Operation Zulu

by Ernest Dempsey

  “You speak English?” The driver sounded relieved and started to lower his arms. “That’s lucky. We’re supposed to be taking some produce out to the nature preserve for some of the animals. Seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to feed a bunch of wild animals, but hey, it’s a job, right?”

  Achmed nodded, still grinning as he approached the driver. “Yes, yes it is. You have to make a living, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” the driver nodded, oblivious to the danger he was now in. He didn't realize it, but he’d just stepped into the spider’s web.

  “Well, my friend, as you can see, this way is blocked. We’ll have to figure out a different path for you.” He motioned to the snowbank. The men atop it didn’t waver, didn’t crack a smile. They kept their attention on the driver. Weapons pointed at him threateningly.

  “Say, if…um, I’m a friend, would you mind telling your men to lower their weapons. That’s a little unnerving. I take it you guys are freedom fighters in this area. You’ve probably run across some terrorists now and then, huh.”

  “Oh, yes. All the time. It’s a difficult life for us here,” Achmed said, putting on his best act. He wrapped his arm around the driver’s shoulder and guided him toward the snowbank. Then he patted the man on the back. “Very difficult here, but we manage. Soon, we will be blessed with a great and powerful weapon that will help us strike a blow to the heart of the infidels.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you…wait, did you just say the heart of the infidels? Powerful weapon?” By the time he realized the strange man was talking about him and their payload, it was too late.

  Achmed always kept a blade in his right sleeve. With a twist of the wrist, the blade extended into his palm and he swiped the edge across the driver’s throat.

  The pure, white snow was suddenly splattered with dark red as the driver’s neck spewed blood out of the wound. The man grabbed at his throat, but the crimson liquid squirted through his fingers. There would be no stopping the flow. The driver fell to his knees, gurgling. His eyes were wide with terror. Then, his vision began to blur. He grew dizzy. Within seconds, he collapsed onto his side and lost consciousness. In another ten, he was dead, the contents of his arteries now emptied onto the packed powder atop the road.

  Achmed stared down at the dead man. It didn’t bother him, the killing. He believed he was doing holy work. He’d been taught that by Malar Ackbar and his sense of truth and purpose had never been stronger, more resilient.

  Two of his men emerged around the back corner of the truck. They were holding the passenger by the arms and shoved him toward Achmed, even as he was still wiping the blood off his blade.

  “Get your hands off me,” the man said, letting several profane curses loose as he stumbled toward the group’s leader. He skidded to a stop and then forced himself to stand up straight, doing his best to look proud. “Tell your goons to stand down before I teach them a lesson.”

  Achmed snickered. “And what lesson would that be?”

  The man didn’t say anything for a moment as he tried to think of something clever. Nothing came to mind.

  “I will order my men to do as I please.” He took a menacing step toward the American. “You just make sure you manage things on your end. I’d hate to lose a resource such as you.” He twisted his shoulder so that the American could see the dead body of the driver behind him.

  The view elicited no reaction from the man. He may as well have been looking at dead opossum on the road.

  “Don’t threaten me,” he said. “You need me as much as you need anyone. I brought you this. If you screw with me, you’ll never get this back to your precious little base. And there won’t be any future shipments, either.”

  Achmed tilted his head back and absorbed the threat with the same stoic disregard he always did when someone tried to get under his skin, or fake a display of bravado.

  The American pulled his mask down and showed his full face. He was fairly young, probably in his mid to late twenties. There was no fear in his eyes, something that Achmed respected even though he wanted to kill the guy for being so insulting.

  “You kill me. My boss won’t be happy. He’ll cut off any more of these deliveries for all time. Then your precious little war will die. I’m sure, too, a lot of people in Washington and back at Bagram would love to know about your little operation. Would be a shame if some intel were dropped into Major Paige’s lap.”

  Now Achmed could feel the anger coursing through him. He was being insulted, cajoled by this disrespectful American puke. For the moment, however, the man was right. There was nothing Achmed could do—for now. Things changed, though, and he knew that he only had to wait for the right opportunity to teach this brigand some manners.

  “My apologies. Please, forgive me. We are most grateful for your generous gift.” Achmed pressed his hands together and bowed deeply, making a bigger show of it than he needed to.

  “It’s…whatever. Let’s just get this truck down to your base or whatever you call it. Then we’ll come back here, you drop me off, and I’ll radio for help.”

  “Excellent,” Achmed said, still being obsequious. “The base isn’t far from here. We should be there and back within the hour.” He kept the plan forming in his mind to himself. When they returned, it would be simple enough to make it look like the delivery boy had succumbed to an unfortunate accident, one that ripped open a hole in his neck. Maybe it wasn’t perfect. Not that it mattered. It was a near certainty no one would find the body. Avalanches happened frequently up here, as did rock slides. If he were found under a boulder or avalanche debris at the end of the season, it would be a minor blip. Achmed was certain the man’s employer could find someone else, someone more suitable and with less attitude. He’d be doing them all a favor, now that he thought of it.

