Rolling Thunder (2007) s-4

by Jack Terral

  The transports were in the middle of the formation, while one pickup traveled on point at the head of the group. Two other of the small vehicles were on each side of the convoy, while one Tail-end Charlie brought up the rear. Military discipline was being observed in a haphazard manner, and while the gunners were in proper positions by their weapons, most had their minds on other things besides security. They stood up in the backs of the smaller trucks, keeping an inconstant vigilance in their areas of responsibility. Some were close to falling asleep, but having to stand in the swaying vehicles prevented even short naps.

  Arsalaan Sikes Pasha, the commander of the fierce al-Askerin-Zaubi Storm Troopers, still sat in a contented frame of mind as he fantasized about his coming fame back in Blighty after the Iranian Army's conquest of the entire Middle East.

  .

  BRAVO SECTION

  JIM Cruiser had gotten his two vehicles moving as soon as practical. He kept the Skipper informed of his progress as he tailed after the smugglers, remaining out of sight to their rear. The lieutenant junior grade drove the DPV carefully, making sure he followed the tire tracks left by the bad guys. Pech Pecheur, up above at the M-2 .50-caliber, cautioned him when they drew too close to their quarry. His weapon, like those of his gunner partner, Dawson, along with Doc Bradley and Garth Redhawk in Bravo Two, was locked and loaded, ready to spit out the armor-piercing tracer ammo when the confrontation began.

  .

  CHARLIE SECTION

  CHARLIE One and Charlie Two, fully manned and ready, were parked side by side on the east side. They faced due west on the guesstimated azimuth of the approaching enemy. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins, the section leader, listened through his LASH at the conversation between Cruiser and the Skipper, ready to order his two DPVs into action as soon as they were needed.

  CAPTAIN Naser Khadid sat in the cab of the front Toyota, gazing through the windshield as they rolled across the desert. His thoughts were of his wife and children back in the city of Shiraz in Iran. He missed them, but was consoled a great amount by his Pashtun bride Mahzala. She had become more than a source of sexual relief as she evolved into an agreeable little companion, her skills at cooking and other aspects of housekeeping increasing rapidly. The best thing, of course, was how she had also begun responding enthusiastically to his lovemaking; in fact, his experience with his Iranian wife had convinced him that women did not enjoy sex particularly, but the youthful nymph of the muta marriage was teaching him an entirely difference aspect of the matrimonial bed.

  The Iranian Special Forces captain began to feel a strong urge to get back up into the highlands for a coupling with Mahzala. He felt a flush of desire as he glanced at the passenger-side rearview mirror. He could plainly see the lead transport truck to the direct rear. He watched it in an absentminded way for a few moments; then suddenly an explosion erupted from its gas tank beneath the cab.

  The large vehicle veered both left and right, then turned over and was completely engulfed in flames. A couple of Pashtun mujahideen emerged from the inferno, running blindly in circles with their clothing on fire.

  Now the machine gun mounted on the cab above his head began firing, its expended cartridges bouncing off the right front fender.

  .

  THE BATTLE

  ANDY Malachenko in Alpha One, after hosing the lead transport with his M-2 heavy machine gun, swung the barrel toward the truck to its immediate rear. Even before he squeezed the trigger, his M-60 partner Guy Devereaux was already splattering the new target with well-aimed bursts of full-auto 7.62-millimeter slugs. When the heavy .50-calibers of the M-2 joined the fusillade, the target vehicle exploded in a fiery burst of ignited gasoline, bouncing completely off the ground. The two Iranians in the cab were enveloped in flames, but several Pashtun mujahideen managed to get out the back. They turned and ran south for the sanctuary of the foothills.

  Connie Concord swung Alpha Two over to a more diagonal route toward the enemy column, allowing the Odd Couple to turn their own individual weapons onto the third truck. It came to an abrupt halt an instant before a loud swoosh announced its fuel tank turning into an impromptu bomb. The men in the cab managed to get out as the mujahideen in the rear bailed over the tailgate.

  GASHTEE junub! Captain Naser Khadid shouted at the Iranian driver next to him. Turn south!

