by R G Ainslee
Jack waved and yelled, "Allah Akbar." We got away, my disguise worked, or they were too surprised to react.
* * *
A full moon made driving without a headlight possible. On the road, we cruised along below 75 kilometers per hour. A long flat road lay behind us. The beginnings of a string of hills lay in the distance.
"Lights ahead," warned Jack.
"Where?" I had been concentrating on the road directly ahead. Jack kept an eye out for distant problems.
"There it is again, coming out of the hills. Cut off here, we have a wide-open space on the right."
I wheeled off the pavement onto the sand and rock, plowing through roadside brush. I skidded to a halt about 500 yards away from the pavement. A string of lights came closer. We spread a blanket over the bike and kneeled behind the sidecar. From a distance, the bike should resemble a large rock. Moments, later the low roar of a convoy boomed across the desert.
"Any water left?"
I sloshed the Soviet army canteen. "Almost empty. Need a drink?"
"No, save it. We'll try to sneak into a village and hit a well. Sure could use something to eat, they forgot to feed me."
"Remind me never to get captured by the Russians."
"They're almost past, let's go. Stay off the road until we get to the hills. Don't want to get surprised."
I fired-up the Ural and pushed on through the night. Soon an open track came into view. I increased our speed to 50 kilometers per hour. A black rock formation loomed ahead. I pointed directly for them, intending to run between the two largest. The first hint of trouble was odor from a camel dung fire, then a braying donkey. We were about to ride through a camp of nomadic tribesmen.
"Watch out," yelled Jack.
"Okay, I see 'em." I swerved to the left and sped between two black tents and a brush corral full of goats.
Four growling dogs sprang from between the tents. I tried to increase our speed but spun the rear wheel in a patch of sand. The dogs gained on us. One drew close enough to display his fangs and slobber in the moonlight. Jack answered with a shot from the Tokarev. The animal rolled. The others continued unperturbed. I goosed the throttle and sped away. Seconds later, a shot rang out, a second shot, and then we were clear.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I'm hit. Grazed my leg."
"Need to stop?"
"Keep going. Let's get outta here."
* * *
A half hour later, after cleaning Jack's wound with the last of our water, we sat beside the road weighing our chances.
"That was too close for comfort."
Jack retorted, "We're still alive, what more do you want? That was nothing. Get used to it. Daylight will bring a whole new passel of problems."
"Your leg gonna be all right?"
"Had worse." He fingered a hole in the shell of the sidecar. "Shrapnel got me from where it hit the metal. Might have been a different story if the bullet found its mark … must have been a three-oh-three or Mauser.
"Lucky the mutt didn't get closer. A bite would’ve been nasty."
"They're called Kuchi dogs. The nomads use 'em to protect the herd. Hated to waste a round, but I think he got the message. That track must have been a trail for nomads and caravans. Looks like they camped right in the middle of it."
"Tell me more about Suslov. What did he say?"
"He wanted to know who flew the plane. I think he has you pegged for the pilot."
"What did you say?"
Jack glowered at me and growled, "Nothing." Then he relaxed a bit and said, "They didn't have me long enough to… well you know." He took a deep breath and continued, "One thing for sure, he knows we… you have the tape and signal parameters. That was the first thing he asked."
"How would he know? You think someone at the site double-crossed us?"
"Probably. Must have been a leak, or more likely, he beat it out of somebody. Remember, those guys are just techs."
I let the comment slide. What would I have done? I said, "One thing we do know, the signal must be important for them to go to all this trouble. That makes it even more critical for us to get back with the tape. Got a feeling that Marsden is involved. The signal characteristics were an almost dead-on duplicate of the Cochise Project concept. We need the tape to convince the suits at Meade, otherwise it's just more speculation."
"Yeah, I agree we're a high priority target. They don't insert troops into a neighboring country unless something is at stake. It's out of character for them. My guess is they're taking advantage of the Iranian revolution to provide cover for more aggressive activities in the region. The situation is a juicy opportunity to worm their way in a little tighter."
