Khost Read online

  Scorpions and bats.

  Spiders and rodents.

  The trickling spring of water deep down, the growing moss that needed no sunlight.

  He felt connected, as if everything inside of the cave were a part of his very essence, his soul.

  Then, he counted the intruders. He didn’t need to see them to know how many—twenty-four intruders were making their way close. They were armed, and he knew they were soldiers. He could hear their footsteps, hear their breaths. He could sense their anxiety.

  Ahmed grinned, his mouth dripping long strands of white froth.

  It was time.

  His hand still placed on the tunnel wall, he called to them. He spoke to his warriors not in words, but with his mind. It was extraordinary, but he knew they heard him. A new awareness filled Ahmed, knowing his people were coming.

  It was their time for vengeance.

  Ahmed raced from the shadows.

  23

  The Su-25 was the premier Soviet fighter jet. NATO called it the ‘Frogfoot.’ The Soviets’ nickname for it was the ‘Rook.’

  It was a single-seat, twin-engine jet designed for close air support for ground troops. It flew just under Mach one, quite fast for its time, the aircraft’s combat radius three hundred and seventy-five kilometers. It had been in production for six years now, flying counter-insurgency missions against the Mujahideen.

  The Su-25s launched a total of one hundred and thirty-nine missiles of all types against their enemy. Each aircraft performed over three hundred and fifty sorties per year. By the end of the conflict, over twenty-one aircraft were lost in combat.

  Overall, the aircraft was a work of art.

  This one sailed through the sky, graceful and fast. The pilot at the controls was a younger man, knew no fear. He was skilled, perhaps one of the best, and felt invincible inside the cockpit.

  He eased the throttle forward with his left hand, his body pulled back into his seat. Like the other members of this experiment, he, too, was hand-selected. He didn’t know why, though his ego told him it was because of his talent. There was some truth to that.

  Today, he had a mission to do. It was classified top secret, came from the very top. He could see the tension on the faces of his handlers, and the pilot wanted to impress his superiors, wanted to move up in rank, garner more respect, more power.

  Above nothing else, he loved to fly. It was his true passion, and the man was honored to fly into combat for his country. The exhilaration, the rush of excitement, the way he pushed the edge of the envelope—he smiled at the notion.

  The pilot was an adrenaline junkie, he got off on flying. But he was also a patriot, dedicated to proving his worth. He believed in this cause, this fight. His perspective might have been different, for he felt this war was winnable. He was optimistic, felt the Soviets could do this. Perhaps this perspective was easy when flying at ten thousand feet. Perhaps it was because he was still young, mid-twenties, and naïve. Perhaps it was because the war machine, the Soviet propaganda worked.

  Regardless, his intentions were noble, and he was in this fight. He was capable, feared nothing, felt safe flying at incredible speeds, accurate with his ground support. He never hesitated, he had the reactions of a tiger. The pilot flew on instinct alone, and that’s what made him good.

  “Kilo Base, this is Blackbird One. I’m nearing the valley again. Three miles out and headed over once more,” the pilot reported. Nose down, he was approaching the valley, descending from three thousand feet.

  “Copy that, Blackbird One. Advise when on sight.”

  “Am I to release ordinance again, over?” the pilot asked. He figured since there had been no explosion, the missile was a dud. Yet unlike the three helicopters on the ground below, the Su-25 was loaded up, hostile and ready. The pilot figured he was to line up for another shot.

  “Negative, Blackbird One. Maintain circles at low altitude and report any activity.”

  “Copy, Kilo Base,” the pilot responded.

  The mission was simple now. He supposed whatever he fired into that cave did work. At least his superiors seemed to think so. Now, he was to keep visual contact, to provide cover and observe.

  Simple.

  He approached once more, this time slower, this time focused on the ground below. He crossed over the villagers, watching intently as they scrambled below, looking up again. They had gathered their rifles, amassed in groups. The pilot counted a few dozen at best. He reported it. Strangely, the villagers had yet to advance toward the helicopters. Feeling this was odd, the pilot also reported it.

