by Dale Brown
“What are you saying?”
“The following regulations are to be imposed immediately,” Kasimov went on, as if reciting a well-rehearsed script onstage. “American citizens who are not representatives of the U.S. government have twenty-four hours to leave Turkmenistan, or they may be detained at a location of our choosing without cause or explanation for an indefinite period of time. Any diplomatic or embassy personnel may stay but will be restricted to the embassy in Ashkhabad.
“Any uniformed Americans entering or already inside Turkmenistan without my express written permission shall from this moment forth be considered combatants and will be treated per the Geneva Conventions. Finally, any agents of the American government without proper credentials verified by the Russian government will be treated as hostile enemy provocateurs and will be imprisoned, tried by a military field tribunal, and, if found guilty of espionage, summarily executed. Do you understand all these things, Mr. President? I do not wish for there to be any misunderstandings between us.”
“Ya paneemayoo, Colonel General,” Thorn replied.
“In English, Mr. President—I would not want you to claim that you gave the wrong response because of your poor command of the Russian language.”
“I understand, Colonel General,” Thorn said in English. “Now, you had better understand this. Are you listening, Colonel General? I would not want you to claim you did not hear or understand my response to you. I shall provide you with a translator if you would like.”
“Please proceed, Mr. President,” Kasimov said with laughter in his voice. “I need no translator. And please speak in English. My command of English is much better than your Russian, I’m afraid.”
“Very well. You may tell President Sen’kov and General Gryzlov that the United States will use every tool at our disposal to protect and defend American interests anywhere in the world, including the Republic of Turkmenistan.”
There was silence on the line for several minutes. Finally Kasimov asked, “Is that all, Mr. President?”
“That’s all, Colonel General.”
“Well, I will certainly pass along your dire warning to my superiors,” Kasimov said, the humor still evident in his voice. “In the interest of safety, Mr. President, may I suggest that you inform me of the whereabouts of any American agents or combatants in Turkmenistan right now? If they agree to give up their weapons and go peacefully with my men, I promise to you that they will be released unharmed to your embassy in Ashkhabad within twenty-four hours. Is that agreeable to you, sir?”
“That is a very reasonable offer, Colonel General.”
“Then you do have combatants inside Turkmenistan, sir?”
“We do.”
Kasimov paused, obviously surprised to hear Thorn admit to all this. “Well, then, sir, I think we can quickly come to an agreement to protect and preserve these men’s lives. Please advise me what forces you have in Turkmenistan, their approximate numbers, and their locations, and we shall attempt to make contact with them. If your military commanders can inform them that we have a deal to protect them, no harm should come to them.”
“I don’t know their exact designations, Colonel General,” Thorn said. He paused for a moment, then said, “Could you hold the line for a moment, Colonel General?”
“I’m very busy, Mr. President. It can be only for a moment.”
“Thank you.”
What in hell was he doing?
A few moments later another voice came on the line: “Colonel General Kasimov?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Major General Patrick McLanahan, United States Air Force,” Patrick McLanahan replied. “I have been directed by the president of the United States to answer your questions regarding our forces in Turkmenistan.”
“Is this some kind of joke, General?”
“I’m just following orders, sir.”
“Very well. What ground forces do you have in Turkmenistan right now?”
“We have one Battle Force team on the ground now, outside Mary and in Chärjew.”
“And the composition of this team?”
“Eight soldiers, plus a support team of twelve.”
“Eight? I assume you mean eight squads, or perhaps eight companies . . . ?”
“No, sir. Eight men.”
“One squad? Eight men?” Kasimov said warily. He thought that this McLanahan was joking with him now, but the man seemed perfectly at ease and forthcoming. Was this some kind of game? “Any other combatants in Turkmenistan, sir?”
“Yes, Colonel General.”
“How many? Their description, please?”
“Stealth warplanes,” McLanahan said casually. “All defensive in nature, but quite capable of supporting our forces on the ground.”
