1330 HOURS
ANDREI Rogorov went up the narrow rutted road like it was a modern highway in Europe. The Mercedes's shocks contracted and expanded violently as the tires went in and out of the deep furrows worn in the dirt. Andy Malachenko was tempted to bellow at the driver to slow down, but decided silence was best since Pavel Marvesky didn't seem to notice anything untoward about his chauffeur's driving.
They were in a narrow valley with high sides, and Andy's finely honed military instincts gave him the distinct impression that they were being watched from the heights. No doubt the automobile was recognized by those standing watch among the boulders above, thus its arrival on the scene was not challenged. After ten minutes of the rough ride, they emerged into an open area where a small log settlement was located. The journey smoothed out at that point and they slowed down to a crawl.
Andy took in the view around him, and it reminded him of illustrations and photos he had seen in old Russian books his parents had. The place looked like a farming village from bygone days, with the sturdy structures that obviously served as homes and storage buildings. There were also children of mixed blood playing soccer in an open area.
Several men, clad in a combination of civilian attire and bits and parts of Army uniforms, nodded politely at the car as it crawled by. Andy saw evidence of many gymnastiorki the pullover shirt-tunics that were traditional military attire based on old peasant shirts. These garments had high military collars, cuffs, and loops on the shoulders on which to fasten epaulets indicating insignia of rank. Andy had one at home that had belonged to his great-grandfather, who had served in the Czar's Army during World War I. It was a simple olive-green item of clothing with epaulets of the same color that bore the two stripes of a mladshi unteroficier that was the equivalent in rank to a modern corporal.
Then he spotted a couple of women. They carried jugs on their heads, walking with slight sways under the load. When he saw some water slosh out of one of the containers, it was obvious there was a complete lack of plumbing in the community. No doubt the females just visited a communal well. Andy was surprised that they were Pashtuns, and he wondered what they might be doing in this place with nothing but European men. Surely their male relatives would have objected to their presence in the place, but the females seemed unfazed by their surroundings.
The car came to a halt in front of a building that was larger than the rest. Marvesky used a nod of his head to indicate that Andy was supposed to unass the automobile. He grabbed his backpack and got out to be led to the door. They stepped inside a narrow hall or foyer Andy wasn't sure which it was and Marvesky knocked on the door.
A young and plump Pashtun girl responded to the summons. She seemed to recognize Marvesky and stated, V'stupate, inviting them to enter.
Andy, well briefed in Pashtun etiquette, gave her only the quickest of glances, noting that she did not show the usual shyness displayed by the females of her culture while in the presence of unknown males. A Russian man who was smoking a pipe sat in a chair next to the hearth. He stood up and embraced Pavel Marvesky respectfully, then turned his attention to Andy.
Who is this fellow?
His name is Mikhail Andreovich Molotosky, Marveksy replied. He has come to join your band. He showed up in Khorugh looking for Gelshenov.
That bastard! the man said. He owed me some money. He glared at Andy. Are you related to him?
I do not know him, Andy replied. A cousin of his sent me down here to see him about work.
Marvesky looked at Andy. This man is Luka Ivanovich Yarkov. He is the chief of this group.
Andy shook hands with the other man.
Mikhail Andreovich is in big trouble with the Moscow police, Marvesky said. He served three years in the motorized infantry and can ride a horse. Akloschenko wants you to take him on.
We can use the help, Yarkov said, taking what the underboss said as Gospel. Tell me, Molotosky, why are the Moscow police looking for you?
Andy fell into his cover story, telling about shaking down kiosk owners and other petty crimes, then, when the police were closing in, grabbing the money from his gang's hideout. After that he hurried to Gelshenov's cousin to arrange for transport and a passport.
Marvesky laughed. They gave him one with a Polish name.
Yarkov chuckled. When one must move fast, one must sometimes take what is offered without argument or protest. He looked over at the Pashtun girl. Go fetch Surov and tell him to come here.
