Читать книгу The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry - Charley Brindley - Страница 7

The soldiers gathered around Alexander as he spread his map out on the ground.

“What’s the cruising speed of the C-130?” he asked Airman Trover, a crewman from the aircraft.

“About three hundred and thirty miles per hour.”

“How long were we in the air?”

“We left Kandahar at four p.m.” Trover checked his watch. “It’s now almost five, so about an hour in the air.”

“Three hundred and thirty miles,” Alexander whispered as he drew a wide circle around Kandahar. “An hour to the east would put us in Pakistan. In that case, that river we saw is the Indus. One hour to the west, and we’d be just inside Iran, but no big rivers there. An hour to the southwest is the Registan Desert, right where we’re supposed to be, but no forest or rivers in that region. An hour to the north, and we’re still in Afghanistan, but that’s arid country.”

Karina looked at her watch. “What time you got, Kawalski?”

“Um, five minutes to five.”

“Yeah, that’s what I have, too.” Karina was quiet for a moment. “Sarge, there’s something haywire here.”

“What is it?” Alexander asked.

“All our watches tell us it’s late afternoon, but look at the sun; it’s almost directly overhead. How can that be?”

Alexander looked up at the sun, then at his watch. “Beats the hell out of me. Where’s Sparks?”

“Right here, Sarge.”

“Check that GPS reading again.”

“It still says we’re on the French Riviera.”

“Trover,” Alexander said, “what’s the range on the C-130?”

“About three thousand miles without refueling.”

Alexander tapped his pencil on the map. “France has to be at least four thousand miles from Kandahar,” he said. “Even if the plane had enough fuel to fly to France–which it didn’t–we would have to be in the air for over twelve hours–which we weren’t. So, let’s cut the crap about the French Riviera.” He looked around at his soldiers. “All right?”

Sparks shook his head.

“What?” Alexander asked.

“See our shadows?” Sparks asked.

Looking at the ground, they saw very little shadowing.

“I think the time is about twelve noon,” Sparks said. “Our watches are wrong.”

“All our watches are wrong?”

“I’m just telling you what I see. If it’s really five in the afternoon, the sun should be there.” Sparks pointed to the sky at about forty-five degrees above the horizon. “And our shadows should be long, but the sun is there.” He pointed straight up. “On the French Riviera, right now, it’s noon.” He looked at Alexander’s scowling face. “France is five hours behind Afghanistan.”

Alexander glared at him for a moment. “All right, the only way we’re going to settle this is to find our weapons crate, dig out that toy whirlysplat of yours, and send it up to see where the hell we are.”

“How are we going to find our crate, Sarge?” Lojab asked.

“We’re going to have to find someone who speaks English.”

“Her name is ‘Dragonfly,’” Sparks muttered.

“Hey,” Karina said, “here comes more cavalry.”

They watched two columns of heavily armed soldiers pass on horseback. These horses were larger than any they’d seen so far, and the men wore iron breastplates, along with matching helmets. Their shoulder protection and wrist guards were made of thick leather. Round shields were slung across their backs, and each man carried a long sword, as well as daggers and other knives. Their faces, arms, and legs showed many battle scars. The soldiers rode with bridles and reins, but without stirrups.

It took almost twenty minutes for the cavalry to ride by. Behind them, the trail was empty all the way back to a point where it disappeared around a copse of young Aleppo pine trees.

“Well,” Lojab said, “finally, that’s the last of them.”

Alexander looked down the trail. “Maybe.”

After the passage of forty elephants, hundreds of horses and oxen, and over a thousand people, the trail had been worked down to pulverized dirt.

A horse soldier galloped by on the opposite side of the trail, coming from the front of the column. The platoon watched the rider pull his horse to a skidding halt, then turned to ride beside a man who’d just come around a turn in the trail.

“That must be the guy in charge,” Lojab said.

“Which one?” Karina asked.

“The man who just came around the curve.”

“Could be,” Alexander said.

The man was tall, and he rode a huge black charger. Twenty paces behind him was the tall officer with the scarlet cloak who’d ridden by earlier, and behind the officer rode four columns of horsemen, wearing shiny bronze breastplates and matching helmets. Their scarlet capes fluttered in the breeze.

