Chapter 21
A few days later...
"My God!... What the hell is that?" Nick shouted over the whop-whop of the chopper's blades. Shielding his eyes against the dust, he allowed himself a momentary gaze at a battered, old prop plane that sat on the remote airstrip. He then tossed his gear from the helicopter's door onto the hard-packed soil and jumped after it.
"Oy... Indy!" Scouse called, hauling a cumbersome pack towards the SEAL. "Catch!"
* * *
Within minutes the old Huey had lifted off and was gone, leaving the four men, dressed in dark camouflage, staring dumbfounded at their new transportation.
Nick wandered around the old airplane, mentally ticking off a pre-flight check as he would with Derek's chopper. "It's ancient... Lucky Lindy would've felt right at home!" he said, as he ran a finger along the plane's rust stained, green and white skin, then wiggled its well-oiled wing flap. Looks could be deceiving, he reminded himself.
"Yeah!... Beauty... isn't she?" Scouse patted the aircraft gently. "It's a Britten-Norman Islander... gotta be the oldest I've ever seen. She's got two six-piston engines... a real goer.... With this high wing set and propeller clearance she can handle things that can't even be called landing strips... places where you'd think no fixed-wing could ever get into in one piece... or out of. She's got an initial climb of over eight hundred feet per minute.... Absolutely brilliant maneuverability.... She's the bush plane extraordinaire."
"Shut it, for Chrissake," Ginge groaned. "He's a bloody anorak."
"A what?..." Nick looked to Lofty for translation.
"A nerd... with a plane fixation," the sergeant informed him. "We got the Pakis to thank for this ride. The plane might look a little... used... but they're a good, reliable aircraft.... The Red Devils use a version for display jumping."
"Not as old as this mother." Ginge kicked disparagingly at the worn tires. "We're gonna be fuckin' sardines in there... and how are we gonna get over the friggin' mountains.... Can't tell me this bugger flies as high as those," he said, pointing at the snow capped peaks to the west.
"This insertion's gotta be quick... clean... as low key as possible." Lofty's voice betrayed his exasperation with his colleague. "These are quiet... at least, compared to a chopper.... Because of the terrain, we've got to have some light. Indy, here, isn't cleared for HALO jumps... so we don't have a hellava lotta choices. 'Sides... the pilot knows the area we're headin' for.... He's been flying these valleys and passes for years, so the plane's known to locals.... Supposed to be an air ambulance, but probably gun running to the fucking Taliban... spying... and hauling drugs out, but Pakistan wants this mission to succeed. They're bending over backwards to help."
"So long as he don't sell us out," said Ginge.
"Pakis are prob'ly pissin' themselves about the bio shit our warlord's got stashed," Scouse suggested, then grinned. "Don't you worry, Indy.... She's a good plane.... Bigger than she looks.... She'll hold eight passengers and a crew of two... just don't try to stand up. Like the Sarge said... they get used a lot for medical and relief work... and crop dusting in the States."
"More than can be said about these fuckin' rifles," Ginge muttered, as he pulled the ammo and explosives packs into the pile. "Got me a bad feeling about all this."
Nick nodded and checked his own weapon. The SAS liked the M-16.... The rifle wouldn't have been his first choice.... The Browning 9mm sidearm was another matter.... It was a good gun... light and accurate. All the same he wished he had an old "reliable"... an AK-47 or his own Smith and Wesson tucked in his pack.
"Here comes the pilot," Scouse informed them. "Think he'd let me sit up front?"
Ginge's face was lit by a huge grin. "Well... if you're a good, little boy.... I'll fuckin' ask him!"
"Come on... lads... haul arse." Lofty hefted his pack onto his shoulder, ducked under the wing, and slid open the plane's port side cargo door. "Let's get on board.... We got an appointment to keep."
< < + > >
The seat belt bit into Nick's abdomen as he bent over to check his pack... ammo... MREs... dried chicken shit... but Ginge was such a bad cook anything was better. He remembered making his protein shakes in the kitchen at the Legacy House... back when times were better. Alex hated them.... Derek had bravely tried the mango, ginger, and Twinkie.... A whisper of a smile flitted across his lips as he recalled the grimace on his "Boss'" face.... That look of utter disgust as Derek had struggled to swallow the thick liquid had pleased the SEAL no end.
