'I sure as hell hope so,' Brannigan said. 'We're about to start having a great big fucking problem with thirst if things keep going the way they have been.' Most of the men had popped at least one pep pill, and the resultant dryness in their mouths was becoming uncomfortable. They were forced to resort to the old Apache Indian trick of sucking on a couple of pebbles to keep the saliva flowing. Brannigan felt a little better now. 'Let's take a look at this magnificent terrain feature you and Assad discovered.'
The column began moving again, going on down the ravine. They turned the same corner of the big gully as Mike and Dave had, stepping into an extremely wide valley that had a varying depth of between ten and fifteen meters. The feeling of security the platoon had formerly enjoyed in the ravines quickly evaporated. They felt positively exposed, and instinctively went on the alert, hoisting their weapons to high port.
Senior Chief Buford Dawkins trotted up to the Skipper. 'Sir, what do you make of this?'
Brannigan shrugged under his combat vest. 'I was hoping we'd find some water, but the farther we go the less I think that's going to happen.'
'This ain't a place for water, sir,' the senior chief commented. 'Them thorny shrubs around here is the type of bushes that don't need a lot of water. That's why it's growing so good up on them dry slopes.'
'I was afraid of that,' Brannigan said. 'You better pass the word to the men to take it easy with the canteens until further orders.'
'I already did, sir,' Dawkins said. 'But most of 'em had figgered that out already.'
'All we can do is keep moving and hope for the best. And suck those pebbles.'
'Right, sir. See you later.'
Dawkins turned and headed back down toward Bravo Fire Team.
THE WADI KHESTA VALLEY
ABDULLAH and Ashraf were veteran mujahideen who had spent their entire lives in the wilds of Afghanistan. Both were small men, wiry and illiterate but possessed of a natural intelligence and cunning that made them the best scouts in Warlord Hassan Khamami's army.
As Pashtun boys they had been raised in the warrior traditions of their people, living hard lives of deprivation and poverty in an unforgiving country where the weak and unwary succumbed early in life. Their nameless home village was precariously perched on the side of a mountain, the crude homes built of the natural rocks that abounded in the area. A single well served the population of ten families, and three out of five babies, born to women worn by cruel toil, died before attaining three months of age. These were people who took nothing for granted. Bad weather was more than an inconvenience; it could herald natural disasters such as drought, howling windstorms, and thunderclouds that sent immense sheets of water to splash down across the mountains, causing avalanches and flash floods. Additionally, an injury that would only be bothersome in gentler living conditions could kill the unlucky with infections and gangrene. However, anybody reaching the age of ten could reasonably expect to live to the ripe old age of thirty-five or forty, since their bodies had proven to be resistant to all the illnesses and diseases of that environment.
Abdullah and Ashraf, like all the boys, were introduced to firearms early in life. They took their turns standing guard at night, watching for marauding bandits who might raid their village. Their weaponry consisted of old flintlock smoothbore muskets, a few percussion muzzle-loading rifles, and bladed instruments of war that included Indian shamshirs, Arabian scimitars and even some heavy British cavalry sabers taken during a nameless battle over a hundred years before.
Hunting was not a sport for the Pashtuns. It was a way of obtaining protein. The favorite game in those barren mountains was gazelles, but the meager herds had been hunted to near extinction. Now the most numerous animals were hares that had stringy, hard-to-chew meat on the haunches and back legs. Another, better source of meat was the domestic animals of other villages obtained through outright thievery. It was this latter activity in which Abdullah and Ashraf developed their skills in reconnaissance and raiding.
By the time the big troubles with the Soviets came along, the two friends were in their teens. They joined Warlord Khamami's band to fight against the invaders, and found themselves in a world of constant warfare. One of their main jobs was to dog Russian patrols to keep track of the activities and whereabouts of the infidels. Even though they were daring to the point of recklessness at times and had many close calls, Abdullah and Ashraf were never discovered by their prey, and guided many detachments of mujahideen to successful ambush and attack sites.
