Khost

by Vincent Hobbes

  “Whom,” the man corrected.

  “What?”

  “It’s whom, not who. And I don’t know who he is yet. Haven’t met him, but I’ll let ya know when I do.”

  “General Kline will have your ass. I’ll let you go for now, but only because you have security clearance. But I promise you, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.” The Major stared in disbelief. He’d never been spoken to by anyone in such a manner, especially on base. He contemplated what to do, but the fear of this man’s possible connections could land him in trouble, so he refrained. The Major would report it to General Kline immediately. That is, once he washed his hands. Surely, the General would put this man up on charges.

  By the time he snapped from his thoughts, the man was already walking past. As he did, he said, “Time to go now. Been nice talking with you Major Pecker. We’ll catch up soon, I hope.”

  “We most certainly will, Jason.”

  “Jacob,” the man corrected, continuing past. He walked as if on a morning stroll, enjoying a gentle breeze as he gazed at the tarmac to his right and the hangers to his left. He whistled a song, quite happy in his element.

  The Major turned, red-faced and embarrassed. He started toward the command center, to speak with General Kline. But before doing so, he stopped, seeing a small cluster of soldiers, huddled and laughing.

  “There will be hell to pay,” the Major muttered to himself, marching briskly in their direction. “Hell to pay!”

  40

  General Kline closed the door after Elizabeth left. He walked back to his desk, sitting down with a sigh. He rolled his eyes, saying to the Marine, “That woman is something else.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Colonel Reynolds said.

  “She always this way?” Kline asked.

  “Don’t know. Just met her a few days ago,” Reynolds replied. “She would have made a good Marine.”

  “Maybe so. I guess whoever put her in charge knows best.”

  “I’d think so. My sources tell me she’s a go-getter. Pretty important, too.”

  “Any clue who she answers to, or none of my business?”

  “No clue, really. But I do know this: The director of the CIA, the NSA, and the Secretary of Defense know her on a first name basis. From what I’ve heard, they’d go down on a donkey to keep her happy.”

  “Shit!” Kline said, grinning and shaking his head. “Figures. And just when I thought most the bureaucrats had left.”

  “She’s much more than that, General.”

  “Well, either way, I’ve known a lot of women, but that gal takes the cake.”

  “Ha! Sure does,” Reynolds said, chuckling. “Now, earlier you offered a drink . . .”

  “Sure thing. Water, juice? A soda?”

  “Perhaps something a bit stronger,” Reynolds suggested. He sat back in his chair, combing back his gray hair, smile on his face.

  “Now you’re talking,” Kline said. He pushed a buzzer, speaking into a phone. Within minutes, a frumpy woman entered the room. She was flustered, her hair ragged, her fat rolls making her shirt seem un-tucked.

  “Here’s your bourbon, General Kline,” the woman, Private Colleen Anderson, stated. “And here’s two glasses.”

  “Thank you, Private.”

  “Would you gentlemen care for ice? A mixer?”

  Kline looked to Reynolds, who shook his head.

  “No, Private Anderson. That’ll be all.”

  The woman left the room briskly, waddling across and closing the door softly.

  Kline poured the shot glasses full, looking up as the woman’s large rear disappeared, saying, “I swear, they give me complete buffoons.” Kline handed the drink over the desk, saying, “Nothing to chase it with?”

  “I’m a Marine,” Reynolds replied.

  “Fair enough,” Kline said, pouring his own only half full. He raised his glass in the air, saying, “To the Marines.” It was a gesture of good-will, for this man was not only a legend, but seemed gracious and understanding. Kline expected a counter toast to honor the Army.

  “To the Marines,” Reynolds replied. He put the glass to his mouth, downing the large shot in a single swallow. “It’s pretty good. Real smooth.”

  Kline took a sip of his own, saying, “The perks of being a general, I suppose. Now, what base did you come from?”

  “Ah, somewhere a bit farther north. Near the Russian border.”

  “And you’re the commander there last I heard, correct?”

  “I am. Been battalion commander there for about four years now. Yourself?”

