Eves of Destruction Page 3

  Peering cautiously from her hiding place as the men disappeared down the road, she realized that her situation had quickly worsened. Now the Taliban were between her and the road back to Camp Huge. If she continued on the road she might run into them or of they turned back up the road, they might see her first. Either way the road was no longer an option. Pondering her situation, she decided to remain in place until the sun set and then consider her options.

  She woke with a pounding painful headache and then groaned as her body quickly cramped up as she tried to move. He eyes were almost completely gummed shut and her tongue felt swollen in her mouth and her breath sounded thick and congested. Her lower back hurt and she knew her kidneys were probably shutting down, shriveling up due to the lack of hydration. She lay still for a moment, gritting her teeth against the pounding in her head and tried to calm her aching body.

  Slowly she reached up to her eyes and, squinting against the bright sunlight penetrating her little shelter, gently rubbed them to clear her sight. Every movement felt painful and her throat felt so dry that swallowing seemed to absorb all her energy.

  She allowed herself a deep refreshing drink of water and then another sip which she first sloshed around her mouth and then swallowed. Wiping the spittle of her mouth with the back of her hand, she drew in a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and force herself to think rationally. Thankfully, she seemed to have slept most of the day with the late afternoon sunlight finally striking her hiding place and waking her up. She glanced at her watch and was grateful sunset was less than an hour away. She took a quick inventory of her water supply and realized she had drunk almost half her supply. For the distance she had covered, she had drunk very little but at this rate of consumption, she would be out of water by the next day. She resolved to manage her consumption more carefully.

  Cautiously, she peered out her hiding place and for almost five minutes she watched the road in both directions, listening carefully. She could see and hear no-one. Slowly she crawled out of her hiding place, rubbing her legs to fight the cramp and fatigue as she glanced down at the road, badly tempted to use it to return to Camp Huge, but knowing at the same time this was not an option. She turned and walked up the short distance to the top of the hill. Her only option now was to try and find a route parallel to the road for navigation purposes, but that kept her far enough away so as not to encounter the Taliban. If she strayed too far from the road, she ran the risk of getting lost among the hills and gullies.

  She crested the hill and carefully picked her way through the rocks to the gully below. It was much harder and slower to walk off the path and she had to be careful not to fall and injure herself in the diminishing light. She decided to put a little more distance between herself and the Taliban so she walked up and over another small hill that put her about half a mile from the road. Then, using the last rays of sunlight on the distant mountains as her guide, she turned west and began to walk as quickly as she could through the uneven terrain.

  Casey’s second night alone had been much more difficult than the first. She had fallen more times than she could recall and once cut her hand on a sharp rock. She had torn off a piece of her T-shirt to wrap the wound, but she found it difficult to protect the injured hand and to stop falling on the uneven terrain. She was constantly thirsty but was adamant about limiting herself to one small sip of water every two hours. She tried hard to keep a fast pace but darkness and the terrain were making her work harder and go slower than she wanted. As she felt the first flush of dawn’s light behind her, she guessed she probably had only been able to walk about fifteen miles the entire night. At this pace she would need at least one more night of hard walking before reaching the camp.

  As the sun rose she was less cautious about stopping because she felt more secure from Taliban fighters this far from the road, but suddenly she came upon a narrow but well worn path. It caught her by surprise and she quickly dropped down to one knee and glanced up and down the path which ran perpendicular to her route. A path implied the presence of people and now she might be more vulnerable than ever. If there was someone walking in either direction towards her, she would have no time to run and hide.

  Looking up the path to the north, she could see it wind its way for almost half a mile and to the south it disappeared out of her view in a few hundred yards but not before turning west. Looking carefully in both directions and not seeing anyone, she picked the route appearing to go west.

  Walking along the path in daylight was much easier and Casey quickened her pace, but on the barren landscape she felt terribly exposed. She kept checking behind her to see if anyone was approaching but as the path continued in a westerly direction, she saw no-one.

  The sun rose higher into the sky behind her and she began to feel the intense heat of the day and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion from her difficult walk the previous night. Her body was very fatigued and cramps were developing in her legs and back as she continued to minimize her water consumption. She knew she could not continue walking on the exposed path through the day but she could see no place to hide.

  Casey realized her exhaustion was limiting her vigilance and she caught herself walking with her head down focusing on her feet and the ground a few paces ahead. She jerked her head up to look around, shocked to see she had almost walked directly into a large compound.

  Scrambling to find cover she ducked beneath a low stone wall surrounding the compound and held her gun in the ready position, her body tensing up as she expected to be challenged, but she heard nothing. Carefully, she slowly rose and peered over the low exterior wall surrounding the compound. There was one long building in the compound but it was mostly in ruins with the roof caved in and the walls collapsed. After pausing for a moment, Casey carefully rolled her body over the wall and into a low crouch as she landed on the other side. Weapon sweeping the compound in conjunction with her eyes she heard and saw nothing. The place was deserted. She walked to the building and peered inside. The floor was covered with debris of the collapsed ceiling and there was no sign of human habitation. She stepped inside and carefully walked through the building to the open courtyard on the other side. The courtyard was quite large, almost as big as football field and surprisingly flat and clean. It was obvious someone or a group of people had worked hard to clear it of rocks and flatten it.

