by Jack Terral
Under normal conditions, Khamami would have gone as far as any man could before he would eventually run into other more powerful warlords who would defeat him. Then it would be his turn to dangle from a gallows. Surprisingly, it was a political event involving a superpower that catapulted Hassan Khamami into becoming one of the most powerful leaders in Afghanistan. In fact, he almost became a king.
Soviet ambitions led to the destruction of the Afghan monarchy in 1973. Mohammed Daoud became prime minister with the help of local Communists, but instead of moving into the Soviet sphere, he adopted a neutral attitude toward both the East and West. He didn't last long under those conditions, and was assassinated in order to be replaced by a leader who was more cooperative with Moscow's desires. All this was instigated by Soviet KGB agents who were experts in meddling in the affairs of weak foreign nations. Nur Mohammed Taraki was the reds' fair-haired boy, and he was chosen by the Kremlin to take over Afghanistan in their name. He ran the nation along Communist atheistic lines.
This was a bad mistake, since the population would barely tolerate a secular government, much less a godless one. They revolted against the new ruler, and this led to war with the central government. Units of the Soviet Army were quickly dispatched to put things right. After months of futile campaigning, the situation turned out to be the Russians' Vietnam. They abandoned the disaster after being bogged down in an unwinnable counterinsurgency war. Luckily for Warlord Hassan Khamami, he had fought on the side of the victorious rebels.
Khamami had been one of those local leaders chosen by America's CIA to supply and support. He received funding and weaponry from the American intelligence organization as he fought viciously against the Russians. By the time the conflict came to an end, his personal army was twice as strong as it had been before the conflict. The warlord used this power to overcome a few additional weaker neighbors. For several months, however, it appeared that he might have bitten off more than he could chew. Vast territories and a large fighting force are terribly expensive to maintain. Since his people were overwhelmingly poverty-stricken farmers, Khamami didn't have much of a tax base to finance his ambitions.
Then he got into opium poppy cultivation.
This stroke of luck was almost accidental, when a smuggler who had been operating before the war came back to renew his association with the people he'd dealt with in the past. Unfortunately for him they were all gone. Fortunately for Hassan Khamami, he was in the right place at the right time to fill the vacuum. Deals were made with the smuggler, and a group of farm villages were recruited and organized to begin a big-time cultivation and production business. Now great amounts of money rolled in to fill the warlord's coffers. His personal army was stronger and better structured than ever due to these unexpected, substantial opium revenues.
Additionally, the intelligent and perceptive Khamami had learned much about strategy and tactics during the long fight against the Russians. He also accumulated large stocks of Soviet weapons, uniforms and equipment. But the most important commodity Khamami acquired was knowledge.
During the struggle against the Soviets, the warlord quickly realized that mass, disorganized attacks almost always ended in disaster, and he recognized the advantages of breaking his army down into subordinate units coordinated along a chain of command. He created squads, divided them among platoons; organized the platoons into companies; and the companies became part of battalions--all under his leadership. Khamami also developed tactical skills in such things as patrolling, fire support, ambushes, attack and defense. But most importantly, he learned to pick the right times to fight and how to safely break contact and withdraw when things went wrong.
Arms was another phase of warfare he took note of. Khamami gathered all the weapons given him by the CIA and combined them with the arms he'd looted from the Soviet Army. He even had no less than three Soviet Hind Mi24 troop-carrying helicopter gunships at his disposal, and the pilots to fly them.
Additionally, he acquired a spiritual leader to back up his activities. One day a hermit appeared at Al-Saraya after fifteen years of living and wandering in the mountains. This was Khatib the Oracle, who claimed he was the new prophet of Allah who had been sent to lead the faithful in a struggle to destroy all the infidels in the world. Khamami was aware that the old man was as crazy as a flea on a goat, but he recognized the oldster's potential usefulness. Khatib the Oracle had a way of mesmerizing the crowds who listened to him speak. The warlord told the pseudo-prophet that he would be welcome to remain in the fiefdom if he slanted his sermons to teach the audiences that Khamami was a warrior guided by Allah. That was fine with the elderly fellow, who recognized a good meal ticket. Thus he acquiesced wholeheartedly to the warlord's program. Consequently, the people obeyed Khamami's every command with a reverent adoration.
