SIkander

by M. Salahuddin Khan

  “That’s an excellent question, young man,” Laing responded with barely a hint of condescension. “If things go according to plan, we’ll take ten days to get you through lesson one.”

  Again, Simon translated as Laing paused for another moment, not asking for more questions but leaving time for someone else to raise his hand or stand up. When no one did, he returned to his presentation.

  “After the first lesson, we’ll proceed to lesson two, focusing on how to operate as an efficient crew with the Stinger. It will last two weeks and consist of the following learning activities:

  “First will be how to detect, interrogate, and identify aircraft. Second, general engagement procedures. Third, methods of engaging aircraft. Fourth, team operations. Fifth, team radio procedures. Sixth, early warning methods. Seventh, relations with fellow combat units supported by the Stinger. Eighth will be mobility and combat loading, and ninth will be system support capabilities.”

  Laing continued, illustrating each of the learning activities of lesson two. The simple visuals helped communicate the points as Simon maintained pace with his translations. Again Laing asked for questions. No one ventured any.

  “All right. Lesson three will be concerned with familiarizing you with training devices. You’ll be using them not only here in training, but also when you return to Afghanistan, to increase your practice time with the Stinger. Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of time to go over the materials during the rest of your stay.

  “Now, when you hear your name, please go over to the man holding up the placard with your group number on it,” explained Laing, pointing to different parts of the hangar and giving the cue to each of the soldiers holding placards to hold them up for all to see.

  “Group One—Fareed Mirza Khan, Ghulam Ahmed Khan, and Akhter Mujahid Malik. Group Two—Irfan Karim Khan, Usman Khan, and Ahmed Ghani. Group Three—Abdul Rahman Khan, Saleem Khan, and Sikander Khan. Group Four—Jamshed Ali, Dilawar Hussain Khan, and Shahid Waheed. Group Five—Massoud Ahmed Khan, Wali Khan, and Hamza Ali Khan.”

  As the names were read out, each of the mujahideen arose and walked over to the SAS officer holding the applicable placard.

  “Andy!” exclaimed Sikander, recognizing the man holding a placard with a large number three painted on it. His companions followed, equally happy to see him after missing him all day. Although he was clearly pleased to see them, he didn’t answer.

  The following ten days were long and grueling. Andy was the main instructor for Abdul Rahman’s group, but in contrast to the cozy relationship with him as Aamir in Laghar Juy, he was no friend when it came to driving them hard and challenging them to avoid mistakes. Anyone could pick up a Stinger and with only a little training fire it toward an enemy aircraft. However, to have a strong chance of success required practice and an intimate knowledge of how the system worked.

  Ten days had passed when lesson one was over. By now, Sikander, Saleem, and Abdul Rahman were able to name all the Stinger’s key components. They knew how to handle the weapon’s grip stock assembly and the secondary missile round, and understood how to attach the battery coolant unit, or BCU. One part of the weapon requiring no consideration was the Identification-Friend-or-Foe (IFF) System, whose role was to emit an interrogation signal to a target and invoke a coded response from it. A correct response meant that the target was a friendly aircraft. In Afghanistan, there was no such thing.

  After each learning activity, there were test questions and only when every man in a group received at least a seventy percent score could that group proceed to the next activity. Sikander scored eighty-five percent, Abdul Rahman likewise. Saleem edged them out at a stellar ninety percent.

  When they were not in intense training, the men were free to roam the camp during breaks or in the evenings. At these times, Sikander loved to go out and take in the air. He couldn’t get over how air could “taste” so different from one part of the world to another and how sweet it could be.

  Applecross had to be one of the most beautiful places on earth. Sure, the Swat and Kaghan valleys, the Karakorams, and the western peaks of the Spin Ghar, were by any measure stunning. But here, in this serene little corner of Scotland, was a place whose beauty didn’t clamor for attention. Instead, with tranquil humility, Applecross made an innocent appeal to be appreciated, and reached more deeply into the human spirit than simply to stir the taste buds of the eyes. The SAS training facility grounds reached up to the water’s edge and Sikander often stood by the chain-link fence at its boundary, to embrace the breeze in the early morning or evening, and gaze out over the peaceful autumn water.

