Chase looked up at the moonlit ridge. ‘Should be able to get up there without ropes,’ he said, indicating a likely path. ‘We— What the bloody hell are you doing?’
Castille had peeled a banana, wolfing down half of it in a single bite. ‘For energy,’ he mumbled as he chewed. ‘We have a big climb.’
Chase shook his head. ‘Hugo, you’re weird.’
‘Literally bananas,’ Starkman added. He and Chase laughed, prompting a snort from Castille, who polished off the fruit before bagging and pocketing its skin.
‘So, we all ready?’ Chase asked. ‘Or have you got a bunch of grapes an’ all?’
‘You may laugh,’ said Castille, starting up the ridge, ‘but you British should eat more fruit. It is why you are all so pale!’
Grinning, Chase followed, Starkman taking up the rear. The climb proved a little more tricky than it looked, the three men having to help each other scale a couple of particularly steep sections, but before long it flattened out.
By now, the trio were again all business. They advanced along the top of the ridge. About two hundred metres from the pass, Castille let out a sharp hiss. All three immediately dropped into wary crouches, weapons ready. ‘What?’ Chase whispered.
The Belgian pointed. ‘I see smoke.’
Chase narrowed his eyes, picking out a faint line wafting into the night sky. Its source was near the far end of the pass.
No need for further discussion; they already knew what they had to do. They quietly headed across the ridge. Below was the closed canyon – and at its head a small patch of glowing orange amidst the darkness. A campfire.
Chase raised his C8 and peered through its scope. As expected, the Taliban had left guards to watch the pass, positioned amongst broken boulders for cover. Two men in dusty robes and turbans sat near the fire. One had an AK-47 propped against a rock beside him; another rifle lay on a flat rock not far away. Of more concern, though, was a different weapon – the long tube of an RPG-7, a Russian rocket launcher with its pointed warhead loaded.
He lowered his gun, judging the distance. Slightly under two hundred metres: well within range of his Diemaco, even with its power reduced by the bulky suppressor on the end of its barrel. An easy shot.
Starkman had come to the same conclusion. ‘Let’s do ’em,’ he said. ‘You take the left guy.’
Chase nodded and shifted into firing position. The Taliban member reappeared in his scope. He tilted the gun up slightly, the red dot at the centre of his gunsight just above the man’s head. The bullet’s arc would carry it down to hit his temple . . .
A part of his mind intruded on his concentration. You’ve never killed anyone before . Not that he knew of, at least; he had been in combat, fired on people shooting at him . . . but this was the first time he had ever prepared to kill an unsuspecting man.
He shook off his doubts. The Taliban were enemies in a war, and the man in his sights would kill his friends and comrades if he got the chance. It was up to him to make sure that didn’t happen.
‘On three,’ Starkman whispered. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
‘Okay. One, two—’
‘Hold fire, hold fire!’ Chase hissed. His target had just hopped to his feet. He tracked him. ‘Wait, wait – shit!’
The Taliban disappeared behind a boulder. Chase quickly panned past it in the hope of reacquiring him on the other side, but after a few seconds it became clear that he wasn’t coming out. ‘Arse! Lost him.’
Castille searched through his own gunsight. ‘I think he has sat down. The other one is still talking to him.’
‘We need to get both those fuckers at once,’ Starkman muttered. ‘If one gets off a shot . . . ’
‘We’ll have to get ’em from the ground,’ said Chase. He saw a large rock near the ridge’s edge. ‘Tie a rope round that – I’ll go first.’
A line was quickly secured to the rock. Chase glanced down. This side of the
Castille had peeled a banana, wolfing down half of it in a single bite. ‘For energy,’ he mumbled as he chewed. ‘We have a big climb.’
Chase shook his head. ‘Hugo, you’re weird.’
‘Literally bananas,’ Starkman added. He and Chase laughed, prompting a snort from Castille, who polished off the fruit before bagging and pocketing its skin.
‘So, we all ready?’ Chase asked. ‘Or have you got a bunch of grapes an’ all?’
‘You may laugh,’ said Castille, starting up the ridge, ‘but you British should eat more fruit. It is why you are all so pale!’
Grinning, Chase followed, Starkman taking up the rear. The climb proved a little more tricky than it looked, the three men having to help each other scale a couple of particularly steep sections, but before long it flattened out.
By now, the trio were again all business. They advanced along the top of the ridge. About two hundred metres from the pass, Castille let out a sharp hiss. All three immediately dropped into wary crouches, weapons ready. ‘What?’ Chase whispered.
The Belgian pointed. ‘I see smoke.’
Chase narrowed his eyes, picking out a faint line wafting into the night sky. Its source was near the far end of the pass.
No need for further discussion; they already knew what they had to do. They quietly headed across the ridge. Below was the closed canyon – and at its head a small patch of glowing orange amidst the darkness. A campfire.
Chase raised his C8 and peered through its scope. As expected, the Taliban had left guards to watch the pass, positioned amongst broken boulders for cover. Two men in dusty robes and turbans sat near the fire. One had an AK-47 propped against a rock beside him; another rifle lay on a flat rock not far away. Of more concern, though, was a different weapon – the long tube of an RPG-7, a Russian rocket launcher with its pointed warhead loaded.
He lowered his gun, judging the distance. Slightly under two hundred metres: well within range of his Diemaco, even with its power reduced by the bulky suppressor on the end of its barrel. An easy shot.
Starkman had come to the same conclusion. ‘Let’s do ’em,’ he said. ‘You take the left guy.’
Chase nodded and shifted into firing position. The Taliban member reappeared in his scope. He tilted the gun up slightly, the red dot at the centre of his gunsight just above the man’s head. The bullet’s arc would carry it down to hit his temple . . .
A part of his mind intruded on his concentration. You’ve never killed anyone before . Not that he knew of, at least; he had been in combat, fired on people shooting at him . . . but this was the first time he had ever prepared to kill an unsuspecting man.
He shook off his doubts. The Taliban were enemies in a war, and the man in his sights would kill his friends and comrades if he got the chance. It was up to him to make sure that didn’t happen.
‘On three,’ Starkman whispered. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
‘Okay. One, two—’
‘Hold fire, hold fire!’ Chase hissed. His target had just hopped to his feet. He tracked him. ‘Wait, wait – shit!’
The Taliban disappeared behind a boulder. Chase quickly panned past it in the hope of reacquiring him on the other side, but after a few seconds it became clear that he wasn’t coming out. ‘Arse! Lost him.’
Castille searched through his own gunsight. ‘I think he has sat down. The other one is still talking to him.’
‘We need to get both those fuckers at once,’ Starkman muttered. ‘If one gets off a shot . . . ’
‘We’ll have to get ’em from the ground,’ said Chase. He saw a large rock near the ridge’s edge. ‘Tie a rope round that – I’ll go first.’
A line was quickly secured to the rock. Chase glanced down. This side of the
Similar Books
Attack of the Shark-Headed Zombie
Bill Doyle
The Ionia Sanction
Gary Corby
The Bloody Wood
Michael Innes
![Mine for Eternity [Council Enforcers] (Siren Publishing Classic)](https://fs.read-free.com/200073/thumbs/152x264/mine-for-eternity-council-enforcers-siren-publishing-classic.png)
A Time to Kill
John Grisham
Storm Maiden
Mary Gillgannon
I Was Here
Gayle Forman
Lonesome Road
Patricia Wentworth
King’s Wrath
Fiona McIntosh
Women & Other Animals
Bonnie Jo. Campbell