by Jack Terral
The main goal of the PPB, however, was the establishment of a Pashtun state with independent sovereignty. Unfortunately, not only would the Afghan government refuse to give up their western areas, but the Taliban still lurked about. These religious fanatics had their own plan for the nation, and it didn't include having thousands of well-armed Pashtuns living next door. Orakzai had spent several years trying to figure out how to handle the touchy situation when the English arms dealer Harry Turpin approached him as an agent of the Iranians. These Farsis wanted the PPB to join them in an independent jihad to drive Westerners out of the Middle East. Orakzai was not interested so much in the jihad as he was in having a powerful ally that would frighten off even the zealots of the Taliban. At the same time, the Afghans would think twice about resisting his struggle for independence.
Now Orakzai and his people were ready and able to give armed support to the Jihad Abadi in whatever capacity was required. The Pashtuns' main goal was to clear their territory of foreigners and domestic enemies.
Chapter 9
SHELOR FIELD
13 APRIL
0835 HOURS
THE C-130 stood by the SEALs' hangar, its ramp lowered for unloading. Besides several tons of supplies, ammo, and fuel, it had brought Petty Officer Second Class Reynauld Pecheur back from emergency leave. His wife and two sons lived in San Diego, and he had gathered them up for a trip back to their hometown in Louisiana to check things out after a violent spring storm. The roaring tempest had battered the hell out of Louisiana and Mississippi, and the hurricane season loomed in the near future.
All his SEAL buddies were curious about how Pech's folks had weathered the disaster. His Cajun family lived in boggy country in southeastern Louisiana where a lot of the houses were built on stilts. These residences were scattered through an area called Mouvants Swamp. Like everyone there, they spoke more French than English, and were fiercely self-reliant, fending for themselves in both bad and good times.
Although not flush with cash-money, they were strong and well nourished from hunting, fishing, and growing their own food. By the time FEMA had shown up with help, everyone had already repaired the damage to their homes, docks, and other structures. Any delays in taking care of that necessary mending could result in catastrophic damage during future hurricanes. Pech's last chore before taking Blanche and the kids back to California was to help his father-in-law reshingle his roof. Now, with his family reestablished in their San Diego home, he had returned to duty with Brannigan's Brigands.
THE SEALs had formed a line and were passing the smaller packages and crates off the aircraft into the hangar from man to man. Meanwhile, Randy Tooley, the intrepid little Air Force guy, had arranged for forklifts to come over to handle the heavier stuff. Colonel Leroux, the CO of the SFOB on the USS Combs, had made sure the shipment included run-flat tires for the DPVs. He also had arranged for the delivery to include a half-dozen Javelin antitank missile CLUs with trigger mechanisms and four-dozen disposable launch tubes with projectiles to increase the firepower of their arsenal. The other addition of weaponry was six M-60 7.62-millimeter machine guns to be mounted on the hoods in front of the DPVs' passenger seats.
As the unloading progressed, Lieutenant Bill Brannigan was sequestered with Lieutenant Junior Grade Jim Cruiser and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins in the cubicle office at the rear of the hangar. Their concern was the reorganization of the detachment as had been ordered by General Leroux.
Alright, Brannigan said. This means we'll now use a total of six DPVs when we go out on an operation.
That leaves us three surplus, Cruiser said. He grinned. Of course, they're going to think we have four because of the one we gave to Randy.
Dawkins had some advice. Skipper, you better write up a report of how it was wrecked. Make that totaled.
You're right, Senior Chief, Brannigan said. I'll take care of that as quick as I can. At any rate, under this new setup, the way I see it is that each crew will now consist of a commander-driver, an M-Sixty machine gunner, and an M-Two machine gunner.
What about them Javelins, sir? Dawkins asked.
They'll be distributed evenly among all the vehicles, Brannigan replied. We'll put one CLU and four launch tubes in each one.
