At his sentencing the colonel who presided over the trial stated that he didn't blame Tchaikurov for slaying the woman, but killing a valued Spetsnaz soldier was unforgivable. Therefore, he recommended the prisoner be taken to the nearest military prison for execution. The other officers of the tribunal agreed and sent the disgraced border guard to Tajikistan to have the sentence carried out. Follow-up orders never arrived, and the double murderer languished in confinement as a bureaucratic unperson.
Now, in the predawn hours, Tchaikurov trod silently and swiftly across the hard-packed soil of the Pranistay Steppes. He approached the outlying huts of the village and paused to see if any dogs might have been aroused. The only sound was that of the wind, showing that the local canines were snug asleep in the huts of their masters. The Russian knew exactly where he was going. It was the building where the boy guards stood their watch. It was easy to find, since a ladder was propped up to allow the lads access to the flat roof. Tchaikurov ascended without a sound, pausing when he could peer over the top. He saw a small figure sleepily manning his post, gazing out into the darkness. Within quick seconds the ex-Spetsnaz man was over the top, moving to a position just behind the boy. The garrote went around the small neck and was violently jerked taut. The youngster lost consciousness much quicker than would a full-grown man. After lowering the limp body to the rooftop, Tchaikurov pulled the flashlight from his jacket. A red lens cover blinked scarlet as he signaled that all was clear.
Luka Yarkov was at the head of 150 men as he moved toward the village. Fifty of this force were Mahsud tribesmen with a history of conflict with the Swatis. They looked forward to this opportunity to settle a few old scores that popped up when their foes had refused to join in Yarkov's operations. When the group of attackers was within twentyfive meters of the nearest huts, half the tribesmen scurried around to cut off any escape routes on the far side while a couple of dozen Russians split into two groups to cover the sides of the hamlet. The remainder of the gang moved straight into the village.
The slaughter began when the first doors were kicked in and assault rifles fired into the interior of the mud homes. All hell broke loose and the sleepy dogs who had been dozing suddenly awoke to begin useless, loud barking that was cut short by combinations of 7.62- and 5.45-millimeter bullets. Yarkov, with his military training, had planned a blitzkrieg-type attack with initial rushes of heavy fire followed up by groups of riflemen who mopped up survivors. When the firing began, those on the flanks quickly joined the battle, charging into the melee.
It was butchery by bullet as the village men did their best to respond to the fiery assault. Most managed to get off no more than one short burst before being cut down in the houses as their women and children died around them. The few fighters who managed to get through a door and outside were blasted down in swarms of bullets coming at them from different directions.
The heavy initial killing took only ten minutes, but another half hour was necessary until every single inhabitant of the Swati village was either dead or wounded. The latter were quickly dispatched with pistol shots. No pity was shown to the vanquished. Old people, men, women, children, and infants lay scattered around, their clothing turned to bloody rags from the gaping wounds of dozens of bullet strikes. There would have been looting except so many household items, like the people, had been shot to pieces. A few of the lucky killers did manage to pull rings and bracelets off a few of the women while other took wristwatches from the male corpses.
Yarkov kept his men searching for possible survivors until dawn began to glow behind the Kangal Mountains. By then the area had been searched over, a few weapons picked up from the dead, and every victim the attackers examined had been determined to be a corpse. The Russian boss yelled orders to withdraw while Surov repeated the instructions in Pashtun.
They went back to the horses that were being held by a couple of dozen Mahsud boys in the area from where the assault had been launched. The grim job was over, and the attackers mounted the horses for the ride back to their quarters. The Russians headed toward Logovishchyeh while the Mahsud split off to return to their two villages.
.
SEALs BIVOUAC
23 OCTOBER
1015 HOURS
EVERYONE was surprised by the sight of the patrol made up of Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser, Petty Officer Third Class Tex Benson, and Alpha Fire Team returning so early from what was supposed to have been a four-hour trek to the north.
