by Jack Murphy
Pushing the NVGs down on the swing arm attached to the helmet mount, Deckard scanned back and forth. The Afghans who built the karez had their trade secrets, all right, and that extended to secret and hidden tunnels connecting various underground constructs. For instance, an emergency escape tunnel connecting a bunker complex to an ancient karez aqueduct.
Another deep breath, and he slipped back under the water lock, surfacing on the other side.
“It's good,” Deckard said, squinting as Frank indiscriminately flashed his red light in his face. “We've got their egress route.”
“How could you possibility have known this would be here?” Frank said, shaking his head.
“I didn't,” Deckard responded, soberly, as he reached out, reclaiming his rifle. “It was an extrapolation based on the proximity of the karez to the bunker system.”
“In other words, you pulled it out of your ass.”
“Maybe. Have Third Platoon remain topside with the mortar section, and get Second Platoon down here to secure this foothold. We'll take First Platoon the rest of the way to the bunkers.”
“Roger. We got comms with topside. Give me two minutes.”
“Shouldn't take that long,” Deckard said, motioning for First Squad to follow him through the water lock. Once on the other side, he helped the Kazakhs out of the water, all of them now soaking wet and freezing cold. Caves and underground passages kept the same cold temperature year round, regardless of what the climate was topside. At least the walls were wider and there wasn't any running water to complicate their footing.
Under night vision, he got First Squad together on a safety line before moving onto Second and Third squad. Frank was with Second Platoon in the karez, and Sergeant Alexander would be at the rear, the platoon sergeant pushing his men forward. Finally Alexander came through the water lock with another spool of commo wire, trailing a line behind him back to the karez so the point element could maintain communications all the way back to the surface.
Glancing at the luminescent hands on his wrist watch, Deckard knew they had less then six hours of darkness left. Special Operations helicopters only flew at night, so if the assault went on into daylight hours, then they were stuck out in the hinterlands for an additional twelve or more hours until the next period of darkness.
Deckard forced himself to remain calm. Getting overly excited wouldn't make the situation better. There were a lot of moving parts, a lot of contingencies, and a million things that could go wrong. So far they were on track, even if somewhat behind schedule.
Proceeding cautiously, Deckard noted that the tunnel was better built with wide smooth walls that had even been cemented over in some portions. The Kazakhs shuffled behind him in the dark, following the crazy American into god knew what.
The tunnel more or less continued on a straight azimuth for another half kilometer before forking off in two directions. One passage continued straight towards the mountains where the objective was located; the other looked like it led to a dead end.
Halting the squad, he again took the lead, moving slowly while on lookout for any signs of danger. Straining his eyes through a dimly lit, green-tinted world cast by his night vision device, Deckard literally ran into the haphazardly constructed staircase. Suppressing a grunt of frustration, he looked up the rock carved stairs. They led up to the ceiling. The entrance seemed to be covered over at the top with wooden planks and something else, maybe a carpet.
Moving back, he ordered the Kazakhs to secure the intersection in his still stunted Russian. The mercenaries complied as best they could, still unable to see anything. Moving down the ranks of the platoon, whispering Alexander's name, he found the platoon sergeant and moved him up front. Alexander possessed one of Samruk's much sought after night vision systems, and Deckard pointed out to him the fork in the tunnel before showing him the staircase.
“Worth checking out,” Deckard whispered.
“Da, da,” he nodded.
The American pointed to the suppressor on the VSS sub-assault rifle and then pulled out a Ka-bar fighting knife identical to the one each commando carried.
Alexander nodded his head, the message clear. Keep it quiet.
Once in the alcove and away from the main passage, Deckard again allowed red lights to be used. First Squad quickly lit up the area, so they could see what they were doing. They untied their safety line and followed Deckard as he led them up the stone staircase. Feeling the material between the wooden planks at the top of the stairs, he confirmed that it was simply the underside of a carpet. A simple but effective way to conceal another hidden entrance to a cursory glance from the other side.
Keeping watch on the concealed entrance with his silenced rifle, Deckard pointed a finger at the wood and carpet covering the top of the stairs. Alexander ushered his men forward, and they climbed up, brushing past their commander.
They shifted the planks out of the way as carefully and quietly as possible, but at that moment it sounded earth shattering to the group of mercenaries, knowing that compromise in this situation would mean almost certain death. They were completely blind to what was going on topside.
With the opening exposed, Deckard climbed up, hand over hand. He found himself in an empty room with mud walls and a dirt floor; it could be any house in Afghanistan, but this one had giggles and grunts coming from the adjacent room.
Hearing a boot drag across the dirt floor, Deckard looked back to see Alexander close on his heels. The platoon sergeant was no coward and wanted to lead from the front, Deckard thought. He probably resented him trying to take charge to begin with. That was a good sign.
Raising a single finger to his lips, Alexander nodded. They were in Indian country.
The two crept forward to the open doorway. Down on one knee, Deckard pivoted at the hips, exposing himself just enough for the night vision tube he wore in front of his left eye to clear the side of the wall and see what was going on in the next room.
He wished he hadn't.