He adjusted his earpiece and the throat mike that hugged his neck like a dog's collar. "C4?" he asked, looking over at Lofty. Both checked.... The explosives were safely stowed in their packs. Each man carried a spare radio battery, claymore mines, five magazines of ammo, plus spare rounds.... The pack weighed one-hundred-and-thirty pounds fully loaded.
"Ginge!" called the sergeant. "Get with it!"
The redheaded soldier had been staring, fascinated, through the window at the Afghan mountains... the Hindu Kush... the Hindu "Killers". "Jesus!..." He turned towards the others and held his hands up a foot apart. "We came that bloody close to that fuckin' rock face."
Lofty looked out, saw a jagged pinnacle stretch upwards into the chilled, thin air... a black finger against the blazing light of the setting sun. He shuddered.
"Cold?" Nick asked, speaking quietly into his mike.
"Yeah... well... no... nervous... I guess.... There's a lot ridin' on our shoulders. Apart from 'spooks,' we're the first to go in. If we fuck up...."
"Relax... Sarge...." They all heard Scouse's enthusiastic voice through their ear pieces. "It's pay back time.... We're gonna show those towel heads."
"Remember the mission...." Lofty cautioned his team. "We get Indy to the right place.... He does his thing.... If the warlord plays ball.... Great!... If not... we got a job to do." His fingers brushed the commando knife bound to his leg.... All secure. "Simple as that.... We don't go looking for contact... or trouble. These 'towel heads' damned well know how to fight.... They took care of the Ruskies, remember?"
"Yeah," Ginge agreed reluctantly.
"Calm down... Ginger-boy.... I'm not gonna lose a man... not even a hairy-arsed bugger like you. Get your brain screwed in right, Corporal Jones."
"I didn't know you cared." Ginge grinned. His white teeth shone in his camouflaged face.
"I fucking don't.... I don't wanna fill in those damned casualty forms!... Specially not when I'd have to do them for both Her Majesty and Uncle Sam. Talk about a friggin' nightmare!"
The whine of the engines changed. The plane began to climb steeply. As Nick was pushed back into the padded seat, he blocked the slide of the packs with his feet.
"Whoa!..." said Ginge, grabbing for his rifle as he glanced out the window. "Another fuckin' mountain," he muttered. "Why would anybody want this bloody place enough to fight wars over it?"
"Philistine," Lofty muttered. "It's the location.... Besides, it's beautiful.... What do you think, Indy?"
Nick gazed out at the dozens of white peaks, some towering over twenty-five thousand feet high... all blazing silver and gold in the setting sun. Far below, valleys, washed in greys and purples, lay deep in shadow. "It's... empty... bleak... breath-taking," he replied. Touching his fingertip to the window, the SEAL chuckled sadly within himself and thought of his friend, of the hell he had left him in. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.
"Your friend?" the sergeant asked. "The Dutch bloke?..."
Biting his lip, Nick nodded, then adjusted his mike. "This place... the vastness... would have touched Derek's soul," he said softly. "He'd have said he could feel God's breath here."
"Weird guy?" Ginge asked.
"No," Nick replied with a crooked smile. "Just... kind of imagine Moses or Merlin... in a suit, without the beard... as your best friend." Taking in the panorama before him, he saw the grey gleam of a river, winding through a valley. White torrents of water rushed down the sheer mountainside. "I remember this river... those falls... from the aerial photos.... We're getting close."
"Not long now," Lofty agreed, glancing at his watch. "Ginge... let's have a cuppa... then get Scouse back here... lazy bastard!"
Ginge produced a vacuum flask. "Indy?... It'll be cold down there."
The three men made themselves as comfortable as possible, sipped the hot liquid, and sat quietly... each alone with his own thoughts.
< < + > >
Minutes later...
"Time for you to be getting ready." The Pakistani pilot turned to Scouse and smiled. "Take care, down there.... Those can be bad men... warriors who believe in the old, tribal ways... and in the new ways of hatred... but, remember... not all us 'towel heads' think as they do.... Insha'allah
... my friend.""Gottcha... Imran... mate," Scouse said with an embarrassed blush, then reluctantly clambered out of the co-pilot's seat. "Great ride.... Thanks."
