Combat Alley (2007)
Page 26
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1645 HOURS
THE entire SEAL detachment was in the foothills of the Kangal Mountains, dismounted with a defensive perimeter formed around their impromptu bivouac. Brannigan ordered a halt to make a transmission to Brigadier General Greg Leroux aboard the USS Combs. Frank Gomez had brought the Shadowfire radio with him, and he raised the floating SFOB to send a SITREP to the cantankerous general.
The news of the victory on the Pranistay Steppes put Leroux in a near euphoric state of mind. All the problems with the poppy harvest and the Taliban had been wrapped up and tied with a bright red ribbon as far as he was concerned. The only thing to do now was to stand fast and let the brass upstairs make some very important strategic and tactical decisions on further steps that had to be made. The Brigands were to stand fast where they were and wait for the general, who would arrive ASAP with the latest poop.
THE Pashtuns back on the steppes were in a state of wait-and-see. The fighting men of the four tribes who had sided with the Russians had been decimated. They and their families were praying and preparing for what could very well be the end of their existence on earth. It appeared as if Allah's paradise would gain an influx of new arrivals in the next couple of hours.
The victorious Yousafzai and Janoon tribes now surrounded the main villages of the Mahsuds and Kharotis. The lesser Bhittanis and Ghilzais were being ignored at the moment. They would get theirs just as soon as the Yousafzai Awalmir Khan and Ghairat, the Janoon war leader, decided the fates of their vanquished enemies.
Fate had decreed one more paroxysm of bloodshed and violence over the expanse of the Pranistay Steppes.
Chapter 26
TEMPORARY SEALs BIVOUAC
KANGAL MOUNTAIN FOOTHILLS
5 DECEMBER
1345 HOURS
THE sudden windchill factor brought the temperature down a good twenty degrees as the rotors' blast of the Navy Super Stallion chopper whipped up a storm of stinging sand particles. Bill Brannigan, Jim Cruiser, and Orlando Taylor bore up under the discomfort as they watched the big machine land. Chinar, the interpreter, would normally have been there, but he had been given special permission to be with his tribesman for the final showdown with their Pashtun enemies.
The pilot eased back on the engine as Brigadier General Greg Leroux jumped from the aircraft down to the ground. He turned and grabbed a rucksack and an M16 rifle from an accommodating crewman. Then two more men joined him, each receiving field gear from the same sailor after unassing the aircraft. The trio swung the loads over their shoulders and walked toward the informal reception committee as the Super Stallion rose back to flying altitude.
Leroux, grinning happily, walked up in long strides with his companions following. He returned the salutes of the naval officers, then offered his hand to each man. How're you boys doing? he asked. He looked around. Good God Almighty! It's fucking wonderful to be back in the field! Then he gestured to his companions. Let me introduce these two guys, who are going to be real important in the days to come. The first is Spencer Caldwell from our vaunted CIA, and his buddy there is Major Firdaus Khumar of Tajik Army Intelligence. Now with those preliminaries taken care of, let's get down to business.
The visitors were escorted back to the bivouac where the four fire teams and headquarters were formed up. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins bawled the order that brought the Brigands to attention.
Knock it off! Leroux yelled. This is no place for that bullshit. Dismiss the formation and tell me where we can drop our fucking gear.
Over there, sir, Dawkins said. That's our command post.
Leroux, without breaking stride, went directly to the spot with his fellow travelers and the SEAL officers hurrying after him. The general spotted the picket line of horses. Look at that, will you? It's a scene from the past. He dropped the rucksack by a campfire while Caldwell and Khumar followed his example. It's colder'n shit out here.
Welcome to the Pranistay Steppes, sir, Brannigan said.
Thanks. Where the hell is Malachenko? Get his ass over here.
The terse command set up a bit of scurrying, and almost immediately Andy Malachenko reported in. He nodded to Caldwell. Nice to see you again, Spence.
