Rolling Thunder (2007) s-4

by Jack Terral

  I can't blame you, Chad said.

  When is your time in the Navy over with, Chaddie?

  Chad thought a moment. My hitch is up in about six months.

  Chaddie, you must get out, Penny urged. You've done your duty now. Most boys don't serve at all. Why, there're thousands of families maybe more who don't even have relatives in the armed forces. Nobody is getting drafted like they did in Vietnam.

  Chad remained silent.

  Penny started to speak again, but sensed it would be better not to say anything. She moved closer to Chad, taking his arm and putting it around her shoulder.

  Chapter 8

  CHEHAAR GARRISON

  EASTERN IRAN

  11 APRIL

  1000 HOURS

  ARSALAAN Sikes nee Archie Sikes strolled among the armored cars, checking out the crews as they painted over the hundreds of pings and scars caused by enemy machine-gun fire during the previous day's fighting. The Brit had been pleasantly surprised the Yanks had no armor-piercing ammunition. They either had not expected armored cars, or did not know how many there were.

  Now, as Sikes Bey continued with his inspection, the men's discipline was evident as they snapped to attention when their commanding officer walked up to them. The senior members of each group reported to him with a sharp salute. The actual supervision of the activity was under the company sergeant major, Warrant Officer Hashiri, but Sikes believed in a hands-on approach as part of his command philosophy. After a quick but observant inspection of each vehicle, he decided everything looked fine, and he left the motor pool to go to headquarters.

  Chehaar Garrison was far below the sharp appearance of a typical British Army post, and this irritated Sikes to some extent. But he didn't have enough rank to turn things around to his liking. The Quonset huts were laid out in rows all properly aligned and covered down, but the area between the simple buildings was bare and a bit trashy. Sikes would have laid out walks lined with large whitewashed rocks, and prohibited cigarette butts and other litter to be thrown on the ground. When he earned enough rank in the Jihad Abadi to command his own garrison, it would have an appearance that would meet the approval of even the sternest of British regimental sergeants major.

  Sikes walked down the front row of huts bordering the parade field. When he reached the headquarters building, he stepped inside. The Iranian corporal at the reception desk looked up casually from the newspaper he was perusing, then went back to his reading. If he had been a trooper in the Armored Car Company, Sikes would have locked his heels and chewed his ass bloody for this military discourtesy of not jumping to his feet. But this careless bumpkin was on Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah's staff, and the captain had no authority over him.

  The brigadier's office was no more than a cubicle at the far end of the building. Sikes went directly to it, finding Khohollah and Khalil Farouk waiting for him. The Brit saluted and took a chair pushed toward him by Farouk. Khohollah flipped the ash off his cigarette into an ashtray at his elbow. I have reviewed your report on the battle, he said in English, holding up a single sheet of paper. Sikes had scribbled out what had happened on a piece of notebook paper the evening before, then sent it with a sergeant to drop off at headquarters.

  Do you need me to add anything to it, sir? Sikes asked.

  Khohollah shook his head. It is all plain enough. And I agree with your decision to withdraw. There may well have been an air strike or reinforcements of American tanks nearby.

  Yes, sir, Sikes said. I didn't have no idea there were Yanks or anybody else in the area before I got there. I was pretty surprised when we spotted them little cars o' theirs. I ordered my lads to open up on 'em and charge before they saw us.

  Farouk smiled. They were not expecting you to come from the west. The infidels know nothing of the road through the salt marshes.

  Well, you suffered no losses, Khohollah said. That is what is important.

  We did get our tires bluddy well shot up, Sikes said. I can't take the comp'ny out till they're replaced.

  Our good friend Harry Turpin has been apprised of the situation, Farouk interjected. He has promised a delivery of replacements and extras as quickly as he can arrange it. That might take a few weeks.

  That's bad news, ain't it? Sikes remarked. It could be a while before we get another crack at the Yanks.

  We shall not be wasting time, Khohollah said. There is an alternative we have that you do not know about, Captain. But it's about time you were brought up to date. In the mountains north of your battle site is a Pashtun force that is strongly allied with the Jihad Abadi.

  How big a group are them Pashtuns?