  He’d keep a close eye, though. If they moved toward his comrades, he wouldn’t hesitate to take them out. He would cover from above, make sure no Muj snuck up behind.

  “. . . this is Blackbird One, I have three, maybe four dozen visuals. Possible threats, but six hundred meters out. They’re motionless at the moment, over.”

  “Copy that, Blackbird One.”

  “The helicopters are still stationary, the crews beside them. I see no movement near the cave. I see no sign of ambush either.”

  “Copy, Blackbird One. Proceed around for another pass.”

  The pilot accelerated, giving lift to his aircraft. He was close to the rising mountain, had a pair of iron balls between his legs. He raced up, looking once more at the cave.

  Higher and higher, climbing and climbing.

  The opening was dark. It appeared empty. No sign of Kirov, no sign of his men, no sign of life. The smoke had cleared, but the dark of nothingness was all he could see at the entrance to the cave.

  Three minutes later and the Su-25 appeared once more. Again, a pass over the village.

  “Report.”

  “Still no threat from the village. No rifle fire. The Muj are cowards, they’re sitting this one out.”

  “The ground crews?”

  “Safe. I see no threat at the moment.”

  “Copy, Blackbird One. What about the cave? Has the smoke cleared?”

  “Affirmative, Kilo Base. We have clear skies.”

  “Circle again and observe.”

  “Copy, Kilo Base,” the pilot said again.

  He soared from the canyon once more, engines screaming as he gained altitude. He streaked through the sky, alone, racing up to four thousand feet, banking sharp right. He’d approach from a different angle, from the western side of the canyon. It was the longest part, and he’d cover the entire valley.

  He would be coming in low. And fast.

  The pilot lived for this.

  24

  It took six minutes for the Su-25 to reach the top of the western ridge. The pilot shot down into the valley, amazed at its size. He estimated it to be five hundred meters wide, over a thousand long. The village sat near the middle, no-man’s land surrounding—giant peaks. These people were definitely alone.

  He raced in low. Fast. His heart thudded in his chest, the excitement nearly overwhelming.

  He flew across desert floor.

  He buzzed the village.

  Three seconds.

  Two.

  One.

  He passed, looking over his shoulder. Still no movement.

  Moments later, the three Mi-24s came into view. A quick glance, all appeared normal. He began to look away, ahead toward the cave, but stopped. Something caught his attention.

  The pilot eased the throttle back, raised his flaps, neared stall speed. He slowed as best he could, staring wide eyed as he passed over the helicopters.

  “What in the hell?” he exclaimed.

  It was what all pilots feared. Even though it was mere seconds, the pilot had seen the most horrific sight, a scene that would last him a lifetime.

  Utter chaos, complete disarray, the three Mi-24 gunships, the three indestructible killing machines, were torn to shreds. The helicopters were ripped apart, few large pieces could be seen. Chunks of metal, wiring, seats—everything—were strewn far and wide. The wreckage must have covered fifty meters. It was as if the helicopters
had gone down.

  Maybe a bomb?

  A rocket?

  What could do this?

  He passed over, the scene no longer visible, though the image stuck with him. The pilot pulled up hard, pushing his throttle again, gaining altitude. He flew scared, would feel safer if he climbed high. Far away from this!

  Free of the valley once more, he was in a near vertical climb. His engines burned hot.

  One thousand meters.

  Two thousand meters.

  Three thousand.

  He eased his angle, banked left, looking at the valley below. He couldn’t see as well, but the remains of the busted and broken helicopters were visible.

  He swooped a giant arch, looking to his left, a bit closer to the valley now. He could see the Mi-24s, the pieces of what they once were. Rotor blades ripped off, engines tossed aside. Cockpits and flight equipment thrown out, scattered across the desert floor. Even the heavy metal plates that armored the helicopters had been ripped apart. Some were bent, other completely shredded. Everything was tossed aside like pieces of cloth.

