Robyn meets my eyes across the fire. Rosy from the warmth, her cheeks glow.
I told you so.
The fire burns low. One by one, men drift away to sleep. Either on their sleeping mats, or in houses where they have found lodging with civilians. Koenig and I walk back to our house. We leave Robyn and Takigawa sitting with Zarek, who never runs out of tales. Stories of the high mountains and battles with the Soviets.
“Are we bombing Najibullah more than Shahzad?” I ask Koenig.
“I told him,” Koenig says. “I don’t know.”
“Now tell me.”
“What the fuck, Breed.” Koenig stops, stares at me with his hands on his hips. “You calling me a liar?”
“One caravan looks like another from five hundred feet.”
“If there’s any difference, it’s random. Dumb luck.”
I shake my head. “Dumb luck averages out over the years. Dumb luck averages out one-to-one, not three-to-one.”
“Aren’t you the egghead.”
“Zarek’s right,” I tell him. “Counting is not so difficult.”
“You’ll take the word of a Hajji who has every reason to lie.”
“We’re on the same side, Koenig.” The captain looks ready to punch me. “I don’t want to be the one guy who didn’t get the memo.”
Koenig wrestles with his anger. “Look, Breed. I don’t know, okay? If I knew, I would tell you.”
It’s time to mollify the captain. “Fair enough,” I say.
“The Mooj said it.” Koenig snorts. “Why should we give a rat’s ass about opium?”
26
The Trail to Arwal
North Arwal Valley
Thursday, 0800
Zarek had five of his youngest Mujahedeen lend us their mounts.
We ride in column, Zarek’s cavalry first, followed by the mules and donkeys of the caravan. Mujahedeen without mounts walk beside the mules, or follow behind. Today, we enter the northern reaches of the Arwal valley. That puts us within shouting distance of ANA troops and American advisers.
The pack animals are burdened with leather harnesses that support canvas rolls of weapons and explosives. There are twenty pack animals in the train. A lot of weapons, enough to spark a major conflagration. If Zarek makes peace with the United States, who are those weapons going to be used against?
Zarek reads my mind, rides next to me.
“When we make peace with the United States,” he says, “Afghanistan will explode into civil war.”
“Where are these weapons going?”
“My allies in the south.” Zarek waves his arm over the long train of mules. “America arms the ANA. The Taliban in Helmand are armed from Pakistan. I must arm my friends. They are well organized in Kandahar. With these weapons, they will drive the Taliban back into Pakistan, and we shall enforce the border.”
“That’s the ANA’s job.”
Zarek laughs. “Will you trust your life to the ANA?”
I say nothing.
“I thought not.” Zarek chuckles. “Rest today, Breed. There will be a battle this afternoon.”
“How do you know?”
“Shahzad orchestrated this to destroy peace and bring me to battle. Here I am.”
“Is that why you light cooking fires at night? He will ambush you.”
“Of course. But—an ambush is not an ambush when it is anticipated in all respects. Therefore, we shall do battle.”
“Where?”
“You are a soldier, Breed. Where do you think?”
We’re traversing a river valley. A kill zone two or three hundred yards wide in most places. With steep slopes on either bank, an X-ambush is practical. Shooters high on the cliffs will fire downslope without risk of hitting each other. But—a mounted column can ride off the X.
The ideal ambush is a box, arranged at a bend in the river. High ground on either side. The ambush force will then occupy elevated positions in the shape of a U. There will be no easy ride off the X.
“A bend in the river,” I say. “Steep slopes all around.”
“Very good.” Zarek’s expression is grave. “There was such a place a mile north of Kagur village.”
“Shahzad’s main body, two days ago.”
“Of course. He held Colonel Grissom and Sergeant Trainor at Kagur, knowing I would come for them. Then he set the ambush.”
“We spoiled his game.”
“Yes. You took his captives, and he abandoned the ambush to chase you.”
“But they had served their purpose. He brought you to battle.”
“Ah, but with the colonel alive, a peace would be negotiated. Shahzad had to get them back.”
“He didn’t attack yesterday.”
“We all know this river. The next best place for an ambush is a day’s ride from here. The Kagur becomes the Arwal and bends to the east. Not perfect, because the valley is rather wide at that point. About a quarter of a mile. The west bank is exposed.”
“An L-ambush.”
“As you call it, yes.”
“You’re going to ride straight into it.”
“My men know what must be done,” Zarek says. “Now you must understand your role.”
“Tell me.”
“When the battle begins, Allah will not leave my side. You must not leave Robyn’s. See that she rides out of the ambush.”
Zarek kicks his horse and rides ahead without answering. Joins Robyn. She smiles at him, and they settle into a relaxed conversation. They look and act like old friends.
I’m uneasy, riding in the open. My eyes sweep the slopes on either side. The tree lines. Zarek is confident the ambush will come at the riverbend. Why would Shahzad allow himself to be so predictable?
I want the son of a bitch in my sights… I want to see his bright pink mist.
The Americans are riding in file. Takigawa first, followed by Lopez, then Koenig. Robyn, speaking with Zarek, is fourth in line. I ride behind, and Ballard covers the rear.
“Five-Five Sierra,” Ballard calls over the radio, “this is Five-Five Kilo.”
“Go ahead, Kilo.”
“You sure the Mooj know what they’re doing? Feeling bare-ass naked out here.”
“Mooj survived here thirty-five years,” I say. “Whatever happens, if we come under fire, ride. Don’t worry about the Mooj. Get off the X.”
“Understood, Sierra. Five-Five Kilo out.”
I’ve executed ambushes more often than I’ve experienced them. Zarek is right. The essence of an ambush is psychological. It’s surprise. When caught in an ambush, you feel powerless. With agency stripped from you, you