  The man whipped the wheel to the right, almost rolling the Toyota. The machine gunner in the back, who had just started firing at the attackers to their direct front, almost fell out. He grabbed the weapon mount on the cab and held on with all his strength as the centrifugal force of the violent maneuver threatened to throw him off the pickup truck. As soon as the vehicle was on a southerly route, the pressure faded and the guy slid to the bed of the truck. He had no reason to use the machine gun now. The attackers were to his rear, well out of his arc of fire.

  Over to the left of the smuggler formation, Arsalaan Sikes had already made his own tactical decision as rounds from four enemy machine guns swept up and down the convoy. He pointed to the south and slapped the driver across the side of the head. The soldier was not angered by the blow that shook him out of shock and instantly obeyed his passen-ger's frantic gestures. Sikes turned and looked out the back window, sighting the dead machine gunner sprawled and shaking on the deck as the vehicle bounced across the ground in its wild run.

  Now the other three Toyotas, carrying Husay Bangash, Malyar Lodhi, and Jandol Kakar, also headed away from the attack. The drivers sighted Sikes' and Khadid's trucks, and hit the accelerators to catch up with the two officers. The sixth pickup had been riddled and sent rolling a couple of minutes before when DPVs appeared from the east and cut loose with sweeping volleys of machine-gun fire.

  THE Bravo Section, after disposing of the rear pickup, closed in on the scene of the burning transports. All six were now dead hulks, spewing out obscene orange flames and black, oily smoke. Corpses with smoking clothing were scattered around the vehicles. Jim Cruiser's section immediately began receiving fire from mujahideen on the ground. These were the lucky Pashtuns who had managed to escape the infernos of the big trucks. They were skilled fighters, and had assumed kneeling and prone positions, squeezing off well-aimed bursts from their AK-47s.

  Cruiser spotted one group of almost a dozen who had gathered from two of the destroyed transports. Gunners! Turn your weapons on those ragheads at ten o'clock! The quartet of SEAL gunners responded immediately, cutting down the resistance with a close-packed combined volley of 7.62 and .50 slugs. The Pashtuns were kicked down into undignified positions of death in the short space of three beats.

  The Alphas came to a stop. From their vantage point, they had clear fields of fire into the area of the burning trucks where scattered groups of mujahideen still offered resistance. Brannigan did not have to give any orders as Devereaux, Malachenko, Assad, and Leibowitz did what had to be done with their weapons. Now the Charlies closed in and added their firepower to the scene. The men on the ground died fast in the hail of fire bursts.

  Alpha One, this is Bravo One! Cruiser transmitted through his lash. There're five pickups heading south for the foothills. Let's go! Brannigan said, being economic with words since everyone was able to quickly figure out what was going on.

  BOTH Sikes and Khadid had sighted the chase vehicles. Although unable to communicate, they both issued the same orders for their respective drivers to kick up to the fastest speed the vehicles could possibly attain. The other three quickly caught on and joined in the run for safety. The pickups were much faster than the DPVs, easily increasing the distance between themselves and their pursuers.

  The quintet, now out of range of the SEALs after three full minutes of flight, continued to speed crazily toward the Gharawdara Highlands. After they went some five kilometers, the ground grew rougher as the terrain evolved from the sandy soil of the desert to the rocky expanse that led to the hills. Another few minutes and they had reached the first stands of boulders. The drivers hit the brakes and all ten occupants unas
sed the trucks, running toward the natural cover with their AK-47s and bandoliers of ammunition in hand.

  All the Iranian machine gunners lay dead in the back of the Toyotas, with one exception; that vehicle was empty because the gunner had fallen out due to the violent maneuvering of the driver.

  ALPHA One was in the lead of the close-packed formation of DPVs. All twelve gunners impatiently waited to get within range of the parked pickups, and when the distance was right for the M-2s, the gunners sent tracers streaking toward the vehicles. The Toyotas bounced from the heavy slams of armor-piercing rounds.

  Never mind the fucking trucks! the Skipper said over his LASH. There isn't anybody there except the dead. Start laying down fusillades up higher in the hills. That's where the survivors went.