  The number varies, Khohollah answered. The leader is a very capable fellow named Yama Orakzai. He calls his force the Pawdz de Peshto Baghane. A literal translation is Army of Pashtun Rebels. That is a bit presumptuous on his part since they are not much more than an armed band.

  In actuality, Orakzai is only a warlord, Farouk commented. However, he is a sophisticated and intelligent man with great potential.

  Yes, Khohollah agreed. Here in this part of the world, the English acronym of PPB is used when referring to Orakzai's force of mujahideen.

  Why the English initials? Sikes asked.

  It worked out that way because the main language of Afghanistan is Dari and that of Pakistan is Urdu, Khohollah explained. A common name is necessary when authorities of the two nations discuss them. The Pakistanis use English for their official administration as much as the Indian government.

  Makes sense then, Sikes said. Anyway, who the hell are these PPBs rebelling against?

  The present Afghan government, Khohollah said. Orakzai wants to establish an independent Pashtun nation in the western part of Afghanistan. He calls it Peshtonkhwa.

  D'you think he can do it?

  He is a seasoned soldier. He led a band of mujahideen against the Soviets in their invasion of Afghanistan.

  Blimey! Sikes exclaimed. He must be an old bloke, hey?

  Not at all, Khohollah said. He is in his early forties. He was only sixteen when the troubles over there started. Arrangements are already under way to have him launch a campaign as soon as feasible. His men have very sophisticated weapons looted from the Soviets, as well as what the American CIA gave them during the war.

  Having weapons and using 'em proper is two different things, Sikes said.

  Orakzai is an excellent commander and trainer, Khohollah said. He is also a proven expert in hit-and-run tactics. He can spring an attack, then immediately withdraw back into his own sanctuary where he and his people enjoy cover and concealment within the mountain caves.

  Sikes, pleased, grinned. Wind him up and turn him loose then.

  Like I said, Khohollah said, smiling back. Arrangements are already under way for just that.

  .

  USS COMBS

  SPECOPS CENTER

  1030 HOURS

  BRIGADIER General Greg Leroux, U.S. Army, was the disgruntled commanding officer of the SPECOPS staff aboard the USS Combs DDG. He did not opt for a West Point education; take a commission in the infantry branch; go to jump school; qualify for Special Forces; complete Ranger training; serve as a rifle company, infantry battalion, and Green Beret detachment commander in Vietnam; lead a brigade in Operation Desert Storm; then attend the Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, to be eventually stuck aboard a ship. He was a knock-down, drag-out, ass-kicking ground-pounding, profane-spewing, beer-guzzling, fighting son of a bitch who was a professional soldier with the emphasis on soldier. Leroux was neither a sailor nor a seafarer nor a mariner, nor did he possess skills or interest in any other nautical profession. And he likened being confined within the steel plates of a ship to suffering live burial in a metal coffin.

  But somebody had to run the show in this brand-new scheme of having a floating SFOB that moved about with the trickery of a wily con man. So he performed his duties impolitely and rudely, having little patience when problems arose, unless they affected troops
in the field. This was when he could use the one big advantage he had in this job that he wouldn't have anywhere else: He had direct access to the powers-that-be and could get things done with the proverbial snap of his fingers.

  Now Commander Tom Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer sat in front of him in his little enclosed office, having just delivered an oral report on the unexpected battle that had occurred in the OA of Operation Rolling Thunder. Leroux always had a toothpick stuck in one side of his mouth, rolling it from side to side. It was a habit developed over years of breaking an intense addiction to smoking. He never took notes, but the two SEAL officers' report was etched neatly in his mind. After a couple of silent moments, he spoke.

  Okay. The first thing we do is get those guys an extra machine gun for their DPVs, Leroux announced. That means they'll have to change their configuration to three swinging dicks per vehicle rather than two. That may cut down the number of them little off-road fuckers, but they'll be better armed. But because of the KIA, somebody is gonna have to work with just one other guy.

  Actually, sir, Carey said, Brannigan has one man coming in from furlough. That means the detachment strength will stay with eighteen men. So there will be six DPVs with three-man crews.

  That's good, Leroux said. We'll also see that they get armor-piercing rounds for both the fifties and seven-point-six-twos. That'll give 'em a lot of kick-butt capabilities. And that outfit needs run-flat tires. I figure twenty-four to put on right away and eighteen extras on the first issue.