He crept back into the plane's cabin, which had been configured to carry four passengers and an equal amount of cargo. "Nearly time... guys.... DZ's comin' up, " he announced.
Nick and Ginge were already out of their seats, squatting with full gear on... packs loaded... chutes ready.
"'Bout fuckin' time you showed." Ginge turned to his Liverpudlian comrade. "This isn't fuckin' Disney World... no free rides...."
"It's a hellava E-Ticket, though," Nick commented to himself, doubtful that the Brits would catch the meaning.
"OK.... keep your flamin' 'air on," Scouse laughed, appreciating his own pun. "Flaming hair... good one... 'ay?"
"Brilliant!" Lofty's voice rang with sarcasm. Adrenalin was pumping through his veins now. His thoughts of home... of ordinary life... had been banished. His game face was on. He had a job to do. "Get your gear on... How's our Paki friend doin'?"
"Great!... He flies this baby like she's part of 'im," Scouse replied, checking over his pack... doing the same checks he done twice before. "Check and double check," he murmured quietly.
"Cam-cream...." Lofty threw the camouflage stick to Scouse.
The plane gave a violent lurch to starboard, throwing them all off balance now that they were out of their seats and in final preparation. "Dammit!... What the hell?... Is this guy for real?" Ginge complained, pulling Nick upright.
"So sorry," the accented voice called out from the pilot's seat. "Damned turbulence...." The plane gave another pitch... this time to the other side.
"Ow!!!" said Scouse, rubbing his head, which had hit the cabin ceiling.
"This damned valley!..." the pilot shouted back. They all heard the change in engine noise as he increased power. "Two minutes... and we're on target.... I'm releasing the door."
Lofty checked Scouse's rigging for him. "Roger... two minutes.... Get your helmets on.... Ginge you're first out... then Indy.... Scouse... I'll bring up the rear." He waited a moment until all the helmets were in place. "Ears on?" he asked, and received nods and thumbs up from the other three men. "Last words.... We don't go looking for contact till we have to.... Whether things go right or wrong, if we get separated, we're on our own and we've gotta hump it to one of the four designated ERVs... Alpha, Bravo, Tango... and Victor is the last choice. At these altitudes and in this terrain, it's the best they can do for us, lads. We get to the rendezvous point or hole up till the bloody war's over and they can fetch us out by donkey. Here we go...."
The sergeant then turned, braced himself, and slid open the wide cargo door. A rush of fresh, cold air entered the cabin, sapping their breaths. Ginger maneuvered to a crouching position, then sat at the opening and allowed his booted feet to dangle in the wind.
Lofty patted the youngster's shoulder, hunkered down beside him, and watched as he drew deep, calming breaths. "OK... Ginge, Intelligence says no hostiles... but they're a bunch of wankers.... Even without hostiles, the terrain's a bitch... so stay alert.... Watch for Indy coming down... and five, four, three... two... one.... Go!... Go!... Go!..."
Nick watched nervously as the jumper gave him a grin, a thumbs up, then launched himself over the edge.
Lofty peered out the opening and waited for the dark, square, sport chute to open. "Canopy open!" he shouted. He watched a moment longer to be sure that Ginge was in control and had caught his windy ride. The sergeant then leaned out to search the ground... no muzzle flashes.... God had smiled for the moment.
"OK... Indy... final check...," he shouted over the roar of the engines.
The plane violently lurched, dropped, then began to tremble. To all, it felt like a giant hand had suddenly slapped the small plane downward. "Shit!" Scouse shouted, staggered sideways, and grabbed to keep himself from hitting the ceiling again. His cheek grazed a metal strut. Blood poured from a long gash.
The structure of the plane vibrated... bolts and screws struggled to hold screeching metal plates together. "Help me!... Help me!..." Imran yelled. "I can't hold her...."
Hampered by his packs, front and rear, Nick grappled his way towards the cockpit.
"Indy!... Watch it!" Lofty screamed... and grabbed at air as the SEAL
was thrown sideways. Nick's fingers scrabbled for a grip on the doorframe...
desperately seeking anything.... It was no use.... Again the plane bounced sideways... to
port and downward.... The weight of his packs overpowered any balance, any hold that
he had, and Nick Boyle plunged backwards into the void.
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