Armageddon's Messenger

Approaching at about a thousand feet, Lieutenant Ben Anderson crouched at the open door of the chopper scanning through the range finder of his fifty caliber machine gun. Below the brown freeforms of the rocks and bushes lining the dry riverbed the contrasted sharply with geometrical shape and the olive color of the crashed helicopter.
"Hard landing," he shook his head at the euphemism used for even the most devastating crash. What had once been a million dollar flying machine was now just a pile of crumpled and twisted iron. Yep, this had been one hell of a hard landing.

He saw no movement, but the pilot had radioed a position report after the crash, and so some of the crew had survived the ceash for at least a time.

The mission had sounded simple. They always do. Pick up the wounded crew from a downed Black Hawk, no reported resistance. Now as the Pave Low approached the downed bird he saw the telltale dust trails of the Taliban pickups racing to reach the crashed bird. No, not simple, now it was life and death.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Lieutenant Ben Anderson look like about anything but a special forces officer in his New York Giants sweat shirt and faded jeans. At this moment with sweat pouring into his eyes and his heart pounding, he for damn sure didn't feel like one.

Anderson ran his hand through his short blonde hair, Uttered a deep sigh od resignation and then reluctantly strapped on his kevlar helmet.

Then he saw the firing commence. Flashes from the machine guns mounted on the back the Taliban fighting vehicles, Japanese pick up trucks.

He picked up his binoculars and squinted at the trucks. He could see the black turbans favored by the Taliban fighters. Ben's eyes scanned the long line of trucks, The line seemed to be endless. They were dusty and battered with dents and scarred by bullet holes. Most of them were so battered that Anderson wondered how they even ran, but they kept coming.

"Out of range so far," he muttered under his breath. "Oh, Oh what is this."

"Shit !" he exploded for the fourth time, " They got stingers," he yelled at the pilot.

"Shit!" Sergeant Helms echoed." Outa here?" He ask Anderson.

As if in answer to his question a worm tail of smoke appeared aiming directly toward them.

"Incoming,"

The pilot dipped the nose and dived toward a stone outcropping maneuvering the craft behind the cliff as the rocket passed over head.

The chopper hovered in the relative shelter of the boulder.
"Now what?" Helms turned to Anderson
"Call Eagles Nest, we need to make an insertion, we gotta hold those guys back."

"Insertion? Who we got?" Helms asked.

"You and me Helmsy, You and me,"

"Yeah I was afraid you would say that."

Helms tapped the pilot on the shoulder motioned with his finger and the pilot handed him a communication phone.

"Eagles Nest this is Hawkeye,"

"Copy Hawkeye," the radio crackled in response.

"We are not having a good day."

"Roger that, bad day. Situation?"

"We are taking fire from all over the fucking place, fifty caliber and stingers.
We can't get the chopper into the wounded bird. Request an insertion."

"Sorry no backup is available. How long we got."

"Fifteen minutes ago."

"Copy that. We got nothing, earliest about an hour."

"Give me the fucking radio," Anderson said striding forward.

"Eagles nest this is Copperhead. I plan an insertion, myself and Hawkeye. Four.

"Copperhead, negative on your personal insertion. Wait for backup."

"Bullshit, if we wait for backup we won't need an insertion."

BOOOM!

As Anderson spoke, a stinger grazed the top of the boulder showering rocks on the chopper.

"We are going in. We will hold them until you get the backup."

"OK Copperhead. Do what you got to do. Good luck!"

"Yeah 10-4 and make it snappy with the reinforcements OK?"


Anderson and Helms Jumped from the helicopter they were about a half kilometer from the crash site. They were equipped with only their sniper rifles and a pistols, Anderson hopped that that would be enough.
They ran zigzagging through the sparse growth to reach the twisted wreckage of the helicopter.

The bloody and unmoving body of the paramedic lay slumped from the door the sun and wind had already distorted his dead face. They pulled his body to the side and rushed to the side of the injured pilot. He was unconscious but alive. Two crew members lay moaning and bloody, their eyes glazed from shock. Helms quickly administered morphine and epinephrine and then Anderson and Helms moved the them and then the pilot behind the copter into the most protected position. They then took up a firing position atop the shattered cabin.

