Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip

CHAPTER 29

Halting their descent through the mountain darkness, Sandra and her Hezbi captors listened to the Pashtun AK-47s chattering on the far side of the valley. When the firing subsided after a couple of minutes, a pair of scouts was dispatched to investigate. The column settled in to wait, and Kohistani drew his fighting men close, briefing them to expect an American attack from any quarter. He did not believe in coincidence, and he was not naïve about American UAV capabilities. If the Yankee murderers knew or even suspected that the woman pilot was being held in Waigal Village, one of their drones could be scanning the valley with its infrared cameras at that very moment.

Sandra was coherent enough to discern the change of mood in her captors. Before the rattling of the AK-47s, they were moving smartly down the mountain with a minimum of apparent caution. Now they were stopped and pulled into a tight defensive perimeter encircling her stretcher, whispering back and forth like a pit of agitated vipers, ready to strike in any direction. With only Badira paying her any attention, Sandra began to work at the knotted ropes securing her to the stretcher, readying herself to move if an American rescue team were to appear suddenly. She promised herself that she would summon the strength to get up and run when the time came, despite the opium doping her reflexes and the pain ravaging her leg.

The time dragged on, however, and as the minutes stretched into an hour, her faint adrenaline surge faded to nothing and her determination flagged. Her mind fogged, and the pain began to take over once again. After an hour and a half, she squeezed Badira’s arm in the darkness, signaling that she needed another hit from the opium pipe.

Badira ignored her request, knowing that Kohistani would not allow her to strike a match under the circumstances.

As the pain increased, Sandra began to think more clearly. She summoned all of her strength and drew a deep breath: “I’m here!” she screamed in desperation. “I’m here! Come and—!”

A fist slammed into the side of her head, knocking her senseless. Another fighter jumped up and knelt heavily on her diaphragm to prevent her from drawing enough air for another scream in the event she came to.

The scouts returned ten minutes later, reporting to Kohistani that they had found seven dead Pashtun on the trail across the valley. One of the scouts dropped a fistful of spent 5.56 mm shell casings into his hand.

“The Americans killed them all and kept moving up the mountain toward the village,” the scout said. “They won’t arrive before first light. By the time they discover she’s no longer there, we’ll have reached the truck.”

Kohistani smiled in the darkness. “Allah be praised,” he said with great satisfaction, having believed until that moment that the woman’s screams had doomed them all. “It is no accident that we are at this place in time, brothers. Allah does not deal in coincidence.”

He stepped over to the stretcher, using his own flashlight to check on their prisoner whose left eye was now swollen almost shut from the blow that had silenced her screams. He shined the light in Badira’s eyes, telling her, “You should have thought to hold a hand over her mouth.”

“Perhaps you should have thought to tell me,” Badira retorted.

He rapped her in the face with the butt of the flashlight, splitting her upper lip. “Do not mistake me for a simple village head man,” he said, his voice almost friendly. “Now gag the American, and make sure she remains gagged until we reach the truck. If she calls out again, you will be held responsible.”