Combat Alley (2007)

by Jack - Seals 06 Terral

  Yes, he replied, getting up. I am hungry. He walked over to the table where a large serving of chicken, rice, and flat bread awaited his pleasure.

  .

  SEALs BIVOUAC

  PRANISTAY STEPPES

  19 OCTOBER

  0800 HOURS

  THE night before had been cold. The SEALs had brought sleeping bags with them, but they were designed for temperate zones and would not be much use when the temperature really dropped on the steppes. But the Brigands had managed to stay reasonably comfortable by sleeping with poncho liners wrapped around them while snuggled deep into the bags. Chinar, with almost his entire life spent on the steppes, had his own Pashtun blankets and had been completely comfortable. Wallenger and Krafton had come with arctic sleeping gear and had been warm and cozy through the night.

  Now, with the sun well up and quickly warming the chill out of the air, the men sat around in groups downing MREs heated in FRHs. The donkey skinners had returned to their village the previous day since there wouldn't be much for them to do for a while. The feed and gear they brought over on their animals had been dropped off and covered by tarpaulins. Although they were only part-time employees, funds to pay them for full time had been allotted to Brannigan. They appreciated the generosity and promised to be available whenever needed.

  The two journalists ate with the officers, sharing the GI rations since they had been provided with the same government rations as the SEALs. Wallenger was looking forward to some excitement. He gave Brannigan a look of eagerness. What's on the agenda for today, Bill?

  Brannigan took a bite of scrambled eggs from the packet, then answered, The first thing we have to do is organize the camp. Then the officers and chiefs will go over to the village with Chinar to meet the headmen and establish a rapport of sorts.

  We should take Doc Bradley with us, sir, Jim Cruiser said. There might be something for a corpsman to do over there. Remember how he helped that little boy down in South America?

  Good idea, Brannigan said.

  Wallenger and Krafton looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Could Brannigan's Brigands be the guys involved in the massacre of the villagers in Bolivia a while back? They both quickly recovered from the startling realization and turned their attention to the meal.

  When that's done I'll start sending out patrols of individual fire teams, Brannigan continued. So this base camp will be home for a while.

  What are these patrols going to be doing? Wallenger asked.

  They'll be checking out the area, Brannigan replied. And maybe introduce themselves to anyone they meet. He took another spoonful of the food. You can go along if you want. I've been told to let you have full access to our activities.

  I believe we'll do that, Wallenger said, thinking that there was going to be some great opportunities to pick up some very interesting information either past or present.

  Chapter 6

  JANOON VILLAGE

  19 OCTOBER

  1100 HOURS

  IT was obvious the people were anticipating the visit from the SEALs. Events such as a group of visitors suddenly showing up were rare. It was almost like a holiday, and it put the people in a mood to celebrate. Everyone was at the edge of the village, gathered behind the august figure of old Quajeer the headman. They grinned in happy anticipation as their guests rode up. Willing hands of young boys took the reins of the horses as the Americans dismounted and approached the elder. Chinar solemnly introduced the oldster to the strangers, referring to their ranks in Pashtun: Turan Bill Brannigan, Dvahom Baridman Jim Cruiser, Dreyom Baridman Orlando Taylor; Krur Buford Dawkins, Loi Bresh Matthew Gunnarson, and Bresh James Bradley. These were actually army ranks, since landlocked Afghanistan did not have a navy, but the villagers could relate to the titles. The interpreter used zhornalisanet for Dirk Wallenger and Eddie Krafton to identify them by their profession.

  Krafton immediately began taping as the SEALs took turns shaking hands with Quajeer. The village chief gave a short speech, punctuated with exaggerated gestures, in which he welcomed the Americans and thanked them for hiring the donkey skinners, which would bring an influx of cash into the community. He then asked if there was anything else the Janoons could do for them.