  “I’ve moved around. Been in Khost two years. Wasn’t too bad in the beginning, but things have gotten hot. Especially lately.”

  “I read your file,” Reynolds said, extending his glass, Kline refilling it. “From the reports, looks like you’re running a good show, General,” he complimented. “Once we’re done here, we’ll get out of your hair and let you keep up the good work.”

  Kline nodded, saying, “I appreciate that, Colonel. Coming from you, that’s quite kind. I’ve heard of you, your reputation. I might be a military elitist, a snob at times, but I don’t have beef with the Marines like others do. I don’t buy into that pissing contest. I respect the Marines. Shit, your boys have saved my Rangers a few times even.”

  “That’s good to know. Our differences shouldn’t matter. We’re in this fight together.”

  “We see eye to eye, then. Good. And seriously, I’m impressed with your accomplishments. Your boys kick some ass. Nice to have Marines on base, even if the Major doesn’t always appreciate them. I’ll say this, I have a few under my command, and they’re good at their job. It’s the Air Force boys who are lazy. Laziest I’ve ever seen. But your boys, they’re good. Real good soldiers,” Kline complimented, attempting to kiss the man’s ass.

  “Marines,” Reynolds corrected.

  “Pardon?”

  “They’re Marines, not soldiers.”

  “Right,” Kline acknowledged. “Anyway, they do very well. They serve under Major Becker. They do a good job of keeping our border secure.”

  “How many do you have here?

  “Oh, I . . .” Kline hesitated, shifting through papers as if he had it somewhere.

  “Forty-eight,” Reynolds answered for him.

  “Yes, that’s right. It gets overwhelming, as I’m sure you can imagine. Leading hundreds of men is a full time job.”

  “It is. What’s their patrol schedule?”

  “Two teams of eight every twelve hours.”

  “They ever go out on patrol?”

  “Never, Colonel. They’re tasked to guard the entrance. Farthest they get is a few hundred meters.”

  Reynolds scowled at this, saying nothing.

  Kline cleared his throat, attempting to avert the subject. He’d been under scrutiny lately for not being aggressive enough.

  “You’ve had a successful career. You’re not a desk jockey, like me. You like to get your hands dirty.”

  The Marine merely nodded.

  “Humble, too. You’ve no doubt served in combat. I can’t say the same for myself,” Kline said, embarrassed.

  “I’ve served. Started as an enlisted man. Only later did I attend officer’s school. Worked my way up, but still appreciate a good fight. Figure if I’m to order my men in, I should have done the same.”

  Kline raised an eyebrow. “Ah, that’s wise. You garner your men’s respect. Few officers go that route. I’m sure your men respect you.”

  “Figured I’d need to know a sergeant’s job firsthand before giving one orders myself. I was a Major during the Gulf War, a few other things not made public, too. Made Colonel and requested to be sent to Afghanistan once this mess began.”

  “You requested it, eh?”

  “It’s my job,” the Marine said frankly. “Until we accomplish a victory, I’ll remain. Or at least until we’re ordered out. If my boys are here, so am I.”

  “You think that’ll ever happen?” Kl
ine asked, genuinely curious. “Think we’ll win this war?”

  “No. We’ll be here forever,” Reynolds admitted.

  “I’m afraid you’re right. Well, maybe we can get the job done. With your Marines and my Rangers, we’re doing okay. But what I don’t understand is this: You’re a Colonel, young one too. You lead a battalion, but for some reason, you’re here. Why is this, Colonel, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Few reasons, I suppose,” the Colonel said. He had a certain drawl in his voice, though Kline couldn’t place it. “I was Force Recon, Scout Sniper, all those fun things. My background is to dig a hole and kill from a distance. I even worked for the DOD on a few occasions, a few black ops projects. Guess they needed my experience on this one. But then again, it’s anybody’s guess as to why I’m here,” Reynolds told.

  “No offense, but isn’t this situation Army business?”

  “Not any more. CIA took over. Special Activities Division. And like the woman said, Elizabeth is in charge.”

