Combat Alley (2007)

by Jack - Seals 06 Terral

  Exactly, Akloschenko agreed. Before the harvest this spring, we must consolidate the Pashtun tribes on the steppes. They must all swear allegiance to us. Those who refuse will be forced to participate.

  The problem is the two holdout tribes, Surov said. Both the Yousafzais and the Janoons are strong clans. It will be difficult to defeat them.

  Akloschenko smiled. We will be able to use the Taliban to put more pressure on them. They will be the only customers for the harvest, thus those two tribes will be at our mercy.

  For any reluctant tribesman, it will be a case of join or die, Marvesky said.

  That is an enticement that never fails, Akloschenko said in agreement. He looked at the liquor bottle on the table. I hope you have better taste than Yarkov, Surov. This is a very bad quality of vodka.

  I will rectify that situation as soon as possible, Aleksander Ivanovich.

  .

  THE PRANISTAY STEPPES

  19 NOVEMBER

  1300 HOURS

  CHARLIE Fire Team rode slowly along in a diamond formation. Dave Leibowitz was to the front, Pech Pecheur on the left flank, and Bruno Puglisi covered the right, while team leader Gutsy Olson performed as Tail-End-Charlie. They were on a perimeter patrol moving in a circle while maintaining distance of a couple of kilometers away from the bivouac. This was strictly a security job since the Brigands were more or less stood down until some assignment or reassignment popped up with something to keep them busy.

  The wind was strong enough that it howled across the countryside, creating a windchill factor that made the temperature feel fifteen degrees colder. The SEALs wore mittens with trigger fingers along with ski masks and heavy parkas. They dismounted and walked as much as they rode in order to keep the circulation moving through their lower extremities. They had gotten back into the saddle a few minutes before and settled down to cover their fields of fire when Puglisi suddenly spoke.

  Hold it! he said in the LASH. I just sighted something at three o'clock. He pulled his binoculars from their case and scanned the distant horizon. Three riders... mmm, not Pashtuns... Europeans... Christ! It's Andy Malachenko and two other guys.

  Right flank, Gutsy ordered.

  They broke into a trot, going straight toward the trio of riders. When they rode up, the SEALs greeted Andy, who was obviously very pleased to see them. Charlie Team gave his Russian companions stares of unabashed curiosity. Who are them two guys? Puglisi asked.

  I'll explain later, Andy said. I got to get back to the Skipper immediately if not sooner.

  What the fuck's going on, Andy? Gutsy asked.

  A whole lot o' shakin', as the old song goes, Andy replied.

  Gutsy spoke into the LASH, Brigand, this is Charlie. We've made contact with our wandering boy. He's brought two friends for dinner. We'll be there pronto. Out.

  The column of horsemen turned west.

  .

  SEALs BIVOUAC

  1325 HOURS

  LUKA Yarkov and Igor Tchaikurov had been relieved of their weaponry as soon as they rode into the camp. For a brief moment it appeared as if they were going to resist, but the sight of a couple of dozen tough Navy SEALs convinced them there wasn't much they could do. Now they sat scarfing up MREs while Tiny Burke and Joe Miskoski watched over them. Frank Gomez had been ordered to send a message to the USS Combs to inform General Leroux of Malachenko's return with two defectors.

  Due to the sensitivity of the situation, Dirk Wallenger and Eddie Krafton had been sent over to their own quarters and told to stay there until further notice. The two journalists' instincts told them a big story was going down, so they did their best to pick up information by listening to conversing SEALs as they walked past.

  Andy Malachenko had been called over to the Skipper's hootch for a confab with Brannigan, Jim Cruiser, and Orlando Taylor. Brannigan only asked one question but it was a meaningful one that set Andy off with a rambling oral report on his mission.

  So, Malachenko, Brannigan said. What's been going on?