  After the translation, Brannigan greeted the old man and his villagers through Chinar. My men are grateful for your kind welcome to us. We are here through the courtesy of the Afghanistan government and are in their service. Your friendly offer of help to us is greatly appreciated. We also hope that if there is any service we might do for you, that you will feel welcome to make a request. The Taliban is gone from here and He was interrupted by catcalls and angry yells as the people expressed their dislike of the religious gang that had ruled over them for several years. Brannigan continued, we will be on the alert in case they try to return and make trouble. We are also on the lookout for bad people among you who want the Taliban back. If you are troubled by them, please let us know and we will see that they are taken away.

  Quajeer seemed genuinely pleased by the last statement. There were those of the Mahsud tribe who have been with the Taliban. They are bad people and hid guns to use to kill us if the Taliban came back. They also have money given them by the Taliban. We told some British soldiers of this, and they came and found the guns and took the bad ones away to be punished. But the money was hidden and could not be found.

  We will visit the tribe you told me about and make sure they behave, Brannigan promised.

  This elicited more yelling among the people, and Chinar explained the outpouring to the SEAL officer. The Mahsud are our enemies, Lieutenant Brannigan. Our very worst enemies. You must keep a close eye on them. We have a saying, 'Marane zda kawem darghal le Mahsud.' That means, 'Serpents learn treachery from the Mahsud.'

  Brannigan grinned. Christ! That pretty well describes the bastards, doesn't it? He turned and motioned Doc Bradley to come forward. The hospital corpsman presented himself, and the Skipper once again addressed Quajeer. This man is like a doctor, he said. He knows many things about medicine. If you ever have any sick or injured people, he can help them.

  Upon being given the news the elderly Pashtun's eyes opened wide. We have a man who had cut himself very deeply two days ago. Can you help him?

  I can help him, Bradley said through Chinar. Take me to him.

  Excited murmuring broke out in the crowd and they made way as Chinar and Quajeer led Bradley toward the man's house. His name is Sangin and he was hurt while butchering a goat.

  They were taken some twenty meters deeper into the village to a house near some goat pens. When they went inside, a woman looked up startled, but Chinar calmed her by explaining that the American had come to help her injured husband. Krafton, who had been busy taping everything, had to stay outside.

  Bradley found his patient resting on a pallet in a far corner. He knelt down and took the unresisting man's arm. He undid the bloody bandage covering the wound and found a deep gash across the forearm. I can't see good enough in here, the SEAL said. Tell him he must come outside.

  Sangin allowed himself to be taken from the house out into the sun. He grinned at the people gathered around his pallet, proud to be the center of attention. Bradley looked at Chinar. Tell everybody to stand back. I need room.

  Chinar issued the order and the Pashtuns obeyed, anxious to watch the American black man work. Krafton and Wallenger moved closer, and since Bradley had no objections they continued taping. The first thing Bradley did was inject a local anesthetic of 200 milligrams of lidocaine. It took effect rather quickly and the growing comfort was obviously very soothing to Sangin. He began to wave the arm around until Bradley gave him a ferocious glare. When the patient settled down, the corpsman began cleaning the wound, remarking, There's bits of meat in here.

  Probably goat, Chinar remarked.

  Damn! Bradley said. He'd've had gangrene in another week. He gave a second shot this one a tetanus toxoid then began a debridement procedure of gently cutting away infected tissue from th
e wound. None of it had become mushy, so the Pashtun was not yet in danger. The SEAL worked slowly and steadily, obviously sure of himself as he cleaned the wound and applied an antiseptic solution to ward off any further infection.

  Sangin thoroughly enjoyed the procedure, watching with interest as what had been a dirty injury beginning to fester now appear clean and open. The suturing absolutely fascinated him. With all that finished, Bradley dabbed on a good coating of old-fashioned iodine, then applied a fresh, neat bandage.

  That's it, the corpsman announced, standing up.

