by Jack Terral
"Shit!" Mike whispered. "The son of a bitch vomited."
"It's a messy job no matter which way you cut it," Brannigan said. "No pun intended."
They resheathed the K-Bars, retrieved their weapons from Dave and Frank, then went to the first container. This was the one Senior Chief Buford Dawkins had reported as the one where two prisoners were being kept. Brannigan noted that there was no lock on the door; only a handle that slid through an eyelet to hold it shut. He pulled the lever on the handle and pushed the device to the side. The door cracked a bit, and he had to pull it the rest of the way open.
Two frightened young men looked up at him. The wide-eyed and openmouthed expressions on their faces made them appear weird in the night vision goggles. They cringed as if expecting to be shot.
Brannigan spoke quickly. "Do you speak English?" "Yes," one said, puzzled. "We are speaking English. Who are you?"
"I'm the guy that's going to get you the hell out of here:' Brannigan said, noting the overflowing bucket used for a night toilet. "Follow me out of this place."
"Oh, yes, sir," one said. "We are thanking you so very much."
"You are a nice man," the other added.
"Right," Brannigan said. "Now listen carefully. You can't see, but we're wearing night vision goggles. Do you understand? We can see perfectly in the dark."
"We are understanding what it is you are telling us," the first said.
"When we get outside, I'm going to have each of you grab the belt of one of my men to hold on to for guidance. We'll move rapidly as possible, but don't worry about bumping into anything. We'll be as careful as we can. We'll be going to a wall. We'll help you over, and then join the rest of my command. Now listen up! You must be quiet. Don't make any noise. Don't say a thing. Not a word!'
"We are being quiet like little mouses," the second man promised.
Brannigan took them outside, handing one over to Frank and the other to Dave. Thus, prepared, they moved back through the vehicle park toward the wall.
.
SECOND SQUAD
0115 HOURS LOCAL
THE fighting on the southeast wall built up in intensity as more mujahideen joined their brothers-in-arms at the position. The tower at that corner of the fortification became unpopular with the warlord's men since the SEALs kept a steady fire on it whenever someone had the temerity to climb up in it to shoot down at them. The flares fired up by the defenders made them bolder than they should have been. Within short minutes, a total of eight dead men lay almost one on top of the other in the tower. By that time, none of the other mujahideen had any intention of occupying the place. They all stayed along the wall, firing from parapets built into the structure.
Bruno Puglisi and Joe Miskoski had to go through a vital learning process with the mortar, firing several rounds before they got the hang of the little support weapon. They were extremely inaccurate with the first three shots, but the resultant shell strikes scared the hell out of the mujahideen. But it wasn't long before the two impromptu mortarmen had the elevation and traverse down, and had found the range for the wall itself.
Joe slid a shell down the tube. As soon as it was positioned, Puglisi pulled the trigger. It responded with an "oomph" sound as it fired, and the intrepid mortar gunners made a count of "hut-thousand, two-thousand, three-thousand" until reaching "six-thousand." At that moment the shell fell on the wall, blowing chunks of mud and pieces of mujahideen straight up into the air. This strike was immediately followed by three more.
The defenders expected an all-out assault from a large number of attackers now that their wall was breached. They prepared themselves by quickly occupying positions where they could cover the ragged opening when the expected horde of infidels charged through it.
But Cruiser's Second Squad stayed put, throwing out short bursts of automatic fire. One of the senior mujahideen, feeling the power of Allah surging through his soul, organized a half dozen others into a small attacking force with wild screams of religious urgings to follow him. He led the small group through the wall and out into the open country. None of them made more than three steps before the combined fire of six CAR-15s cut them down.
Now Puglisi and Joe began to pace their barrages to make their supply of shells last as long as possible.
ALPHA FIRE TEAM
WHILE the Second Squad kept that part of the wall pinned down, Brannigan and his Alpha Team were on the opposite side of the compound, struggling to get the two hostages over the top of the earthen barrier.
