were not in Peshawar yet.
To leave Afghanistan they were following the Silk Road, one of the world’s oldest trading routes, fought over for thousands of years. With mountains on either side impassable to any except the most experienced climbers, the Khyber Pass was a strategic gateway for armies, rogues, merchants and exiles. With a young girl among their number the pass was their only option, they could not brave the mountains. There were two roads, one for the traditional caravans and wagons, and another for trucks. Both were in the hands of the Soviet forces and the pass was heavily fortified with patrols and checkpoints. Fahad’s plan was to shadow the road, guiding them through the slopes on either side. In some places the landscape would pose no problem but in others the cliffs were precipitous. Their journey depended upon striking a balance between distance from the Soviet forces and the perils of the landscape. The further away from the pass the more treacherous the climb. The closer to the pass the more likely they would be discovered.
There was no moonlight, no stars – the night sky was obscured by a violent storm that had swept in unexpectedly, angry clouds twisted and coiled not far above them, moving at speed. Flashes of lightning were the only moments of brightness, like sparks from a flint failing to catch. The wind was cold and strong, opposing their journey, and they walked bent against its force. Progress was slow. Close to the Soviet positions, they had to make the journey by the cover of darkness. Attack helicopters had been circling the mountain paths during the day, firing bursts from their machine-guns at men on the trails. Fahad claimed that not since the early days of the invasion had he seen so many Soviet forces preoccupied with the border. Leo wondered if the helicopters were hunting for them. Captain Vashchenko might have guessed their intention. With such intense military pressure it was essential they make the crossing before daylight.
After several hours of walking and climbing, scrambling on their hands and knees, they were crossing a flat hilltop spotted with thin scrub. To the right the landscape dropped sharply, falling down to the Soviet-controlled road, and they could see the lights of troops. Fortunately the wind concealed any noise they made. But for fear of being seen they could not use a torch – even the flame of a match would be visible. Fahad was in front, seeming to sense the path instinctively, and they were entirely dependent on his knowledge of the terrain. Abruptly he stopped walking, looking up at the unsettled sky.
– The storm is getting worse.
Leo asked:
– Do we have enough time to reach shelter?
– There is no shelter until we’re inside Pakistan.
– Should we go bak?
Accustomed to the mujahedin’s stoicism, Leo expected the idea to be rebuffed immediately. Yet Fahad gave the idea serious thought:
– We have travelled too far. It is as difficult to go back as to go forward.
– Then we continue.
About to step forward, Leo felt a tug on his hand. It was Zabi. In the darkness he couldn’t see her, able only to hear her say:
– Listen.
He could hear the storm. Then, among the noise, was a mechanical sound – jet engines. Though it was pitch-black Leo stared up at the sky in the direction of the plane, hoping the lightning would illuminate the enemy. The edges of the Khyber Pass were an obvious bombing target: the terrain was always a likely concentration of weapons and narcotic smugglers, or in their case, political refugees.
– We should run!
Leo’s cry disappeared into the storm. There was nowhere for them to run to, no cover on the plateau. The sound of the engines grew louder. Leo crouched down, covering Zabi as the plane passed directly overhead.
The noise of the jet engines peaked and then dissolved, swallowed up by the storm. There were no bombs, no explosions. It must have been a transport plane. Relieved, Leo stood up, looking at the black sky. Lightning flashed through the clouds and he caught a split-second glimpse of hundreds of black specks, a snowstorm – flakes falling towards them. The light disappeared and in the darkness Leo remained staring, waiting for another flash. When it finally came, the snowflakes were only metres above them, revealing themselves not as snow but fist-sized objects twirling through the sky, spinning towards them. Fahad called out:
– Don’t move!
The first butterfly mine landed nearby, Leo didn’t see it but he heard it, a thud on the dust, then another and another, some close, some far away. They weren’t exploding, but resting on the surface and surrounding them. Lightning flashed and Leo saw a mine swerving in the sky directly above him, on course for his head. He took a step back, pushing Zabi with him as the mine passed in front of his face, almost brushing his nose, and settled directly on the ground in between his position and Fahad’s – at the exact point where he was about to step.
In a matter of seconds the entire plateau had been rendered impassable. They couldn’t go forward. They couldn’t go back.
They were trapped. Even by daylight their progress would be slow, having to tread a careful path around the mines, whose plastic shells would be coloured to match the orange and red hues of the terrain. Nara said:
– In the morning there’ll be enough light to find a way around them.
The lack of conviction in her voice was damning. Leo muttered:
– We’re only metres from the Soviet border patrols.
– We might have enough time.
– At sunrise this is the first place they’ll search.
Fahad called out, cutting short the discussion:
– We must wait till first light. We have no other choice. Be careful not to shuffle your feet, or fall asleep, the only safe ground is the ground you’re standing on. We will need to move very fast in the morning, as soon as there’s light. Rest now.
Leo crouched down, rotating, careful not to move his feet. He wrapped his arms around Zabi, keeping her warm. On the other side Nara did the same. Their hands met on Zabi’s back, fingers overlapping. The thought occurred to him to move his hand away but he dismissed the idea, instead taking hold of her hand. Huddled together, they waited for the morning.
*
It was difficult to estimate how much time had passed. In the darkness, exhausted, near delirious with cold, time became hard to quantify. The wind picked up, swirling furiously around them, as if trying to force them into the minefield. Even though they were at rest, they were being sapped by the cold. In all likelihood they might be granted a few minutes at dawn before the attack helicopters arrived but it was equally likely that the slim advantage would not be enough. Drained by the savage night, they would struggle to find the energy and pace needed to reach cover.
Something wet hit the back of Leo’s neck. He touched his skin, feeling a trace of ice. He tilted his head up towards the sky. Another lump landed on his eyelashes, another spotted his forehead. Out of the darkness the rhythm of the rain increased: they’d be soaked through in seconds. As he thought upon the now impossible challenge of keeping warm until morning the rain morphed into hail, pellets of ice crashing down with such velocity that they stung his skin. Leo felt Nara’s hands grip tight around his own, an expression of despair. Their journey was over.
Suddenly, to the side, no more than a few paces away, an explosion – it was small, like a flash grenade. Leo called out:
– What was that?
Fahad replied:
– A mine!
A second mine detonated, also close by. Leo smelt smoke and felt the blast of air. Another mine, this time the explosion was several hundred metres away. The hail on the pressure sensors was setting them off. Within moments, the plateau was alive with bursts of light and puffs of smoke. As the hailstorm intensified so did the pace of the explosions, now so numerous it was as if they were coming under mortar fire. Zabi cried out, terrified by the
