Pandora's Legion s-1

by Harold Coyle

  “Uh, yessir. Rightyouaresir.”

  Leopole turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Chaman is right on the border, so it’s prime smuggling territory. Major Khan and Dr. Mohammed have developed a plan that I think has possibilities. Khan’s sources indicate that al Qaeda operates around there, playing both sides of the border, and there’s indication of a veterinarian who’s active in the region. So that’s where we’re going.”

  Steve Lee shifted in his seat. “All of us, Colonel?”

  “Ah, no. We can’t have too many foreigners running around so we’ll send part of White Team. But you’ll have Dr. Mohammed and Dr. Padgett-Smith owing to their specialties.”

  Lee nodded his assent. Whether he agreed with the extra baggage was problematical.

  “And there’s one other specialty,” Leopole added. “Major Khan has offered a couple of military mule skinners, since you’ll be packing some bio gear. A few of our local contacts have dropped information that a medical aid team is going to be working the area. Major Khan will bring along an army doctor for realism. We reckon you’ll draw less scrutiny with low-end transportation rather than running up and down the highway with a paramilitary convoy. Besides that, Khan has enough horsepower to handle any suspicious types you may meet.”

  “Roger that.” Lee glanced around at his team, sorting out which operators to take. “Ah, Colonel, what about a quick trip up there to scout the terrain?”

  “Steve, I agree that recon is time well spent, but we’re short on time. With the guides you’ll have, there shouldn’t be any big surprises. I’m told that the uphill climb is fairly easy on this side of the pass but pretty steep on the Afghan side. The scenery is supposed to be spectacular.”

  “Okay, roger the scenery.” Lee grinned at his colleague. “Ah, what about extraction? I mean, if we find something, there’s not much point coming out by mule.”

  “Right. Depending on what turns up, we can send some trucks to your area or we can have at least one helo there in less than an hour. Just keep us informed. I’ll coordinate frequencies and comm schedules with you.”

  After the briefing, Lee waylaid Leopole. “Frank, I’d like to talk about Doc Smith.”

  Leopole had expected some resistance. He folded his arms, nodded his head, and said, “Fire away.”

  Lee glanced over his shoulder. Seeing no one nearby, he said, “Don’t get me wrong. She’s an impressive lady, and I have no doubt about her professional ability. But I gotta wonder what’s the point in taking her along? I mean, if we find something out there, we can secure the area and you could fly her in.”

  “Steve, I understand your position. Hell, I agree with you. But she’s really concerned about pulling her weight. She told me she doesn’t think she’s earning her pay, and unless something turns up pretty soon, she wants to go home.”

  Lee rolled his eyes. Behind the blue orbs an exclamation flashed on his mental screen. Women! “Damn it, she’s like the rest of us. She starts earning her keep when and if we find something. Until then, we’re all just warming our motors at the start line.”

  Leopole shook his head. “Actually, she’s in a different boat than the rest of us. You know she’s not a regular SSI employee. Well, I checked on her status when she told me she’s thinking of going home. Because of her research work in England, she inserted a clause saying she could back out if she’s not needed here. Corin Pilong’s in charge of contracts, and she confirmed what Padgett-Smith said.”

  Lee’s shoulders sagged visibly. “And there’s nobody else.”

  “No lie, GI. We’re buyers in a seller’s market.” Leopole then moved to the next order of business. “Who do you want to take with you?”

  Lee already had his preferences. “I think some of the original Blue Team guys would benefit from being in the field again. So I’m picking Norton on radio with Hendricks and O’Neil. But Bosco and Breezy are a strong team and it makes sense to keep them together.”

  Leopole thought for a moment. “What about Ken Delmore? He could come in handy.”

  “Yeah, he’s strong as two oxes, but he’s just so damn big. He’d probably draw attention.” Lee laughed. “Besides, we have three mules, remember?”

  QUETTA AIRBASE

  Padgett-Smith overheard Terry Keegan’s latest rant. The tone of his voice caught her attention as much as his words: he remained an angry young man.

  Rustam Khan signaled the Brit with his eyebrows. The meaning was clear: Help!