Neither one was in particularly good physical condition, and the poor diet they had been receiving in the warlord's crude jail had not helped either. One was pudgy, with little athletic ability, and the other was skinny with a minimum of physical strength. When they reached the wall, Dave Leibowitz boosted his buddy Mike Assad up to the top. When Mike was positioned, he reached down, taking the hand of the pudgy hostage as he was pushed upward toward him. He pulled the guy hard, getting him astride the wall.
"Stay here," Mike ordered. He looked down at Dave. "Next!"
The skinny guy was quickly pulled up and positioned next to his buddy. Next the Skipper and Frank Gomez were hefted up. Both Frank and Brannigan reached down and grabbed Dave's wrists to haul him to the top. The SEALs leaped down to the opposite side of the wall, then turned and helped their charges to lower themselves to the ground.
With all the Alphas and the two hostages out of the fort, the group moved across the open ground to link up with the rest of the First Squad.
"How'd it go?" Senior Chief Buford Dawkins asked as they joined the others. "They was two of 'em, huh?"
"Right, Senior Chief," Mike answered. "They wouldn't be classified One-A by their local draft board so we'll have to make allowances for them while we haul ass the hell out of here."
The sound of the fighting to the southeast rose and fell, showing that the battle was still going at full speed. "Let's go, people!" Brannigan ordered. "Form a squad column with our guests in the middle. Move out!"
The small group headed southward to the scheduled rendezvous with Second Squad.
.
SECOND SQUAD
0145 HOURS LOCAL
Lieutenant Jim Cruiser checked his watch. It was now time to go into the fire-and-maneuver withdrawal phase to break contact with the mujahideen. "Puglisi! Miskoski!" he said over the LASH. "Make a final barrage. Six rounds."
"Aye, sir:' Bruno Puglisi replied.
Joe Miskoski inserted the first shell into the tube, then Puglisi pulled the trigger. This was repeated five more times as the rest of the squad lay down heavy fire on the mujahideen behind the rubble of the wall. When the final mortar round was launched, Puglisi folded up the weapon and slung it over his shoulder, wincing at the feel of the hot tube through his BDU. Joe grabbed the haversack with the three remaining rounds.
"Charlie Fire Team!" Cruiser said. "Continue to fire! Delta Fire Team, withdraw!"
Joe joined his Charlie mates, adding his CAR-15 to the fusillades. Puglisi fell in with the Deltas now rushing rearward. They went some fifteen meters before turning and dropping to the ground. As soon as they began firing, the Charlies leaped to their feet and rushed back to join them.
This began a seesaw action of withdrawal and covering fire as the squad successfully broke off contact with the mujahideen. At that point, they turned west to meet up with the First Squad at the contact point.
.
THE PLATOON
O215 HOURS LOCAL
THE squads linked up at a point along East Ridge that was two kilometers south of the warlord's compound. The two hostages were exhausted from the quick run down the ridge line and were sitting on the ground breathing hard as the First Squad made its appearance. The fatter one gagged, then rolled over to his hands and knees to vomit.
James Bradley quickly checked him out. "He's just tired, sir," he reported to Brannigan. "I'll give them both stimulants?'
"Do it quickly," Brannigan said. He looked the SEALs over, glad to
note that they had taken no casualties. "Guys," he said, relieved, "this mission has been a piece of cake so far. Everything's going our way, but we've got to stay on our toes. I want everyone to concentrate on their assignments. This is the time that things can really get fucked up."
Jim Cruise glanced over at the hostages. "Do you think they can make it all the way back to the CP?"
"Bradley's getting them hopped up on some of his pills," Brannigan said. "At least they don't have to hump any heavy gear." He walked up to a point in front of the platoon. "Let's get the hell out of here! Platoon column! First Squad on the right, Second Squad on the left. Assad and Leibowitz take the point. Chiefs, each of you put a flanker out:'
Dawkins nodded to Gutsy Olson. "Take the right flank." Adam Clifford got the honors in the First Squad as he was ordered out to the left side of the column.
