Andy would give himself a few more days of observation, then make his break and return to the SEALs.
.
SEALs BIVOUAC
1400 HOURS
WHEN Frank Gomez got on the Shadowfire radio to call in the medevac for Chad Murchison, Dirk Wallenger asked him to raise Lieutenant Bill Brannigan on the LASH and see if it was alright if he and Eddie Krafton returned to the battlesite with him. With everything down to a dull roar, Brannigan gave his acquiescence, and the two journalists saddled their horses and rode back with the RTO. When they arrived, the duo did a thoroughly comprehensive taping of the scene.
Now, back in the bivouac, they were ready for Wallenger to do his voice-overs for the tapes that Eddie had recorded. Wallenger did his countdown, then launched into his spiel. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is Dirk Wallenger continuing my series 'Somewhere in Afghanistan.' A little more than twenty-four hours ago, a patrol from the SEAL detachment known as Brannigan's Brigands was ambushed by insurgents in the outlying areas of the Pranistay Steppes in northeastern Afghanistan. Although outnumbered, the patrol leader managed to pull his men back to a defensive area and put up a fierce resistance after calling for reinforcements. Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan immediately mustered his hardy SEALs and literally galloped to the rescue. Wallenger paused. Okay, Eddie, cut. This will do for the lead in.
Right, Eddie said. How about the scene of the battle with the dead lying all over the place?
Okay, Wallenger said. He referred to his notes, then continued. Five... Four... three... Two... You see here the scattered bodies of twelve dead insurgents who had attacked the SEAL patrol. An inspection of the corpses revealed these were not Taliban mujahideen, but Tajik bandits who have a history that includes decades of raiding into Afghanistan, murdering and pillaging the small outlying villages. When they decided to take on a patrol of tough U. S. Navy SEALs, they made a bad mistake. Two of the number managed to escape, fleeing before the battle was terminated. There was only one casualty on the American side, and that was a wounded man who was flown out for medical treatment. I am most happy to report that he is expected to make a full recovery from his combat injury. We are not allowed to reveal his name pending notification of next of kin. I can tell you, however, that he was one of the original members of this detachment that was activated as a platoon. Of the sixteen men who made up the new unit, I am sorry to have to tell you that three have been killed in action. There have been other losses, but those numbers have not been made available to me. This is a brief report because the battle fought here was also brief in spite of a dozen deaths and a wounded man. Many of the clashes all over Afghanistan are quick, bloody affairs that do little to advance the overall strategic design of the military commanders. It is these unexpected happenstances that make it so dangerous for our armed forces in this portion of the war on terrorism. This is Dirk Wallenger, somewhere in Afghanistan, wishing you peace in a world gone mad. He dropped his microphone to his side. Cut, Eddie.
Eddie lowered the camera.
Chapter 16
DOLIROD
RESTAURANT
12 NOVEMBER
2130 HOURS
THE invitation to eat out with Pavel Marvesky and Valentin Surov down in the town of Dolirod had surprised Andy Malachenko. He knew the reason for it must be more than simply to make him feel welcome as the new guy on the block. Since Marvesky was the number one rep of the Big Boss Akloschenko, and Surov was part of the leadership under Yarkov, the SEAL figured something big was going on. He joined them in the Mercedes for the trip to town. As usual, the taciturn Andrei Rogorov was the driver. After the others entered the eating establishment, he remained outside, standing watch by the entrance, seemingly immune to the bitter cold.
They found a table right away, settling down to drink from the bottle of vodka that had been served them even before the waiter took their orders. The restaurant was a log building with rough-hewn furniture and a dirt floor covered by sawdust. The other customers were truck drivers and a small assortment of travelers with a couple of locals wrapping up a long day of work with a late meal.