  “Oh, there you are, Major.” CPS winked at the Pakistani behind Keegan’s back.

  Obviously grateful, Khan took the hint. “Ah, Dr. Smith. Yes, I was just…”

  “Looking for Colonel Leopole?”

  “Ah, yes. Quite so. Quite so.” He nodded to the American. “Please excuse me, Mr. Keegan. I, ah, look forward to continuing our conversation.”

  Padgett-Smith folded her arms and regarded the pilot. “I heard part of the… discussion. Perhaps you can explain a few things for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, I’ll try.”

  She shifted her weight and concentrated on Keegan’s face. Rather a nice-looking chap. Frowns too much, though. “I’ve heard about the situation on your border with Mexico. Now, I’ve traveled widely in the States but not much in that area. I take it that the continuing problem is more political than anything else.”

  Keegan nodded vigorously. “That’s correct, Doctor. We could seal the border in a couple of weeks if we wanted to. But the politicians won’t do it.”

  “Well, why ever not? I mean, the threat is obvious, apart from all the economic and cultural concerns…”

  “Well, it’s like this, Doctor. The Democrats want illegals in our country. They talk about Mexicans doing work that Americans won’t, but that’s just a smoke screen. A guest worker program could handle that problem. No, those illegals who get the right papers are eligible to vote — some of them vote anyway — and they nearly always go Democratic. That’s because they know the liberals provide funding and dispensation. On top of that, our constitution says that any child born in the U.S. is automatically a citizen. Even if the mother is there illegally. That’s insane. But it’ll never change.”

  “Then what about the Republicans? Don’t they ever…”

  “No, ma’am. Hardly ever. See, they mess their diapers at the thought of being accused of racism by the Democrats. And the Demos know that, so they use it like a club to beat the Goopers down.”

  “Goopers?”

  Keegan laughed. “Oh, that’s my expression. I sort of made it up. GOP: Grand Old Party. The Republicans.” He shrugged. “Goopers.”

  The Brit shook her head slightly. “I still do not understand, Terry. If the Republicans — your Goopers — have the majority, why do they cater to the illegals and the political opposition? I mean, those people won’t support the party anyway.”

  “I guess you’d have to ask them, ma’am. I’m a former Gooper myself, for a lot of reasons. Probably the biggest, though, is that the Republicans don’t really stand for anything, except election. They want to get along with the Democrats, and the Demos are bent on destroying the country.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

  The aviator shrugged again. “Probably. But it’s also accurate. I think we’re going to end up like Canada. Two cultures in one country, with neither having much use for the other.”

  “You’re referring to the French influence?”

  “Sure. Just substitute Spanish for French. You want to know how absurd it is? At one time on their military aircraft the port side said ‘Canadian Armed Forces.’ The starboard side said ‘Forces Armées Canadiennes.’ I don’t know much, but I know that’s just plain stupid. Even the Canucks finally agreed. Now they just paint ‘Canada’ on their birds.”

  She smiled. “Maybe there’s hope.” Before he could respond, she added, “Terry, because you feel so strongly, have you ever thought of going elsewhere?”

  “Oh, yeah. Lots of times. But where
would I go, Doc?” He thought for a moment. “No offense, but my ancestors were driven out of Ireland in the eighteenth century so they went to New York. But things were pretty bad there. Like, ‘No dogs or Irish.’ A couple of them got killed fighting for the Union in the Civil War, and the others migrated west. Eventually they ended up in California. The only thing that stopped them was the Pacific Ocean.” He almost grinned. “There just isn’t anyplace else. So I’m stuck.”

  “Well, all things considered, there are far worse places.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know. That’s why the rest of the world is moving there.”

  BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

  Much as he loved animals, Ali had a hard time feeling paternal toward goats. He much preferred horses and dogs — even sheep. The Kamori doe he had just inoculated expressed her displeasure with a bleat and a kick to Ali’s left leg. The farmer’s young son released the animal, which scampered across the pen to join her friends. Sometimes the veterinarian wondered if the smelly, messy creatures were worth domesticating. Not that it mattered: the feral variety, capra hircus, was less common these days.

