Combat Alley (2007) (10 page)

It is too important to bellow back and forth about, Surov said. My friend Dagar and I will come closer to you. You will see we mean no harm because if there is trouble we will be the first to die.

A few minutes passed, then two elderly men appeared from the mud buildings and advanced ten meters toward the visitors. Surov and Dagar rode forward, then halted and dismounted, holding the reins of their horses. Dagar knew both of the Swatis. He pointed to one, That is Abasin, the malik, he said to Surov. Now he indicated the other. And that is Tolwak, a molla.

Surov displayed a friendly smile. We are here on behalf of Luka Yarkov, our chief. Yarkov has great affection for all Pashtun people, and that includes the Swatis. He is going to take over the selling of the entire opium poppy crop of the Pranistay Steppes. To show his respect for your tribe and all the tribes, he is going to pay you one and a half times the price that Awalmir of the Yousafzai paid you in the past. He is most generous, is he not?

Abasin ignored the remarks. You Russians stole five of our women and girls. You must pay us for them.

I speak of a subject more important than females, Surov said. This is a big thing that Yarkov does. Awalmir trembles in his hut, afraid of Yarkov. Already we have made alliances with the Mahsud, Kharoti, Bhittani, and Ghilzai tribes.

We want to be paid for the five women, Abasin insisted. You must pay us one thousand afghanis for each one.

Surov frowned in anger. Do not be disrespectful. Yarkov has more than three hundred men. You don't seem to realize that he is a khan.

Tolwak, the clergyman, glared furiously at Dagar. You have taken sides with an infidel against true believers of Islam.

Dagar grinned. Are you deaf, old man? Did you not hear what Surov said? His words are not idle boasting. There are four tribes of the faithful already joined together to sell their harvests to Yarkov.

We will not speak of anything until the Russians pay us five thousand afghanis, Abasin insisted. You cannot take women and expect to get away with it.

Yarkov will not give you a single afghani for all the Swati women in the world, Surov snarled. And if you choose not to sell us your poppy harvest, we will take it from you.

You will take nothing from us! Abasin snapped. If you want crops from our tribal fields, you will have to fight for them!

Then we will kill you all, Surov threatened. And leave your pretty women alive so that we can take our pleasure with them.

Listen to him, Dagar said. Surov speaks the truth. Already five of your women will burn in hell forever for fornicating with the infidels. Do you want more to spend eternity in the fires of hell?

You have much to lose, Surov said. We will go now. You think over the offer and be grateful for Yarkov's generosity. We will return for your friendship or your lives and pretty women.

Abasin and Tolwak stood silently as the two swung themselves back up into their saddles, then wheeled around and galloped back to rejoin their friends.

.

LOGOVISHCHYEH, TAJIKISTAN

1800 HOURS

YARKOV and his underbosses had gathered once again in his large domicile for a strategy meeting. This time they had company: Pavel Marvesky from Khorugh was in attendance. They were well aware of the importance of the man closest to the Big Boss making a personal visit to their home base.

A fire, built by Gabina, crackled in the hearth while several bottles of vodka recently retrieved from the freezer were sitting in an ice bucket in the middle of the table. Gabina had spent the afternoon preparing samosas and pakoras for snacks. Yarkov was in a good mood. The girl worked alone serving him and his guests because Zainba had begun menstruating. The gang leader was glad she hadn't ended up pregnant.

Now the five Russians drank toasts to their motherland, each other, and the boss of all bosses, Aleksander Akloschenko. With the cold vodka in their bellies, they consumed a couple of the snacks each before settling down to business. Marvesky, as a courtesy, allowed Yarkov to open the informal proceedings.

Alright, brothers, Yarkov said, wiping at the crumbs in his beard. We are honored to have Pavel Dimitrovich Marvesky come to visit Logovishchyeh. And without further delay, I invite him to address us as to his purpose for the journey from modern Khorugh to our primitive little town.

Thank you, Luka Ivanovich, Marvesky said. He chuckled. Do not worry, brothers, I will not be here boring you for long. He waited for the polite laughter to die down. I wish I had been with you during the visit to the villages. It would be most convenient for me to actually get a look at the Pranistay Steppes. But, at any rate, I am only here to get the latest news to take back to the Big Boss. And I am ready to hear how things are progressing in the plan to take over the harvest.

Everything goes well, Yarkov informed him. We now have the four strongest tribes on our side. I followed the Big Boss's instructions and promised them one and a half times the usual price. That was enough to make our offer more interesting to most, and they quickly abandoned Awalmir Yousafzai completely.

Where were you earlier today when I arrived? Marvesky asked.

We paid a visit to the weakest tribe on the steppes, Yarkov answered. But they refused our offer. Instead they want us to submit an honor payment of five thousand afghanis to them for some women we took last year.

That seems strange to me, Marvesky remarked. I admit I know little about these damned Pashtuns. Why would money compensate them for the loss of female relatives?

Surov interjected, According to their religion, the women are disgraced because of having been fucked by us. Thus, they want an honor payment to satisfy their dignity. On the other hand, if we returned to the women to the villages, the bastards would murder them as if they were sick lambs.

That is true, little Fedor Grabvosky said. They believe these women have sinned and will go to hell.

Marvesky was confused. But they were kidnapped and raped. It was not the women's fault. He suddenly laughed. And I know they didn't fall in love with you ugly lugs, so they probably fought like hell when you laid hands on them.

Oh, yes, Aleksei Barkyev, the largest of the underbosses, said. But once they're beaten up and given a damn good screwing, their fighting spirit evaporates like piss on a hot stove. In their minds, they have lost everything by then. They are doomed both on earth and in the hereafter.

