Combat Alley (2007)
Page 4
The two Pashtun girls usually wore their native garb. But at special times, their master insisted that they don tight dresses with short skirts that were readily available in the shops in Dolirod. Since the women were not allowed out of the village, their masters did all the shopping. These garments were worn with the top buttons undone to afford a generous view of their cleavage. Individual men also picked out special outfits such as sheer slips and nightgowns for their women to wear at certain times. After years of imprisonment.
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1900 HOURS
LUKA Yarkov had called a meeting of his underbosses in his home. These were Valentin Surov, Aleksei Barkyev, and Fedor Grabvosky. All three had the talents that had made them not only members of the hierarchy in Logovishchyeh but also during the long years in the military prison when they advised and directed Yarkov on running the gang.
Valentin Surov was an ex-officer, well educated and addicted to a gambling habit that had ruined his military career. He brought some sophisticated intellect to the table. Aleksei Barkyev was one of those rare individuals who was physically imposing, possessing great strength, yet had a keen and lively logic that enabled him to make accurate assessments of both tangible and abstract situations. Unfortunately that was where his aptitude ended. He could never figure out the right actions to take after his deductions. Fedor Grabvosky, on the other hand, was a small, sickly weakling, but he had a cunning intellect that not only aided him in surviving the savage environment of prison but made him a great planner. He and Barkyev together made one very imposing team.
Yarkov's wives had gotten several bottles of vodka from the freezer, along with the tall, narrow glasses traditionally used to imbibe the liquor. They set the servings down on the table as the four guests ogled them for their plump prettiness. This still made Gabina feel a bit uneasy, but Zainba's feminine ego was pleased with the attention. Such conduct would never have been permitted by a Pashtun man and would have led to a deadly confrontation with any other male who would dare show such disrespect to the women of his household.
After the girls withdrew to the kitchen, the Russians charged the glasses for the customary toast. Bogatstvo ee mestnost! Yarkov announced, asking for riches and wellbeing. They all knocked back the slugs of vodka in one swallow.
So, said Surov, refilling his glass. Why have you called us together, Luka Ivanovich? He used the patronymic as was custom among Russians.
It is time to begin preparation for the next opium harvest, Yarkov replied.
I visited that village as you ordered, Surov said. I took Putnovsky with me and we informed the villagers that they owed you a tax. He shrugged. I must tell you that I did not feel that would accomplish much.
I had you do that because of being counseled to do so by little Fedor Zakharovich, Yarkov said. I will let him explain it to you.
The diminutive Grabvosky, who had been a payroll clerk in the Army, could imbibe a lion's share of vodka in spite of his small size. The main job given us by the big boss in Khorugh is to take over the entirety of the poppy crops being grown on the Pranistay Steppes. However, we must do so in well-planned steps. It will give us time to develop alliances among the Pashtuns.
We cannot go to the Pashtuns we've stolen women from, Surov pointed out.
That still leaves us plenty since we have not gone to all the villages, Grabvosky said. Our principal enemy will be the warlord Awalmir Yousafzai.
Can't we fight Yousafzai by ourselves? Barkyev asked.
We need the Pashtuns to harvest the poppies, Grabvosky said. You must remember that down on the steppes there are long and bitter feuds between the tribes. I believe you are aware that the last names used by the Pashtuns are their main tribal names. That is an indication of how important their clans are to them. They will not bear insults or abuse to be directed toward their kinsmen. Fortunately for us, there have been many conflicts that have left smoldering resentment that bursts out in bloody vendettas from time to time. And as I stated before, we will approach those tribes who we have not attacked.
Ah! Barkyev exclaimed. So we will work one tribe against the other, eh?
Tochno exactly! Grabvosky exclaimed. But there is an additional requirement in order for us to be able to gain control and exert influence on the people of the steppes. They are all afraid of Awalmir Yousafzai, who is in actuality the warlord of the largest tribe in the area.
Is he capable of crushing the others? Surov asked.
Not all at once, Barkyev replied. But he can handle them quite easily one at a time. Our goal is to unite the tribes to go to war against him.
Can we do that? Yarkov asked. Those tribes are not exactly friendly toward us since they consider us infidels.
Ah, yes! Grabvosky said. But if we made treaties with them, we could unite them under your leadership. The first step is to go to the Mahsud tribe where Surov and Putnovsky informed them they owed a tax to you. Now you must 'forgive' the tax and tell them you want to be friends with them because you found out that the Yousafzai tribe is their enemy. You inform them that the Yousafzais are your enemy too.
Barkyev laughed loudly. Of course! There is the old Pashtun proverb that says the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
We could do this with other special villages and tribes until we and they are strong enough to defeat the Yousafzais, Surov remarked enthusiastically. With them out of the way, we can control all the other Pashtuns on the Pranistay Steppes.
The opium poppy harvests and sales will be ours, Grabvosky added.
How many tribes are out there on the steppes with whom we can establish a rapport? Barkyev asked.
