by Jack Terral
Thus, Gregori Ivanovich Parkalov became Mohammed Sheriwal, who now had personal quarters in the castle, where he kept his three wives and one Dharya concubine. Also, through the aid of Zaid Aburrani, Sheriwal had been able to send 750,000 euros to a secret Swiss bank account. Now all he had to do was figure a way to get out of Khamami's fiefdom to get the money. Then he could return to Russia for a life of luxury.
WARLORD Hassan Khamami eagerly awaited Mohammad Sheriwal's arrival in the throne room. He had heard the helicopter land and needed the pilot's report before he could seriously begin a campaign against the infidels who had driven Durtami from his fiefdom.
Sheriwal was admitted into the warlord's presence, and reported to Khamami with a proper Soviet salute. This was a habit he had never been able to break. "Amir," he said in fluent but accented Pashto. "I have returned from the reconnaissance patrol over the suspected enemy area."
"And what did you find, Captain Sheriwal?" Khamami asked with undisguised impatience.
"The ridge is occupied by an armed force," the experienced combat pilot reported. "I am not sure of the exact size. They are definitely under battalion strength. I think at the most they might be a reinforced detachment or company."
"At the most?" Khamami asked. "Are you saying there is a chance they might be less than company size?"
"Yes, Amir. In truth, I would say they number somewhere between a dozen to perhaps two dozen that are cleverly camouflaged and dug in on that mountaintop."
Khamami broke out in loud laughter. "So! Those are the thousands of infidels who routed Durtami and his miserable band of hill bandits, eh?" He began laughing again, barely able to control his amusement. After a couple of minutes he calmed down enough to speak. "I can tell you one thing, Captain. The easy life the invaders have enjoyed up to now is about to come to an abrupt end."
"My men and helicopters are at your service," Sheriwal said.
"And so are my eight hundred mujahideen infantrymen," Khamami pointed out.
Chapter 13
WEST RIDGE BASE CAMP
25 AUGUST
0530 HOURS LOCAL
CHARLIE Team had the responsibilities of the morning watch, but they didn't have to sound the alarm to wake the platoon when the loud "chop-chop" of helicopter engines broke the early morning silence.
Everyone stayed under cover as per SOP, looking to the east in the direction of the disturbance. The noise grew steadily louder, but the sun's low position on the horizon made it difficult to see the exact positions of the aircraft or what nationality they might be. Then suddenly three dark shapes could be discerned approaching the ridge in trail.
The lead Mi-24 turned to the north and the others followed, maintaining exact distances between themselves in the formation. This was skillful, precise piloting, and in less than a minute -they made a leisurely turn toward the south, perfectly aligned with the ridge line. Then the noses dropped and the speed increased as they sped toward the base camp.
The rapid staccato of heavy machine gun fire from the first chopper broke out as slugs kicked up the dust on the ridge top. The gunner, sitting in the front cockpit, swung the barrel back and forth as he hosed the ground below. Immediately the second chopper followed suit, sending steady fusillades to splatter heavily along the top of the mountain's apex. The third did the same, then the small group swung out to turn for another run.
"Keep you heads down!" Brannigan bellowed so loud that even Kevin Albee on the OP could hear him.
The Hinds came back three more times, skillfully covering areas that had been missed. Cartridge cases rained down, some bouncing off the camouflage netting and colliding with one another as they made little pinging sounds. A couple bounced into Bruno Puglisi's fighting hole and he grabbed them, being careful not to burn his fingers.
"Soviet," he said to himself. "Twelve point seven millimeter. Big bad shit!"
The helicopters flew away as quickly as they'd arrived, leaving an eerie silence over the Afghanistan countryside. The next sound was Chief Matt Gunnarson's voice. "Corpsman! Clifford's hit!"
