Operation Zulu

by Ernest Dempsey

  Two innocent and naïve Americans were out there and she needed to find them and bring them back, even if they were idiots, and one was a jerk.

  “Have your gear packed and ready to go in the next two hours. The plane will be here at fifteen-hundred hours. You two need to be on it.”

  He turned and left the room before they could protest further. Not that it would’ve done any good. The guy was set and there was no changing his mind. He was following orders and would do so to the letter of the law.

  Gary looked up at Jessica the second the door closed behind the major.

  “What did he mean by all that, Agent Benson? He said Zeke and Phoenix were decoys, something about real operatives delivering the package?”

  Jessica drew a long breath through her nose and slowly exhaled. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. The moment she’d learned that she was the handler for a couple of decoys, she hoped that nothing would happen to them out in the field. They could have completed their part, showing up at Zulu with their cargo truck and then been transported back to Bagram. They didn’t need to know that their M35 was empty. In fact, it was probably against the rules to tell them. That information would have been on a need-to-know basis, and they didn’t need to know. That’s what Major Paige would have said.

  There was something sinister about his callousness toward their demise, something that felt wrong. They weren’t just pawns; they were people. Maybe they weren’t great people or heroic in any way, but they were eager to do their part for the cause of freedom and for the American way of life. Wasn’t that enough?

  Jessica met Gary’s intense, questioning gaze, and slumped her butt down on the edge of one of the desks in the room. It was time he was brought up to speed.

  She told him about what she’d learned from Major Paige, about how there were two units in Afghanistan, one delivering a truckload of high-tech missiles to a base tucked away in the northeastern corner of the country, the other sent to vaguely the same area, but with a much different cargo.

  Their truck was empty and information about it had been leaked to some of the local terrorist cells in hopes of laying a trap and getting their attention in case they had their sights set on a heist.

  Sure enough, it seemed the higher-ups had good intel on the subject. A group of terrorists had cornered Zeke and Phoenix’s truck and forced them out of it. Then the truck blew, presumably killing everyone in and around it.

  After she’d relayed all the information to Gary, which was probably something she could be dismissed for, she crossed her arms and watched as he considered everything he’d heard.

  “So, we weren’t really spies?” he asked, the same way a small child would ask upon first realizing there was no Santa Claus.

  She shook her head. “Apparently not. I mean, I am. Don’t get that confused. I’m legit.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Are you? I mean, before this, what did you do?”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Fair point. This was my first field mission, too. I’d hoped that if we were successful they would give me more of these kinds of things.”

  “More fake missions?” he asked, eyebrows lowered in judgment.

  “No,” she said, dismissing that notion. “Real ones. When I first took this one, I thought it was real. I only realized the truth last night.”

  “So, you knew this when we sent Zeke and Phoenix out there? You sent them out there to die?”

  “No, I—”

  “Yes, you did.” Gary was incensed now. “You sent my friends out there to die. And for what? So that you can get a promotion, more responsibility, maybe a better pay grade? They’re my friends, Jessica.” He said her name with scathing disgust. “And you sent them to their deaths.”

  “I was just following orders, Gary. Do you know about that? Or maybe you don’t. After all, you’re normally in the IT department. I’m not even sure what you’re doing here. You should be back home, helping people with their emails or something.”

  His eyes burned. There were a million things he wanted to say to her right then, but he kept them inside. It wouldn’t be helpful. And it certainly wouldn’t help find his friends.

  “Look,” she said apologetically, “I’m sorry. That was rude. I shouldn’t have said that. And I shouldn’t have let them go out there on this mission. I should've shut it down before it started. I should have told Major Paige to go jump in a lake the second he revealed the truth to me. I guess I thought the guys could handle it.”

  “Maybe they still can,” Gary said.

  “What do you mean?” A sliver of hope penetrated her guilt.

  Gary stood up and reached back around to the switch on his computer. He turned it on again and the monitor bloomed to life. It took a minute or two before it rebooted and the desktop image returned.

  He didn’t like it when people touched his stuff. Although this computer wasn’t his, it was a tool he received upon arriving. During the mission, it was his to use and he didn’t appreciate the major switching it off, or even touching it at all. It was an invasion of his personal space.

  “What are you doing?” Jessica asked as she watched Gary flip the computer back on and ease back into his chair.

  “Finding our guys,” he answered.

  “Gary, they’re gone. There’s nothing we can do. I’ll see if I can pull some strings back in Washington, but you know how they are about everything. Committees, focus groups, advisors, it could take days before they decide to send out a recovery team.”

  “Recovery?” He shook his head. “No, I’m not giving up yet. This is still a rescue. There’s a chance they got away.”

  He clicked the mouse and zoomed in on images of the events that transpired earlier. Each frame he clicked on didn’t reveal much, except several hazy figures surrounding the cargo vehicle. From the looks of it, they were carrying guns, pointing them at two figures between themselves and the back of the truck.

  Gary enhanced the first images, and it clarified to the point where it was easy to tell Phoenix and Zeke apart from the men trying to apprehend them. Their clothes were drab, not that the terrorists were much better, but the colors were what set the two Americans apart.