  We've had trouble with fuel, Berringer interjected. I'm afraid our commander out there pulled some illegal maneuvering to get his initial allotment.

  Nothing wrong with that, Leroux said. A good soldier would sell his baby sister to a whorehouse if it would help the mission. They'll have plenty of fuel coming regularly now. And that goes for chow and other items on the TOA. He glanced down at the supply requisitions and issues. You said they had nine DPVs, but I see another has been sent since they arrived in the OA. What's with that?

  We don't know, sir, Carey said. Evidently, the commander worked around us on that one too. He went directly to the Four-Shop at Station Bravo.

  Leroux chuckled. It looks like somebody's baby sister is now a bordello inmate, hey? He leaned back in his chair. Okay. Is there anything else before I shove this shit into the pipeline?

  I just want to remind the general that the situation on Operation Rolling Thunder is fluid and we expect a lot of changes and contingencies to raise their ugly heads.

  So noted, Leroux said. He nodded to Berringer. Now what's this intel item you want to pass on?

  Lieutenant Brannigan has sent us information that an Englishman is in command of the enemy armored car unit, Berringer answered.

  Leroux frowned. That's some odd shit. How'd he learn that?

  He learned about it from the head of the area UN relief group, Berringer replied. This is a Dr. Pierre Bouchier, a Belgian. He stated the individual who ordered him to vacate the area was obviously English, though he used an Arabic first name. The doctor doesn't recall what it is.

  Well, that's neither here nor there for the three of us right now, Leroux said. I'll send the info to the Two-Shop at Station Bravo. They'll run with it. Is there anything else? No? Alright then. You gentlemen have a nice day.

  With the conference closed, Carey and Berringer made quick exits to get down to the commo center to see if any other messages had come in from Wild Bill Brannigan.

  .

  SHELOR FIELD

  AIRMEN'S CLUB

  2000 HOURS

  THE club was filled with young Air Force men and women drinking beer and listening to a self-appointed disc jockey playing CDs over the sound system. Loud conversation and laughter competed with the music amid clinking glasses as a celebration that was a nightly event rolled on.

  Chad Murchison and Penny Brubaker walked into the place, going up to the bar. Several nearby celebrants gave them second glances because of Penny's white UN coveralls. Chad's BDU attire was a normal sight on the premises since SPECOPS troops passed through the airfield on a regular basis. After getting a couple of beers each, the couple turned and looked for a place to sit down. A young woman wearing the chevrons of an airman first class waved at them, gesturing to a pair of empty chairs at the table where she sat with several friends. Chad and Penny walked over and settled down.

  Hi! the young airman said cheerfully. Welcome to She-lor Field.

  Thanks, Chad responded to her greeting. I'm Chad and this is Penny.

  I'm Wanda and here we have she pointed to another young woman and two men Betty, Sam, and Tommy. We all work in the supply warehouse.

  I'm with the SEAL detachment, Chad said. And Penny belongs to the UN group.

  Betty laughed. It didn't take you two long to get together, did it?

  We're old friends from school, Penny said. Actually, we are much more than simply pals. She leaned over and kissed Chad on the cheek.

  Oh, my God! Wanda said. What a small world! And you ran into each other here in Afghanistan?

  This is the second time, Penny said.

  Oh, my God! both Wanda and Betty exclaimed together.

  Y'know, Sam said to Chad, we see a lot of you special operations guys, but I've never had a chance to talk to any of you. He took a sip of beer. When I joined the Air Force, I did it 'cause a couple of my buddies had decided to. Now that I'm in and seen a lot that goes on, I wished I'd tried for something like the SEALs. He gestured around the room. This fucking part of the Air Force is for candy-asses. Hell, even girls can do the jobs here.

  Screw you! Betty snapped at him.

  Anyhow, Sam continued, I volunteered for para-rescue and got accepted. I'm being shipping back to the States to go through my training.

  Good riddance, Wanda said with a sneer.

  Oh, yeah? Sam retorted. I'll be in a real adventurous outfit. Death-defying shit. Making parachute jumps behind enemy lines to rescue pilots that have been shot down. This is boring here. And will I pick up the chicks between missions! You gals don't like to admit it, but you go for us macho types.