That'll give us a grand total of twenty-four rounds, Cruiser noted. Wouldn't it be better to put five tubes in each vehicle?
Brannigan shook his head. The M-Two gunners would be walking all over 'em. Four can be easily stacked around his seat without crowding him too much.
How're we gonna break down the vehicle assignments, sir? Buford asked. Are you gonna try to keep section integrity as it is now?
It'll be impossible, Brannigan said. With six, we can operate in three teams of two DPVs each as a rather large motorized platoon. We'll have to work out some formations, and practice dry runs in the desert around Shelor. As far as call signs, we'll just use the phonetic alphabet Alpha One and Two, Bravo One and Two, and Charlie One and Two for communications. He reached over and grabbed a pad of paper. You guys be quiet while I figure this out.
The Skipper took the present roster and studied it, then began writing the reorganization. He changed his mind a couple of times, and it took him fifteen minutes. When he finished, he shoved the new roster over for Cruiser and Dawkins to peruse.
Alpha One
Brannigan commander/driver Devereaux M-60 gunner
Malachenko M-2 gunner.
Alpha Two
Concord commander/driver Assad M-60 gunner
Leibowitz M-2 gunner.
Bravo One
Cruiser commander/driver Dawson M-60 gunner
Pecheur M-2 gunner.
Bravo Two
Olson commander/driver Bradley M-60 gunner
Redhawk M-2 gunner.
Charlie One
Dawkins commander/driver Miskoski M-60 gunner
Murchison M-2 gunner.
Charlie Two
Gunnarson commander/driver Puglisi M-60 gunner
Gomez M-2 gunner.
Looks good to me, sir, Dawkins said. Who's gonna handle the Javelins?
That'll be the M-Sixty gunner, Brannigan said. You have to keep in mind that the blowback on those babies is terrific. The shooter is gonna have to unass the vehicle to fire it, or the M-Two gunner will be blown from here to Albuquerque. Anyhow, we want to leave the fifties manned at all times. He checked his watch. We'll do some battle drills as soon as everything is off-loaded and stacked properly in the hangar.
They left the office and walked outside to the C-130. When they approached the rear of the aircraft, they could see Randy Tooley in his DPV leading a couple of forklifts across the airfield toward them.
.
MANCHESTER, ENGLAND
14 APRIL
2000 HOURS
EVEN though the man wore civilian clothing, he had the look of a soldier about him. He was lean, with a jutting jaw, and his shoulders were squared as if he were on parade at Buckingham Palace. He had parked his car along a street of working-class houses. The triplexes were narrow two-story structures with backyards that were no more than twenty by fifteen feet in size and bordered by tall fences.
He went up to a dingy residence sandwiched between two others, ringing the bell and stepping back. When the door opened, a middle-aged woman wearing a house frock appeared. Yes, sir?
Good evening, ma'am. Are you Missus Sikes?
Yes, sir.
I am Falkes, ma'am, he said displaying a military ID card. Army Administrative Services.
Oh, yes. Please come in, Mr. Falkes. I'll let me husband know you've come calling. She stepped back to allow the visitor to enter the house, calling out, Charlie! A gentleman from the Army is here.
A man carrying a newspaper he had been reading stepped from the parlor into the short hallway with stairs leading to the second floor. The man gave Falkes a quick study, saying, The Army, is it? Do you have news about our Archie?
Actually, I have some questions to put to you, Fal
kes said. You are Mr. Sikes, I presume.
Yes, sir, Charlie Sikes answered. I'm Archie's father. Won't you come into the parlor then, sir? Make yourself comfortable.
Falkes followed him from the hall and sat down on the small sofa across from an easy chair. Sikes took the latter seat, while his wife settled down on one of the arms next to her husband. Both had worried expressions on their faces, and they waited nervously for the caller to speak.
Have you heard from your son?
Why, no, sir, Sikes said. Does your asking mean he's alright?