The Taliban fighters advanced on the position in pickup trucks through a narrow cut in the surrounding cliffs. The road was in a disastrous state of disrepair and the tires made a peculiar growling sound as they struggled up the pitted grade at no more than twenty-five jarring miles per hour, the effect of swerving to miss the largest holes was to make the machine guns ineffective, the bullets streamed harmlessly into the dessert. As they topped the crest of the hill, Helms and Anderson expertly fired. It was certain death to come into the center of the crosshairs of the sniper rifles. A quick squeeze and you could see the blood splash as the high caliber bullet struck and the man was thrown backward from the truck by the force.

Round after round and the bodies pile up in the pass. They must be El Qaeda Anderson thought, The Taliban would retreat and fight again tomorrow, the rag heads just kept coming into certain death.

"Look at that the bastards are laughing"

Dozens were picked off in the small trucks, drivers were shot and still firing the mounted machine guns they crashed into the stones bordering the road.

Soon the roadway was clogged by wreckage and bodies. They sent up crews to pull aside the obstruction, Anderson and Helms shot them as they struggled to push the trucks aside.

"Not laughing now are you bastards."
"How is your amo Helmsy?" Anderson asked? He reached down and rattled an empty ammunition box.

"Damned nearly out."

"We are toast," Helms said, "unless the cavalry arrives."

Anderson held up his hand and said," hold your fire save something until they get closer."

One of the trucks squeezed though the pass and within seconds a stream of machine gun fire rattled through the helicopter splintering the rotor and sending a sliver into helms leg.

"Oh Damn!" he screamed clutching his wounded leg.

Anderson clenched his teeth raised his rifle and fired. The gunner dropped and pitched forward like a blood spattered burlap bag. He then carefully aimed and placed a bullet between the eyes of the driver, the truck careened crazily and ended on it's side in a low gully.

Other trucks were now advancing, firing as they came the be whine of bullets thick in the air.

"Anderson picked up the radio," Come on guys were are out of ammo, we are under fire. Where are you for Crissakes, where are you."

Silence

Then he heard the rotors of an approaching chopper and the rattle of a chain gun.

Two of the approaching trucks disintegrated.

The radio crackled, "Copper head, This is room service, you called."

Anderson smiled and hugged Helms "It over buddy, it's over."

+++++

Some called him the most dangerous man in the world. He had recruited and planned for bin Laden, always remaining in the shadows while the Sheik sought publicity.
His followers called him the "Prophet of Allah."
There was little about him to suggest that he was either.

It was late in the morning, and the Prophet stood looking out over the valley. He occasionally lifted his binoculars and watched the slow approach of the column. They were still distant. Miles below and they looked insignificant.
I can almost smile... I can see them following their routes like tiny ants. Fragile arrogant beasts they shall prove. I shall crush them with my left foot, he thought.
The twelve men were packing their things to move on after making camp for the night. They had been traveling slowly, but with a clear destination for several days now. Cautiously making their way south through western Afghanistan towards a secure mountain redoubt. They stayed in only a few villages sympathetic to the cause. Most nights, however, they bivouacked in the chill under open skies.

The Prophet fought and killed Americans before with bombs and guns and the blood of his warriors. He had seen their weapons, the missiles, carpet bombs and the horrific Daisy Cutters that vaporized his men and left them sealed in caves for eternity.
The domination of their weapons was complete. Soon ... soon ... that would end.

He was the chosen of Allah to guide the destiny of the world. He was born Kahlid Bin Kahlid, a follower of Osama, and now that Osama was dead he would become the leader of the world wide Jihad
Kahlid called himself the Prophet because he had chosen the name. He was a child of money and power, in those circumstances ... in that place, choosing one's title was easy. He was only forty-six years old, but the war had changed him. His hair and beard, which but a few months before had been jet black, was now streaked with gray. His dark face was seamed as with age. A livid scar across his forehead mapped the path of shrapnel and one cheek was drawn and puckered, a bullets work. He stood a full head taller that the other men, all were ragged and gaunt from months of battle. They stood near him
And watched the approaching soldiers,

"We must reach the cave before nightfall. The weapon awaits," The Prophet said.

