by Damien Lewis
‘Appreciate you sayin’ it, buddy,’ the Major replied. ‘Question is, where do we best place our FAC teams tomorrow?’
‘Best place is the western tower, mate,’ said Tom. ‘End of today, Sam was there and I wasn’t far behind him. You got the best vantage point to see into the southern end of the fort. Plus they won’t be expectin’ us to be over that way, as we concentrated on the eastern side today.’
‘All right, then my team – that’s Tom, Sam and a couple of the 5th SOF boys – we’ll take the western tower. Captain Lancer, you OK with your guys taking up positions on the eastern side of the fort? You know that area well, n’all.’
‘That’s fine by me, Major,’ the SBS Captain replied. ‘That way we can have FAC teams covering both sides of the fort. But one thing, Major,’ he added, with a grin, ‘your boys will remember their comms antennae this time, won’t they?’
‘Well, you know, you Brits did such a good job n’all in there today, so maybe we’d be best off forgettin’ it,’ the Major retorted.
At that, the soldiers in the room fell about laughing. The mission planning was coming to an end, and they began to talk more freely about the events that had taken place that day in the fort.
‘So, do any of you lot have any idea what they’re fighting for?’ Mat asked. ‘Like, do they have any sort of strategy? Any grand plan that we’re not aware of?’
‘Grand plan? Yeah, like they all want to fuckin’ die,’ Tom answered. ‘You saw those suicide charges, mate. Fanatical fuckin’ death wish or what?’
‘Well, we just might have a take on that,’ one of the CIA officers volunteered, from the corner of the room. He was one of the Agency’s intel experts and had remained at Boxer Base all that day. ‘Seems like at the time those six hundred AQT surrendered, Dostum was undecided as to what they was up to. He reckoned there were three options: the first, that it was a trap; the second, they were surrenderin’ to see how they’d be treated; the third, that it was a genuine surrender. But he didn’t know which it was. So, think about the trap scenario. Right now there are some 6,000 AQT holed up in Kunduz, with heavy armour. And Kandahar – that’s the AQT stronghold in the south – hasn’t been taken yet. So, if the AQT forces could successfully counter-attack out of Kunduz and hit Mazar, you’d then have the Northern Alliance sandwiched in the middle, with the 6,000 AQT in the north and the rest of the AQT forces in the south. We reckon that was their overall game plan.’
‘But how does that relate to the six hundred prisoners, mate?’ Mat asked.
‘Like, how does getting yourself thrown in the slammer contribute to your grand strategy?’ Tom added.
‘Think if it wasn’t never a genuine surrender – the six hundred prisoners real aim bein’ to get their hands on the weapons in the fort and start a counter-attack from the west of Mazar. See what I’m drivin’ at? Then you got AQT breakin’ out of the fort and hittin’ Mazar from the west, and AQT breakin’ out of Kunduz and hittin’ Mazar from the east. So Mazar gets hit in a pincer movement. And then the whole NA forces get hit in a second pincer movement. And that, maybe, was their game plan.’
‘But we’ve got no proof on that,’ said Mat. ‘It’s just a theory, right?’
‘Yeah, it’s still just a theory,’ the CIA agent answered. ‘But it’s one a lot of the local Afghans are talkin’ about right now.’
‘What’s the score on Mike Spann, then?’ Mat asked, changing the subject. ‘We are confirmed he’s dead, right?’
‘There was a guy lyin’ in the southern end of the fort,’ said Sam, quietly. ‘I saw him from the western tower. He was dressed in jeans and a shirt. That ain’t the sort of garb the AQT wear. And it’s the right place to have seen him, according to Dave. He wasn’t movin’, that’s all I can say.’
‘How’s the finger, mate?’ said Tom, deliberately trying to change the subject. He knew that Sam was still troubled by whatever he’d seen from the western tower at the end of that day’s fighting.
‘Which one, bro?’ Sam replied, with a tired grin. ‘Anyhow, thought you promised never to mention it?’
‘Promised? Fuck off, mate. You know, the one you fucked going over the wall – your trigger finger, mate.’
‘You what?’ Mat asked, incredulously. ‘He buggered his trigger finger? Who the hell was doing all the fighting in there, then?’