  Sangin got to his feet too, and began walking back and forth holding up the injured limb for all to see. I'll come back in a few days to take out the stitches, Bradley said to Chinar. Tell him to keep the bandage on, make sure it stays dry, and don't get any dirt on it. As Chinar delivered the instructions, Krafton zoomed in with his camera to get a good close up of the translator and the injured man.

  The Americans were ready to leave and everybody again crowded around and followed them back to their horses. The SEALs mounted up, making good-byes to their new friends. Senior Chief Dawkins reached back into his saddlebags and pulled out some wrapped rock candy, and began tossing it out by the handful at the kids. Even the adults joined in the scuffle for the sweets as a minor riot broke out in the rush to get a share of the goodies.

  Now forgotten in the melee, the SEALs wheeled their horses and began the ride back to the bivouac.

  .

  KHORUGH, TAJIKISTAN

  THIS city of a bit more than 33,000 is located to the northeast of the Kangal Mountains almost on the Afghanistan border. The nearest other municipalities of any size were in Pakistan and Uzbekistan. While the official language of Tajikistan was Tajik, the large number of Russian expatriates in Khorugh meant that their mother tongue was also prominent in the area. There was also a strong criminal connection between the underworld of that city and the Russian Mafia in Moscow.

  Aleksander Akloschenko was a former Soviet bureaucrat who had been stationed in Khorugh during the glory days of Communism. Like all prosperous Russians, or those in cushy jobs, he had put on a lot of weight and his facial features had softened from his life of ease. Now in his late forties, he had ended up a corpulent, short, balding man with an extremely large stomach.

  During his career in Tajikistan, Akloschenko was chief of government property, buildings, and land, and the long distance between his office and that of his immediate supervisor back in the USSR meant he was a virtual potentate without superintendence. His only obligations were a series of monthly activity reports and inventories he dispatched back to Russia. Once a year, when inspectors were sent out for examination and audits, they were always so nervous and physically shook up after the frightening Aeroflot flight on ancient, creaking aircraft that all they wanted to do was consume vodka to both soothe their nerves from the nervewracking journey as well as fortify themselves for the hazardous return. Their inspections of property books and budget outlays were superficial at best, done with quick halfdrunken scans of the documents that Akloschenko trotted out for them to peruse. Most embezzlers keep two sets of books, but the inefficiency of the Soviet system did not make that necessary in Akloschenko's case.

  Consequently, with this blessed independence, the bureaucrat was able to gleefully sell government vehicles and equipment on the black market that serviced not only Tajikistan but Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Uzbekistan as well. Additionally he hired out convicts from the military prison as laborers to private construction contractors who were also using government-owned building materials purchased from Akloschenko. These arrangements included furnishing tough guys for anyone who needed some physical pressure applied to debtors and/or business rivals.

  All this brought in beaucoup shekels for Akloschenko's private coffers. It was true he had to lay out bribes and kickbacks among several branches of Soviet agencies within the local government net, but the men running those organizations had as much self-sufficiency as Akloschenko, thus these arrangements were mutually beneficial. When the USSR collapsed, he could have returned to the new Russia and that had been his preliminary intention. But when several colleagues were assassinated by the emerging crime syndicates in the home country, he decided to stay put. And just to really play it safe, he used ex-convicts who had recently been freed from the prison as bodyguards. He established himself on the top floor of a poorly constructed downtown four-story building Khorugh's equivalent of a skyscraper and switched from being a crooked bureaucrat to being a crooked businessman. This latter endeavor eventually evolved into his being the head of his own crime syndicate that emerged out of the situation.

  Akloschenko's latest and pet project was a scheme to take over the opium poppy harvest and smuggling on the Pranistay Steppes in Afghanistan with Luka Yarkov. He supplied the brains and money to get things rolling while Yarkov and his gang contributed the muscle. He had made secret arrangements for sales known only to him and his closest associate, Pavel Marvesky. Even Yarkov was unaware of the arrangement with the hush-hush customer.

