Inside, General Pokryshkin had taken command by default. He had thirty or so KGB troops, armed only with light weapons and what little ammunition they’d been carrying when the attack had begun. A lieutenant was handling the defense as best he could, while the General was trying to get help by radio.
“It will take an hour,” a regimental commander was saying. “My men are moving out right now!”
“Fast as you can!” Pokryshkin said. “People are dying here.” He’d already thought of helicopters, but in this weather they’d accomplish nothing at all. A helicopter assault would not even have been a gamble, just suicide. He set down the radio and picked up his service automatic. He could hear the noise from the outside. All the site’s equipment was being blown up. He could live with that now. As great a catastrophe as that was, the people mattered more. Nearly a third of his engineers were in the bunker. They’d been finishing up a lengthy conference when the attack began. Had that not been the case, fewer would be here, but those would have been out working on the equipment. At least here they had a chance.
On the other side of the bunker’s concrete walls, the Major was still trying to figure this one out. He’d hardly expected to find this sort of structure. His RPG antitank rounds merely chipped the wall, and aiming them at the narrow slits was difficult in the darkness. His machine-gun rounds could be guided to them with tracers, but that wasn’t good enough.
Find the weak points, he told himself. Take your time and think it out. He ordered his men to maintain a steady rate of fire and started moving around the building. Whoever was inside had his weapons equally dispersed, but buildings like this one always had at least one blind spot . . . The Major merely had to find it.
“What is happening?” his radio squawked.
“We have killed perhaps fifty. The rest are in a bunker and we’re trying to get them, too. What of your target?”
“The apartment building,” the Archer replied. “They’re all in there, and—” The radio transmitted the sound of gunfire. “We will have them soon.”
“Thirty minutes and we must leave, my friend,” the Major said.
“Yes!” The radio went silent.
The Archer was a good man, and a brave one, the Major thought as he examined the bunker’s north face, but with just a week’s formal training he’d be so much more effective . . . just a week to codify the things that he was learning on his own . . . and to pass on the lessons that others had shed blood for . . . There was the place. There was a blind spot.
The last mortar rounds were targeted on the roof of the apartment block. Bondarenko smiled as he watched. Finally the other side had done something really foolish. The 82-millimeter shells didn’t have a chance of breaking through the concrete roof slabs, but if they’d spread them around the building’s periphery he’d have lost many of his men. He was down to ten, two of them wounded. The rifles of the fallen were inside the building now, being fired from the second floor. He counted twenty bodies outside his perimeter, and the attackers—they were Afghans, he was sure of that now—were milling about beyond his vision, trying to decide what to do. For the first time Bondarenko felt that they just might survive after all. The General had radioed to say that a motorized regiment was on the way down the road from Nurek, and though he shuddered to think what it would be like driving BTR infantry carriers over snow-covered mountain roads, the loss of a few infantry squads was as nothing compared to the corporate expertise that he was trying to protect now.
The incoming rifle fire was sporadic now, just harassment fire while they decided what to do next. With more people he’d try a counterattack, just to throw them off balance, but the Colonel was tied to his post. He couldn’t risk it, not with a mere squad left to cover two sides of the building.
Do I pull back now? The longer I can keep them away from the building, the better, but should I do my withdrawal now? His thoughts wavered at that decision. Inside the building his troops would have far better protection, but he’d lose the ability to control them when each man was separated from the next by the interior wails. If they pulled inside and withdrew to the upper floors, they’d allow the Afghan sappers to drop the building with explosive charges—no, that was the counsel of despair. Bondarenko listened to the scattered rifle shots that punctuated the sounds of wounded and dying men and couldn’t make up his mind.
Two hundred meters away, the Archer was about to do that for him. Mistaking the casualties he’d taken here to mean that this part of the building was the most heavily defended, he was leading what was left of his men to the other side. It required five minutes to do so, while those he left behind kept up a steady drumbeat of fire into the Russian perimeter. Out of mortar rounds, out of RPG projectiles, the only thing left to him besides rifles were a few grenades and six satchel charges. All around him fires blazed into the night, separate orange-red flames reaching upward to melt the falling snow. He heard the cries of his own wounded as he formed up the fifty men he had left. They’d attack as one mass, behind the leader who’d brought them here. The Archer flipped the safety off his AK-47, and remembered the first three men he’d killed with it.
Bondarenko’s head snapped around when he heard the screams from the other side of the building. He turned back and saw that nothing was happening. It was time to do something, and he hoped that it was the right thing:
“Everyone back to the building. Move!” Two of his remaining ten were wounded, and each had to be helped. It took over a minute as the night shattered yet again with volleys of rifle fire. Bondarenko took five and ran down the building’s main first-floor corridor and out the other side.
He couldn’t tell if there’d been a breakthrough, or if the men here were also falling back—again he had to hold fire because both sides were identically uniformed. Then one of those running toward the building fired, and the Colonel went to one knee and dropped him with a five-round burst. More appeared, and he nearly fired until he heard their shouts.
“Nashi, nashi!” He counted eight. The last of them was the sergeant, wounded in both legs.
“Too many, we couldn’t—”
“Get inside,” Bondarenko told him. “Can you still fight?”
“Fuck, yes!” Both men looked around. They couldn’t fight from the individual rooms. They’d have to make their stand in the corridors and stairwells.
“Help is on the way. A regiment is coming down from Nurek if we can hold on!” Bondarenko told his men. He didn’t tell them how long it was supposed to take. It was the first good news in over half an hour. Two civilians came downstairs. Both carried rifles.
“You need help?” Morozov asked. He’d avoided military service, but he had just learned that a rifle wasn’t all that hard to use.
“How are things up there?” Bondarenko asked.
“My section chief is dead. I took this from him. Many people are hurt, and the rest are as terrified as I am.”
“Stay with the sergeant,” the Colonel told him. “Keep your head, Comrade Engineer, and we may yet live through this. Help’s on the way.”
“I hope the bastards hurry.” Morozov helped the sergeant—who was even younger than the engineer—go to the far end of the corridor.
Bondarenko put half of his men at the stairwell and the other half by the elevators. It was quiet again. They could hear the jabbering of voices outside, but the shooting had died down for the moment.
“Down the ladder. Carefully,” Clark said. “There’s a cross-member at the bottom. You can stand on that.”
Maria looked with disgust at the slimy wood, doing as she was told like a person in a dream. Her daughter followed. Clark went last, stepped around them, and got into the boat. He untied the ropes and moved the boat by hand underneath where the women were standing. It was a three-foot drop.
“One at a time. You first, Katryn, Step down slowly and I’ll catch you.” She did so, her knees wobbling with doubt and fear. Clark grabbed her ankle and pulled it toward him. She fell into the boat as elegantly as a sack of beans. Maria came next. He gave the same instructions, and she followed them, but Katryn tried to help, and in doing so moved the boat. Maria lost her grip and fell into the water with a scream.