Rolling Thunder (2007)

by Jack - Seals 04 Terral

  These can, Dawkins insisted. Maybe we'll bring some back with us the next time.

  Oh, you are not having to do that, Captain said. We are good people.

  Well, we'll see about that, Dawkins said. He heard Brannigan call out his name, and he turned to see the Skipper motioning him to return to Charlie One. He turned his gaze back to Captain, giving the Tajic a warning glare. You're gonna remember what I told you, sahi?

  Of course, Buford, Captain said, already waving. Xuda hafiz!

  Xudafiz, Dawkins replied, corrupting the Dari words for good-bye.

  Within minutes, the SEALs were in their vehicles and speeding away from the village into the desert. They headed in a generally northwestern direction at a gas-saving thirty-five miles per hour toward the next village on their patrol. After they went about ten miles, Frank Gomez's voice came over the LASH headset. Skipper, I just got a transmission over the Shadowfire. We're supposed to return to Shelor Field by the quickest route. Carey and Berringer are waiting for us there.

  Good deal! interjected Lieutenant Junior Grade Jim Cruiser. As Sherlock Holmes would say, 'The game's afoot!'

  Brannigan turned the wheel, whipping the DPV toward a southeastern route as his men followed.

  .

  THE OPIUM TRAIL

  AFGHANISTAN

  16 MAY

  NOON

  THE farmers who cultivated and harvested the opium poppies did so for very good economic reasons. If they planted the usual crops wheat, barley, and corn each family would earn the equivalent of approximately 150 American dollars per year. But the plants from which heroin is made afforded the cultivators 64,500 afghani annually, which translated into 1500 American dollars per year for the average family. It was not surprising that this tenfold advantage in cash encouraged them to cultivate and process the poppies. The growers drew the juice from the unripe seeds of the plants, and air-dried it until it formed into a thick gum. Further drying of this gum resulted in a powder for the final product that was sold.

  The farmers' customers were the smugglers who paid them cash for the illicit crops. They took care of the transport to the rendezvous site, to be loaded onto trucks for delivery to the Iranian-Turkish border, to be sold yet again. This time, the transfer of the product was to other illicit entrepreneurs who would see the powder got to the right people. These gangsters were from the criminal organizations who had the means to process it into heroin for the markets of the West.

  The cultivators loved this arrangement, and were deeply grateful for the opportunity to make so much money. It was easy, fast work without the backbreaking struggle of plowing and harvesting grain crops. These planters considered opiates a blessing from Allah. And if the stuff trapped infidels in the hell of addiction, so much the better. That was what the Nonbelievers of Western civilization deserved.

  SURPRISE and astonishment registered on the expressive face of Archibald Sikes Pasha when the donkey train from the stronghold reached its destination. He, Naser Khadid, Malyar Lodhi, Jandol Kakar, and a couple of dozen mujahideen came down from the Gharawdara Highlands onto the plains after several grueling hours of foot travel under the direction of Husay Bangash. Within a quarter of an hour of trekking across the desert, the travelers reached the rendezvous point. This was where the caravans formed up to take opium shipments out of Afghanistan, across Iran, and into Turkey.

  In Sikes' mind he had pictured a crude bivouac with more donkeys or maybe camels gathered around an oasis of some sort. Instead, he saw a small cluster of buildings around which were parked six modern military trucks and a dozen civilian pickups that had machine guns mounted on top of the cabs.

  Khadid glanced at his English companion, grinning in delight. This is not what you were expecting, was it, Sikes Pasha?

  Not by a bluddy long shot, Sikes remarked. He glanced at some more military vehicles on the other side of the buildings. Who're them blokes over there then?

  Afghan Army officers, Khadid explained. Their units bring the stuff this far, then we'll put it on those trucks which belong to the Iranian Army, by the way and take it the rest of the way to Turkey.

  Now that makes me nervous, Sikes said. I ambushed an Afghan motor patrol, remember?

  The multiple conspiracies going on in modern Afghanistan create a bewildering pattern of inconsistencies, Khadid explained. These Afghan soldiers are not concerned about what you've done or where you've been.

  That's a relief, Sikes said. Now wot about them civilian trucks?

  Those are Toyota pickups that have been fixed up with machine guns, Khadid said. The weapons are most excellent German MG-3 seven-point-six-two-millimeters that have proven very dependable in the past.

  I wouldn't think those would be necessary, Sikes remarked. It looks like the law is on the smugglers' side in this operation.

  Kakar interjected himself into the conversation. Our opponents are other smugglers. Rivals, actually.

  Who're the brave lads that handle the German machine guns?

  Iranian soldiers, Khadid replied. They have already proven themselves in some rather large battles in the past. We have to be prepared for the worst. By the way, we'll be riding in the cabs of the pickups during the journey. The mujahideen will be in the Iranian vehicles.

  I see, Sikes said. Do Turkish soldiers take over when we cross into that country?