  Achmed turned to his men on the snowbank and waved. “Clear it off!” he shouted in Arabic. “Clear the road.”

  Then he swirled around and faced the American again. “Come, my friend. My men have another transport truck on the other side of that wall of snow. We’ll take it the rest of the way while they drive your vehicle.”

  The American didn’t seem sure about the suggestion, but he wasn’t in any position to question it. “Sure,” he said. “Fine. What do I call you, anyway? I was told we’d be working with some of Ackbar’s men.”

  “Yes, Malar Ackbar is our general, our leader. I am simply one of his captains. My name is Achmed Naharajar.”

  The American didn’t extend a hand. He merely nodded his head back cockily. “Scott. Scott Brohm. Nice to meet you.”

  17

  Zeke and Phoenix sat in wooden chairs at the front of the big room. It was the largest building in the village, which wasn’t saying much. None of them were more than a few thousand square feet. Most were under a thousand, little more than single room dwellings that provided the bare minimum in shelter from the elements. All of the buildings had running water, though Zeke and Phoenix wondered how they’d figured that part out. They were way off the beaten path, primarily living in a Third World region, where bathrooms and other such modern amenities didn’t have a foothold.

  The plumbing situation was about all they’d utilized from the more advanced parts of civilization.

  Electricity was scant at best, provided by a collection of generators at the far end of the camp. They had, to their credit, set up a small waterwheel generator that produced a low current of electricity to the village, but it was limited, and their primitive storage techniques only allowed enough collection to power the homes at night, and just for a few hours at a time.

  None of that kept the people of the village from showering the two Americans with whatever riches and rewards they could muster. One of the men played something that looked like a homemade guitar, while the rest of the room full of people sang songs. If it hadn’t been so uniquely awesome, it would have been exceedingly awkward.

  Phoenix wasn’t sure how to act with all this attention. Zeke, however, was soaking it in.
He bobbed his head with the music, waved his hand around like a king of the smallest kingdom in the world, begging his citizenry to adore him.

  The people, according to Omar, wanted to throw a celebration for the Americans and their defeat of Malar Ackbar. They were beyond grateful and had treated Zeke and Phoenix like kings, which, of course, made things extremely weird the second Jessica and Gary walked in.

  The two hadn’t had much trouble finding them since there weren’t many villages within walking distance of where the truck had been destroyed.

  “What is going on here?” Jessica asked as she stepped into the living room of the hut. There were easily twenty people packed into a space that was probably only designed to hold half that, maybe less.

  “Jessica!” Zeke threw his hands up into the air. “Boy, are we glad to see you.”

  Phoenix immediately realized the compromising position they were in and stood up at attention, even though he wasn’t in the military. It was an act of guilt and habit.

  “Hey,” Phoenix said. “We didn’t expect you guys to get here—”

  “So soon?” Gary finished for him. He planted his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. It was the look a chastising mother would give her two children for misbehaving.

  Zeke took his lead from Phoenix and jumped up. The rest of the room spun around and looked at the two intruders. A few of the men produced their weapons and aimed them toward the door where Jessica and Gary stood.

  “So, this is what you’re doing? Partying it up with the locals?” Jessica looked furious. “To think I was actually worried about you.”

  Zeke made his way through the crowd. Phoenix put up his hands and told the gunmen that they could stand down, that the people in the doorway were friends, not threats.

  The men lowered their weapons. Disappointed looks adorned their faces. They probably yearned for a chance to show their two heroes what they could do. From the looks of them, it wasn’t much.

  Zeke stopped a few inches from Jessica and smiled. “You were worried about me?”

  She shook her head quickly, too quickly. He was a jerk. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Cute in a goofy way, but a total piece of crap. She’d seen a hundred guys like that. Dating wasn’t really her thing, though she’d done it out of social convention or desperation now and then. Her job didn’t really afford her many opportunities to meet people in a social setting. There were people from work, but that rarely turned out well and usually only made things awkward in the workplace. Still, why was she not backing away from him at this very moment? She should have slapped him for sitting back and enjoying a little worship from these people. She and Gary had thought they were dead for a brief moment.

  “We’re fine,” Phoenix said, joining the group while the hosts of the party watched the four Americans in the doorway. “Although we have a few questions.” His voice filled with suspicion, and more than just a pinch of anger.

  They huddled in the doorway and then realized everyone else in the room was eavesdropping, even if many of them didn’t speak English.

  “Would you all mind if we continued this conversation outside?”

  Everyone nodded, even though most didn’t understand. Omar beamed at the group from nearby.

  “Okay, then,” Zeke said. “Shall we?”

  Before stepping out of the building and back into the cold, Zeke and Phoenix realized they left their outerwear in the hut but figured they’d go back and get it after.

  “Oh, jeez, it’s cold,” Zeke said. He changed his mind about going back later and went back straight away. He returned with his coat and slipped his arms into the sleeves, zipping up quickly to brace himself against the freezing air.

  Phoenix looked at him with scorn. “Seriously?”

  “What?” Zeke returned his glare with a curious expression. He was honestly unaware of what could be bothering his friend.