The girl left and now another one appeared. This one carried a tray of vodka and samosas. She set it down as Yarkov invited his guests to take seats. The new girl served the men, then withdrew. Marvesky took a deep drink, then spoke to Yarkov. I need to have a talk with you, Luka Ivanovich. But it can wait until Molotosky is situated.
Yarkov took a bite of a samosa. I have to find someone who can teach these women to cook in the Russian way. He rolled his eyes upward. Ah! I would die for the taste of some pancakes stuffed with sour cream. And sturgeon, herring and onions, eggplant, caviar, and He stopped speaking, looking a bit sad. Never mind. I torture myself.
At least you eat better than the fellows in the barracks, Marvesky reminded him. They have to fix their own meals or have it done by that little Pashtun queer.
They should get women, Yarkov said. I tell you the truth, Pavel Dimitrovich, I think some of them prefer the company of men.
Too many years in prison, Marvesky said. He grinned at Andy. Do you see what you have to look forward to in the barracks?
It is better than the Moscow jail, Andy said. At any rate, perhaps I can get a woman of my own. How does one arrange for a mistress?
The other two burst out laughing. Yarkov wiped the tears from his eyes when he settled down, saying, You steal her during a raid, young fellow. Or maybe buy one from another man.
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Valentin Surov. He was introduced to Andy, then told to take him to the barracks and get him settled in. Surov gazed at the newcomer, thinking, This is a tough guy who can take care of himself. After a nod to Yarkov and Marvesky, he gestured for Andy to follow him out of the house. Once more Andy grabbed the precious backpack.
The two walked from Yarkov's house, dodging running children a couple of times as they made their way through the hodgepodge of other buildings to a long structure. Surov came to a halt, pointing to it. That is the kazarma the barracks where the fellows without women live. It is a bit crowded but none have the desire to build a place of their own. I suppose after years of prison they prefer company.
Marvesky told me they're a pretty rough bunch, Andy remarked.
Surov nodded his head. You must keep in mind that many of them are murderers and under normal circumstances would have been shot long ago. The kapo is the toughest.
That is not surprising, Andy said. The barracks chiefs in the Army always were.
Be especially careful here, Surov warned him. Our kapo is a former Spetsnaz soldier. He murdered the husband of the woman he desired, then ended up murdering her too when he found out she had other lovers besides him.
A trigger-happy fellow, no doubt, Andy remarked casually.
He used a knife in both instances, Surov said. He took Andy into the building, moving toward the center where the stove was located. This was a typical arrangement; the toughest of tough had their beds near the source of heat in the winter, and far away from it during the warmest parts of the year. Igor Tchaikurov was in a partitioned-off area where he caught the full benefits of the stove. He stood up respectfully as Surov walked up to him with Andy in tow.
Tchaikurov greeted Surov politely as he gave Andy a baleful gaze. Hello, Valentin Danielovich. Who is this?
A new man, Surov replied. His name is Mikhail Andreiovich Molotosky. He is from Moscow. Find him a place and let him settle in. With the simple formalities taken care of, he turned and made an abrupt exit. In truth, Surov did not like visiting the barracks.
Tchaikurov grinned at Andy, then motioned to him to tag al
ong as he walked down toward the end of the building. The SEAL was beginning to weary of being led from pillar to post, but he followed after the kapo as they threaded their way through the bunks. The men lounging around the barracks gave the newcomer their full attention. Andy noticed there was a semblance of neatness in the way the men had arranged their bunks, storage containers, and other belongings.
Clothing was hung up neatly on pegs driven in the wall and a few had made simple wardrobes to hold their attire. These were signs of military experience.
Tchaikurov stopped and pointed to a couple of empty bunks with locker boxes. Take your choice.
Thank you, Andy said.
Or, if you see another you prefer, feel free to take it from the present owner, Tchaikurov invited.
I am not the type of fellow who looks for trouble, Andy said.
