by L. J. Martin
And to be truthful, all I’ve learned about the Mazar-I-Sharif police department, they are anything but innocent. In fact, like most in the near and middle east, they are more the problem than the solution.
Only a half block from the palace is a four story building with an exterior fire escape that can be reached by a man standing in the bed of a truck. It looks down upon more than three quarters of the palace courtyard and is directly down the alleyway from the entry to the tunnel which is hidden by a vine covered wooden fence behind a fenced in area of trash containers.
TooBad will take a position on the roof of that building with a Barrett with night vision scope and an RPG. He will use the flash and noise suppressed Barrett to take out as many of the guards as possible; one at each of the vehicle entrances to the courtyard, one inside the courtyard guarding the entrance to the one story section of the palace, one, also inside, guarding the entrance to the two story section and where we believe Mullah Zazai, and most likely the suitcase, are residing. TooBad will take out anyone who raises a hijab wrapped head and, after seeing one or two of their comrades blown in half by the .416 cal, not many will be taking a peek.
Skip, BeBe, Hank and I will penetrate the structure and head for the room with the stairway leading to the dungeon. BeBe will hang back and cover us and the courtyard while Skip and I descend into the dungeon and hunt our two Blackthorn boys. Hank will cover our retreat, the stairway back down to the alley tunnel.
Kahn and his people will stand by with alternate escape vehicles, the least critical of the jobs necessary to bring our boys home. However, every job is critical to the success of the mission.
If we get our people out, Skip will get them to a truck and on the way to the warehouse along with Amal. If we get split up, those who can’t make it to the Toyota or the Land Rover will head for one of Khan’s sons. It’s my plan, if the guards are out of play, to have BeBe and I penetrate the two story section and hunt for the suitcase bomb…and if we should happen to take out the Mullah all the better. Shit happens.
Our last piece of biz is checking our equipment.
In addition to the normal spread of weaponry, we have a hand-held device for the detection of, SNM, Special Nuclear Material including plutonium, which is used for the construction of atomic weapons and dirty bombs. Our device is only good for fifty feet or so through the thick walls of the palace or a couple of hundred feet if nothing is breaking the signal…but when it’s activated it sets off an alarm that can be heard for two blocks around. So using it will be somewhat like setting off a wake up alarm for anyone housed nearby…which could be a couple of dozen Taliban fighters.
I make sure everyone has fresh batteries in their radios and torches, and that our night vision is charged to the hilt. Each man checks his battle rattle to make sure he has smoke, frag, and shock grenades and at least four 30 shell banana clips for the M5s as well as an extra clip for his Glock. Skip will have a grenade launcher for his M5 and a half dozen frag loads.
Each of us will carry a butt back with five pounds of pure white C4 plastic explosive and five timer detonators. They’ll time from thirty seconds to five minutes. I have a dozen feet of det cord for breaching doors. We’ll also have our pack mule, Skip, carry a Claymore.
The nuclear device detector is hanging from my belt…a pain in the ass as it’s fairly large and clumsy to carry.
I move from man to man, giving each a hoorah and making sure they are ready to take on some very bad odds, and am reassured by each. Then I cross the room to where Amal is talking in low tones to Ruba.
"Are you and your men ready?" I ask.
I guess he knows enough English to know what I’m asking, and he nods, so I turn to Ruba. "You and Khan have lots more dough coming. Should we not make it back here it might be hard for you to collect. I need these men to do their job and to pull their triggers against their fellow countrymen."
"They are enemies, all Sunni, and maybe fellow countrymen but not fellow tribesmen. Amal and his men will have no trouble pulling triggers. In fact, I’d worry about them pulling triggers too soon."
I laugh at that. "Tell him he can kill all of them he wants, after we leave town. In fact, if we fly out, I’ll leave him some weapons that will make the job pretty easy."
She rattles off a couple of sentences to him and they garner a big grin and enthusiastic nod.
So I yell at my boys, "Gentlemen, mount your horses. It’s time to ride."