  “You could’ve picked up my coat while you were in there.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  Phoenix watched him for a moment until he realized that his friend had no intention of going back into the building to retrieve his coat.

  “Fine. Be right back.”

  Phoenix disappeared into the hut and returned a minute later wearing a coat and hat.

  The sun was diving toward the horizon in the west, and with the arrival of dusk, the temperatures began to plummet.

  “Something you want to tell us?” Phoenix asked, staring hard at Jessica.

  “Okay, look, we need to get you two out of here and back to Bagram. We’ll talk on the way.” Her voice was stern and commanding. Zeke and Phoenix, however, had other ideas, and none of them were of going back with her to the base, not yet.

  They realized that all the people from inside the hut were standing in the doorway, listening in on the conversation. Jessica shook her head and motioned for the other three Americans to follow her away from the building.

  “Could we have a little privacy?” Phoenix asked.

  Omar looked crestfallen that he wasn’t able to participate in the deep discussion, but he nodded and closed the door.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Zeke said. “Not until you tell us what’s going on.”

  Jessica glanced around the village. There wasn’t anyone loitering within sight, just a few of the fires smoldered in their pits, trickling streams of smoke into the air.

  “Look,” she said, “something else is going on here.”

  “You think?”

  “Look, I didn’t know about this. You have to believe me.”

  “Believe what?” Phoenix asked. “Because I’ll tell you what it looks like to us. It looks like we were sent on a fake mission.”

  “Okay, first of all, I know this looks bad.”

  “Looks bad?” Zeke jumped in, his head bobbing up and down. The fake smile on his face conveyed his real irritation. “It is bad. Mamar Luba Dakar or whatever his name is looked in the back of the truck, Agent Benson. He said the crates were empty.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You knew?”

  “No,” she corrected herself quickly. “No, I swear. I didn’t know about any of this until last night.” She realized what she had said after it was too late.

  Gary turned to her, his eyes narrow and probing. “You told me that you didn’t know about it until this morning. What do you mean you knew about it last night?”

  Her face turned red, partly from the cold, and partly from realizing she’d been caught out.

  “Wait a minute,” Phoenix said, putting up one hand to halt the conversation. “You knew about this when you sent us out on this mission?”

  “I know it looks bad, but—”

  “It looks like we were just decoys, sent out here to die in the middle of nowhere.” Zeke’s voice rose and he saw the hut’s front door crack open. Omar’s eyes appeared in the gap. “We’re fine, Omar,” Zeke waved and put the fake smile on again. “Just arguing over who’s going to drive.”

  The man nodded naïvely and closed the door again.

  The second it was sealed, Zeke returned to his stormy face. “You sent us out here to die. My only question is, why?”

  “She already knows the answer,” Gary injected. “You two were decoys for something else.”

  “I knew it,” Phoenix said.

  “Seriously?” Zeke asked. “I mean, that’s why we’re here, angry with her right now.” He motioned to Jessica. “Because we figured that we were decoys for some other mission or something.”

  “Right. Yeah, I was just…you know, saying it out loud makes it seem more real.”

  The two turned their attention back to Jessica.

  “I know. Look. I was wrong. Okay. I’m sorry. Major Paige told me last night about the real mission. He said that there is another truck heading to Zulu. That truck is the one with the missiles on it. Yours was full of empty crates.”

  “Thanks, we covered that.”

  “And so you sent us out here to die
,” Zeke added. “Or did you think maybe we would get lucky? You know, I guess it all makes sense. The way the Director rushed us through the process, didn’t give us any additional training, all too eager to send us out on our first field mission. So, now we know he was in on it. Paige was in on it. You were in on it.”

  “Okay, just stop. When Paige told me last night, after you two left, I didn’t know what to do. I’m accustomed to following orders. It’s what I do. I don’t question my superiors or commanding officers. And he pulled rank on me anyway. When I protested the idea, he threatened me. I’m sorry, I was conflicted. I shouldn’t have been. Sometimes we have to ignore orders to do the right thing. That hurts to say it. Following orders is what keeps everything organized, keeps things from flying out of hand.”

  “So, that’s how you justified it?” Zeke shook his head. “Following the rules, going by the book? Sounds like a great excuse.” He turned to the other two. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Or are we allowed to go back to the air base?”

  Phoenix immediately saw where he was going with that question. “Wait a second. You’re not here to kill us, are you? We’re not loose ends are we?”

  Gary suddenly looked worried as well. “Oh, no. And I walked right into her trap. Run, guys. I’ll distract her!”

  Gary stepped between her and the other two, barely providing any barrier. It was like trying to hide from a tank behind a toothpick. He balled up his hands into two frail-looking fists and held them in front of his face.

  “I don’t want to hit a girl, but I’ll do it.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at Zeke and Phoenix. “Why aren’t you guys running?”

  “I’m not here to take them out, Gary. And to answer your question, Zeke, yes we’re heading back to Bagram. Although, I don’t think I will have much to go back to.”

  The men’s faces curled in curiosity.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Zeke asked. He hid his concern behind a veil of disgust.