"But look what happened back in Herat. The traditional Afghans resent the hell out of the Russian's involvement."
"You're right. Russian support for the Khalq could backfire and then they would have to make a decision, pull out, or occupy the country."
"From what I've seen it'll go downhill fast. I get the impression the Afghans like to fight. A Soviet move would be a good excuse for jayhad or whatever they call it."
"Jihad, a Moslem holy war. They're definitely playing with fire." He stepped out into the road and surveyed in both directions. The way seemed clear. "Come on we'd better get going, this place is a little too exposed for my tastes. When we get closer to Kandahar, we can find a place to pull off the road and rest a while."
* * *
Jack nudged me. "String of lights ahead."
A military convoy coming from the direction of Kandahar loomed in the distance. Traffic on the road increased in the past hour, apparently the Russians and their Afghan allies were gearing up for the expected counter attack on Herat. I throttled back and searched for a place to hide.
"Hold on." I veered off the road, shot up a ravine, and halted around a bend.
Jack stood in the sidecar. "Can't see the road … this'll give us cover and protection from the wind." We were already feeling the effects of a chilly night breeze. "Let's rest for an hour."
I hustled back down the gulley and kicked dirt over our tracks. On my return, Jack was searching the sidecar.
"Find anything to eat?"
"Nope, cupboards bare. If you're real hungry I can beat the bushes and see if I can stir up a snake or two."
"Forget it."
"Tastes like chicken."
"Don't like chicken either. I'm cold, you got another blanket?"
"You should be warm enough with that sheepskin vest wrapped around you. By the way, how much did you pay for it?"
"Twenty bucks. Why, you want to buy it?"
"No way." Jack wrinkled his nose. "Did you check to make sure it's fully cured?"
"What do you mean?"
"You'll find out if it's not." He reached deep into the sidecar. "Yeah, you're in luck, one Soviet army blanket coming up."
We wrapped up in army blankets and huddled behind the bike to escape the chill. "What's the plan chief?" asked Jack.
"Don't chief me — you're the expert. I don't have a plan."
"That's okay. A plan is only good until the first round is fired." After a few moments of silence, he asked, "Don't you see the irony of it all?"
"Like what?"
"Here you are, a high-tech NSA type reduced to scrambling like any dog-faced soldier out in the middle of nowhere."
"Think I'm getting used to it by now. Anyway, when all else fails, you have to rely on good old fashion low-tech solutions. Speaking of scrambling, wonder how Amadeo’s doing?"
"If they they’re still looking for him, he must be on the loose."
"I feel bad leaving him. What’s John gonna say? He don’t like leaving anybody behind."
"He’ll understand. Besides, we didn’t have a choice. Don’t worry about Amadeo. He can take care of himself, even if he was Air Force."
"Let’s hope so."
"By the way, thanks for not leaving me behind. You did a good job. I'm not sure I could've made it out by myself. You're a
fast learner and better yet, have a natural flair for this sort of stuff."
"Whatever … just don't tell Wilson. I'm ready to settle down and test antennas — and raise a family."
"That's right Daddy. Where you think Lisette is now?
"Don't even want to think about it. I wouldn't be surprised if she's waiting for us in Kandahar."
Jack rolled over and pulled his blanket up, "If she is, I hope Rochelle is with her."
28 ~ Kandahar
Dawn, Monday, 12 February: Road to Kandahar
Just before daybreak, the distinctive thump-thump of a helicopter sounded in the distance. Moments later, it thundered directly over us. We hunkered down, unable to talk, the roar deafening, dust giving cover. It moved on a couple hundred yards. The pilot hovered, rotated a full three-sixty, and then swept down the broad valley, crisscrossing the road, a giant raptor hunting for prey. Silence returned. Minutes later a convoy appeared.
"Think they’re looking for us?"