  As the sun rose, the hills across the water about a dozen kilometers away on the islands of Scalpay, Raasay, and Rona were brightly lit, while behind them were the rolling furry mountains at the southern end of Skye. In the evening, the setting sun emitted shafts of orange light through the gaps in those mountains before being masked by them, giving each a heavenly red halo before disappearing only to return the next day. Sikander had no idea of the names of these places, but such obscurity simply added to their enchantment.

  One evening, after a long day in the classroom, he stood at his favorite spot overlooking the islands and hills across the water. Their anonymity provided an ironic parallel. In this nameless paradise, he was learning how to kill people whose names he would never know. They would be trying their best to kill him without knowing who he was. Each would be acting out of reasons only vaguely understood by them, but largely to avoid their own deaths. And it wouldn’t end there. Who knew how many disasters might be spawned by any one of those deaths? Or for that matter, by that same death not occurring?

  As Sikander wrestled with such impossible questions in the full grip of the slowly shifting light of the vista before him, a voice called out from behind.

  “Peaceful, isn’t it?”

  Sikander turned. “Irfan. Assalaamu ‘alaykum.” He returned to the scene, anxious not to miss even a moment of its captivating mystery.

  “Wa ‘alaykum assalaam, Sikander. The soldiers have arranged for a volleyball net so that we can get some exercise after all these classroom lessons. I’d like to play on your side…if you’re interested in playing, that is,” offered Irfan tentatively.

  Without turning, Sikander lowered his gaze. He recalled the last time he had played volleyball. It was at school. He had argued with the referee, and was dismissed for “failing to appreciate why the game was being played.” He turned to Irfan. “Of course.”

  Irfan beamed.

  Recollections of school soon gave way to thoughts of home. “Missing your family back home like I am, Irfan?” Sikander asked casually.

  Irfan sidled up to the fence, considered the question, and staring at the shimmering water beyond the fence he replied, “Sikander I uh…I only have Usman, who’s here with me. My parent, two brothers, and sister were killed in 1982.” Irfan smiled weakly. Resigned to his powerlessness over a fate that had thus shaped his young character, he simply shrugged and uttered, “Helicopter attack.”

  “Irfan I…I’m sorry.” Sikander realized the indelicacy inherent in any casually presumptive reference to family with a fellow mujahid. How could he have been so insensitive to the probability of lost loved ones, after so many years of war? He continued apologizing. Irfan continued insisting it was unnecessary.

  The volleyball net was erected inside the main hangar where the full group briefings normally took place. It was a helpful release to be able to play, and soon, the visitors had mastered the rules but more importantly, the game. Two teams were established, each consisting of six men, and as three of the mujahideen were not interested in playing, the numbers worked out. Irfan and Sikander turned out to be the strongest players and were soon forced to play on opposite sides despite their clear enjoyment at being able to trounce their opponents when playing together. As lesson two continued for two more weeks, the bond between Sikander, Saleem, and Abdul Rahman grew stronger as did their collective attachments to Irfa
n, Usman, and Ahmed Ghani, who was an extremely quiet and shy individual. However, between Sikander and Irfan, a special friendship had begun to flourish.

  Early on in training, the young men from Laghar Juy were inclined to blame each other for any shortcomings, especially as the group could not progress to the next learning activity until everyone scored above seventy percent on the prevailing activity. Sikander edged ahead of Saleem in accumulated scores during lesson two, while the latter remained significantly ahead of Abdul Rahman. Eventually they each came to understand that taking responsibility meant collectively accepting the blame for mistakes as much as the credit for success. They also learned how to act reliably and instinctively through the surprisingly many steps needed to ready a weapon or reload a missile round and fire it accurately for an effective hit.

  Nowhere was the need for teamwork more demanding than in recognizing, interrogating, and aiming at a target. Using a Stinger was a two-person task and the training had to ensure that any of a group’s three possible pairings could work effectively. Three and a half weeks into their training, lesson two was over.