  The two advantages Akloschenko enjoyed in the scheme were that any resistance could easily be handled in that desolate area and that he had the luxury of time, since there was the entire winter to consolidate and organize the efforts.

  .

  AKLOSCHENKO'S OFFICE

  1400 HOURS

  PAVEL Marvesky stepped into the reception area, laying an appreciative gaze on the pretty blond who screened the visitors to her boss. He winked at her, saying, Hello, Ekaterina.

  She did not smile back. Her boyfriend, Maks, who was afraid of Marvesky, would beat the hell out of her if he heard about any flirtation with the gangster. And that would end with Marvesky either shooting Maks or beating him to death. Maks was a little fellow who was a clerk in public works and wouldn't stand a chance against the large, muscular Marvesky, who had been a champion weightlifter back in Russia. Maks was cute and she liked him, so the young woman decided any show of defiance toward Marvesky was up to her.

  Her voice was coldly businesslike when she announced, Mr. Akloschenko said you were to go straight in when you arrived.

  Spasebo, Marvesky said, winking again. He stepped through the door and closed it, giving a little wave to Akloschenko. Hello, Chief.

  Hello, Pavel Dimitrovich, Akloschenko said. He shoved the papers he had been studying aside and gave his full attention to his caller. Sit down.

  Thank you, Chief, Marvesky said. It is starting to get cold outside. Winter is just around the corner.

  One season follows the other, Akloschenko remarked. What is going on out there?

  Things look good, Marvesky replied. The Pashtuns are all set to plant in the early spring. I have made arrangements for transport to the new distribution spot in Dusanbe. An excellent warehouse has been obtained there, and we can keep the trucks in storage until needed.

  Prevockodnie! Akloschenko said. They will be protected from the weather.

  It is a sound structure, Marvesky assured him. Parts of it can be heated so there is no danger of the oil or lubrication getting too thick and stiff.

  You have done well on your end, Akloschenko said. Just remember to keep the identity of our customer to yourself.

  Of course, Chief.

  Now I am ready to expand your responsibilities, Akloschenko said. This will include some very sensitive matters.

  Marvesky, expecting this development, nodded. I suppose that will concern Yarkov and his boys, hey?

  Exactly. Tell me, Pavel, what do you think of that fellow Surov who is in Yarkov's gang?

  Marvesky thought for a moment. An ex-officer, as I recall. He held the rank of captain, I believe, when he ended up in prison for embezzling regimental funds to pay off loan sharks and gambling debts in Saint Petersburg.

  Correct, Akloschenko said. Now tell me what you think of Luka Yarkov?

  He is a natural leader, Marvesky said carefully, but not everywhere. In prison his toughness and ruthlessness worked well for h
im. The life inside was primitive and many times a matter of kill or be killed. He excelled in the dangerous existence. No doubt about that.

  You are making a good point, Akloschenko said. But what about outside of prison? How do you think he has conducted himself thus far?

  He is doing quite well up there in Logovishchyeh, Marvesky allowed. His men are both respectful and loyal toward him. He is able to carry out assignments quite efficiently. He was a praporschik a warrant officer in the Army. He thought a moment. He was under a death sentence for killing a soldier. He beat the life out of the guy. I do not recall the dead man's offense, except that it was considered rather trivial.

  It would seem that Yarkov's efficiency goes to hell when he loses his temper, Akloschenko remarked.

  Marvesky knew exactly what his boss was thinking. Perhaps he should be subordinated to Surov. He shook his head. Nyet! That could not happen. Yarkov would have to be eliminated.

  It is early yet before the harvest and all the attending complications, Akloschenko said. But perhaps if you visited Logovishchyeh, you could sort of sound Surov out. You know what I mean; be subtle and try to discover how deep his loyalties are to Yarkov.

  Marvesky smiled. I would think that since Surov was an officer he has resented having to serve a former subordinate. It makes sense that he would prefer to be the boss of that gang. But there is another problem you're not taking under consideration, Chief.