‘Who d’you fuckin’ think, mate?’ Tom replied. ‘Tom “Balls of Brass” Knight, mate, that’s who.’
For several minutes the SBS lads ripped the piss mercilessly out of Sam over his strained trigger finger, each of them using it as an excuse to relieve some of the stress and tension of the day. As the meeting broke up, Major Martin quietly drew Tom to one side.
‘Say, buddy – you guys always, you know, dress this way, kinda informal, like?’ he remarked, as he put an arm around Tom’s shoulder. ‘An’ you always kinda call your officers “mate” and “boss”, an’ they don’t object or nothin’?’
‘That’s just the way we do things, mate,’ Tom replied. ‘It’s the ethos behind UK special forces – everyone is respected and has their say, pretty much regardless of rank. No one stands on fuckin’ ceremony. That’s just the way we go about gettin’ things done.’
‘I mean, no offence intended, buddy, you guys did a great job in there today. It’s just, you know, from where I’m standin’ it all seems pretty kinda strange is all.’
‘Well, I reckon you must be gettin’ used to it by now, eh? Cos I tell you one thing, mate, it won’t be no fuckin’ different tomorrow.’
After the debrief had ended, Mat and Jamie went for a smoke and a stroll around the Boxer Base compound. Jamie handed out the Marlboro to his friend, and they lit up. He still wanted to talk about the events back in the fort.
‘You scared in there today, mate?’ Jamie asked.
‘Didn’t have time to think about it,’ Mat replied. ‘I’m bloody petrified now, though, mate.’
The two men laughed. Then Jamie spoke again.
‘I killed a lot of people in there today.’
‘Me too,’ said Mat.
‘Yeah, but on the Gimpy, I was just murdering them.’
‘How many d’you reckon?’ asked Mat.
‘Dozens,’ Jamie answered, quietly. ‘Maybe hundreds. Who the fuck knows? I reckon I saw white faces in there, too. You know, like Europeans. Maybe there was Brits in among them, like Muslim converts.’
‘Can’t be helped, can it, mate? If they’re Taliban or al-Qaeda it doesn’t matter where they’re from. Just got to take ’em out.’
‘Just fuckin’ call me the “Executioner”,’ Jamie said, ignoring Mat’s last remark. ‘Just fuckin’ call me the “Executioner” –’
‘Look, mate, way I see it is this,’ said Mat, trying to get Jamie’s attention again. ‘Back in the Naka Valley I saved a lot of people that needed saving. And I killed a load of people in that fort today that needed killing. Simple as that. And I ain’t troubled by it.’
Jamie took a long drag on his Marlboro and as he did so Mat stole a quick glance over at him. In the glow from the cigarette he could see that Jamie’s face was looking haggard and exhausted. Jamie was one of Mat’s closest mates and he knew that the big man was a tough and fearless warrior, with hidden strengths. But he was also a sensitive soul. And Mat could tell that Jamie was troubled by today’s killing – the wholesale slaughter that had taken place in that fort. It was all so different from their image of how war should be fought. They’d expected tough and bloody combat, and that they’d found today. But they’d also encountered a senseless, numbing, mindless slaughter.
Yes, Mat knew that he too had killed that day, but only a fraction of the numbers accounted for by the two GPMG gunners. He didn’t exactly expect Ruff to be disturbed by the killing – it wasn’t in his nature. But he made a mental note that when they got back to Poole he’d get Jamie out on the lash. They’d have a proper talk over a few beers, and probably both get all emotional. Which was about the nearest any of t
he SBS lads ever got to analysing and dealing with the trauma of their job.
As the men retired to their beds, Sam Brown found himself unable to sleep. He was deeply troubled by the day’s events. At the end of their rescue mission, he had spotted a figure that he was convinced was CIA Agent Mike Spann. None of the Afghan soldiers, or the enemy for that matter, wore jeans and a dark Western shirt. They wore combats and djellabas. So it had to be CIA Mike. He was lying in the courtyard outside the enemy stronghold, face down and unmoving, and Sam had been unable to tell if he was dead or alive. So the soldier had proceeded to put two bullets into the ground, as close to the CIA agent’s head as he dared, to see if the figure moved or flinched. Both times he squeezed the trigger there had been no sign of life from the CIA agent. But Sam still didn’t know for sure that Mike Spann was dead. He could conceivably have been unconscious and badly injured, but still breathing.