  Lesson three, a short two days, directed their focus on full hands-on experience, involving working with practice missile launchers and missile rounds. They had to pay special attention to the numerous precautions and safety features that the Stinger incorporated, without which it would either fail to operate or be lethal to the wrong people.

  With the lessons complete, the mujahideen were reassembled in the hangar where Captain Laing was ready to describe what awaited them.

  “Fellow mujahideen, we’ve been here for over three weeks and you’ve trained long and hard in the classroom and, more recently, with your practice equipment. You’ve learned how to work reliably and quickly. That’s what you’ll need to do when you use these weapons in earnest against a real foe. Now there’s going to be one final test. We’re going to ask the top two scoring pairs from each of the five groups to fire a live missile. We’ll take you by helicopter into the mountains where a firing range has been set up. Here are the firing pairs.”

  When he reached group three, Laing pronounced, “Group Three, pair one, Sikander Khan and Abdul Rahman Khan, and pair two—Saleem Khan and Sikander Khan.” When all pairs had been named, Laing concluded the announcement. Thrilled to be in two live firing sessions, Sikander tried to keep his demeanor to a dignified modesty under back slapping congratulations from both Abdul Rahman and Saleem.

  Captain Laing went on to describe the procedure in more detail but finished with a surprise. “Everyone, you’ve spent almost a month inside this camp and you must be feeling…well, like prisoners!” Laing emitted a nervous chuckle. “It’s not our intention to treat you that way, and we know you understand the requirement for secrecy. However, we’ve obtained permission to take you on a bus tour of these remarkably beautiful islands tomorrow. It’s an excellent time of year to appreciate the scenery.

  “We’ll take food with us from the camp and won’t stop in any shops or village communities. To avoid suspicion, we’re going to ask you to wear British Army uniforms. Now, uh, most of you have long beards, and they’re generally longer than we give permission for in Her Majesty’s armed forces. We’re therefore asking you to…to trim your beards. Not to shave them off, mind you. Just to keep them to a few centimeters. We’ve inquired of religious experts in Sunni Islam who say this is acceptable. If any of you still feel you don’t wish to do this, of course, we’ll understand and respect that, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to come with us.”

  Simon translated but his own independent hesitations reflected those of Laing. Sikander had learned by now that Simon was more than simply a speaker of Pashto. Having familiarized himself with the many nuances of Pashtun and Muslim life, Simon had sensitized his captain on the question of the beards when making the case for the road trip. Even so, as he translated the part about cutting beards, a rumbling began to emerge from the seated mujahideen. Mere translation of Laing’s words wasn’t going to do the trick. He paused for a moment, glanced at Laing and again at the audience. And then, Simon did something remarkable.

  He began to describe many hadiths and the rulings of the eighth-century Imam Abu Hanifa, who had declared that trimming of a beard from the sides, while leaving the end to be at least a fist size in length, was acceptable. Needless to say, many in the room were taken aback by Simon’s grasp of the subject. It added to their growing realization that truly dedicated and special people were assisting them.

  Those with the problem beards who wanted to go were directed to one of the mujahideen to do the trimming. In the end, twelve men had adequately trimmed or originally short enough beards to take the trip.

  That evening Andy came over to see his three friends. He wanted to revisit the preparation necessary to complete the firing range practice successfully. Only when he was satisfied that his protégés would do him proud did he leave the cabin, offering a parting acknowledgment of the following day’s trip and declaring that he was looking forward to it.

  The bus arrived at seven the next morning and twelve “plausibly British” soldiers, with Andy and Simon as chaperones, climbed aboard. With short drapes initially drawn over each window, the bus departed. The tour was extensive, beginning with a drive north along the coast of the Applecross Peninsula, then southeast over the hills toward Tornapress along the Bealach na Ba or “Pass of the Cattle”—in parts, one of the steepest roads in the U.K. En route to Tornapress, Simon and Andy drew back the drapes.