Moving aside, he motioned the platoon sergeant forward to take a look. For better or worse he needed to know what the situation was before his men were thrown in the middle. Alexander peered into the room and was frozen for a moment as if he didn't believe what he was seeing before turning away.
He looked a little green around the gills, but maybe it was just the tint of the night vision playing tricks with Deckard's mind.
Tugging on the platoon sergeant's sleeve to get his attention, he held up seven fingers in front of his face. He wanted all of First Squad upstairs, then he pointed to the Ka-Bar again. The Kazakh nodded.
Deckard held out one finger and ran it across his neck.
Moments later, First Squad was assembled in front of him, AK-103s slung over their backs, fighting knives in their hands. Deckard started forward, but Alexander put a hand on his chest and took the lead, himself. Deckard let him.
The Kazakh mercenaries silently moved into the adjacent room. A half dozen aging AK-47s were propped up against the opposite wall, their owners lined up and waiting their turn with the group's house boy. The Taliban giggled and whispered to each other in Pashto while their comrade kept pumping away.
The Samruk soldiers were fairly shocked by this, but Deckard knew that this 'teasing', as the Taliban called it, was pretty much par for the course in this part of the world.
The mercenaries descended on the Taliban like wraiths in the night. Steel blades were sunk into throats and carotid arteries, final gasps of life escaping dry lips. The attack was short and vicious, the Taliban pool boy being quickly dispatched as well.
Wiping the bloody combat knives off on the Taliban's dishdashas, the blades went back into their sheaths before the mercenaries shouldered their AK-103s. It was only a two room house, so one by one the Kazakhs ascended a ladder onto the roof and secured the structure.
Pulling out a piece of paper Deckard had printed out moments before loading the entire company on the back of the MH-47 helicopters, he turned on his own red
LED light to look at the satellite imagery. Peering out the windows and doing some rough terrain association under the moonlight, he was almost positive they were in the single standing structure outside the bunker complex which would place them halfway between where they entered the karez and the bunkers, themselves.
Stumbling back down into the tunnel, he found the Kazakh with the commo wire and field telephone. Unwinding the cable up the stairs, he then handed it up to one of the mercenaries pulling security on the roof. Climbing the ladder, Deckard connected the field telephone to the cable and spoke into the receiver.
“Anybody there?”
Rapid fire Russian greeted him on the other end.
Such was the language barrier.
“Mendez? Find Mendez!”
“Da.”
Several moments passed.
“Yeah,” Mendez came over the line. He was back at the 82mm mortar section.
“It's me. Look to your northeast.”
“Uh, what am I looking for?”
Deckard reached into the front pocket on his chest rig and pulled out a flashlight. The IZLID was no normal flashlight, however. It was actually an infrared laser used by forward observers to mark targets for fast movers and attack helicopters. Flipping the switch on, he waved it around in the air.
“Is that you?”
“Yeah, we found a passage that led up into this house halfway to the objective.”
“Nice overwatch position.”
“Mark it on your fire direction board. I don't feel like getting fragged tonight.”
“I gotcha.”
“Here is the deal. Push Third Platoon down the hole. Have Kurt and Chuck lead them, following the commo wire, and catch up with Second Platoon which is still down in the aqueduct. I want both platoons at my position ASAP.”
“You got it.”
“Is Piet there?”
“Yeah, he is here with his two boys.”
“Tell him I want him up here as well.”
“He'll be glad to hear that.”
“We need them to take another roll of wire with them.”
“Roger.”
Hanging up the field telephone, Deckard turned towards the objective and began to scrutinize the mountainside. Mulavi Ibrahim Khalis, or MIK for short, had dug his organization into the mountain several years ago. The warlord needed a safe haven from American air power and had found it in the Hindu Kush mountain range like many before him.
The mountain was riddled with a labyrinth of spurs and draws, each lined with stone bunkers, caves, tunnel entrances, and mud huts. A nightmare for ground troops to enter, and almost assured that a blood bath would be the result.
The real objective was MIK's underground bunker complex where he stored the opium before having it transported north to Tajikistan for entry into Russia and Europe. More importantly, in Deckard's view, was that somewhere down there would be the high value targets themselves, MIK and his lieutenants.
These types of subterranean structures represented a strategic puzzle for military planners. An enemy base dug into a mountainside with two thousand feet of overburden on top of it was considered essentially invulnerable to any conventional munitions. Ruling out a nuclear strike, the next best option was to use cannon fodder, foreign troops by their rationale, in this case Samruk International.
Luckily, Deckard had a few tricks up his sleeve. A Gettysburg charge at a well dug in and defended enemy was the last thing on his mind.
Unfortunately, none of that brass at Bagram Airbase had seen fit to enlighten him as to what the strategic value in all this was. MIK and his Islamic Jihad Faction sometimes trained and communicated with the Taliban and Al Qaeda but was really just a band of smugglers and bandits financed by drug money and extortion rackets.
More like Al Capone and less like Osama Bin Laden.
Pushing negative thoughts aside, he used his time to study the surrounding terrain, rethinking and revising the plan of attack.
