Combat Alley (2007) (19 page)

Now the entire population, including the leaders, also gathered around. This is going to take five or six days, Doc announced.

Mohambar asked, What is your treatment?

Every morning before they eat they must take two of these pills, Doc explained, holding up a bottle of niclosamide. You must not fail. This will kill the tapeworms. I will come back in the afternoon of the fifth day and continue. At that time I will go to the home of each child and administer an enema.

Chinar explained what an enema was and what would result. There was a bit of hesitation, but the young interpreter reminded them of Doc's skill in helping a man who would surely have died of gangrene or gotten his arm cut off without the American's ministrations. And the amputation would have been enough to kill him if it was not done by a proper surgeon.

None of the children must eat the next morning, Doc continued. I will give them an antiemetic. That medicine will keep them from vomiting up the dead tapeworms. Two hours later I will give them another enema. This way the dead tapeworms will come out their little bottoms. Understood?

Dagar was skeptical. And that will rid them of the illness?

I promise you it will rid them of the illness, Doc said confidently.

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1130 HOURS

THE Americans had gone and the malik Mohambar and Dagar stood alone at the edge of the village watching the departing visitors fade into the haze of the distant horizon. Mohambar turned to the young man. What do you think of the Americans?

I do not trust them, Dagar said. They will wait until they find out where all our poppies are planted, then call in the Afghanistan Army to cut them down. And do not forget that the Russian promised to pay us a bonus for the crop.

But the black American gave us the opportunity of having the sick children cured, Mohambar argued.

We will let the black man apply his skill to them, Dagar said. But before this winter grows deeper and colder, we will have to kill him and the rest of the Americans.

As Allah wills, Mohambar said solemnly. I will send a message to Yarkov that they have come to visit with us.

Chapter 14

THE PRANISTAY STEPPES

THE DERDALA

8 NOVEMBER

0730 HOURS

BUXARI, the Tajik bandit subchief, rode slowly up the slight rise of the ground with the other two members of the scouting party flanking him. This was an area with a terrain layout that rolled and dipped in the midst of a series of gullies. The ravines that cut through the firm terrain were anywhere from a single meter to three deep, with very few sinking as much as five meters into the earth. Several series of these ground features ran into each other and branched out like the flow of creeks and rivers coming together to form deltas. Others continued their course to dead ends, their lengths ending abruptly as if the ancient glaciers that gouged the earth had been suddenly halted by some celestial command.

These scouts, like the dozen other men in the main body with their chief, Akali, were armed with AK-47s and carried extra bandoleers of ammunition provided by the Russian Luka Yarkov. For rations they had canned meat and chapatti, carrying water in secondhand military canteens. There was no liquor in the group. These were all Muslims and followed the dictates of Islam by avoiding alcohol. Each bandit also had been paid fifty somonis almost $18 American while Akali and Buxari had taken half the payment handed over by Yarkov and split it evenly between themselves. They each had the equivalent of $135 American. When Akali handed out the bandits' shares, he did it individually, whispering to each recipient, Don't tell the others what I paid you. You're more valuable to me than any of them, so you have some extra. The bandits smiled smugly to themselves, each thinking they had been paid more than their companions.

Diqqat! one man suddenly exclaimed, pointing off to the west.

Buxari looked in the indicated direction and spotted a double column of horsemen traveling at an angle toward them. He quickly led his party down into a gully, then dismounted and crawled up to where he could see the strangers. He counted five men and noted the direction in which they were traveling. It was due north toward the place where Akali waited with the rest of the bandits. Buxari pulled an ancient British telescope from his haversack. It had been in his family for four generations after a female ancestor had taken the spyglass from the body of a British major. She had finished mutilating the corpse after a long-ago clash between the natives and elements of Queen Victoria's army. Buxari slid the focusing tube back and forth until he was able to get a clear view. These were all foreigners of some kind, and they wore camouflage uniforms. The Americans!

It took the scouting party twenty minutes of hard riding through the confines of the natural trenches before emerging to gallop to the spot where the main body waited for them.

When Buxari reached his clansmen, he dismounted and knelt down beside Akali, who sat on the ground smoking a cigarette. We have spotted five Americans over to the west. They are traveling northeast on the long level strip of land where the gullies lead up to the foothills of the Kangal Mountains.

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0900 HOURS

IT wasn't too far to the place where the Tajiks knew the American would have to cross. The bandits were illiterate and untaught, but they were geniuses in their knowledge and instincts of warfare in the land where their people had fought and killed for uncounted generations. They surmised the infidels were going to take a circuitous course through the Derdalas, then go along the foothills before making another turn that would put them on a direct route back in the opposite direction. Akali could even make an accurate estimate as to the exact location where the infidels would make the maneuver. The bandit chief led his men to a spot where two gullies came close to converging. The Americans would ride straight into that area, then go through the narrow gap of flat terrain with the idea of emerging at the foothills. That was where the ambush would be set up.

DELTA Fire Team, under the command and control of Petty Officer First Class Connie Concord, rode lethargically along, taking care to avoid riding down into the deep gashes in the terrain that could lead to only God knew where. They stayed topside and alert, reinforced by Doug MacTavish and his SAW. Chad Murchison was on point, but no flankers were out because the nature of the terrain made that impossible. A deep chill hung still and penetrating in the air, and the recently arrived arctic sleeping bags had been well appreciated by the SEALs the night before.