Well, I know the Big Boss is not going to want any 'honor payments' made to those bumpkins. It would be a sign of weakness. And he will not tolerate their refusal to join us either. I am sure you know what that means.

Of course, Yarkov said. We must make an example of them to convince the other tribes of the wisdom of joining us.

How many tribes still remain obstinate? Marvesky asked.

Counting the Swatis, there are three, Surov answered. The Janoons and the Yousafzais. The last two have the most people, and we are taking the poppy business away from the warlord of the Yousafzais.

Then wipe out the Swatis, Marvesky said. If they're a small group, their poppy fields can be divided up among our allied tribes. He poured more vodka into his glass. Remember we will eventually expand to other areas and other tribes, so don't leave a man, woman, or child alive. You must make a strong impression that will become well known throughout all Pashtun groups in Afghanistan. He noticed one of the snack dishes was empty. Are there more?

Of course, Pavel Dimitrovich, Yarkov said. He turned his head toward the other room. Gabina! More samosas!

Chapter 8

OUTSKIRTS OF THE SWATI VILLAGE

22 OCTOBER

0430 HOURS

IGOR Tchaikurov had been a member of the Spetsnaz Special Operations Detachment of the Soviet KGB Border Guards before running afoul of the law. The elite unit he belonged to performed some of the most daring and clandestine duties for the Communist regime in operations along the entirety of its immense border. Tchaikurov was among the best in the dark missions and was a career warrant officer until his sentence for murder that brought about his incarceration in the military prison in Tajikistan. Although condemned to be shot, he languished like all the others awaiting capital punishment, enduring more than a decade of brutal confinement.

Tchaikurov had killed a fellow soldier because of an infatuation with the man's wife. She was blond, pretty, and desirable, and Tchaikurov was having an affair with her. He reasoned that by ridding her of the husband, the woman would be his alone. It turned out he was only one of a trio of lovers whose attentions she enjoyed while her husband was away patrolling isolated areas of the international border. After learning of the competition, he killed her too. Unfortunately he had been spotted entering her apartment by neighbors in the crowded building.

At his sentencing the colonel who presided over the trial stated that he didn't blame Tchaikurov for slaying the woman, but killing a valued Spetsnaz soldier was unforgivable. Therefore, he recommended the prisoner be taken to the nearest military prison for execution. The other officers of the tribunal agreed and sent the disgraced border guard to Tajikistan to have the sentence carried out. Follow-up orders never arrived, and the double murderer languished in confinement as a bureaucratic unperson.

Now, in the predawn hours, Tchaikurov trod silently and swiftly across the hard-packed soil of the Pranistay Steppes. He approached the outlying huts of the village and paused to see if any dogs might have been aroused. The only sound was that of the wind, showing that the local canines were snug asleep in the huts of their masters. The Russian knew exactly where he was going. It was the building where the boy guards stood their watch. It was easy to find, since a ladder was propped up to allow the lads access to the flat roof. Tchaikurov ascended without a sound, pausing when he could peer over the top. He saw a small figure sleepily manning his post, gazing out into the darkness. Within quick seconds the ex-Spetsnaz man was over the top, moving to a position just behind the boy. The garrote went around the small neck and was violently jerked taut. The youngster lost consciousness much quicker than would a full-grown man. After lowering the limp body to the rooftop, Tchaikurov pulled the flashlight from his jacket. A red lens cover blinked scarlet as he signaled that all was clear.

Luka Yarkov was at the head of 150 men as he moved toward the village. Fifty of this force were Mahsud tribesmen with a history of conflict with the Swatis. They looked forward to this opportunity to settle a few old scores that popped up when their foes had refused to join in Yarkov's operations. When the group of attackers was within twentyfive meters of the nearest huts, half the tribesmen scurried around to cut off any escape routes on the far side while a couple of dozen Russians split into two groups to cover the sides of the hamlet. The remainder of the gang moved straight into the village.

The slaughter began when the first doors were kicked in and assault rifles fired into the interior of the mud homes. All hell broke loose and the sleepy dogs who had been dozing suddenly awoke to begin useless, loud barking that was cut short by combinations of 7.62- and 5.45-millimeter bullets. Yarkov, with his military training, had planned a blitzkrieg-type attack with initial rushes of heavy fire followed up by groups of riflemen who mopped up survivors. When the firing began, those on the flanks quickly joined the battle, charging into the melee.

It was butchery by bullet as the village men did their best to respond to the fiery assault. Most managed to get off no more than one short burst before being cut down in the houses as their women and children died around them. The few fighters who managed to get through a door and outside were blasted down in swarms of bullets coming at them from different directions.

The heavy initial killing took only ten minutes, but another half hour was necessary until every single inhabitant of the Swati village was either dead or wounded. The latter were quickly dispatched with pistol shots. No pity was shown to the vanquished. Old people, men, women, children, and infants lay scattered around, their clothing turned to bloody rags from the gaping wounds of dozens of bullet strikes. There would have been looting except so many household items, like the people, had been shot to pieces. A few of the lucky killers did manage to pull rings and bracelets off a few of the women while other took wristwatches from the male corpses.

Yarkov kept his men searching for possible survivors until dawn began to glow behind the Kangal Mountains. By then the area had been searched over, a few weapons picked up from the dead, and every victim the attackers examined had been determined to be a corpse. The Russian boss yelled orders to withdraw while Surov repeated the instructions in Pashtun.

They went back to the horses that were being held by a couple of dozen Mahsud boys in the area from where the assault had been launched. The grim job was over, and the attackers mounted the horses for the ride back to their quarters. The Russians headed toward Logovishchyeh while the Mahsud split off to return to their two villages.