The riverbed is rocky. The water is not at full swell, so we tether the horses, and roll into the riverbed. Rocks and mud. The rocky ground between the flat bank and the sloping riverbed forms a low parapet. I unsling my M110 and sweep the valley with my scope.
“Are we safe here?” Robyn asks.
We’d be safer had we run past Koenig. I’m not built that way. A sniper can win a battle with one shot. I can protect Robyn and kill Shahzad.
“No place is safe,” I tell her. “But we are better off here than the elbow of the L.”
“Who are you looking for?” Robyn asks.
“Shahzad.”
I have a lousy oblique angle into the elbow. I scan the tree line. Muzzle flashes twinkle like fireflies across a quarter mile of forest.
Zarek’s men return fire, but refuse to charge the ambush. Two dozen Mujahedeen have allowed themselves to be pinned down.
There’s a whoosh, followed by a shattering explosion on the riverbank. A spout of dirt and rock. One of Zarek’s men cries out. A horse shrieks and bolts. Shahzad’s men are loosing RPGs. Their rifles aren’t accurate enough, so they are using rockets. Extravagant, but effective.
I lay my sight on an RPG gunner and pull the trigger. The man drops.
More swooshes. Shahzad’s men are launching RPGs in salvos. White vapor trails mark the passage of rockets blasting the men on the bank. Geysers of rock and soil mark their impact. Zarek’s men fire their own RPGs into the tree line. The firefight becomes a rocket duel as Zarek’s RPGs explode in the trees, and wood splinters spray Shahzad’s ambush party. Zarek’s men have fused their rockets for airburst. The explosions shatter the pines and scatter branches in all directions.
I prioritize my targets. If I can’t find Shahzad, I’ll take out RPG gunners. I kill one man, who drops his weapon. Another man shoulders the tube, and I kill him too. I’ll kill any man who carries a rocket. That’s sending a message.
The whistling roar of incoming assaults my ears. Larger explosions shred the tree line. Red blooms and black smoke obscure the woods. The earth shakes, and the concussion pounds my ears. These are not RPGs. Zarek has laid his own 82 mm mortars further back on the riverbank. Shahzad spent his mortar ammunition on the bridge to Lanat. Zarek is deploying his to devastating effect.
I lay my scope on an RPG gunner. A mortar round explodes inches from him. Head, arms and legs fly off. The torso is launched into the air like a popping champagne cork. I lose track of the man’s pieces in the whirling blender of splintered wood and flying guts.
The volume of gunfire coming from the west bank doubles. There is a high-pitched keening in the air. An amorphous sound rises from the woods. Shouting. Cursing. The woods themselves ripple. Like ants scattering from a hill, the Taliban move. The men in my sights turn their weapons on the woods behind them.
Zarek’s men on the riverbank rise and charge the tree line.
Taliban break and flee in our direction.
Shit.
Takigawa sees the same movement. “Five-Five Sierra, this is Oscar. Interrogative. Why are the Talis breaking?”
“Zarek’s infantry flanked the ambush from the slopes,” I say. “He must have sent them around hours ago. He’s got Shahzad’s nuts in a vise.”
“They’re coming our way.”
“Only place they have to run. Watch yourselves. Watch for Shahzad.”
Shahad’s forces are retreating along the bend in the river. Straight toward us. I hear the crack of Takigawa’s rifle as he picks off Talis.
Bullets spray the rocks in front of us.
Robyn peeps over the edge of the riverbank. I drag her back and shove her onto her stomach. Sit on her.
“Damn,” she shouts. “Breed, get off me.”
“Stay there,” I tell her. Taliban are running in our direction, seeking cover in the riverbed. They’re more terrified of Zarek’s men than they are of us.
I shoot one man in the chest, and he goes down. Two more rush us. I shoot the next in the face. The third fires, close enough for his muzzle flash to singe my face. I use my M110 as a metal bar and deflect the muzzle of his AK47. He crashes into me.
We tumble into the riverbed, and I lose my grip on the M110. His hand claws at my face. I wrestle my attacker onto his back and grab a rock the size of a bowling ball. Raise it in both hands and bring it down with all my strength. His arm deflects my first blow, so I raise the rock over my head and smash him again. With a crunch, the bones of his face give way. Another blow and his head comes apart.
The hammering of AK47 fire. A cry from behind me.
I drop the rock, turn.
A Talib jumped into the riverbed. Robyn grabbed the rifle of the man I bludgeoned, shot the attacker. He drops to his knees, pitches face down.
I lurch back to the parapet. Robyn is huddled against the rocks, clutching the AK47. I grab my rifle, rejoin the fight. More Taliban run past. Takigawa fires methodically, covering us. Fleeing Taliban know where we are by now. They see the riverbed is well defended, and they withdraw to the tree line.
One of the Taliban looses an RPG. I duck under the parapet, cover Robyn with my body. A shattering explosion pelts us with rock chips and mud. My ears ring with the concussion.
Rifle over the parapet, I continue firing.
As quickly as the battle engulfed us, it sweeps on. Zarek’s men are running past, chasing the Taliban. I cease fire, hoping to God they don’t shoot.
“Five-Five Oscar,” I yell into my radio. “Hold your fire. Friendlies.”
“It’s cool.” Takigawa’s voice is calm. “I got ’em.”
Baryal runs past. He glances at me and Robyn, keeps going.
A number of