+++++

The arrival of the Americans had changed everything in the small Afghan town. The streets became livelier and many of shops cautiously reopened. Shy faces would peer from the windows and watch the tall strangers pass by.
Women in shabby Burkha have appeared on the streets. The general liveliness was still further increased when the town became the residence of the Commander of the American forces. The preparations were overwhelming. The home of the former mayor had been chosen as headquarters.
The chatter of jackhammers was heard as far as the town gates.
The street was shut down and barriers were installed right up to the Market.
Teams removed dozens of land mines and mortar rounds that littered the area. Workers knocked down a wall and rolled away two Soviet-made Howitzers.
After securing from the debris of past wars, the house was painted. The windows were barred and the doors fortified.
Then truckloads of complex electronic gear were

Ben Anderson, whose blue eyes and blond hair were true to his Scandinavian heritage and he hated Afghanistan. He did not trust the
people, even the ones who claimed to be allies.
He had fought with them on foot, in tanks and even on horseback. The guy who was your comrade in arms to day would be shooting at you from ambush tomorrow.

It was a land of minefields and drought, still held in the grip of fierce tribalism and deadly gun battles. The towns were in shambles from 30 years of killing each other.

Two days earlier he had witnessed a former Taliban beating his wife until blood stained her burkha. His orders were not to interfere. But when he could no longer stand and watch, he pulled his side arm and pointed it at the man and motioned him away. The man left swearing and woman just looked at him with uncomprehending eyes and most likely thought him a fool for interfering.

Anderson was tired of freezing on the long roads to destroy some forgotten group of homicidal maniacs. He was tired of continual adrenaline squirts from real or perceived danger, he broke out with the sweats whenever Col. Madison summoned him for a new search and destroy mission.

Earlier on Tuesday an American team had detained four people in a door-to-door sweep through a town in the region. These four told the interrogators that the Prophet
was alive and nearby in a rugged area of caves.

"He is sick, he is weak and he is embarrassed"
Said the CIA Agent "He has to strike or he is finished as a leader. We are not sure what he has up his sleeve, but we suspect that it could well be Bio.

++++++

The Prophets black eyes drank in the sunlight dripping through the branches. It was quiet now that prayers were over. The others were sleeping or standing their guard. He smiled gently and whispered to himself,
"Allah be praised the weapon is in tact"

The weapon was an innocent looking refrigerated box, which had been stored in the mountain ice.
Inside the box were three test tubes and a number of hypodermic syringes.
The label on the box said, "DANGER PATHOGENS SMALL POX VIRUS"

After the men were assembled He said,
"We are blessed of Allah to have such a champion as Sadam. His laboratories have
delivered to us a weapon to strike the infidel. He employed the pagan Russian scientists and converted their evil into a weapon of Allah. This small box contains the destiny of the world, vials of virus, which the Americans believe to be extinct. We will inoculate two martyrs with the small pox virus and they will permit themselves to be captured, the plague of Allah will be set loose among the infidels."
The man known as Fahad bin Abdul spoke." Will not our Islamic brothers also die of the plague?"

"You would second guess Allah my friend Fahad? We only act to magnify his glory. The instant that any of our brothers die, they will be in paradise. They will have died for Allah and the sacred jihad of his people--all of his people!" The Prophet responded.

" We do not enjoy the luxury of time, we must commence immediately, and Akmed “The Prophet indicated a young man” You will be first in the line of new martyrs"
The young man was seized by violent tremors.
The prophet waited until the tremors in his body slackened, and he dropped, breathing heavily onto a bench. "Thehhh..." he rasped in an attempt at speech, but shook his head. Clearing his throat several times, yet to no avail,

He finally said, "Allah be praised," solemnly as he presented his forearm to the needle.

"But Prophet," Fahad bin Abdul who was the oldest man of the group again interjected." How do we know that the Americans are not inoculated? If they are, then we will not be martyrs we will have been fools."

"The Americans are the fools, they think that none but themselves have the small pox virus, their arrogance is their weakness. They save the inoculations for the homeland while their soldiers fight with no protection. This, Allah be praised, I have on good authority."

The two men were inoculated with the virus, Akmed and Hammed.

"We must now await the fever" the Prophet said, " It will come in about a week,"
The most effective period for infecting the infidel is during the first week of illness.
May Allah bless you both for your heroism."

+++++

Ben Anderson reported sharply to Col. Anderson "Lieutenant Anderson reporting as ordered Sir."

"At ease Lieutenant, We have collateral reports confirmed by voice and electronic traffic and most recently by satellite image that the one called the Prophet is holed up at this point." He said pointing to a spot on the briefing map." You will take five men and a contingent of Afghans and capture if possible, eliminate if not."