  Now the M-60s were also within range, and everyone became involved in reconnaissance by fire as they attempted to find where the fugitives had taken cover. The only reward they got for their efforts was the sight of tracer rounds bouncing off rocks and boulders to streak off into the distance.

  Cease fire! Brannigan ordered.

  UP in the rocks, Sikes was at the head of the group as they scrambled toward higher ground. Everyone, including the Iranian drivers, was in super physical condition and had no problem negotiating the rugged terrain. Sikes came across some boulders the size of Volkswagen Beetles, and he scrambled up on them. When he reached the top, he discovered a natural fort. He stopped and turned to the others.

  Right! Here's where we make a stand, he announced. I counted them Yanks. They got six o' them little fucking buggies and there's three each riding in 'em, hey? That's eighteen of the wankers. There's ten of us and we got concealment and cover here, right? So we'll stand fast and let the bastards come up here after us.

  Khadid quickly translated into Farsi for the drivers, then issued orders. Everyone found good firing positions and settled down to wait.

  THE SEALs had parked the DPVs and were now some twenty-five meters up the rocky slope that led to the highlands. Lieutenant Bill Brannigan spent a few moments with his binoculars, scanning the boulder-strewn area above, hoping to find some clue as to what the enemy was doing. But he could detect absolutely nothing. Assad! Leibowitz!

  The Odd Couple left their place in the impromptu skirmish line and went over to report to the CO. They squatted down beside him, and Dave Leibowitz asked, What's up, sir?

  Right, Mike Assad said with a grin. As if we didn't know.

  Did you know I'm about to put your asses deep into some real hairy shit? the Skipper asked.

  They looked at each other, then back at him, and shrugged.

  The bad guys had a good lead on us, Brannigan explained. They could be hauling ass toward the ridges up there to get out of the area, or they're holed up and ready to fight back. He pointed upward. Go find out.

  Aye, sir! came the simultaneous response.

  Assad led the way with Leibowitz behind, ready to cover him in case of trouble. They began a zigzag course, working their way carefully through the boulders and sparse brush. Mike's eyes went from looking upward for a sight of the bad guys to looking down to the ground to check for tracks the enemy might have left to reveal the direction they were traveling. After ten minutes of climbing, the Skipper's voice came over the LASH. If you reach a point where the hair on your necks is raising with apprehension, you're free to break off and return.

  Roger, sir, Dave replied.

  They knew exactly what Wild Bill meant. Sometimes, in dangerous situations, there is a certain unpleasant feeling that comes over a combat veteran. It's not fear. The best way to describe the sensation is as an instinctive sureness that something real bad is about to happen. That is one reason why experienced fighting men sometimes are able to survive in situations where rookies are gunned down.

  Mike continued the upward trek, unable to spot as much as a single speck of evidence of where the bad guys had gone. Dave, with his M-16 held ready, stayed in his protective mode, ready to put out covering fire if Mike suddenly came under attack. The higher they went, the more nervous they became.

  Suddenly both stopped, then squatted down.

  A volley of fire swept over them, ricocheting off nearby boulders with sparks and whines. Once more, Brannigan made contact with the Odd Couple. What's the situation?

  We're under fire, sir, Mike replied. Every time we raise our heads to see where it's coming from, it increases.

  Okay, Brannigan said. That means they know exactly where you are. Can you break off or are you pinned down?

  We can back down to a better spot, Dave explained, then we should be able to withdraw okay.

  Do it.

  Aye, sir.

  The Odd Couple, the bores of their weapons pointing upward, stumbled downward in deep crouches. It was slow going for about ten minutes, then they were able to get behind a large stand of boulders.

  All right, sir, Mike said. We'll be back pretty quick now.

  Right, Brannigan said. He knew it was useless to try to catch the fugitives. Everything cover, concealment, firing positions, and knowledge of the terrain was in their favor.

  Okay, Section Leaders, Brannigan said. As soon as the Odd Couple gets back, we'll mount up on the DPVs and go back to the battle site. There may be survivors among those smugglers or whatever they are.

  Everyone monitored the orders over the LASH systems and stared upward to catch sight of Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz. They were perturbed about the escapees, but they had accomplished their mission. The smugglers had been destroyed. A few EPWs would be icing on the cake of victory.

