Reflexive Fire - 01 (11 page)

   “What about us?”

   “I need to see what this is, before planning our next move,” Deckard said, pointing to the pool of standing water.  “I think this is a water lock, but I have to be sure.”

   “Like the Viet Cong used back in the day?”

   “Yeah, low tech defense from an enemy introducing poison gas into the tunnel system or overpressure from explosives.  The insurgent answer to American air power.”

   “Not a bad way to conceal hidden exits either.”

   “The
karez
systems are maintained by the communities that use them, but they are built by tradesmen who pass their secrets down from father to son.  The same goes for any adjoining tunnels the Taliban may have forced them to build before the war.”

   “So who draws the short straw?”

   “I'll do it, should only be a few feet underwater.”

   “Should be.”

   Deckard flipped up his night vision goggles, knowing he'd have to be careful not to crush them while underwater, and handed his rifle off to Frank.  He was breaking a cardinal rule of getting out of arm's length of his primary weapon, but drowning because his rifle or sling got tangled on something in an underwater cave didn't appeal to him at the moment.

   Slipping into the water, he involuntarily held his breath as the icy water circled his chest.  Forcing a few deep breaths, he disappeared beneath the surface.  The water was freezing cold and pitch dark for several claustrophobic seconds while Deckard clawed his way through the passage, emerging to take a massive gulp of stale air on the other side.

   Pushing the NVGs down on the swing arm attached to the helmet mount, Deckard scanned back and forth.  The Afghans who built the
karez
had their trade secrets, all right, and that extended to secret and hidden tunnels connecting various underground constructs.  For instance, an emergency escape tunnel connecting a bunker complex to an ancient
karez
aqueduct.

   Another deep breath, and he slipped back under the water lock, surfacing on the other side. 

   “It's good,” Deckard said, squinting as Frank indiscriminately flashed his red light in his face.  “We've got their egress route.”

   “How could you possibility have known this would be here?” Frank said, shaking his head.

   “I didn't,” Deckard responded, soberly, as he reached out, reclaiming his rifle.  “It was an extrapolation based on the proximity of the
karez
to the bunker system.”

   “In other words, you pulled it out of your ass.”

   “Maybe.  Have Third Platoon remain topside with the mortar section, and get Second Platoon down here to secure this foothold.  We'll take First Platoon the rest of the way to the bunkers.”

   “Roger.  We got comms with topside.  Give me two minutes.”

   “Shouldn't take that long,” Deckard said, motioning for First Squad to follow him through the water lock.  Once on the other side, he helped the Kazakhs out of the water, all of them now soaking wet and freezing cold.  Caves and underground passages kept the same cold temperature year round, regardless of what the climate was topside.  At least the walls were wider and there wasn't any running water to complicate their footing.

   Under night vision, he got First Squad together on a safety line before moving onto Second and Third squad.  Frank was with Second Platoon in the
karez,
and Sergeant Alexander would be at the rear, the platoon sergeant pushing his men forward.  Finally Alexander came through the water lock with another spool of commo wire, trailing a line behind him back to the
karez
so the point element could maintain communications all the way back to the surface.

   Glancing at the luminescent hands on his wrist watch, Deckard knew they had less then six hours of darkness left.  Special Operations helicopters only flew at night, so if the assault went on into daylight hours, then they were stuck out in the hinterlands for an additional twelve or more hours until the next period of darkness.

   Deckard forced himself to remain calm.  Getting overly excited wouldn't make the situation better.  There were a lot of moving parts, a lot of contingencies, and a million things that could go wrong.  So far they were on track, even if somewhat behind schedule.

   Proceeding cautiously, Deckard noted that the tunnel was better built with wide smooth walls that had even been cemented over in some portions.  The Kazakhs shuffled behind him in the dark, following the crazy American into god knew what.

   The tunnel more or less continued on a straight azimuth for another half kilometer before forking off in two directions.  One passage continued straight towards the mountains where the objective was located; the other looked like it led to a dead end. 

   Halting the squad, he again took the lead, moving slowly while on lookout for any signs of danger.  Straining his eyes through a dimly lit, green-tinted world cast by his night vision device, Deckard literally ran into the haphazardly constructed staircase.  Suppressing a grunt of frustration, he looked up the rock carved stairs.  They led up to the ceiling.  The entrance seemed to be covered over at the top with wooden planks and something else, maybe a carpet.

   Moving back, he ordered the Kazakhs to secure the intersection in his still stunted Russian.  The mercenaries complied as best they could, still unable to see anything.  Moving down the ranks of the platoon, whispering Alexander's name, he found the platoon sergeant and moved him up front.  Alexander possessed one of Samruk's much sought after night vision systems, and Deckard pointed out to him the fork in the tunnel before showing him the staircase.

   “Worth checking out,” Deckard whispered.

   “Da, da,” he nodded.

   The American pointed to the suppressor on the VSS sub-assault rifle and then pulled out a Ka-bar fighting knife identical to the one each commando carried.

   Alexander nodded his head, the message clear.  Keep it quiet.

   Once in the alcove and away from the main passage, Deckard again allowed red lights to be used.  First Squad quickly lit up the area, so they could see what they were doing.  They untied their safety line and followed Deckard as he led them up the stone staircase.  Feeling the material between the wooden planks at the top of the stairs, he confirmed that it was simply the underside of a carpet.  A simple but effective way to conceal another hidden entrance to a cursory glance from the other side.

   Keeping watch on the concealed entrance with his silenced rifle, Deckard pointed a finger at the wood and carpet covering the top of the stairs.  Alexander ushered his men forward, and they climbed up, brushing past their commander. 

