Will Jordan - Downfall

For Ian and Trish, whose support and encouragement meant so much.

Drake inhaled, taking a breath of the chill morning air as he surveyed the great panoramic vista stretching before him. To the north, the great snow-capped peaks of the Pamir Mountains rose high into the dawn sky, their summits glowing red and orange in the first light of the new day. To the south lay the mighty Karakoram range, still shrouded in shadows, and beyond them the unmarked border with Pakistan.

Sandwiched between these great bastions of rock lay the winding river valley of the Wakhan Corridor. For a thousand years it had been a vital trade route between East and West, carrying spices and silks from China, and traders and explorers from Europe. Marco Polo himself had travelled its mountainous paths on his great journey eastwards. In later centuries, this place had become a pawn in the Great Game between the Russians and British: two empires locked in a battle for supremacy, with Afghanistan caught in the middle.

Generations of conflict had seen this thriving trade route shut down, its eastern borders closed and its once prosperous population reduced to scattered, impoverished settlements.

But for all its dark history and troubled present, it remained one of the most starkly, uncompromisingly beautiful places Drake had ever laid eyes on.

I wish you could see this, he said quietly. I always used to volunteer for last watch of the night, so I could watch the sun rise over the mountains. On a clear morning, it was so quiet, so empty. You could almost forget there was anyone else in the world.

He glanced over at the woman standing by his side.

Was it the same for you?

She didnt reply, and he knew she couldnt. But he asked the question anyway, because he wanted her to think about it. He wanted her to reflect on the events that had brought them both here: two very different lives that had become bound up in this place. Two people who had fought and bled in this beautiful, troubled, lonely place, their deeds a generation apart and their experiences tempered by different wars.

He wanted her to think on that, and on him.

It started with a familiar sound that disturbed the predawn silence: a distant, rhythmic thump of rotor blades. Well accustomed to the vagaries of acoustics in mountains like this, Drake knew that there were two choppers inbound, just as he knew exactly where they were coming from.

Sure enough, the aircraft appeared a few seconds later from behind a towering rock escarpment, roaring up the valley from the west at high speed. One flying higher and some distance behind to cover the lead aircraft.

Drake recognized the wide, squat profile of the UH-60 Black Hawk right away. Bringing his binoculars up, he could see that the trailing aircraft had been outfitted with the full fire-support package: rocket pods, air-to-ground missiles and rotary cannons for high-speed strafing runs. Between them, the two aircraft carried enough troops and ordnance to obliterate an entire company.

And it was all for him.

There was a good chance theyd already spotted him and his companion, exposed as they were in the middle of an open plain. If they didnt already have unmanned aerial vehicles orbiting overhead, hed have been very surprised.

Still, there was no sense taking chances. Removing a signal flare from his pocket, he pointed it skyward and pulled the release pin.

A single red projectile shot upwards, reaching about 100 feet before igniting, spewing sparks and orange-coloured smoke as it drifted slowly back to earth on its miniature parachute.

The choppers soon changed course, the lead aircraft quickly angling towards him while its counterpart turned more sluggishly, weighed down by heavy weapons and armour.

This is it, Drake said as the choppers closed in on them. Itll be over soon.

The woman made no attempt to flee or resist as the lead aircrafts nose flared upwards, slowing its forward momentum and engulfing them both in a hurricane of dust and tiny rocks from the rotor downwash.

Drake threw up an arm to shield his eyes, watching as the big chopper slowly settled on the ground about 50 yards away.

The rough, mountainous terrain that dominated the eastern swathe of this country had always been difficult to pacify, its heights and tortuous valleys naturally lending themselves to ambushes and guerrilla warfare, allowing the inhabitants to confound invading armies for centuries. Death by a thousand cuts.

His companion had made a career out of doing just that, but that had been a different time. A different war.

Anyway, ambushes were the last thing on Drakes mind now. Hed made sure to choose a wide and relatively flat plateau where he knew a helicopter could set down without difficulty.

The second Black Hawk gunship continued to orbit overhead, its cannons and rockets standing by to decimate any enemy that dared present itself. Drake could actually see the barrels of its 20mm guns tracking around to keep him in their sights.

As the main engines of the first Black Hawk powered down, Drake watched the side door slide open and six men in full combat gear pile out, quickly establishing a perimeter around the landing site, the barrels of their M4 assault rifles sweeping the surrounding rocks and cliff faces. Drake could just hear their hushed voices as they called out to each other over their radio net, confirming the area was clear.

He made no moves as this was happening, just let them get on with their task. Hed been in their position many times in his life, and knew theyd be nervous, edgy, hyped up on adrenaline, expecting the worst. No sense provoking a fight he couldnt win.

Aside from this, he paid the fire team little attention. They were just grunts, here to test the waters and absorb the first hits if they came. Drake was more interested in the small group still lingering aboard the chopper, protected by its armoured hull while their underlings secured the area.

Seconds ticked by as he waited for them to make their move, waited for the leader of this formidable display of military power to finally show themself.

It happened a full minute after the chopper had landed. The side door slid open once more, and two people emerged.

First out was an operative like the others who had come before him. Tall, well built and imposing, his considerable physical presence enhanced by the Kevlar vest and webbing that covered his torso, he moved with the natural confidence of a predator. This was a man born to end lives.

His face might have been called handsome but for the conspicuous scar that trailed down one side, extending from his jawline to above his left eye in a single straight gash. The result of a knife fight that had ended before either he or his opponent could claim victory.

The M4 carbine at his shoulder was lowered but held in a firm grip, ready to be swung into action at a moments notice. His face, so often given to expressions of malicious glee, was cold and stony in that moment. All business.

Even he looked fearful of what might happen next.

Jason Hawkins was intimately familiar to Drake, and all too dangerous in his own right, but they both knew it was the woman he was protecting who was really in charge here. The woman who had exited the chopper not with the solid, confident leap of a trained operative, but with the more cautious and tentative step of a civilian. The woman who was wearing an expensive tailored suit instead of camo fatigues, and who looked as uncomfortable in her Kevlar vest and winter jacket as any VIP or government dignitary forced to visit conflict zones.