Brannigan walked up to them with Senior Chief Buford Dawkins as they reined in their mounts. The Skipper noted the serious expression on Cruiser's face, but decided to be a bit flippant anyway. Since you can't run out of gas, did you come back early because you ran out of oats?
Cruiser ignored the lighthearted greeting. Sir, we dropped in on the Janoon village and the people say that another village was wiped out. Everybody was killed.
Jesus! Brannigan said. He looked over at the headquarters spot. Hey, Chinar! Come here!
The young interpreter trotted up, quickly noting this was not a festive occasion. Yes, Lieutenant?
Cruiser says your folks over at the village said a Pashtun group has been massacred, Brannigan reported. Let's go check it out.
Did they say who was killed? Chinar asked.
They told me the tribe's name, but it went right over my head, Cruiser said. Evidently some of the locals had gone to deliver some donkeys that were sold to them, and they found everybody dead.
Oh! Chinar exclaimed. It must have been the Swatis.
Can you lead us to their village? Brannigan asked.
Yes, sir!
Brannigan yelled out, All hands! Now hear this! Grab your gear and saddle up! He glanced at Dawkins. Senior Chief, you and Gomez stay here and mind the fort.
Now Wallenger trotted up with Eddie at his heels. What's going on, Bill?
It sounds newsworthy, Brannigan answered. A local village has been wiped out by somebody. Since you're imbedded with us, I can see no reason you can't go along.
Mmm, Wallenger said thoughtfully. That's an interesting development. Who do you think the perpetrators are?
Chinar answered, I think it would be other Pashtuns. Perhaps a feud has broken out.
It must have been pretty serious if it deteriorated to genocide, Brannigan remarked.
Indeed, sir! Chinar said. It could be that a woman in somebody's family was treated with disrespect.
And for that a whole village would be wiped out? Brannigan asked.
Indeed, sir! China repeated.
In ten minutes the detachment was mounted, armed, and ready. Brannigan pulled a John Wayne, personally leading his troops on a gallop across the steppes with the faithful Chinar at his side.
.
THE SWATI VILLAGE
1130 HOURS
THE Second Assault Section under Ensign Orlando Taylor had been detailed to clear the village. The rest of the detachment formed a loose defensive perimeter around the area while the hamlet was checked out.
Dirk Wallenger, with his powerful binoculars to his eyes, surveyed what he could. There are obviously a lot of bodies sprawled around, he remarked to Eddie Krafton, who had his camera on his shoulder. But it's difficult to determine how many.
We'll find out soon enough, Eddie said.
Taylor and Connie Concord appeared at the community's edge, trotting toward Brannigan and Cruiser. The ensign's face was twisted into a grimace. Everybody is dead, sir, he reported. There're even little dead babies in there.
Alright, Orlando, Brannigan said. He turned to the rest of the detachment. Okay! Let's move in by fire teams and check the place out. Be prepared! It's not a pretty sight.
Doc Bradley literally ran into the place ahead of the others to begin a desperate search for wounded that might need medical aid. The rest of the Brigands walked slower, going between the buildings where corpses were sprawled in the violence of their death. It was obvious that most had been riddled with bullets after falling to the ground, since no human cou
ld have taken so many hits before collapsing.
The interiors of the homes were like slaughter pens. This was where the majority of the dead children lay huddled in death as they cringed in the midst of the horror blasting down on them. Some cribs had been kicked over and there was evidence that a couple of the infants had been stomped to death.
Puglisi noticed a pile of cartridge cases, surmising that several of the shooters must have stood in a group firing at targets of opportunity who were no doubt running for their lives. He knelt down and picked up some of the brass. Skipper! he called out.
Brannigan walked over. Find something interesting?
