SIkander

by M. Salahuddin Khan

  A cracking sound heralded the launch sequence as the launch tube’s rear cover broke away resulting from the launch motor’s activation, spewing out a small jet blast toward the rear. Hurled forward, the missile immediately shattered the front infrared sensor window and drew out a lanyard, which was supposed to become taut and pull away from the rear of the missile when it was nine meters in front of the launcher. The launch motor fell on cue, and as the lanyard pulled away, it ignited the boost-sustainment rocket motor. The missile, which had thus far displayed an unimpressive hop from the launch tube, sped away with a transformed and deadly personality, accelerating to almost 750 meters per second in the unerring pursuit of its quarry. Almost immediately the boost rocket shut down, leaving the missile in “sustained propulsion” mode. Barely five seconds passed before the Stinger found its mark and exploded, extinguishing all evidence of the target’s existence.

  Fleetingly paralyzed by what he had just accomplished, Sikander let out a shriek of delight as the moment’s reality sank in. He sought approval from Abdul Rahman, who had helped him set up the weapon and acquire the target. Abdul Rahman was likewise visibly delighted while well on his way to readying the next round. Meanwhile, Sikander removed the spent missile tube and as soon as Abdul Rahman handed it to him, he latched the new round in place, and set the weapon down on the rack to await its next angry moment.

  The tests continued largely with the expected levels of performance owing to everyone’s preparedness. Actions requiring the trainees’ focus were by now second nature based on all the repetitive training that had taken place prior to this day. When the tests were finally over, the mujahideen were once again lifted out by Chinook and returned to their camp, feeling proud and confident.

  The following day was the final briefing day, their last in Scotland. As they filed into the hangar one last time, Captain Laing, Andy, and Simon as well as the other officers stood in a row against the front wall of the room. Laing began his parting speech.

  “Mujahideen, our warmest congratulations! Yesterday you all demonstrated your proficiency with one of the most advanced and effective weapons systems in the world. Not only have you done so, but also, in most cases,”—he threw a glance in Sikander’s direction— “you’ve done this with little or no formal education and have shown that you can be a well organized, disciplined, and deadly air defense force. The Soviets and DRA are continuing to devastate your homeland, and with this weapon system you will finally have your chance to neutralize their air advantage in this fight. Together, we’ve spent the last month familiarizing you with the Stinger…and we’ve become familiar with each of you. To us, whose true identities must remain secret, you’re like members of our family and, I know…” Laing’s throat tightened as his voice waivered, “I know that for many of you, this might well be the only family you have now after the losses of this terrible conflict. Tomorrow you’ll be leaving us and we will not, in all likelihood, meet again, but we want you to know that we won’t forget you, nor your dedication and commitment. We’ll always value the bond that brought us together. This bond allows me today to consider you to be brother SAS soldiers, and with your permission, for us to be your brother mujahideen! Once again, our congratulations. We wish you God speed, fi-amanillah, and farewell.”

  When the speech was over, Abdul Rahman stood up and called out “Takbeer!”

  In unison came back the chorus of “Allahu Akbar!” Again he called out, and again came back the same chorus after which the whole room cheered as each person stood up, greeted, and shook the hands of the ones nearest him. When they settled down, Andy stepped onto the stage and gave his own moving statement while informing the mujahideen that at the back of the hangar were their completion certificates. Although it lacked the same meaning as in an advanced and modern army, and although most mujahideen would have been hard-pressed to find a picture frame, much less mount and display a certificate, they nevertheless picked them up and held them as prized possessions. After the briefing was over, Sikander, Saleem, and Abdul Rahman, with heavy hearts, went to greet Captain Laing, Andy, and Simon. The latter two had been friends of theirs for more than two months now and would be sorely missed.

  “Will you be coming back with us to Laghar Juy?” Sikander asked.

  “Yes,” replied Simon. “But only to be sure that the first batch of Stingers arrive safely and then we’ll have to move on to find more of you people to recruit and repeat this program on a larger scale. Let’s hope they can match your outstanding skills,” he added as he met their eyes.

  The rest of the day was open for the visitors—no longer referred to as trainees—to do as they pleased. Still unable to leave the camp, they roamed it freely, taking in their last day of the Applecross air. It was mostly cloudy, but the sun peeked through from time to time, or on the hills surrounding them, threw shafts of light in a slow dance coordinated by the clouds. The light along with the fresh, early November breeze would be imprinted on their memories for the rest of their lives and the men knew it.

  Many of them couldn’t sleep that night in anticipation of the long journey back. It would take at least five days for the return trip since they would be moving much more slowly with their mules packed with Stinger systems. It was just past midnight and Saleem and Usman were asleep. Lying in his lower bunk across from Sikander, Irfan was in a thoughtful mood.

  “Sikander? You awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you suppose once we’ve returned we’ll…see each other again?”

  “I don’t know, Irfan. I suppose we might. If our people come across to Khost, or if you come up to Tora Bora or any of the villages in the hills to the south of Laghar Juy, or—but then again, probably not.”

