Now, sitting on her bunk in the tent used by the sanitation teachers, Penny held the last letter she had received from Chad Murchison. It had been a nice, polite missive, telling her about a training exercise he had gone through on the island of San Clemente. But there was no outpouring of romantic affection, no expression of desire to see her again. She now seriously considered the very real possibility that she had lost him forever. Penny decided that the next time she saw Chad, she would turn on the charm, the sex, and the tears to bring him back under her power.
Penny!
She looked up, startled to see the German dietician, Erika Maanchen, standing in the tent flap. Yes?
Have you lost track of time? Ericka asked in a disapproving tone. Already we wait for you to present your class on how to be washing the babies. Are you ready for it?
Yes, Penny answered.
She slipped Chad's letter in her pocket, then picked up her notes and the videotape. She slipped from the tent and walked over to the instruction area ready to speak to the Pashtun women on a subject in which they had no interest.
.
SOUTHWESTERN AFGHANISTAN DESERT
1800 HOURS
CAPTAIN Arsalaan Sikes, nee Archibald Sikes, stood in the hatch of his EE-3 armored car. He pressed the transmit button of the Russian R-108 tactical radio. It, like the Dashika heavy machine guns, had been gotten by the Jihad Abadi in a roundabout manner. The Iranians obtained the weapons from Afghan mujahideen who had looted them from ambushed Soviet troops during the USSR's invasion of their country. The Iranians eventually passed them on to the Arab insurgents.
In line yamin wa shmal! he ordered. The first and third platoons went to his right and the second and fourth to his left, both coming abreast. Indak! The entire armored car company came to a halt in perfect alignment, facing to the front.
They had just finished two grueling hours of running different battle formations, going from the various echelons along with enveloping and frontal-attack maneuvers. He was pleased with the way the men had performed. They were enthusiastic and eagerly waiting when they could go out on combat patrols to seek out targets of opportunity. But now they were tired. So was the captain. He ordered the engines turned off and gave permission for everyone to prepare the evening meal.
PRIVATE Archibald Sikes deserted the British Army during a routine work assignment he had been given. He was to drive a TM 4'4 vehicle over to the quartermaster depot to pick up a couple of tires for one of the Leyland- DAF four-ton trucks. Instead of following orders, when he left the Royal Regiment of Dragoons compound, he turned in the opposite direction, driving down the main drag of Basra. After going a mile, he turned off onto a side street and drove past startled Iraqis into a poor neighborhood, as he had been directed to do by Khalil Farouk. When he reached the indicated intersection as instructed, a tough-looking guy in an athletic training suit suddenly opened the opposite door and jumped into the left-hand passenger seat. He pointed ahead and said, That way you go! That way you go!
Right, mate, Archie said. That way I go.
They continued on deeper into the neighborhood, making a couple of turns, then stopped in front of a dilapidated apartment building. Now another man appeared. This one took Archie's place, pulling him out into the street none too gently. The vehicle sped off and the first fellow, having disembarked from the truck, took Archie by the arm, leading him into the building. Archie began growing more nervous every second as he was pulled down a long dark corridor. But when they reached a door and stepped inside a room, Farouk was waiting with warm greetings. He even hugged the reluctant Archie, calling him sahib friend. After completing his salutations with a warm handshake, he pointed to a man sitting at a small table. That is someone you will know as al-Zaim for the time being.
How d'you do, sir? Archie said politely, noting a chair on the opposite side of the table from the stranger.
I am fine, thank you, the man replied in English. His accent was not Arabian, yet was close. Will you sit down, please, Mr. Sikes. I wish to make a little test of your military knowledge.
You blokes don't waste time, do you? Archie remarked to the man he would eventually learn was Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah of the Iranian Army.
We certainly do not, al-Zaim replied.
Fine with me, Archie said agreeably. He took the empty chair. Fire away when you're ready, sir.
Let's begin with the subject of ambushes, said Al-Zaim. Would you describe for me, please, that which is known as a deliberate ambush.
Archie quickly replied, That's when you're gonna be hitting a specific target at a location you've picked out because it's bluddy handy.
Mmm. And please tell me two things to consider for a deliberate ambush.
Archie thought a moment. Well, right off the top of me head, I'd say which direction the enemy is gonna be moving he turned thoughtful again and what sort o' formation the enemy is and its numbers.
Al-Zaim seemed to be thinking. Then he suddenly asked, Suppose I were your commanding officer and I wanted you to trail after an enemy unit that had passed through our area. How would you conduct the operation?
The first thing is to find the tracks or trails left by the bad blokes, Archie said. Without that, you ain't gonna find 'em, are you? Then you study the sign and figger out the number o' the blighters, what sort they might be, that sort o' thing. I mean, if it looks like there's a hundred bloody riflemen tramping about the countryside, you don't want to take a dozen o' your mates after 'em, hey? Then, after finding the trail and who they are, I'd go after 'em. O' course, you got to have security all around, since there's always the chance they might figger someone's after 'em and double back or set up an ambush, right?
Al-Zaim nodded his approval. And what would you do once you've got them in sight?
Archie shrugged. I don't know. You're the commander. You tell me what you want me to do with the wankers.
From that point on, questions were thrown at the Brit regarding numerous subjects, including camouflage, preparation of various types of fighting positions, security during unit movement, handling EPWs, urban operations, use of supporting artillery, first aid, mines, and map reading, among others.
After two hours of intense questioning interspersed with conversation, Al-Zaim suddenly got to his feet and walked over to the door where Khalil Farouk stood. He spoke a few words in Arabic, then left the room. Farouk walked over to Archie with a smile. You are doing fine, friend Archie. Now you go to the next step. But first we must get rid of your uniform. We have some civilian clothes for you to change into.
Archie began unbuttoning his jacket, knowing that this was the final gesture of his life as a British soldier. He was saying farewell to his Army, his country, and his ethnicity.
Chapter 4
USS COMBS
ARABIAN SEA
7 APRIL
0930 HOURS
THE CHE-53 Super Stallion chopper eased toward the fantail landing deck of the destroyer, gently touching down. Commanders Tom Carey and Ernie Berringer, carrying heavy briefcases, quickly disembarked and headed forward to the ship's superstructure.
Five minutes later, the two officers entered the SPECOPS commo center. They went directly to the message distribution boxes, and each checked the contents of the ones bearing their names. I don't have a thing, Berringer said. But I really wasn't expecting much this early in the game.
Carey had one missive and he opened it, scanning the three typed words it contained:
NO FUCKING FUEL
Berringer glanced over Carey's shoulder and read it. He showed a rare grin. That's one thing about Brannigan, he remarked. The guy can sum up frustration and rage in just one simple phrase.
Carey was in no mood for flippancy. He stormed out of the center and strode rapidly down the passageway to
