Love In The House Of War Page 10

  Ron answered, “Then it is good that I am here. Had he tried anything, he would have been on the ground with his rifle shoved down his throat.”

  Sarah chuckled. “I believe that you would do it too, Mr. Hawkman! You know something?”

  “What?” He answered.

  “First, you look fine in those clothes. Second, please remove your scarf now. There is something I need to say that I haven't been able to tell you yet today.”

  Ron removed his scarf with a confused expression, not sure why he would need to do so to hear what she had to say.

  The moment he lowered his scarf, she lunged toward him and planted her lips on Ron's mouth while grabbing the back of his head, holding and pulling it forward toward her.

  Ron responded without hesitation, placing both of his arms around her, and pulling her toward him. Neither of them had any intention of removing their lips from each other even as the truck continued to roll down the bumpy road, knocking piles of loose clothes on top of them.

  * * *

  Ninety minutes later, still in each other's arms, the truck slowed down to a stop. “We may have trouble!” Rashad said with fear in his voice. “This time, there are more than one and it is not a checkpoint!”

  Sarah asked in Persian, “How many?”

  “I see maybe seven, no wait, nine men, all armed with AK-47s.”

  “Taliban! Act normal and do not try to run or they will shoot. Give them the same story.”

  Ron could tell by the alarm in Sarah's voice that fear had taken over her calm demeanor. He laid his hand on her lap. “Just stay calm,” Ron added and then readied both of his weapons.

  Sarah felt for her knife. Ron handed her his Beretta. Even after his assurances, her hands were shaking.

  Four armed men approached the vehicle, two of them stopping about fifteen feet in front, weapons pointing at the driver. The other two continued towards them, one stopping at the driver's door and the other at the passenger side. Seeing that a fourteen-year-old local boy sat in the seat, the guard continued walking toward the back.

  At the same time, the other guard spoke to the driver in Persian. “We are looking for a runaway girl and an American. Have you seen them?”

  Rashad, sweating despite the cold air, could see the other two men ahead and an additional five near an old beat-up wooden shack. The soldiers watched the exchange and held their weapons in front of them rather than over their shoulders.

  “No, I have not seen any Americans… They are here?”

  “We'll see.” He walked towards the back to join the other guard who was already standing with his rifle pointing toward the truck.

  Just as he reached the back, he nodded his head and flung open the back flap to come face-to-face with the barrel of Sarah's Berretta. Ron had his M4 pointed at the head of the second man, and Sarah spit out the words through clenched teeth in Persian, “You two drop your weapons, now!”

  One of the men standing in front of the shack yelled, “What do you see? Are they in there?”

  One of the guards who stopped in front of the truck yelled back, “I can't see anything.”

  “Go check it out,” the man at the shack ordered.

  “Two more are coming!” Rashad yelled.

  As the guard approached the passenger side door, Rashad's son, Rami, jumped out of the car and ran toward him. He had waited until the last moment before making his lunge with the long Peshkabz knife. His swift action caught the guard by total surprise. He had no time to react; Rami had swung the knife across his neck, slashing his throat. The Taliban soldier made a sickening gurgling sound combined with a futile attempt to scream. A bright red spray of blood splattered on Rami.

  One of the men in the back shouted, “It's the Amer—” but would never finish. Ron squeezed the trigger from his M4 and as if on cue, Sarah pulled the trigger at point blank range sending the other guard falling backwards to the ground. Rami ran back to the truck while the other Taliban standing in front of the vehicle lifted his rifle to cut him down.

  Rashad floored the gas pedal and ran the gunman over with his truck. The sudden jerk caused Ron and Sarah to fall forward and tumble out of the truck onto the road.

  “Hurry, get in!” Rashad yelled to Rami.

  Rami jumped into the truck while Rashad attempted to put his truck into reverse and flee. Ron grabbed Sarah out of the truck's path and rolled over to the side of the road on top of her. The body of the Taliban prevented Rashad from making any progress. Five Taliban soldiers from the guard shack were already running toward the truck opening fire with their AK-47s on automatic.