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0830 HOURS LOCAL
ASHRAF moved slowly down the valley, at times bending over almost double as he studied the spoor he had picked up more than two kilometers back. He noted dislodged rocks, a bent twig on a bush or a scrape along the ground where a misstep had left a boot mark. It was Abdullah's turn to carry the R-100 pack radio, and he watched his friend doing his best to pick up clues of the men they tracked so relentlessly.
Ashraf suddenly stopped, then pointed to the side of the valley. A fresh smudge in the dirt showed where somebody must have stumbled and bumped against the earthen wall. Abdullah saw it too, and nodded to indicate he thought it a very significant sign. This was more than just the evidence of a recent passerby to the skilled eyes of the Pashtun friends. It was a clear indication that the enemy they followed, though skilled and crafty, was growing tired and careless. Both could remember when even the elite Soviet Spetsnaz troopers, highly trained and motivated, compromised themselves at times during long, arduous missions. Their carelessness was mostly dropping cigarette butts when their senses were dulled with exhaustion. They also urinated anywhere they pleased, leaving wet spots in the ground easy to identify if one stuck one's finger in the dampness and sniffed it. Human piss is much different from that of animals.
Abdullah stood beside Ashraf, also noting things that would be invisible to the uninitiated. He put his mouth close to his friend's ear and whispered, 'This is fresh, ror! They cannot be far away.'
'Au! ' Ashraf agreed. 'Stay here with the radio. I shall go ahead and take a look.'
He slowly and silently ascended the wall of the valley. When he reached the top, he went down flat on his stomach and snaked his way through the brush. After carefully raising his head for a look at the surrounding countryside, he quickly ducked back down. He had seen the head of a man wearing a brimmed cap made of camouflage material. It was not like the kamufliron kurtki pattern of the Russians; instead it had brown spots of various shades on a tan background. Ashraf took one more quick peek. Now he saw another fellow beside the first. He crawled carefully backward, reached the edge of the valley and noiselessly lowered himself to where Abdullah waited. He signaled to his friend to follow him, and they moved a few meters back in the direction. They had come from. Ashraf lifted the radio handset out of its cradle.
'Amir! ' he said in the informal manner of mujahideen communications. 'We have located the infidels!'
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WARLORD KHATAMI'S CP
WEST RIDGE
0850 HOURS LOCAL
WARLORD Hassan Khamami sat cross-legged on the carpet in his tent. He leaned forward as he studied the Soviet map of the area in which he once again was waging war. His radio operator spoke into the microphone of the R-108 radio, then held out the handset for his commander's use.
'I have contacted Major Malari, Amir,' the commo man said. Then he sat while he patiently listened to what seemed to him a one-sided conversation as the warlord spoke to his field commander.
'Yes, Major, I have good news. We have located the enemy. They are well into the Wadi Khesta Valley. Yes. It is reliable information. They were found by Abdullah and Ashraf. Ha! Ha! Yes, they are. The foreigners are now trapped. There is only one way for them to reach safety. They must continue to travel westward by following the valley. Their only alternative is to go up into the high, flat country where there is neither cover nor concealment. Now listen to me, Major. We are going to advance some companies to their front. They can move on foot, and we will fly the helicopters back and forth between their column and the target area. The movement will go very fast. That is Phase One. Phase Two will be simultaneous with Phase One, and other companies will move to the rear of the invaders. Both groups will occupy the valley as well as the flat land above. That is right, Major. There will be no escape for the enemy. No matter which direction they turn, we will have them covered and outnumbered. Now! Listen to this carefully. Do not attack. I say one more time, do not attack! I have a special assault group to throw at them first. Who? Durtami's bunch of miserable beggars, that is who! They will soak up a great deal of the foreigners' ammunition. The attack they make will also confirm the enemy's exact location. Do you understand all I