  At Tornapress, the bus passed through Strathcarron and on to Auchtertyre, where they joined the much faster A87 road to get across to the island of Skye from Kyle of Lochalsh. Not long after the crossing, the bus drove past Broadford airfield, which Sikander thought he recognized from the prominent but simple building that he had seen near one end of the runway after landing that first night in Scotland.

  The rest of the trip took them around Skye, remaining on the A87 until reaching the tiny village of Borve. This was the northernmost point of the trip and was where they stopped just outside the village, to absorb the views and take their lunch. The road became once again a little narrower but prettier as the bus took the western route around the island to rejoin the A87 at the southern end of Loch Sligachan. At this time, the sun was past its zenith and even though October was already over, the weather was spectacular. The mountains to the south of the road rose sharply to their highest point on Skye and presented a beautiful backdrop to the rolling green landscape on the other side of the road.

  Whatever happened, Sikander determined, he would do everything in his power to come back to this heaven on earth, assuming he could ever discover where it was. He tried to memorize some of the place names from the road signs he saw along the route, but they were numerous and not easily pronounced by a young Pathan from Peshawar.

  After the day of respite came a flood of energy to resume their training. Immediately after fajr the following morning, the mujahideen were ready for the final test—the live firing of a Stinger. No time was lost in getting them airlifted by Chinook to the mountains southeast of the camp. But for the weather and flora, the terrain was about as perfect a replica of the Afghan hills as could be realized in Scotland.

  The layout of the range suggested elaborate planning and setup. Captain Laing took the official role of the officer in charge, or OIC, with several others to assist him. There was a safety officer, a range firing officer, and an ammunition officer to ensure delivery and safe storage of all weapons. Five weapons rounds and five additional missile rounds had been delivered, along with five dummy rounds and all necessary accessories.

  Also stationed at this location was the target detail officer, responsible for the target launch and control area from which remotely controlled targets were to be flown.

  At the front of the range, five evenly spaced firing stations had been prepared, from which missiles firings would be taking place. Behind each was a tracking station to track both targets and missiles an
d report on performance. Behind them was a tower from which the OIC could monitor the entire proceedings.

  Sikander and Abdul Rahman were asked to go to the third firing station to join Andy, who awaited them. Each non-firing trainee was asked to stand in the corresponding tracking station, from where he could practice tracking the same target that was being fired upon by his colleagues up ahead.

  To Sikander and Abdul Rahman’s left were Irfan and Usman, both eager to demonstrate their new skills. To their right were Shahid and Dilawar. Each two-man team would have to acquire, interrogate, recognize, track, and shoot down a radio controlled one-sixth scale target. At almost a kilometer, the model presented the same target acquisition challenge as a jet fighter six kilometers away doing almost 650 kilometers per hour. Once the target was acquired and the missile launched, everything was down to the missile’s guidance system, beyond any reach of the gunner’s skill. The exercise further entailed demonstrating proficiency in removing a spent missile tube and readying a fresh missile round for the next firing. The second pair in the team was then to fire the second missile before removing its spent tube and readying the weapon once again, but in that case with a dummy missile round, thereby concluding the test. All the grading factors associated with prior training tests were applicable on this occasion, which itself was to be separately graded.

  The tests began in earnest with each group going in sequence. Group three’s turn came. As the firing coach, Andy called out “Activate!” Sikander screwed in a BCU, slid forward the safety actuator switch and latched it down. He instinctively recalled the steps, tracking his target in a sweeping but steady arc, and with his left forefinger depressed the uncage switch while his right forefinger hovered over the fire trigger.

  Once there was positive confirmation for “Weapons Free!” called out by the firing coach, based on the OIC’s clearance, all discretion was in Sikander’s hands. The BCU’s high-pressure argon gas quickly cooled down the device’s infrared sensor, making it possible for the guidance system to draw a contrast between the sensor’s temperature and the natural heat given off by the target. Sure enough, in a few seconds the system emitted the target-acquisition tone, prompting Sikander to squeeze the trigger.