Maybe, sir, Puglisi said, standing up. There's two kinds of cases here. Seven-point-six-two and five-point-four-five. The first group is prob'ly AK-47s. Them kind of weapons are pretty numerous around here since the Russkis invaded this place back in the eighties. That's where the locals got most of 'em from. But I'll bet a year's paydays that these smaller ones are from AK-74s. The Russkis started making 'em when they felt the larger calibers was turning obsolete. It was an answer to our five-point-fifty-six. I'll bet you anything these are AK-74-Ms, the latest models in that line. They got short-barrel versions too.
It looks like the tribes are modernizing, Puglisi, Brannigan said, examining some of the evidence.
I don't think so, sir, Puglisi said. I bet there's some goddamn Russkis around here someplace.
The remark set Brannigan to thinking. Puglisi was verbose, unpredictable, and impetuous, but behind that bluster was an analytical mind. Stupid blowhards don't make it through BUD/S, and the Italian-American was a prime example of the best of the best. Puglisi had an innate talent to figure things out. When he was confused or wondering about something, all his impulsiveness melted away and he fell into methodical thinking. And Brannigan could not recall his ever being wrong.
Lieutenant Cruiser! Brannigan bellowed.
Cruiser appeared from between a couple of hutches and reported in. Yes, sir?
Your Bravo Fire Team are the best recon guys, right?
Yes, sir, Cruiser replied. That's Sturgis, Malachenko, Matsuno, and Redhawk.
I have a mission for 'em, Brannigan said. I want 'em to check out the area for any tracks left by the attackers. Then follow the bastards as far as possible. Right to their fucking hometown, if they have to.
Aye, sir! Cruiser said. He turned and hurried back to his section.
Doc Bradley walked up to the Skipper, sadly shaking his head. No survivors, sir. And I counted twenty-one bodies with multiple wounds, including headshots at close range. To me that means they were among the wounded finished off while still alive.
God! Brannigan exclaimed. This just keeps getting worse.
Dirk Wallenger and Eddie Krafton walked amidst the carnage, recording the scenes to be sent back to the States. Although they had seen violent deaths before as news reporters, what they witnessed at that moment shocked them into somber silence as they worked.
Suddenly Pete Dawson shouted from a rooftop. Hey! There's a kid up here and he's alive!
Doc Bradley rushed over to the mud house and made his way up to the ladder leading to the roof. When he arrived, he found Dawson kneeling beside a frightened boy, obviously in shock. There was a raw, bleeding wound that went around his neck and throat. He allowed himself to be helped to his feet and guided to the roof edge. Bradley got onto the ladder, and Dawson helped the boy over the side so the hospital corpsman could carry him down to the ground.
Several of the Brigands came over to help, and they laid the kid down on a blanket brought from a house. What's the matter with him? Tiny Burke asked.
Doc looked up, answering, The little guy's been garroted. He's lucky to have survived.
Gutsy Olson looked up with a sad expression. Wait'll he finds out what happened to his family.
DIRK Wallenger and Eddie Krafton had finished taping the scenes of carnage in the village after methodically covering the entire area. All that would be interspersed and spliced into Wallenger's narrative. Now it was time for the spiel, and Eddie had his camera rolling as the Skipper stood off to one side waiting to be interviewed.
This is Dirk Wallenger somewhere in Afghanistan. The view behind me is a stark testimony to the inhumanity of mindless war. The bodies of dozens of men, women, children, and the elderly are sprawled in and around the simple mud dwellings that once housed the entire population of a Pashtun village. The United States Navy SEAL Detachment with which I am imbedded was informed of this atrocity earlier this morning by donkey herdsmen from another village. It was they who discovered their slaughtered clansmen in this scene of utter horror. The Americans responded quickly, rushing here in the hopes of saving lives, but there was only one survivor. This was a frightened young boy who had huddled in horror on the roof of his house while terrorists roamed through this once peaceful hamlet, systematically killing everyone they saw. Lieutenant William Brannigan known as 'Wild Bill' to his men is here with me.