Skip drives our newly acquired truck with the DPVs loaded as it’s my plan to leave it parked where it will be safe, ironically, near the police station. If we have to make a fast getaway and fight our way out of town, our vehicles will be close by.
Now if the cops don’t steal the truck, we’ll be fine.
As we're loading up I have one more piece of business and call Pax on the satellite phone.
"What’s up in shit bag land?" he answers.
"It’s about to hit the fan, that’s what. I don’t imagine you can get an MH and the Little Bird headed this way, just in case we need them in a hurry?"
"Jesus," Pax says, his voice serious, "do you know the cost of fuel these days."
"Chuck you, Farlie. I don’t have time to bullshit."
He laughs. "I’ll get them moving. Any idea where you’ll be?"
"We’d try and make the airport but we’re about to raise so much hell here that they’ll be watching like hawks."
"Then where?"
"We’ll head back up A62 toward the border. If we get in trouble I’ll yell with our coordinates."
"You got it. They’ll want to hold at least ten miles out of town."
"No sweat. I’ll keep you posted."
"Roger that," he says, and we sign off.
In moments we ease out, giving Ruba a wave as we do. Each of our team has a burka rolled up in his lap. Khan is driving his Land Rover with BeBe, Hank and myself as passengers. TooBad is on the Toyota’s wheel and Amal riding shotgun with his three men jammed in the back. Skip is following in the stolen truck with the DPVs in the back.
Our first objective is the fuel dump. We park a block away and BeBe and I move forward—BeBe with a small set of bolt cutters—to a high chain link fence surrounding the acre of so of tanks and buildings. In less than a minute he has an opening cut and we’re inside. The first tank we come to appears to be diesel which is fine with me as it’s not nearly as explosive as gasoline or propane but will burn like hell, so we set up three one pound fist size charges at intervals at the base of the tank, each with a max five minute timer. And we haul ass and are back at our vehicles and blocks away when we hear the rumble of the explosion and the night sky behind us lights up.
As we get a couple of clicks farther along, we begin to pass both fire trucks and police cruisers, and two ambulances, full lights and sirens blazing.
There is only one police cruiser parked at the police station. We circle the building and park the truck a half block away, and Skip piles in the back of the Land Rover.
Our next piece of business is the four story and a hidey hole for TooBad. We pull up next to the building’s fire escape and TooBad stands on the top of the Toyota, grabs the descending ladder of the fire escape and rides it down. Skip loads him up with the Barrett, an RPG, and a backpack loaded with ammo for both. And he begins his climb.
While we wait to make sure he gets in location, BeBe and I talk with Amal. "Do you think we need to park on the other side of the market and make the walk in these burkas?" I ask.
BeBe repeats my question in Pushtu and turns back to me with the answer. "He says let's go right at them. Wear the burkas until you get in the tunnel. Park as close as we can get to the alley."
I nod in agreement. He seems pleased that I’m taking his advice and not a woman’s.
We pass the side entrance of the palace and barely glean a glance from the guard who’s obviously dozing in a ladder-back chair that’s leaned back against the wall next to the gates. As just planned, we turn the corner out of sight
of the guard.
We park the Land Rover and the Toyota on the darkest street side of the Palace and, burka clad, make our way to the alley leaving Khan and Amal stationed at the north end while taking two of Amal’s men with us. We’re depending on Khan’s sons being in position no more than three blocks away in case they’re needed. Amal’s men continue to the south end of the alley while we force our way through the garbage containers and wrench the cover away from the palace wall, only to find a trapdoor in a recessed area. Opening it we are able to descend a ladder into the tunnel, which is dank and dark and smells of rat shit and God only knows what else. Our boots are sucking at wet mud as we move, making too much noise.
As quickly as we can we strip away the suffocating burkas.
I have an LED on my helmet in addition to the night vision, but don’t use it until I determine there’s not enough ambient light to make our way…so we go off the night vision and depend upon our carry lights and helmet LEDs.