There has been no information, as you know, Mr. Sikes, Falkes said. No insurgent group in Iraq has revealed him as their prisoner. Nor has a corpse been found. He pulled a notebook from his inside coat pocket and looked at it. According to the records, your son Archibald Sikes was an excellent soldier. Worked his way up to the rank of sergeant in record time.
Yes, Sikes said. Archie were a strange lad, I'll not deny it. But when he put his mind to something, he always came out bright as a new penny.
He was approved for a commission, but was turned down when he applied for it in the Royal Regiment of Dragoons, Falkes said. Was he angry about that?
Yes, Sikes said. He was quite disappointed, was our Archie. He felt slighted because the officers said he wasn't good enough to be one of 'em.
Why was he so insistent on serving as an officer in that particular regiment when he could have gone to almost any other?
Now Mrs. Sikes joined in the conversation. I suppose 'cause that was the regiment he had enlisted for. He had recruiting papers and folders and such before he joined up. He chose the Royal Regiment of Dragoons after weeks of thinking about it.
I understand that the very same evening after his interview for officer training, he went into London and got into a drunken brawl, Falkes said. That started a downward spiral and he ended up being a private once again. And he never straightened up after that.
That's a sad fact, sir, Sikes said. Then he went to Iraq.
Did he mention to you before he disappeared that his conduct was so bad there that he was going to be sacked by the Army when they got back to Blighty?
Sikes looked at his wife, then back to Falkes. He never said nothing about that.
And you've not heard from him? Not a phone call nor letter nor messages from him given you by other persons?
Sikes shook his head.
Would you describe his mood as bitter about everything that went wrong?
O'course he was bluddy bitter, Sikes said. He was a noncommissioned officer and recognized for doing a good job; then they same as told him that he wasn't good enough for their officers' mess. I never heard of such a thing! I mean, it's the twenty-first century, ain't it?
Right, Falkes said. He stood up and put the notebook back in his pocket, then produced a card, handing it to Sikes. If you do hear from him, call this number. It's most important, Mr. Sikes.
Mrs. Sikes's voice trembled. Is Archie in trouble, sir?
Believe me, Falkes said, if he does contact you, it will be to your and his best advantage if you let us know straightaway. And if he's deserted, the best thing he can do is turn himself in. Good evening.
Falkes walked from the room to the hallway and out the front door with Sikes and his wife following. They watched the man get in his car and drive off. Sikes looked at the card. The bastard! The goddamn rotter! He's an Army copper, that's what that bloke is.
Then Archie truly is in trouble, ain't he, Charlie?
Yeah, Nancy, Sikes said. Our lad is for it, no doubt. He snorted a sardonic chuckle. Not that I'm very surprised.
.
SHELOR FIELD VICINITY
15 APRIL
0700 HOURS
THE Brigands' desert patrol vehicles rolled across the hard-packed terrain at a steady fifty miles an hour on the new run-flat tires. The Skipper had been forced to work out various groupings for attack, defense, and movement. Unfortunately, he had no experience in motorized warfare. After pondering the problem, he decided to apply the same platoon combat formations used on foot.
Now, speeding across the desert, the SEALs were in a platoon line formation that was designed to put all their firepower to the front with the three teams side by side. It was an excellent arrangement to use when attacking a strong enemy in a known location. The commander/drivers all dressed down toward the left, where the Skipper and his Alpha Team rolled along.
Platoon column! Brannigan ordered through his LASH headset. The detachment moved over into line with Alpha in the lead, Bravo in the center, and Charlie bringing up the rear. This was actually a basic formation that simplified overall control during long movements from one point to another.
After knocking off a couple of kilometers of distance, the Skipper called for a platoon vee. Now both Bravo and Charlie teams were side to side to the front, with Alpha centered behind them. This would provide heavy immediate fire in case of enemy contact to the front, but was hard to control at times. The Alpha Team, however, could move back and forth behind the Bravos and Charlies to lend a hand where needed.
