"What about equipment?" Khamami asked. "Surely they could not carry everything they had away with them."
"There was not as much as a single cigarette butt," Malari said. "Not even a thread or button. It seems the entire ridge top has been carefully swept over by some diabolical giant with a huge broom. As Mohammad is the prophet, they must have buried things, but my men cannot find any evidence of it, no matter how hard they search."
"At any rate we don't have the time or need to start digging around here," Khamami said, angered by the situation. The foreigners were indeed a clever enemy. "The only direction they could have gone is west."
"I agree, Amir. The foothills and ravines leading to the western mountain ranges offer excellent concealment."
"Prepare some men for aerial transport out to the foothills ahead of where the enemy must be," Khamami ordered. "Meanwhile I shall dispatch the helicopters to make an aerial search for them. The foreigners are not invisible! We will find where they are eventually."
"Au, Amir!" Malari said, again saluting. "I shall order two platoons to ready themselves for air transportation. They will be waiting when the aircraft return from their scouting mission."
Khamami turned and trotted back to the helicopter to order the aerial reconnaissance to begin. Now there were more than material reasons to destroy this elusive enemy. He had grown to hate them in a cold, calculating way. The warlord was ready to apply his own tactical talent, and the tenacity of his mujahideen, to destroy these maddening foreigners.
.
THE FOOTHILLS
1045 HOURS LOCAL
THE platoon could hear the helicopters long before they made an appearance. Brannigan ordered a halt, then scurried up to the top of the ravine and looked toward the eastern sky. Two dark shapes, flying in a zigzag search pattern, drew closer. It was obvious they were scouting the foothills and surrounding terrain. And the Skipper knew exactly who they were looking for with such painstaking diligence.
"Now hear this!" Brannigan said over the LASH. "Get into the shadows at the side of the ravine. Keep your heads down and don't move!"
He slid down to the ravine floor, heading back to his position between Frank Gomez and Senior Chief Buford Dawkins. The senior chief patted his CAR-15. "D'you think we ought to shoot 'em down if they come in low enough, sir?"
"Negative," Brannigan said. "If they receive fire, they'll radio their positions immediately. I don't want the bastards to have any idea of where we might be. Our best hope is remaining phantoms."
Frank Gomez grinned. "Maybe they'll end up thinking we're figments of their imaginations."
"Not likely," Brannigan said. "I'm sure they've counted their dead and treated their wounded. Imaginary enemies don't inflict casualties." The sound of the chopper engines was much louder by then. "Everybody down!"
The Mi-24s came in cautiously, knowing better than to get too close to where these particular infidels might be concealed. One of their comrades had already paid for that carelessness with his life, the life of his gunner, and a helicopter. The aircraft went past, made a sweeping turn, then came back. After a half dozen runs, they took one final look and headed eastward.
The sound of the engines gradually faded away. Brannigan let fifteen minutes pass, then stood up. "All right, guys. Let's haul ass out of here. Assad and Leibowitz, step out sharply!"
"Aye, sir," the Odd Couple replied simultaneously. The fourteen-man column was once again on the move.
.
TOP OF WEST RIDGE
1185 HOURS LOCAL
WARLORD Khamami and Major Malari watched as the two helicopters came in for a landing. They turned away from the clouds of gritty dust the rotors kicked up, waiting for the engines to be cut.
Captain Mohammed Sheriwal, as the senior pilot, left his aircraft to make a personal report to the warlord. "Amir, we could not find the infidels. The terrain is cut up by numerous ravines and some stands of trees. They had no trouble in remaining concealed from us. But they are out there. There is no doubt of that."
Malari pulled the Soviet Army map from beneath his jacket and knelt down to spread it out. "Show us where you went."
Sheriwal joined him, putting his finger on the topographical chart. "We flew in a search square. I kept us together, since the more sets of eyes we had, the greater the chance of spotting the infidels. We went a hundred and fifty kilometers on both sides of this area."
Khamami stood with his arms crossed on his chest, looking down at the map. "Excellent. I agree with your search pattern, Captain Sheriwal. The enemy would not be so stupid as to wander too far north or south."
"The problem is the loss of our number two aircraft," Sheriwal said. "It cuts our capabilities by a third."
"Yes," Khamami said. "I must get a replacement helicopter as quickly as possible."
"I could go to Kabul," Sheriwal said. "It would not be too difficult to steal an Afghanistan Army aircraft there. A small bribe to a guard would allow easy access. I could fly it straight back here."
"It would do us no good without a third pilot," Khamami pointed out.
"But if we were able to obtain a helicopter, you could hire another, Amir," Sheriwal argued.
Khamami smiled sarcastically. "You have amassed a great deal of money since joining my army, have you not, Captain Sheriwal?"
"Of course, Amir," Sheriwal replied. "I shall be eternally grateful to you for the opportunities you have given me to enrich myself."
"The opium smuggling was the best paying of all your activities, no?"
"Yes, Amir," Sheriwal answered.
"You are a good servant and soldier, Mohammad Sheriwal," Khamami said. "But if you ever withdrew from my presence, I would not trust you to come back."