The man on the warhorse trotted along as the scout spoke to him. He never acknowledged the messenger’s presence but seemed to listen intently to what he had to say. After a moment, the man on the charger said a few words and sent the messenger galloping away toward the front.

When the officer came abreast of the Seventh Cavalry, his horse pranced sideways as both he and his rider studied Sergeant Alexander’s platoon. The officer showed more interest in them than anyone else had.

“Hey, Sarge,” Karina said on her comm, “remember that four-star general who came to Camp Kandahar last month to review the troops?”

“Yeah, that would be General Nicholson.”

“Well, I’ve got a feeling I should come to attention and salute this guy, too.”

The man on horseback sat ramrod straight, and his polished bronze helmet with a red mohawk of boar’s hair on top made him look even taller than his six-foot-two height. He wore a tunic like the others, but his was made of a red silk-like material, and it was sewn with fine double rows of white stitching. The strips of his leather skirt were trimmed in silver, and the hilt of his sword was inlaid with silver and gold, as was the scabbard of his falcata. His boots were made of tooled leather and came up over his calves.

His saddle was covered with a lion hide, and the horse wore a heavy breastplate, along with leather armor on its front legs and a thick silver plate on its forehead. The horse was high-spirited, and the man had to maintain pressure on the reins to restrain him from galloping ahead. A dozen small bells hung along the neck harness, and they jingled as the horse trotted by.

“He does have a certain air of authority,” Alexander said.

“If anyone had stirrups,” Kawalski said, “it should be this guy.”

A scout came galloping down the trail and turned his horse to come up beside the general. With a flick of his wrist, the general turned his warhorse away from the platoon and listened to the scout’s report as they rode away from Alexander and his people. A moment later, the general gave the scout some instructions and sent him off toward the front.

The squadron of horsemen with the red capes showed more interest in Alexander and his troops than the other soldiers did. They were young men, early to mid-twenties, well-dressed, and riding fine horses. They weren’t battle-scarred like the other men.

“They look like a bunch of candy-ass second lieutenants to me.” Lojab spat in the dirt as he watched them.

“Just like cadets fresh out of the academy,” Autumn said.

Behind the cadets came another baggage train of large four-wheeled wagons. The first one was loaded with a dozen heavy chests. The others contained bales of furry hides, spare swords, spears, and bundles of arrows, along with many earthen pots the size of small barrels, filled with dried fruit and grains. Four wagons were loaded high with cages containing geese, chickens, and cooing pigeons. The wagons were pulled by teams of four oxen.

The wagons and carts rode on solid wheels, without spokes.

After the wagons came more two-wheeled carts, loaded with slabs of meat and other supplies. Twenty carts made up this group, and they were followed by a dozen foot-soldiers carrying swords and spears.

“Wow, look at that,” Kawalski said.

The last cart held something familiar.

“They’ve got our weapons container!” Karina said.

“Yeah, and the orange parachutes, too,” Kawalski said.

Alexander glanced at the wagon. “Son-of-a-bitch.” He stepped onto the trail and took hold of the oxen’s harness. “Hold it right there.”

The woman driving the cart glared at him, then popped her whip, cutting a slit in the camo covering of his helmet.

“Hey!” Alexander shouted. “Cut that out. I just want our weapons crate.”

The woman flicked her whip again, and Alexander caught it, wrapping the braided leather around his forearm. He yanked the whip from her hand, then advanced on her.

“I don’t want to hurt you, lady.” He pointed with the handle of the whip toward the fiberglass container. “I’m just taking what belongs to us.”

Before he could get to her, six of the men behind the cart drew their swords and came at him. The first one shoved his fist against Alexander’s chest, pushing him backwards. As Alexander stumbled, he heard twelve rifles being cocked. He regained his balance and held up his right hand.

“Hold your fire!”

The man who had shoved Alexander now pointed his sword at the sergeant’s throat, apparently unconcerned that he might be cut down by the M-4 rifles. He said a few words and tilted his head to the right. It wasn’t hard to understand his meaning; get away from the cart.

“All right, all right.” Alexander held up his hands. “I don’t want you people to die over a weapons container.” As he walked back to his soldiers, he wrapped the whip around its handle and shoved it into his hip pocket. “Lower your weapons, damn it. We’re not going to start a war over that stupid box.”

