Insurgency by Alex Shaw Page A

him in the neck. Gonzalez’s knees buckled and he was unconscious before he hit the floor. Without a word Petro, dressed in Eaton’s fatigues grabbed Gonzalez and hauled him onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He exited the tent and hurried towards the helo. Oleg, wearing Flagon’s uniform, followed at his side with an HK up and ready.
     
    Rockbridge gestured towards Black’s bed. “That’s our last guy. Now please hurry.”
    Dratshev opened his greatcoat and pulled out a syringe. “I will need to take some blood.”
    “This is General Dratshev from the GRU. He’s going to test you for Ebola.” Rockbridge informed Black.
    “Hold still. This will not hurt.” Dratshev reached for Black’s arm. Black raised his head and looked into the eyes of the Russian. Dratshev paused and confusion briefly crossed his pallid face. “You walked back from the cave, through the mountains and the desert?”
    Black felt the needle enter. “It was a like Switzerland, but without the grass.”
    Dratshev smiled thinly. There was something here that he did not understand. “You travelled at night?”
    “Night and day…” Black could suddenly feel himself getting drowsy.
     
    In the stockade Styles opened his eyes and called out. The sentry on duty moved nearer, and bent over the cot, his face partly obscured by a white surgical mask. Before the soldier could speak Styles sprang up and sank his fangs into the exposed neck. His victim convulsed, arms flailing, hands grabbing at the Delta operative’s head trying to pull him off but to no avail. The soldier became limp as his life drained away. Styles wiped his lips and left the stockade. Dratshev’s commands had been clear: disable the communication equipment and then make for the helo. Moving faster than even he imagined he could, Styles sprinted across the firebase and entered the communication’s shack. Another pre-fabricated building but this one linked to the world via satellite. As the door swung open two operators looked up, their faces registering surprised more than shock. This changed however when they saw the grenade that Styles rolled into the room before calmly closing the door on them. As Styles moved away there was an explosion and the communications desk and operators were no more. Dratshev’s operation had now gone noisy.
     
    Rockbridge instinctively ducked as he heard the explosion. “What the hell was that?”
    “A grenade.” In a fluid motion Dratshev plunged a needle into Rockbridge’s neck. The tranquiliser hit immediately and the CO of firebase Python hit the floor. Vaha appeared. Dratshev pointed at Rockbridge. “Take him to the helo.”
    “Da, Comrade General.” Vaha saluted and with ease lifted Rockbridge into his arms and left the building.
    Dratshev looked at Black. After taking a sample of blood he had quickly shot him with tranquiliser. Dratshev shook his head dismissively, the man had not been sired he was mortal and as such was of no value to him. Dratshev had what he had come for, he had his men and he had two HVH’s – high value hostages. Now the Taliban could have the firebase and his test would be complete.
     
    Private 1 st Class James Anders yawned. He’d been looking at the same piece of terrain for what felt like days but in actual fact had been only four hours. This second tour of ‘Asscrackistan’ had put him over the edge. Their first tour had been spent operating out of a larger base which had a proper canteen with hot food, showers, laundry and even free internet access at the Morale, Welfare & Recreation Office. At firebase Python, although they got real food more often than many other firebases MREs actually did replace most meals when the helos had more important things to do than ferry in food for the troops. They were not as bad off as some bases where the men lived without coms and even without cold showers, but he had now had enough. Enough of the sand, the dirt and the constant threat of losing parts of