Who are these bandits? Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson asked.
They are outsiders who come out of the Kangal Mountains to the north, Chinar replied. They are from Tajikistan and have been raiding down on the steppes for many generations. Mostly now, however, the cowardly wretches attack travelers and others who are too far from the villages to be helped by fellow tribesmen. I shouldn't think that you would have a bit of trouble with them. In fact, the local people will be only too glad to have you around to keep them away. Believe me, those criminals will fear you. He paused for a moment. I have been told that you are acquainted with the proper way to conduct yourselves in the company of Pashtuns, so I needn't cover that. I have also arranged to have a donkey train available to carry heavy equipment and loads for you. My village will supply a half dozen along with drovers. And, now, if you have no questions, my presentation is finished. Thank you.
Commander Carey took over again. So here is your mission statement: You are to deploy into the Pranistay Steppes of northeastern Afghanistan for the purpose of observing, aiding, and establishing friendly rapport with the indigenous people. That's it, plain and simple.
I hope the execution portion is as assuageous, Chad Murchison remarked.
Carey, who didn't know what the word meant, ignored the remark and continued his dissertation. You will be airlifted from Shelor Field via three C-130 transport aircraft just as when you returned here from Pakistan.
Is it a long flight, sir? Puglisi asked.
Carey shrugged. I'm not sure. Why do you ask?
I was just worried about Ralph getting airsick again.
Who's Ralph? Carey asked.
My horse, Puglisi replied.
You named your horse Ralph? Carey inquired with a very incredulous expression on his face.
Joe Miskoski interjected, It's a long story, sir. You don't want to go there.
I sure as hell don't! Carey exclaimed. He gave Puglisi another skeptical look before continuing. Okay. You'll land at an area picked out by Chinar. It's marked on the maps you'll receive prior to leaving. He's assured us the terrain is firm and large enough to accommodate the aircraft. You will unload your gear, horses including Ralph, of course and get into your mission with Chinar as your guide and interpreter.
Now the Skipper had a question. What about the reporters, Wallenger and Krafton?
They will go in imbedded with you as previously stated, Carey said. But stay on your toes. If anything untoward that calls for 'special' action occurs, keep them away from it. As far as normal activities go, they are free to film, report, and interview anybody they want to. The official word is for you to cooperate with them.
Aye, sir, Brannigan said. And what about our resupply?
As soon as you pick out a place or places, you inform the SFOB aboard the USS Combs, Carey said. They'll see that anything you need, including fodder for the horses, is delivered to you. He looked over at Doc Bradley. You will be expected to aid the locals in case of sickness or injuries, so whatever medical supplies you need will be made available through resupply.
Yes, sir, the hospital corpsman replied.
I doubt if you guys will be needing more than a basic issue of ammo unless you end up doing a lot of hunting, Carey said. Chinar tells me there are deer, wild pigs, and goats in the foothills of the Kangal Mountains.
Christ! Guy Devereaux exclaimed with a chuckle. And they're calling this Operation Combat Alley? They should've named it Operation Candyass Lane.
It won't be all that easy, Carey said. You'll have calluses on your asses from all the riding you guys are going to do.
What about commo? Frank Gomez, the detachment RTO, asked.
Follow the SOI, Carey said. We won't be doing a briefback. This mission is simple and tame. Work out your own wants and desires when it comes to taking in supplies and goodies you want. And don't forget you'll have a donkey train to transport heavy or bulky equipment. He closed up his notes. That's it! Turn to! He glanced over at Puglisi. Tell Ralph I hope he has a nice trip.
I sure will, sir, Puglisi said.
Chapter 5
THE PRANISTAY STEPPES
MAHSUD MAIN VILLAGE
18 OCTOBER
1030 HOURS
THE six Russians rode slowly for an essential reason: They did not want to alarm the Pashtuns in the village they were now approaching. Each also had his AKS assault rifle slung muzzle-down across his back to illustrate the peacefulness of their intentions. However, these were violent, suspicious men, and they had Tokarev 7.62-millimeter automatics out of sight but readily available in their waistbands.
Valentin Surov and Yakob Putnovsky, who had visited the little community almost three weeks previously to tell the Pashtuns they owed a tax, were two of the riders. The other four were Luka Yarkov, the headman; Aleksei Barkyev, an underboss; and two hard cases named Vilgelim Dalenko and Lev Shinskovsky.
The boy guard on duty had already alerted the villagers, and when the unexpected visitors entered the community proper, they saw the usual peaceful scene of oldsters sitting around the communal well, smoking their pipes with languid puffs as if they had no worries in the world. The Russians knew the placid impression was false, and that they were under the guns of hidden males in the surrounding houses.
Surov, with his rudimentary knowledge of Pashto, rode forward and came to a halt. Stari me shey! he greeted politely.
One of the old men nodded to him. Salamat osey!
Do you remember me? Surov asked.
Ho, the oldster answered affirmatively. Then he pointed to Putnovsky. And I remember him too.
May we speak with your malik? Surov requested. Our khan is here with us and would like to make friends with him.