“How many?”
“The number changes with the threat,” McLanahan said. “The more troops you send in to Turkmenistan and the more targets we uncover during our reconnaissance, the more stealth aircraft we’ll send.”
“For what purpose, sir?” Kasimov asked. “What is your intention?”
“First of all, Colonel General, the Russian Federation just declared war on the United States,” McLanahan said. “So we damned well will destroy any Russian aircraft, vehicle, or warship we encounter. For example, I’m looking right now at a squadron of eight Mi-28 attack helicopters parked outside a hangar at Krasnovodsk Airport. It appears they’re being fueled and readied for a mission.”
“We have no such helicopters at Krasnovodsk, sir.”
“Ah . . . well, you certainly don’t anymore, Colonel General—because they’ve just been destroyed,” McLanahan said casually.
Kasimov motioned to an aide, who immediately lifted a radio to his lips. They did indeed have Mi-28s at Krasnovodsk, and they were indeed getting ready to deploy them, first to Ashkhabad to cover the occupation of the city, then to Mary to start hunting down the Taliban. “You find this humorous, General McLanahan?”
“It’s certainly an unusual way to go to war, isn’t it, Colonel General?” McLanahan responded. “Now I’m looking at an intelligence-gathering vessel several miles off the coast from Krasnovodsk in the Caspian Sea. My intelligence officers tell me that it is a Type 394B-class spy ship and that it was probably responsible for trying to spoof our diplomatic-mission aircraft into going off its flight plan, where your fighters would then have a reason to shoot it down. The ship has Cyrillic characters and the number five ninety-one on the side—yes, that checks, it’s a Type 394B, the Kavkaz, if my information is correct.”
“The Kavkaz is an unarmed communications vessel, sir, not a spy ship!”
“Your ‘unarmed communications vessel’ just fired two heat-seeking missiles at our stealth warplane, Colonel General,” Patrick said. “And . . . it appears our aircraft was just hit . . . yes, we’ve just lost that aircraft.”
“You don’t seem too upset, General.”
“I’m upset to lose any aircraft, sir, even an unmanned one.”
“Unmanned . . . ?”
“Yes, General. Tell your sailors on the Kavkaz good shooting—and then tell them to prepare to abandon ship. Because I’ve just committed two more stealth aircraft to sink the Kavkaz.”
Kasimov covered the mouthpiece of the telephone when he saw two of his aides grabbing the radio from each other, their eyes wide in surprise. “Well? What in hell is happening?”
“Krasnovodsk is under attack, sir!” one of his aides said.
“What?”
“Several helicopters and transport planes were destroyed, and the command post, a power facility, and the radar site were heavily damaged. The air defenses all came under attack by precision-guided weapons and cluster bombs.”
“Are you still there, Colonel General?” McLanahan asked over the phone.
“I demand to know what is going on here!” he cried.
“You declared war on the United States, Colonel General, and the United States is responding,” McLanahan said. “May I make a
suggestion? You should undeclare war on the United States—right away.”
“Are you insane, General McLanahan? What kind of nonsense is this?”
“Colonel General, you tried to intimidate President Thorn by making this ridiculous declaration of war, thinking that the president was going to be cowed into not acting while you moved more troops and heavier weapons into Turkmenistan,” Patrick said. “Well, it didn’t work. The United States is already in Turkmenistan, and we have stealth warplanes orbiting your military installations in Ashkhabad and Krasnovodsk right now. Unless you call off this declaration of war, we will continue to locate and attack Russian military targets that we feel are a threat to U.S. forces and interests.”
“I . . . I must report your demands to General Gryzlov and the general staff—”
“You’ve got sixty seconds to do so, Colonel General,” McLanahan said, “before two of my stealth aircraft launch missiles at the Kavkaz. The next target will be your office in Ashkhabad. We are obviously not in your office at this time, but I would warn any staff members you have in your headquarters building to evacuate within the next two minutes.”
