Igor Yevtishenkov - The wrong war

Harry picked only multi-charge gun FNX, Camillus knife, GPS-navigator, some water, rations and light gloves. Tearing a balaclava, he hooked it over his head and walked briskly toward the clouds of dust and smoke hanging over the cliffs. He wanted to believe that he would manage to overcome the hill before the terrorists show up here.

The black column of smoke got thinner but it still was rising above the spot where the jet crashed. Just to avoid climbing on the rocks he was forced to pass very close by the fire making a small detour. Here the rise was less steep. When he heard stones rustling underfoot, it became easier to go. Soon large boulders and destroyed tops of the rocks showed up, and further lay down the road to salvation. Pausing, Harry caught his breath and took a GPS reading. Here he could go down and then move a little to the left, to the southeast. He was about to take the first step, when he noticed some movement at the bottom. His heart trembled and stopped – there were figures of people at the end of the long slope. They were about fifty. The distance was not more than a kilometer. He spotted five pickups behind them. The bright rays of the sun made the white, yellow and black bodies of the cars with heavy machine guns in the back well visible. Next to them swarmed several people. Judging by the overcrowding and slow movements they were dragging something. There was a black flag flying over one car – there were no doubts these were militants.

«What?.. How?» he muttered. It was beyond his imagination how they could appear here so quickly. It was impossible!

The eyes caught a strange movement of terrorists on the slope – they were in no hurry to rise, standing still in one place, then they all moved in the same direction as if they have someone in command. It soon became clear that the man who showed the others a way to go was in the middle. Harry automatically counted all the arrived: fifty-three and six near the cars. Fifty nine in total. When the figures made a curve and suddenly turned toward him, it dawned on Harry that they must have had a device tracking his tracker! Logic dictated that he should be out of sight, so that they could yet not detect him. His feet carried him the right, away from the plane and his pursuers. After fifty paces, he suddenly realized that they would detect him at any point as soon as they rose up. Plus, they might have more than one device. Why not? Then it’s no use hiding. He looked out and saw the people below frozen in indecision. After a few seconds, they all turned as one to his side and began to climb. The questions frantically flashed in his head:

1. Why were the militants on the other side of the hill?

2. Why were they going up so slowly?

3. Why were their cars in one place?

4. What did they unload?

Responses were just hypothetical, but his main question was already answered: he had to get rid of the tracker at once!

Harry has probably never run so fast. When the heat of the burning fuel on the ground touched his face, he dropped to his knees and could not breathe for a few seconds feeling nausea and a nagging stomachache. His hands, however, found the knife and cut off the top part of his flying suit, where the tracker was sewed in. GPS-navigator followed it and flew in the fire. So now he had nothing but water, rations, a knife and a pistol. Harry rose to his feet but his leg muscles were heavy, they did not obey, and his shoes were desperately clinging to the rustling stones of the slope. There seemed to be a swamp under the feet rather than small stones.

Harry climbed up at the same place where he was only twenty minutes ago, and he peered over the edge of a cliff. The terrorists continued rising slowly in the direction, where they spotted his tracker last time. It should only take them ten minutes, so he had to figure out where to hide. Burrowing into the clay was impossible – he just did not have enough time. He desperately looked around. There were the towering grey-black boulders and peaks on the top of the hill. Hiding among them under a stone was stupid. They would find him there anyway. Just then, two tiny points appeared in the sky. Harry could have sworn he saw a double tail of an F-15. He wanted to jump up, but restrained himself in time. The pilots must spot him! They must, for sure! But how? How could he help them? A rock might help – he could lie on the top to help them! Luckily, nearby were the highest peaks of the hill. Harry had to make an effort to climb up on one of them but up there he looked around and realized that it would be best to climb up to the next one. It took him a lot of skill to do it again. Once lying on the top and breathing heavily, Harry knew that this was now the best place to hide. The top split long ago and formed a small dip in the middle. No one could see him from below. Bending his knees he pressed his hands, part of his back and neck in hard stone. Something inside told him that this was not enough, that it was necessary to penetrate between the cracks and ledges in order to merge with them, make his body fill in all space and entirely dissolve in the piece of the rock. Panic was grabbing his mind. The heart started beating non-stop. He had to take a few deep breaths and then hold his breath. He could see two long white strips with dark dots on the end moving high in the sky. Watching their slow movement Harry was able to divert his attention from the fear and relaxed a bit. But when he heard unfamiliar voices near the rock, the muscles involuntarily toughened and he could hardly restrain himself not to open the trigger lock. Thoughts were jumping from the US to Syria whispering in the mind: «The guys already know. Everybody knows. The Admiral told the Pentagon. They’ll arrive, be sure to arrive. It takes three hours to come down to the bases in Turkey. And a couple more to get here. Gotta hold out until sunset.»

Voices came close to rock bottom and he heard suspicious noises. All thoughts of rescue and assistance of fearsome marines immediately vanished. In addition, the tracker was burned in the fire. Tension had reached its limit. In order not to make a fatal mistake, he had to relax and keep his hand away from the gun, or at least stop thinking about it because his thumb was constantly being drawn to the trigger lock. Harry decided to mentally turn to Carol. It was a short letter-prayer. He realized that he was thinking about stupid things but he did not have anything else. Love, promise to marry, an engagement ring, a luxury wedding he clenched his eyelids tightly and promised her everything begging her to wait for him because this request hid his hope of salvation.

A loud shot stunned him, interrupting the letter in mid-sentence. «Mortar, gun, grenade?» flashed in his head. After a few seconds, a vague white line appeared in the sky. They shot from down here! And they shot at the jets. But the missiles did not reach the goal – the airplanes were flying too high. The noise of voices from below escalated into shouting. The men were obviously arguing. Soon the noise shifted to the black smoke that was still rising from the wreckage of his plane. It went quiet below. Harry dared to turn his head slightly and moved up to the edge. He could see only a small portion of the slope through the slit. A few figures were moving down it. After a little time, he grew bolder and raised his head.

People with guns were walking among the fragments and two were standing near the place where he threw his tracker into the fire. One had the device in his hands, and the other was trying to pull something out of the fiercely burning fire and smoke with a stick. It was impossible because of heat. They found the tracker’s position and were looking for his corpse. But there was still a parachute not far from there! He had no time to bury it. He had nothing to do but wait for militants’ further steps.