Mohambar the elder was summoned and he appeared ten minutes later from a doorway not more than five yards away from the well. He approached Surov and the others, looking up into the Russian's face. We have no money to pay your tax.
That is alright, Surov said, knowing there was plenty of cash among the hamlet's population. Our khan is here. His name is Yarkov and he wishes to meet you.
Yarkov urged his horse over closer and nodded down to Mohambar. When he spoke, he did so slowly to allow Surov to translate. When I asked you to pay me a tax, I thought you had cheated me. Now I find that the bad man Awalmir of the Yousafzai tribe was trying to make trouble so you and I would not be friends.
Mohambar stood silently, waiting for the man to continue with whatever it was he had to say.
I am going to take care of selling your opium powder from now on, Yarkov said through Surov. I will pay you a much better price than that scoundrel Awalmir. That is why he does not want us to be friends. He is selfish and evil, stealing money from you with his lies and cheating. He wants to get rich by taking advantage of you. What do you think of that?
If you pay us more, we will be your friends, Mohambar announced. The old men behind him nodded their approval.
I want to show you I am a nice fellow, Yarkov continued. You will see I am honest and deserve your trust. He reached in his haversack and pulled out a roll of bills. This is a token of my respect and affection for the Mahsud people. It is five thousand afghanis. You see? I pay you in the money of this country not the somonis of Tajikistan. And this is a gift. Consider it an extra offering to mark this new arrangement between us. For your crop this year I will pay a total of ninety-five thousand afghanis to each family in both the Mahsud villages.
Old Mohambar generally kept his emotions hidden, but this offer of one and a half times the usual amount caused him to lose control before strangers, Pashtun style. He raised his eyebrows, and the old men by the well all murmured, Mmm!
Mohambar said, We will accept your offer, Yarkov Khan. The addition of the honorific title to the Russian's name was a sign the elder had placed his people under Yarkov's command.
Now Surov spoke for himself. My chief is very happy that you have accepted both his friendship and partnership for the next poppy harvest. He raised hi
s hand in farewell.
Khuday pea man! Khuday pea man! the old men responded happily.
.
BETWEEN THE JANOON TRIBE'S VILLAGES
1400 HOURS
THE engines of the three C-130s were idling as the Brigands, along with the two journalists and Chinar Janoon, led their horses down the ramp and off the aircraft. Although the animals had been flown before their transfer to Shelor Field from Sharif Garrison, they were skittish from this most recent flight. The mounts tossed their heads and stomped their hooves as the riders took them fifty meters away from the aircraft to set up a picket line. As soon as they had some distance between themselves and the transports, the welltrained horses settled down and allowed themselves to be attached to the picket pins driven into the hard earth.
After the animals were situated, Senior Chief Buford Dawkins assigned one man each to watch over three horses as the first two aircraft revved their engines for takeoff. The disturbance might spook some of the more nervous horses and Puglisi's Ralph was the worst but the presence of the SEALs speaking to them in soothing voices would keep them calm.
The remaining dozen petty officers hurried over to the third aircraft to begin unloading the weapons, munitions, gear, horse furniture, bales of hay, and bags of oats. Rather than stand around watching the heavy work, the three officers and the senior chief pitched in to haul the stuff to a central location for stacking. Chinar had already left the scene to walk the kilometer of distance to the main village to bring back the donkeys and their herders. They would be hauling the heavy stuff to a spot just north of the smaller village that the asset had chosen for the SEALs' first bivouac.
.
1600 HOURS
WHEN Chinar returned from the village, not only did he have the donkey skinners with him but he was also accompanied by some three dozen laughing, shouting men and boys. They gave the SEALs friendly grins and boldly started poking around the gear that was stacked up near where the third aircraft had been before taking off for the return flight to Shelor Field. The Brigands, well used to Pashtuns, made them laugh with their funny accents when they said something in Pashto to them. Chinar quickly instructed the donkey skinners to bring the animals closer so that they could be loaded for the trip to the bivouac area.
Each skinner had his own unique manner of loading the two animals he had brought with him. A total of ten Pashtuns and twenty of the sturdy little donkeys had shown up for the hauling job. The skinners, while joking and conversing loudly with their tribal brothers, worked hard at arranging the bundles on the animals. They used sacks, ropes, leather straps, woven hemp, and other means to put such large loads on the beasts that it looked as if they would collapse under the weight. But the donkeys stood steady and calm, completely unaffected by the heavy burdens. Now and then one would bray and kick, more disturbed by the noisy people than the weight that he bore.
The senior chief was standing beside Chinar, watching the work. Dawkins asked, Do y'all use donkeys for all your heavy hauling?
Yes, we do, Senior Chief, Chinar replied. He had heard the others address this oldest SEAL in that manner, and his training for the diplomatic service had taught him to follow examples of protocol. Besides, Dawkins looked as if he might be a spinzhire of the United States Navy.
Then it really is impossible to use some sort of motor vehicle in this area, huh?
Chinar nodded his head. It is exactly as Commander Carey stated; the majority of the terrain on the steppes is rugged and uneven, with natural obstacles that only horses and donkeys can negotiate effectively.