Tchaikurov grinned humorlessly at him. We shall see to getting you some bedding later. And a weapon and ammunition too.
I shall look forward to it, Andy said. He watched the man head back to his cubicle, then set his backpack on the bunk and sat down beside it. He knew what was coming and he was ready.
He didn't have long to wait.
A man a couple of beds down got up and stared at him. The guy was big with a lanky muscularity. He wore an undershirt, revealing a myriad of tattoos on his arms and shoulders. He walked down to Andy, then bent over and picked up his backpack.
Put that down, Andy said.
The man ignored the command and began undoing the straps. Andy stood up slowly, then exploded into a single straight punch as he drove the heel of his hand in an upward motion to the guy's chin. The tormentor's head snapped back and he collapsed to the floor, hitting heavily, completely unconscious and unmoving. Andy retrieved his backpack, then dragged the guy down to his bed and left him.
Suddenly another barracks dweller jumped up and charged straight at Andy, leaping over a couple of bunks. It appeared the SEAL was going to meet the charge, but he suddenly stepped to one side at the last moment, reached out, and grabbed his assailant's right wrist while spinning around. Now the guy was moving in the opposite direction, and a kick in the ass propelled him into a sliding fall across the floor. Andy rushed up and placed his foot on the back of his neck, pressing down hard.
Mmm, the SEAL mused. Do I step down quickly and kill you straight off or just keep applying pressure until a loud crack announces your broken neck?
The others were now grinning at their buddy on the floor, who mumbled, You are not very sociable. Do you not prefer to get along with your new friends?
Andy knew he had passed the test, and he lifted his foot. Sure. I think you all are a bunch of very nice fellows. But I do not appreciate it when my belongings or I am personally trifled with. He glanced around. None of you had better do that again.
Now Tchaikurov was back, chuckling. Tell everybody your name.
I am Mikhail Andreovich Molotosky, Andy announced.
Very well, Mikhail Andreovich, Tchaikurov said. Come with me and let us see to your blankets and weapons. We can do that now since you are still alive. You may leave your backpack on the bunk. Then he added in a threatening tone as he looked at the others. Nobody will touch your possessions.
At that point Andy was no longer worried.
AS the day passed, Andy alias Molotosky settled in and began to make friends with the others. He learned that for a payment of seventy somonis a month he could have meals prepared for him by a young Pashtun man who lived in one corner of the barracks. The others informed him that the guy was a homosexual who had been found wandering alone and shunned on the Pranistay Steppes. His people could have killed him for his sexual orientation, but the tribe had not expected him to live long out in the wilderness anyway. His name was Gulyar and he had several boyfriends among the ex-convicts. Normally this would have been violently condemned, but after so many years of incarceration, the veteran prisoners tolerated the relationships.
As Andy settled in, he acquired a few bottles of vodka from a crippled peddler who was called Torgovyets the Russian word for merchant by the others. Torgovyets lived in a small hutch near the entrance to the settlement and hitched rides into Khorugh, where he bought items he could resell for a profit to the other inhabitants. His lameness was the result of slashing his Achilles tendons to get out of hard labor during his prison days. He made himself useful to Yarkov's organization by standing double stretches of guard duty at night.
.
2030 HOURS
RUSSIANS like vodka. Andy Malachenko alias Mikhail Molotosky was no exception. His father kept his vodka on the windowsill of their Brighton Beach apartment during the frigid months of winter. In the summertime it went into the freezer of their refrigerator. Vodka had been a very important part of the Malachenko family's social life with their expatriate neighbors.