Platoon wedge! came over the LASH headsets. Now the Alphas were to the front, with the Bravos to the rear and left and the Charlies to the rear and right. This allowed heavy volumes of fire to the front and both flanks.
The maneuvering continued until the detachment could flow in and out of the various combat formations with ease and speed. The M-2 gunners within their firing positions had a hell of a time, however, as they were up higher than anyone else and caught the blasts of the dust-laden wind straight in their faces as the detachment sped across the expanse of the Afghan desert. Even the goggles and kerchiefs didn't help much at maximum speeds.
At 1030 hours, Brannigan called a halt to the proceedings. The water in their canteens had gotten tepid by then, but felt wonderful to their parched throats. The morning's training was topped off by a lecture from PO2C Bruno Puglisi, who gave a short talk on the proper workings of the Javelin antiarmor missiles. They learned that the CLU was attached to the disposable tube loaded with a HEAT projectile. The whole thing weighed forty-nine and a half pounds. The NVS utilized IR light for the gunner when the weapons were employed during hours of darkness or fog. The missile locked on the target and the on-board processing system guided the projectile where it had to go. With a range of 2000 meters and able to penetrate up to more than twenty-three inches of armor, it was a potent weapon.
When everyone fully understood the workings of the Javelins, they each shot off three missiles for familiarity. The SEALs concentrated on the lesson, knowing that the next time the launchers were fired, it would be done in anger and for real.
.
USS COMBS
SATELLITE PHOTO ANALYSIS
1600 HOURS
THE photographer's mate, Ernie, gazed at the cathode-ray tube that displayed satellite and aerial photos in a three-dimensional mode. The space image he now studied had just arrived aboard from Station Bravo. As he perused the screen, his pal Ned typed the labels to put on manila folders the pictures would be stored in.
Hey, Ernie said. What area is this?
Ned looked at the paperwork that arrived with the package. Western Afghanistan and eastern Iran. We've had this piece of ground sent to us before.
Mmm, Ernie said. Can you pull some of the older ones out of the file for me? I want to check something out.
Sure. Ned walked over to the file cabinet and thumbed toward the back until he found what he was looking for. He took them over and dropped them at Ernie's elbow, chuckling. Y'know something? Nobody has ever come down here and asked us for any of these photos. You're the first guy I've had to go to the files for.
As long as they find me on payday, I don't give a shit, Ernie said. He put an old photo in the scanner, sending it to the computer. Then he looked at the new picture. Now the old one again. Now the new one again.
Ned frowned. What the fuck are you doing? You look like you're bobbing for apples.
Come her
e and check out the Iranian marshes in both photos. Tell me what you see.
Ned walked over and studied them. There's a shadowy strip across the marshes in the new one. Probably the water in the area sank in deeper. Sinkholes or something.
Ernie shook his head. That ain't a natural occurrence, pal. Don't you remember your training? Natural objects are irregular and haphazard. This thing is man-made. It's as straight as a frigging arrow.
You're right! Ned exclaimed. There's some kind of facility a few kilometers away. It looks like a military setup.
Maybe it don't mean shit, Ernie said. But I'm kicking this one upstairs with a note.
That's what they're paying us for, Ned said. I'll fetch you an envelope.
Chapter 10
SHELOR FIELD
SEAL HANGAR
16 APRIL
0200 HOURS
DAVE Leibowitz poured the final five gallons of gas from the jerry can into Vehicle Alpha Two, while Mike Assad sat the Javelin CLU in the back with a couple of loaded launch tubes. They looked up from their tasks, surprised to see Chad Murchison stroll into the large building at that early hour. He was dressed for the field, complete with web gear and a locked-and-loaded HK-416 carbine slung on his right shoulder. His boonie cap was pulled low over his eyes.
Dave put the now-empty fuel container on the floor and began to unscrew the pouring spout in the opening. What the hell are you doing, Chad? Standing watch? I thought the Air Force was in charge of installation security.
