“You don’t need my permission,” Hinna said. “Go. By the grace of Allah, go and come back safe and well inshaAllah. And with a victory.
“But for now, will you come? Closer? Hold me.”
Ejaz obeyed, and as she laid her head against his chest, a tear rolled down her cheek. His eyes found hers once more. Seeing their wetness, he kissed her lips softly, his mission accomplished. She responded in kind, but with the full measure of her loving spirit as the couple, now a single being, melted slowly onto its bed.
Saleem, Abdul Rahman, and Abdul Majeed spread the word among their contacts while Sikander stayed behind with Abdul Latif and Razya. After four days, the task of gathering mujahideen was complete and each small band made its way discreetly out of its own village toward Takhto Kalay.
The time finally came for Abdul Latif’s own party to bid farewell to their women and, much to their disappointment, Abdul Rahman and Saleem, who could not be spared for this expedition. They were a proven team with the Stingers and were needed at home. Hinna, for all her seeming fortitude when learning of the mission and Ejaz’s impending absence, finally broke down and wept silently as the men set off. Standing between Noor and Rabia, she leaned on Noor’s shoulder, wrapping an arm firmly around Rabia.
Having braced herself for her brother’s departure, Rabia thus far held herself together. But now, there was a new, unfamiliar sensation to which she could not give a name, and for which she wasn’t prepared. It was a wrenching feeling that seemed to connect inexplicably with Sikander’s parting. She too became tearful. Razya meanwhile, her eyes closed in whispered prayer, was too focused to weep. Abdul Latif and his companions continued into the distance and up the slopes to the southeast of Laghar Juy until they were eventually lost against the backdrop of the Spin Ghar.
After reaching Takhto, they were met by thirty-three mujahideen who had arrived two and three at a time. They were put up for the night in different homes with Abdul Latif and his immediate family bunking at Azam’s. Over the following four days, in bands of seven or eight, they made their way across the mountains to the Torkhum Road outside Peshawar. The mules were returned to Takhto by other mujahideen who were still ferrying weapons into Afghanistan, and this relay process went on until everyone was in Pakistan. As each band arrived, they were taken to Arif’s place, rested, and if not fasting then fed, before being driven to Peshawar’s PAF base and housed in barracks designated for the ISI.
On the fourth day, Abdul Latif took his own men across. When they arrived at Arif’s he welcomed them in his usual ebullient fashion.
“Allahu Akbar! Abdul Latif, welcome friend! Welcome all of you!”
Greetings out of the way, Arif launched into a description of the plan. “We have a transport coming later today for you. The good news, as I’ve explained to the other groups, is that instead of going by truck, Six Squadron will be flying you with your weapons directly out of Peshawar.”
“And when we get to Quetta?” asked a pleasantly surprised Abdul Latif.
“Not Quetta. You’re being flown into Pishin. The Hercules can make it in, especially with less than forty of you. Junaid’s already there and he’s wating to get you all to the border.”
“Pishin? How far is that from the border?”
“Closer than Quetta, actually. After you land, at around midnight you’ll be trucked down to Yaru Karez and from there the road leads all the way to Chaman at the Afghan border. But you’ll be leaving the road before then. You’ll be staying at several homes in a small village about two kilometers from the northern end of the Khojak tunnel. We’ve friends at that village. They’ll meet you and help.”
“Mules?” asked Abdul Latif.
“They’ll already be there, but by then you will have crossed the most difficult terrain. Pack the mules with your weapons and go north out from the village keeping the Toba Kakar Mountains to your east. After twelve kilometers, head west to Spin Boldak where you’ll meet up with local mujahideen.”
“Spin Boldak is under our control?” Abdul Latif was a little surprised.
“Control? Huh! Who can say that these days? But we do have strong mujahideen presence and if I’m right you’ll be able to rest there. However, if for any reason Spin Boldak seems risky, you’ll need to continue north following the mountains for another forty kilometers before heading west until you enter the Arghandab Valley to the northwest of Qandahar. Be sure to come around to the west of the valley from north of the Dahla Dam and its lake. The Soviets and DRA have the eastern side of the valley to themselves.”