  Well, sir, Andy began, them two Russians I brung with me were being set up to get bumped off so that another guy could take over their gang. There's a crime syndicate in the city of Khorugh, Tajikistan, run by a guy named Aleksander Akloschenko, who is planning on muscling in on next season's poppy harvests. I think he's got some loose connections with the Mafia in Moscow. Anyhow, he's got these ex-convicts from a Russian prison working for him. They've been raiding down in Afghanistan stealing women and stuff. They're in a settlement up in the Kangal Mountains and go down to a town at the nearest highway called Dolirod for R and R. I also heard enough about the massacre at the Swati village to think they might have something to do with it.

  Jim Cruiser grinned. Listen up, Malachenko. Get some paper from the detachment chief and write out a report. He's got a manual that will show you the format to follow. I know there's a lot more for you to tell us.

  Aye, sir, Andy said.

  Meanwhile, you can act as an interpreter, Brannigan said. He signaled over to Tiny Burke and Joe Miskoski, indicating they were to bring the Russians over. They immediately complied, escorting Yarkov and Tchaikurov into the Skipper's presence. The two fugitives sat down, and the Skipper began grilling them through Andy, although Tchaikurov had a good working knowledge of English.

  Yarkov immediately spoke up. We demand political asylum in the United States of America. If we are returned to Russia, we will be executed.

  I can't arrange that, Brannigan said, but you can certainly apply for the protection when the right moment arrives. He wanted to get information, not discuss the two men's welfare. What do you know about the killing of the population of a small Pashtun village?

  We know nothing, Yarkov said. We fight only Tajik bandits.

  What is your connection to the opium poppy harvest? Ensign Orlando Taylor inquired.

  Tchaikurov fielded that one, saying, The crime boss in Khorugh wanted to hire us to make arrangements for purchases from the farmers on the Pranistay Steppes.

  Cruiser started to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of the RTO, Frank Gomez. He handed a message to the Skipper. This just in, sir.

  Brannigan quickly read the neatly handwritten missive. Okay. It says here we are to do no debriefing of the Russians. They will be airlifted out of here to parts unknown for examination. He looked up at Miskoski and Burke. Take 'em back where you had 'em. Then Brannigan turned to Cruiser and Taylor. There're also orders here to bring the steppes completely under our control. We are to take our Pashtun allies and go after our Pashtun enemies. We're to give them a chance to change their minds.

  Cruiser let out a low whistle. There're three hundred bad guys while between us, the Yousafzai Tribe, and the Janoon Tribe, we only have about two hundred total.

  Brannigan shrugged. That's three-to-two odds against us. Not too bad, really.

  What about reinforcements? Taylor asked.

  Brannigan shook his head. The last sentence in this message reads 'No troops available to aid you.' That pretty much sums that up.

  Did you expect anything else, sir? Cruiser asked.

  One can always hope, Brannigan remarked.

  Chapter 18

  BALBOA NAVAL HOSPITAL

  SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  20 NOVEMBER

  1400 HOURS

  CHAD Murchison, thanks to determination and excellent physical conditioning, made a nice recovery from his two operations. He healed fast with plenty of pep and a good appetite, and was now officially classified as ambulatory on the ward. This meant he didn't have to use a bedpan anymore, though he had cheated on those instructions by waiting until night to sneak from his bed and hobble down to the end of the ward where the head was located. That morning they also gave him the good news that he would be allowed to leave for overnight liberty from the facility any time he wished.

  Now, sitting in the small ward lounge, he had settled down to read a novel he had gotten off the library cart that was wheeled into the ward each day. The deliv
eries were made by a nice lady volunteer who worked in the hospital with a group of similar women dedicated to making the patients' stays as pleasant as possible. The book Chad had chosen was titled The Brothers Karamazov, by the Russian writer Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Chad had always liked Russian novels because of the spiritualism and complexities woven through the characters and the storyline.

  His reading was interrupted when a hospital corpsman came down from the ward office and tapped him on the shoulder. Hey, Murchison, they just called to say you got a visitor waiting for you in the reception area.