Now Andy was in the company a group of ex-convicts knocking back deep gulps from tumblers as they sat around inside the barracks. Andy's treatment of his tormentors had been a cause for celebration as he was accepted as a full member of their group. Even the two men he had humiliated Yakob Putnovsky and Timofei Dagorov joined in the celebration with no hard feelings. Although pretty drunk, Andy was still under control and gave everyone his cover story in toto, telling of the extortion of kiosk owners, service in the Army, working at the stables for the nobodniks, and buying a passport in order to flee south to get away from the Moscow police. Everyone thought it was great, and they peppered him with questions about the modern Russia that they had never seen. He knew enough to be up-to-date from what his parents had told him of their former lives, along with information gleaned from letters sent by relatives. But instead of hearing about their motherland making the men homesick, it convinced them they could never go back to such an unorganized, wheeling-and-dealing society. And, of course, those under a death sentence would face extremely fatal consequences if they wandered back across the border.
As the drinking increased and the conversation became more animated and interesting, someone suggested they load into a couple of the cars and go down to the whorehouse in Dolirod.
The group, leaving behind a trio of hardcore drinkers who preferred inebriation to sex, staggered out of the barracks into the cold. A driver and a couple of the quicker men got into the cab of an ancient Soviet GAZ transport truck while Andy and the others clambered into the back. It took a bit of doing to turn the motor over, but within ten minutes the vehicle and its shit-faced passengers were bouncing down the mountain road toward the town. The wind in the back was frigid enough that everyone ducked down to avoid the blast. Andy stood up for an instant to look ahead, noting that only one headlight seemed to be working. He sat back down, hoping like hell they would make it safely to the lowlands without skidding off the road to plunge into a deep mountain ravine.
The arrival in the town came to a halt in front of the bordello. Only it, the bar, and the restaurant displayed any evidence of electric lighting. The other buildings showed flickering lanterns in the windows. Andy followed the others as they left the truck and lurched toward the whorehouse.
His last intimacy with a female had been aboard the USS Dan Daly when he had a brief affair with a young lady petty officer who worked in the ship's navigation team as a quar-termaster's mate, so he was primed for a sexual encounter. The bordello was not as large a building as Andy expected, since the women entertained their clients in rooms where they lived. The available prostitutes waited in a communal parlor for customers since there was no madam or pimps.
Andy staggered and lurched into the place among the others and wasn't sure how he ended up with the woman who led him back to her quarters. She was a slim Tajik-Rus-sian who looked attractive to him in the vodka haze that danced through his brain. Being a young man he was able to satisfactorily conclude the transaction in spite of being shitfaced. Afterward he offered her a drink from the bottle of liquor he had with him. She refused, speaking in broken Russian. I not drink. It a sin.
Does
that make much of a difference now? Andy asked.
Yes. Allah knows my life is hard. It is written in the Qu'ran that he is benevolent and munificent. So he understands and forgives for what I must do to feed myself and my children.
Andy considered what she said. She was using religious rationalization to convince herself that everything would be fine in the by-and-by. The SEAL looked up into her face, searching for some sign of emotion in the unfortunate woman. She smiled sadly at him, then stood up and took his hand to return to the waiting room.
.
LOGOVISHCHYEH
WHEN the partying group got back to the barracks, they stormed inside. Igor Tchaikurov, the kapo, stepped from his cubicle and called out to Andy. Hey, Mikhail Andreovich. First thing tomorrow go to the stables. We will fit you up with a horse.
Sure, Andy said. What is the rush?
You are going with a group to do a reconnaissance patrol down on the Pranistay Steppes, Tchaikurov answered. It will be a good experience for you.
Chapter 13
THE PRANISTAY STEPPES
4 NOVEMBER
1330 HOURS
AFTER the excellent training in military equitation under the Pakistani Lieutenant Barakaat Sidiqui, Andy Malachenko found his new Russian companions a bit on the sloppy side when it came to riding horses. Although they were all ex-soldiers, they had never served in a cavalry unit and knew nothing about mounted formations or maneuvering on horseback. The leader of the group was Valentine Surov, who had surprised Andy with his fluency in Pashto. No doubt the ex-officer was one of those rare individuals who had a flair for the acquisition of foreign tongues.
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