Let me think, Yarkov mused. There are the Mahsuds and Kharotis. That's two.
Do not forget the Ghilzais, Surov said.
The last one is the Bhittanis, Grabvosky said. That makes four.
That is very good, Barkyev said. That means there will be four against the Yousafzais. Counting us Russians, that gives us odds of five to one. The scales balance in our favor.
Five to three! Grabvosky corrected. Our enemies are the Janoons and Swatis, but they may or may not join the Yousafzais.
Even if they do, we will enjoy a near two-to-one advantage, Surov said.
No matter, Yarkov said. It will be an easy victory. By the time of the next poppy harvest, the whole of the Pranistay Steppes will be under our control.
By Lenin's ghost, boys! Barkyev exclaimed. We are going to start a war.
Yarkov raised his glass of vodka. Ko voina! To war!
The other three at the table joined the toast.
Chapter 4
SHARIF GARRISON, PAKISTAN
16 OCTOBER
1000 HOURS
THE riding instruction for the SEALs came to a close. At the end of the final lesson, every man was able to handle his horse in an acceptable manner. They were not experts by a long shot, but Pete Dawson and Dave Leibowitz had a surprisingly natural aptitude for equitation. Those talented rookies ended up being close in ability to the more experienced Tex Benson, Monty Sturgis, Garth Redhawk, and Chad Murchison. Lieutenant Barakaat Sidiqui was confident enough in the detachment's horsemanship to believe that any shortcomings in riding among the rest of the SEALs could be quickly made up with practice in the field during the operation.
Before the Brigands packed up gear and mounts for the flight to Shelor Field, their Pakistani instructor had a final surprise for them. He took the group out to the Army's jumping course, where the military team trained for international competition. The squad was well known in the sport, having participated in several Olympics. Sidiqui explained that the practice of jumping horses over obstacles was started many decades before in British cavalry regiments where the activity was considered nothing less than a necessary training exercise.
When the SEALs reached the course, they gathered at a good viewing spot just outside the fence. Eddie Krafton was already there with his camera, ready to record everything on tape. Chad Murchison looked around. Where's Dirk? he asked.
You'll see real quick, Eddie said, making sure the lens of his camera covered the entirety of the riding field.
May I have everyone's attention? Lieutenant Sidiqui said. You are about to see a demonstration of excellent horsemanship. He let out a loud, sharp whistle.
A horse suddenly appeared from around the far stables, and the rider took it at a canter into the interior of the fenced area. It was Dirk Wallenger, and he guided the mount onto the course. He rode smoothly and easily at the first obstacle, which was a collapsible wooden wall. The horse cleared it gracefully, not breaking stride as it headed for the next jump.
You will notice, Sidiqui said loudly, that Mr. Wallenger is making sure he adjusts his position in the saddle to not upset his mount's balance during the jumping maneuver.
Wallenger and his equine companion next went over a triple bar, cantered on to a couple of more in a smooth, even ride-jump-ride-jump-ride sequence. The SEALs cheered and whistled in appreciation of the performance. Next was a water jump that Wallenger took the horse completely across, clearing the brush at the front, the small pond in the middle, and lastly the lathe on the far side. The demonstration elicited more loud approval from his audience. He then went over three vertical elements of various heights before slowing to a trot and riding over to where the Brigands shouted their approval at him.
Hell of ride, guy!
Well done, dude!
You are one badass cowboy, man!
Dirk Wallenger was extremely pleased with the reaction. He grinned, blushing at the praise. Well, he said, I've had a lot of practice.
That was most inimitable, Dirk, Murchison said. Have you been in competition?
Wallenger shook his head. I'd have to take off about twenty-five pounds. This poor animal has earned his oats hauling me around that course. He dismounted as a Pakistani trooper trotted up to take the reins and lead the horse back to the stable.
Puglisi was mystified by the riding exhibition. Can you teach us to do that, Dirk?
I think so, Wallenger said. But it would require that our present animals be trained for the sport. I'm afraid it would take a long time.
Man! Puglisi said. I'd give just about anything to be able to do that. It looks like a real kick in the head.
Another soldier appeared on the scene, this one wearing the insignia of the signals branch on his beret. He saluted Sidiqui and handed him a message. The lieutenant read it, then looked up at the SEALs with a sad smile. This is saying that three United States Air Force transport aircraft will be arriving at the Karachi airport at fourteen hundred hours. They will collect you and your horses to return to Afghanistan. I would assume you will be going soon on your mission.
That's what it is, Brannigan said. Thanks for the good training, Lieutenant. It was hard work but satisfying.
I am glad you approve, Sidiqui said. And I shall miss you all. And may I say in all sincerity that you are the best class I ever had.
Senior Chief Buford Dawkins didn't like drawn-out good-byes. Fall in! We've got a lot to do to get ready for this afternoon's flight. You got to do more than just look out for yourselves; there's them horses and all their gear to take care of.
As the men formed up, Puglisi glanced at Miskoski. Damn! I sure hope Ralph can adjust to life in Afghanistan.