When they were all formed up, Brannigan signaled up to the front where Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz waited. "Take us home!"
The platoon, with the officers and hostages in the middle of the column, moved westward into the darkness.
.
THE WARLORD'S COMPOUND
0730 HOURS LOCAL
THE devastation in the southeast corner of the wall was complete. The remnants of that corner of the earthen fortification were no more than piles of dirt with bits of mud brick mixed in. The mujahideen had pulled the corpses of their brethren from the wreckage and carried them back to the village area. Even now the loud keening of mourning women permeated the atmosphere with the intensity of bitch wolves howling in the mountains.
Warlord Ayyub Durtami stood on the roof of his residence with Ahmet Kharani, looking out over the valley between the compound and the ridge. "I have now lost almost a hundred men in these past days," Durtami said. "Who can those infidel devils be? And how many are they?"
"They could be getting reinforcements, Amir," Kharani suggested. "Perhaps they grow stronger as we grow weaker?'
"They took the hostages!" Durtami exclaimed. "How in Satan's power could that have happened? Some of them actually came in here amongst us, killed two guards and took our prisoners away. What sort of demons are they? Do they have black magic to make them invisible?"
"They are not phantoms, Amir," Kharani assured him.
"Then we must do something or my men's fear will grow to panic! The unbelievers must be crushed as soon as possible. We can no longer tolerate this situation. It will cost many men, I fear, but an all-out effort would surely bring us a victory."
"Unfortunately, we do not know what part of the far ridge they are on," Kharani reminded him.
"I have a good idea what their position might be from the place the patrol of young fighters was wiped out," Durtami said. "And the mortar section that was massacred also gives us solid evidence of their campsite."
Kharani glanced over where the dead of the battle were now being prepared for burial. "You are right, Amir. The men are losing their courage. If we do not score a victory soon, your fiefdom will be lost to the infidel Americans and Europeans. The government in Kabul will send troops here. Your men will run away with their families. They will seek shelter and protection from your brother-in-law Hassan Khamami."
"I did not think the situation grave enough," Durtami admitted, "but now I recognize that I must proclaim a jihad --a holy war--to give the men the will and ferocity to sacrifice themselves for a final victory."
The words just spoken had an instant effect on Kharani. He was close to tears with religious fervor. "Praise Allah who is merciful and beneficent! He shall give us a magnificent victory and welcome our dead mujahideen to Paradise."
"Allah akbar!" Durtami exclaimed. "God is great!"
.
CP ON WEST RIDGE
1445 HOURS LOCAL
THE platoon, except for the men on watch, was at rest. Those off duty lounged on their foam mattresses, the more thrifty now consuming the final cans of beer they had hoarded from their six-packs.
The hostages were situated in good cover and concealment next to the CP. They were worn out, though revived slightly with MRE meals of spaghetti and meatballs. Now they sprawled in the shade of the camouflage, wrapped in poncho liners lent them by platoon members. The SEALs had been able to learn at least a little bit about their guests.
The chubbier one was named Ibrahim and his skinny buddy Hajji. Both were idealistic about the potentials of a democratic Afghanistan and had been enthusiastic workers for the new government. Unfortunately, at that moment the two were badly traumatized by their latest experience.
The incident of their capture had scared the hell out of them. Their bodyguards had been gunned down without mercy in a roaring metal hailstorm of automatic fire. Ibrahim and Hajji had expected the same, and the experience of awaiting an instant and sure death was something no human can endure calmly, even if he survives the experience. Their captivity had been unpleasant because of more than just bad food. Additionally, they were occasionally paraded through the compound, where the women and children shrieked insults and threw stones at them. With all that, they also had to endure for no apparent reason a good deal of physical punishment by surly guards.