I hate to announce our coming with lights, but if what Ruba tells me is still true, there’s another heavy plank door at the end of the tunnel, leading into a storage room with a stairway. It’s too bad the tunnel doesn’t lead to the dungeon, but we’ll have to go up to street level, through a couple of rooms, and down to the dungeon.
It’s tempting to radio TooBad and tell him to take the guards out, but we risk someone seeing or hearing them go down and setting off an alarm. The risk is too great so I’ll wait until we have no choice…and that will only happen if we’re spotted or heard.
We manage to pry the plank door open with only a few squeaks and groans and there’s some light coming down the stairway into the storage room, so we go back to night vision. We top the stairway and leave Hank there to guard our escape route and are heading for a door we know leads to a room, then to another room, where a stairway descends to the dungeon.
We hold our breaths as BeBe moves to his station just inside the door leading to the courtyard.
He has ten feet to go when the door swings open and is filled by a very large Taliban fighter carrying an AK47.
20
The good news is it’s very dark in the hallway and the moonlight, such as it is, is at his back clearly outlining him. He stops as if something is troubling him and makes a stationary target for the butt of BeBe’s M5. He flies back outside and to his back, with BeBe right behind and on top him. Another smashing blow from the rifle butt and he’s still. I fold my night vision up as there’s enough moonlight in the courtyard to make out shapes.
BeBe drops to a knee and pans the large courtyard, at least one hundred fifty feet across and twice that long, with the M5, knowing there are three more guards to deal with. Then he drops back quickly, and, grabbing the fighter’s ankles, drags him into the dark hallway.
"Mohammad," a voice rings out from across the courtyard, I’d guess the guard at the main entrance to the palace.
"Man kaub hastam," Bebe yells back in a deep tone, and laughs gruffly.
"What’s that?" I whisper.
"I said I’m good. Now, if he bought it…."
I grab my radio and give TooBad the planned two clicks.
"Yeah," he answers, clearly heard in my wireless ear bud.
"Stand by. We may need the main door guard taken out."
"Roger that," he comes back.
We hold our breath for a few moments as BeBe strips away the man’s hijab, leaves his helmet by the man's side, takes up the AK and quickly sits in a courtyard chair near the door. Now, if one of the other guards doesn’t decide to come over to chew the fat, we’ll be fine for a while.
I double click the radio again.
"10-4," TooBad comes back.
"Stand by. The guard at our door is now BeBe. Let’s not cut him in half with that Barrett."
"No shit," TooBad says. "No friendly fire?"
"No." I say it a little too adamantly as I know there’s some underlying animosity between them.
"We’re moving," I say to BeBe and he gives me a slight nod.
We open the door to the first room very quietly and start to step in when I freeze. Snoring. And not quiet snoring; loud snoring and snorting.
I drop my night vision and reach back and stop Skip, who’s right on my heels. I hear him take a deep breath as he, too, drops his goggles. There’s a single window but enough moonlight flowing in to allow the goggles to work.
Under my breath, I count the men sleeping on pallets in the room, and come up with an even dozen. This was not in the plan. Suddenly I wish I had one of the combat shotguns.
I give Skip the high sign to sit tight, and quietly move back and down the hall to the outside door.
"BeBe," I say, just loud enough to get his attention. I point to both my eyes with the "I see" sign and give him five fingers twice then two more, then the sign of sleeping with both hands pressed together and my head tilted, and point to the doorway where Skip is quietly panning the room with the muzzle of his M5.
BeBe gives me an inquisitive look, and I indicate to him that Skip and I are going on as planned, and move back and around my big Viking buddy.
As quietly as we can move, to the accompaniment of men snorting and snoring and passing gas in their sleep, we reach the door to the next room. It squeaks like a stuck pig as I slowly swing it open, and step quickly through. Skip follows and starts to close it behind us, and I stop him. One stuck pig is enough. He nods.
This time the room is empty of life, but full of weapons and munitions—more than a ton of them, I’d guess. Across it is the door we hope leads to a stairway going down to the dungeon.