The last bit of resistance Khamami had to deal with was the Dharya Clan. These Pashtuns were a small group of dissidents who tried to set up their own poppy cultivation on lands controlled by the warlord. They paid a terrible price for the affront. After a vicious attack that decimated their numbers, the survivors were place into slavery, and held there with many of their young females put into enforced concubinage--the worst fate for Muslim women. According to Islam, they were as much if not more to blame for this shameful situation as the men who violated their bodies.
Because of this, they would never know freedom from the warlord or forgiveness from their male relatives.
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THE REFUGEE CAMP
KHAMAMI FIEFDOM
22 AUGUST
AYYUB Durtami and Ahmet Kharani were off to the side of the convoy that by now had deteriorated into a miserable, milling mob. Although there was no shouting or struggling, the people who had fled the compound in the south were bunched together in an instinctively protective manner. The motors of the vehicles were now turned off while everyone waited nervously to find out what would happen next. They were tightly surrounded by an armed detachment of Warlord Hassan Khamami's mujahideen, who glared at them as if daring the refugees to try to disturb the peace and tranquility of the fiefdom.
Durtami and Kharani sat in the back of the Soviet sedan. Their bodyguards, who normally stayed close by, had wandered off, as if wishing to put a great deal of distance between themselves and their former chiefs. The former warlord and his lieutenant were plainly worried, and both had AK-47s within easy reach. If Khamami was going to kill them, the men he sent would pay dearly for the assassinations.
Kharani rolled the window down a bit to let some air into the old Soviet automobile. "Perhaps we are worrying over nothing," he murmured, to himself as much as to his companion.
Durtami shook his head. "I do not know what to think. We are defeated, Brother Ahmet. We show up here with naught but what we have in our vehicles. Even our fighting force is down to almost nothing."
"Surely we and our men have some value," Kharani said. "And is your sister not still the favorite of Warlord Khamami's wives?"
"I do not know," Durtami said miserably. "Perhaps he has gotten younger, prettier ones."
"But she gave him four sons," Kharani said. "Surely a man would honor such a wife for as long she lived."
"Maybe she no longer lives," Durtami said. "I have had no news from here in two or three years. She could have sickened and died."
"Allah help us!"
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AL-SARAYA CASTLE
1400 HOURS LOCAL
N0 less than a squad of riflemen had gone to the refugee camp to fetch Ayyub Durtami and Ahmet Kharani for an audience with Warlord Hassan Khamami. The leader of the unit was brusque to the point of being rude and threatening. This behavior made the two even more apprehensive than they had originally been.
After being hurried from their vehicles and through the village to the gate of the castle, they were almost trembling with fear. By then they figured the best they could hope for was a quick and painless death. When the gate was opened, the castle guards took them in hand, escorting them into the
interior of the two-story building. They stopped by a door in one of the inner hallways. The senior guard stepped inside and closed it. A moment later he appeared. "The Amir Warlord Khamami deigns to speak with you. Enter!"
Durtami and Kharani hurried inside the room, where the warlord sat on a throne-like teak chair flanked by a pair of guards. The two reluctant guests threw themselves down, touching their foreheads to the floor. It was now time for them to practice nanawatey, the act of total submission in the Pashtun culture.
Durtami, as the senior, spoke for them both, his voice quavering. "Amir! We appear before you humbled and defeated.
We beg your mercy and submit to your authority and power without hesitation or limits."
Kharani added, "Amir! It is written in the Koran that Allah loves those who show mercy to the believers."
"Don't tell me what is written in the Koran!" Khamami bellowed in fury. "I have Khatib the Oracle to advise me on religious matters."