  Chad frowned, wondering who would be calling on him. It couldn't be any of his relatives since they were so dedicated to proper protocol and etiquette they would never arrive unannounced. Not even a long flight from the East Coast would be an excuse to drop in for an unexpected visit. He took the book back to his bed stand, then walked from the ward out to the hallway.

  The reception area was on the other side of the building. It was a meeting place with vending machines and comfortable furniture that was designed as a pleasant locale to get away from the antiseptic qualities of hospital life. When Chad stepped through the door, he stopped short, his eyes wide open with surprise.

  Penny Brubaker got to her feet and rushed to the SEAL, embracing him and kissing him hard on the lips. Oh, Chaddie! the beautiful honey-blond cried, stepping back and looking at him. I was so worried when I heard you had been wounded!

  He stared at her in dumbfounded silence. When he requested hospitalization in San Diego, he had done so to be as far as possible from his hometown of Boston where former friends and acquaintances would come to visit him. The SEAL wanted no contact with his past. But, between the trauma of getting shot and the sedatives during medical treatment, he had completely forgotten that Penny had taken a home in Coronado just across the bay from San Diego. And she had her married cousins Harrington and Stephanie Gilwright living with her.

  Are you alright? Penny asked. Were you hurt bad, Chaddie?

  Chad recovered enough to speak. I'm, uh, getting along, y'know, fine.

  Penny was more than just a little put off by his lack of enthusiasm at seeing her. She took his arm and led him over to a sofa by the window, helping him sit down. Then she positioned herself close to him, an arm around his shoulders. How long will you be in the hospital, darling?

  I don't know when I'll be released back to duty.

  Why didn't you write me? she asked with an accusatory tone in her voice. Then she answered her own question, saying, You weren't up to it, were you? Poor Chaddie!

  Mmm, he mumbled under his breath.

  Can you get permission to leave for overnight visits? she asked. We have plenty of room over at the beach house. We have a lovely view of the bay and a nice patio where you could sit and relax. She pecked him on the cheek. And of course I would be there to wait on you hand and foot.

  I'll have to ask, Chad said. This was the very last thing he wanted. Most of the turmoil and unhappiness in his life, outside of Hell Week during BUD/S, had come from his relationship with Penelope Brubaker. They had been childhood sweethearts all through high school, but during his freshman year at Yale, she had thrown him over for a jock. He had been hurt badly by the rejection, and that was the principal reason for his joining the Navy. The fantastic accomplishment of earning the trident badge of the SEALs had wiped away the old hurt, and it was a brand-new, rebuilt, energized, dedicated, and badass Chad Murchison who had emerged from the challenges and ordeals of qualifying for one of the toughest branches of the armed forces.

  Chad, Penny asked, are you on sedatives?

  Not right now.

  Then what's the matter? Are you going through a flashback or something? I've heard of that. I even had some bad episodes after I returned from my UN job in Afghanistan. Wasn't it a hoot for us to run into each other over there? I bet you were really surprised when I told you I had broken up with Cliff, huh?

  Yeah, Chad replied. He also recalled how much he resented the fact the egotistical young woman had assumed he wanted to renew their romance.

  Harrington and Stephie are looking forward to seeing you again, she said. Well, Steph is. Harrington is usually so shit-faced he doesn't really know what's going on. We've had a whole string of Mexican maids working for us. Harrington always manages to insult them or make them feel uneasy with his drinking and leering. What a lech! I think we're on our eighth or ninth by now. I lost count.

  Mmm.

  Chaddie, I'd like you to have dinner with us tomorrow night. Can you do that?

  He started to turn her down, but knew he was only putting off the inevitable. Yeah. I can get out, I guess. I'll ask.

  Can you spend the night?

  I'm not well enough, Chad lied.

  By all rights he was a young man, and sleeping with Penny would be pleasurable, but having sex with the girl would only put him deeper into a situation he wanted to get out of.

  Well, you'll get a nice meal and we can spend some quality time together, she said, cuddling against him.

  Chad stared out the window at the traffic on Pershing Drive.

  .

