'Shukhria! ' they said simultaneously in their gratitude. 'You are dismissed!'
Durtami and Kharani scurried backward on their hands and knees until reaching the door. Only then did they get to their feet and flee the throne room.
.
REFUGEE CAMP
KHAMAMI FIEFDOM
1500 HOURS LOCAL
THE mood in the camp was one of utter despair. When the people were informed they would have to remain where they were, they instinctively glanced northward to where the frigid winds of winter would descend from within weeks. It had rained the night before and everyone had gotten wet. The lucky climbed into the backs of the motor-rickshaws for protection from the elements, but most had to cover themselves with blankets that had quickly grown sodden from the rain. Coughing children were already in evidence.
The men now ignored Durtami and Kharani. They formed up in family groups to make plans for hunting in the nearby hills. With no rations being issued to them, this was their only way of obtaining food. They pooled their available cash to send the women to the nearby farming villages to buy food. With the growing season already over, the best they could hope for was dried vegetables and flour.
All this activity came to a halt when a platoon of Warlord Khamami's mujahideen appeared, shouting for everyone to gather at the far edge of the camp. A strange individual was with the fighters. He was rail thin with a wispy beard and of undeterminable age. His attire was simple, with a tattered pukhoor wrapped around his spindly body. In spite of his self-effacing appearance, he had a fierce fire in his eyes. His presence made the refugees uneasy, while many of the women shrank back in fear from the walking scarecrow who glared at them, baring his rotting teeth in a fierce grimace.
When everyone was gathered, he stepped up on the hood of the Soviet sedan. After an angry glare at the assemblage, he spoke in a reedy but loud voice. 'I am Khatib the Oracle! I serve the faithful here as their spiritual guide. I have lived alone in the wilderness of the mountains for fifteen years. I fasted and prayed for weeks at a time without stopping. I was celibate, without thoughts of lust disturbing my devotion. Other men would have starved or gone mad under such circumstances and abused their genitals. But Allah had chosen me to prove my devoutness to Him and Islam.'
Now the old fellow had become downright frightening. Mothers pulled their young children closer to them, and the men gave one another worried glances.
Khatib the Oracle continued. 'You are all miserable sinners, cast from your homes and your lands and your herds for your faithless disregard of Islam. Now you are here among true believers seeking comfort and alms. You will receive all the aid that can possibly be rendered unto you, for that is the way of Islam. Though you are fallen, Allah has been merciful and sent you to us to be put back on the right path.'
The crowd remained silent, fully recognizing that they were completely and utterly at the mercy of this zealot, and the most frightening aspect of the condition was that this had undoubtedly been done with the approval of Warlord Khamami.
'But before your well-deserved misery is relieved,' Khatib the Oracle pronounced, 'you will have to atone for your sins. Husbands and wives will live apart and not know each other. You must fast and pray, eating nothing during daylight hours and only one meal after the sun sinks over the western lands. Make yourselves pure in thought and deed. Do not dwell on your thirst or your hunger! Do not let your unrelieved passions give you unclean thoughts! If there are those who die from these conditions, then give thanks to Allah for their deaths. He will have relieved them of their mortal burdens and taken them up to Paradise, as they have truly atoned for wrongdoings! The sinners among you will continue to live in this misery. So be it!'
He abruptly ceased his speech and nimbly stepped down to the ground. He hurried away, walking so rapidly that his mujahideen escort had trouble keeping up with him.
The people turned away and went miserably back to their campsites.
KHATIB the Oracle lived in a far corner of the castle. His apartment was isolated by narrow hallways that led to the roof. When he returned to his quarters after delivering his revelations to the refugees, he was met by his old servant. The ancient retainer salaamed respectfully. 'Welcome home, Holy Khatib.'
'Is the Dharya girl still here?' he inquired, speaking of one of the captive concubines.
'Yes, Holy One,' the servant said. 'I have not yet had her taken back to the bordello.'
'Send her to me.'
'Yes, Holy One.'
Khatib the Oracle went to his sleeping room and slipped out of his pukhoor. A moment later there was a rapping on the door. The servant opened it and motioned a young girl to step inside. After the old man left, she began disrobing, numbly accepting the inevitable rape that she would endure in a matter of moments.
Chapter 12
WEST RIDGE BASE CAMP
23 AUGUST
0915 HOURS LOCAL
DUST swirled violently off the ridge top as the two Blackhawk helicopters came in for landing. The roar of the engines frightened the buzzards feeding on the dead mujahideen farther down the slope, and the large, obnoxious birds rose in dark clouds of feathered flight at the thunderous disturbance. They scattered through the sky, their indignant squawking loud and obscene at this interruption in their gruesome feasting.
As soon as the wheels touched down, each squad of Brannigan's Brigands disembarked from its aircraft, quickly forming relay lines. The crewmen inside began handing boxes and bundles of gear and ammo to waiting hands, and the supplies were passed from man to man toward the side area where Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins and Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson neatly stacked the goods prior to proper stowage. Among the usual issue of ammunition and rations were camouflage netting, shovels, picks, empty burlap sandbags and an assortment of uniform items to replace what the SEALs had been wearing for almost three weeks. The fresh, unused skivvies were the most appreciated, but not quite as much as eight cases of Budweiser officially donated by the Army Post Exchange Board in Kabul. The Brigands didn't receive enough alcohol to get roaring drunk, but they were appreciative of this second gift of beer just the same.
Connie Concord and Bruno Puglisi were also happy with the addition of an M-224 light mortar system to their small arsenal of support weaponry. The platoon commo was enhanced greatly with each officer and chief petty officer being furnished with a PRC-112 radio to enhance his command and control capabilities. These sets also broadcast beacons that all military aircraft monitor on their guard channels to provide an automated method of calling support to particular points of the globe. It was a handy and quick way to get help when needed.
As soon as the Blackhawks were given the all-clear signal, their rotors whipped back up to flying speed, and they lifted off the ridge, turning toward their home base. The ensuing quiet was broken by the hoarse shouts of the chief petty officers, who set the men to work constructing storage sites for all the new gear. This would include the erection of camouflage netting to enhance the cut brush the platoon had been using for concealment since their arrival.
The Odd Couple, Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz, were the lucky ones in the activities. The assignment of recon patrol duties saved them from the pick-and-shovel work. They happily donned their combat vests, grabbed their CAR-15s and headed down the ridge to check out the area.
When the new equipment was covered and concealed, the next order of business was the improvement of the present fighting positions. Now, with better digging implements than entrenching tools, the SEALs set about deepening and strengthening the field fortifications that surrounded the immediate area. This included filling the sandbags to build up higher parapets.
With the work under way, Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan called a staff meeting with his 21C and chief petty officer. Rather than go into the CP, they stood outside for the session, gazing at the men working hard at their various tasks.
Brannigan liked what he saw. 'That's real discipline.'
Chief Gunnarson frowned in puzzlement. 'What are you talking about, sir?'
'Some people--especially civilians--think military discipline is a combination of harsh training and punishment,' Brannigan replied. 'Chickenshit stuff, y' know? Like making guys spit-shine boots and Brasso their brass. But real
