Seals (2005) (23 page)

Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz led the way down the ridge slope, moving slowly and carefully as they peered into the darkness through the night vision devices. Behind them, the rest of platoon followed noiselessly, being extra careful to avoid the rattling of equipment and bandoleers of ammunition. They knew the mujahideen would have OPs scattered throughout the area, and the need for total alertness was super critical. A safe withdrawal could only be made if they stayed vigilant and cautious. Fate would not be kind to the careless.

The platoon reached the valley floor, and Mike signaled a halt while Dave went forward a few meters for a quick re-con. He came back and whispered over the LASH. "There's an OP manned by two ragheads approximately twenty-five meters ahead at ten o'clock. There's a way around them, so follow us real careful."

"Carry on," Brannigan whispered back.

The two point men led the way farther to the north for a hundred meters before turning back west toward the foothills. A half hour later the Odd Couple eased back to the original direction, but they hadn't gone far before Joe Miskoski at the rear spoke urgently. "Enemy patrol! Left flank!"

"Everybody down!" Brannigan ordered, thinking about what a relief it would be when they finally reached the concealment of the ravines. There would be constant danger of contact with the enemy until they left this open, flat country.

Within moments a six-man patrol of mujahideen could be discerned moving carefully in the opposite direction. They had no night vision capabilities, but were doing an excellent job of maintaining their course and speed without any unnecessary noise. The only sound came when one grunted slightly after making a misstep on the uneven terrain. A few more nervous moments passed before Joe spoke again. "All clear!"

"All right," the Skipper said. "Move out!"

Mike and Dave stood up and renewed the westward trek.

.

TOP OF WEST RIDGE

0720 HOURS LOCAL

THE door of the Mi-24 helicopter's troop compartment was open, and Warlord Hassan Khamami stood in it, looking down at the place the enemy had defended with such ferocious determination and skill. They had chosen the spot well, he concluded, and he noted that they had an excellent view of the valley on all sides of the mountain. When the chopper touched down, Khamami leaped to the ground and hurried over to where his field commander, Major Karim Malari, waited.

The major saluted. "Asalaam aleikum, Amir."

"Greetings," Khamami said. He looked around at the bare area, seeing no indication of anyone having recently been there. "What is the situation here?"

"The infidels seem to have walked off the face of the earth, Amir," Malari replied in an apologetic tone. "We know they were here because they constructed field fortifications, yet there is no evidence of anything else. Not even boot prints or latrines." He gestured in frustration. "It is pristine, as if no one had been here for decades!'

"What about equipment?" Khamami asked. "Surely they could not carry everything they had away with them."

"There was not as much as a single cigarette butt," Malari said. "Not even a thread or button. It seems the entire ridge top has been carefully swept over by some diabolical giant with a huge broom. As Mohammad is the prophet, they must have buried things, but my men cannot find any evidence of it, no matter how hard they search."

"At any rate we don't have the time or need to start digging around here," Khamami said, angered by the situation. The foreigners were indeed a clever enemy. "The only direction they could have gone is west."

"I agree, Amir. The foothills and ravines leading to the western mountain ranges offer excellent concealment."

"Prepare some men for aerial transport out to the foothills ahead of where the enemy must be," Khamami ordered. "Meanwhile I shall dispatch the helicopters to make an aerial search for them. The foreigners are not invisible! We will find where they are eventually."

"Au, Amir!" Malari said, again saluting. "I shall order two platoons to ready themselves for air transportation. They will be waiting when the aircraft return from their scouting mission."

Khamami turned and trotted back to the helicopter to order the aerial reconnaissance to begin. Now there were more than material reasons to destroy this elusive enemy. He had grown to hate them in a cold, calculating way. The warlord was ready to apply his own tactical talent, and the tenacity of his mujahideen, to destroy these maddening foreigners.

.

THE FOOTHILLS

1045 HOURS LOCAL

THE platoon could hear the helicopters long before they made an appearance. Brannigan ordered a halt, then scurried up to the top of the ravine and looked toward the eastern sky. Two dark shapes, flying in a zigzag search pattern, drew closer. It was obvious they were scouting the foothills and surrounding terrain. And the Skipper knew exactly who they were looking for with such painstaking diligence.

"Now hear this!" Brannigan said over the LASH. "Get into the shadows at the side of the ravine. Keep your heads down and don't move!"

He slid down to the ravine floor, heading back to his position between Frank Gomez and Senior Chief Buford Dawkins. The senior chief patted his CAR-15. "D'you think we ought to shoot 'em down if they come in low enough, sir?"

"Negative," Brannigan said. "If they receive fire, they'll radio their positions immediately. I don't want the bastards to have any idea of where we might be. Our best hope is remaining phantoms."

Frank Gomez grinned. "Maybe they'll end up thinking we're figments of their imaginations."

"Not likely," Brannigan said. "I'm sure they've counted their dead and treated their wounded. Imaginary enemies don't inflict casualties." The sound of the chopper engines was much louder by then. "Everybody down!"

The Mi-24s came in cautiously, knowing better than to get too close to where these particular infidels might be concealed. One of their comrades had already paid for that carelessness with his life, the life of his gunner, and a helicopter. The aircraft went past, made a sweeping turn, then came back. After a half dozen runs, they took one final look and headed eastward.

The sound of the engines gradually faded away. Brannigan let fifteen minutes pass, then stood up. "All right, guys. Let's haul ass out of here. Assad and Leibowitz, step out sharply!"

