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NOTES:

CHRISTIAN CATEGORY: SPRING 2008 - HIGHLY COMMENDED

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"Extraction: Afghanistan"

by D.I. Telbat - Stevensville, MT, USA

HIGHLY COMMENDED: "CHRISTIAN" CATEGORY, SPRING 2008

Shivering, Lyle “Mac” McCormack woke from his dozing, as darkness settled across the Afghanistan mountain range. Winter was approaching, but as of yet, there was no snow falling – only brown, frozen ground.

Slowly moving only his left hand, forty-three-year-old Mac pushed a spotting scope up to his left eye. The hostages were down there in the cave at the end of the ravine. The cave was one of hundreds within the Hindu Kush Range, which bordered Pakistan. Mac and his team were not leaving without those men.

Mac shifted his legs only an inch to keep them from cramping. If he moved any more under his camouflage netting, an al-Qaeda ranger might spot him. Mac could not see any armed men studying the rocky terrain, but that did not mean they were not there.

“Radio check. Rube here. Over.”

Mac moved his scope to the opposite mountain slope where thirty-five-year-old Ruben “Rube” Lopez was similarly hidden. He spotted Rube’s camo-net only because he knew where to look. Rube was an ex-guerrilla from Chiapas, Mexico. He had done his own share of kidnapping, which made him one of the team’s most valuable assets, though only after he had straightened out his life with the Lord.

Mac touched his ear and communication unit.

“Mac here. Hold till midnight, then we’ll go in. You copy, Russia? Over.”

Mac did not bother to turn his scope toward the glacier-covered mountain peak a half-mile to the south where the third member of Mac’s team was lying prone. Sven “Russia” Madrovich was a giant at six feet, five inches, with his blond crew cut giving him another two inches. Sven was covering them all with his precision sniper marksmanship.

“I copy,” Russia reported with a rich accent. “Nothing moves, Mac. Over.”

“Roger. Six more hours, Boys. Mac, out.”

Mac lifted his head a few inches to pull his canteen to his lips. All day, they had been lying on their bellies. All week, they had been prowling the region for some sign of the two kidnapped Christian missionaries – Leon Atkins from Ohio and Paul Ellington from England. The missionaries had been taken from a Pakistani village in the northwest frontier and taken to the border. Mac had led his team in the search from Khyber Pass one week ago, finally finding the hostages just the day before. Having run out of the last of their rationed food packages, the team had to get the missionaries out that night or not at all.

Mac clipped his canteen to his belt and welcomed the darkness in which he hoped to move and stretch more liberally. Some of the al-Qaeda fighters had night-vision, but not many. Mac would have to take the chance and stretch anyway. He was not the young buck he once was who could lay alert for a week in ambush.

A rock tumbled down the slope behind Mac. He tensed and touched his comm.

“Mac here,” he whispered. “Movement. Over.”

It could have been a wild goat or a playful ground squirrel, but Mac was taking no chances. He squeezed the stock of his NL-3 carbine against his shoulder. As a Christian missionary extraction unit, the team used the Non-Lethal weapon series to combat their foes. The NL-3 fired water-soluble pellets, which contained a sleep toxin. The toxin had to be inhaled to drop an adversary for twenty minutes. Russia’s NL-X1 sniper rifle one-half mile away was loaded with twelve rounds of high velocity tranquillizer darts capable of a one-hour knockout.

“Four Afghans,” Rube informed from the eastern slope. “Armed to the teeth, Mac. Don’t move. Over.”

Mac did not move. He heard more pebbles trickle down the mountain trail twenty feet away. Now he wished that he had positioned himself farther south.

The al-Qaeda fighters were in a hurry to get out of the cold and into the warmth of the cave in the ravine below. Mac watched them pick their way down the trail where only mountain goats had dared. The cave’s mouth radiated a yellow, shimmering glow where a cook fire had been lit.

“They’re gone,” Mac reported with a sign of relief. He mouthed a prayer of thanks that they had not been discovered and forced into a firefight before the hostages were rescued. “Keep your eyes open. There might be more incoming. Over.”

Mac’s nerves settled. He was anxious to get out of the cold as well, but not without the two he had come to take home. He and his team wore Afghan wool under their fatigues, the same as the al-Qaeda fighters in this region, but lying motionless for so many hours, the cold found its way up his spine anyway.

Mac shook his head. Dwelling on the cold was not helping. He needed to keep his mind on the job at hand. He touched his comm.

“Look alert, Boys,” Mac warned. “There’s only one reason the kidnappers would be entertaining more company this time of night. Over.”

“Roger,” Russia confirmed. “I am ready. Over.”

“I don’t get it,” Rube stated. “What’s happening? Over.”

“The hostages may be moved,” Mac informed. “The reinforcements are probably extra security for an overnight move. Over.”

“I don’t see anything,” Rube admitted. “Applying night vision to see better. Over.”

“Give ‘em time to catch their breath and eat a hot meal,” Mac advised. He clipped his own night vision onto his day-scope. “Hold tight till they’re directly between us, Rube. Russia, you cover their retreat to the cave or an escape south down the ravine. Over.”