"No, don’t think so. More likely, the chopper's providing cover for the convoy. We're safe for the moment." Jack eased to his feet, rolled-up the blanket, and tossed it into the sidecar. "It'll be daylight soon and this place will be a death trap. We better get our butts outta here pronto."
"What about the traffic?"
"No choice, we'll have to act like we belong. You ready? — Let's go."
We wheeled the cycle down the gulley to the road. Luckily, a break in traffic occurred. I started the bike, revved the motor, and shot out onto the pavement. The first truck, a Zil-131 towing a trailer, had an Afghan driver. A line of Afghan army vehicles followed.
"Pedal to the metal and don't look up," shouted Jack as we sped past the first truck.
I leaned forward, gave it the gas, and almost popped a wheelie.
"Don't dump us."
I cut back the throttle and shifted uncomfortably. The large truck wheels reflected the light of a full moon. The Ural hummed along at 80 klicks per hour. The road ahead lay open.
The last vehicle flashed by, an open Russian Gaz jeep, driven by an Afghan. A Soviet officer occupied the passenger's seat.
"Don't look back," advised Jack.
I didn't but saw the officer in the rear-view mirror. He leaned out the side, straining to get a better view, but we were long gone, the Ural's speedometer hit ninety.
"Hope they don't have a radio," I said.
"Don't matter, they'll have a road block before we hit town anyway."
Ten klicks later, after passing another convoy, Kandahar came into view. "Pull off the road and head south. We'll circle around and come in off the main highway."
I swung off the pavement and headed cross-country. We sped past mud huts and bare fields towards a gap in the hills. To our dismay, a river blocked our way.
"What now?"
Jack stood in the sidecar, surveyed the situation, and said, "Let's check it out." We dismounted and climbed down the bank. "Not much water. Think you can make it across?"
"No — too rough for the bike. Why don't we follow the bank and find a better place to cross."
Jack agreed, and we climbed back up the bank. Two young boys stood, examining the bike. Jack approached and spoke with them while I checked the area. Finally, he motioned it was time to go.
"What's with the kids?"
"They're out hunting for stray goats. The older kid says there's a bridge down the way. Couldn't tell me the distance. Our only choice is to follow the river-bank until we find the bridge or a place to cross."
* * *
The sun peeked over the ridge across the river offering the first hint of light. We crept along carefully through the rocks and brush until we sighted the bridge, 100 yards away.
Jack said, "Looks like a checkpoint."
"Just one guy, maybe we can bluff him."
"Go for it, let me do the talking."
We approached at a slow speed. The solitary Afghan soldier raised a hand. Jack yelled in Russian. The soldier appeared confused. I pulled up beside him and halted. Jack continued to yell at him in animated agitation. The man answered, Jack switched to Farsi, and the soldier stepped aside. I revved the accelerator, sped across the bridge, and cut a left expecting a shot at any time.
"What did you tell him?"
"Told him I was inspecting the guards and he's in big trouble. Seemed to buy it, he was scared."
A minute later, down the dirt track, Jack nudged my side. "Trouble ahead."
Another bridge loomed ahead where the main road crossed the stream. An obvious checkpoint manned by soldiers with a truck. The river lay to our left and a rocky ridge to our right.
Seconds later, the soldiers noticed our presence and began to wave. Jack said, "Turn around. We'll backtrack and try to go around this hill."
I applied the brakes, twisted the handlebars, goosed the throttle, and spun around. Moments later, we passed the first bridge with no sign of the guard. A village appeared ahead.
"Looks like a gap in the hill just past those huts. Cut a left and we'll swing around and come in from the south."
"What's behind us?" I asked.
He twisted in the sidecar and after a few seconds said, "Nada. Think we're clear."
Past the houses, I left the narrow path and headed cross-country towards another ridge. Before we turned, I halted. Jack stood and looked back. "I see lights, might be the truck. Can't tell. Let's get outta here."
A half hour later, after weaving around a series of tiny walled villages and bare fields, past turbaned shepherds tending sheep, and passing a small camel train loaded with wood, we arrived on Kandahar's southern perimeter. I picked out a well-used path and made our way towards the first mud houses.