"Aye, sir," the Odd Couple replied simultaneously. The fourteen-man column was once again on the move.

.

TOP OF WEST RIDGE

1185 HOURS LOCAL

WARLORD Khamami and Major Malari watched as the two helicopters came in for a landing. They turned away from the clouds of gritty dust the rotors kicked up, waiting for the engines to be cut.

Captain Mohammed Sheriwal, as the senior pilot, left his aircraft to make a personal report to the warlord. "Amir, we could not find the infidels. The terrain is cut up by numerous ravines and some stands of trees. They had no trouble in remaining concealed from us. But they are out there. There is no doubt of that."

Malari pulled the Soviet Army map from beneath his jacket and knelt down to spread it out. "Show us where you went."

Sheriwal joined him, putting his finger on the topographical chart. "We flew in a search square. I kept us together, since the more sets of eyes we had, the greater the chance of spotting the infidels. We went a hundred and fifty kilometers on both sides of this area."

Khamami stood with his arms crossed on his chest, looking down at the map. "Excellent. I agree with your search pattern, Captain Sheriwal. The enemy would not be so stupid as to wander too far north or south."

"The problem is the loss of our number two aircraft," Sheriwal said. "It cuts our capabilities by a third."

"Yes," Khamami said. "I must get a replacement helicopter as quickly as possible."

"I could go to Kabul," Sheriwal said. "It would not be too difficult to steal an Afghanistan Army aircraft there. A small bribe to a guard would allow easy access. I could fly it straight back here."

"It would do us no good without a third pilot," Khamami pointed out.

"But if we were able to obtain a helicopter, you could hire another, Amir," Sheriwal argued.

Khamami smiled sarcastically. "You have amassed a great deal of money since joining my army, have you not, Captain Sheriwal?"

"Of course, Amir," Sheriwal replied. "I shall be eternally grateful to you for the opportunities you have given me to enrich myself."

"The opium smuggling was the best paying of all your activities, no?"

"Yes, Amir," Sheriwal answered.

"You are a good servant and soldier, Mohammad Sheriwal," Khamami said. "But if you ever withdrew from my presence, I would not trust you to come back."

"I would come back!" Sheriwal said. "I swear, Amir!"

"I am aware of the money you have sent to Switzerland," Khamami said.

Sheriwal swallowed nervously. "But . . . but . . . that is for my old age, Amir."

"Some men are old at thirty-five," Khamami said. Now he knelt down and studied the map for a few moments before looking at Major Malari. "Take careful note of that canyon that is shown far to the west."

Malari looked. "Yes, Amir. I know the place. It is the Wadi Khesta Valley."

"The enemy must pass through it if they are to successfully evade us," Khamami said. "I want two platoons flown to the far end to take up positions. Understood?"

"Au, Amir!"

"Additionally, I want one more platoon between here and that canyon," Khamami said. "That way the enemy will be caught between that one platoon and the two-platoon force: Those devils will have no escape, and the rest of our fighters can join up with the single platoon to crush them."

Malari smiled. "You plan to attack the enemy from two sides, do you not, Amir?"

"You have read my mind like a bazaar magician," Khamami said. "Prepare the platoons for this mission."

Malari got to his feet. "I shall assemble the men immediately, Amir." He picked up the map and refolded it. "Captain Tanizai! Assemble the Third Company. Have them ready to leave here within fifteen minutes!" The order set off a flurry of activity among the mujahideen.

The warlord looked straight into Sheriwal's eyes in a threatening manner. "Did you understand the orders?'

"Au, Amir! " the pilot answered quickly. "I am ready to perform my duties!"

"I always keep my eyes on you, Sheriwal."

"I am pleased, Amir. That way you will truly know of my trustworthiness."

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THE FOOTHILLS

1600 HOURS LOCAL

BRANNIGAN brought the forced march to a halt. The helicopters were back flying in the vicinity, but were not conducting any searching activities. It became obvious that they were flying to a point ahead of the column and to another location in the rear; landing, then taking off again and flying eastward. After a half hour or so, they would reappear to repeat the process.

Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins had been watching carefully, making mental notations of the goings-on. He hurried down the line to report to the platoon commander.

"Sir," the senior chief said. "I've counted a total of seven lifts by them choppers. They's been five to the front and two to the rear. Seems kinda strange, don't it?"

"Yeah," Brannigan commented dryly. He spoke into the LASH. "Jim. Chief Gunnarson. Front and center." He waited for the two to join him and the senior chief. "Has anybody figured out what's going on with those fucking helicopters?"

Jim Cruiser nodded. "I figure they're landing troops to both our front and rear."

"Give the man a cigar!" Brannigan said. "And there're more to the front than to the rear. That would mean they want to draw us into an escape attempt back in an eastward direction. It would be easier that way since resistance would be lighter, but eventually we'd run into their main force. If we try to avoid both ends and move out of the cover of the ravines for a cross-country run, we'd be caught flat-footed and helpless as a herd of deer facing a wolf pack."

"That'd be some bad shit, sir," the senior chief commented. "Then they'd know they's only fourteen of us. It wouldn't be long afore they was all over us like stink on shit."

"We'd last about as long as that proverbial snowball in hell," Cruiser agreed.

"No fucking doubt about that," Brannigan said bitterly. "So we'll do the unexpected. The platoon will move toward the stronger enemy group until contact is made after dark. That will be the Odd Couple's job. When they've scoped out the enemy position, we'll make a three-pronged attack in the darkness."