Combat Alley (2007) (14 page)

Malachenko chuckled. How about that!

Leroux gave the SEAL a close study. I believe you're one of Brannigan's bunch. Is that so?

I sure am, sir.

The general laughed aloud. Well, there's no doubt you're a damn good man. I'll let Caldwell explain the mission to you.

It isn't real complicated, Caldwell said. And I'll be your asset since I'm assigned to the area. You will enter Tajikistan in the guise of a guy on the run from the Russian law. Documents will be made available to back up your operational role. Your first port of call will be the city of Khorugh. That's where you'll be able to 'run into' some of the local Mafia types. You give them your cover story and they'll see that you link up with the gangsters living in the mountains. From that point on, you get all the intel possible on the group to include their purposes, intentions for the immediate future, and methods of operation. Then exfiltrate back to your guys on the Pranistay Steppes. Depending on what you're able to learn, action will be taken to eliminate that threat.

We think they were the ones who massacred a whole village of people, sir, Malachenko said. It was enough to make you sick.

Then you realize fully who you're dealing with, Caldwell said.

There was some Pashtuns with them, Malachenko added. You can't trust nobody out there.

Well, that goes to show how hairy your mission is gonna be, Leroux remarked dryly.

Malachenko showed a grin of resignation. Hell! If I ever have an easy mission, I'll prob'ly drop dead from shock and surprise.

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PRANISTAY STEPPES

1045 HOURS

ENSIGN Orlando Taylor and his entire Second Assault Section held their horses to a walk across the open country in a column formation. Chinar, the young interpreter, rode beside him, while Doug MacTavish, the SAW gunner, was close behind. Dave Leibowitz was up forward on point, and his teammate Bruno Puglisi was the Tail-End-Charlie, charged with security at the rear. Delta Fire Team furnished two flankers Guy Devereaux on the left and Chad Murchison on the right as the section continued on their patrol mission of observance and exploration in that area of the OA.

The terrain over which they traveled was mostly flat, but the evenness was broken here and there with slight dips and small streams that had to be crossed. The weather was chilly and everyone noticed that the snow on the highest peaks of the Kangal Mountains had increased over the previous few days. The SEALs wore field jackets, but had not buttoned the hoods on just yet, nor were any gloves in evidence among the riders. Chad Murchison, born and raised in Massachusetts, found the lower temperature invigorating. He was hoping that if it snowed on the steppes perhaps they could get some cross-country skiing in. As he continued the slow ride on the flank, Chad kept his eyes on the horizon from the right front all the way around to the right rear. So far there was nothing but an empty horizon beneath a bleak prewinter sky.

Then he sighted a line of horsemen.

Brigand Two, he said, raising Taylor on the LASH. There's a half dozen riders at four o'clock. He put his binoculars to his eyes and studied the strangers for a moment. They're Pashtuns.

Roger, Taylor said, acknowledging the information. All hands! Right flank, march!

The section wheeled their horses directly to the right, forming into a skirmish line. Chad was now in the direct front, nearest the strangers. He was quickly joined by Chinar, and they led the way toward the unknown riders.

The Pashtuns now sighted them, and all removed their AK-47 rifles from their shoulders. Chinar glanced at Chad. We must hold up our empty hands and show that we have no unfriendly intentions. Taylor ordered everyone to halt, while the duo continued drawing closer.

Munzh yu melgerane we are friends! Chinar shouted.

Suddenly a pair of shots came from the Pashtuns, splitting the air above Chad and Chinar's heads. Chad immediately pulled his M16 from the saddle scabbard and shot back. Taylor ordered the rest of the section into a gallop, yelling over the LASH. Return fire!

It was impossible to aim properly at a full gallop, and all the rounds flew harmlessly through the air. The Pashtuns responded by turning away, pounding across the steppes with the SEALs in pursuit. The chase went on for almost a quarter of an hour before the natives charged into a gully. At that point they halted, dismounted, and took up positions with their assault rifle muzzles pointed at the Americans.

Cease fire! Taylor said after noticing the Pashtuns were not shooting at them. Halt!

After stopping, the SEALs swung from their saddles, turning the reins over to a previously appointed horse handler team made up of Pech Pecheur, Doug MacTavish, and Arnie Bernardi. The remainder of the SEALs moved forward in a skirmish line, ready to respond to any hostile action taken by the Pashtuns. After a couple of moments a shout could be heard, and Chinar spoke into his LASH to Taylor. They are calling for us to identify ourselves.

Tell 'em who we are, Taylor instructed.

Munzh yu Amrikayi payra! Chinar yelled, identifying the SEALs as an American patrol. This was followed by a couple of exchanges between the Pashtuns and the interpreter. Chinar informed Taylor they would be coming out and not to shoot.

Within ten minutes both groups were together, and the meeting resulted in Chinar explaining that the Pashtuns thought the SEALs were Tajik bandits or Taliban. This was followed by apologies all around, and the ensign gave the natives permission to continue across the steppes after they explained they were a hunting party.

When the Pashtuns rode off, Taylor expressed relief that none had been killed. This would have been catastrophic and set our efforts here back, he said.

I don't know, Chinar said. Those men are from the Bhittani tribe and they are bitter enemies of my clan. I think they became friendly when they saw we outnumbered them. If not, we would have ended up like the Swatis who were massacred.

Taylor frowned. Do you think those guys had anything to do with that?

If not, they certainly knew about it before it happened, Chinar said.

The two fire team leaders, Gutsy Olson and Connie Concord, looked at each other. Gutsy slung his M16 over his shoulder, saying, I got a feeling that the situation out here is gonna start deteriorating real fast real soon.

Connie shrugged. Tell me something I don't already know.