  “I need the American and girl alive!” one of them shouted.

  Rashad and Rami did not have a chance. Both slumped down in their seats covered with bright-red bullet holes.

  Ron and Sarah jumped up and ran toward a nearby ridge west of the road when one of the Taliban soldiers lifted his AK-47 to mow them down. The commander knocked it away and then, with his own weapon, took careful aim and pulled the trigger. Ron went down like a sack of potatoes. Sarah screamed—falling on him in despair…tears streaming down her delicate face.

  23

  “I'm all right. I'm hit in the leg. They want me alive,” he managed through clenched teeth. Run princess! Run!”

  “NEVER! I won't leave you!” Sarah cried out. She reached down for Ron's M-4 but it was too late. Two of the Taliban guards had already reached her and held her. When she tried to fight back, a third came over and punched her hard across the face…knocking her out cold.

  Ron reached over for his rifle to have it kicked out of his hand. Then one of them kicked him in the lower stomach with powerful force causing him to roll into a fetal position, exposing his wounded leg.

  The commander arrived on the scene and walked on. Standing above him, he lifted his foot high into the air, and then brought it down forcefully, stomping into the bullet wound in Ron's lower leg. He yelled before passing out himself.

  “Get them into the shack, now!” the commander barked.

  One of the Taliban threw Sarah over his shoulder like a sack of flour while two others picked Ron up from either end and carried him.

  The commander followed, stopping at the truck to look inside. Rashad and Rami lay motionless. The commander looked disgusted as he moved toward the front. The Taliban soldier hit by the truck moaned, which caught the commander's attention. The wounded man, still beneath the truck, looked like he suffered from internal wounds, so the commander walked over and placed a well-aimed round to his temple. The moaning stopped.

  On his way back to the shack, the commander passed the soldier with his throat smashed. He studied the wound, blood still flowing from the neck. The dead Taliban's wide open mouth matched his wide-eyed gaze into the endless sky.

  “Such a shame,” the commander muttered to himself. “The boy with the knife would have made an excellent fighter for our cause.”

  Ron and Sarah lay motionless on the ground when the commander walked into the mud and wood-mixed shack. There were four guards standing around with their weapons pointed at their captives. The Taliban commander gave orders to clean up the mess outside. Two of them departed.

  “Give me some water,” the commander said to one of the remaining guards. The fighter came back with a pan of water, which the commander, Daoud Puri, took and poured over both Ron and Sarah. Ron came to life but Sarah lay motionless.

  “You killed her, you scum!” Ron spit in English.

  “Not hardly,” Daoud answered back in English, to Ron's surprise. “She is worth nothing to me dead.”

  Daoud poured more water on her face, and until she awakened.

  “See, she will be okay.”

  Sarah came to her senses and shot up on one elbow. “Ron!”

  “I'm here, princess.”

  “Oh, how sweet. The two of you have something between you,” the commander snarled. “We heard.”

  “It's me you want. Just let her go,” Ron said.

  “I will never
leave you!” Sarah cried.

  The two Taliban soldiers and Daoud snickered. “Just like the movies,” Daoud smirked. “It is the girl we want first. Somebody is very interested in paying a high price for her, alive of course. As for you, too bad the Americans have not offered anything for you. Not yet anyway.”

  “The Russians want the girl?” Ron guessed.

  “You are a smart man for an American soldier. Yes, I am not sure why. However, the exchange will benefit us. Fortunately for the girl. Not for you, I'm afraid.”

  “I will not go to them!” Sarah spat.

  “Oh, you will indeed. They want you for something important. You will be glad you went to them because if they do not show, you will belong to me.”

  “Never!”

  Ron looked over at Sarah and then around the room to survey the layout, while formulating an escape plan.

  “Don't get any cute ideas, American soldier. You will not leave here alive unless a deal can be made for you as well.”

  Sarah yelled something in Pashto that Ron did not understand.

  The Taliban commander answered back in Pashto with evil in his eyes.

  “Your pretty little lady has a nasty mouth.”

  “I find quite pleasing, myself,” Ron answered.

