VILLAGE OF HERANDBE
WARLORD DURTAMI'S FIEFDOM
THE small community of mud huts consisted of fifteen families, and was under the protection and patronage of Warlord Ayyub Durtami. These farmers worked their fields in a single valley of the high country, pooling their resources and energy for a more efficient operation. If they planted the usual crops--wheat, barley and corn--each family would earn the equivalent of approximately 150 American dollars per year. But they had something more profitable to harvest. These peasants cultivated the opium poppy plant from which heroine is made. The crop afforded the farmers 64,500 afghanis annually, which translated into 1500 American dollars per year for each family. It was not surprising that this tenfold advantage in cash encouraged them to cultivate and process the poppies.
Their broker for the sale of the product was the warlord, who paid them cash for the illicit crops. He took care of the transport and sales to the manufacturers that smuggled the narcotics to European and American markets.
The farmers got the juice from the unripe seeds of the plants, and air dried it until it formed into a thick gum. Further drying of this gum resulted in a powder for the final product that the warlord's men transported to receiving points. From there, the substance was taken to processing centers in Kabul and Kandahar.
The farmers loved this arrangement and were deeply grateful to the warlord for providing them with the opportunity to make so much money. It was easy, fast work, without the backbreaking struggle of plowing and harvesting grain crops. These cultivators considered opiates a blessing from Allah. And if the stuff trapped infidels into the hell of addiction, so much the better. That was what the nonbelievers of Western civilization deserved.
The only food the families grew was taken care of by the women and girls. The females worked their personal vegetable gardens, and from these small plots they were able to get more than enough for a decent sustenance. They also tended the animals that provided milk, cheese, poultry and meat. With the income from the poppies, they could afford to buy enough flour for bread. Life was good under these conditions, and used to endless grinding poverty, these people now lived in what they considered shameless luxury.
The villagers did more for the warlord than produce poppy products. They provided him and his mujahideen with intelligence and backup. Their latest support would be in dealing with some people coming from Kabul to register them for the next national elections. This was the reason that the warlord's second-in-command, Ahmet Kharani, and six chosen men waited concealed in the village for the government voter registrars to show up.
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0945 HOURS LOCAL
THE white Toyota van covered in dust was preceded by a small Russian UAZ sedan. The two vehicles pulled into the village, turning into the small community square. Three elderly farmers sat on benches by the well, looking impassively as the visitors came to a halt next to them.
Four heavily armed men stepped from the sedan, holding American M-16 rifles at the ready. They were obviously city fellows, a bit soft and dressed a little too fancy for the countryside. These bodyguards looked around at the mud huts, then one of them nodded to his companions in the van. The two young men in the vehicle got out and walked up to the old men at the well.
'Asalaam aleikum,' one greeted politely. He was wearing slacks and a white dress shirt opened at the collar. 'We wish to speak to your head man, if we may.'
The farmers made no reply, but stood up and walked away from the well, toward the nearest hut. As soon as they entered and closed the doors, gunshots detonated from nearby buildings with a deafening rapidity. The four armed bodyguards were caught in a murderous crossfire that pummeled them to the ground, leaving them sprawled in the undignified positions of sudden violent death. The other two visitors looked up in terror as Kharani and a half dozen gunmen stepped into view from their hidden firing positions around the huts.
'Put your hands up!' Kharani growled.
As the frightened men obeyed, two of the mujahideen went forward and roughly searched them for weapons, punctuating the procedure with sharp kicks and punches. Kharani walked over to the van and looked inside. A briefcase lay between the seats, and he reached in and grabbed it. He unbuckled the flap and looked inside. It was crammed with illustrated pamphlets and printed posters for placing on walls. He walked over to the prisoners.
'What is this all about?' he asked.
The man who seemed to be the senior of the two spoke in a quaking voice. 'They are information about how to vote. The people in this area missed the last election.'
'And what exactly were you going to do with this information on how to vote?' Kharani asked. 'The people here do not want to vote.'
'Uh . . . uh, Allah protect me!' the man stammered. Kharani swung his gaze to the younger man. 'Answer my question!'
'To teach the people how to vote.'
'I see,' Kharani said. 'It seems you are unwanted intruders within our land. We do not like people to bother our farmers.'
The first man found his tongue and spoke rapidly in a beseeching tone of voice. 'We are officials of the government! They will ransom us! Do you understand? You will be paid much money to give us our freedom.'
'That is correct,' the second agreed. 'You should not kill us.
'Why not?' Kharani asked mockingly, though he knew that Warlord Durtami had every intention of obtaining money for their release.
'Please, sir! We both have families!' the older man said, beginning to weep. 'We are Muslims! Followers of Islam.'
Kharani turned to his men and barked short, terse orders. One man ran to the sedan and got in while another took the driver's seat in the van. The prisoners were pushed and bullied into the back of the vehicle while Kharani and the remainder of the men joined them.
The two vehicles sped from the village and out to the dirt road, turning in the direction of the warlord's compound. The three old farmers came out and gazed at the sight of the four corpses. The dead had to be taken care of properly, since they were Muslims. The Holy Koran forbade leaving the bodies of the faithful unburied to be eaten by jackals and vultures.
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MUJAHIDEEN PATROL
EAST RIDGE
1400 HOURS LOCAL
THE patrol was made up of a half dozen of the youngest mujahideen in the compound. This was more of a training mission than an actual reconnaissance patrol, and they had been sent out on their own to see if they could find any sign of the infidel interlopers who had proven so deadly. The senior men of the warlord's band were certain the attackers had drawn off and concealed themselves on the other mountain. This little excursion would be good for the kids without putting them in any real danger.
The boys laughed and shouted threats to the enemy, waving their weapons above their heads as they pranced around on their way up the rocky slope. Several wore green headbands with white lettering in Arabic that read 'Maut-laKafir'--'Death to Infidels,' while others said 'Ash Tawil al Jihad'--'Long Live the Holy War.'
This was going to be a great day. They were away from the strictness of the instructors for a few hours and had even been given some rice and wheat cakes, with cold tea to wash it all down. With luck they might run into the skulking cowards who had been brazen enough to enter the domains of Warlord Durtami. What an honor for them if they found the infidels and killed them all. .
The lead boy, a sixteen-year-old, sped up to race the others to the top of the mountain. 'I shall be the first to glory!' he shouted as a challenge to his comrades. He had just begun to gain speed when a shot echoed from somewhere, sending a bullet that struck him just below his right eye. His face caved in as the back of his head blew out, spewing brains and blood in one instantaneous millisecond of horror. He fell back on his buttocks, appearing to sit down on a boulder, then rolled to the side.
An instant later, two more of the boys spun under the impact of body shots, slumping down to the rock- strewn terrain.
The last three snapped out of the shock of the moment as they quickly got behind the sparse concealment of
