Ishmael was cold. His back was screaming and his legs were ablaze with fatigue as he rhythmically placed one foot in front of the other. The coarse yet soothing sound of gravel and sand shifting at his bodyweight combined with his even tempoed pace made for an almost musical experience, A percussive symphony to be exact as Ishmael glanced at his companions, all walking in single file, each as miserable and exhausted as the next. All except one.
"Nasir" Ishmael called out to the man leading the group.
The man named Nasir stopped walking and turned to face Ishmael, his sudden stop prompted the other men in the group to do the same, the whispers of relief replacing the monotonous crunching of gravel.
"We've been marching for ten hours Nasir; the boys need to take a break" Ishmael said tiredly.
Even though Ishmael could only see the faint outline of Nasir under the moonlit night. He knew what expression Nasir was making, a look of concern and perhaps with a dash of an apologetic smile.
"My apologies, sometimes I forget that I am the only one here who was born on the mountains" Nasir sheepishly apologized to his men.
It was true Ishmael thought; Nasir was a man of the mountains. A fine blade forged by the Hindu Kush mountains and tempered by time and experience. As a boy he fought the Soviets during the later parts of the Soviet afghan war and now as a 55-year-old man he once again finds himself with an AK in his hands, an old man in an occupation where most die young. Whereas Ishmael and the others were mostly refugees who ran to the mountains when the rebels took the capital.
To those who found themselves under the command of Nasir, he was like a father to them. A man of experience, he taught them how to shoot, how to fight and most importantly how to work together. He turned Ishmael and his fellow city folk into a well oiled and effective fighting force.
"We shall take a short break, catch your breath and-" Nasir never got the opportunity to finish his sentence as he collapsed limply onto the cold gravel.
For a split second Ishmael was stunned, his brain churning hard trying to process what had just unfolded in front of him, a million questions flooding his mind. Is Nasir Dead? Are they being ambushed? If so, why didn't he hear a shot. All of Ishmael's questions would be answered as all hell broke loose on the slopes of the Hindu Kush mountains.
"Ambush!" Ishmael roared against the harsh backdrop of machinegun fire cascading from the ridge above him. Its bullets cracking as they fly around him. It took every ounce of discipline for Ishmael not to freeze up, Nasir taught him better than that.
Ishmael took a knee behind a sufficiently large tree. Its trunk was large enough to give him the confidence to gather his breath and thoughts to the point where he finally noticed the blood curdling screams of some of his comrades. He looked down the ridge to see if he could spot any of his friends but it was too dark to see anything. A feeling dread started to coil around his chest like a snake. Was he the only one left standing?
Before he could humor the thought further a cacophony of counter fire erupted from further down the ridge. A sudden feeling of relief washed over him, his friends or at least some of his friends are still alive. Despite not being able to see them, the sounds of their guns and the flashes of their muzzle was more than enough to let Ishmael know that he was not alone.
Ishmael used the precious time bought by his friends counter fire to reflect on the situation they are in. In his mind he re-traced the steps of the ambush to the beginning when Nasir got shot. Fighting the urge to grieve he once again remembered the question he asked himself when he saw Nasir's body fall limply onto the ground. Why didn't he hear a shot? All guns make a cracking sound when fired.
Ishmael remembered that once Nasir brought up the term suppressors when he was retelling a story about a gunfight he had with elite Spetznaz units of the Soviet Army during the Russo-Afghan war. A small feeling of dread started to emerge deep in his belly, this time it was not a snake coiling around him but more akin to a colony of ants marching in his belly. He had to test his hypothesis.
He took a deep breath and peaked his head around the tree. He could see only one muzzle flash coming from the ridge above, it was the enemy machine gunner focused on his friends below. But other than that, there were no other muzzle flashes visible. Ishmael lifted his AK-74 and lined up his iron sights at the enemy machine gunners muzzle flash but before he could pull the trigger the world around him exploded in a violent frenzy of wood splinters and dirt. He pulled his head back to safety behind the tree. That was close, he thought. Too close.