“Roger,” Russia and Rube each agreed.

“Czech, you there?” Mac called quietly into his radio.

Vratis “Czech” Ujfalusi was Team Zayin’s pilot. The balding, ex-U.N. peacekeeper from the Czech Republic could fly anything with wings or rotors.

“I’m listening, Mac,” Czech assured. “Say the word and I’m airborne. Over.”

“Stand by, Czech.”

“Movement, Mac!” Russia exclaimed.

Mac licked his lips and gazed through his scope at the greenish-gray, illuminated shapes emerging from the cave.

“Nine targets,” Mac counted. “Four in front, two in back. Hostages in the middle. Rube, confirm. Over.”

“That’s what I see,” Rube confirmed. “Their hands are tied. Say when, Mac. Over.”

Mac dragged his camo-net off his back so it did not trip him if he moved suddenly. His heart thudded loudly in his chest. He had been staging extractions for ten years, but every one was different. Sometimes, as in India, he was captured and needed a rescue himself. Remembering the scars that covered his chest and neck from torture, he prayed for God’s protection and safety for all of them on this mission, as well as the victims.

“Twenty paces, Rube. Over.”

“Roger.”

Mac followed the hostage party with his scope. The bottom of the ravine would lead them fifty yards below Mac and Rube. They would catch them in a crossfire. Since the NL-3 had a maximum effective range of one hundred yards, the enemy would be in perfect range. The key was to pick off the al-Qaeda fighters before they could turn their very deadly AK-47’s on Mac and his team. In that regard, the team was out-gunned.

“Go,” Mac stated calmly.

He fired at the fighter in the back of the party. A burst of five pellets slapped the chest of the man. It produced no more sound than paint-gun pellets. Mac knew his aim was true, so he focused on the second man from the rear before the first had inhaled the sleep toxin. From the opposite slope, Rube had targeted the front half of the party. Russia, a half-mile away, fired twice to drop two, then waited for isolated, fleeing targets.

Five of the nine al-Qaeda fighters fell before the ravine erupted in live fire. The four remaining kidnappers fired blindly at the slopes as they retreated to the cave. Since the NL-3 weapons were CO2 charged, their muzzles left no flash to betray the team members’ positions. Ricochets whined off rocks around Mac, but he continued firing. Several bursts of his pellets slapped into the enemies’ backs, which did not disable them – only confused them.

The ravine thundered with gunfire. In the back of Mac’s mind, he knew any foe within five miles would be drawn to their position.

“Russia!” Mac yelled. “Take them!”

The last two fighters were taken out by tranq darts in the back as they abandoned their hostages on the trail and fled for the cave.

Mac was on his feet an instant later. He shrugged his pack onto his back, tightening the torso strap as he bounded down the steep slope. He touched a trickle of blood above one ear, caused from a ricocheted bullet.

Rube and Mac nearly collided in the darkness as they reached the ravine together. Seven Afghans and one of the hostages lay near them. Paul Ellington knelt over his companion.

“I think I shot one of the hostages,” Rube admitted.

“He’s still breathing!” Ellington announced of Atkins. “I can’t see a wound!”

“He’s just sleeping,” Mac assured. He drew a blade from his thigh and cut Ellington’s binds, then Atkins’. “I’ll carry him till he wakes. We need to move. Rube, call Czech. Rendezvous, thirty minutes.”

Mac knelt and drew Atkins over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He stood and started south. Rube called for extraction, then picked through the Afghans’ provisions for food rations.

Ellington did not move. He stared through the darkness at the bodies all around him.

“Wait! You mean you didn’t kill them?”

Mac stopped and turned with his burden to face the Englishman.

“We’re all Christians, right? It’d be hard to show these fellas Christ’s love if we were killing them, wouldn’t it? Now, I know you’ve been through a lot, Mr. Ellington, but we need to hit the trail before these boys wake up or more arrive. You coming?”

“They were going to kill us,” Ellington continued in disbelief.

“I know,” Mac said. “You want to give them a second chance?”

Ellington stepped up to Mac.

“Leon’s heavy enough. Give me something to carry.”

Mac loosened his pack and gave it to the rescued hostage.

“Whoever you guys are…thank you for being God’s hands tonight.”

“You’re welcome. I’d introduce myself, but we’re not really here. You understand?”

“Yes, I got it,” Ellington replied, as they all quickened their pace toward the prearranged rendezvous site.

Far away, a chopper flew into the sky east of Kabul with a heading toward Team Zayin. The Lord had once again protected them against all odds. As he gave quiet thanks, Mac couldn’t help but wonder what and who their next rescue might be.

COMMENTS FROM OUR COMMISSIONING EDITOR, Jo Holloway:
Excellent story, well presented and written, well polished, with an exciting baseline and awesome concept that had me wanting more at the end.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
D.I. Telbat has been writing novels, short stories, and poems since a young teen. As a young man, he found himself in serious trouble with the law, which changed his life forever. God got hold of him and he now desires to honor the Lord with his life and writing. Telbat has won awards for several short stories and has another two stories appearing in forthcoming issues of The Storyteller and Haruah: Breath of Heaven.

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