  “Well,” said Irfan, “you know Usman and I are the only family to each other and we’re both honored to have come to know the three of you. If…if anything—Allah forbid—should happen to either of us, I’d like to know that the other could seek you out in Laghar Juy and…seek your protection? You know, life isn’t very kind to orphans in Afghanistan and—”

  “Irfan, you and Usman are like brothers. I myself was taken in by Brother Abdul Rahman’s family and his parents are truly fine people. If you could only meet his father, you’d know he’d welcome you in his village. Especially after—Allah forbid—something like that.”

  “I’m lucky to have found you, friend. InshaAllah I won’t worry what happens to Usman if…well, you know.”

  Sikander felt awkward. He acknowledged the words of confidence and affection from Irfan in an appropriately courteous manner, excusing himself to get some sleep. Irfan understood.

  Sikander didn’t sleep. Irfan’s words reverberated in his mind. He had yet to get over having discovered that a single moment had transformed these two boys’ lives and terminated those of so many of their loved ones. The thought soon led to others about his own family back in Hayatabad. With memories of the last two and a half months rolling around in his head, it was more than enough to keep him awake until dawn.

  After fajr, with Abdul Rahman as imam, the mujahideen made ready for their long trip home. As they packed their few possessions, now including their certificates and army-issued clothing and boots, Andy sauntered into the cabin. The SAS had long discovered that reveille served no purpose, as these people were naturally awake before sunrise anyway. For the brief moment he opened the door, the chopping of the Chinook’s twin rotors invaded the room.

  “It’s time.” Andy pronounced.

  Everyone completed the last of their packing and proceeded reluctantly out of the cabin. Following heavy footfalls across the tarmac to the awaiting helicopter’s open ramp door, they filed silently in.

  Sikander was the last to enter. Before stepping up the ramp, he took a final look back at the cabin, the camp, and, in the distance, a solemn-looking James Laing, saluting them. Sikander waved and watching him, his colleagues joined in. They took their seats, the ramp door was sealed, and the giant machine took to the air.
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  The atmosphere inside was naturally somber, as the mujahideen took with them all the imagery their eyes were able to absorb.

  Near the horizon, the low morning sun snuck in under the cloud base, painting the bottoms of the clouds a loud dusky-pink as it illuminated the emerald landscape below. It cast long, edge-defining shadows of every bush, tree, and fieldstone wall, while in places, stray, gray brush strokes of morning mist appeared to be smeared over the painting beneath. As if to dissuade them from leaving, nature had organized a spectacular gesture from Applecross to its exotic guests. To many of the men, having missed her for so long in their own lives, this was the seductive stranger called, Peace.

  The Chinook continued to climb.

  On November 7, at one in the afternoon, the PAF C130 touched down in Sargodha. This was to be where the mujahideen would bid farewell to their newfound friends, going their separate ways across the rugged landscape to their respective provinces in Afghanistan. After the aircraft came to a standstill, the cargo door opened and holding on to their turbans while the massive turboprops were still running, the mujahideen disembarked. They filed into a dispatch building as instructed. Once inside, many traditional hugs were exchanged along with impossible-to-keep promises of remaining in touch.

  “Okay. Let’s go,” said Andy to his team. His four companions took his lead and departed the building. As they emerged onto the parking lot, like an old, but loyal dog the dirty Pajero was the first thing to greet them. Standing beside it and grinning was the second.

  Having greeted his friends warmly, Junaid urged them into the vehicle, and set off for Peshawar.

  “So? How’d it go?” he asked.

  Andy jumped in. He didn’t want Junaid to be compromised with too much information. Junaid had no specifics on the location nor even that Aamir and Yassir were, in fact, Andy and Simon. Andy wanted to keep it that way.

  “It went very well. Very well.”

  “Well, it’s not a moment too soon. The Russians are hammering away at our people and we have to do something. I can’t tell you how pleased I am with what I’ve heard about these new weapons. Really pleased!”

  Idle chitchatting about other aspects of the support operation ensued, with most of the travelers napping in the vehicle from time to time after the long flight and the short night they had just experienced. The plan was for Junaid to take them to Arif’s place in Jamrud. By nightfall, he did just that.

  Chapter 7

  Stinger

  THE MUJAHIDEEN HAD TO wait an extra two days in Jamrud for the arrival of their first battery of Stingers. When the shipment arrived, enclosed in green painted aluminum containers were eight weapon rounds each combining missile and grip stock assembly. Four replacement rounds, each containing just a missile in its tube together with three BCUs, came packed in thin plywood containers. A total of twelve distinct firing opportunities were thus available. A couple of proficiency practice systems were also in the shipment. The missiles had been flown into Peshawar and trucked over to Arif’s place, where the men were staying. As before, Sikander managed to dispatch a written message to his family via Junaid, but was crestfallen to learn that the lines were temporarily down in Jamrud, leaving Arif’s phone out of action. Returning to Laghar Juy was a priority so there was no question of waiting around for repairs.

  No Pajero, thought Sikander, as every bump and hollow was amplified by the ten-ton troop carrier’s overworked suspension on its way into the Khyber Pass. It doubled in this case as transportation for both the missiles and the travelers. They left the pass for the familiar staging house to transfer their cargo to mules. Another night’s stay at that place and they readied eight mules to ferry everything back to Laghar Juy.

