“Ho there, my friend!” he heard a voice shout in Russian. “Byt v glubokay zhopi, eh, Comrade Robot?” It was Jalaluddin Turabi. He was holding an SA-14 man-portable antiaircraft-missile launcher. He handed the expended weapon to an aide and took back his AK-74 assault rifle. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“What are you doing here, Turabi?”
“We were busy retreating, getting out of Chärjew before the Russians dropped a nuclear bomb on us next,” Turabi said. “But then we ran into your little party here, and we thought we’d crash it. You don’t mind, do you?” He retrieved his portable radio and a map and issued orders in Pashtun. Moments later the desert around where the Russian soldiers had just alighted was obscured by mortar and grenade blasts. Several more shoulder-fired missiles flew through the sky, knocking down Russian helicopters.
“I think this would be a good time to get out of here, my friend,” Turabi said. “My men are scattered pretty thin. We can’t hold the Russians off for long.”
Just then Hal heard a beeping sound in his helmet. He shifted his electronic visor to mapping mode — and what he saw made him smile inside his battle armor. “Not quite yet, Turabi,” he said. As Turabi watched in puzzlement, Briggs simply stopped and stared at the Russian exfiltration spot, then turned and stared for a moment at another Mi-24 attack helicopter, about five miles away. “Where else have your men made contact, Turabi?” he asked.
“They are everywhere,” the Afghan replied. “They are coming from all directions. They—”
At that moment the Hind helicopter that was turning and lining up for an attack run exploded in a ball of fire. Seconds later the ground where the Russian soldiers were advancing on them disappeared under dozens and dozens of small but powerful explosions.
“We are under attack!” Turabi shouted.
“Not quite,” Briggs said. He pointed skyward. Turabi looked — just as a small, dark StealthHawk unmanned aircraft passed overhead. “Our little buddies are back.” As they watched the StealthHawk fly away, it launched an AGM-211 mini-Maverick missile on another Hind, shooting it out of the sky.
“Well, I never thought I’d be happy to see those devil birds again,” Turabi said. “I don’t suppose they could inform us as to where our friends the Russians are now?”
“They can indeed,” Briggs said. He took Turabi’s chart and a grease pencil and, using the electronic map projected onto his visor, drew the locations of all the known Russian airborne troops on the ground in the area. “Need some help with them, Turabi?” Briggs asked.
“If you would be so kind as to take care of the attack helicopters with your devil birds up there,” Turabi said after he reported the Russians’ positions to his men deployed around Chärjew, “my men can take care of the infantrymen.” He extended his hand and smiled broadly, his teeth gleaming white against his dark, burned skin. “I believe that makes us even now, doesn’t it, Comrade Robot?”
Hal Briggs couldn’t help but smile inside his battle armor. “Yes, we’re even, Turabi — I mean, Colonel Turabi.”
“I am happy enough just being Turabi, thank you,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a city to defend. If you would kindly exit my battlefield by the most expeditious route, my army and I will get to work.”
“Sure thing—General Turabi,” Briggs said. The Taliban fighter smiled, nodded, and hurried off to lead his men into battle once again.
Epilogue
We have your aircraft, we have your air raid on Engels Air Base on tape, and we have footage of your drones and bombers attacking our base,” General Anatoliy Gryzlov shouted into the phone. “This is a complete outrage! An unprovoked sneak attack on a Russian military installation by two American strategic bombers! It is an act of war! We have your dead crew members as positive proof that you attacked our country in a sinister act of aggression!”
“You have our crew members?” President Thomas Thorn asked. He had to stifle a smile.
“Their crumpled bodies were found not far from the crash site,” Gryzlov said. “Their pictures will be on the front page of every newspaper and magazine on earth if you do not halt this aggression and immediately recall all your forces!”
“As I told you, General, I have already recalled our forces,” Thorn said. “My forces were deployed to Turkmenistan only to protect our deputy secretary of defense’s flight as it departed the region. We had permission and full authority from President Gurizev to enter Turkmenistan.”
“Gurizev was a liar and a traitor to his people,” Gryzlov said. “If he hadn’t allowed those murderous Taliban forces to roam around inside his country so freely, none of this would’ve happened. They were certainly in collusion. Soon they would have stolen those American oil and gas pipelines and wells from you, but by then it would have been too late to stop them.”
“The Taliban commander has just been commissioned by the new Turkmen president as commander of the army,” Thorn pointed out. “He’s being called a hero for repelling those Russian troops from Charjew.”
“He’ll have to pay dearly for that,” Gryzlov said. “I don’t care if the Turkmen parliament or so-called interim president authorized or sanctioned his attacks after the fact. It was an act of cold-blooded murder.”
“It seems to be a legal resolution to me, General, voted on and signed into law by the interim president.”
“That new president was not elected by the people,” Gryzlov said, “and a state of martial law is still in effect.”
“But the Turkmen parliament meeting in Uzbekistan has voted in a new interim president,” Thorn said. “Surely the Russian military authorities will recognize the new government and allow the president and legislators back into the country safely?”
“You’re getting off the point of my call, Thorn — namely, the air attack on my military base!” Gryzlov interjected. “The death toll will certainly reach two hundred, and the damage will easily exceed one billion dollars. You will issue an apology to me, to the men and women of Engels, to the people of Russia, and to the world. You will pay reparations to alleviate the suffering of the families who lost loved ones in that dastardly attack and to rebuild what you have destroyed. You will pay, or, by God, Thorn, I will see your country burn hotter than the fires of hell. Do you understand my meaning, Thorn? What is your answer? Will you apologize? Will you pay reparations? Or does a state of war exist between our two countries?”
“Stand by, General.” Thomas Thorn put the call on hold, then looked at the others in the Oval Office with him: Vice President Busick, Secretary of Defense Goff, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Venti, Deputy Secretary of State Hershel, General Patrick McLanahan, and former president Kevin Martindale. They had all been silently reacting to Gryzlov’s tirade with scowls, astounded expressions, and shaking heads. Everyone was amazed that the president managed to keep his cool so easily while talking to this homicidal maniac.
“Tell him to go fuck himself, Mr. President,” Busick said. Everyone else seemed to agree, some by encouraging expressions, others by nodding heads. “He’s a damned nobody — he can’t tell the president of the United States what to do.”
Thorn looked to his friend and chief foreign-affairs adviser, Robert Goff. “He’s nothing more than a two-bit military strongman, Thomas,” the secretary of defense said. “Eventually the Russian parliament and the people will rise up and toss his ass off — it’s just a matter of time. The United States needs to lead the resistance against him, or he’ll turn into another Stalin.”