The rescue had been unexpected and welcome, and going over the wall with burly, friendly Americans had given them a realistic hope for survival. But now they were on the top of a rocky mountain ridge, had no idea what was going to happen to them and had begun to seriously wonder if there was a possibility of being recaptured.
Before they fully succumbed to their exhaustion, they forced themselves to take care of one important matter. Using the poncho liners as prayer mats, they prayed to Allah, asking to be taken back to the safety of civilization.
Chapter 9
WARLORD DURTAMI'S COMPOUND
10 AUGUST
1700 HOURS LOCAL
THE Warlord Ayyub Durtami and his chief lieutenant Ahmet Kharani, along with a trio of bodyguards, stood on top of the warlord's residence. They gazed down at the sullen crowd of mujahideen gathered in the open space below. No women were present, as would be expected, but adolescent boys stood at the periphery of the crowd, the expressions on their faces exhibiting confusion and dismay. The youngsters sensed something was terribly wrong.
The dead were buried and the wounded were being taken care of as well as possible by people using basic medicines and bandaging techniques. With the blessings of Allah, perhaps 50 percent of the injured would survive the crude treatment, though some of them could be expected to end up permanently crippled human wrecks. Meanwhile, work on repairing the wall was under way. A trio of vans had driven over to the village of Herandbe, where a dozen unlucky farmers were rousted from their work in the fields to be brought over as a labor crew. Now they struggled to rebuild the corner of the fortification that had been pounded to pieces by mortar shells. Dark spots of blood showed on the smashed mud blocks and the ground where the dead and wounded had fallen.
Durtami nodded to the bodyguards beside him. They raised their AK-47s and fired off short bursts of automatic fire to get the attention of the muttering crowd. When all eyes were on the warlord, he raised his hands as if calling his fighters to prayer. "We have been invaded by infidels!" he proclaimed. "They serve Satan and have been sent by the Evil One to destroy us. For more than a week they have lurked unseen in these mountains and valleys, protected by the black magic of absolute evil. At first we fought them as we would fight mortal men. But we might as well have been naked under this onslaught of Satan's power as he sought to destroy us."
The mujahideen were visibly moved by this revelation. The warlord's words explained a lot about their recent failures in battle, and all now knew this had not come from their failings. Supernatural evil had brought this calamity down on them. Frightened expressions that had dominated their features had now turned to scowls of righteous anger.
"These defeats we suffered were like ancient plagues of locusts," Durtami continued. "Fighting the Evil One is beyond mortal men's capabilities. Therefore, in order to d
estroy the demons, I now, at this very moment, with the blessings of Allah the Merciful, the Beneficent"--he paused for effect "I declarejihad--holy war!"
Now the mujahideen cheered, jumping and prancing around as they waved their weapons over their heads. In their minds this meant divine protection and guidance to achieve certain victory over this diabolical enemy. Several minutes went by and the bodyguards had to fire into the air to get them to simmer down. They turned their attention back to the warlord.
"What I have said to you is thus written in the Holy Koran!" Durtami shouted. "We shall know the greatest victory in the history of Islam!"
This was a hint for Kharani to step forward with the Holy Book. He opened it at a marked page and read loudly so all could hear. "When great wrong afflicts the True Believers, they should defend themselves! And when the True Believers defend themselves they do no wrong! The wrong is done by those who oppress the True Believers unjustly, and they shall suffer the most painful of punishments." He closed the Koran. "These words of Allah are proof that we shall win. Thus, have no fear, brothers, you will prevail over the Evil One's servants!"
Durtami took over again. "It is written that we are in the right by striking back viciously at the infidel followers of Satan! Allah looks down on us as we go forth on the holy mission! Fear not death, for if you die in this struggle you will immediately go to Paradise where seventy houri virgins will serve you and pleasure you throughout eternity. With this jihad now declared all of our brothers who have already died have received their rewards and now live with Allah and the Prophet. Prepare yourselves for this great battle that will destroy the demons prowling our land. You shall force them and their leader, Satan, back into the depths of hell!"