"What now?" I asked.
"Take the side streets as far into town you can. We'll have to dump this thing somewhere before we attract too much attention."
* * *
We warily negotiated the backstreets, searching for a way to the city center. Thus far, we only attracted the attention of locals, no police, or army patrols. The only incident: four kids pelted us with rocks at an intersection.
I pulled up at what seemed to be a major street. "What do you think? Looks like a main drag."
"Check out the vehicle to the right at the end of the block." A light green Land Rover sat parked in front of a building with a colorful painted sign in English: Caravan Hotel.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Yeah, let me off. I'll check it out. If it's okay, find a place to dump this thing and meet me at the hotel." Jack bailed out, hurried up the street, and disappeared inside. A few moments later, he stepped out the front door and gave me the thumbs up.
I glanced both ways, traffic was light, and shot across the road down a back street. A few blocks later, I shunted into a narrow way and left the motorcycle with keys in the ignition. Most likely, someone would steal the thing and take it far away.
Not wanting to go directly back to the hotel, I detoured off into a narrow way past locals going about their morning business: women in full chador, turbaned men, and a few ragged children. Kandahar a desert city, the buildings, one-story made of clay and brick, the streets unpaved and dusty. I tried to amble along in a shuffle like the Afghans, only a few bothered to look up. No one seemed astonished to see me.
* * *
The hotel, similar to the establishment in Herat, consisted of a lobby with chairs and tables and a sleeping room with rugs, pillows, and a few rough cotton filled blankets. When I entered, Jack was conversing with two guys, the only hotel guests.
Jack spoke with a deliberate persuasive tone, "If it was me, I'd steer clear of Herat right now. They were fighting in the streets when we left, not a pretty sight. Now, troops are on the way. It can only get worse. If I was you, I'd head back to Kabul and wait it out." I knew what he was up to. Talk them into giving us a ride to Kabul.
The tall guy, a New Zealander headed for Europe and owner of the Land Rover, shook his head. "No way Mate, we've been here
two days and ready to move on. How bad can it be?"
His friend flashed a half-mocking sagacious smile. "Not to worry, these people are always fighting. We're not involved. We believe in peace." He sniffed. "No problem."
Jack didn't bother to answer. There's no arguing with omniscient fools. They seemed intelligent enough, but typical of the sort that likes to think about the world in purely abstract terms. When they substitute their nuanced world model for reality … well, that’s when the train wreck happens.
Thankfully, I’m not clever enough to be that stupid. I shook my head and told them, "Good luck, you're gonna need it," and turned to Jack. "How's your leg?"
He pulled up his right pants leg and examined the wound. "Better clean it up. Don't need to let it get infected." He asked the shorter Kiwi, "You guys have a first aid kit?"
"Right mate, what happened?"
I answered for Jack, "Someone fired a few shots at us between here and Herat. That's the only one that came close. Not to worry, these people are always fighting."
The taller guy dug into his bag and produced a small first aid kit. Jack cleaned the wound and wrapped a clean bandage while they looked on in silence. I could almost hear the gears turn.
Jack finished and handed the bag back. The short guy gazed pensively at the taller one, who announced with a confident air, "We are leaving come morning. The army will protect us." He whirled around and strode outside to the Land Rover. The short guy gave us a worried look and followed.
"What's next? How do you propose to get to Kabul?" I asked.
"I was about to ask you the same — Boss."
"Thanks, how come when it all goes to hell, I'm the boss all of a sudden?"
He didn't have a chance to answer. The front door flew open and a group stormed in — the Australians from Herat: Mike, Jenny, and Nadine.
Jenny, obviously surprised to see me again, called out, "You're alive." She rushed over and stood hands on hips. "How did you get here? We thought you must have been killed during the fighting." She glanced over at Jack, "You too. It was terrible. I thought we were about to die. The—"