  “Impossible,” the pilot muttered.

  Then, a haunting feeling overcame him.

  They were all dead.

  Captain Ivan Drago.

  Weapons Specialist Alexander Suvorov.

  The others.

  All dead.

  The pilot neared even closer, even lower, gasping as he thought he saw human body parts. He was still high up, but there was no mistaking it. A head here, a leg there.

  “It must have been a bomb,” he said to himself. Then, he reported, saying, “Kilo Base, this is Blackbird One. We have a problem. A serious one. You’ll never believe it, but your helicopters are down. They’re destroyed.”

  “Say again, Blackbird?”

  “They’re all dead,” the pilot said, his voice not as calm and professional as he would have liked. “Your helicopters are mangled. Something big hit them, and they’re nowhere near flyable. I think I see bodies, almost sure of it.”

  “Copy, Blackbird One . . .”

  The pilot swooped over, both afraid and enraged. He wanted revenge, and anger began to overcome him. Unlike the helicopters below, he was armed. Three more air-to-ground missiles, his frontal guns. If he spotted those responsible for killing his comrades, he’d enact his revenge.

  “. . . Blackbird One, this is Kilo Base. You are to proceed over one more time, then head back to base.”

  “Negative,” the pilot said, the words slipping from his mouth before thinking. “We have men down there. We need to mobilize rescue crews at once. I can provide aerial cover.”

  “Negative, Blackbird One. Your orders stand. One more pass and return to base.”

  “What about the survivors?” he asked.

  “Blackbird One, there are no survivors. The mission is aborted. Pass once more and return to base,” the voice said. “That’s an order.”

  25

  The Spetsnaz bravely moved deeper. Room after room, tunnel after tunnel. The farther in, the more complex, a catacomb of rock and darkness.

  Still, no sign of life.

  The bodies had stopped, though. They saw no more. It was as if the slaughter was done on impulse, and that impulse had ended.

  “Think there’s any more?” Boris asked.

  “You can bet on it. Someone did this. I’d expect a dozen or two,” Kirov responded.

  “What’s the point of this, Colonel? What exactly are we looking for?”

  His men hadn’t been privy to much, but they were all comrades, and considering where they were, what they might be up against, Kirov took a moment to fill them in.

  “This is a weapon. Designed in Soviet labs, those four missiles contained something very powerful. It creates soldiers that are advanced, it enhances their DNA, intensifies the traits of a good soldier, making him a great one.”

  “So we’re entering a cave of Muj who are better than before? Great,” Boris muttered.

  “Much better. They have enhanced senses, faster reflexes. If it did work, and there are any remaining, we must be ready. Expect them to look messed up, too. Don’t let it shock you if the chemical effected their skin, their hair, their shape. If they attack, shoot fast.”

  “Comrade Colonel, you can’t be serious? A chemical that makes them . . .”

  “Super-soldiers, yes. It even allows for muscle and bone growth. They’ll be undergoing changes right now.”

  “Bullshit,” Boris rubbed his bald head, having a hard time believing the Colonel’s words. “Even if that was possible, it couldn’t be that fast.”

  “They will begin growing. A few inches, but they’ll grow. They’ll be stronger, faster, things like that. This is why we’re here, ladies. To see if it worked. To see if this can be used to our advantage.”

  “Sir, if it does work, we might have some trouble ahead.”

  “Indeed. Shoot first, ask questions later. Their primal instincts will begin to come out. They’ll change into animals, although that change will take some time. We have an advantage—surprise. Plus, we’re going in right away, before they can fully change. Just remember, no matter what they look like, they’ll be getting smarter by the minute, more cunning. So stay alert. This compound effects their cell structure, but also their psychology. If they want us dead, they’ll sure as hell try,” Kirov said. His voice was low, though it still carried through the cavern.

