“Good God!” the pilot exclaims. “Is that like a… vybros in the Exclusion Zone?”
“Yes,” Tarasov says. ”The local version of emissions.”
The veteran pilot slowly waves his head. “Last time I saw destruction like this was over Chernobyl, back in ‘86!”
“You better climb higher and keep clear of here,” Tarasov suggests. “There might be airborne anomalies!”
“Are you kidding?”
“Trust me, I’m not!”
“Blyad!”
Cursing, the pilot pulls on the yoke.
“It was not just a dust storm.”
Tarasov and Hartman turn away from the sight below to see Nooria standing behind them white faced.
“What’s going on?” Tarasov asks.
“Come… I have to tell you something.”
Once back to their place, Nooria grabs at Tarasov’s hand. She sounds concerned, if not terrified. “It wants me.”
“Are you okay?” Tarasov asks.
“No. I am not okay. I am scared. And this sickness—oh, how I hate it!”
“We’ll land soon, Nooria,” Tarasov softly says. ”If that’s why you’re feeling bad—”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Our child.”
“Uh-oh,” Hartman says. “You better be prepared for worse than a little sickness.”
“You don’t understand! The New Zone wants me because—my child. It wants my child.”
All fell silent. Pete whispers something to himself, but his voice is suppressed by the deep drone of the four turboprop engines.
“Mikhailo—our child will be stronger than you and more powerful than me. It is our child is who can destroy evil ravaging this land.”
Fear, disbelief and joy are all mixed on Tarasov’s face as he looks at Nooria.
“My son! He can end—all this?”
“No, Mikhailo. She will.”
“But how? How you know?”
“I just know. And she also wants to get to the New Zone. She didn’t let me kill Sultan.”
“Pete,” the Top says under his breath, “give me a thermometer from your first-aid kit, will you?”
Nooria’s eyes are flashing with anger. “I am not ill!”
“Okay… okay,” Tarasov reassuringly says and caresses her pale face. “Don’t worry, Nooria. As long as I can lift a weapon, I will protect you.”
“Not to mention me,” Pete adds.
“You don’t want to leave me out of this,” Hartman says.
“See? With the three of us around you’ll be safer than anyone.”
“I am scared,” Nooria says, but her fear makes way for sadness. “New Zone is in rage—it was reaching out for me. Its evil will try to defeat us.”
“Business as usual,” Hartman says and gives her a reassuring smile.
“What do you want us to do?” Tarasov asks.
“I must talk to my mother. Please, please take me back to our valley. Quickly!”
“I have an idea,” Pete says. “We’ve hijacked a train and stolen a car. What about hijacking this plane too?”
Tarasov gives him a smile. “Not a bad thought at all. The Alamo does have a landing strip after all.”
“Forget it,” Hartman says with a wave of his hand. “AA defenses would down us before we could say hello.”
“Ain’t there a radio on this junk?”
“Son, you’re as smart as an Army general,” Hartman says with a snort. “Let me tell you something. Two weeks before the nukes went up we were already busy fortifying the Alamo. Then one night a Chinook appeared. Said it took an RPG hit, has WIAs on board and needs to make an emergency landing. Okay guys, we said, come down, we won’t hurt you. Turned out to be full of Ranger boys coming after us. Since then, the fighters manning the anti-aircraft batteries are under orders to shoot first, ask later.”
“And what happened to the Rangers?”
“What’s your guess, Pete?”
“Jesus! You killed American soldiers?”
Hartman shrugs. “So did the Rangers, son. Our corpsmen running up to their Chinook to assist the alleged WIAs were the first they killed. Usually we don’t take prisoners but had eventually captured their commander with two of his men. They were given the chance to join us.”
“Or death, I guess,” Tarasov dryly observes.
“Leaving in shame and defeat. They stayed.”
“It was Driscoll, wasn’t it?”
“Told you already he’d been with us to the catacombs! It was Joe Collins. He’s one of the very few to be made Lieutenant even though joining us after we’d been touched by the Spirit. As a former Ranger captain he’s our SR, ambush and airfield seizure expert.”
“SR?”
“Special reconnaissance, avoiding direct combat and detection. Anyway, point is that everything that’s got wings avoids our little airspace except flies and mosquitoes!”
“What about Bagram?” Pete asks.
Tarasov waves the suggestion off. “The runway is blocked by wrecks and debris.”
“Bottom line, we’ll have to use our feet to get to the Alamo,” Pete observes.
Tarasov caresses Nooria’s hand discreetly. “Can you do that?”
“I am just worried and feeling weak. You won’t need to carry me yet!”
“Dunno about you but I can barely wait to feel solid ground under my feet again,” Hartman says. With anticipation all over his face, he stares through the window to the snow-capped Hindu Kush range and the dark Shamali plains beyond where their destination lies.
75
“Ubiytsa Odin. Namechennoe vremya pribitiya — pyat minut.”
“This is Hitman One, ETA five minutes,” Mac translates the pilot’s transmission.
“Uzhe slishim kak vi priblijaetes,” Bruiser replies, feeling very uncomfortable with Lieutenant Collins’ Beretta held against his nape.
“We can already hear you approaching.”
“Chista li zona prizemleniya?”
“Is the landing zone clear?”
“Da. Ubiytsa Odin, prichodi.”
“Yes. Hitman One, proceed.”
“Prinyal, zhdem.”
“Roger, standing by.”
Bruiser clears the channel. “That’s it. Will you let me go now?”
Collins doesn’t respond him and turns to Mac instead.
“Watch this scumbag.” Then he calls on his two team leaders. “Two and Three, report status,” he says on the radio.
“Two. Barrack ruins. West. In position.”
“Three. Eastern ruins. In position.”
“Stay low until they start disembarking. Commence firing on my command. The word will be Bighorn.”
He opens the radio shack’s door ajar and peeks outside.
A tiny dot appears in the northern sky and slowly takes on the easily recognizable silhouette of a four-engine transport airplane.
“One to Sniper.”
“Standing by,” comes Ahuizotl’s reply through the radio.
“Watch out for the Charlie Echo. Neutralize tangos with heavy weapons like RPGs and machine guns. Report when done, over.”
“Roger.”
“Teams One and Two are in position. The command for moving in will be Bighorn. Point out targets once we move in. Over and out.”
“Roger Wilco. Out.”
“Welcome to Afghanistan,” Collins says, watching the descending airplane. Then he frowns. “What is that plane doing?”
Instead of continuing to descend, the low-flying Antonov performs a turn westwards and begins to climb.
“They’re turning back!” he shouts. “What did you tell them, you prick?”