Combat Alley (2007) (6 page)

Another soldier appeared on the scene, this one wearing the insignia of the signals branch on his beret. He saluted Sidiqui and handed him a message. The lieutenant read it, then looked up at the SEALs with a sad smile. This is saying that three United States Air Force transport aircraft will be arriving at the Karachi airport at fourteen hundred hours. They will collect you and your horses to return to Afghanistan. I would assume you will be going soon on your mission.

That's what it is, Brannigan said. Thanks for the good training, Lieutenant. It was hard work but satisfying.

I am glad you approve, Sidiqui said. And I shall miss you all. And may I say in all sincerity that you are the best class I ever had.

Senior Chief Buford Dawkins didn't like drawn-out good-byes. Fall in! We've got a lot to do to get ready for this afternoon's flight. You got to do more than just look out for yourselves; there's them horses and all their gear to take care of.

As the men formed up, Puglisi glanced at Miskoski. Damn! I sure hope Ralph can adjust to life in Afghanistan.

I'm not even going to reply to that, Miskoski said.

.

SHELOR FIELD, AFGHANISTAN

ISOLATION

17 OCTOBER

0730 HOURS

ALTHOUGH the upcoming operation for Brannigan's Brigands was not classified, the journalist, Dirk Wallenger, and his cameraman, Eddie Krafton, were not permitted to attend the mission briefing. Regulations forbade outsiders access to the procedures since there was always the possibility that sensitive material might inadvertently be brought up. This prevented their presence even though the two men would eventually be in the middle of the field operations. Wallenger and Krafton waited in the officers' billets while the SEALs retired to their hangar to do what they had to do.

To everyone's surprise, however, the young interpreter Chinar Janoon was present when Commander Tom Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer opened the briefing. The first item on the agenda to be announced was that Chinar was more than an interpreter. He was, in fact, a fully qualified asset to the point he would be indispensable to the SEALs on the mission that had now been named Operation Combat Alley. The young Pashtun would also be giving part of the presentation.

Now that the entire detachment was seated in chairs at the usual briefing spot in the hangar, Carey began his dissertation from the podium. Before we get into the nitty-gritty, he said, I want to mention you'll be in another opium poppy growing area as you already have been a couple of other times before. But on this occasion you'll not be taking action against growers, smugglers, sellers, buyers, or anybody else involved in the activity.

That makes sense, Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser said. The harvest is over with anyhow.

That's not the only reason, Carey said. The tribes benefit too much from growing the stuff, so it has been decided that there are certain areas where the government is going to look the other way. This will continue unless the farmers begin dealing with the Taliban, who will use the money to buy arms, ammunition, and other war-making tools. As a matter of fact, part of your mission is to keep an eye out to see if the Taliban is creeping around out there.

And if they are, sir? Ensign Orlando Taylor asked.

Then report it ASAP through the net, Carey replied.

I thought the farmers were already being bribed not to grow the poppies, Taylor remarked.

That funding has dried up until a new budget is worked out by the Afghanistan government, Carey said. Anyway, let's get into the briefing. He opened the folder he had put on the podium. Okay. The name of the mission is Operation Combat Alley, and here's the situation where you're going. The area is the Pranistay Steppes where several Pashtun tribes are scattered among thirteen villages. The population of the area is a total of a bit more than six hundred fighting men. We don't know how many women and kids and old folks are in the place, since the Pashtuns on the steppes only count those men and boys of war-making age.

What's steppes? Puglisi asked.

Prairie or flatlands, Carey answered, slightly annoyed. However, in this case, the description 'steppes' is not quite accurate. There are plenty of gullies and shallow valleys that give it a rugged quality. This makes motor transportation difficult, thus going by horse or donkey is the only way to get around reasonably well. The area is approximately eighteen hundred square miles, so there's plenty of space between the settlements. It's high desert country that is baking hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter pardon the cliches with hard-packed sandy soil. However, there are certain areas where creeks and ponds abound that provide the fertile areas to raise food and those opium plants. At this point I'll let your asset, Chinar Janoon, give you some more info on the people that live on the Pranistay.

Now that the young Pashtun had been identified as an asset, the SEALs were a lot more impressed with him. This meant he had some sort of connection, either official or quasi-official, with the Afghanistan government and/or military. The fact that he was educated and could speak several languages was also an indication that here was somebody special even if he was only in his late teens or early twenties. And he had demonstrated that he was a damn good horseman as well.

Good morning all, Chinar said cheerfully. He spoke in a sort of British accent. I am going to discuss the demography of the Pranistay Steppes. There are a total of seven tribes of Pashtuns scattered about the area. The largest is the Yousafzai tribe, which has a hundred and twenty fighting men in three villages. They are well armed and relatively prosperous because of the poppies. Their leader is a warlord actually. His name is Awalmir. I give you only his first name because his last name, like all Pashtuns, is the tribal name. Since I am called Chinar Janoon, you may rightfully assume that I am from the Janoon tribe.

Ensign Orlando Taylor raised his hand. Is your tribe a powerful one?

We rank fourth on the Pranistay with eighty-five fighting men dispersed between two villages, Chinar replied. The weakest tribe would be the Ghilzai, who have fifty-five in their only village. The one thing we all have in common is that all our communities are ruled by the eldest men, to whom we refer as spinzhire. That means 'gray-beards' and is both a respectful and affectionate term. The name covers the several positions of local government. If a village has a headman, and many do not, he is referred to as the malik. There are also the scholars who are called oleme; the judges are referred to as qaze, and the molla are the Muslim clergy. Owners of large tracts of land or warlords are addressed as khan.