I'm not even going to reply to that, Miskoski said.
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SHELOR FIELD, AFGHANISTAN
ISOLATION
17 OCTOBER
0730 HOURS
ALTHOUGH the upcoming operation for Brannigan's Brigands was not classified, the journalist, Dirk Wallenger, and his cameraman, Eddie Krafton, were not permitted to attend the mission briefing. Regulations forbade outsiders access to the procedures since there was always the possibility that sensitive material might inadvertently be brought up. This prevented their presence even though the two men would eventually be in the middle of the field operations. Wallenger and Krafton waited in the officers' billets while the SEALs retired to their hangar to do what they had to do.
To everyone's surprise, however, the young interpreter Chinar Janoon was present when Commander Tom Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer opened the briefing. The first item on the agenda to be announced was that Chinar was more than an interpreter. He was, in fact, a fully qualified asset to the point he would be indispensable to the SEALs on the mission that had now been named Operation Combat Alley. The young Pashtun would also be giving part of the presentation.
Now that the entire detachment was seated in chairs at the usual briefing spot in the hangar, Carey began his dissertation from the podium. Before we get into the nitty-gritty, he said, I want to mention you'll be in another opium poppy growing area as you already have been a couple of other times before. But on this occasion you'll not be taking action against growers, smugglers, sellers, buyers, or anybody else involved in the activity.
That makes sense, Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser said. The harvest is over with anyhow.
That's not the only reason, Carey said. The tribes benefit too much from growing the stuff, so it has been decided that there are certain areas where the government is going to look the other way. This will continue unless the farmers begin dealing with the Taliban, who will use the money to buy arms, ammunition, and other war-making tools. As a matter of fact, part of your mission is to keep an eye out to see if the Taliban is creeping around out there.
And if they are, sir? Ensign Orlando Taylor asked.
Then report it ASAP through the net, Carey replied.
I thought the farmers were already being bribed not to grow the poppies, Taylor remarked.
That funding has dried up until a new budget is worked out by the Afghanistan government, Carey said. Anyway, let's get into the briefing. He opened the folder he had put on the podium. Okay. The name of the mission is Operation Combat Alley, and here's the situation where you're going. The area is the Pranistay Steppes where several Pashtun tribes are scattered among thirteen villages. The population of the area is a total of a bit more than six hundred fighting men. We don't know how many women and kids and old folks are in the place, since the Pashtuns on the steppes only count those men and boys of war-making age.
What's steppes? Puglisi asked.
Prairie or flatlands, Carey answered, slightly annoyed. However, in this case, the description 'steppes' is not quite accurate. There are plenty of gullies and shallow valleys that give it a rugged quality. This makes motor transportation difficult, thus going by horse or donkey is the only way to get around reasonably well. The area is approximately eighteen hundred square miles, so there's plenty of space between the settlements. It's high desert country that is baking hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter pardon the cliches with hard-packed sandy soil. However, there are certain areas where creeks and ponds abound that provide the fertile areas to raise food and those opium plants. At this point I'll let your asset, Chinar Janoon, give you some more info on the people that live on the Pranistay.
Now that the young Pashtun had been identified as an asset, the SEALs were a lot more impressed with him. This meant he had some sort of connection, either official or quasi-official, with the Afghanistan government and/or military. The fact that he was educated and could speak several languages was also an indication that here was somebody special even if he was only in his late teens or early twenties. And he had demonstrated that he was a damn good horseman as well.
Good morning all, Chinar said cheerfully. He spoke in a sort of British accent. I am going to discuss the demography of the Pranistay Steppes. There are a total of seven tribes of Pashtuns scattered about the area. The largest is the Yousafzai tribe, which has a hundred and twenty fighting men in three villages. They are well armed and relatively prosperous because of the poppies. Their leader is a warlord actually. His name is Awalmir. I give you only his first name because his last name, like all Pashtuns, is the tribal name. Since I am called Chinar Janoon, you may rightfully assume that I am from the Janoon tribe.
We rank fourth on the Pranistay with eighty-five fighting men dispersed between two villages, Chinar replied. The weakest tribe would be the Ghilzai, who have fifty-five in their only village. The one thing we all have in common is that all our communities are ruled by the eldest men, to whom we refer as spinzhire. That means 'gray-beards' and is both a respectful and affectionate term. The name covers the several positions of local government. If a village has a headman, and many do not, he is referred to as the malik. There are also the scholars who are called oleme; the judges are referred to as qaze, and the molla are the Muslim clergy. Owners of large tracts of land or warlords are addressed as khan.
Puglisi had a question. Do all you guys get along okay?
Chinar shook his head. I fear not. We have a long history of blood feuds and what would be termed clan wars. Alliances and dissolutions are erratic and varying, depending on the nature of the disagreements. A tribe may be involved in a bitter war with another, yet the next year they are united against a common enemy that has evolved during a more recent quarrel. And, of course, when bandits come into an area, the villages all unite against them, forgetting past grievances.