“What is it you want, General? What are your intentions?”
“The United States has no intentions, Colonel General,” Patrick replied. “It is Russia who declared war on the United States, Russia who fired on the deputy secretary of state’s aircraft, Russia who has assassinated President Gurizev of Turkmenistan, Russia who is threatening to imprison and execute Americans in Turkmenistan, and Russia who is invading Turkmenistan on a pretext of protecting it. Russia’s intentions are clear: You want to take Turkmenistan, and you’re willing to kill anyone who gets in your way.”
“That is not true, sir! Russia wants only to protect the peace and sovereignty of an important ally and friend. It is the Taliban insurgents that threaten the peace! We have an obligation to—”
“Excuse me, Colonel General,” Patrick interrupted, “but we just put four mini-Maverick missiles with thermium-nitrate warheads into the Kavkaz. Our aircraft will come around for another pass, and that should do it for the Kavkaz—it’s already listing pretty well to starboard. You have ninety seconds before I put four missiles into Twenty-eight President Niyazov Avenue, southwest facade—that is the address of your headquarters in Ashkhabad, isn’t it?”
General Kasimov banged the telephone receiver down with a half-furious, half-terrified, half-human cry. “What is going on with the Kavkaz?” he shouted.
“No contact with the ship as of yet, sir,” an aide replied.
“This is a nightmare!” Kasimov shouted in complete frustration. “This cannot be happening!”
“Shall we order an evacuation of the headquarters building?”
“Yes, damn it, get everyone out of—”
Just then there were several bright flashes of light from outside, like flickers of lightning. Seconds later there were several loud, sharp explosions that rattled the windows and caused the lights to flicker. “Oh, my God!”
Kasimov’s aides ran to a window. Kasimov didn’t need to look for himself—their slumping shoulders told him everything. “Fires have broken out in the headquarters building!” someone shouted. “Shit . . . another one! Another explosion!” The rattling windows and reverberating explosions were like hammer blows on Kasimov’s skull. “We’re under attack!”
Kasimov picked up the telephone, but it was dead—and moments later all the lights went out in the office as well. “Get the damned power back on immediately! And then get me General Gryzlov in Moscow—right now!”
CHÄRJEW, REPUBLIC OF TURKMENISTAN
That night
“Peace be unto all true servants of God.
“My friends and neighbors of the Republic of Turkmenistan and any within the sound of my voice, my name is Jalaluddin Turabi. I am not Turkmen. I was born in Afghanistan, raised as a true servant of God. I believe in the oneness of God; I believe that Mohammad is His true prophet; and I believe with all my heart in the Day of Judgment and the resurrection of the faithful in the arms of God.
“I am also Taliban. I know this immediately brands me and my people as fanatical, fire-breathing murderers. But I tell you this: We are what we are, and that is as our name says, ‘seekers of the truth.’ We do not know the truth; we do not profess the truth; we do not attempt to impose our knowledge or opinion of the truth on others.
“The knowledge that we have is passed along to us from a council of elders, chosen from each of a province’s clans. This council of elders directs activities of each clan or groups of clans. These activities are organized into either siyaehiyya, or tasks, and jihads, or sacred missions. In my case I was appointed to undertake a jihad to secure weapons, equipment, and funds for the council. My friend, Wakil Mohammad Zarazi, was my leader. We trained together in Iran and Sudan as members of Hezbollah to employ military and commando-style weapons and tactics to fulfill our missions and to train others in those tactics.
“Our mission inside Afghanistan was not successful. We lost many men, but Wakil Zarazi survived a deadly assault, and he led us to the Turkmen frontier. He believed that his survival was an act of God, and he dedicated himself from that day forward to serve God by bringing together the faithful into a strong army that could resist all nonbelievers, no matter how rich or powerful they were.
