“Indeed.”
“Do we have a target yet? I need to know so I can prepare.”
“We’ll be provided with it soon enough, Suvorov.” Drago understood the man’s concerns. He agreed with them, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. They’d just have to do it right. They’d have to be fast and get out of there on the first try.
“Altitude?” Drago asked again.
“One hundred meters.”
“Estimated time to village?”
“Two minutes.”
5
The vast canyon was awe-inspiring. Had it not been home to the Mujahideen, it would have made for a great place of serenity, of beauty. But that wasn’t the case — a wide open range of ragged terrain surrounded by dangerous peaks, this valley was hidden, the perfect hideaway for the Mujahideen. The mountains to the west were even higher than those the three Mi-24s had climbed on the eastern side. There were a few ways out, paths that were concealed, treacherous and filled with danger. Few entered the valley, fewer escaped. Those that tried did so at great peril, for the trek was only for the brave, only for the strong. The Mujahideen did so with relative ease, though, for it was their land, and they were quite accustomed.
The Soviets had a much harder time.
The three gunships remained low, skimming the desert floor, kicking up great plumes of sand. The closer they approached, the more the fear sank in. Heavy in the pit of their stomachs, the pilots and the crew had to control their fears, overcome that sinking feeling of despair.
Drago felt it, and could only imagine the others were feeling the same. They were alone, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, unarmed and without a target.
What if one happened to get off a lucky shot?
Just a clip from a Rocket Propelled Grenade to the tail rotor would spell disaster. They all knew it, they all knew there was a chance of this happening. Problem was, if one of the helicopters went down, the other two could not provide any form of cover.
They’re smart, Drago thought. Don’t ever underestimate the enemy. Don’t ever underestimate the fucking Muj.
The Mujahideen were fearless, perhaps even more so than the Spetsnaz, who were rumored to be crazy. Someone had taken over the leadership in Khost, a certain warlord who understood tactics, who valued good training. Violence had erupted nearby, and Soviet officials believed the source of this disruption came from this valley. Lately, Soviet losses were high in Khost, the fighting quite brutal. Soviet morale was beginning to wane for those stationed in Khost.
The Mujahideen were well adapted to the terrain, the mountainous cliffs of no concern, suited for the horrible weather conditions, lack of diet, lack of medical aide.
The Mujahideen were also excellent warriors, an unstoppable force now having banded together. Indeed there was someone new in Khost, someone new who’d done his people a great justice, and trained the men for combat.
This fact only made Drago’s worries worse. The Mujahideen would hide in the hills, behind brick walls, pop out of windows or ease from under rocks. They’d fire a shoulder-held Rocket Propelled Grenade, and had proven to be quite accurate.
And even though the Mi-24 could take on any form of rifle fire, a well-placed RPG was an entirely different matter.
The thought dried his throat. Drago shuddered at the notion, for the chances of survival weren’t in their favor if one went down.
And to make the situation worse, this mission was vague, and going in without munitions was unheard of. This bothered Drago. It bothered him more when he questioned it, finding no answers. This lack of information, lack of help from his superiors, was troubling. Khost was crawling with thousands of Mujahideen, each with an innate desire to kill as many Soviet invaders as possible.
Finally, it came.
“Kilo Base, this is Alpha Firebird Red. We’re thirty seconds from the village. If it’s our target, it’s time to know.” Drago kept the helicopter low, racing near, his voice solid, nearly threatening as he spoke. Frustrations were running high.
Finally, a voice returned, saying, “Alpha Firebird Red, this is Kilo Base. Copy your position. Proceed straight ahead. Fly over the village. I repeat, fly over the village. It is not your target.”
“Copy, Kilo Base. Should I expect an engagement?”
“Comrade Captain, you’re in Khost, sir,” the voice reminded.
Drago nodded his head, knowing what that meant. He was frustrated and already lathered in sweat. The lack of weapons was one thing, the lack of intelligence was another. Usual protocol said they’d plan their course, prepare for a specific attack. They’d go over the plan many times, know it like the back of their hand.
But this was different. The odd vagueness of the matters at hand was something new, and Drago thought again to the single missile each Mi-24 carried.
He wondered again — what did they contain?
“This isn’t right, Comrade Captain,” Suvorov spoke again. He had heard the transmission, had heard the tone of his pilot’s advice. He opted to try one last time, speaking only to Drago. “Comrade Captain, we’ll be over the village in seconds. Perhaps we should turn around, at least until—”
Captain Drago cut him off, saying, “There it is, Suvorov. The village is crawling. Damn, they’re freaking out down there.”
“I think we’ve pissed them off,” Suvorov replied. “Halfway over. Ten more seconds. We’re sitting ducks over a village that size.”
“Yeah, I see plenty of Muj,” Drago replied. “Trying to arm up, I would imagine. Think we got the drop on them, though.”
They raced over the village, low and aggressive and angering the villagers to no extent. It was the sheer surprise of their arrival that slowed the Mujahideen from shooting. Pure luck, really. The people below shook their fists, screamed obscenities, gathered arms.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Twenty-five seconds later they crossed successfully over the village. Both men breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re clear, Comrade Captain,” Suvorov reported. He knew they weren’t out of danger yet, though. The village was now behind them, no doubt readying to pursue the three Mi-24s. Gearing up any attempt to bring them down.
Still, as they crossed a greater distance from the village, Weapons Specialist Suvorov felt calmer. He could focus on the task at hand, the deployment of their single missile.
“Now, if we only knew the target…” Suvorov said.
“I know the target,” Drago stated bluntly.
“Comrade?”
“I cannot say. Don’t even ask, but I know it. Just figured it out. Makes sense, in a way. Not sure why they would have withheld the location, either.”
“My God, have our superiors never planned a mission before? This secrecy is uncalled for. We’re loaded with two dozen special forces, and out in the middle of nowhere. What are we doing here, Comrade Captain?”
Under normal circumstances, Drago would have come down harshly on his weapons specialist. It was simply his way of doing things in the Soviet Union. Mercy was for the weak, and they were in one hell of a war. But Drago held his breath. He knew this war was taking its toll, that these vague orders were out of the ordinary, that this expedition was something of a baffling matter. So, instead, Drago kept his composure, his voice low, saying, “Alexander, keep calm. Our target is on the other end of the valley.”
“There’s a mountain on the other end. Oh, I bet I know,” Suvorov spouted.
“What’s that?”
“Command found some high value targets. I bet they’re Americans, Comrade Captain.”
“Doubtful,” Drago replied. “Look here, I’d expect Muj in that mountain ahead, you understand me?”