And it does. And it’s much quieter than the last one. Still, we leave this door open as well.
We descend the stone stairway, five feet in width, and our night vision begins to fail us again. Absolutely no ambient light.
Now, are there another dozen men asleep in the room? I hear breathing, then moaning, and decide I have to take the chance, so I switch on my little helmet LED. I pan the room quickly, looking for a sleeping guard. But I can see why a guard wouldn’t choose to sleep there. The smell of human excrement and urine is enough to water your eyes.
The room is long and the width of a two-car garage…so long my light fades before we run out of room. I can make out a man hanging from the ceiling, his wrists tied and the rope passed through a ring in an overhead beam. His toes barely touch the ground. I move closer, and to my great surprise, it’s our terp, Emir.
I’ve misjudged the old boy.
His eyes are closed and I don’t know if he’s dead or not, but if he’s only asleep or passed out, I don’t want to risk him making noise, so I move onto where a pair of men are slumped to the rock floor, and chained by the ankles to rings in the wall.
Hardly recognizable because of the beatings they’ve taken are the two Blackthorn guys, Max Broadbent and Andrew Cutbirth. I wave Skip over and motion for him to do what I’m doing, covering the guy’s mouth to make sure he doesn’t scream out. I shake him, and to my surprise he almost instantly comes awake.
"Max?" I ask, sure that it’s Broadbent as he’s a blonde guy. He nods and I ease my hand off his mouth. "We’re getting you out of here," I say, as Skip shakes the other guy awake.
"Chains and locks," Max says. "Four more back there," he says, and motions to the dark end of the room.
"Can’t do it," I say. "You guys are my job."
"One guy's been here four years. Marine." He manages through broken teeth and lips.
"Fuck," I mumble under my breath. No man left behind. "And the others?" I ask.
"Civilians. Rich Uzbeks, being held for ransom. One’s only thirteen."
Fuck, fuck, I think.
"Okay, but you guys first. There are a dozen armed shit bags up above. We did the tippy toe to get by them, so keep it quiet."
"There’s a skinny guy, five feet tall, no teeth. He’s got the key. He’s a sadistic little fuck," Max manages.
"We’ve got det cord," I say, but know it’s a dumb su
ggestion as the whole cavalry will come down on us if we light the place up.
"Skinny guy, five feet," I repeat, and he nods. "Sadistic?" I repeat.
He shows me a hand with no fingernails. I guess the key guy has a 'little man' complex.
"Fuck o’ dear," Skip says in a whisper, and follows me back to the stairway. Thank God there’s enough light through a single window to serve the night vision goggles.
There’s only one little guy in the room, and thank goodness he’s near the doorway. And not only is he the only little guy, he has a six inch long skeleton key on a thong around his pencil neck, and on the same throng are strung several finger nails and what may be a couple of shriveled ears. I’m wondering if I can cut the thong and get the key free without disturbing him, then decide I can’t risk it. He’s separated a few feet from any other fighter, so I decide it’s time he reaped his reward of seventy two virgins.
21
I wave Skip over and we both straddle the guy, who’s laying flat on his back. Skip’s behind me where he can sit on the guy’s legs, and I give him the high sign with fingers over my shoulder. One, two, and with three we both drop down on the guy, my hand over his mouth and nose, my butt on his chest, my knees pinning his arms down. His eyes open and bug out, but he’s unable to make a squeak or do more than wiggle his fingers and toes.
"Sayonara, motherfucker," I say under my breath. Too bad he couldn’t have suffered as much as the guys who lost the fingernails and ears.
It’s surprising how silently and simply two big guys can strangle a little guy, and in moments he stops trying to wiggle his way out of the anaconda squeeze we have on him. I’m a little embarrassed to kill the little prick, as he’s so outclassed, but under the circumstance there’s no choice and it would seem way overdue. I pull my K-bar from it’s scabbard and cut the throng, and just in case cut his windpipe and voice box. He doesn’t even flinch, so I know he’s on his way to meet Mohammad and his gaggle of young women.