“But Sarge,” Karina said, “that has all our gear in it.”

“We’ll get it back later. It doesn’t look like they’ve figured out how to open—”

A blood-chilling scream came from the other side of the trail as a band of men armed with spears and swords ran from the woods to attack the baggage train.

“Well,” Lojab said, “this must be Act Two of this never-ending drama.”

As the attackers began grabbing slabs of meat and jars of grain from the wagons, the woman driver on a wagon pulled her dagger and went for two men who’d climbed into her wagon to take the weapons container. One of the men swung his sword, cutting a deep gash in the woman’s arm. She screamed, switched her knife to her other hand, and lunged at him.

“Hey!” Kawalski shouted. “That’s real blood!”

The wagon train’s soldiers ran to join the battle, swinging their swords and yelling. One of the two attackers in the wagon jumped down, pulling the weapons container to the ground. A foot-soldier swung his sword at the man’s head, but the man dodged away, then stepped in, stabbing the soldier in the stomach.

A hundred more robbers charged in from the woods, and all along the trail, they leapt on the wagons, fought the drivers, and tossed supplies to their comrades on the ground.

The wagon train’s soldiers ran to attack the robbers, but they were greatly outnumbered.

A horn sounded three times in rapid succession from somewhere up the trail.

The robber in the last wagon had knocked the woman to the floor of the vehicle, and now he raised his sword and gripped it with both hands, preparing to run it through her heart.

Kawalski brought up his rifle and fired twice. The man in the wagon stumbled backward, falling to the ground. His comrade’s eyes darted from the dying man to the woman in the wagon.

The woman moved like a jungle cat as she snatched her dagger from the bed of the wagon and went for the man. He drew back his sword and began a swing that would cut her legs from beneath her–but Alexander’s pistol slug hit him in the chest, knocking him sideways and over the weapons crate.

An arrow zinged through the air, passing just inches away from Alexander’s head. He jerked his head around to see the arrow hit a foot-soldier in the throat.

“Spread out!” Alexander shouted. “Fire at will!”

The platoon ran along the trail and between the wagons, firing their rifles and sidearms. It wasn’t difficult to distinguish the foot-soldiers from the attackers; the robbers wore ragged animal hides for clothing, and their hair was shaggy and unkempt.

“Lojab!” Karina shouted. “Bandits on your nine. Roll right!”

Lojab hit the ground as Karina fired over him, hitting one of the attackers in the face, while Lojab took out another one with a bullet to his chest.

“More coming from the woods!” Sparks yelled.

A bandit kicked away Lojab’s rifle. He rolled to his back to see a second bandit swinging his sword toward him. He pulled his Yarborough knife and got it up in time to block the sword. The attacker yelled and brought his sword around as the second bandit thrust his sword down, aiming for Lojab’s heart. Lojab rolled as the sword cut into the dirt, then got to his knees and shoved his knife into the man’s groin. He yelled, stumbling backward.

The remaining bandit swung his sword at Lojab’s head, but Karina had reloaded, and she blew him away with two shots to his chest.

Lojab leapt on the man he’d stabbed and cut his throat.

Four more bandits charged in from the trees, yelling and brandishing their spears, running toward Sparks. They were followed by two men armed with bows and arrows.

Sparks took aim and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. “My rifle’s jammed!”

“Sparks!” Autumn yelled and tossed her handgun to him. She emptied her rifle magazine, firing on the run. Two of the attackers went down.

Sparks fired the pistol, taking out the third one.

Alexander, from fifty yards away, went down on one knee, took careful aim, and fired on the fourth man as he ran toward Sparks. The bandit stumbled, grabbed his side, and hit the ground.

One of the archers stopped, notched an arrow, and took aim at Sparks. Sparks fired twice. One of the bullets knocked the archer’s head backward, but his arrow was already in the air.

Sparks heard the sickening thud, then stared down at the arrow quivering in his chest. He reached with a shaking hand to pull it out, but the shaft broke off, leaving the arrowhead imbedded.

Autumn shoved a fresh magazine into her rifle and killed the second archer. “Incoming!” she shouted.