The enemy not only used suppressors but also was able to conduct accurate fire in near total darkness. It only meant one thing. Night vision. Suddenly the ants of anxiety that was previously localized to just crawling in his belly spread the to rest of his body. Ishmael was terrified.
It was only when the whoosh and subsequent bang of an Rpg fired by his friends below did Ishmael regain a shred of composure. His friends needed him, Nasir was dead and that meant that he was in charge.
He took a deep breath and shouted to his men below "Men to me! Bounding fire!"
A long second passed by, Ishmael saw no change on the battlefield. There was no reply from his friends as the exchange of fire continued on wildly. Did they not hear him? Can they even hear him with the brutal firefight going on? What Ishmael would do for a radio right about now. He took another deep breath and was just about to repeat the order, he noticed something.
The volume and tempo of gunfire from his friends below changed. There were less guns firing but those who did fired longer bursts. Ishmaels eyes widened with joy, they heard him! half of his friends provided suppressing fire giving the other half an opportunity to advanced towards the objective. It was one of the tactics Nasir repeatedly drilled into the minds of his subordinates.
Ishmael remembered that none of his men knew where he was specifically, thinking quickly he flickered the flashlight attached to his chest rig.
"Follow the light!" Ishmael shouted as he madly flickering the flashlight on and off.
Sure enough within ten seconds four men appeared from the darkness below as they scurried up the ridge.
"Ishmael you bastard! Good to see you still breathing" one of the figures said in labored breath. Ishmael recognized the speaker by his voice.
"Sayed! To think there would ever be a day where I am happy to see you" Ishmael reciprocated greeting.
"Sayed, what is the situation? How many do we have left" Ishmael continued.
The man's silhouette shifted slightly; the backlight given by the moon made it hard for Ishmael to see Sayed's expression but he could guess that it was not good news.
"There is seven of us left, eight if we count you Ishmael" Abas grimly replied.
Ishmael was furious. 'Eight men left, less than five minutes ago there were fourteen of them and now half of them are dead. How could this happen?' Ishmael thought to himself. This was supposed to be a routine mission, a simple ambush against an extremist convoy yet here we are, ambushed half way to our objective on the slope of an unnamed mountain.
Ishmael suppressed his rage, now is not the time to be thinking of what has already happened. He looked towards the Silhouette of his four comrades crouching in front of him. Now is the time to think about how he can save the rest of his men.
"We have to Assault the enemy" Ishmael said in a soft voice, he himself disliking what he was proposing.
"Assault the enemy? That is suicide Ishmael. We must retreat, fight another day" Sayed making his distaste towards plan known, supported by a round of affirmative grunts from the other three soldiers present.
"We can't. did you notice how accurate their shots were Sayed? They have night vision. If we retreat now, they will pick us off one by one in the dark." Ishmael said as he tried to persuade the four men.
"What if we just wait for dawn?" one of the other men offered an alternative.
"That is still hours away, who knows how many enemies there are" another man spoke up.
Sayed sighed.
"I think Ishmael is right, assaulting the enemy position is our only choice" he said.
"So what's the plan Ishmael?"
Ishmael gave a thankful smile to Sayed.
"I will shoot a grenade into the enemy position" Ishmael said as he loads a grenade into his GP-25 grenade launcher attached to his AK.
"Once the grenade impacts, we will all charge up the hill and bring the fight to them" continued Ishmael as he inspects his rifle one last time.
"It will be a nasty fight, but it is our only choice. Permission to go full auto granted"
Despite the darkness shrouding the faces of his friends, Ishmael could feel the savage grins plastered to their faces. He heard multiple clicks as the men switched the safety of their AK's to full auto. Some even putting on their bayonets. If Nasir was here, he would be fuming, he was always against shooting guns full auto, saying that semi auto is the only proper way to shoot a rifle. But Nasir was not here.
"Is everyone ready?" Ishmael said as he looked to his men, his question answered with simple nods.
"For Nasir! for our fallen comrades!"
He screamed as he aimed down the sights of his rifle mounted grenade launcher at the enemy positing and pulled the trigger.
"Charge!"
And for the second time in five minutes, all hell broke loose on the slopes of the Hindu Kush.