"Of course, Amir!" Kharani acknowledged in cold fear. "Forgive my rude audacity, I beg you!"
"And here you are, driven from your lands by Infidels!" Khamami said. "Both of you have disgraced Islam with your ineptness and cowardice. Why do you come to me instead of remaining to martyr yourselves against the enemy?"
Durtami had anticipated that line of questioning, and he quickly replied, "We have come to join your army, Amir! We wish to continue the fight under your command."
Khamami was secretly amused by their fear. It fed his ego to observe two people literally begging for him to spare their lives. "And why should I accept you into my army and my fiefdom?"
"I have come here with more than a hundred armed men, Amir," Durtami said. "I also have money from my treasury." "A pittance," Khamami scoffed.
"We have behaved badly and admit it with great shame, Amir," Kharani said. "We beg you for mercy."
"Mmm," Khamami said, acting as if he were deep in thought. More than two minutes passed before he said, "Very well! I have decided to take you under my rule if you swear allegiance to me."
"By the grace of Allah I swear a full allegiance to your authority, Amir," Durtami said. "I speak for my people and you may hold me responsible for their actions."
"I most certainly will do that," the warlord said. "However, until you have proven yourselves, you and your people will live beyond the village in the wilderness. I will give you no food, no water and no shelter. All these problems are for you to solve."
"Shukhria! " they said simultaneously in their gratitude. "You are dismissed!"
Durtami and Kharani scurried backward on their hands and knees until reaching the door. Only then did they get to their feet and flee the throne room.
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REFUGEE CAMP
KHAMAMI FIEFDOM
1500 HOURS LOCAL
THE mood in the camp was one of utter despair. When the people were informed they would have to remain where they were, they instinctively glanced northward to where the frigid winds of winter would descend from within weeks. It had rained the night before and everyone had gotten wet. The lucky climbed into the backs of the motor-rickshaws for protection from the elements, but most had to cover themselves with blankets that had quickly grown sodden from the rain. Coughing children were already in evidence.
The men now ignored Durtami and Kharani. They formed up in family groups to make plans for hunting in the nearby hills. With no rations being issued to them, this was their only way of obtaining food. They pooled their available cash to send the women to the nearby farming villages to buy food. With the growing season already over, the best they could hope for was dried vegetables and flour.
All this activity came to a halt when a platoon of Warlord Khamami's mujahideen appeared, shouting for everyone to gather at the far edge of the camp. A strange individual was with the fighters. He was rail thin with a wispy beard and of undeterminable age. His attire was simple, with a tattered pukhoor wrapped around his spindly body. In spite of his self-effacing appearance, he had a fierce fire in his eyes. His presence made the refugees uneasy, while many of the women shrank back in fear from the walking scarecrow who glared at them, baring his rotting teeth in a fierce grimace.
When everyone was gathered, he stepped up on the hood of the Soviet sedan. After an angry glare at the assemblage, he spoke in a reedy but loud voice. "I am Khatib the Oracle! I serve the faithful here as their spiritual guide. I have lived alone in the wilderness of the mountains for fifteen years. I fasted and prayed for weeks at a time without stopping. I was celibate, without thoughts of lust disturbing my devotion. Other men would have starved or gone mad under such circumstances and abused their genitals. But Allah had chosen me to prove my devoutness to Him and Islam."
Now the old fellow had become downright frightening. Mothers pulled their young children closer to them, and the men gave one another worried glances.
Khatib the Oracle continued. "You are all miserable sinners, cast from your homes and your lands and your herds for your faithless disregard of Islam. Now you are here among true believers seeking comfort and alms. You will receive all the aid that can possibly be rendered unto you, for that is the way of Islam. Though you are fallen, Allah has been merciful and sent you to us to be put back on the right path."
The crowd remained silent, fully recognizing that they were completely and utterly at the mercy of this zealot, and the most frightening aspect of the condition was that this had undoubtedly been done with the approval of Warlord Khamami.