  Jessica leaned closer, hovering over Gary as he typed away on the keyboard. Then he clicked the mouse again on another image. This one was down the timeline a few minutes. The explosion had destroyed the truck. It spewed thick, black smoke that thinned to gray as it plumed into the air. Gary clicked on one of the later images and dragged it to the right so that the bottom left corner came into focus.

  “There,” he said, pointing at the screen. “See that?”

  She narrowed her eyes and focused on the area where he was pointing. “It’s two of the men.”

  “It’s our men,” he corrected. “Same clothes as these two guys.” He tapped his finger on the screen where he’d kept the first image. “See? Those are the clothes they had on. They’re running down the mountain.”

  “What’s down there?” she asked.her breath quickening, her heart catching for a second.

  Gary minimized that part of the screen and opened up a new window. He clicked on the map and zoomed in. “I don’t see much,” he said. “There’s no town nearby, at least not for fifty miles or so. There might be a local village somewhere in the valley. If there are terrorists in the area, that means there might be some form of civilization.”

  “And if they’re heading to one of those villages, they could be in trouble. Those people are often loyal to the extremists, or they’re too afraid to stand up to them. We need to get out there and find our guys and bring them back safely.”

  “You know,” Gary said, looking up, “I didn’t think you liked us.”

  “What?” His statement seemed to come out of nowhere.

  “Ever since we met, you’ve given us the cold shoulder. I figured you didn’t like us.”

  “Like has nothing to do with duty,” she said. “I don’t have to like you to appreciate that we’re on the
same team.”

  “I guess.”

  “Hold on a second,” Jessica said. She peered at the screen, focusing on something that poked out in the extreme northeast of the country.

  “What?”

  She reached out her hand and touched the little peninsula. It was a strip of land that jutted out from the main body of Afghanistan, slicing its way between two other countries and inserting itself into a larger one.

  “What are you doing?” Gary asked, his voice trembling slightly with confusion.

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  “What? What, oh-no?”

  “Those missiles…they’re going to Zulu Base.”

  “Yeah…so?”

  “Look at where that base is. I never really examined it before. I mean, I didn’t even know it existed before yesterday.”

  He followed her directions and noted the location of the base, set next to a national wildlife preserve.

  “That patch of land sticks right into western China, doesn’t it?” Gary realized.

  She nodded absently. “Yeah, it does.”

  “What does that mean?” Gary looked up at her with a million questions in his eyes.

  “It means…someone is trying to stir the pot.”

  13

  Finding a village in the valley wasn’t difficult. Without many trees to obstruct the view, spotting the outlines of the buildings was simple enough. There were also fires spewing feeble streams of black and gray smoke into the air that could be seen for miles. There were dozens of mud-brick homes, houses made from locally quarried rocks, and roofs made from thatch. It was a different look than Bagram displayed. Kabul, too, was far removed from this type of place, one that time appears to have forgotten. The larger cities, while certainly in the throes of poverty and corruption, were at least somewhat more modern—the buildings even had electricity and running water connected.

  From the looks of it, this village didn’t have any modern luxuries. And that was perfect for Zeke and Phoenix. As far as they were concerned, going off the grid for a few hours might not be such a bad thing.

  “What are we going to do?” Phoenix asked as they trudged down the last few yards of the hillside before reaching the flat stretch of trail leading into the village. And yes, for the last five or six hundred feet, the snow had all but disappeared, leaving only a few patches here and there, randomly dotting the area. It was still cold, plenty cold for snow, though due to the way the mountains towered above the valley, they blocked some of the wind and prevented most of the snow from settling there, though that could change at any time.

  That part of the country was known for its frigid winters and heavy snowfall. It would appear that the two Americans happened to show up at just the right time, between winter storms.

  “Zeke?” Phoenix spoke up again, trying to get his friend’s attention.

  “What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “Well, you’re going to need to think faster. Especially if these people are friendly to the terrorists we just killed up on the mountain.”

  He pointed a hand at the cluster of people loitering outside one of the huts. They were bundled up in layers of fabric. The cloth seemed haphazardly put together and random, with a strange selection of mismatched colors. Their faces were covered in wraps to keep out the icy blast of the winter wind.

  Zeke and Phoenix were dressed similarly, albeit a little more conservative—donning fewer colors and a greater focus on different shades of brown. As long as they kept their masks on, and the locals would probably think they were from the area. They might even think they were part of Ackbar’s group. That, of course, could backfire if the people didn’t like the extremist.

  “You speak any Arabic?” Zeke asked as they continued toward the outlying buildings.

  “A little,” Phoenix whispered.

  Zeke turned to him in surprise. His wide eyes could be seen behind the dark tint of his sunglasses. “Seriously? Why do you speak Arabic?”

  “Why don’t you?” Phoenix asked. “The world is getting smaller, Zeke. We have to catch up or we’ll be left behind.”