  Kline nodded, trying to accept it, trying to understand it. He was quiet for a moment, deciding to change the subject. He was fascinated with the man before him. He’d met many Marines, but this one was a big shot. A legend. Kline finally spoke, slowly sipping on his drink, saying, “I read you placed two times in the thousand yard competition. That’s impressive.”

  “Three times, actually. I came in third the first two times. Second last year. Missed it by a few millimeters,” Reynolds said.

  “Second is good.”

  “Second isn’t first.”

  “Who beat you?”

  “Guy named Swagger.”

  “Not sure if I know the name. A Marine?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Reynolds said with a grin. “Gunnery Sergeant, retired now, but damn can he shoot. Did some time in ’Nam.”

  “I see,” Kline said, nodding. “I even hear you go out on patrol from time to time. That true?”

  “Sure is.”

  “They allow that?”

  “Well, I have a few excuses to get me off base. Besides, there’s nobody really there to tell me what to do, and of course I don’t tell them. Though I’m sure they know,” Reynolds chuckled. “Sometimes a Colonel needs to travel. Ya know, to meet with the locals? Inspect some of our other bases. Stuff like that.”

  “You could always fly.”

  “That takes the fun out of it. Hard to get into a fight when I’m in the air.”

  “So you like it? Combat?”

  “Sure. It’s nice to get some action. I’m still a Marine,” Reynolds said.

  “Well, I guess that’s why you’re here. Now, I’ll let you in on something. No offense, but I can’t understand why they’d put a Marine Colonel in charge of Delta, but they must have their reasons. These guys, they’re different. They’re not disciplined like your Marines, or my Rangers. Sure, they can fight, but they don’t care much for formalities, for the rules. They grow their hair long, grow beards, don’t press their shirts. Even had a Sergeant, Comstock is his name—he told me to fuck off the other day. Pissed me off, but my superiors don’t seem to care,” Kline complained.

  “Ha!” Reynolds chuckled. “They’re Tier One, so I guess there’s not much you can do.”

  “They’re rogues, Colonel. Cowboys with few rules. At least McClain had ’em under a tight grip, somewhat under control. But he’s gone, and this new group is . . . different.”

  “How so?”

  “Extreme. Wild. They fuck off and eat whatever the fuck they want. Then, sometimes at night, they’ll go on what they call patrol. Even though I’ve ordered them to stay on base, doesn’t matter. They just sneak off.”

  “That’s common for guys in The Unit.”

  “In shorts and t-shirts?”

  “Ha! Whatever is comfortable, I guess.”

  “They come and go as they please, sometimes they don’t even exit our gates. Think they climb fences just to piss me off.”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “Sergeant Dale Comstock. Late thirties, maybe. A hard-ass. Keeps his unit in line, but then again, that’s not saying much. They listen to him, but he sure as fuck doesn’t listen to me. Like I said, they’re a different breed. Be prepared.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “How do you think Delta will take it? You being in charge?”

  “We’ll get along just fine,” Reynolds reassured. “The real question is, how will you take it? With a woman in charge?” Reynolds asked.

  Kline shook his head, “Not well, I guess. We both have our work cut out for us, don’t we, Colonel?” Kline asked, filling Reynolds’ drink once more.

  “More than you know, General,” Reynolds replied, downing the shot, a grin on his face.

  41

  “They’ll be a pain in your ass, I can promise that.”

  “I’ll handle it just fine,” Colonel Reynolds assured.

  “Okay, your problem now, not mine. Perhaps you’ll have better luck. Now, Elizabeth said you needed to ask me some questions? I assume you’ve been briefed, probably know more than I do.”

  “For the most part, I know the story. Washington filled me in, Elizabeth connected the dots. But I’d like to hear your opinions on the matter, General,” Reynolds said.

  “I figure you want me to speak candidly.”

  “Indeed. Only between us.”

  “I’ll do my best. But first, Colonel, what’s this about?”

  “This is an issue of National Security, General, so I can’t say much. We’re not here to commandeer your Special Forces division to fight the Taliban. Delta will be tasked with something else.”

  “You’re here because we lost a team of Delta, right?”