  “What we just saw . . ." his first in command, Morozov began, his face white. “. . . we just saw the work of animals, no matter what they’ve told you, sir. This test designed the perfect killer, that’s for sure. I hope they never intend to use it on us.”

  “I’d guess that’s the plan. If it works, that is. So far, they killed their own. Whether that was on impulse or not, we’ll know once we clear this cave,” Kirov said.

  “It happened so fast,” Boris exclaimed.

  “Too fast, according to what I was told. Less than a half hour and there’s already mutilation. Whatever the chemical did, it caused them to thrive on killing. Did you see the piles? The guts on the walls?” Kirov asked. “It was as if they were proud of it, too. Almost like art.”

  “Art?” Boris asked, appalled.

  “The desire to kill is strong, that’s obvious. It’s absolute madness.”

  “Why do it?” Morozov asked.

  “Because we’re losing this war. Let’s admit it, they’re tougher. This compound is the Soviet Union’s last hope. They’ve gambled much on its success.”

  “They’ll be mighty disappointed,” Morozov stated.

  “Perhaps. We’ll see once we find the rest. If this does work, if we can find but one or two that are alive, then it’s a success. After they fix a few things, this compound could do wonders for our people. It would shake the foundation of world politics. The Americans would fear us, the world would fear us. Let’s hope we find something to our advantage, otherwise the Soviet Union has lost this war,” Kirov said.

  The men were taken aback. They’d never heard the Colonel speak in such a manner.

  “We’re taking part in lunacy,” Kirov added. “Perhaps history, too. If we survive this, we’ll have glory, men.”

  “How many you estimate, Colonel?” Boris asked.

  “Who the hell knows? This place could house hundreds. I’d guess ten, maybe twenty did this. Saw few men among the bodies, so I’m guessing the Muj men did this. The chemical made ’em angry and they just snapped.”

  “And if there’s more?” Boris asked. He wasn’t one to question his Colonel, but this situation was unusual. “What if there’s more?”

  “Well, that’s our fucking problem now, isn’t it, Corporal? Now get moving and let’s clear this cave out. We have a helicopter to catch. Soon. Now move,” Kirov ordered.

  In a sense, all the men were defeated. There was no going back, no safe haven here. Death was around the corner, they just didn’t know which one. The tunnels grew darker, the rooms dim the farther they traveled. It was expansive, maybe e
ven miles of tunnels to explore.

  Green team moved on, Kirov and the other two teams close behind. Up a small incline, a squeeze through a small passageway. Their AK-47s were at the ready, always ready, fingers itching to pull the triggers. Their rifles were the only thing that caused them some relief. The fact that they could dish out a lot of firepower quite effectively.

  On and on, each man was left with his own thoughts. A million possibilities went through their minds, a million worse case scenarios.

  Kirov was bothered by the strangeness of this all. He now understood the secrecy, he now understood the importance. He now understood why he was picked to lead this mission.

  But to kill their own, that was something that made him even more cautious. Something didn’t sit right with the fact. Who would do such a thing?

  For a moment, Kirov even considered turning back. He could recall his teams, head to the rally point, be up in the air in a matter of minutes. He had that authority, for this was his mission. He could abort if needed, however there was a provision to this—he’d receive hell if he failed this task.

  No way was he going back. Once inside the cave, he’d accomplish his mission.

  Had the chemical worked?

  He couldn’t ascertain this fully, and he knew it. There were the piles of dead behind him, and that left some alive, some who had slaughtered their own. He needed to see them, to observe them, and then most likely kill them.

  Retreat was not an option.

  Even a popular war hero, even a decorated Colonel could be replaced. In the Soviet Union, everyone was expendable.

  He urged his men on.

  26

  The men were horrified, but obeyed Kirov regardless. They took a few more samples, scraped the walls, gathered sand and pebbles. Bits of moss grew on the cave walls, strange looking moss. Morozov pulled out a glove, pulling the sticky plant-life from the crack and inserting it into a container.

  They made haste, done with their job and proceeding forward quickly.