By now Brannigan had reached a conclusion that the slaughter at the Swati village had been a local feud. Things had been quiet for the past seventeen days, and all the patrolling activities had ground down to be no more than uncomfortable rides in the cold weather with nothing to show for the discomfort and frustration. However, the mission orders plainly stated they were to keep a watch on the area and, without helicopters, the only way to do their duty was horse patrols.

The sudden blast of gunfire broke the silence like a clap of thunder. Chad Murchison looked as if he had leaped backward from his saddle before falling heavily to the ground.

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THE BATTLE

THE SEALs immediately returned fire as Connie Concord jumped from his horse and ran over to Chad while spurts of dirt flew up around his feet from incoming fire. Give me cover! Connie ordered through the LASH as he quickly checked out the wounded SEAL. Chad was conscious, but bleeding heavily from his right side. He rolled over to his hands and knees.

Oh, drat! he said. Help me back on my horse, Connie.

Right, but hurry up. We're under fire.

I have determined those circumstances, Chad remarked with a grimace of discomfort.

As the two struggled at the task, Doug MacTavish sent out heavy bursts from the SAW, sweeping down the gully where he perceived the location of the unfriendlies. A minute later, with Chad leaning forward in the saddle, he and Connie cantered rapidly back toward the others. Connie quickly sized up the nearest place of safety. It was the ravine on the west side of the battle zone. He ordered the team down into it, glad to see it was deep enough to give some cover.

AKALI was furious. You idiots! he screamed at his men. All that firing and all you have done is shot one infidel.

We do not get enough target practice, Chief! one of the nearby bandits protested.

Buxari, however, was in a good mood. The Americans went into the gully to the north! It is a dead end. Let us mount up and ride after them.

Within seconds all seventeen were in the saddle and heading to a spot where they could quickly emerge from the gulch and ride up to higher ground. They rode down the side of the gully where the SEALs were, traveling parallel to the infidels' route. After a mere five minutes the bandits had drawn up even with their quarry, and Akali ordered his men to hold fire until the Americans had to stop at the dead end.

GUY Devereaux was on the point, holding his horse to a fast walk because of Chad. Connie had come over the LASH and told him to take it easy because of the wounded SEAL's heavy bleeding. What the fire team needed was a good gallop to put plenty of distance between themselves and whoever the rotten bastards were that opened up on them. They had been caught in the open with their heads up their asses. The quiet monotony of the previous weeks had lulled them into utter stupidity.

Suddenly Guy reined in. Dead end! he yelled over the LASH. This fucking ravine has come to a stop!

Less than a minute later the others caught up to him. The horses crowded together at the narrow terminus, pushing and bumping against each other. Connie Concord quickly noted there was no way out; not to the front, the sides, and certainly not the rear. That was where the bad guys would be. Chad suddenly slumped over to one side, then fell heavily to the ground. Arnie Bernardi leaped down and opened up the BDU jacket. Connie hadn't had time to tend to Chad's wound at the ambush point, but now Arnie ripped open his first-aid packet and pulled out a battle dressing. He applied it directly over the gunshot injury, then wound the bandage around Chad's waist, tying it off tight.

Man! Chad said, his eyes opening. I could feel myself falling, but I could do absolutely nothing about it. What an abashment!

Yeah, Arnie said. I really hate it when I get, er, abashed.

It means embarrassed, Chad explained as he winced from the tightness of the dressing.

Connie issued terse orders. Devereaux! MacTavish! Take the west side. Work your way up to the top of this fucking ditch and keep an eye out. Bernardi! You and I will take the east.

Chad struggled to a sitting position. He was still numb and at that time felt no severe pain though he was experiencing waves of dizziness. Somebody give me my M16! I can cover the coulee.

Within moments the defensives were formed. Connie pulled out his map, then turned to the LASH again, hoping the AN/PRC-126 radio's range would be extended over the flat terrain. Boss, this is Delta. Over.

No answer.

MacTavish yelled, I hear horses coming this way!

Goddamn it! Connie cursed. Boss, this is Delta. Over. Pause. Boss, this is Delta. Over.

The crackling sound of Frank Gomez's voice faintly sounded over the earphones. Delta, this is Boss. You're coming in low and garbled. Over.

We are under attack, Connie said, looking at the map. He had not brought his GPS since it didn't seem necessary for the simple patrol mission. The team leader had to use another tried-and-true method of noting his physical location. Map coordinates three-seven-two-five-seven-zero-three-three. I say again. Map coordinates three-seven-two-five-seven-zero-three-three. We are trapped and under attack by unknown enemy. Over, goddamn it!

Gomez spoke again. This is Boss. Map coordinates three-seven-two-five-seven-zero-three-three. Roger. Out.

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SEALs BIVOUAC

0920 HOURS

LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan quickly mustered the three officers, two chiefs, and thirteen petty officers of the detachment. This latter bunch was immediately sent to the horse pickets to saddle and bridle every mount. Meanwhile, the Skipper quickly briefed his section commanders and team leaders, who had been ordered to bring their maps with them.

Get the charts and check out the location of coordinates three-seven-two-five-seven-zero-three-three, the Skipper ordered. Everybody find it? Alright! I've already worked the distance to be twenty kilometers. As you can see by the contour lines, there are fingers of gullies and ditches and whatever running all over the fucking place. Delta Fire Team is in a defensive hold at those coordinates I just gave you. No doubt they're holding out in one of those deep depressions.