  Still shaken by her unexpected discovery of the deserted compound, she found a shaded spot and sat down with her back resting against the wall, her weapon laid across her lap. She allowed herself two small sips of water and one more sucking sweet. She was running low on both but needed the water and sugar to help keep her mind clear.

  As she rested against the wall trying to catch her breath, she carefully scanned the courtyard. The only evidence of human presence she could see were three large metal drums typically used by remote Afghan villages to store water. But these drums were peppered with holes and one of them was completely crushed.

  At the far end of the courtyard she noticed a single wooden pole standing upright. She stared at it for a moment and then despite her exhaustion, slowly stood up and walked towards it. As she got closer she noticed it was actually a square piece of wood about four inches thick and eight feet tall, embedded very securely in the ground. About one foot from the top of the post, a hinged and thick metal ring was bolted on.

  Casey looked closer at the post and noticed it was badly nicked and scared, with large chunks of wood missing, mostly in the lower half of the post. The ground around the post was dusty like the rest of the courtyard but there were also dark spots where the sand had seemed to congeal. As Casey kneeled down to look at one of the dark spots, she noticed a small piece of metal, no bigger than tip of her finger. She picked it up and examined it but could not determine what it was. Then she noticed another similar piece of metal and as she scratched the ground around her, she saw buried in the sand numerous pieces, all similar in size. She stared at them in the palm of her hand and then without really consideri
ng why, dropped them into a pocket in her pants, walked back to the dilapidated building and found a sheltered spot to lie down.

  Casey awoke to a pounding headache and for a moment was completely disoriented and panicked. She quickly recognized her surroundings and, fighting the pain in her head, and the ache and fatigue in her body, she slowly got up and walked out of the building. It was the late afternoon and already there were long shadows cast by the huge mountains to the west. She checked her water supply and guessed she was down to just a couple of sips. She allowed herself one small sip which she held in her mouth as long as possible before swallowing. She knew she would not be able to survive another day alone and had to reach the camp tonight. She decided to try and head back to the road, assuming if she did not run into the Taliban, that would be the quickest way to get back. Checking her orientation to make sure she was heading in the right direction, she started to climb the hill to her left, carefully picking her way through the rocks. The terrain was flattening out which she knew was a good sign because it meant she was finally getting out of the foothills of the mountain range they had been ambushed in and was approaching the open plain where Camp Huge was located.

  She walked for about an hour in the direction of the road going up and down two small hills and just as she was starting to worry she might be lost, she crested a third hill and saw the road just below her. She knelt down and looked cautiously in both directions and not seeing anything, began to walk down the hill. She had barely gone ten paces before she heard voices. She scrambled back up the hill and lay down just below the crest, anxiously peering over.

  Her heart quickened as she slowly peered between a gap in rocks back to the road and saw a group of men about five hundred yards down the road from her position. She could not be certain but they looked like the same men she had seen the day before. This time however, they were walking back up the road and at a more leisurely pace than the last time she had seen them.

  Instinctively she pulled her weapon close and tried to think. Her head was pounding in pain and her lips were so cracked and dry she could barely move them. It was so difficult to maintain rational a thought she was briefly tempted to succumb to the desire just to put her head down and ease the pain when suddenly another more familiar sound caught her attention.

  Two Black Hawk helicopters were approaching her position flying low and fast. She was tempted to jump up and catch their attention but with the Taliban so close, she did not dare. She glanced back at the road and could not see anyone. Panicking for moment, she thought they had left the road and snuck up on her but then she spotted a couple of men hiding among the rocks. They had heard the helicopter before her and had quickly sought cover.

  The helicopters passed by in a few seconds, the familiar sound of their rotors beating the air faded away. As the sounds of rescue wafted away, she glanced back at the road and saw the men emerge from their rocky hiding places. Squinting through the rocks, she counted eight men, all armed with Kalashnikovs and two of them were also carrying rocket-propelled grenades. They were standing together in the road in what looked like animated almost angry conversation.

  They were moving again, walking up the road past her. Finally it seemed luck was on her side. If she just waited patiently until they disappeared up the road, she could scramble down the hill and run down the road to the camp. She closed her eyes and briefly contemplated what would have happened if she had been a few minutes earlier and was already on the road when they came by. She shook her head and pushed the thought from her mind.

  Just then she heard the men shouting at the same time she heard the sounds of helicopters again. At first she thought it was the Black Hawks she had seen earlier returning but now the sound was louder. She looked towards the noise and saw two CH-53 Sea Stallions approaching. The big troop carriers were flying in the same direction as the previous two helicopters but higher and slower and again she ached to jump up and wave her arms at them but stifled the impulse. She glanced back at the road again and spotted the Taliban soldiers hiding in the rocks. One of the men carrying the RPG appeared to be aiming at the helicopters but he held his fire and they passed without incident.