Sam had known that it was impossible for him and Tom to fight their way any further into the fort alone. As it was, they had taken their lives in their hands even to get this far. But it was the thought of abandoning CIA Agent Mike Spann – when there was just the chance that he could still be alive – that troubled him so very, very deeply.
‘Brother Ali, Brother Ali.’ It was Ahmed speaking, as he gently tried to shake Ali’s comatose form awake. ‘Brother Ali, it’s me, Ahmed.’
‘What is it?’ Ali replied, groggily. After the day’s vicious and bloody action he’d been sleeping the sleep of the dead. ‘What time is it, brother?’
‘A little after four thirty,’ Ahmed answered. ‘Brother, during the night several of the brothers broke out of the fort via the drainage channels. They said they were going to seek help in the village. I could do nothing to stop them. We’ve just heard an outbreak of fighting. A firefight, mainly AK47s, down in the village. It’s all gone quiet now. I think the brothers were intercepted.’
‘As sure as Allah is the All Merciful One, anyone who tries to escape now is a fool,’ Ali replied, angrily. ‘We should expect no quarter from the kafir, and give none in return. If they catch you they will kill you and that’s one more brother who has died in vain. We stay here and fight. To the death. Until the last drop of kafir blood that can be shed has been shed.’
‘Al-hamdu Lillah, brother, I am with you,’ Ahmed replied, quietly. In the faint light of the coming dawn Ali could see just how drawn and haggard his giant warrior friend was looking. ‘But some of the brothers are still talking of surrender. They do not want to face another day of the kafir bombing. How can we fight them, they ask, when they just use their air power to massacre us? How many brothers have we lost like that already, Brother Ali? One hundred? Two hundred? Maybe more? Brother Ali, the fort grounds are littered with the bodies of the shouhada’a.’
‘Is this truly the other brothers speaking, Brother Ahmed, or is it you?’ Ali asked, softly. ‘Do you agree with them, brother, that this is no way to die, to be shaheed? If so, do you really think the kafir would accept our surrender, after all that we have now done? After “surrendering” and then betraying them? After killing the American CIA dogs? After killing the Northern Alliance whore commanders? After taking the alcohol-drinking and pig-flesh-eating Dostum’s fort and destroying it? After all that, do you really think they would accept our surrender?’
‘I don’t know, brother. I doubt it,’ Ahmed replied, looking at the ground. ‘If it were only me, brother, I would fight back to back with you until either the last kafir had his throat cut or we were both shouhada’a. And then, insh’Allah, we would be together in Paradise. But some of the brothers are young and scared and tired, and their hearts are not firm, brother. What do we tell them? What do we say to them to make them stand and fight?’
‘We tell them the truth, Brother Ahmed,’ Ali replied. ‘We tell them what the forces of kofr have done to this beautiful, pure Islamic country. What these dirty infidel dogs have done to the Muslim sisters, the Muslim children, the young babies and the grandparents. How they have bombed our villages, our towns, our mountains and our fields. Call the brothers together, Brother Ahmed. I will speak to them. And I will put fire back into their hearts. And I will make them yearn to kill the kafir like never before.’
Some thirty minutes later, the surviving brothers were gathered together in the darkness of the largest of the underground bunkers. Ali stood up to speak to them.
‘Brothers, remember the words of the Holy Koran, chapter nine, verse fourteen: “Fight against them so that Allah will punish them by your hands and disgrace them and give you victory over them and heal the breasts of a believing people.” Brothers, from the four corners of the world we came to the jihad, to Afghanistan and now to this fort to heal the breasts of a believing people. And how the believing people have suffered, brothers, under the murderous hand of the kafir. That is why we are here, brothers. Remember, the All Merciful One never promised that the path we have chosen, the path of the jihad, would be easy. And now is not the time to lose heart, brothers. Now is not the time to lose heart.’
‘He’s right, brothers, he’s right,’ said Ahmed, as Ali paused for breath. ‘Listen to the wise words and reflect on the path of the jihad.’