After being served dinners of goat and potato soup along with a large loaf of coarse bread, the trio dug in. Surov was silent, obviously waiting for Marvesky to open the evening's agenda, so Andy waited patiently as he ate. He ripped off a hunk of bread and dipped it into the soup. A couple of minutes of silent munching passed, then Marvesky looked up from his meal, turning his eyes directly on Andy's. Aleksander Ivanovich Akloschenko has grown disenchanted with Yarkov's brand of leadership.
Mmm, was all that Andy said, now knowing that a new chief was in store for the Russian gangsters. He was extremely curious about why they were making him privy to the plot.
The Big Boss wants to put Surov in charge, understand? Marvesky continued.
Sure, Andy responded. But why are you telling me about it?
Because you have no allies among the others, Marvesky explained. Without any close pals, we know you will be a trustworthy comrade in this change of command.
What difference does that make? Andy asked.
Because you are going to kill not only Yarkov, but his loyal follower Igor Tchaikurov, Marvesky announced calmly. It might be difficult to get one of the old sweats to do the job. Hardcore loyalties were made in prison while that bunch rotted there. He chuckled slightly. And some of those fellows are more than a little crazy anyway.
Andy said nothing, but his mind was racing. He fully realized that if he refused to commit the assassinations, he would never return to Logovishchyeh alive. He was trapped in the plot whether he liked it or not.
Now Surov joined the conversation, asking Andy, Any problems with the arrangement, Mikhail Andreovich?
Andy shook his head, deciding to fall into a criminal mind-set. What's in it for me?
A bonus payment, Marvesky said. You can have fourteen thousand Tajik somonis or twenty-two thousand Afghanistan afghanis. Both come to approximately a hundred and forty-five thousand rubles.
Andy did some quick math in his head, noting the amount added up to nearly five thousand American dollars. He frowned and grumbled, I would think the job would be worth twice that, if not three times.
Marvesky's eyes went cold. Aleksander Akloschenko does not bargain over payments. That is what he is offering. Period.
You will also get some miscellaneous bonuses, Surov pointed out. I will be moving into Yarkov's house and you can have mine. He winked. You could get a woman of your own when you leave the barracks.
Or women, Marvesky added, now in better humor.
Count me in, Andy said with a slight grin. How are things going to be set up?
I am going to tell Yarkov that there is a special situation involving the final arrangements for the coming spring's poppy harvest, Marvesky said. He is to take you and Tchaikurov to a spot on Highway Panj at kilometer twentyfive between Dolirod and Khorugh.
Surov explained, Tchaikurov is fanatically loyal to Yarkov. With him there, Yarkov will not be suspicious.
Won't he be mistrustful about me coming along? Andy asked.
Marvesky shook his head. I will inform him that we are going to include some of your Moscow contacts. It will involve large profits that we do not wish to share with the rest of the gang. In order to keep things low-keyed you three will come on horseback rather than driving down to the rendezvous. I will tell Yarkov we wish for things to appear as if you are going out for a recreational ride.
That makes sense, Andy said.
When you reach the meeting place, shoot both immediately, Marvesky continued. Then wait for the Big Boss to show up with me in the Mercedes. When it arrives, get in and you will be driven back up to Logovishchyeh, and Akloschenko will announce the change in command.
Agreed, Andy stated.
Let's drink to it, Surov suggested.
The three stopped eating long enough to raise their glasses in a toast. Andy wasn't as casual about it as he appeared. The SEAL foresaw the poss
ibility of several dangerous eventualities. Not only from Yarkov and Tchaikurov, but from the two men he dined with. They might soothe any hard feelings among the ex-convicts by announcing he had shot Yarkov and Tchaikurov during an argument. The conspirators would then claim they killed him in revenge. Everybody satisfied. Case closed.
.
SEALs BIVOUAC
13 NOVEMBER
0745 HOURS
LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan, Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser, and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins sat on the ground outside the Skipper's hootch, drawing up a resupply request for the next delivery. It was a routine but vital task and a couple of points of priorities had to be gone over. These involved some comfort items, additional blankets, and some extra medications and drugs for Hospital Corpsman Doc Bradley's medicine chest. But finally, with all the ducks put into a proper row, the senior chief was able to take the completed list over to Frank Gomez for transmission back to Shelor Field.