"I would come back!" Sheriwal said. "I swear, Amir!"
"I am aware of the money you have sent to Switzerland," Khamami said.
Sheriwal swallowed nervously. "But . . . but . . . that is for my old age, Amir."
"Some men are old at thirty-five," Khamami said. Now he knelt down and studied the map for a few moments before looking at Major Malari. "Take careful note of that canyon that is shown far to the west."
Malari looked. "Yes, Amir. I know the place. It is the Wadi Khesta Valley."
"The enemy must pass through it if they are to successfully evade us," Khamami said. "I want two platoons flown to the far end to take up positions. Understood?"
"Au, Amir!"
"Additionally, I want one more platoon between here and that canyon," Khamami said. "That way the enemy will be caught between that one platoon and the two-platoon force: Those devils will have no escape, and the rest of our fighters can join up with the single platoon to crush them."
Malari smiled. "You plan to attack the enemy from two sides, do you not, Amir?"
"You have read my mind like a bazaar magician," Khamami said. "Prepare the platoons for this mission."
Malari got to his feet. "I shall assemble the men immediately, Amir." He picked up the map and refolded it. "Captain Tanizai! Assemble the Third Company. Have them ready to leave here within fifteen minutes!" The order set off a flurry of activity among the mujahideen.
The warlord looked straight into Sheriwal's eyes in a threatening manner. "Did you understand the orders?'
"Au, Amir! " the pilot answered quickly. "I am ready to perform my duties!"
"I always keep my eyes on you, Sheriwal."
"I am pleased, Amir. That way you will truly know of my trustworthiness."
.
THE FOOTHILLS
1600 HOURS LOCAL
BRANNIGAN brought the forced march to a halt. The helicopters were back flying in the vicinity, but were not conducting any searching activities. It became obvious that they were flying to a point ahead of the column and to another location in the rear; landing, then taking off again and flying eastward. After a half hour or so, they would reappear to repeat the process.
Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins had been watching carefully, ma
king mental notations of the goings-on. He hurried down the line to report to the platoon commander.
"Sir," the senior chief said. "I've counted a total of seven lifts by them choppers. They's been five to the front and two to the rear. Seems kinda strange, don't it?"
"Yeah," Brannigan commented dryly. He spoke into the LASH. "Jim. Chief Gunnarson. Front and center." He waited for the two to join him and the senior chief. "Has anybody figured out what's going on with those fucking helicopters?"
Jim Cruiser nodded. "I figure they're landing troops to both our front and rear."
"Give the man a cigar!" Brannigan said. "And there're more to the front than to the rear. That would mean they want to draw us into an escape attempt back in an eastward direction. It would be easier that way since resistance would be lighter, but eventually we'd run into their main force. If we try to avoid both ends and move out of the cover of the ravines for a cross-country run, we'd be caught flat-footed and helpless as a herd of deer facing a wolf pack."
"That'd be some bad shit, sir," the senior chief commented. "Then they'd know they's only fourteen of us. It wouldn't be long afore they was all over us like stink on shit."
"We'd last about as long as that proverbial snowball in hell," Cruiser agreed.
"No fucking doubt about that," Brannigan said bitterly. "So we'll do the unexpected. The platoon will move toward the stronger enemy group until contact is made after dark. That will be the Odd Couple's job. When they've scoped out the enemy position, we'll make a three-pronged attack in the darkness."
"What's the order of battle, sir?" Chief Gunnarson asked.
"The Alphas and Deltas will form up to hit the enemy straight on," Brannigan replied. "Charlie Team will go out of the ravine, then get into position on the right flank. Bravo Team will do the same on the left. When everyone is ready, I'll give the word and we'll make a simultaneous attack. From the number of helicopter flights, I estimate we'll be going against maybe eighty or ninety men. But we'll have three big things in our favor. The first is the element of surprise. The second, and most advantageous, is our night vision capability."
"What's the third advantage we enjoy?" Cruiser asked. "That we are SEALs," Brannigan replied. He pressed the LASH throat mike. "Assad! Leibowitz! Report to me!"
.
2230 HOURS LOCAL
MIKE Assad and Dave Leibowitz were not close enough to see or hear the mujahideen. They became aware of the enemy's proximity through the tingling nerves that come from a strong awareness of imminent danger. These instincts had developed over countless combat patrols and hours spent on point in hostile territory. They glanced at each other, then came to a halt. Mike tapped Dave's shoulder, and pointed to the left. Dave nodded his understanding then waited while his buddy led the way out of the ravine to higher ground.
Their senses sharpened even more when they reached the exposed area. They stepped slowly and deliberately, scanning the immediate vicinity in all directions. It was Dave who sighted the OP first. He grabbed Mike's sleeve and pointed. Mike then led them farther to the left, then turned in slightly past the mujahideen position. When they stopped, they could see the bivouac. Both quickly and silently estimated that there were seventy-five or eighty men down in the ravine. All were either seated or lying down, obviously waiting for some expected event--such as a group of infidels stumbling into them.
Mike and Dave retraced their steps, went back down into the ravine and headed in the direction of the platoon.