James Bradley grabbed his medical kit and leaped from his fighting hole. He ran past Bruno to where the chief stood by Adam Clifford's position. James pulled the netting off the emplacement, and could see Adam slumped over with his back against the earthen wall. A quick check for a pulse found nothing, and when James pulled the bloody BDU jacket open, he could see there was no chance for survival. The entry wounds were large and the exit wounds even more ghastly. Bits of flesh and lung were plastered against the side of the position behind the corpse.
James looked up at the chief, who waited for the word. "He's dead."
"Shit," Gunnarson said. He went into the hole and checked for himself. Violent death puts a certain expression on a man's face at times. It's neither shock nor anger, just a sort of dazed, slack-jawed appearance. The chief got Adam's poncho and poncho liner and tossed them out. James laid them out properly as the other SEALs gathered around. He helped the Chief bring the corpse out, and they laid it on the covers.
Lieutenant Jim Cruiser walked over and knelt down. "Our first one." He'd seen it before, but in a new outfit it was almost as shocking as the first time he had gazed down at a dead SEAL who had been under his command.
Lieutenant Bill Brannigan joined the crowd. "He'll have to be buried ASAP," he said, hoping he wasn't sounding too sanguine about this first casualty. "No telling how long we'll be up here?'
"I'll have him interred and we can note the exact location of the grave with a GPS," Cruiser said.
"Have your squad take care of it," Brannigan ordered. "I need a word with you and the chiefs."
Frank Gomez came up with an apologetic expression on his face. "Sir. The Shadowfire radio was hit. It's nothing but a piece of crap now. Sony."
"It wasn't your fault," Brannigan said. "You couldn't have done any more to protect the commo gear other than keep it under cover." He turned and walked toward the CP. "Let's go, team leaders."
They stayed on their feet outside the CP's confines as they gazed back at the Second Squad beginning the burial process for their buddy. Brannigan sighed, then got back to the business at hand. "Did anybody note an insignia of any kind on those choppers?"
"No, sir," Cruiser replied. "Too bad we didn't know the enemy had aerial attack capabilities."
"Yeah," Brannigan said. "At any rate, we're cut off. We got no anti-aircraft weapons, but I guess nobody thought it would be necessary. We've also lost our long-range commo. There's an unknown enemy facing us and you can bet your asses that the sons of bitches are going to want to take this mountain."
Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins jerked his thumb toward the supply dump. "At least we got lots of ammo, sir, even if none of it is AA. It's more'n enough to knock down a whole bunch of jihad jerks."
"It may or may not be that easy, Senior Chief," Brannigan said. "Right now it appears we're caught dead in the middle of one of those battle-of-attrition scenarios. And if they have more men than we have bullets, we'll have a real load to carry around here." He turned and looked out over the terrain. "Get back to your units and do like they say in the Bible. Gird your loins for battle." He nodded to Cruiser. "We'll want to say a few words over Petty Officer Clifford. Let me know when you're ready for the services."
"Aye, sir," Cruiser said.
The 2IC and the chiefs headed over to their squads and teams.
.
WARLORD DURTAMI'S FORMER COMPOUND
NOON LOCAL
THE trio of Mi-24s came in and landed in an echelon right formation. As soon as they touched down, the troop compartment doors opened and twelve fully armed mujahideen fighters quickly exited each aircraft. As soon as all were off to one side, the choppers took off, once more turning toward the fiefdom of Warlord Hassan Khamami.
Although the thirty-six men wore the traditional Afghanistan puhtee caps, the rest of their uniforms were modern military. This was brand-new Russian Federation kamuflirovani kurtki pattern
camouflage garb as was issued to the Federation's Border Guard outfits. The men also had their features streaked with black and green face paint, and they sported AK-47 assault rifles with plenty of bandoleers of ammunition.
The leader of this group was Warlord Khamami's senior field commander, Major Karim Malari. He was a graduate of the Soviet Army's Infantry Academy and had taken other military training courses in the USSR. The officer had not been home for very long before he defected from the Democratic Afghanistan Army to join the mujahideen to fight the foreign invaders from the Soviet Union.