Got a minute? Brannigan asked Cruiser, who started to get to his feet and leave. At least a little time for a cup of coffee?
Sure, Skipper, Cruiser said. This damn cold is seeping down to my bones.
The two officers crawled into the hootch, with Cruiser somewhat curious about the invitation to a coffee klatch. Brannigan retrieved his field stove from its niche, and set a pot of water on to boil. After the passage of some ten minutes, both settled back against the earthen walls with steaming cups of MRE coffee. Brannigan reached inside his field jacket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Cruiser.
What's this?
It's a letter from Lisa, Brannigan replied.
You want me to read it?
Sure.
Cruiser set his cup in the dirt and pulled the missive from the envelope. He read the short but significant letter, then looked up at his commander and friend. I'm sorry, Bill.
Yeah, Brannigan said. I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. Inevitable, know what I mean?
Veronica saw Lisa a few months back at University Towne Centre, Cruiser said. They had a short conversation, but she said nothing about a boyfriend or anything. He paused to pick up his coffee for another sip. How're you doing, buddy?
Kind of sad, Brannigan admitted. Mostly because what we once had is gone. Shit! It happens a million times a day between couples, huh? Especially those who live apart most of the time.
Yeah, Cruiser said. Veronica and I are getting along pretty good. We're both growing weary of this long separation, but no problems are growing out of it.
You two are a strong item, Brannigan said.
Listen, Bill, Cruiser said, when we get back to California, Veronica and I will want you to spend some time with us.
Thanks, Brannigan said. He grinned slightly. Don't worry. I won't make a nuisance of myself.
Cruiser smiled back, then finished his coffee. I've got to get over to the section. I called a team leaders' meeting for zero-eight-thirty. See you later, Bill.
Okay, Brannigan said. He waited for Cruiser to crawl out of the hootch, then reached over to his admin bag to pull out the ammo inventory report that would be due in three days.
.
LOGOVISHCHYEH
YARKOV'S HOUSE
1400 HOURS
LUKA Yarkov and Igor Tchaikurov sat sullenly at the kitchen table, a half-empty vodka bottle between them. Yarkov poured some into a tumbler and downed it all. This is the last for me. I want to be cold sober and alert this evening.
Good idea, Luka Ivanovich, Tchaikurov said. And I will have no more either. He drained his own glass with a couple of swallows.
Zainba and Gabina were leery and worried. The two men were not acting normally, and things were obviously going terribly wrong for some unknown reason. The two Pashtun girls silently withdrew to the back of the house and sat down together to wait and see what was going to happen.
Out in the kitchen, Yarkov sat with both elbows on the table. They are out to get us, Igor Igorovich. We have our backs to the wall.
That bastard Mikhail Molotosky was sent down here from Moscow to kill us, Tchaikurov said.
With Akloschenko behind this, there is no escape for us, Yarkov opined.
Tchaikurov took a deep breath, then let out a sigh. He and Marvesky will pay off the rest of the fellows to back him up. Those ungrateful bastards do not care. Our years in prison together mean nothing to them.
It was strange the way Molotosky suddenly showed up, was it not? Yarkov remarked. One fine day that son of a bitch Marvesky arrives here in the Mercedes and drops him in our laps.
I never liked the fellow from the first time I laid eyes on him, Tchaikurov growled. And now we are told to ride down to the highway for a supersecret meeting because his Moscow pals are going to join in the opium poppy syndicate, hey?
They must think we are stupid! Yarkov exclaimed in fearful anger. That fat bastard is forgetting that prison made us cunning. One develops a strong instinct for survival behind bars.
But what are we to do, Luka Ivanovich? Tchaikurov asked.
