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.'
.
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