  Looking back at Ron, Daoud said, “Why do you Americans come to our land to fight us and to take what does not belong to you?”

  “He is my HUSBAND!” Sarah shouted.

  “So, I hear. If it were not for a deal we made with the Russians, your 'husband' would have been forced to watch you being punished and stoned for your sins.”

  Ron crept toward Daoud, and then pounced, head lowered, in an attempt to ram him into the ground. Because of his leg, he did not get far before the rifle butt landed between his shoulders. The guard proceeded to kick him in the ribs. Ron's hands tied behind his back prevented him from defending himself.

  “I never committed adultery with anyone! I have always been innocent of such a crime.”

  “Even if this were true, you could never go back to Dehi or Golbahar. Akhund Khan has the people convinced that you are an adulterer and with this infidel boyfriend of yours.”

  “He is not an infidel, and he is not my boyfriend. WE ARE HUSBAND AND WIFE!” Sarah yelled.

  Daoud leered. “Yes, we are aware of such nonsense. You should be more careful whom you invite to the wedding. Not everybody applauded your choice. How do you think we knew you would be in the truck?”

  Ron and Sarah exchanged glances. “I am so sorry, my prince.”

  “Don't be. I agreed to marry you without regret.”

  “Yes, interesting that you did so,” Daoud said. “I wonder about your true motives. By the way, Akhund Amar will pay the price along with Dr. Rajiv for breaking the laws of Allah.”

  “They did no such thing!” Sarah denied.

  “His whole family will join him, along with your father.”

  Sarah cried, feeling as if her whole dream was about to come crashing to a swift end. “YOU ARE THE DEVIL!” she screamed.

  “Be strong, princess,” Ron declared. “Believe that good will conquer evil.”

  “Good versus evil. This coming from an infidel? Tell me, will Allah reward me or punish me now?”

  Daoud got up from his stool and leaned over toward Sarah, grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, causing her to wince in pain.

  “Awwwl!”

  Next, he moved his face closer towards her until she reached out and slapped him hard across the face. In anger, he responded by backhanding her across the mouth, causing a trickle of blood to run slowly down the side.

  Once again, Ron darted toward him until the rifle butt from one of the guards sent him back down in a heap. Turning towards his attacker, he hoisted himself up to his knees and made a futile charge that resulted in the other guard striking him in the lower back with a wooden club. Together, both guards struck Ron again and again hitting him in the back, his ribs and anywhere they pleased.

  Ron yelled in pain. “GOD, PLEASE!”

  “PLEASE, STOP IT!” Sarah screamed in Persian. “You will kill him! Here, take me!” She began removing her blouse.

  The guard with the club lifted his brutal instrument of pain to clobber Ron once again as his body jerked on the floor like a marionette.

  Daoud held his hand up. “That's enough for now. You two leave.”

  They looked down at Ron with glaring eyes and then over to the commander to make sure that they heard correctly.

  “Go. I'll call you back soon.”

  Ron lay motionless. Sarah dropped down and stretched across his body sobbing.

  “You have killed my dream,” she managed through clenched teeth. Then, reaching for the knife she had hidden beneath her cotton blouse, she grabbed it and charged with a thrusting motion toward the Taliban commander.

  He saw it coming and blocked her attempt, then wrestled the knife from her hand. After throwing her back to the ground, he walked toward her with a devious grin. Sarah jumped up to run past him, but he grabbed a handful of her flowing hair and threw her back against the mud wall as she squealed in pain.

  Just then, one of the Taliban guards came running back. “The helicopter is approaching now!”

  The commander froze before regaining his composure. “You better hope that your friends have brought me what I have asked for, otherwise we will finish this. In some ways, I hope they do not,” he sneered.

  24

  Sarah slumped to the ground weeping. She crawled over to Ron who lied motionless, listening to his labored breathing. Alarmed, she cried out in desperation, “God, please help us now! I do believe in miracles.”

  Looking at the two guards, the commander said, “Watch him. Do not let him escape, but do not kill him. I'm not finished.”