  Not me! Wanda protested. I go for guys like Randy Tooley.

  Now the other airman, Tommy, jumped into the conversation. He's a little runty nerd!

  Maybe so, Wanda said. But he's a go-getter. He's only an E-Four, but he runs this place. Colonel Watkins trusts him so much he lets him do anything he wants. Have you noticed he doesn't wear a uniform? He looks like a Santa Monica beach bum who hasn't held a steady job in his life.

  So what's that got to do with sex? Sam asked.

  Nothing, Wanda said. But when he gets out of the service, he's going to have that same attitude. He's the kind of ninny who ends up rich and powerful. And eventually, I want a rich husband who can get me every single goddamn solitary thing I want.

  Mmm, Tommy said. You're probably right about Randy.

  Sam turned his attention back to Chad. So I'll be going to Fort Benning for jump school before I go through the rescue course. Is it tough?

  Not really, Chad said. The guys that go into the SEALs or Marine Force Recon or Special Forces and Rangers in the Army have a lot tougher training ahead of them. Are you thinking of going to HALO school too?

  What's that? Sam asked.

  High altitude, low opening, Chad replied. You jump and fall a long ways before opening your chute.

  Yeah! I'm gonna do that.

  Jesus! You'll be splattered all over the countryside, you dumb shit! Tommy exclaimed.

  You'll probably break your ankle before that happens, Chad said.

  Penny was growing tired of what she considered boring conversation. She took Chad's arm and stood up. Let's dance.

  They left the table and joined others dancing to the country-western singing of Patty Loveless.

  .

  2350 HOURS

  BOTH Chad and Penny were drunk as they walked arm in arm back toward the barracks area. She was in a good mood. That guy Sam is an idiot, is
n't he?

  Why?

  Oh, for wanting to do all that boyish stuff, Jenny said. What a moron!

  He wants to prove something, Chad said, irritated by the way she didn't understand the guy.

  Prove what?

  Chad stopped. He wants to prove to himself that he can accept a challenge. He wants the discipline that lifestyle will give him. It all points him in a direction he wants to go.

  Well, maybe, Penny allowed. Anyhow, you've already proved yourself, Chad. In another year, you'll be a civilian.

  Being a SEAL is a complicated thing, Chad said. It pulls at you, enfolds you, and makes you feel outside of normal society and its decorum.

  Aw! Penny said with a light laugh. You'll get over that shit.

  It's not shit, Chad said. It's a way of life.

  Penny suddenly sobered, glancing at the young man at her side. For the first time, she felt really frightened about her relationship with Chad. Maybe she had lost him already.

  .

  PASHTUN STRONGHOLD

  GHARAWDARA HIGHLANDS

  CENTRAL WESTERN AFGHANISTAN

  THE territory occupied by the PPB Pashto Rebel Army was dominated by steep peaks that eased down into slanting plateaus broken up by the craggy terrain. Natural caves dominated the region, in some cases honeycombing entire mountaintops. It was in one of these areas, 6,000 feet ASL, that the leader, Yama Orakzai, had established the base camp for his revolutionary movement.

  The population of the camp was made up of five thousand men, women, and children scattered across twenty-five square kilometers of the rugged, steep countryside. Approximately nine hundred of the adult males were well-armed and equipped mujahideen. While the younger ones had not participated in actual battles, except for minor raids and ambushes against the Afghan Army and scattered settlements of Taliban fugitives, the older men had fought the Soviets. These elder members of the band saw to it that their nephews, sons, and grandsons were thoroughly trained to conduct combat operations.

  Although they seemed a ragtag mob because of a lack of uniforms, they had an organization of sorts made up of various detachments of riflemen, scouts, mortar and machine gun crews, and antiaircraft elements. Most of these men were heavily involved in lucrative opium-smuggling operations that ran from the Afghan mountains through the Gharawdara Highlands and up across northern Iran and into Turkey. There, the European cartels paid hard cash for the raw powder that would be turned into the narcotics for the insatiable appetites of the Western infidels. The men of the PPB not only provided transportation in the operation, but also security. The AK-47s wielded by the fierce and skilled fighters were enough to deter even the most desperate and daring bandits.