“I see. Anything else?”
“No, I think we’ve covered everything.”
Having gone over the details, with his signature grin Arif turned to Sikander: “Telephone’s working. Would you like to—”
“Oh yes… Yes, I would. JazaakAllah!” Sikander answered, as if he’d been holding his breath for the moment.
“Please—” Arif motioned to the stairs, “but remember to limit your conversation to family matters,” he warned.
Leaving home all those months earlier, Sikander had started this journey in his life by being indiscreet. Few people could advise him now, better than he could himself, not to make such a mistake again. He made his way to the living room. It was four in the afternoon on a Friday. He supposed his mother would probably be at home preparing iftar. It was a warm, comforting thought that helped him rehearse all the things he wanted to say to her. Most prominent among them was that he loved his family, that now in a real sense, he understood the meaning and value of a family. It was an understanding his previously sheltered existence had largely denied him. He also thought about the several written messages he had already sent and was concerned to avoid repeating himself, as time was precious.
It took four attempts before his call connected and the phone rang, once…twice…
“Hello?” said a female voice. His mother. “Hello?” she said again.
“Ammee? It’s me. It’s Sikander.” He paused. Like so many birds, his rehearsed thoughts fluttered out of the open cage of his mind.
“Sikander!” Sofie exclaimed. “Oh, bettha, where are you? Are you in Pakistan?” she managed to get at least these questions out before beginning to lose her poise.
“Ammee… Ammee-jan,” Sikander responded, trying hard to keep himself together. “Yes, I’m in Pakistan. I’m all right. Ammee, I love you. I miss you so…How is everyone? You know, we’re doing important work here and it’s making a difference. I can’t say any more but I’ve—”
“Sikander bettha, are you eating properly? Are you well? Not sick? Can we…can we see you?” Sofie’s tone was subdued. She understood that entreaties would be ineffective.
“Ammee-jan, I can’t tell you how much I want to see everyone. I have so much I want to share, and I will. I promise. When I’m back… I promise.”
“Bettha, we received your notes but had no way to reply,” continued Sofie. “Can we at least speak with you more often?”
“Ammee, where I live there aren’t any phones and whenever I get the chance I get a letter to you, but that hasn’t happened for several months. I wish I were home! How’s Abba? Is he still angry with me?”
“Who can remain angry for so long, bettha? Yes, he was very disappointed at first. You abandoned him. Then after we started hearing from you and understood what you were doing, he was more at ease—bettha, he’s walking in right now. Javed? Javed, hurry, it’s Sikander! Here bettha, speak to him.”
Sikander’s heart skipped a beat as he steeled himself for a potentially difficult conversation. There was a moment of silence before his father picked up the phone.
“Sikander!” said his father. “Bettha… How are you? Where are you calling from?”
Sikander was wholly unprepared for Javed’s humble tone. Having braced for a paternal tirade, he had no defense against the vulnerablilty in his father’s voice.
Sikander cried. His straining to hold back tears left him speechless.
“Bettha
, we…we’re all well here. Look, I was…I shouldn’t have driven you away like that but sometimes, well, sometimes Allah works in his own way, and when he does, who are we to oppose it? Sikander?”
“I’m here. I’m here. Abba, I miss you. Forgive me, Abba. It wasn’t the right way to leave. But I’m…I hope you’ll be proud of what I’m doing.” Sikander clung to coherence by the weakest of threads.
“Bettha,” said Javed, “if it’s worth anything, I wish I were with you. Every day, I pray Allah gives you the strength to prevail and come home. Just stay in touch and don’t worry about us. Alhamdulillah, we’ve been getting back on our feet with some good government work at the refugee cam—well, let’s just say we’re fine.”
To Sikander, Javed was a transformed person and it made him reflect upon how transformed he himself might now have seemed to his father.
“Sikander!” Arif called from downstairs.
“Abba-jee, I have to go. The others are calling for me. Please look after yourself and don’t worry about me. I’ll call or write again as soon as I can. And oh, Ramadhan Mubarak! Allah Hafiz!”