  FOULED ANCHOR TAVERN

  CORONADO, CALIFORNIA

  1930 HOURS

  WHEN Brannigan's Brigands were at their home station at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado, they spent most of their liberties at their favorite watering hole, the Fouled Anchor Tavern. This establishment of revelry was owned by Salty Donovan, a leathery SEAL veteran who ran the place with his wife, Dixie. Salty served in the Navy from 1967 to 1997, going to such lovely places as Vietnam, Somalia, and the Gulf War. He came out of his career with a locker box full of decorations that included the Navy Cross. The stories of his exploits were still part of SEAL legend.

  It was arguable whether Salty or Dixie was in charge of the tavern. They were both in their fifties and as an evening of boozing progressed, Dixie let Salty come out from behind the bar and sit with his old retired buddies and the young guys on active duty, to knock back endless rounds of brew. Though he drank his share of the pitchers and then some, Salty was most certainly not a tub of beer guts. Even after a long session of drinking, he would still be out early the next morning double-timing down Silver Strand Boulevard AKA State Highway 75 for a distance of ten miles. After the vigorous jog, Salty would arrive back home invigorated and ready to take on the world for the rest of the day.

  Dixie, though not much for exercise, didn't smoke or drink except for an occasional glass of wine. She and Salty didn't have any kids, but they lavished whatever parental instincts they had on the youngsters who patronized the tavern. Sometimes, when a couple of young SEALs had a disagreement, Dixie would break up the fight all by herself with a motherly smile and a hard grip on the collars of the combatants until they calmed down. Since the lady did not allow grudges, the pair of scrappers was always made to shake hands and let bygones be bygones.

  On that particular night, Chad had gone to the Fouled Anchor for the express purpose of seeing Salty and Dixie while maybe getting together with some acquaintances from other SEAL outfits. He walked into the tavern, going directly to the bar where Dixie was working with the barmaids serving out pitchers of beer to the customers. When she saw Chad walk in, she almost dropped the pitcher she had just filled. Chad Murchison! she yelled out.

  Chad, delighted to see her, smiled widely. Hello, Dixie. I came by to see if you had run Salty off. If so, I'm ready to beginning courting you as only a lady should be.

  Dixie laughed loudly. No, I ain't run him off.

  I should be so lucky, came a gruff voice behind him.

  Chad turned around to see the rugged features of Salty Donovan twisted into a tight grin. The young and old SEALs shook hands, and Salty gave Chad a quizzical look. You been wounded, boy?

  Yeah. How'd you know?

  You got the look, son, Salty said. You're not quite yourself yet.

  It wasn't a grave injury, Chad said. I'll be returned to full duty very soon.

  Tha
t's good, Salty said, but he thought the younger man looked a bit wan. Let's get you to a booth with a pitcher of beer.

  Right, Dixie said, drawing the brew. This first one is on the house.

  Yeah, Salty said with a wink, grabbing the pitcher and a couple of glasses. Then we'll charge you double after that.

  Chad grinned as Salty led the way to a back booth in a corner. They slid into the seats across from each other. Salty did the honors, passing a full glass to his companion. So how's it been going with the Brigands? We heard about the KIAs.

  Yeah, Chad said. Of the original platoon we've lost Milly Mills, Kevin Albee, and Adam Clifford. Then some other newer guys later on.

  It's a shame, Salty said. O'course, it's us that put ourselves in harm's way, and that's something outsiders can't understand. He shrugged at the ignorance of candyasses. So what's been your latest type of missions?

  We've been operating off that new amphibious assault ship, the Dan Daly, Chad said. They've set no limits on our time over there, so we've been hitting it full tilt. Mostly in Afghanistan. A lot of sneaking and peeking.

  Yeah, Salty said. The same old game, huh?

  They downed a few beers as Chad hit the high points of previous missions while leaving out classified facts such as illegal excursions across international borders. Dixie showed up with another pitcher, setting it down on the table. She scowled at Salty, saying, Get your ass up and lend a hand back of the bar. I'm short two of the girls tonight and I'm waiting tables myself now.