Brannigan walked into view and stood with his arms folded across his chest, his M16 slung over his right shoulder. He nodded to Wallenger. Hello, Dirk.
Hello, Lieutenant Brannigan, Dirk said. Do you have any idea who committed this unspeakable crime?
At this point we don't have a clue, Brannigan responded. The native peoples in this area are known for blood feuds, but my local advisor and translator has now ruled this out. He is a Pashtun and has made inquiries and was told that this particular tribe had been getting along fine with the others lately, and although they have a history of participating in intertribal conflicts, this doesn't seem to add up as one.
What about the Taliban? Wallenger asked. Could this be the work of religious fanatics?
That is a very real possibility, Brannigan said. They've been kicking up their heels lately and have made trouble in other parts of Afghanistan. It is possible that they passed through here with the idea of setting an example.
What actions will you take in regards to this incident, Lieutenant?
I'll transmit a report to our operational base, of course, and send out patrols to see if some meaningful information might be dug up.
You seem determined to take revenge against the murderers, Wallenger stated. Is this assumption on my part valid?
Let me say this, Brannigan replied. If I am ordered to hunt down and attack the murderers, I will do so with a great deal of enthusiasm. And that goes for my men too.
Thank you for the input, Lieutenant Brannigan, Wallenger said. We'll look forward to talking with you again. He began walking away, leaving Brannigan out of camera range as he spoke to his unseen audience. You may depend on being kept fully informed of this situation, ladies and gentlemen. And may I say that at this particular moment I am of the opinion that it is an absolute necessity that coalition troops maintain their presence here somewhere.
.
1645 HOURS
MONTY Sturgis rode at the head of Bravo Fire Team as they approached the Swati village after four and a half hours of following the trail of the murderers. They found Brannigan with Jim Cruiser, Orlando Taylor, and the other SEALs watching a group of Janoon Pashtuns hard at work burying the dead. Chinar had gone to his home village to bring back men to inter the corpses, since Islam decrees that the dead should be buried as soon as possible after death. Certain other preparations, such as washing the bodies with soap and water, then binding them in white cloths, were required. But under the present circumstances this was not possible. The best that could be done for them was to make sure the corpses faced Mecca. The men working with the shovels also called out the first part of the shahuda, There is no God but God! as they shoveled the dirt over the dead.
Sturgis and the rest of the Bravos led their horses to the officers. The team leader saluted. Sir, we found some boot tracks a few meters out and they led to where some horses had been kept. That was where they the attack started from. The killers mounted up at that spot to return to wherever it was they came from. It was hard to tel
l the exact number of 'em but it was at least a hunnerd and prob'ly a lot more'n that. We followed the trail toward the Kangal Mountains and determined they split into two groups. One headed southwest and the other left the Pranistay Steppes to head up into the high country. They had to be going to Tajikistan. No doubt of that.
Okay, Brannigan said. It looks like we've done all we can here. He turned to the others. Alright! Mount up! We'll head back to the bivouac and leave these Pashtuns to finish taking care of the dead.
The men, glad to get away from the butchery, headed toward the picket line where their horses were secured.
Chapter 9
YOUSAFZAI MAIN VILLAGE
24 OCTOBER
0945 HOURS
THE population was quiet, going about their daily activities while speaking in muted voices. Even the women inside the huts did their best to keep from banging pots and pans as they prepared the day's meals. No one had decreed a period of silence, but stillness was being observed voluntarily because their chief Awalmir Khan was holding an important conference in a grove of mana trees a few meters from the village.
Awalmir had called a session of his principal war leaders, including the village molla Shamroz. He also invited Quajeer, malik of the Janoon tribe, to attend the get-together. Both groups had a shared history of cooperation in peace and war that nourished a genuine trust between them. Quajeer had sent word the evening before that he had important news to discuss, and Awalmir, aware of unrest on the steppes, had quickly arranged a meeting with the other leader. Now, as they squatted in the trees, Quajeer began speaking.
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