  Phoenix waved at a couple of children who were standing on the edge of the road leading into the village. They were huddled together with what appeared to be their mother, although it was difficult to tell since the woman was bundled up in so many layers.

  One of the kids started to wave, but the mother grabbed his hand and yanked it down. The smile on his face under the mask disappeared and his eyes grew long with disappointment.

  Phoenix nodded at the mother, a gesture he intended to be one of respect, but clearly annoyed or offended her. She ushered the children back into a hut and shut the door hard behind them.

  “You’re a real foreign relations expert,” Zeke groused.

  “Maybe they know we’re Americans,” Phoenix hissed, pulling up the balaclava over his nose a little higher to conceal his skin.

  There was an old man sitting on a chair. The piece of furniture looked like it was made from old tree branches or driftwood, except there were few trees around and definitely no beaches.

  Gathering wood in this area must’ve been difficult for the locals. The winters here were harsh, offering bitter cold and frigid winds that cut through to the bone. Wearing hulking layers of clothing was one way to combat it. The old guy was so bundled up that it almost looked like a pile of dirty laundry had been left on the chair, except for the legs and arms sticking out.

  Other than the few people they’d seen so far, there weren’t many folks out braving the freezing temperatures. It was probably in the lower to mid-thirties here in the valley, which wasn’t nearly as bad as up above, and not cold enough to stop most of the snow from melting. Still, it was not the time of year to just be hanging around on the porch or chatting with friends in the street.

  Sounds came from within some of the huts as the two men made their way down the narrow lane. Pots and pans clanked in one of the homes where white smoke billowed out of a brick and mud chimney. The smell of onions filled the air, along with the aroma of curry and za’atar. Outside another home to their right, a woman was flogging a wad of dough on a stone. When the two Americans made eye contact with her, she lowered her head and ducked back inside the house.

  The door slammed shut behind her. Zeke and Phoenix glanced at each other.

  “Something you said?” Zeke asked.

  Phoenix snorted. He motioned to a group of men sitting around a fire pit at the end of a row of buildings. They were sitting on makeshift benches, made out of roughly hewn planks atop of flattened rocks, or in one case, cinder blocks.

  “Let’s see if those guys will talk to us,” Phoenix said.

  “Oh, sure,” Zeke agreed. “Let’s go over there to the group of eight guys gathered around the fire, staring at us with unwelcoming eyes. I’m sure that will go over well.”

  “And two of them have Kalashnikovs, so, you know, be on your toes.”

  “Yes, thank you for that,” Zeke breathed as they approached, doing his best to lower his tone.

  They drew near the cluster of men and stopped outside their circle. The smoke smelled good, not like the smoke that had poured out of their cargo truck a little earlier. That smelled of burning fuel and everything else that the truck was made of. This was different. It reminded the Americans of camping trips they’d taken when they were younger. Although it was much colder than anywhere else they’d ever been, save for their high school ecology trip. That time, their teacher took six of them on a hike up Mount LeConte in the Smokey Mountains. They’d reached the top, only to realize that the three-sided shelter they’d reserved was buried under eight feet of snow. The group ended up burrowing into the snow like worms and stuffing their sleeping bags into the holes, which ended up providing more insulation than the boys would have ever imagined.

  Funny what memories a campfire could bring back.

  One of the men stood up and held his AK-47 at his waist. It wasn’t pointed at the newcomers, but he did
n’t lower it, either. He held the weapon in such a way so that the two Americans knew what he would do if necessary.

  “Hello,” Phoenix said in Arabic. He gave the traditional greeting and raised one hand. “We’re traveling through here and got lost.”

  “You’re Americans,” said the man holding the gun.

  At that, two more men with guns stood up and stared at them. The looks in their eyes weren’t welcoming. Phoenix and Zeke realized immediately that they were in trouble. Have they crossed some sort of line? What were they thinking? Just being an American in that part of the world could’ve been crossing the line.

  “Yes,” Phoenix nodded. “We are Americans.”

  The man who’d stood up first took a menacing step toward the two. He took in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes darting from one face to the other as he searched the Americans for answers to questions only his mind was asking.

  “What are you doing here?” He turned the gun and pointed the barrel at Zeke, who immediately put up his hands.

  “Whoa, take it easy, Tonto. We’re not here to cause any trouble.”

  “Why are you here?” the man asked in English.

  “Oh, you speak…okay, everyone here speaks English?” Phoenix almost sounded annoyed at the fact, as if all those hours he’d spent learning Arabic were for nothing.

  “Well, we….” Zeke started to offer a lie to explain why they were there, but he knew these guys weren’t going to accept it.

  “Okay, look. I’m gonna level with you. We’re spies.”

  Phoenix turned to his friend. His mouth dropped open. He couldn’t believe Zeke was giving up the goods so easily.

  Zeke returned the look with one of his own, meant to disarm his friend’s concerns.

  “We’re supposed to be here on some secret mission or something, but we lost our truck. A bunch of guys with guns tried to kill us up on the mountain.”

  “Big boom,” the man, apparently the one with the authority to speak for the group, said.