“Ramadhan Mubarak! Allah Hafiz!” echoed Javed, hurriedly wiping at a threatening tear.
“Sikander!” Arif repeated.
“Coming!”
With heavy footfalls, Sikander descended the steps to the war-room and rejoined his seated friends. They studied the map that had been the basis of the most recent discussion with Abdul Latif. With the route understood, everyone participated in a combined zuhr and asr prayer, and a few minutes later a small truck appeared outside Arif’s house. The men boarded it with their lightly packed belongings and were soon on their way to Peshawar airport’s PAF base. It wasn’t hard to prepare for travel as the men had only their rifles, some ammunition, and a meager sack of personal items, mostly clothing.
Once all the mujahideen were together at the air base, food packages were handed out for iftar in readiness for the sunset, which would take place during their flight. The sky was already a dusky orange as the men were led out of the barracks toward the aircraft. They marched two abreast into the gaping rear of the C130. Contrary to Sikander’s previous experiences, this plane had a rack in the middle holding several Stinger missile cases, dozens of Milan-2s, and six Milan launcher posts.
Sikander felt a little superior at having been aboard such an aircraft before and he fussed over his fellow travelers, especially Abdul Latif, showing him how to strap in and put on the ear protectors. As his mentor observed Sikander, I know what you’re doing, spoke his eyes.
The aircraft droned aloft into the evening sky, turning due south and continuing for forty minutes before making a straight run southwest for Pishin. A couple of hours later it touched down at around ten in the evening on Pishin’s runway 24. The reversed pitch on each of the its four propellers arrested the giant bird in short order. When the ramp door opened, hot, dry air greeted the travelers as they emerged.
“Assalaamu ‘alaykum!” came a voice. Everyone instinctively gave the customary reply. Abdul Latif, who had been minding his step while leaving the cargo bay, lifted his eyes the moment he recognized the voice.
“Hey! Troublemaker! Haven’t seen you in months. How are you?”
“Abdul Latif! Welcome back, brother! It’s been a while!” Junaid exclaimed as the men hugged each other. Abdul Majeed, Ejaz, and Sikander followed suit. “You boys… Made quite the name for yourselves, eh? People still speak of those three helicopters, you know.”
“Really?” asked Sikander, genuinely surprised. “Let’s hope we can make a difference in Qandahar.”
“It’s why we’re all here!” declared Junaid. “Anyhow, we have time to talk on the road. We’ve a good distance to cover. About fifty kilometers in these mountains tonight.”
The men piled into two trucks accompanied by some of their weapons, with the remaining weapons in a third truck. The convoy trundled down the rough road out of the airfield and headed south to Yaru Karez. The village was little more than a road junction at which they turned right heading northwest toward the mountains and Chaman.
The truck ride was a terrifying experience, permitting nothing resembling conversation. There was no visibility except for the occasional moonlit view into the valleys and sheer drops outside through the split in the canvas back flaps. Every time the truck made sharp veering maneuvers these normally courageous warriors were gripped by the fear of losing their lives to a moment of driver carelessness. To their immense relief, having crossed the worst of the mountains, the trucks finally came to a rest, though well before reaching the border.
As soon as the engines were silenced, the back flaps were opened up and everyone eagerly stepped out. Having seen the trucks approaching from a distance, the local village tribesmen were ready with their mules; twenty-eight in all.
The mujahideen hurriedly emptied the trucks of their remaining cargo and set about arranging groups of weapons that could be loaded on the mules in the morning. Meanwhile, the villagers had already prepared their homes to put up the travelers for what was left of the night.
At dawn, after taking suhur to begin the day’s fasting, followed by the fajr prayer, the mule packing began in earnest. Sixteen Stinger weapon systems and eight missile rounds were bundled onto twelve of the mules, with one case on each side to maintain balance. Five mules were used to carry six Milans on each side and one launch post, with one of the mules carrying an extra launch post. Seven mules were packed with the men’s belongings and ammunition. Four more animals were kept in reserve in case of injury. The seven mule teams were organized in bands of four to six mujahideen according to how the corresponding personnel and ammunition packs had been distributed. In that way, each team of mules had at least one personnel pack animal and three weapons pack animals, forming a self-contained weapons-equipped team. AK-47s were to be shoulder carried.
