through what was probably a nearly
closed ring of protective mine fields. The hard, stony ground had tire tracks in several places that appeared to lead into
the camp, but the Afghans knew that these tracks would have been deliberately made before the mines were laid down and that
only one or two entrances would have been left clear for travel.
The other group of lead riders were closing in on the jeep. When one Russian tried to operate the machine gun mounted in the
rear of the vehicle, he was picked off by a sharpshooter and fell over on top of the weapon. Another Afghan rider drilled
the Russian driver in the back of the head, and the jeep slid sideways and its engine stalled. Before the other Russians could
pull the dead men off either the steering wheel or the machine gun, the Afghans had the vehicle surrounded and, from horseback,
looked down their rifle barrels at the four surviving Russians, three enlisted men, and an officer. The Russians raised their
hands and tried to look like decent friendly guys who were there by mistake.
By the time the advance horseman brought back their four captives and the vehicle, the main body of horsemen, including Gul
Daoud and the three Americans, had arrived outside the installation. They were taking sporadic rifle fire from inside, nothing
heavy, and were responding and keeping their horses moving to avoid presenting themselves as stationary targets.
“Officers are more cowardly than regular soldiers,” Daoud said with a sneer. “Sit this Russian captain on the hood of the
jeep, tie his ankles to the front fender, free his hands, and let him point out a safe route into their camp.”
Baker started to protest that this was against the international rules of warfare. Gul Daoud seemed genuinely suprised to
hear that any such rules were in existence and ignored Baker, of course. Gul lined the three Soviet enlisted men abreast behind
the jeep, in case its four tires missed any mines in its path. The captain did a good job directing the Afghan driver after
Gul promised him, in quite good Russian, that he and his men would be handed over to the International Red Cross for transporation
to Switzerland after being displayed first to Western reporters. The captain said he wanted to go to Canada.
“No problem,” Gul told him. “From Switzerland you can go to Paris if you want. Canada. Hollywood. Wherever you like.”
The captain led them safely inside where it soon became apparent that the Afghans had no intention of burdeningthemselves with more prisoners. They did not waste bullets, either; they simply cut the throats of the uninjured or lightly
wounded and left the badly wounded to die where they lay. They circulated rapidly, stuffing undamaged weapons, ammo, and supplies
into large sacks, which they tied to their saddles. As time passed, they speeded their already feverish pace. In a little
more than twenty minutes Gul Daoud gave die signal to leave. By that time, in Baker’s estimate, at least one hundred and twenty
Russians were dead or mortally wounded, perhaps as many as a hundred and eighty, with only four survivors. While the Afghans
killed and looted, the three Americans worked to one side on the bulldozing equipment, placing charges of plastic explosive
at vulnerable points in the heavy structures. The detonations damaged the equipment beyond repair. They had time to divide
their remaining supply of
plastique
into the relatively small charges needed to explode the fuel tanks of the lightly damaged choppers. They set these off as
a farewell fireworks display.
Nearly all the horsemen made it across the valley floor into the protection of the hills before the first wave of MIG fighters
hit. The only riders caught in the open were those escorting the four Soviet servicemen in their jeep. One of the seven planes
in the second wave of fighters scored a direct hit on the jeep with a rocket, instantly frying all four of his
closed ring of protective mine fields. The hard, stony ground had tire tracks in several places that appeared to lead into
the camp, but the Afghans knew that these tracks would have been deliberately made before the mines were laid down and that
only one or two entrances would have been left clear for travel.
The other group of lead riders were closing in on the jeep. When one Russian tried to operate the machine gun mounted in the
rear of the vehicle, he was picked off by a sharpshooter and fell over on top of the weapon. Another Afghan rider drilled
the Russian driver in the back of the head, and the jeep slid sideways and its engine stalled. Before the other Russians could
pull the dead men off either the steering wheel or the machine gun, the Afghans had the vehicle surrounded and, from horseback,
looked down their rifle barrels at the four surviving Russians, three enlisted men, and an officer. The Russians raised their
hands and tried to look like decent friendly guys who were there by mistake.
By the time the advance horseman brought back their four captives and the vehicle, the main body of horsemen, including Gul
Daoud and the three Americans, had arrived outside the installation. They were taking sporadic rifle fire from inside, nothing
heavy, and were responding and keeping their horses moving to avoid presenting themselves as stationary targets.
“Officers are more cowardly than regular soldiers,” Daoud said with a sneer. “Sit this Russian captain on the hood of the
jeep, tie his ankles to the front fender, free his hands, and let him point out a safe route into their camp.”
Baker started to protest that this was against the international rules of warfare. Gul Daoud seemed genuinely suprised to
hear that any such rules were in existence and ignored Baker, of course. Gul lined the three Soviet enlisted men abreast behind
the jeep, in case its four tires missed any mines in its path. The captain did a good job directing the Afghan driver after
Gul promised him, in quite good Russian, that he and his men would be handed over to the International Red Cross for transporation
to Switzerland after being displayed first to Western reporters. The captain said he wanted to go to Canada.
“No problem,” Gul told him. “From Switzerland you can go to Paris if you want. Canada. Hollywood. Wherever you like.”
The captain led them safely inside where it soon became apparent that the Afghans had no intention of burdeningthemselves with more prisoners. They did not waste bullets, either; they simply cut the throats of the uninjured or lightly
wounded and left the badly wounded to die where they lay. They circulated rapidly, stuffing undamaged weapons, ammo, and supplies
into large sacks, which they tied to their saddles. As time passed, they speeded their already feverish pace. In a little
more than twenty minutes Gul Daoud gave die signal to leave. By that time, in Baker’s estimate, at least one hundred and twenty
Russians were dead or mortally wounded, perhaps as many as a hundred and eighty, with only four survivors. While the Afghans
killed and looted, the three Americans worked to one side on the bulldozing equipment, placing charges of plastic explosive
at vulnerable points in the heavy structures. The detonations damaged the equipment beyond repair. They had time to divide
their remaining supply of
plastique
into the relatively small charges needed to explode the fuel tanks of the lightly damaged choppers. They set these off as
a farewell fireworks display.
Nearly all the horsemen made it across the valley floor into the protection of the hills before the first wave of MIG fighters
hit. The only riders caught in the open were those escorting the four Soviet servicemen in their jeep. One of the seven planes
in the second wave of fighters scored a direct hit on the jeep with a rocket, instantly frying all four of his
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