Chapter 11

SHELOR FIELD

30 OCTOBER

SPENCER Caldwell, the CIA operative working a highly dangerous solo assignment in Tajikistan, had become something of an expert on the Russian Mafia and its fellow travelers. The first thing he learned was that they were not an independent crime organization that worked alone, but were made up of numerous syndicates with their own agendas and goals. When he was given the task of preparing SEAL petty officer Andrei Malachenko to infiltrate the gangs in Tajikistan, he began the orientation by explaining they were multilayered loose groups. The one the SEAL would concentrate on was run by a conniving ex-Soviet bureaucrat named Aleksander Akloschenko who was more or less sponsoring a group of ex-military convicts in a project to wrest control of the opium poppy harvest from Awalmir Khan, the principal warlord on the Pranistay Steppes. And since it was the convicts Brannigan's Brigands had to deal with, the best way for Andy to reach them would be through an initial contact with Akloschenko's organization.

The exchange of ideas and suggestions between Andy and Caldwell was a valuable learning experience for both men. They agreed that Andy should avoid making any contact with Caldwell, who would be returning to Khorugh before Andy was inserted into the mission. The CIA operative, who had built up his own cover as a freelance archaeologist, had worked himself into a position where he was able to wander around the area without arousing suspicion. Caldwell coldly explained that if Andy suddenly showed up unexpectedly on his doorstep, the operative would send him away or worse.

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0100 HOURS

PETTY Officer Second Class Andy Malachenko wore a jump helmet as well as a parka and coveralls over civilian clothing of a heavy shirt, wool trousers, and hiking boots. Additionally he packed a Tokarev automatic pistol with shoulder holster for both protection and appearance. Now, in the dim overhead lights of the SEALs' hangar, he struggled into the RAPS for the HALO insertion he was to make into Tajikistan in a few short hours.

A Russian fur cap was stuffed into the jacket pocket for use after his parachute entry into the mission. And, rather than a rucksack, he was jumping with a relatively small sport backpack in which he carried extra clothing, magazines and ammunition for the pistol, and 300,000 rubles in cash that amounted to about $10,000 American. An entrenching tool to bury the helmet, coveralls, and RAPS was to be attached to the backpack, then discarded by tossing it somewhere into the brush after use.

The last item of his mission inventory was a forged passport made out in the name of Jan Kowalski as a preliminary cover. This was an obvious forgery meant to be discovered, at which time he would produce another ID document that indicated he had been born Mikhail Molotosky in Moscow, where he was involved in various criminal activities.

The DZ he would be using was several kilometers outside Khorugh. After landing and disposing of his equipment, he was to walk to the city and make his way into a Russian neighborhood called Krasgorod by the locals. Once there, he would find a bar called the Domashni Tavern that was a hangout for the local Russian Mafia, where he was to make inquiries about a fellow named Ivan Karlovich Gelshenov. Spencer Caldwell was aware that Gelshenov was found murdered in that same neighborhood six months earlier, so Andy's claim of knowing him could not be disproved.

Andy had been given the two cover stories by Caldwell to present when he first made contact with the Russian gangsters. The first was purposefully designed to be extremely weak and easy to see through. The SEAL was to say that he had come to Tajikistan in order to find work as an automobile mechanic. That would make little sense to anyone familiar with the high unemployment rate in the country. The criminals would be immediately suspicious and certain to suspect him of some underhanded dealing. However, Andy was to stick to the story stubbornly, while insisting on seeing Gelshenov.

At that point he would be taken to see his friend. However, there was no doubt that the gangsters would actually escort him to a special place for a more thorough examination. This, of course, would include a vigorous punching around. The SEAL was to take all he could stand, being careful not to sustain any serious injuries, then admit that he was fleeing from the Moscow police who wanted to question him regarding extortion and protection shakedowns of local kiosks. He was to also reveal that he had spent three years in the Army, serving in a motorized infantry regiment stationed near Saint Petersburg.

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SOUTHWEST TAJIKISTAN

0445 HOURS

THE hum of the aircraft's engine had faded away in the dark sky as Andy's feet hit the ground with a slight crackling sound. The mountain meadow chosen as his DZ was covered with a thin sheet of ice, and the SEAL appreciated the warmth provided by the thick down parka and the heavy sweater beneath it. He dumped the harness after loosening the chest strap and the waistband, standing still for a moment in the surreal windless environment. This area was desolation pure and simple, making Andy suddenly feel isolated and lonely. Being on his own is tough for a man who normally depends on teamwork with trusted buddies to get assigned missions done. It was obvious to the SEAL that he would have to adapt to a new mind-set if he was going to succeed on this latest operation.

Andy shook himself out of the mental doldrums and immediately gathered up the folds and straps of the RAPS, carrying the whole thing over to a thicket of brush some twenty-five meters away. He was glad there was no permafrost as he began to strike the ground with the entrenching tool, digging up chunks of dirt that would have been frozen solid within a couple of months. The top layer was a bit difficult, but by the time he was about six inches down the task became easy. He kept going until he had cleared out a one cubic yard mini-excavation. He felt a tug of sadness when he shoved the parachute into the hole. It had saved his life, bellowing open to stop his earthward plummet, then obeyed the tugs he made on the toggles with the accuracy of a faithful guide dog. Now it was doomed to rot in a hole out in the middle of nowhere in Southwest Asia.

With the concealment done, Andy swung the backpack over his shoulders and set off walking eastward in the direction the ground sloped. It took him a half hour of rapid travel before he reached the road. He turned south and went a hundred meters to find a badly faded and bent sign that informed him that Khorugh was twenty kilometers away. Andy quickly converted the kilometers to miles in his head by multiplying the number by .6, coming up with twelve miles. Not too bad a walk for a guy in excellent physical condition. The cold weather helped kick up his energy level as he briskly stepped out toward his destination.