Gena Mahona was getting a bit sick of this.
He was a fighter. That was what the Keldara were raised to be; they took it in with their first sip of beer which was usually administered in the nursery. A weapon was placed in their hand while the afterbirth was still extruding from their mother’s womb. The highest calling was to die in battle, eyes broad and screaming defiance into the face of their enemies.
The American way of war that the Kildar taught was colder, quieter, in many ways more merciless. But this was just sickening.
The mujaheddin they were fighting were very good. They were aiming, they were taking cover. But they weren’t looking behind them. They had had a security force out to the rear. But as soon as the firing started, the security force had oriented towards the Russians. Most of them had run forward to engage the obvious enemy.
He was shooting people in the back. A lot of people. He had stopped counting at four kills.
Even the muj that had taken cover in the stream weren’t paying attention to their rear. They were firing in short bursts, reloading, firing, all of it perfectly drilled and automatic. But they didn’t seem to notice the sound of the Keldara sloshing down the stream, or even the occasional curse as one slipped on a slime covered rock. When one fell they assumed it was from the fire to the front, even though that was slackening off.
There were only three he could see still firing. One was clearly out of rounds and turned to his fellow, saying something quick in Arabic. But that had caused him to look around, finally.
“Don’t,” Geda said, quietly, as the rest of the team started to gather to either side.
The fedayeen looked at him, wide-eyed, then at the trail of bodies faintly visible in the streambed.
“Just… don’t.”
The fedayeen cursed and reached into his robe as his companion started to turn…
It wasn’t good fire discipline, but the nine Keldara gathered in the streambed expended over thirty-six rounds on the last three mujaheddin.
Just sickening. It made you want to weep. The Father of All wasn’t going to consider this a battle. This wasn’t exactly going to get him to the Halls of Feasting.
On the other hand, there were a bunch of dead fedayeen and in the grand scheme of things he had to consider that a plus.
Sergei hurled Dr. Arensky into the front seat of the Mercedes then climbed over him into the driver’s seat.
“Make one stupid move,” Sergei threatened, turning the key. “Yakov! Dmitri? Fuck… ” He put the car in drive and looked in his rearview mirror. He’d thought the fucking blackasses had hit them but now he could see camouflage clad figures moving down the line of vehicles, firing into the unprotected backs of his men. “It’s not the blackasses!” He screamed over the team circuit. “You’re being hit from behind!”
It was clearly too late. The blackasses were firing to the rear as well, clearly they’d been hit from both directions. It was a total fuckup.
Time to get the fuck out, then.
The blackasses had pulled into the Georgian road, blocking it. Not that he wanted to go that way. The proper escape route was up into Russia. But the only road open was the one to Azerbaijan. Fine.
He put his foot down and peeled out, all four tires screaming at the wet gravel.
Time to fly.
“No, no, NO! FUUUCK!” Mike screamed up at the clouds. As rounds cracked over his head from behind him he ripped off the poncho and triggered a UV strobe on his shoulder. “Check fucking FIRE!” he screamed into his throat mike. “This fucking op is BLOWN! The package is in movement. Repeat, the package is ACTIVE! Lasko, stop that VEHICLE!”
“That is not good,” the president said. “Is the B-2 on station.”
“Ready to drop,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs said. He’d been brought in late in the operation but was fully up to speed at this point. “All the codes have been given. Literally, all you have to do is give the drop order.”
“Minuet?” the president said.
“One minute,” she replied.
“We don’t have one minute,” the Secretary of Defense pointed out. “Those things do have a limited blast range. It’s big, but it’s limited.”
“Give me the Kildar,” the president said.
“LASKO?”
“Negative, Kildar,” Lasko replied. “The target is out of view.”
Mike was already in one of the Mercedes and starting it. Fortunately they all had keys in the ignition. He jerked it into gear just as he felt thumps in the back.
“Salvo, Kildar, I’m in the back.”
“We are so out of… ”
“Mike, this is the President.”
“Oh, Jesus, sir, not NOW.”
“Mike, is the package in movement?”
“I can stop it!”
“Do you have any forces in the way?” the president asked, remorselessly.
“It take it back!” Mike yelled. “I was JOKING. I can STOP it. I’ve never fucking FAILED, sir. I am not about to start now!” He took a breath as he hit the first curve. He could see the lights of the other Mercedes up ahead. The guy didn’t have that much of a lead on him. “I can stop it, sir. I am in pursuit at this time. I am sending continuous coordinates. All that I ask is that if you drop, you drop on me and not my men. If you hit my position, at any time, you will destroy the target. If that changes, you’ll be the second person to know,” Mike added as the Mercedes skidded through another turn.
“Very well,” the president said, nervously. “I’m out of the connection.”
“Thanks,” Mike said. “I can concentrate on driving.”
“Do we actually have track on him?” the president asked.
“Yes, sir,” the major replied, instantly. “His C2 pad is updating his location every second and a half. The B-2 has the same track point and should be tracking.”
“Send them definite orders to track on that source,” the president replied. “When the track point is four kilometers from the origin point, they are authorized to drop.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and consulted it. “Code Alpha, Charlie, One, Five, Six, Bravo, Niner.”
“Yes, sir,” the major said, swallowing but tapping the orders into the B-2 link.
“Kurt!” Sergei said into his throat mike. “Kurt, can you hear me?”
“Is he the one guarding my daughter?” Arensky asked, curiously.
He seemed awfully detached, almost catatonic. Some people got that way when things went bad. Sergei, though, prided himself on keeping a cool head.
“Just shut the fuck up,” Sergei snarled. He just had to clear the area. But the road was a nightmare, slick, twisting and climbing up into the mountains. He’d barely gotten a couple of kilometers, maybe three, away from the firefight. He had to get further…
“Things don’t seem to be going very well,” Arenksy replied, glancing over his shoulder. “What, did you think the Russian government was just going to let you walk away with smallpox? They, and the American and the French and the Germans and the fucking Nigerians are going to be hunting you for the rest of your very short life. Give up now.”