Deckard was still examining the microterrain features when a hand came down on his shoulder.
“Eh, boss,” Piet whispered. “Got Second and Third stacked up below.” The former Recce held one of Samruk's Remington bolt action rifles and wore the web gear he had made for a job in Angola years ago.
“Good. Get the platoon sergeants and advisers up here.”
The South African disappeared below.
A minute later Kurt, Chuck, Frank, Adam, and Richie, along with sergeants Alibek and Kanat, followed Piet up the ladder.
“Here is the deal,” Deckard began. “Frank. Richie. You guys are with me. We continue the assault with First Platoon as planned. The rest of you look here.” He leaned over the edge of the roof and lit up the terrain with the IZLID, so they could all see with their night vision goggles.
“I want the rest of you to infiltrate, following this microterrain feature,” Deckard continued, highlighting a washout divot in the ground with the infrared laser. “You should be able to get down in that small wadi and follow it to the mountainside. Once you are in position, we have Mendez with the mortar section start hanging rounds.
“When you get a splash, that is the signal to assault. First Platoon from below, Second and Third apply fire and maneuver tactics as you see fit, walking mortar fire in front of you. Piet, you take your boys and position them wherever you can best support the assault.”
“Any comments?”
“Limit of advance?” Chuck asked.
“Line of exploitation,” Piet corrected.
“Same thing,” Deckard said. “The bunker entrance. I'll mark it as soon as we arrive. Try not to get baited any further, use indirect fire instead.”
“Got it.”
“A little luck and the enemy will be so confused trying to fight in two directions at once that the assault will be over by the time they figure out how to react. How long do you need to get into position?”
“Three quarters of an hour,” Alibek said through his heavy accent.
“That's when we initiate. See you on the other side.”
Rounding up the security element on the roof, Deckard and Alexander linked up with the rest of the platoon in the tunnel. He had one eye fixated on his watch. With the numbers ticking down, he picked up the pace, striding down the tunnel alongside the platoon sergeant.
Another seven hundred meters by his pace count, and the tunnel began to slant upwards. They were getting close. Deckard slowed down, now more wary of pressure plates and trip wires laid out as an early warning device.
The floor continued to ramp up at an angle as the two point men tiptoed forward. By nine hundred meters deep, the night vision tube was able to amplify a light source somewhere farther ahead. At first it was just a pin prick of light, but it began to glow brighter as they closed the distance. The escape tunnel came to an end at a stone wall, rocks piled one on top of the other leaving gaps between where the light showed through.
Flipping up his NVGs, Deckard squinted his eyes looking through the cracks. On the other side of the wall, he caught the silhouette of someone as they passed into a doorway. Beyond the wall was another corridor, this one lit up by a series of naked light bulbs wired along the ceiling. Entrances branched off the main corridor to other portions of the bunker.
The objective itself was a piece of cake. The Samruk commandos had been drilled over and over again on urban combat drills. Clearing hallways and rooms was nearly second nature to them at this point. The real problem would be breaching the wall in front of them.
Deckard did some calculations in his head. Taking the wall down manually would attract attention. The narrow confines of the tunnel would be turned into a shooting gallery. An explosive breach in the same narrow passage would probably kill them with over pressure.
The Samruk commander looked down at his watch.
Fuck.
Fuck, we're cutting this close.
Staying low, the entire platoon moved like ducks in a row through the sandy bottom of the wadi. Afghanistan's
notoriously deadly terrain did little to dissuade the Central Asian mercenaries. The Kazakhs didn't mind it at all, especially after being soaking wet and freezing in an underground passage.
Adam looked up from his watch.
They emptied out into a draw, leading right into the mountainside where the two platoons halted, looking a little confused at first. The two platoon sergeants got to work getting squad leaders to rally the men and lead them up the military crest of the draw, preventing them from silhouetting themselves against the night sky.
The former spy moved at the rear of the formation with Piet and his two snipers. The South African scanned his surroundings until he found what he was looking for. Tapping Adam on the shoulder, he pointed out a rocky outcropping to their flank that provided a field of fire over most of the mountainside.
Adam nodded and Piet separated from the formation with his two snipers. They would occupy the terrain feature to provide overwatch and precision fire when the time came.
The Kazakhs suddenly stopped in their tracks, causing Adam to refocus his NVGs to see what was going on up front. Now he saw what the problem was. Kurt Jager had halted the formation. Alibek was about to take them over the crest in a single file.
The fact that Kurt spoke adequate Russian was nothing short of a miracle on this mission. Adam could converse with Afghans fairly well but was completely lost with Kazakhs.
Scheisse.
Kurt looked up from his Omega watch and began giving orders under his breath. If Alibek had led the troops forward in a single file, they could easily have been mowed down by a single machine gunner. Having the entire formation execute a left face meant they would creep forward in a skirmish line to their assault positions.
If they were compromised and made contact, they would now be much better situated to return fire and maneuver a flanking element, if need be. Now on line and facing the objective, Kurt led the way as they crested over the ridge. The Kazakh sergeants were talented, but the truth was that the entire unit was out of their element on an operation such as this.