“Wakil Zarazi did many evil, despicable things because he believed that God told him to do these things. For this I ask God for forgiveness, and I apologize to the people of Turkmenistan, because as his friend and soldier, I obeyed his orders and helped him do these things. He lost the way of the leader and warrior because he believed that was what God wanted him to do. When he put me in charge of his armies, I sought to follow the ways of a true warrior as well as a jihadi. I served my leader and God by remembering that a leader succeeds not by fear and intimidation but by strength and leadership.
“Wakil Zarazi is dead, assassinated by a man he trusted—a Turkmen soldier, Aman Orazov, who joined our ranks after the siege of Kizyl-arvat. He was one among thousands of Turkmen men who joined our jihad, but he was the only one to betray its leader. As is our custom and responsibility after the assassination of a leader, I avenged Wakil Zarazi’s death by killing Orazov with my own hands. I am now in command of Zarazi’s army.
“I have been proud to serve this jihad, and I am proud of my soldiers. I am equally proud of your Turkmen brothers who joined our jihad. Although by Taliban law and custom I now decide how best to accomplish this jihad, I realize that I have a responsibility not only to my fellow clansmen and fighters from Afghanistan but to the Turkmen who joined Zarazi’s jihad. The men from Turkmenistan fought with our army not because we paid them or offered adventure but because they believe as we do: that we can create a special place in the deserts of this country. Turkmenistan is wealthy beyond imagination, yet its people, the faithful, don’t seem to be enjoying the benefit of living in this harsh, lonely place. With your help we can change this.
“The situation is this: Your president, Kurban Gurizev, has been brutally assassinated by Colonel General Boris Kasimov, the Russian liaison to the Turkmen government. Many Russian army regiments have already entered the capital. Yet the Russians do not as yet control Turkmenistan. The reason: The United States of America has intervened in this conflict and has sent air and ground forces to face the Russians.
“My brothers, I know you have no cause to love the Americans, just as you may not love the Russians. Both nations have sought to take your substantial mineral wealth at far less than market price and at the same time conspire with unscrupulous bureaucrats in your government for payoffs in exchange for lucrative development contracts. But the Americans rescued me from certain death by the Russians and by Aman Orazov, and they are here, standing by and awaiting your word. Before he died, President Gurizev authorized their presence in Turkmenistan, although the Russian army is in charge, under the pretext of abiding by a mutual-defense treaty between Turkmenistan and the Russian Federation.
“You may choose not to believe my words, but I tell you, it is the truth: The Russians want nothing more than to crush the Taliban and deter any other Muslim groups from gaining a foothold in Turkmenistan. They mean to crush all Muslim participation in government and stamp out any thought or attempt at equity for the Muslim majority, as they do in Chechnya and other republics and provinces.
“I know you have no reason to believe me. I am an outsider. I attacked your towns and cities, fought your soldiers, and took your property. I also know that for many decades the Russians have protected Turkmenistan—first as conquerors and dictators in their empire, but later as neighbors and partners, although for mostly self-serving reasons. You may consider them your friends and defenders and consider me your enemy.
“But I will say this, and then leave you to consider my words. Wakil Zarazi entered your country several weeks ago with a band of exactly two hundred and seventy-one men in a caravan of battered old pickup trucks. Today Zarazi’s army numbers over twenty-seven thousand. Zarazi’s army may have begun with a handful of Taliban desert raiders from Afghanistan fleeing from a Western assault, but we have transformed into a fighting force composed of soldiers from all over Central Asia—but mostly men from Turkmenistan. I never realized it until now, but the army once led by Wakil Zarazi, the army I command today, is in reality a Turkmen army, not a Taliban or Afghan army—the first Turkmen army since Alexander the Second of imperial Russia not to be commanded by a Russian.
“So the choice is yours, my brothers and sisters of Turkmenistan and all of Central Asia. If you reject me, I will take what remains of my army and go home. If there is another among you who wishes to lead this army, have him step forward and present himself to me and the troops. But if you wish it, I will continue to battle for independence from Russia. You will know where to find me—as will the Russians.