Before departing, the men huddled in an open courtyard, partially shaded by the wall of one of the houses.
“Spin Boldak?” asked Abdul Latif.
Junaid shook his head, “Too dangerous. From what the CIA tell us, it looks as if government forces might attack it from the south or west any day now. Straight to Arghandab, I’m afraid.”
“In that case, we’ve no time to lose,” responded Abdul Latif.
The plan was for the mujahideen to proceed in small groups at one-hour intervals and fan out with each troop in a slightly different but generally northerly direction. They were then to turn west through some relatively easy country for a further fifty kilometers until reaching the main Kabul-to-Qandahar highway. Under cover of darkness, they would have to cross the road and proceed, as discussed in Jamrud, toward the west side of the Arghandab Valley. It would be a simple matter to hike the few kilometers following the west bank of the river before arriving at Sokhchala, their rendezvous point with Lala Malang and his forces.
Abdul Latif kept Abdul Majeed, Ejaz, and Sikander with him and the four of them took the lead team. He also took one spare mule to ride, which would be taken in turns on the long walk. Making a reasonable four kilometers an hour, they arrived at their first rest point in the early evening and after a simple but much needed iftar made ready to sleep in the open by the banks of a small brook coming out of the mountains. Being travelers, the fasting of Ramadhan wasn’t obligatory and the men decided to avoid fasting for the rest of the journey, as dehydration was a real threat. The night was bearably cool under the clear sky. Sikander, who hadn’t said much during the day, was in the mood for talking. He was lying next to Ejaz.
“Ejaz? You awake?”
“Mmhmm,” Ejaz let out a tired murmur.
“Ejaz, remember when we first met Yaqub and his family?”
“Of course. Why?”
“And I don’t suppose you remember how—smitten?—you became that night?” asked Sikander. “Hinna had quite the effect on you, didn’t she?
“Mmm…you know I recall that, Sikander,” sighed Ejaz, becoming slightly more attentive.
“What was it like exactly? What did you feel?”
“Hard to describe, really. I suppose it felt like an ache in my heart and stomach. Not like any ordinary aching, mind you. It was as if I’d have to suffer this until I saw her again, and that somehow seeing her would fix it, yet it felt strangely—good. To have that pain, I mean. Have you had such an experience?”
“Uh…no,” replied Sikander. “Well, not exactly,” he qualified before elaborating. “I sometimes have this feeling for…well, for Rabia, and you…you felt this way once and came to me asking what to do. How would you help me now?”
“Sometimes?” asked Ejaz. “Why only sometimes?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s because when I want to talk to her…huh…always with someone else there of course…it usually turns into an argument. But then, I guess, I feel like her battling me in that way makes me feel more—attracted to her? Does that make sense?”
Ejaz emitted a muted chuckle. “You want to find sense in how you feel about a girl? But if you do feel this way, we should talk again. What brought this up now?”
“Oh, just lying here I suppose, under the open sky, seeing the stars. I was reminded of when you met Hinna, and I’d just been having this dream when—Ejaz?”
“Mmmm…”
In the mountain air, they slept a little too well and it was down to Abdul Majeed to wake his companions with the dawn. The mountains to their east made seeing the sunrise impossible and they were far from anything resembling a masjid to be able to hear an azaan. Absent these cues, he had to shake them vigorously.
The dawn prayer and a short breakfast of rations were quickly completed. Drawing water into their flasks from the brook, they set off to the west as soon as it was light enough. The brook led the way.
After four hours of following it, the brook, now a stream, veered to the southwest. They continued to walk alongside its gentle bend for a couple of kilometers until they came to a dry riverbed leading up the hills to the north and then west. Instructing the men to refill their flasks at the stream, Abdul Latif led them up the riverbed into the hills. As the climb became steeper, they made switchbacks to reach the top, where a small village amounting to no more than a clutch of mud-brick homes was situated. They were warmly received and offered welcome rest and refreshments. A couple of hours later they were on their way again.
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