Same here, Andy, Caldwell replied. He introduced Khumar, who had been fully informed of the SEAL's undercover mission in Tajikistan.
Leroux was impatient to get things rolling as he spoke to Andy. Do you remember where that Russian town is?
Yes, sir, Andy replied. That's something I ain't likely to forget. He pointed, saying, Northeast, sir. Almost direct.
Alright, Leroux said. That's good. He switched his glance to Brannigan. Here's the skinny, Brannigan. We got permission from the Tajik government to attack and occupy that place. His eyes snapped back to Andy. What's the name of it again?
Logovishchyeh, sir.
Yeah, Leroux said. Logo-whataya-call-it.
It means 'lair' in Russian, Andy explained.
Whatever, Leroux commented. When we get done with the place, the name will mean 'pile of shit.' He reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Listen up, everybody! This is a copy of the map Malachenko had in his AAR when he came back from that undercover assignment. G-Two at Station Bravo sent it over to me. We need to work out an OPORD for the operation. It might be tricky since it looks like we got to penetrate a little deeper into Tajikistan than I want to. We'll have to follow the highway to get to Logo, er, whatever.
Negative, sir, Andy said. I know a more direct route straight up into the mountains. I reconned it while I was there. The Russians don't know about it.
By God, Malachenko, you did a hell of a job, Leroux said. If you were in the Army, I'd promote you right here on the spot. Give you a fucking medal too. How many of them Russkis were there, did you say?
Close to a hundred, sir.
Leroux looked at Brannigan. And how many of them bastards did you kill or wound?
We counted seventy-four, Brannigan answered.
Then that leaves about twenty-six still over there, Leroux said. And you guys number twenty-four as I recall. With the element of surprise, that should give you odds of about three to two.
We can call for Pashtun volunteers if you want to sweeten the advantage, Brannigan said.
No can do, Leroux said. The Tajiks said they didn't want any native folks in on this. They'll only allow you guys into their sovereign territory, and they don't want you to be there very long. That's what Major Khumar is here for.
Brannigan looked at Caldwell. What's the CIA's interest in all this?
Just consider me an interested observer, Caldwell said.
Exactly, Leroux agreed, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a notebook and ballpoint pen. Okay. Let's write up our cunning plans, shall we? You guys sit down.
The three SEALs immediately obeyed, retrieving their own writing implements to take notes. Spencer Caldwell and Major Firdaus Khumar stood off to one side and listened.
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MAHSUD MAIN VILLAGE
THE principal group sitting outside the village was made up of four important persons. The Yousafzai tribe was represented by Awalmir Khan and Shamroz, the tribal clergy. Quajeer, the malik, and Ghairat, the war leader, acted for the Janoons. Behind them in a roughly formed semicircle stood the nearly 300 warriors of both clans. All had their pukhoors pulled tightly around their bodies because of the cold, but their eyes blazed with a fiery hatred.
Mohambar, the elderly malik of the Mahsuds, walked from the village toward the assemblage with two men close behind him. These were both spinzhire; one from the Kharotis and one from the Bhittanis. The Ghilzai tribe had no representation because all their mujahideen had been killed in the fighting at the Janoon village the day before. The three were weaponless as they approached the waiting enemy. When they reached the spot, all fell to the ground, touching their foreheads to the earth. After a moment old Mohambar raised his face to look directly at Awalmir and Quajeer.
Nonwatai! he cried piteously. No
nwatai!
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ARTILLERY IMPACT AREA
TAJIKISTAN
THE driver kept the old Soviet military truck at a low speed, keeping his eye out for unexploded shells that dotted the area. The locale was littered with deadly duds from hundreds of Tajik Army firing exercises carried out with extremely aged and unstable Russian ammunition. Some of it had been created prior to the German invasion of the Soviet Union during World War II.