  Ali patted the boy’s shoulder, thanking him for his help. At eleven years old, the youngster looked up at the tall stranger who brought a mysterious kindness to remote farms and settlements — all on behalf of God’s creatures. “I like dogs,” the boy declared. Ali almost laughed; the youngster seemed to share the doctor’s opinion of goats. Seeing an opportunity to spread The Word, Ali replied, “The Book mentions dogs five times; they are our oldest friends. But God said to the horse, ‘Thou shalt cast thine enemies between thy hooves, and thou shalt carry my friends upon thy back.’”

  The boy nodded solemnly, uncertain what to make of the short sermon. Ali decided not to press the matter. Patience in all things, he told himself. In three or four years the youngster might become a candidate for the jihad.

  Ali picked up his kit and walked toward the family home. He knew that, true to Islamic virtue, the boy’s father would offer the hospitality of the house.

  The host poured tea for the veterinarian while the farmer’s wife kept a respectful distance in the kitchen. The father and husband, Shaabani by name, treated his woman more respectfully than some men in the area, but her options did not extend to participating in male discussions.

  “Doctor, your benevolence does you much credit. I cannot offer you more than some grain and a few chickens but please know that my family is grateful. We shall remember you in our prayers of thanksgiving.”

  Ali waved a dismissive hand. “Brother, I am doing God’s work. One does not seek praise for helping His creatures. But I thank you for your prayers — and your chickens.” He smiled over his teacup. The barter system had much to commend it, especially when hard money could draw unwelcome attention.

  Shaabani raised his head. “That reminds me: it is said that other medical volunteers are nearby. It is said that a group of doctors will be in our region this very week.”

  That was exactly the point that Ali had intended to raise with the farmer. “Yes, I have heard the same reports. Do you know anything about my mysterious colleagues? Who sponsors their good work?”

  “One of my neighbors mentioned it. He said that a government program has just begun, traveling to remote areas with pack horses or mules.”

  Ali nodded. “Ah, that makes good sense. They can reach some of the needy without limiting themselves to roads.” In truth, Ali wondered why pack animals were necessary in an age when all-terrain vehicles surely were available to government agencies. He sensed something odd — but what? He made a mental note to pursue his curiosity about the new makers of good works.

  And something more: Kassim’s friend who had offered a son and a nephew in the fight against the Crusaders. It was time to meet them and consider new options.

  QUETTA AIRBASE

  Rustam Khan supervised the outfitting of the small caravan, with an eye toward concealing details that could tip off a competent observer. CPS rated high in that regard.

  “Doctor, your clothing is fine. From a distance of twenty or thirty meters you blend in with the others.” He almost said “with the men.” Studying her face, he concluded, “What you need is a dark complexion — and a mustache.”

  The immunologist managed a chuckle. “Well, Major, I can apply makeup for the former but I shan’t be able to produce the latter in the time allotted. Do you have a mustache laying about?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He emptied his knapsack and produced a theatrical makeup kit. “It’s in here. I will leave it to you to decide whether to use it, Doctor.”

  CPS held the item with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. “I suppose I could manage. How long does it have to stay on?”

  “Perhaps three or four days — no more. You can refresh it from time to time. Oh, and one more thing. Your hands.”

  “My hands?” She held them up, and Khan admired the manicure.

  “If I may say so, Doctor, you have perhaps the loveliest, most feminine hands I have ever seen. Anyone would notice them. So you should wear gloves most of the time.”

  “Well, all right…”

  “Besides, you may want some protection when dealing with the animals.”

  “The mules? What about them?”

  “Oh, you should stay with the beasts of burden with one of the handlers. You are less likely to be noticed.”

  She shook her head. “Why is that?”

  “Many Muslim males have a condescending attitude toward those with menial jobs. Any smugglers or al Qaeda operatives will be more interested in the mules’ cargo than their handlers.” He shrugged eloquently. “You will understand, I’m sure.”

  CPS shot him a frosty smile. “I’m sure.”

  Leopole intervened with another item. “Doctor, you can carry this. It’s lighter than a standard AK-47.”