  Bangash, who had been listening to the conversation, shook his head. They're the bad guys, dude. The last people we want to see is a column of motorized Turkish infantry roaring our way. That's when the law is against us. But we don't have to sweat that shit till we get close to Turkey. Sometimes, it's best for us to stay on the Iranian side of the border. He strode ahead, motioning the others to follow him. Those other guys will take care of the donkeys. They'll stay penned up here till we get back from the run with all our goodies. Then we load them up and trek back to the stronghold, where everyone is happy as pigs in shit to see us and the stuff we bring.

  The four followed the head smuggler over to the buildings, where a group of military officers stood waiting. Sikes noticed both Iranian and Afghan uniforms among the Army men. When they arrived, Khadid greeted them as old friends. There were some customary Islamic hugs, kissing motions, and backslapping. The Iranian pointed to Sikes. This is Orakzai's new field commander. He's going on this run to familiarize himself with this part of our operations. Quick introductions were made, but the names went right by Sikes. He really didn't give a damn who they were anyway. What he did make note of was the fact that they didn't seem too surprised to see him. That told him all the military men had already been fully briefed on his background.

  As the group stood in conversation, another officer over by the Iranian trucks called out something in Farsi that caught Khadid's attention. He took Sikes' arm and led him over to the man. After an exchange of salutes, a large envelope was handed to Khadid. He immediately passed it on to Sikes. The Englishman frowned in puzzlement. Wot's this then?

  Open it, Sikes Pasha, Khadid said.

  Sikes took his knife and ran it along the top edge of the envelope. He opened it and pulled out what appeared to be a legal paper. A diploma of sorts was with it. Khadid watched Sikes look at the unfamiliar script of the Farsi wording on the documents. That's for you, Sikes Pasha, he said. It is your appointment as sargord. You are now officially a major in the Iranian Army. Thus, as it is said in the language of my people, tabrik! Congratulations!

  Sikes grinned to himself. After all the strife and trouble, he had finally ended up a proper officer. Maybe the commission wasn't in the Royal Regiment of Dragoons, but it was of field-grade rank. He wouldn't be surprised if he went all the way to the top of the Iranian General Staff. Say, Cap'n Khadid, how d'you say 'field marshal' in Farsi?

  Our equivalent is called an arteshbod, the Iranian replied.

  Motor sounds from a distance caught everyone's attention. They turned to see a convoy of four large military transport trucks coming across the desert toward them. As they drew closer,
Sikes noticed they were UK TM 6-6 models. The sight of vehicles used by the British Army caused him a flash of nervousness. But when he saw the green-white-black stripes of the Afghan flag on the bumpers, the new major relaxed.

  Khadid noticed him gazing at the trucks. Sikes Pasha, those vehicles bring us the preprocessed opium poppy powder. The loads are not so much, because there are no modern facilities available for the final production of the powder into heroin; thus, the amount available is limited. But the quantity is sufficient to make each caravan a very profitable operation.

  So wot's gonna happen now then? Sikes asked.

  The bales will be transferred from the Afghan trucks to the Iranian ones, Khadid explained. When that it is done, we will begin our journey out of Afghanistan. We are going to spend tomorrow traveling across Iran, and the day after, Allah willing, our caravan will be in Turkey or at the border.

  I'm starting to see a lot o' this part o' the world, hey?

  Yes, Khadid said. By the way. Do you wish to be addressed by your military rank or the title you have chosen?

  I'll stay Sikes Pasha.

  Chapter 19

  SHELOR FIELD

  SEALS HANGAR

  15 MAY

  1600 HOURS

  COMMANDER Thomas Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer were in a magnanimous mood when the SEALs arrived back at Shelor Field after their hurry-up return from patrol. The two staff officers actually allowed them time to take showers, then go to early chow at the base mess hall, before having them settle down in the hangar for the new briefing.

  Clean and belching, the Brigands sat in the folding chairs with pens and notebooks held at the ready as Carey stepped to the front of the group. It looks like it's deja vu all over again, gentlemen. You've gone from cold to hot to cold, and you're about to go back to hot again.

  Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, glad to see that things were picking up from the slow going of the previous weeks, asked, Is this a continuation of earlier actions, sir?

  Negative, Carey replied. This is a brand-new mission that's being thrust into Operation Rolling Thunder. And it's a damn critical one. The mission statement is as follows: You will make an attack or attacks on an opium-smuggling trail to neutralize the activity.

  Jesus! Bruno Puglisi exclaimed. Who the fuck do they think we are? The DEA?

  There's more than that to it, Carey said. Now here's the situation. Iran's bid for power now goes beyond WMD programs. They have organized an extensive Special Operations branch in their Army to take over all Shiite insurgencies in the Middle East.

  The commander quickly but fully informed the SEALs of Operation Persian Empire with all its implications and ramifications. The potential dangers resulting from Iranian success in the operation were immediately appreciated by the audience.

  The N-3 continued. This program is being financed by their participation in opium poppy-smuggling from Afghanistan to Turkey. Obviously, this operation must be destroyed not curtailed but destroyed!

  Lieutenant Junior Grade Jim Cruiser raised his hand. Why not turn it over to the flyboys? Couldn't they bomb the hell out of that route?