Now he took the handset of the R-108 tactical radio from his commo man and raised the station back in Al-Saraya Castle. "This is Field Command," he said into the mike. "First three helicopters are on the ground and all troops deplaned. The aircraft are on their way back to pick up the next lift. Out."
One of the sub-unit leaders joined him just as the major handed the handset back. The lieutenant saluted. "My men are ready to move out, Major Malari."
"Excellent," Malari said, glancing over at what was left of Durtami's compound. "Those infidels seem to enjoy a good fight. Look what they did to Durtami's old home."
The lieutenant smiled confidently. "I think the unbelievers have a big surprise in store for them. We're not a bunch of country bumpkins they can push around."
"I agree," Malari said. "They're confidence is going to be badly shaken when they discover they're facing the disciplined, well-trained troops of Amir Khamami." He checked his watch. "Alright, Lieutenant. Move your men out. Stay out of sight and take a good look at the terrain features leading up to the infidels' position. We'll run a night reconnaissance patrol after dark. I want everything ready by the time the rest of the command is here."
"Yes, sir!"
The young officer hurried over to lead his men up on East Ridge, where they could put the target area under observation.
.
WEST RIDGE CP
1500 HOURS LOCAL
LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan sat in the OP with Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz watching the helicopters coming in from the north, then disappearing behind East Ridge to land. So far they had counted ten flights of three choppers each for the past three hours.
Brannigan took the binoculars from his eyes. "They must be setting down at the warlord's compound over there."
"That's something SOCOM didn't figure on," Mike remarked.
"Yeah," Dave said. "It really torques my jaw that nobody knew these ragheads had choppers."
"That helicopter model is more than just a gunship, y'know," Mike said. "They're troop carriers too."
"Yeah," Brannigan agreed. "If I remember correctly, those are Mi-24s and can carry about eight troops each. That means a total of two hundred and forty men have been brought in."
"There's probably more than that, sir," Dave pointed out. "Have you ever seen how many of those people can crowd into one of those motor-rickshaws? I'll bet they have at least twelve guys crammed into each of those troop compartments."
"Mmm," Brannigan mused. "That would mean three hundred and sixty or so of them."
"And I don't think they've finished yet," Mike commented.
"We're gonna be outnumbered big time," Dave said. He shrugged. "At least we have plenty of ammo. We can mow those shrieking mujahideen down in rows if we have to."
"More food for the buzzards down on the slope," Mike said. "Those birds have been on triple rations since we got here:'
"All this reminds me of an uncle of mine," Brannigan said. "He was an infantryman in the Army during the Korean War. He used to talk about human wave attacks made by the Red Chinese. He was a gunner on a Browning light machine gun. He said he'd burn out barrel after barrel hosing fire bursts into those crazy bastards. Now I know how he felt."
"What are our tactical choices, sir?" Dave asked.
"Well," Brannigan said thoughtfully, "we can stay up here and hold out as long as we can. Maybe when somebody back at SOCOM notices our radio silence, they'll send out an aircraft to investigate."
"That's what those PRC-112s are good for," Mike said. "They can home in on the beacons."
"What if they're a little slow in reacting to our predicament?" Dave wondered aloud.
"Then we'll have to make what is known as a strategic withdrawal," Brannigan said. "That means sneaking out of here under the cover of darkness, hoping we can make it through a strong enemy force that has us surrounded."
"What about Adam Clifford?" Mike asked.
"We always bring our dead and wounded out," Brannigan said. "But we're not keeping one foot in the water like we used to. We'll have to note the burial site and come back for him."
"Or have someone else do the job," Dave commented. "Damn shame," Mike said glumly.
The three fell into silence as the noise of helicopters ascending into the sky suddenly came from the other side of East Ridge. Within moments all three choppers rose into view over the mountain, turning north.