.
THE MUJAHIDEEN POSITION
2330 HOURS LOCAL
THE fighters were tired and hungry. Their field rations had been no more than balls of rice, and they'd not even had tea to wash down the meager meals. Only the tepid water in their old Soviet canteens was available to satiate their thirst. Most had been badly unnerved not only by the dangerous, skilled enemy they faced, but also by the bones of Durtami's mujahideen that were scattered across the ridge they had to climb in the dangerous attempts to reach the enemy positions. Some of the men claimed the sound of the wind across the mountains was not from the usual gusts; instead it was the weeping moans of the lost souls of dead Muslims whose flesh had been consumed by jackals and buzzards.
Most of the men slept fitfully, enduring the discomfort of having to lie down on rocks and bumpy ground to slumber. A few were awake, nervous about the unusual chain of events that had brought them to this strange place in the foothills.
These were the ones that heard the slight but sudden sounds of pings and dull thumps.
They didn't realize these were from the seven hand grenades that had just been tossed into their midst. As soon as the detonations began, heavy firing came from the front. This was quickly joined by salvos from the right and left that sent dozens of rounds to sweep through the two mujahideen platoons.
Now Alpha and Delta Teams moved in from the front, raking the prone enemy with automatic fire bursts of three rounds. Bravo and Charlie Teams slid down into the ravine from their attack positions to join their platoon mates.
The entire platoon charged through the position, leaving dead and wounded mujahideen as they rushed out the other side to continue rapidly down the ravine.
Chapter 16
THE FOOTHILLS
28 AUGUST
0630 HOURS LOCAL
LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan had decided there wasn't much to be gained by simply running like a herd of zebra being pursued by lions. As the Brigands continued through the foothills, his mind raced with ideas on how to keep any pursuers not only off balance, but nervous as hell in the bargain. A hesitant enemy was a less dangerous enemy. Unlike the zebras, the SEALs had some pretty sharp fangs of their own.
The skipper considered sending out patrols since that was the normal manner of harassing bad guys. The activity also served to keep tabs on what kind of trouble the sons of bitches were trying to stir up. But he had to keep in mind that the platoon was involved in a vital retrograde movement and they really had to get the hell out of the area as fast as possible. This precluded any possibility of standing still while sending out fire teams to observe or hassle the mujahideen.
Then the solution to the problem of keeping the enemy on edge came to him in a flash. An ambush would serve that purpose just as well if not better.
The art of sneaky deadly ambuscades was the most tried and true means of shocking an enemy ever applied throughout military history. Although harassment was the secondary purpose of ambushes--destruction of the enemy was the primary motive--it would serve the platoon well. A small unit like the Brigands would have a distinct advantage over even a much larger one in a well-planned attack from concealed positions. Most of the time, the unit suffering the assault overestimated the number of attackers and reacted accordingly in subsequent combats. After suffering a bloody ambush, they would conduct their operations in a much more prudent and wary manner.
The only regret Brannigan had was that with only fourteen men, he would be unable to organize a baited trap ambush. If they were a stronger force, the SEALs could use the original ambush as bait to draw in enemy relief forces. These would be hit by one or more harassing ambushes as they rushed to aid their pinned down buddies. The harassing elements did not have to destroy the targets, only delay and disorganize them while inflicting casualties. The tactical situation that developed would dictate the method for breaking contact and melting back into the countryside. But with a little more than a dozen men, this was not going to be feasible.
Brannigan came to the conclusion that in the future if the SEALs were going to be participating in longer in-country missions, the platoons were going to have to be reorganized and beefed up. This would be something to put in his after action report.
.
0845 HOURS LOCAL
WI LD Bill Brannigan kept his thoughts to himself until they reached a perfect site to lay an effective ambush. When he perceived the possibilities of the location, he viewed the area with a ferocious happiness. The ravine narrowed and deepened sl
ightly, with excellent areas of cover and concealment along the top. During a potential ambush, if the victims decided the best course was to charge through the incoming fire, they would be slowed when they tried to crowd themselves through the confined space at the end.
Brannigan spoke into the LASH. "Let's hold it up. Point men report to me."
The SEALs went into a defensive posture, covering all sides as Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz came back from the point and trotted down to where the skipper waited for them.
"Hey, guys," Brannigan said: "I've got a short recon for you. I need to have the top of this ravine around the immediate area checked out. See what's up there. Cover and concealment is what I'm interested in."
"Aye, sir," Dave replied.
Brannigan and Frank Gomez boosted them up so they could climb out of the deep gulley. While the Odd Couple was gone, the Skipper decided to take the opportunity to have a stroll down the platoon column for an informal visual inspection. He visited the Bravos first, finding Senior Chief Buford Dawkins restless as usual. He was standing up while his only companion, Chad Murchison, sat comfortably on the ground with his back resting against the ravine wall. Gutsy Olson, normally a member of Bravo Fire Team, had been sent over to the Charlies, then further dispatched to accompany Joe Miskoski on rear guard.
The senior chief eyed the Skipper somewhat suspiciously. "What've you got on your mind, sir?"
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