   They shifted the planks out of the way as carefully and quietly as possible, but at that moment it sounded earth shattering to the group of mercenaries, knowing that compromise in this situation would mean almost certain death.  They were completely blind to what was going on topside.

   With the opening exposed, Deckard climbed up, hand over hand.  He found himself in an empty room with mud walls and a dirt floor; it could be any house in Afghanistan, but this one had giggles and grunts coming from the adjacent room.

   Hearing a boot drag across the dirt floor, Deckard looked back to see Alexander close on his heels.  The platoon sergeant was no coward and wanted to lead from the front, Deckard thought.  He probably resented him trying to take charge to begin with.  That was a good sign.

   Raising a single finger to his lips, Alexander nodded.  They were in Indian country.

   The two crept forward to the open doorway.  Down on one knee, Deckard pivoted at the hips, exposing himself just enough for the night vision tube he wore in front of his left eye to clear the side of the wall and see what was going on in the next room.

   He wished he hadn't.

   Moving aside, he motioned the platoon sergeant forward to take a look.  For better or worse he needed to know what the situation was before his men were thrown in the middle.  Alexander peered into the room and was frozen for a moment as if he didn't believe what he was seeing before turning away.

   He looked a little green around the gills, but maybe it was just the tint of the night vision playing tricks with Deckard's mind.

   Tugging on the platoon sergeant's sleeve to get his attention, he held up seven fingers in front of his face.  He wanted all of First Squad upstairs, then he pointed to the Ka-Bar again.  The Kazakh nodded.

   Deckard held out one finger and ran it across his neck.

   Moments later, First Squad was assembled in front of him, AK-103s slung over their backs, fighting knives in their hands.  Deckard started forward, but Alexander put a hand on his chest and took the lead, himself.  Deckard let him.

   The Kazakh mercenaries silently moved into the adjacent room.  A half dozen aging AK-47s were propped up against the opposite wall, their owners lined up and waiting their turn with the group's house boy.  The Taliban giggled and whispered to each other in Pashto while their comrade kept pumping away.

   The Samruk soldiers were fairly shocked by this, but Deckard knew that this 'teasing', as the Taliban called it, was pretty much par for the course in this part of the world.

   The mercenaries descended on the Taliban like wraiths in the night.  Steel blades were sunk into throats and carotid arteries, final gasps of life escaping dry lips.  The attack was short and vicious, the Taliban pool boy being quickly dispatched as well.

   Wiping the bloody combat knives off on the Taliban's
dishdashas
, the blades went back into their sheaths before the mercenaries shouldered their AK-103s.  It was only a two room house, so one by one the Kazakhs ascended a ladder onto the roof and secured the structure.

   Pulling out a piece of paper Deckard had printed out moments before loading the entire company on the back of the MH-47 helicopters, he turned on his own red LED light to look at the satellite imagery.  Peering out the windows and doing some rough terrain association under the moonlight, he was almost positive they were in the single standing structure outside the bunker complex which would place them halfway between where they entered the
karez
and the bunkers, themselves.

   Stumbling back down into the tunnel, he found the Kazakh with the commo wire and field telephone.  Unwinding the cable up the stairs, he then handed it up to one of the mercenaries pulling security on the roof.  Climbing the ladder, Deckard connected the field telephone to the cable and spoke into the receiver.

   “Anybody there?”

   Rapid fire Russian greeted him on the other end.

   Such was the language barrier.

   “Mendez?  Find Mendez!”

   “Da.”

   Several moments passed.

   “Yeah,” Mendez came over the line.  He was back at the 82mm mortar section.

   “It's me.  Look to your northeast.”

   “Uh, what am I looking for?”

   Deckard reached into the front pocket on his chest rig and pulled out a flashlight.  The IZLID was no normal flashlight, however.  It was actually an infrared laser used by forward observers to mark targets for fast movers and attack helicopters.  Flipping the switch on, he waved it around in the air.

   “Is that you?”

   “Yeah, we found a passage that led up into this house halfway to the objective.”

   “Nice overwatch position.”

   “Mark it on your fire direction board.  I don't feel like getting fragged tonight.”

   “I gotcha.”

   “Here is the deal.  Push Third Platoon down the hole.  Have Kurt and Chuck lead them, following the commo wire, and catch up with Second Platoon which is still down in the aqueduct.  I want both platoons at my position ASAP.”

   “You got it.”

   “Is Piet there?”

   “Yeah, he is here with his two boys.”

   “Tell him I want him up here as well.”

   “He'll be glad to hear that.”

   “We need them to take another roll of wire with them.”

   “Roger.”

   Hanging up the field telephone, Deckard turned towards the objective and began to scrutinize the mountainside.  Mulavi Ibrahim Khalis, or MIK for short, had dug his organization into the mountain several years ago.  The warlord needed a safe haven from American air power and had found it in the Hindu Kush mountain range like many before him.

   The mountain was riddled with a labyrinth of spurs and draws, each lined with stone bunkers, caves, tunnel entrances, and mud huts.  A nightmare for ground troops to enter, and almost assured that a blood bath would be the result.

   The real objective was MIK's underground bunker complex where he stored the opium before having it transported north to Tajikistan for entry into Russia and Europe.  More importantly, in Deckard's view, was that somewhere down there would be the high value targets themselves, MIK and his lieutenants.

   These types of subterranean structures represented a strategic puzzle for military planners.  An enemy base dug into a mountainside with two thousand feet of overburden on top of it was considered essentially invulnerable to any conventional munitions.  Ruling out a nuclear strike, the next best option was to use cannon fodder, foreign troops by their rationale, in this case Samruk International.