As the vehicle chugged along, an officer sat beside the driver while six other men were in the back. Three of these were armed soldiers and the others were miserable men with their hands bound behind their backs with plastic strips. The truck continued on its cautious way until they reached a ravine. At that point the squeaky, unreliable brakes were applied and it came to a slow stop. The driver got out and walked around to lower the tailgate while the officer went around the opposite side to the back.
The soldiers jumped to the ground first, followed by two of the men. One stayed aboard the vehicle. He was an extremely fat individual, refusing to budge. A disgusted soldier angrily climbed into the back, and gave him a sharp horizontal butt stroke that slammed into a pudgy arm. The man cried out and scrambled awkwardly over to the edge of the truck. An impatient soldier grabbed him and pulled him out, causing him to fall to the ground.
Aleksander Akloschenko blubbered and begged. Please! Please! I have much money I can give you. Let me go! Please! I can make you rich! All of you!
The other two men, Pavel Marvesky and Andrei Rogorov, waited while the fat man was hauled to his feet, still offering wild bribes. All were marched over to the edge of the ravine and told to face inward and drop to their knees. Akloschenko did not move, continuing to weep loudly while promising great rewards for setting him free. Marvesky was frightened, but controlled himself the best he could. His lips quivered and tears dribbled down his cheeks, as he struggled to keep his dignity. However, Rogorov, the bodyguard/chauffeur, showed no emotion whatsoever. He had known all along what was about to happen after their hands were bound with the plastic bands. Handcuffs would have to be taken off the corpses after execution, but the strips were cheap reliable substitutes that cause no inconvenience after death. They were not biodegradable, and would remain intact for eons after the corpses had decomposed into slush.
Finally Akloschenko was on his knees, still crying out for mercy. The officer made sure a rifleman was stationed behind each prisoner, then kept the incident informal without any ceremony. Rather than utter the proper order, he asked, Baroi chi sabr kard? What are you waiting for?
Triggers were pulled and skulls exploded an instant before two of the corpses tumbled down to the bottom of the gulch. The fat man's body had to be rolled over the side. Then the officer took his pistol and fired down at their heads to administer the coups de grace as custom prescribed. It took him eight shots to make the three hits.
Practice firing on the range was not done often in the Tajik Army.
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LOGOVISHCHYEH
6 DECEMBER
0530 HOURS
THE SEALs, with Leroux, Spencer Caldwell, and Firdaus Khumar, had come up Andy Malachenko's trail the night before. They left the horses back at the bivouac, and made the ascent on foot to maintain noise discipline. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins and Frank Gomez were ordered to stay behind to keep an eye on the animals. Both chaffed under the decision, but that was part of being a headquarters weenie, even in the OA.
The darkness was still prevalent as Brannigan, Leroux, and Andy Malachenko looked down on the settlement from the surrounding higher country. The rest of the detachment was nearby, waiting for the order to deploy for the attack. By then a few lights had begun to appear in windows, showing that the residents were starting their day's activities. Leroux, speaking in a whisper, commented, Those buildings down there seem to be solidly built.
They are, sir, Andy said. One thing Russians can do is good construction. Those places are double-walled with dirt in between for insulation. You can bet those folks are cozy and warm inside.
Suddenly Leroux put his binoculars to his eyes. What the fuck is that? A woman! Are there women down there?
Yes, sir, Andy said. And kids too. Some of those guys had families.
Leroux chuckled. Where did those reprobates go to meet girls?
They kidnapped them during raids onto the Pranistay Steppes, Brannigan explained. The women can never go back to their families because they're considered shameful from having sex with men other than their husbands.
Oh, yeah, Leroux remarked. Those Islamic laws are kind of rough on the womenfolk, aren't they? He continued to scan the area as the daylight increased. I see some kids now. Doing chores, it looks like.
There's no running water, Andy explained. They have to draw it from wells.
Well, guys, Leroux said, returning his binoculars to their case, those females and offspring are an unexpected complication. I want to talk to Spence and his buddy Khumar.