Sparks looked up to see two more men coming from the woods, swinging their swords. He shot one of the bandits in the thigh while Autumn took out the other one. The wounded bandit kept coming. Sparks fired his last round from the pistol, but it went wild. The bandit dove for Sparks, with his sword coming down. Sparks rolled and thrust the shaft of the broken arrow forward. The bandit yelled when the arrow cut into his stomach. He hit the ground, shoving the arrow through his body and out his back.

The deafening gunfire, along with the sight of so many bandits being cut down, turned the tide of the battle. The attackers fled into the woods, dropping their stolen goods in their panic to escape. The wagon train’s soldiers ran in pursuit.

The tall officer with the scarlet cloak came galloping down the trail, followed by a troop of cavalry. He surveyed the scene, shouted an order, and motioned for his cavalry to charge into the woods.

The officer dismounted, and as he walked among the bodies, one of the foot-soldiers reported to him, talking excitedly and pointing at Alexander’s soldiers. The officer nodded and asked questions as he looked over the platoon.

“Who’s got the STOMP medical pack?” Alexander yelled.

“It’s in the weapons container, Sarge,” Kawalski said.

“Break it out,” Alexander said. “Let’s see what we can do for these people. Check the woman in the wagon first. She’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Right, Sarge.”

“Sparks, are you all right?” Alexander asked.

Sparks unlatched his vest where the arrowhead protruded. He checked for damage. “Yeah.” He rapped his knuckles on his body armor. “These things work pretty good.”

Karina sat in the dirt by a wagon wheel, with her arms on her knees and resting her head on her forearms.

“Ballentine!” Alexander ran to her. “Are you hit?”

She shook her head but didn’t look up. He knelt beside her.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head again.

“Report by the numbers, people,” Alexander said into his mic as he sat beside Karina.

Everyone reported in except Sharakova.

“Sharakova’s right here,” Sparks said. “She picked off six of the bad guys.”

“Sparks, can you fix Sharakova’s goddamned comm?”

“I shall try my best.”

“Well, get on it before she wanders off and gets lost.”

Karina pulled off her helmet and dropped it to the ground. “It was too damn easy,” she whispered.

Alexander waited, saying nothing.

“When Kawalski shot that first one in the wagon,” Karina said, “then you got the one on the ground, I just went on automatic.”

Alexander patted her shoulder.

“Sarge, I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“I know.”

“How can it be so easy? These guys were no match for our guns. Why didn’t I just try to wing them instead of blowing them away?”

“Karina—”

“Where the hell are we?” Karina asked. “And what’s happening to us? I thought this was just some elaborate show until that bandit sliced the woman’s arm and real blood spurted out. Then that foot-soldier had his gut sliced open. Have we dropped into some surreal nightmare?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to us, but you reacted just as you were supposed to. All our training has been exactly for this sort of attack. You don’t have time to analyze, consider options, or aim for the knee instead of the heart. Less than three seconds passed between Kawalski’s first shot and your first kill. You are the perfect soldier, not a tenderhearted woman, at least not on the battlefield. That’s what this weird place suddenly became, a battlefield. And guess who won the battle? The best armed and the best trained fighting force in the world. If we hadn’t opened fire, those bandits would have come after us with their swords and spears after they finished off these other people.”

Karina lifted her head and wiped her cheek. “Thanks, Sarge. You’re right. The soldier in me did take over, but now I’m back, trying to sort things out.”

“Hey, Sarge,” Kawalski said on the comm. “I need help with this woman’s arm wound.”

“Coming.” Alexander stood and held out his hand to Karina.

She pulled herself up. “I’ll go.” She picked up her rifle and helmet, gave Alexander a quick hug, then ran toward the last wagon.

“I’ve never killed anyone either,” he whispered, “until today.”

“You did good, Sarge,” Private Lorelei Fusilier said on the comm.

“Shit,” Alexander said. “I always forget that damn comm is on.”

“Yeah, Sarge,” Sparks said. “You did us all some good.”

“All right, cut the chatter. We’re in a whole new ballgame now, so let’s check things out very carefully. And stay on your toes. In the heat of battle, we chose sides; now we’ll see if we picked the right one.”