Joe was acting as spotter, using high-power binoculars to locate possible targets on the other side of the valley. He anxiously scanned the enemy position in hopes of locating a target for his partner. Puglisi rested his eyes by keeping them closed, and was ready to turn to the telescopic sight. He had spent a couple of hours seeing it had been properly mounted and zeroed in on his AS-50 sniper rifle.
After a quarter of an hour, Miskoski spotted a careless Zaheya soldier with the top half of his head exposed to view. The alert SEAL quickly pointed it out to Puglisi, who immediately sighted in on the man and pulled the trigger. The exact moment the firing pin hit the primer, the intended victim bent over to pick up a dropped pack of cigarettes. The heavy .50-caliber bullet crashed into the side of the fighting position, then ricocheted off with a loud, buzzing whine.
A prayer of thanks must have been given to Allah that evening.
Now both sides were cautious and vigilant, keeping low profiles along their defenses both night and day. Off-duty hours in the safety of the bunkers offered the only real security when meals could be consumed, reading materials scanned, and slumber enjoyed. The only thing that kept the combatants from sinking into a state of deep lethargy was the constant danger they faced. Those on watch in hours of darkness peered expectantly through the NVGs, while the watch commanders used night vision binoculars to search out movement within the flora and boulders strewn across the expanse of no-man's-land.
This was the tedious anxiety of trench warfare exactly as it had been from 1914 to 1918, during World War One.
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WASHINGTON, D. C.
6 JULY 1000 HOURS
WHEN Dirk Wallenger returned from the three-day Fourth of July weekend, he had a special message on the answering machine in the den of his home. The communication, delivered in an Arabic accent, was short but important. 'This is Ali. Please meet me tomorrow at the regular time. However, please go to the alternate place. Thank you.'
THE next morning following the call, Wallenger walked up to the taxi stand where Constitution Avenue, Second Street, and Maryland Avenue converge. He was a short, dumpy man in his early thirties with a cherubic face that exhibited childlike qualities. This effect was belied somewhat by a pair of eyes that exhibited glints of aggression. Wallenger quickly spotted the driver he was looking for and got into his vehicle. The man, not bothering to ask for a destination,wasted no time in pulling out into traffic. He turned south on Third Street, going down to Independence Avenue, where he made a right turn. Now they were settled into stop-and-go traffic, where it was possible to move along slowly while conversing. The cabbie looked into his rearview mirror at his fare. 'How have you been, Mr. Wallenger?'
'Fine, Ali,' he replied. 'I take it you have some news for me.'
'Yes, Mr. Wallenger,' Ali replied. 'Some most interesting information was sent to my mosque. It is saying that a mujahideen taken prisoner by American Special Forces was shot dead. Executed without provocation.'
Wallenger had already taken his notebook out and was poised to scribble. 'May I have some details?'
'Of course,' Ali said. 'This has happened in the western part of Afghanistan. There was a fight and the Americans were hidden. They shoot and kill everybody but three mujahideen, who are surrendering and begging for mercy.'
'Can you be more specific than just the 'western part' of Afghanistan?'
'It was most close to the Iran border, sir,' Ali said. 'It was part of the mountains called Gharawdara Highlands. I am told that is the correct manner in which to be pronouncing it.'
'Can you spell that?'
'Alas, I am unable to do so in either the Arabic or English alphabet, Mr. Wallenger.'
'Never mind, I can look it up on a map,' Wallenger said. 'Where did this news come from?'
'It is coming from Bahrain, sir.'
'Ah, yes!' Wallenger exclaimed. 'It must be out of the prison at Station Bravo.'
'Yes, sir.'
'What was the date of the incident, Ali?'
'It was on fifteen of June, sir, in the morning when the battle is taking place,' Ali said.
'Mmm,' Wallenger mused. 'Okay. Tell me the circumstances in which this information was discovered by the person who reported it.'
'He is talking to one of the men in one part of the prison and he tells him about the shooting,' Ali explained. 'Then the man in prison is saying his friend who was with him is also in the prison.' He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, slipping it through the slot in the shield behind him.
Wallenger took the scrap and read the names printed in block letters. 'Let's see. We have Hamza Qazi and Rahmat Nahayan. And they are both confined in the prison at the American base in Bahrain, true?'
'Yes,' Ali answered. 'That is true. At Station Bravo.'
'Very good,' Wallenger said. 'Did this person making the report talk to both these men?'
'Yes. And they are telling the same story, Mr. Wallenger.'
'Do they know the reason the one man was shot?'
'Yes, Mr. Wallenger. He was hurt and the Americans did not want to carry him. So they killed him.'
'Alright,' Wallenger said. 'Are there any more details?'
'No,' Ali replied. 'I am assured that this is the whole story.'
'Very well,' Wallenger said. 'I guess that's everything I need. If you get any more information about this, please let me know.' He settled back in his seat, feeling very good about the revelation. 'You can take me back to the cab stand.'
'Yes, sir, Mr. Wallenger.'
Ali pulled into the parking lot driveway of the Department of Agriculture and turned around, going back to Independence Avenue for the return trip. Twenty minutes later he pulled up to the cab stand and stopped. Wallenger leaned forward. 'I appreciate this information very much, Ali, and I know what to do with it.'
'I am most pleased, Mr. Wallenger,' Ali said. 'We at the mosque know you will use it to be proving the Muslims are innocent victims of American military aggression.'
'I certainly will,' Wallenger said. 'You can depend on me.' He pulled five hundred dollars out of his wallet and passed it over to the driver, then got out to return to his office.
DIRK Wallenger worked for GNB--Global News Broadcasting--a cable TV network headquartered in the nation's capital. It was carried by some three hundred independent stations around the country, with a total viewing public of several millions. GNB was known for its antiwar, anti-American government agenda, and Wallenger was its prize commentator. He gained the confidence and admiration of the network's staff on a story he brought out of South America about American Green Berets massacring innocent villagers in the Gran Chaco territory in Bolivia. Demonstrations of rage broke out in all the major urban areas of Latin America as condemnations of the crime were voiced in the United Nations. Even some elements in the U. S. Congress called for special hearings. The usual group of shock jocks, Hollywood stars, and television personalities and journalists with agendas voiced their opinions and assessments of the situation, both pro and con in loudly argumentative segments on special news programs. And, of course, the usual bevy of pundits made up of retired lieutenant colonels from the U. S. Army and Air Force were also on hand to expound on their opinions and assessments of the incident.
Wallenger's moment of glory came at a White House news conference when he confronted Press Secretary Owen Peckham with accusations about the massacre. Although the reporter was more or less blown off by Peckham, he had made a big impression, managing to keep the story going for weeks, even though no proof of its veracity was ever presented.
WHEN Wallenger reached the GNB offices, he went straight to the network president, Don Allen, with the scoop. He couldn't wait to tell Allen about this latest coup, and he was looking forward to the next White House news conference with fierce glee.
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AL-BAHRSHATT, KUWAIT
7 JULY 1430 HOURS
KHALIL Farouk was the agent-at-large of the Jihad Abadi terrorist group controlled by the Iranian government. The man had been instrumental in recruiting the Englishman Arsalaan Sikes--ne Archibald Sikes--into