"What air assets are we authorized sir”?

"You will have two Cobras and if needed a 130 Gunship will be on standby. Shouldn't be needed, there are only about a dozen of the assholes estimated."

'"What is the mission time, Sir?" Anderson asked.

"Immediate, as soon as you can ready your detail, any questions?" He handed Anderson his written orders.

"No Sir," said Anderson saluting.

"Then dismissed and good luck Anderson"

+++++

Anderson and his five teammates slid down ropes from specially modified Black Hawks They carried little in the way of firepower, but lots of gadgets, including night-vision devices that can magnify existing light and images.
Captured images, as well as voice messages, would be sent back instantly to the headquarters using satellite radios with encryption devices. They would the call in firepower from the air as needed.

They joined up with the five Afghan fighters and moved out toward the target area,
Their route ran through the rugged Karat range northwest along one of the biggest canyons in Afghanistan. Emerging from that, they zigzagged dropping steeply through the chaotic terrain.
It was a dark day and the air was filled with the brown dust, the winds were high and a full blown dust storm threatened, no doubt about it. The Bombing had kicked up millions of tons of debris and dust into the atmosphere. During the day, the sky now often had a pinkish hue, and unless they wore protective clothing locals had been encouraged to stay inside or underground at all times Anderson pondered this despondently as he looked into the distance and they continued to wind their way up the mountain path. But he was not there to worry about the lot of the survivors he had a job to do.
They were moving into a narrow canyon, one of the narrowest and straightest in the range. Anderson realized how exposed that they were to sniper fire and ordered a speed up.

His radio squawked. " Delta Four I have your position. You are two kilometers from
X-ray."
X-ray was the reported position reported to be the prophets cave.

When they were about a kilometer from the cave they started taking fire.

"Everybody down" shouted Anderson." Anybody got a visual?"

"Not yet." Sergeant Helms replied.

The sounds of small arms fire continued and leaves rattled from the impact of bullets.
Helms saw nuzzle flashes and smoke and said, "There they are lieutenant, 130 degrees"

"Keep down, I am going to call for cover" Anderson shouted

The chopping sound of Helicopter rotors roared overhead. The whoosh of a missile being fired and "whispering death," the sound made by the trailing wires behind the missile as it sped toward the cave entrance was heard. The first missile hit its mark and the second hit moments later. This was followed by the chainsaw buzz of the Gatlings. The mountainside disintegrated near the cave entrance.
The Cobras continues a rain of fire and the attackers rushed up the mountainside.
Firing as they advanced.

By the time they reached the battle area there was no one left alive outside the cave, but machine gun fire came from inside;
An American got into position, covered by his comrades, and threw a grenade into the cave from which the gun was firing.
The firing ceased and the cave was rushed.

Only one wounded defender was left alive. He was summarily executed.
Anderson knew nothing about it beforehand, not until he came upon the small knot of men in the clearing with a bedraggled Arab in shirt and trousers. He was in his bare feet and his trousers were loose around his legs. He fell to the ground circled by the Afghans. The man looked frantically out through the pillars of legs.

"No Don't..." Anderson shout was cut short by the explosion of the gunshot
He saw the fellow's blood and brains shooting up high in the air, the face shattered jagged, broken bone protruding through the exploded flesh.

"Christ " Anderson said," We could have use him for interrogation, Damit"

Helms came running out of the cave, "You gotta see this lieutenant"

Anderson followed helms and looked with amazement at the box marked. "DANGER LIVE SMALL POX VIRUS"

"My God, we got here just in time," said Helms. "They were planning to spread this stuff."

"Jesus!! Don't touch that," Exclaimed Anderson." Call base for a hazard material box.
They'll want to courier that to Atlanta or some where."

"Didn't they know that we have all been inoculated and that the Afghanis would be the infected ones," ask Helms?

"And the Pakistanis and God knows who else."
said Anderson.

"The Genie would have been out of the bottle for sure,” said Anderson. "They don't give a damn if they kill themselves as long as they kill us too."
"It's the Islamic way, dying is a part of living,
not when you die but how you die that counts."
" Well I guess that we did these bastards a favor then."Helms indicated the bodies.

The Americans supervised a body count. There were eleven bodies. One of them was the gaunt and mangled body of the Prophet.
His open eyes were staring at an eternity less than he had hoped for.

Nowhere among the dead were the bodies of Akmed and Hammed