‘This war is, in the infidel leader Bush’s own words, a “crusade”, brothers. It is a war of kofr – disbelief – against the one true faith, Islam. The history of this conflict does not go back only to the glorious day of 11 September, when the Nineteen Lions roared and changed the course of history. It goes back to the time when the Jewish tribes gathered against the Prophet, peace be upon Him, and the Christians launched the Crusades against the Muslims. It goes back to the American government’s murderous policies on Iraq, Palestine, Bosnia, Kashmir and the Sudan, to name but a few. Like Bush himself said, you are either with the forces of kofr, the disbelievers, the forces of Zionist-controlled America, or against them. Did the Prophet – peace be upon Him – not say, “A Muslim is the brother of a Muslim, he does not forsake him or betray him”?’
‘Brother Ali speaks the truth, brothers,’ one of the young men in the group shouted out. ‘And what if we do die? There lies the path to Paradise.’
‘As soon as the first hostile disbelievers entered this land, this Holy Land of Afghanistan, defensive jihad became obligatory on all Muslims,’ Ali continued. He could tell that he was winning the brothers round. ‘Those who have not answered that call and were able to do so, brothers, will be punished by Allah in the hereafter. Have no doubt about that. And those who have answered the call, as we have, brothers, they will be lifted up in the hearts of green birds into Paradise itself. Remember the words of the Holy Koran, chapter three, verse 140: “Allah may distinguish between those who believe so that He may take from your ranks the Martyrs. And Allah does not take the wrongdoers.”
‘And do not think the path of the jihad is without pain, without sacrifice, without blood, without fatigue, without torture.’ Ali was growing in confidence as he spoke. ‘For it says in the Holy Koran, chapter two, verse 214: “Do you really think that you will enter Paradise without such trials as came to those who passed before you? They were afflicted with severe poverty and ailments and were so shaken that even the Prophet and those others who believed said: ‘When will come the help of Allah?’ Yet, certainly, the help of Allah was near!” The path to victory is long and arduous and full of challenges, brothers. Brothers, without suffering, where is the test of the true believers? And when the suffering is at its greatest, believe then that the help of Allah is nearest at hand.’
‘Hear him, brothers,’ Ahmed interjected. ‘Al-hamdu Lillah, those are fine words.’
‘Now is not the time to turn aside from our path, brothers. For it says in the Holy Koran, chapter nine, verse 111: “They fight in Allah’s cause, so they kill and are killed … Then rejoice in the bargain you have concluded. That is the supreme success.” Can we give up the path of jihad now, brothers? Can we break the bargain that we have made with the All Merciful One? Can we desert our duty to the
jihad, to kill the kafir or be killed in the process? We cannot turn away from the true path now, brothers. The gates to Paradise lie before us, brothers. Those gates are open for us, ready to welcome each and every one of us in.’
‘Death to the kafir!’ Ahmed started to chant. ‘Death to the kafir!’
The call was quickly taken up by the other brothers, growing in power and volume as more and more joined in.
‘I know you are with me, brothers,’ Ali shouted, raising his hands to silence them. ‘I know I can count on every single one of you to do your duty to Islam. This war in Afghanistan is the start of a war that will last for decades, and after much suffering it will end in victory for the believers. For it says in the Holy Koran, chapter sixty-one, verse nine: “It is He who has sent His Messenger with guidance and the religion of truth, that He may make it prevail over all other religions, no matter how much the disbelievers detest it.”’
‘Al-hamdu Lillah!’ several of the brothers shouted, excitedly.
‘Now, today, brothers we will fight differently,’ Ali continued. ‘Listen to me carefully. Unless absolutely necessary, no one is to go outside and expose himself to the kafir bombings. We will stick to the underground chambers and we will fight from the cover of the windows and doorways. In that way, brothers, we will force the kafir to come into the fort and fight us. And then – by the grace of Allah – we will massacre them and wipe them out. We have water to drink from the irrigation channels, brothers, and the meat of Dostum’s horses to eat. We can survive here as long as it takes, brothers, until the kafir are forced to come and fight us here, on our own terms.’
‘Allahu Akhbar!’ several of the brothers chanted.
‘I promise you, brothers, that this morning you will see a sign that the help of Allah is near at hand. A great and magical blow will be struck against the kafir, and you will witness the wondrous power of the All Mighty One. This morning, brothers. This very morning. Allahu Akhbar!’