  Daoud grabbed Sarah who tried to cling to Ron, but with the help of another Taliban, he yanked her from him. As they exited the hut, Sarah watched another Taliban give hand motions to a Mi-8 Hip helicopter preparing to land. She glanced back over her shoulder at Ron and cried.

  “My prince, you are disappearing from view. Wake up! Let me know you are alive! Please! After all, we have been through, I would say yes to you, forever, I believe in my dream. I believe in God! Yes, of course I do!”

  Sarah had repeated these words as if she were reciting a magical poem.

  When the Mi-8 chopper touched down, four armed troops spilled out, two from each side, with their AS “Val” special automatic rifles, the preferred weapon of choice because of their high performance, armor-piercing ammunition that held ten- or twenty-round magazines.

  The dismounted Spetsnaz troops halted in a triangular position from the aircraft while a fifth man emerged from the copilot's seat. No one was wearing any distinguishing military uniforms, and if it were not for the Val's, and the armed dismounted troops, a casual observer might have thought they were part of a medical inspection team.

  A tall blond man walked straight up to Daoud. Four others flanked him, two of whom were females. Daoud had Sarah held by two of his own guards.

  Sergei spoke in Persian. “I am Sergei Kravchenko. You are Daoud?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  Sergei did not like what he saw: a girl in extreme distress looking beat up.

  “The girl is supposed to be unharmed and in good health.”

  “She is fine, but she tried to escape. Did you bring the money and the weapons?”

  Sergei motioned behind him with his arm, which brought two more soldiers up to them with a metal chest. When Daoud opened it, there laid a stockpile of AK-47 automatic assault rifles and a two dozen rocket propelled grenades (RPGs).

  Sergei held out an envelope to Daoud who opened it to count the amount of cash. Then he nodded to his guards to release the girl to the two female Russian officers.

  Sergei looked at Sarah and said in Persian, “You will be fine now.”

  She answered back in Russian, “Please! My husband is in the shack, and they will kill him un
less you do something!” she sobbed in total despair.

  Sergei, surprised that she spoke Russian so fluently, answered back in Russian. “Your husband? I am not aware of another,” he lied.

  Looking at Daoud, he questioned in Persian, “You have her husband here with you?”

  Daoud sneered at Sarah in disdain. “Just an infidel. It is none of your concern. She claims they are married, but this is impossible under our laws.”

  Sergei seemed a little disconcerted. “Very well, give us the girl and let us be going.”

  “NO! PLEASE! YOU CAN'T LEAVE HIM HERE!” Sarah shouted.

  Sergei looked at Sarah's pleading eyes and spoke in Russian again. “Listen to me. These hills have a dozen more of Daoud's men along the ridgeline. We must leave now.”

  Sarah shouted again, “NOO!” One of the females with Sergei injected her with a syringe, causing her to slump forward into the waiting arms of the two guards. Then the four of them took her back to the waiting chopper and laid her on a padded stretcher containing wool blankets.

  Sergei gave Daoud one last look and without saying a word, turned around and boarded the aircraft along with his dismount team. Once aboard, Sergei lifted his hand and circled the air with a twirl until the Mi-8 lifted up and headed northwest along the mountains, disappearing behind the first ridgeline as it dipped into a low-flying route toward Termez, Uzbekistan.

  Daoud looked at his guards and then waved his men from the ridgeline. “Now for the American.”

  About twelve more men belonging to Daoud descended from behind the ridge. Daoud intended to make an example of Ron by displaying him on television to a worldwide audience. He would brag that they held an American Special Forces soldier captive who would be condemned as an adulterer.

  When Daoud's men were in the open the Mi-8 Hip reappeared from nowhere and fired its 12.7-mm machinegun mounted in the nose of the aircraft. The Hip also displaced two 57-mm rockets into the hills from where the guerrillas emerged, mowing down the Taliban forces in seconds.

  One of the two guards inside with Ron ran outside and caught a bullet round between the eyes by a Spetsnaz trooper running from behind the shack. Before the other guard could respond and shoot at Ron, still on the ground, a bullet entered his forehead between the eyes, causing an immediate flow of blood.