  “Correct. You lost contact with twelve members of 1st SFOD-D. We know their last location, but no contact. Their beacons even stopped working, so we have no clue exactly where they are.”

  “Exactly. We assume they’re still in that valley,” Kline acknowledged.

  “What was their mission exactly?”

  “Simple, really. Forward recon, that’s all. They were paying attention to some movement. Lots of IEDs lately, so they were sniffing out places where they’d hide roadside bombs. Gathering INTEL, things like that.”

  “Found themselves in a fight, though,” Reynolds said.

  “They did. That seems to happen with Delta. They engaged a group of Taliban loading a truck of bombs, hit them hard. Killed a few dozen.”

  “Then what?”

  “Communications went haywire. Our drone shut down. Damn thing fell from the sky. Our video went dark, even helmet cams stopped working. Heard some broken communications, but couldn’t make them out. One thing I know is this: They were in trouble.”

  “What about satellite imagery?”

  “It was strange, the feed went haywire. We no longer had eyes on the ground.”

  Pulling out a map of the area, Reynolds pointed, “And this team, they entered the valley here?” he asked, showing Kline.

  The General took a moment responding. “Yes. They were following a roadside here,” he pointed to the next valley over, “and engaged the Taliban at the top of this cliff. Few thousand feet up, they made it to the top. Entered the valley to check out a village.”

  “There’s none on the map.”

  “It’s there, Colonel. I’ve seen the images, and they reported it before going in.”

  “What’s the name of the valley?” Reynolds asked.

  “No name. Just a valley, like the hundreds of other places that have no name. Off the beaten trail, so we do little in that area.”

  “How many you estimate in that village?”

  “Maybe a thousand. We’re unsure if there are insurgents there, though. Delta thought there might be, hence why they entered. But over the past year, we’ve seen little movement, no activity. For the most part, we’ve ignored it.”

  “Though you still sent a team in,” Reynolds commented.

  “Orders. Came from above, so McC
lain sent them in, yes. I couldn’t tell you why.”

  “It’s a place you don’t enter, but not because there’s lack of possible threats.”

  “What are you insinuating?” Kline asked.

  “You know as well as I do, that region is off limits. It’s been a standard issue no-fly zone since we’ve been here. Everyone, including your men, are ordered to remain outside the twenty-five mile parameter of god-knows what.”

  “That’s true, Colonel. We’re not allowed in.”

  “And yet your men were sent within that border?”

  “Again, not my orders. I brought it up, but orders are orders, and they went in. Though they weren’t supposed to enter that valley. They received orders and disobeyed when I told McClain to bring them home.”

  “Did he say anything about this mission?”

  “The no-fly zone, the whole idea of an area being off-limits bothered him. He compared it to the 34th parallel in ’Nam. Figured it was for political reasons. McClain was happy when he was told to let his boys in. Curiosity, I suppose,” Kline said.

  “It’s not political, that’s for sure. You’ll also find no Taliban in that region, especially that valley. The no-go orders still apply. The radius is still twenty-five miles.”

  “You’re planning on sending more in, aren’t you?” Kline asked.

  “That’s classified. Now, General, how long was it until you lost contact?”

  “Once we lost our visual, we still had some radio communications. They worsened the farther in they got. I can’t be sure if they heard us or were ignoring us, but they searched the village. Again, Commander McClain urged them to pull back, but Lieutenant Ramirez insisted.”

  “And the Delta Commander approved it?”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t he? They’re Delta. Ranks don’t really matter when you’re dealing with them, and McClain trusted Ramirez’s judgment. So, they entered this valley with no name and came into contact with the village. But you’re right, there’s no Taliban there. No resistance. If anything, reports said the people seem frightened. The men felt something was strange.”

  “Did Lieutenant Ramirez elaborate?”

  “No. They were going to move back, when someone tipped them off about the cave. I’m sure you know of it. They figured it was a Taliban stronghold, so they pushed east to the far end of the valley. From there, communications were worsening, and we were only hearing bits and pieces. They climbed up to the cave.”