  Sikander was delighted to discover that Kala and Neela were among them, and staked his claim on Neela before anyone else. She had been a dependable animal on his first trip, and Sikander was half convinced she recognized him when she took a couple of steps in his direction as if also laying claim on him.

  Trekking over the mountains was arduous on this occasion. Although the missiles were not heavy, their elongated cases presented challenges. Each mule could handle one on each side, and like splints they limited the mules’ ability to bend their torsos to make the numerous turns up and down the switchbacks in the hills. On several occasions, the animals lost their footing and struggled to remain on all fours, but the more they traveled, the more impressed Sikander became with their perseverance. Given the urgency to return to Afghanistan, and with the moon approaching full phase, they continued until well after dark before resting.

  As Sikander crossed the mountains with his companions, this time with significantly more confidence than on the first occasion, he couldn’t help recalling how different from Laghar Juy his experiences of the past four weeks had been. A yawning gulf stood between the realities he had been exposed to in less than half a year. His mind constantly revisited these accumulating memories as if to make sure that none of them would somehow fall off the edges of his consciousness like the contents of some overcrowded desktop. He thought of Peshawar and Dubai and spending the nights in the Khyber Mountains, and the beautiful hills and water of Scotland at a place whose name remained a mystery.

  While thinking about these experiences, Sikander realized that his memories weren’t simply to be stored and retrieved by his separate persona. Indeed, they were part of the landscape of his very being, shaping who, and what, he was becoming. Gazing at the crystalline moon and stars that night, he felt extremely small, but with the cargo and the skills they were taking back into Afghanistan, he did not feel insignificant.

  Arriving back in Laghar Juy, the men were welcomed with excitement and relief after their long absence. Among the welcoming villagers, only Abdul Majeed and Abdul Latif had any idea of what was in the oddly long containers accompanying them.

  A week before their arrival, Rabia, knowing that the month was almost up, decided to embroider handkerchiefs with welcoming messages for each of the three travelers. She had finished those for Abdul Rahman and Saleem, but the one for Sikander had only progressed to the level of her stitching his name in the middle but with none of the welcoming message. At Razya’s home she eagerly handed them out, eliciting warm thanks and compliments for her artistic efforts from Abdul Rahman and Saleem. When Rabia came to Sikander, she avoided eye contact with him and chose instead to cast a stare at the handkerchief as she held it out for him, sufficiently embarrassed to avoid explaining its unfinished condition.

  “Well, I don’t know, Rabia,” Sikander responded playfully, appearing to study her handiwork, as he picked at a corner of it. “I mean, it doesn’t seem quite ready, does it?”

  Rabia’s mask of demureness evaporated in an instant. In its place was an indignant frown of now amplified embarrassment. Not knowing what to do, she thrust the rest of the handkerchief into his hand and hastily retreated home. Sikander in turn became embarrassed at his clumsy attempt at humor, but rules of conduct for a young man in his position prevented him from chasing after her. Mortified at the seeming pain he’d caused, he turned to Saleem, wearing an apologetic expression. Saleem nodded sagely. He would fix things with his sister.

  Only a day after arriving, the time came for “Aamir” and “Yassir” to leave for Tora Bora, Khost, and Qandahar. It was impossible for the newly returned young men to display to the rest of the villagers the strength of the bond that had been formed with these SAS officers. The three of them, together with Abdul Latif, Abdul Majeed, and Ejaz, offered to escort the two men up the slopes until they were effectively out of sight of the village. At this point the parting could be in a manner more in keeping with their friendship.

  “You know,” said Andy, remaining in the character of Aamir, “you three were in the first group of Haqqani’s men that we put through that program and you came through it better than Hekmatyar’s men did! Frankly, you surprised our people back in the camp and they’re all trying to see how to make it tougher for the next lot,”
he joked.

  “In any case, we’re both really proud of how you handled yourselves, and we wanted you to have these.” He pulled out a pouch from inside one of the wrapped-up bundles carried by his mule and presented their three traveling companions each with a Cabot Watch Company automatic wristwatch, explaining to them that this was what full-fledged British Army soldiers were issued. “You’ve bloody well earned them, fellas!” he said, neglecting to speak in Pashto.

  Ejaz cast a quizzical glance at his brother, puzzled by the unintelligible words. Saleem gave a reassuring nod to convey that an explanation would be forthcoming.

  Simon cut in, “We’d like to believe we’re professionals who focus on the mission and follow orders, but we do care about what you’re trying to accomplish here. We’re going to remember you and the other mujahideen, and the time we shared with you.” Simon paused. “Anyhow, Allah Hafiz! God will be with you in your struggle, and don’t forget now—” he drew in a little closer to Abdul Rahman and with a friendly prodding on the chest, drove home the point in a low voice, “in a few months we’d like to be reading the newspapers about how the Russians were driven out of Afghanist—”

  Simon was unable to continue. He simply followed with “Allah Hafiz!” before turning around and walking up the slopes with Andy and their two mules. It didn’t take long for the figures to disappear against the backdrop of the hills.