Air Battle Force

Zarazi outlined his wishes for patrols, security, and reporting to him, then dismissed the company commanders and their senior noncommissioned officers. The officer who spoke up in front of the others, a transportation and supply officer named Lieutenant Aman Orazov, remained behind, along with Turabi. Orazov was a tall, heavyset man with long, unkempt hair, no mustache or beard, and filthy boots and uniform — Turabi worried the guy might be infested with lice. “It is a great honor to serve you, master,” Orazov said in halting Pashtun. “I am proud to be part of your command.”

“You are a loyal and brave servant… Captain Orazov,” Zarazi said. The scruffy- looking clerk looked as if he were going to kiss Zarazi’s hand — and then, disgustingly, he did. “I hope you are correct about the base at Gaurdak.”

“I am, master,” Orazov said. “I do not think they will be a threat to us. They are even more isolated than Kerki; they do a great deal of black-market trading with smugglers and villagers from Uzbekistan and Afghanistan. I think you will find many who support our cause.”

“We shall see,” Zarazi said.

“My concern would be for the major and the other company commanders that you are allowing to walk free, master,” Orazov said. “I would be afraid they will spread lies and wild stories about you. They should not be allowed to reach Charjew.” Charjew was the location of the largest military base in eastern Turkmenistan, about 180 kilometers upriver. The Turkmen zealot’s eyes brightened, and he fairly rocked from foot to foot in anticipation. “I shall kill them for you, master. Let me organize an attack. We outnumber them. It would be my very great pleasure to lead your loyal Turkmen soldiers on an attack against the oppressors from whom you have liberated us.”

Jalaluddin Turabi could scarcely believe it, but Wakil Zarazi was actually nodding in thought at this peasant’s psychopathic ramblings. Thankfully, Zarazi responded, “No, Captain. I am grateful for your enthusiasm and drive, but those men are not yet our enemy, only our adversaries. If they organize and return to do battle, you shall lead our forces against them.”

Zarazi glanced at Turabi. Was he looking for approval or afraid his second in command would object to his giving a command to a Turkman? Turabi remained indifferent.

“I have given my word they shall not be harmed if they surrender — so it shall be. Now, go. Organize your men and report to me when they are ready for my inspection.”

The guy could not stop bowing as he made his way out of the room.

After everyone else had departed, Turabi regarded his leader and longtime superior officer with a mixture of caution and admiration. Zarazi was standing on the platform, staring out through a window at the sunshine streaming in. “I like the plan to take Gaurdak,” Turabi said. “Taking the hydro complex at Kizyl-arvat is also a good plan. We can threaten to blow the plant if we get attacked. I hope that Orazov character is right about the readiness at the base. We’ll need every advantage if we’re going to split our force to take the hydro plant and do an assault on Gaurdak.”

Zarazi was silent. It was as if he hadn’t even heard him, which infuriated Turabi.

“Excuse me, General,” he snapped, the edge in the invented title obvious in his voice, “but what is the objective here? What do you hope to achieve?”

“What is it you wish to achieve here, Colonel?” Zarazi asked without turning to face him.

“Wakil, our orders from our leaders were to procure money, weapons, and equipment that can be sold to support the Al Qaeda forces in northern Afghanistan,” Turabi said. “Our tribal leaders pledged to do this, and you were given specific instructions to go out and obtain these things. That was the whole purpose of attacking that convoy. That is the only reason these men agreed to leave their homes and wives and children and fight for you — our clan leaders ordered us to raise money for Al Qaeda.

“You have succeeded far more than anyone could have imagined: You have taken over an entire Turkmen army aviation base,” Turabi went on. “You have men and equipment of enormous power and value. Don’t you realize, Wakil? If you return to our tribal home of Jarghan with even a fraction of these tanks and guns, you will be promoted to the tribal council. If you succeed in bringing back even one of these helicopters, you will most assuredly be made a chieftain. You will be allowed to lead your own clan and be equal to all the other sheikhs and shuras.

“But now you’re talking about attacking more Turkmen military bases and hydroelectric plants. I agree with subduing Gaurdak — they could cause us trouble when we start heading for home — but why are we wasting time and energy attacking dams, power plants, and pipelines? We might be able to squeeze a few manats out of the people here, but we stand an even greater risk of being trapped inside Turkmenistan, with their whole fucking army, such as it is, coming down on top of us. No one will come to rescue us if we are surrounded.”

“Our mission has changed, Colonel,” Zarazi intoned.

“Oh?”

“We shall not leave Turkmenistan,” Zarazi said. “We are here to liberate this country and these people, not loot them.”

“We have received orders from the tribal council to—”

“I have received orders from God,” Zarazi interjected heatedly. “God has ordered me to take this country. He demonstrated that He is watching over me by saving me from the American attack aircraft, and He guides my hand and my tongue as I lead His faithful across the wastelands to victory. Our success is proof of His love for our cause and us.”

“Wakil… General, we are successful mostly because the Turkmen forces are weak in this area,” Turabi said. “There’s nothing but empty desert out here. Their aviation battalion has been sitting on their asses doing nothing for ten years. They rout a few smugglers every now and then, take bribes from Northern Alliance forces or Taliban — whichever side wants to cross the frontier to escape the other — guard one river and a few oil pipelines, and go back for another nap. We haven’t faced the real Turkmen army yet.”

“Colonel, are you afraid?” Zarazi asked. “Are you scared of battle?”

“First of all, Wakil, I’m not a colonel, and you’re not a general,” Turabi snapped, allowing his anger at being called a coward to erupt despite the warnings in his brain not to allow it. “We gave ourselves military titles as a joke, remember? Whatever the rank of whomever we encountered, we gave ourselves a rank one or two over him. Now, for some damned reason, we’re senior officers! We might as well be wearing a chestful of medals, white gloves, and riding breeches.

“Get this straight, Wakil: We’re not military men,” Turabi went on ferociously. “We’re jihadi. We fight for our tribes and for our mullahs, not for a nation. And we sure as hell don’t invade other countries, occupy military bases, and capture dams and power plants. And to answer your question — yes, I am scared! I’m scared of any operation that has no real objective! I’m scared of any operation that runs counter to what we have pledged our lives and our future to support and defend! I’m—”

“You will be silent, Colonel,” Zarazi snapped. “My intentions are plain: We will occupy this territory in the name of God and build a refuge for the faithful warriors of Allah, just as Afghanistan once was, before the Americans and Zionists arrived. You either do as I command or you leave. I will not have you questioning my vision or usurping my command.”

“Then I will go back to Jarghan, Wakil,” Turabi said. “I didn’t leave my wife and children and travel three hundred kilometers across this shithole of a country so I can play nursemaid to a bunch of chest-thumping desert rats from all over the Muslim world, like your new friend Orazov.” He scanned Zarazi’s face, searching for danger signs — and definitely finding them.

Turabi averted his eyes momentarily, apologetically — it was not a good thing at all to abandon your leader deep inside enemy territory, he knew, even if you thought he was crazy — and added, “I am going to inspect the site where our scouts saw smoke this morning. It might be a Turkmen helicopter patrol from Charjew or Mary that crash-landed out there, or it might be whomever those antiaircraft missile batteries were firing at last night. I shall be back by dawn, and then I will form a company-size rear guard and move to Jarghan.” Without waiting for a response, Turabi turned and walked away.

Zarazi stood for several long moments on the dais, pondering what Turabi had just said. Then he stopped daydreaming and half turned to his right. “What is it, Captain?” he asked the man approaching silently behind him.

Aman Orazov halted, his breath catching in his throat. “I… I beg your pardon, master,” he stammered. “I… I