  That won't work, Carey said. Unfortunately, the way from Afghanistan through Iran and into Turkey could run through hundreds of mountain passes. Aerial bombardment would just slow the bad guys down temporarily. Then they'd pick up the pace along another direction.

  What the hell? Chief Matt Gunnarson said. If Afghanistan isn't the best place to hit them, then cream the bastards in Iran.

  That is not even under consideration, Carey said. So we can forget that little tactic. Politics, diplomacy, and old-fashion chickenshit will allow us to make our attacks only in Afghanistan. As I mentioned, the flyboys won't be able to handle it, so somebody has to go in there and get down and dirty. That means DPVs. The smugglers are using trucks for hauling and machine gun'mounted Toyota pickups for protection.

  They've already had some attacks from rival smugglers and even Turkish Army units, but they've shown they can handle any adversity quite effectively. You'll find your enemy consists of professional soldiers. Be on your toes!

  The Skipper was thoughtful. Mmm. We know the mission and the situation. And I have to tell you, sir, I'm real curious about the execution phase of this operation.

  You are going to be flown by C-One-Thirty from Shelor Field to an area we're calling the Opium Trail, Carey said. You'll be facing a dozen of those Toyotas, but you'll have six DPVs with two machine guns on each and you can go eighty miles per. It looks like you'll be involved in the same-type combat you had against the armored cars. But it should be easier.

  Excuse me, sir, Senior Chief Dawkins said, but we're outnumbered two to one, and them Toyotas can go a hell of a lot faster than eighty miles an hour. And as an Alabama farm boy, I do know my pickups.

  The Toyotas don't have run-flat tires, Carey said. And keep in mind that they are not armored.

  Well, shit! Puglisi exclaimed. Neither are we!

  Carey showed an apologetic grin. What's the name of that old song? 'I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.'

  Oh, well, Puglisi said with a shrug. There's also another old song: 'You Always Hurt the One You Love.'

  Carey's grin turned from apologetic to wry. Yeah. And I do love you guys.

  If you're both through discussing American music, let's get back to the situation at hand, the Skipper said with a frown. There is one small potential being overlooked. You mentioned rival smugglers. Don't you think if we laid enough hurt on the main bad guys, all the smugglers are going to get together to resist us?

  We don't know that for a fact, Carey said.

  Now Chad Murchison joined in the conversation. I can foresee yet another situation arising, sir. Could it be that our hegemony would be willing to allow this narcotic smuggling to continue if it could be removed from the Iranian sphere of influence?

  I take it that, by 'hegemony,' you are referring to our command structure, Petty Officer Murchison, Carey said. Let me answer that by saying there is no way that anybody in authority, whether it be political, military, or diplomatic, is going to condone the smuggling of narcotics to the West under any circumstances. The reason this job has been handed to you is that the situation has global implications. If Operation Persian Empire isn't completely obliterated, the domino effect will be catastrophic. It would be a disaster destined to plague the civilized world for decades.

  Garth Redhawk brought up another angle. But if we take out these bad guys, what's to stop the Iranians from working with those rival smugglers?

  Right, Doc Bradley chimed in. The Iranians could change outlaw organizations as fast as we could knock them off.

  We'd be shoveling shit against the tide, Joe Miskoski added.

  The answer to that is simple, Carey said. You have to get rid of the Iranians involved. When they are gone, then things will get back to normal after a while. The rival smugglers will shoot it out, then the winner will control everything. They'll keep all the money, meaning the Iranians get nothing for their Persian Empire. He gestured to Lieutenant Commander Berringer. Pass out the maps and photos, Ernie.

  Berringer had arranged packets of satellite photographs and maps of the smuggling area for the SEALs' use. As he distributed them among the Brigands, the Skipper spoke up again. What about assets? Surely, there must be one available from among all those miscreants.

  Berringer walked back up to the front of the room. We do have an asset. His code name is Aladdin.

  Are we going to get a chance to meet with him and ask him some questions?

  Unfortunately, Berringer said, we have never met him. He transmits his intelligence from an unknown location somewhere in western Afghanistan.

  Well, hell! Brannigan said. Give us his frequency and I can have Gomez contact him.

  We have never had a reply when we tried to raise him, Berringer said.

  Jesus Christ! Brannigan sputtered. Isn't he working with one of our intelligence agencies?

  No, Berringer adm
itted. He just popped up out of the blue.

  What the hell! Brannigan barked. Then how in God's name do you know he's reliable?

  We have been assured by the CIA that the information he gives us is accurate, Carey interjected.

  Shit! Brannigan said, standing up. This Aladdin son of a bitch could be setting us up for a big fall.

  All I can tell you is that it has been determined that he is trustworthy.

  Brannigan was really pissed off now. That isn't good enough for me, goddamn it, sir!

  Now Carey lost his temper. It's going to have to be good enough for you, Lieutenant! An OPLAN has been drawn up based on Aladdin's transmissions, and you are going to turn that into an OPORD and obey any other orders you are given! Understand?

  Aye, sir, Brannigan said, sitting down but still seething.