  He held out a compact assault rifle that resembled the AK-47 she had fired in Britain. Padgett-Smith accepted it, hefting the weight. “It is lighter. And it’s so short!”

  “It’s an AKS-74U, better known as a Krinkov. It fires the 5 .45mm round instead of the standard 7.62. With the stock folded it’s only about twenty inches long and seven pounds loaded. That’s almost three pounds less that you’ll pack around the hills.”

  “Well, I’m sure it’s useful, but I’m familiar with the full-size version that Tony…”

  “Doctor, just trust me on this. I don’t want to insult you, but no woman I’ve ever known can carry a full-size rifle for more than a couple of hours, let alone uphill at high elevation. Besides, the Krinkov works just the same as a 47.”

  “Maybe I should just carry the Browning.”

  “It’s up to you, Doctor. But where you’re going, a rifle is mighty handy. And you can sling it over your shoulder so you don’t have to hold it all the time.”

  “Honestly, Fr… Colonel. I’m not such a weakling, you know.”

  Leopole drew her aside, guiding her by the arm. “Look, Carolyn, like I said, it’s up to you. But women don’t have the upper-body strength to carry a hunk of steel all day. As somebody who’s humped a rifle up a hill or two, I know what I’m talking about.”

  She touched his arm, almost absentmindedly. “I’m not arguing, Frank. It’s just that I have more confidence in the pistol. I’ve shot it more.”

  “Doc… okay, Carolyn.” He leaned closer. “Look, I’ll level with you. I don’t expect you to hit anybody with a rifle you’ve hardly ever fired. But if for some reason you get separated from the others, if you’re seen as a woman, in bandit country…” He let the image dangle in her imagination. “With the shorty you’ll have thirty rounds to keep the bad guys away from you, at longer range.”

  He saw the dawn of recognition in her violet eyes. Finally she said, “You’re very persuasive, Colonel Leopole. Very persuasive, indeed.”

  Leopole inclined in a slight bow. “My compliments, ma’am.” He straightened and whistled at Brezyinski. “Breezy, will you help the doctor get ze
roed?”

  * * *

  At the range Breezy set up a twenty-five-meter target and supervised CPS in zeroing from prone. After the first three rounds she safed the Krinkov and looked up. “It’s so easy to shoot! Far less recoil than before.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Less muzzle flip so you can get back on target easier.” He shielded his hazel eyes against the sun, squinting downrange. The 5 .45mm bullets made damnably small holes at that distance. He grunted to himself — something about eyes over thirty — and produced a compact pair of Steiner binoculars. He scanned the bull’s-eye and found a neat group at eight o’clock, maybe three inches out. “Nice shooting, Doc. Unload and I’ll move the sight.”

  After making the adjustment with the front sight tool, the paratrooper returned the rifle and watched while CPS fired a verifying group. The Steiners came out again. “A tad right but it’s plenty good. You can hold dead on to about two hundred meters, which is more than you’ll ever need.”

  As Padgett-Smith removed her ear plugs Breezy asked, “Do you want a spare magazine?”

  Padgett-Smith hefted the loaded Krinkov and measured its weight against her Browning Hipower. After a moment she shook her head. “I should think that thirty in the rifle and thirteen in the pistol will be ample.”

  Breezy nodded. “Ma’am, if you need forty-three rounds you’re not in a gunfight, you’re in a war!”

  “I suppose I could put some extra magazines on one of the mules.”

  “Yeah… ah, yes, ma’am. But there’s not much point. I mean, if there’s any shooting the mules are gonna head for the far horizon, if you know what I mean. That’s why I’m humping about twelve pounds of 7.62 in loaded mags. One in the rifle, four in my chest pack and six in my ruck.”

  Before she could reply he took the AKS and said, “Lemme show you something.”

  Removing the curved mag, he said, “If you’re in the dark and can’t see your rifle very well, you can still tell if you’re loaded. If there’s no round in the chamber but you want it loaded, drop the mag and feel the top cartridge. Say it’s on the right. Reload, chamber a round, and pull the mag again. If the top round is on the left, you know you’re set. Reload again but remember to pull on the magazine to be sure it’s seated.”