"Well, there they go again," Mike said, "to pick up another twenty or thirty assholes for us to shoot at."
"And to fire back at us," Dave pointed out.
.
26 AUGUST
0230 HOURS LOCAL
THE platoon was on 50 percent alert, and Chad Murchison and Bruno Puglisi had been assigned to the OP for the mid-watch. Bruno was asleep while Chad took his turn keeping an eye on things. The night vision device gave him the usual eerie green-white environment to gaze into, and he studied the terrain in front of him with an intensity brought on by the heavy helicopter activity the day before. It was a sure sign that the local situation was going to liven up quite a bit.
Chad had been able to get up a bit higher since it was dark, and he had an excellent view of the boulders and vegetation that swept out and down from the position. Suddenly a stone clicked as if it had been dislodged or accidentally kicked against another one. The SEAL instinctively brought his CAR-15 up as his eyes scanned the terrain in front of him. The disturbance could have come from a jackal who had come back to see if there was anything left to eat on the bones of the dead mujahideen scattered down the slope of the ridge.
A movement to the right caught the SEAL's attention. A moment later he saw the crouching figure of a mujahideen who had evidently just stopped. The guy wore no night vision equipment, so he was working in the deep darkness under a severe handicap. Yet his ability to be silent impressed Chad as he once again began moving upward. The man carefully put his foot down to test the ground in front of him before placing his full weight on it. Then he repeated the movement with the opposite foot while sweeping his eyes in short jerks to see as well as possible in the night's blackness.
Chad thought first of trying to take him prisoner, but that wasn't feasible. He would have to go out to get him and that could bring him in contact with the guy's buddies. So he did the next best thing. He raised the CAR-15 to his shoulder, aimed and fired.
The mujahideen doubled over like he had been mule-kicked in the stomach, then fell to the rocks. There was no return fire, and the sounds of the enemy patrol withdrawing could be heard. They were moving as cautiously and as rapidly as they dared.
Now Puglisi was wide awake. He joined Chad to add his firepower in case of an attack, but now there was nothing but the night's natural silence. Moments later Lieutenants Bill Brannigan and Jim Cruiser appeared at the OP. "What the hell happened?" the Skipper asked.
"Enemy recon patrol, sir," Chad said. "I got one guy that was getting too close. After I fired, I could hear the rest of them making a rapid descent down the slope toward the valley."
Brannigan looked down at the corpse sprawled only a few scant meters away. "The guy is wearing a camouflage uniform and his face is painted. No extra noisemaking gear on him."
"Obviously a reconnaissance," Cruiser commented. "And they broke contact and withdrew just like a recon patrol is supposed to when contact with the enemy is inadvertently made."
"Shit," Brannigan said. "You know what, guys? We're faci
ng some disciplined troops here."
"Obviously," Cruiser agreed. "It would seem the rules of the game have changed."
"But not to our advantage," Brannigan said dryly.
.
WARLORD DURTAMI'S FORMER COMPOUND
DAWN LOCAL
THE patrol leader squatted in front of Major Karim Malari, who was seated on his Soviet Army--issue groundsheet. Both sipped from cups filled with dudh chai tea as the subordinate made his report to the field commander.
"We were able to go completely around the infidels' defensive perimeter, Major," the patrol leader said. "Allah was not with my point man. He stumbled on a rock and was shot dead on the spot. We withdrew without further casualties."
"What was the result of your reconnaissance?"
"I estimate they are no more than a platoon force of forty men at the very most," the patrol leader said. "They are in a circle defensive formation that runs around the entire top of the ridge. They make no unnecessary noise and their positions seem no more than field fortifications. We detected no bunkers."
"Then they are susceptible to mortar fire," Malari commented thoughtfully. "It is good that our battery is set up and ready to go into action."
"How soon do we attack, Major?"
The major chuckled. "I suggest you finish your tea as quickly as possible."
Chapter 14
WEST RIDGE BASE CAMP