  Again the men reassembled in the road but this time they quickly resumed their walk up the road and out of her field of vision. Casey laid her head down and tried to relax her body. Her heart was pounding and she felt faint. Sucking in big gulps of air, she tried at once to calm herself and get ready to move again. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, picked up and slung her M16 over her neck, holding it in the ready position.

  Gently rubbing her thighs she glanced back up the dirt road but saw nothing. She needed to start moving right away, but instead sat on a large rock to rest and take stock of her situation. She reached in to her pocket and pulled out her packet of sucking sweets; she had only one left. She could not recall sucking them as she stumbled through the rocks during the night but she must have been reaching for them quite often, enough to almost empty the pack. She placed it back into her pocket and checked her water pouch and was not surprised to see it was almost dry. She sighed deeply, and then shrugging off a momentary flash of self pity she stood up and scanned the road. Certain there was no movement, she carefully climbed over the rocks back to the road. It was not yet dark but she was determined to get moving. The Taliban could return at any time. She paused once more before stepping on to the road and then confident there was no-one around, positioned her rifle more comfortably across her back and began to run.

  For the first hour, she was able to maintain a reasonable pace, but as night fell she struggled. Her discomfort was intense and she had to constantly fight the urge just to stop and lay down. Images of her parents, friends and even strangers she had seen just once flashed in and out of her mind. Sometimes they were indistinct and other times they were so real she thought they were with her. At one point she saw her father standing at the side of the road and he seemed so real she started talking to him, asking him what he was doing there. The most painful image was of her late husband, forever young and vibrant, smiling at her with that grin he always got when he was about to pay her the sweetest compliment. Most of the time she was cognizant enough to clear her mind at least for awhile, but after thinking about her late husband, she became quite weepy and emotional. She stopped running and collapsed onto her haunches and just cried.

  She was moving again when a light suddenly appeared up above. It was glowing quite brightly and casting a broad canopy of light above her. She stopped and swayed in place, trying to make out what it was. Then, from a distance a very bright light was shone directly at her and she squinted as it penetrated her dry eyes. She stood blinking against the light and thought she heard voices. She was spent; she could run no further or even protect herself. Fumbling at her holster, she struggled to pull out her sidearm and put an end to her misery, but even that was beyond her. She sunk to her knees and rolled over on to her side, unconscious.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE REAL PHILIPPE MÉTIER would have been the same age as the man who had taken over his identity if he had lived past his first birthday. Instead, only his name and identity had survived, providing cover to his alter ego who had lived under deep cover for the past nine years. His real name was Abd Al Rahman. Sitting alone at a small coffee table with his back to the wall outside a Parisian bistro alternately sipping strong coffee and inhaling deeply from the cigarette he held delicately between the forefingers of his left hand, he looked like an average middle-aged Frenchman. His right hand he kept obscured, occasionally resting it in his lap or slipping it into his trouser pocket.

  This was one of his pastimes; sitting away the day at a small outdoor bistro or café on a late summer afternoon with a newspaper or magazine. It had never been his custom to be gregarious so, other than an occasional brusque bon jour or au revoir, he rarely spoke to anyone. He was not interested in making friends. In fact his instructions so many years before had been very clear; hide in plain view, blend in, assimilate completel
y, become one of them.

  Forget who you were, he was told. Give up cultural associations, even old mannerisms to suggest the past, surrender yourself to the local temptations and don’t feel guilty about it.

  To serve us best you must become one of them.

  By all measures, he had done well but it had been a struggle. His real name meant Servant of the Merciful and giving it up for his nom de guerre was difficult because it spoke to him about his faith, his commitment and obedience to God. He despised his assumed name, false identity and seemly pointless assumed life but saw them as a test of his faith. At first he had struggled to abandon the culture of his birth which had always felt like a warm embrace and a path of piety, but after some time he rationalized that the greatest test of a man’s faith is not his ability to practice openly and fervently but to pretend to abandon it completely without actually doing so; to maintain his love, his loyalty and devotion without ever expressing it. How much stronger was his faith now that he lived this false life for so many years with no contacts from the old days, no promise of contact in the future, just the promise that when the time came, he would be summoned to the cause and well used.

  No one who knew Abd Al Rahman from the old days in Afghanistan when he fought against the infidels and godless communists would ever have accused him of weakness. He was still in his late teens when he arrived from Lebanon and was treated with suspicion at first because he was lighter skinned than the other Arab volunteers and spoke both French and Arabic fluently, that is, when he did speak. He was so taciturn that sometimes it would seem that days went by with him not speaking at all, but he was pious and his reputation as a fearless and merciless warrior was quickly established, particularly his capacity to endure the unendurable. Neither bone numbing cold in the mountains of or incapacitating heat in the deserts seemed to deter him from his sworn mission to kill every Soviet invader of Afghanistan.