  Chapter 22

  PASHTUN STRONGHOLD

  GHARAWDARA HIGHLANDS

  24 MAY

  0930 HOURS

  WHEN Sikes Pasha, Captain Naser Khadid, and Husay Bangash came down the path leading the five Iranian soldiers into the stronghold, they were met by a somber, wailing crowd of Pashtun people. The young translator Malyar Lodhi and Sikes's adjutant Jandol Kakar had been sent ahead to bring the bad news of the devastating defeat out on the desert. They had gone straight to Yama Orakzai to tell him of the terrible battle with the fierce American warriors who spewed death from their little cars sent to them from hell by Satan.

  Now Orakzai stood in front of the people as the small group of survivors walked up to him. Warrant Officer Shafaqat Hashiri and the nineteen Arabs were in a proper formation off to one side, giving their leader a studied look as he approached. They were glad to see their commanding officer was unhurt.

  Khadid held back in deference to Sikes' rank as the field commander, and the Brit greeted the warlord with an embrace. We were ambushed, Orakzai Mesher, Sikes said. We had delivered the opium powder and were on our way back to the rendezvous to retrieve the donkeys when the Americans struck.

  Malyar and Jandol have told me about it, Orakzai said. We must retire to my quarters to discuss this situation. It is a shock that sends my heart and mind reeling. Did none of my mujahideen survive?

  If they did, they're bleeding prisoners, Sikes said. They was trapped in the backs o' the transport trucks. I'm afraid most of 'em was blown up. He nodded to the five Iranian drivers. These were the only Iranians who got away. All the gunners in the back of the Toyotas was killed.

  Orakzai could not hide his grief. Tsenga haybatnak! This is a catastrophe! Everything we have worked for is lost! He looked over to Khadid. You must tell your superiors about this, Captain Khadid. We joined the Iranians in good faith, yet somehow we are facing a disaster from which we might not recover.

  Khadid went into his Special Forces mode. It is not an insurmountable calamity, Orakzai Mesher. I admit it is an unexpected blow for which I know of no explanation. There must have been treachery, no doubt, but the Iranian Army is more than capable of dealing with it. If we have indeed been betrayed and I strongly believe that is the case the culprits shall be eventually found out no matter how much care they take to remain undiscovered. We shall have our vengeance and, ultimately, a great victory not only for Ir
an but for the Pashtun people. Let us keep in mind that your main goal is to establish an independent nation.

  That seems out of reach now, Orakzai said, close to weeping. Let us go to my quarters.

  The Pashtuns, particularly the women, picked up on their leader's distress. This set off more wailing and loud moans as they watched him turn and walk toward his cave in the company of the Englishman and Iranian.

  Khadid leaned close to Sikes and whispered, These Pashtuns will quickly develop a keen resentment toward us foreigners because of this calamity. Somehow, they will place all the blame on us. I suggest you keep your Arabs close by.

  Bluddy good idea, Sikes agreed in a soft voice.

  He gestured to Warrant Officer Shafaqat, who obviously had been having the same thoughts. The Arabs, all armed, formed up into a column of threes and began to follow their leader at a slow pace. Every man of them sensed the tenseness and sensitivity of the situation. The Pashtuns glowered at Sikes' men, but took no overt hostile action against them.

  .

  SHELOR FIELD

  NOON

  THE three EPWs brought back from the battle by the Brigands were being kept in a jury-rigged jail set up in the corner of the hangar. A barbed-wire barrier had been hastily erected to hold them, and a port-a-potty donated by Randy Tooley served their sanitary needs. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins set up a watch bill to make sure they were kept under constant guard. All had been wounded and had received treatment at the base infirmary. Now properly medicated and bandaged, they were under the skilled care of Doc Bradley.

  None had life-threatening injuries, but one was suffering from a broken leg. This was the only Iranian. His companions in captivity were Pashtun mujahideen. The oldest, a fellow with a gray beard, had second-degree burns on his chest and arms. His buddy, a young guy who looked to be in his twenties, had taken a grazing hit in the side that tore across his body without damaging any vital organs. The massiveness of the injury came from an M-2's heavy .50-caliber slug.