What about them little motor rickshaws you see so much in this part of the world, the SEAL asked. Couldn't they be used?
Only in a very few areas, Senior Chief. That is why tribal villages are no more than a kilometer or so apart. If there is trouble, one group can quickly go to the aid of the other on horseback without having to worry about the lack of roads.
Maybe it'd be better if you folks all lived together in one group, Dawkins suggested.
Sometimes it is better for clan harmony if there is separation between certain family groups, Chinar explained.
That's true in America too, Dawkins said with a grin and a wink. He glanced over at the picket lines where the SEALs were saddling the horses and arranging the gear in front of an appreciative audience of friendly Pashtuns. I'd better go make sure the guys will be ready to move out when them donkeys are all loaded.
Dirk Wallenger and Eddie Krafton, with their own horses ready for the trek, were busy taping the Pashtuns, who were pleased to be pictured for television. The closest they had to the medium were DVD players used by government visitors who would come around to show programs on nutrition, safety, health issues, and other useful information needed by isolated communities far from civilization's amenities. Many times the visitors had camcorders and taped the residents then showed the results on the machines. It was always a moment of both awe and hilarity for the villagers when they saw the moving, talking images of themselves and their neighbors.
Finally all was in readiness and the senior chief had everyone stand to horse in section and team formations. As the officers rode off to one side, the old salt bellowed the orders he had learned from Lieutenant Sidiqui in the classes on military equitation and drill.
Prepare to mount! Mount! Twos right! At a walk, march!
The detachment, after going from the line into a column of twos formation, headed out of the area as the donkey skinners followed with their heavily burdened pack animals. Brannigan laughed aloud. Why do I keep expecting John Wayne in a cavalry uniform to show up any minute?
Jim Cruiser also chuckled. And he would probably be chased by a crowd of howling Apache warriors, right?
No way, Brannigan said, leading Cruiser and Taylor toward the column. It would be the other way around.
The Brigands rode slowly across the steppes. Now Operation Combat Alley or Candyass Lane, as it was being referred to was on the ground in what seemed to be a very passive mission.
.
LOGOVISHCHYEH, TAJIKISTAN
1900 HOURS
LUKAYarkov relaxed on the floor in front of his hearth, resting on a feather-stuffed pallet. He was tired after a long day of visiting a total of four villages on horseback. But the day's traveling had been well worth it. His approach and the counterfeit afghanis he had passed out had bought him the loyalty and support of a total of 340 armed fighting men among four of the seven tribes living on the Pranistay Steppes. Combining those Pashtun bumpkins with his 110 Russians gave him a formidable force to take over the local poppy business, and crush Awalmir Yousafzai and his allies.
It was times like this that he wished he was completely independent. But he owed allegiance to the Russian crime syndicate headquartered in the city of Khorugh through their support and influence with the Tajik authorities. However, Yarkov considered this no more than a temporary inconvenience. With cunning and care he would eventually wrest control of the operation from the Big Boss. Then all the profits would be his and his alone.
Zainba brought him a cup of steaming tea heavy with cream and plenty of sugar. He took the brew and treated himself to a preliminary sip. As he watched the girl walk back to the clay oven to help Gabina with the preparation of the meal, he wondered if she were pregnant. He was always aware when one of the girl's menstrual cycles was in progress. It had been ingrained into them it was a time when they were unclean. They would not prepare food or have sexual intercourse or any other sort of intimate touching. After the period was over, they went through a purification process of careful bathing before things got back to normal. Yarkov thought it had been around two months since the eighteen-year-old girl had exhibited any evidence of menstrual bleeding.
If Zainba was pregnant, the Russian wasn't sure if he wanted to keep her or not. Better to give her away before she shit the little bastard out into the world. Yarkov was not very fond of children and having one underfoot would spoil the harmony of his house. On the other hand, Zainb
a was attractive and he hated to lose such a pretty sexual playmate. He knew he couldn't get her to give the baby away. Vilgelim Dalenko made one of his women do that and she tried to kill him for it. When that failed she went over to the edge of the encampment and threw herself over the side, her body bouncing off boulders all the way down to the slopes where the steppes began. Dalenko lost her anyway, so he should have traded her for another female or just given her and the kid to one of the other guys.
At any rate, there was more to occupy his mind at this particular time. He would have to strike the other tribes fast while he still had the loyalty of the four tribes he had bribed. The Yousafzai was the largest enemy clan, and Awalmir Yousafzai was their leader. It was true they had the usual council of elders, but Awalmir ran things his way without consulting them. The second strongest group were the Janoon. Perhaps it would be better to hit the weaker Swatis first. If he wiped them out, it would shake up the Janoons, and there was a good chance they might join him then. That would mean the Yousafzais would be all alone against the whole of the Pashtun families. At that point, their elders might force Awalmir to abdicate and join Yarkov's organization as poppy growers.
But no matter what tactics and strategy he adopted, Yarkov knew he would have to launch his campaign at the earliest possible moment. Even his planned rebellion against the syndicate would have to wait. His thoughts were interrupted when fifteen-year-old Gabina called to him in her halting Russian. Tih khochyetsa?
Combat Alley (2007) Page 5