"But before your well-deserved misery is relieved," Khatib the Oracle pronounced, "you will have to atone for your sins. Husbands and wives will live apart and not know each other. You must fast and pray, eating nothing during daylight hours and only one meal after the sun sinks over the western lands. Make yourselves pure in thought and deed. Do not dwell on your thirst or your hunger! Do not let your unrelieved passions give you unclean thoughts! If there are those who die from these conditions, then give thanks to Allah for their deaths. He will have relieved them of their mortal burdens and taken them up to Paradise, as they have truly atoned for wrongdoings! The sinners among you will continue to live in this misery. So be it!"
He abruptly ceased his speech and nimbly stepped down to the ground. He hurried away, walking so rapidly that his mujahideen escort had trouble keeping up with him.
The people turned away and went miserably back to their campsites.
KHATIB the Oracle lived in a far corner of the castle. His apartment was isolated by narrow hallways that led to the roof. When he returned to his quarters after delivering his revelations to the refugees, he was met by his old servant. The ancient retainer salaamed respectfully. "Welcome home, Holy Khatib."
"Is the Dharya girl still here?" he inquired, speaking of one of the captive concubines.
"Yes, Holy One," the servant said. "I have not yet had her taken back to the bordello."
"Send her to me."
"Yes, Holy One."
Khatib the Oracle went to his sleeping room and slipped out of his pukhoor. A moment later there was a rapping on the door. The servant opened it and motioned a young girl to step inside. After the old man left, she began disrobing, numbly accepting the inevitable rape that she would endure in a matter of moments.
Chapter 12
WEST RIDGE BASE CAMP
23 AUGUST
0915 HOURS LOCAL
DUST swirled violently off the ridge top as the two Blackhawk helicopters came in for landing. The roar of the engines frightened the buzzards feeding on the dead mujahideen farther down the slope, and the large, obnoxious birds rose in dark clouds of feathered flight at the thunderous disturbance. They scattered through the sky, their indignant squawking loud and obscene at this interruption in their gruesome feasting.
As soon as the wheels touched down, each squad of Brannigan's Brigands disembarked from its aircraft, quickly forming relay lines. The crewmen inside began handing boxes and bundles of gear and ammo to waiting hands, and the supplies were passed
from man to man toward the side area where Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins and Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson neatly stacked the goods prior to proper stowage. Among the usual issue of ammunition and rations were camouflage netting, shovels, picks, empty burlap sandbags and an assortment of uniform items to replace what the SEALs had been wearing for almost three weeks. The fresh, unused skivvies were the most appreciated, but not quite as much as eight cases of Budweiser officially donated by the Army Post Exchange Board in Kabul. The Brigands didn't receive enough alcohol to get roaring drunk, but they were appreciative of this second gift of beer just the same.
Connie Concord and Bruno Puglisi were also happy with the addition of an M-224 light mortar system to their small arsenal of support weaponry. The platoon commo was enhanced greatly with each officer and chief petty officer being furnished with a PRC-112 radio to enhance his command and control capabilities. These sets also broadcast beacons that all military aircraft monitor on their guard channels to provide an automated method of calling support to particular points of the globe. It was a handy and quick way to get help when needed.
As soon as the Blackhawks were given the all-clear signal, their rotors whipped back up to flying speed, and they lifted off the ridge, turning toward their home base. The ensuing quiet was broken by the hoarse shouts of the chief petty officers, who set the men to work constructing storage sites for all the new gear. This would include the erection of camouflage netting to enhance the cut brush the platoon had been using for concealment since their arrival.
The Odd Couple, Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz, were the lucky ones in the activities. The assignment of recon patrol duties saved them from the pick-and-shovel work. They happily donned their combat vests, grabbed their CAR-15s and headed down the ridge to check out the area.
When the new equipment was covered and concealed, the next order of business was the improvement of the present fighting positions. Now, with better digging implements than entrenching tools, the SEALs set about deepening and strengthening the field fortifications that surrounded the immediate area. This included filling the sandbags to build up higher parapets.