Puglisi had a question. Do all you guys get along okay?

Chinar shook his head. I fear not. We have a long history of blood feuds and what would be termed clan wars. Alliances and dissolutions are erratic and varying, depending on the nature of the disagreements. A tribe may be involved in a bitter war with another, yet the next year they are united against a common enemy that has evolved during a more recent quarrel. And, of course, when bandits come into an area, the villages all unite against them, forgetting past grievances.

Who are these bandits? Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson asked.

They are outsiders who come out of the Kangal Mountains to the north, Chinar replied. They are from Tajikistan and have been raiding down on the steppes for many generations. Mostly now, however, the cowardly wretches attack travelers and others who are too far from the villages to be helped by fellow tribesmen. I shouldn't think that you would have a bit of trouble with them. In fact, the local people will be only too glad to have you around to keep them away. Believe me, those criminals will fear you. He paused for a moment. I have been told that you are acquainted with the proper way to conduct yourselves in the company of Pashtuns, so I needn't cover that. I have also arranged to have a donkey train available to carry heavy equipment and loads for you. My village will supply a half dozen along with drovers. And, now, if you have no questions, my presentation is finished. Thank you.

Commander Carey took over again. So here is your mission statement: You are to deploy into the Pranistay Steppes of northeastern Afghanistan for the purpose of observing, aiding, and establishing friendly rapport with the indigenous people. That's it, plain and simple.

I hope the execution portion is as assuageous, Chad Murchison remarked.

Carey, who didn't know what the word meant, ignored the remark and continued his dissertation. You will be airlifted from Shelor Field via three C-130 transport aircraft just as when you returned here from Pakistan.

Is it a long flight, sir? Puglisi asked.

Carey shrugged. I'm not sure. Why do you ask?

I was just worried about Ralph getting airsick again.

Who's Ralph? Carey asked.

My horse, Puglisi replied.

You named your horse Ralph? Carey inquired with a very incredulous expression on his face.

Joe Miskoski interjected, It's a long story, sir. You don't want to go there.

I sure as hell don't! Carey exclaimed. He gave Puglisi another skeptical look before continuing. Okay. You'll land at an area picked out by Chinar. It's marked on the maps you'll receive prior to leaving. He's assured us the terrain is firm and large enough to accommodate the aircraft. You will unload your gear, horses including Ralph, of course and get into your mission with Chinar as your guide and interpreter.

Now the Skipper had a question. What about the reporters, Wallenger and Krafton?

They will go in imbedded with you as previously stated, Carey said. But stay on your toes. If anything untoward that calls for 'special' action occurs, keep them away from it. As far as normal activities go, they are free to film, report, and interview anybody they want to. The official word is for you to cooperate with them.

Aye, sir, Brannigan said. And what about our resupply?

As soon as you pick out a place or places, you inform the SFOB aboard the USS Combs, Carey said. They'll see that anything you need, including fodder for the horses, is delivered to you. He looked over at Doc Bradley. You will be expected to aid the locals in case of sickness or injuries, so whatever medical supplies you need will be made available through resupply.

Yes, sir, the hospital corpsman replied.

I doubt if you guys will be needing more than a basic issue of ammo unless you end up doing a lot of hunting, Carey said. Chinar tells me there are deer, wild pigs, and goats in the foothills of the Kangal Mountains.

Christ! Guy Devereaux exclaimed with a chuckle. And they're calling this Operation Combat Alley? They should've named it Operation Candyass Lane.

It won't be all that easy, Carey said. You'll have calluses on your asses from all the riding you guys are going to do.

What about commo? Frank Gomez, the detachment RTO, asked.

Follow the SOI, Carey said. We won't be doing a briefback. This mission is simple and tame. Work out your own wants and desires when it comes to taking in supplies and goodies you want. And don't forget you'll have a donkey train to transport heavy or bulky equipment. He closed up his notes. That's it! Turn to! He glanced over at Puglisi. Tell Ralph I hope he has a nice trip.

I sure will, sir, Puglisi said.

Chapter 5

THE PRANISTAY STEPPES

MAHSUD MAIN VILLAGE

18 OCTOBER

1030 HOURS

THE six Russians rode slowly for an essential reason: They did not want to alarm the Pashtuns in the village they were now approaching. Each also had his AKS assault rifle slung muzzle-down across his back to illustrate the peacefulness of their intentions. However, these were violent, suspicious men, and they had Tokarev 7.62-millimeter automatics out of sight but readily available in their waistbands.

Valentin Surov and Yakob Putnovsky, who had visited the little community almost three weeks previously to tell the Pashtuns they owed a tax, were two of the riders. The other four were Luka Yarkov, the headman; Aleksei Barkyev, an underboss; and two hard cases named Vilgelim Dalenko and Lev Shinskovsky.

The boy guard on duty had already alerted the villagers, and when the unexpected visitors entered the community proper, they saw the usual peaceful scene of oldsters sitting around the communal well, smoking their pipes with languid puffs as if they had no worries in the world. The Russians knew the placid impression was false, and that they were under the guns of hidden males in the surrounding houses.

Surov, with his rudimentary knowledge of Pashto, rode forward and came to a halt. Stari me shey! he greeted politely.

One of the old men nodded to him. Salamat osey!

Do you remember me? Surov asked.