The three edged back, then stood up and walked twentyfive meters down the slope where the rest of the detachment waited. When they arrived, Andy went off to join his fire team while Brannigan and Leroux settled down with the two outsiders. The general informed them of the women and children. He also took his copy of the recently written OPORD and tore it up. I'm not real keen on collateral damages when it comes to noncombatants.
Spencer Caldwell was thoughtful for a moment before speaking. There aren't many survivors among the Russians down there. Maybe a surrender could be negotiated. He looked at Khumar. What about it?
I do not think my government would have any objections to that, the major said. We will no doubt deport them to Russia.
I understand from Andy that several of them would face execution back in their homeland, Brannigan remarked.
Khumar grinned. What's that you Americans say? 'Shit happens'?
Caldwell had another angle on the situation. What will be the final disposition on those women and kids? If you send the women back to their home villages, they will be killed by their male relatives. The kids would be outcasts and probably left to fend for themselves in the wild.
I've been in that situation before, Brannigan said. It happened during our first operation as a detachment. A warlord had forced some women into prostitution and when we liberated them, they faced the same fate. It would have been murder to send them home, so we turned them over to the UN. They have a place where such women and children can be taken as refugees. The females are protected and the kids get some pretty good schooling. The same outfit that took care of that previous case is now on the Pranistay Steppes. I'm sure they'll look after these women and kids from Logovishchyeh.
I'm familiar with who you're talking about, Caldwell said. That would be Dr. Pierre Couchier, would it not?
That's him, Brannigan said.
Well, gentlemen, Leroux said, in that case, I suggest we set up some negotiations with those Russian assholes. He glanced at Khumar. I have a suggestion, Major, since we don't want any disturbances. Don't tell 'em they're gonna be sent home. Give them the impression they'll be interned for a short while, then allowed to settle in Tajikistan.
You mean we lie to them, sir? Khumar asked.
I think that sums it up pretty good, Leroux said. Let's get Malachenko back over here. He's going to have to interpret for us in this mess.
Chapter 27
LOGOVISHCHYEH
SUROV'S QUARTERS
8 DECEMBER
1020 HOURS
THE four Russians Valentin Danielovich Surov, Aleksei Ivanovich Barkyev, Fedor Zakharovich Grabvosky, and Timofei Yosifovich Dagorov sat in a row with the fireplace to their left. Four other men Lieutenant William Brannigan, U. S. Navy; Brigadier General Gregory Leroux, U. S. Army; Spencer Caldwell, CIA; and Major Firdaus Khumar, Tajik Army were arranged similarly, facing the Russians. Petty Officer Second Class Andrei Malachenko stood to their rear to translate for the two American officers. Spencer and Khumar were both fluent in the Ru
ssian language.
Not in attendance, but waiting at the entrance to the settlement, were Brannigan's Brigands and a Tajik police squad. Also nearby, but gathered in the barracks, were a couple of dozen Russian survivors who had been ordered into the building. Twenty Pashtun women and thirty-two children of Pashtun-Russian ethnicity waited in a couple of houses near Surov's residence. All were frightened and expecting the worst from the awful situation that had come to pass.
The spokesman at the meeting was Major Khumar, who acted as an official representative of the Tajik government. Thus, he addressed the small assembly from a position of strength. If, at any time, he felt the talks with the Russians were proving futile, he had the right to order in both the SEALs and the Tajik cops to deal with the situation with extreme prejudice.
No refreshments had been served at the conference, and Khumar opened the affair with an announcement in Russian. The Tajik government has made a magnanimous decision to show all the ex-convicts of the former Soviet military prison extraordinary consideration. If you agree to surrender to the authority of said government, you will be interned for a short period of time while your final disposition is determined.
Andy Malachenko leaned down with his head close to Brannigan and Leroux, whispering what was being said in English.
Khumar continued, Those of you who wish to return to the Russian Federation will be allowed to petition for repatriation.