What else can we do? Yarkov replied. We will go to the meeting as ordered. But as soon as that Mercedes shows up, we go into action. You shoot Molotosky and I will turn my AKS-74 on the automobile. He was thoughtful for a moment. I must be careful not to damage the engine. We can use it to get as far from here as possible.
But where will we go, Luka Ivanovich?
What difference does it make as long as we put a great deal of distance between ourselves and this place, Yarkov said. We have no choice in this matter other than to stay alive and flee the area. Maybe we could reach one of the Tajik bandit gangs.
They would kill us, Luka Ivanovich, Tchaikurov said.
You are right, Yarkov said. They hate our guts.
I know something better that we might do, Tchaikurov said. We could get up to one of the former Soviet Republics that is in revolt against the Russian government. If we join a winning side, we will be safe.
And if we do not, we will be killed, Yarkov pointed out.
What does that matter? Tchaikurov asked. If we return to Russia they will carry out our executions anyway. That is our only chance.
Yarkov grimaced. We are truly desperate men, Igor Igorovich.
.
SEALs BIVOUAC
1900 HOURS
IT had been a long day for Lieutenant William Brannigan, USN. No matter how busy he was, feelings about his failed marriage taunted him until he was almost driven to distraction. Now he stood at the edge of the bivouac, staring out over the Pranistay Steppes, his mind filled with thoughts of his soon-to-be-ex-wife Lisa. The real hurt of the breakup had finally settled in hard, bringing along a heavy load of regret.
For a brief instant that afternoon he had seriously considered writing her a letter asking for a chance to try to mend their failed relationship. Fantasies of reconciliation floated through his consciousness, but were suddenly dashed by reality. That simply would not happen. She had another man she loved, went to bed with, and she was now looking forward to a new romantic beginning in her life.
Bill.
Brannigan turned to see Dirk Wallenger standing behind him. What can I do for you?
I was wondering if there would be any more excitement forthcoming, the journalist said. I hate to bother you, but I'm here to get stories. But I understand it's the tactical situation that drives things here in the combat area.
Yeah, Brannigan said, glad to turn his mind from his failed marriage. We either wait for orders or for a situation to develop that we must react to. Things have been quiet lately.
Sure, Wallenger said. He sank into silence, recalling that on the first morning in Afghanistan, Cruiser had made a remark about Doc Bradley helping a boy down in South America. The journalist cleared his throat. Ahem. There's something I've been meaning to ask you about. I bumped into a story during an assignment while I was in South America several months back. A group of Brazilian settlers was wiped out down in Bolivia. Much like what happened to the
poor people in the Swati village. In fact, it was that incident that reminded me of the earlier one.
Yeah?
Yeah. American Green Berets were accused of the crime, but nothing came of it, Wallenger said. Do you happen to know anything about it? I thought you might, since you're in the 'business,' if you know what I mean.
I'm afraid I don't.
I interviewed a survivor, Wallenger continued. At least he said he was a survivor. He claimed he was a Brazilian and spoke Portuguese. He had photos of the crime scene he said had been taken by an itinerant priest.
It sounds like an unusual situation, Brannigan commented dryly.
It was, Wallenger agreed. The guy was found dead later after a battle with unknown forces in that same area. He was wearing the uniform of a Fascist revolutionary army. Further investigation showed he was from Portugal and had deserted from the Spanish Foreign Legion.
The memory banks of Brannigan's mind kicked up remembrances of the Gran Chaco area of Bolivia and a mission the Brigands had gone on there. It was their second sortie into combat as a group. The enemy in that instance had been Falangist Fascists who were making a mad bid to begin a revolution that would encompass all of South America. And the Brigands had been horrified by the slaughter of the illegal immigrant Brazilian farmers. It all came to an end in a final showdown at the site of the Fascist base camp. Two of the key men, both renegade Chilean paratroopers, were captured, but they later escaped in what was considered an inside job. Now both were thought to be somewhere in Europe, being hidden by neo-Nazis while waiting to try again.
Combat Alley (2007) Page 16
