an explosion. They turned to see an orange fireball climbing its way into the night sky about four hundred yards away.

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