leave it to you to decide whether to use it, Doctor.”
CPS held the item with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. “I suppose I could manage. How long does it have to stay on?”
“Perhaps three or four days — no more. You can refresh it from time to time. Oh, and one more thing. Your hands.”
“My hands?” She held them up, and Khan admired the manicure.
“If I may say so, Doctor, you have perhaps the loveliest, most feminine hands I have ever seen. Anyone would notice them. So you should wear gloves most of the time.”
“Well, all right…”
“Besides, you may want some protection when dealing with the animals.”
“The mules? What about them?”
“Oh, you should stay with the beasts of burden with one of the handlers. You are less likely to be noticed.”
She shook her head. “Why is that?”
“Many Muslim males have a condescending attitude toward those with menial jobs. Any smugglers or al Qaeda operatives will be more interested in the mules’ cargo than their handlers.” He shrugged eloquently. “You will understand, I’m sure.”
CPS shot him a frosty smile. “I’m sure.”
Leopole intervened with another item. “Doctor, you can carry this. It’s lighter than a standard AK-47.”
He held out a compact assault rifle that resembled the AK-47 she had fired in Britain. Padgett-Smith accepted it, hefting the weight. “It
“It’s an AKS-74U, better known as a Krinkov. It fires the 5 .45mm round instead of the standard 7.62. With the stock folded it’s only about twenty inches long and seven pounds loaded. That’s almost three pounds less that you’ll pack around the hills.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s useful, but I’m familiar with the full-size version that Tony…”
“Doctor, just trust me on this. I don’t want to insult you, but no woman I’ve ever known can carry a full-size rifle for more than a couple of hours, let alone uphill at high elevation. Besides, the Krinkov works just the same as a 47.”
“Maybe I should just carry the Browning.”
“It’s up to you, Doctor. But where you’re going, a rifle is mighty handy. And you can sling it over your shoulder so you don’t have to hold it all the time.”
“Honestly, Fr… Colonel. I’m not such a weakling, you know.”
Leopole drew her aside, guiding her by the arm. “Look, Carolyn, like I said, it’s up to you. But women don’t have the upper-body strength to carry a hunk of steel all day. As somebody who’s humped a rifle up a hill or two, I know what I’m talking about.”
She touched his arm, almost absentmindedly. “I’m not arguing, Frank. It’s just that I have more confidence in the pistol. I’ve shot it more.”
“Doc… okay, Carolyn.” He leaned closer. “Look, I’ll level with you. I don’t expect you to hit anybody with a rifle you’ve hardly ever fired. But if for some reason you get separated from the others, if you’re seen as a woman, in bandit country…” He let the image dangle in her imagination. “With the shorty you’ll have thirty rounds to keep the bad guys away from you, at longer range.”
He saw the dawn of recognition in her violet eyes. Finally she said, “You’re very persuasive, Colonel Leopole. Very persuasive, indeed.”
Leopole inclined in a slight bow. “My compliments, ma’am.” He straightened and whistled at Brezyinski. “Breezy, will you help the doctor get zeroed?”
At the range Breezy set up a twenty-five-meter target and supervised CPS in zeroing from prone. After the first three rounds she safed the Krinkov and looked up. “It’s so easy to shoot! Far less recoil than before.”
“Yes, ma’am. Less muzzle flip so you can get back on target easier.” He shielded his hazel eyes against the sun, squinting downrange. The 5 .45mm bullets made damnably small holes at that distance. He grunted to himself — something about eyes over thirty — and produced a compact pair of Steiner binoculars. He scanned the bull’s-eye and found a neat group at eight o’clock, maybe three inches out. “Nice shooting, Doc. Unload and I’ll move the sight.”
After making the adjustment with the front sight tool, the paratrooper returned the rifle and watched while CPS fired a verifying group. The Steiners came out again. “A tad right but it’s plenty good. You can hold dead on to about two hundred meters, which is more than you’ll ever need.”
As Padgett-Smith removed her ear plugs Breezy asked, “Do you want a spare magazine?”
Padgett-Smith hefted the loaded Krinkov and measured its weight against her Browning Hipower. After a moment she shook her head. “I should think that thirty in the rifle and thirteen in the pistol will be ample.”
Breezy nodded. “Ma’am, if you need forty-three rounds you’re not in a gunfight, you’re in a war!”
“I suppose I could put some extra magazines on one of the mules.”
“Yeah… ah, yes, ma’am. But there’s not much point. I mean, if there’s any shooting the mules are gonna head for the far horizon, if you know what I mean. That’s why I’m humping about twelve pounds of 7.62 in loaded mags. One in the rifle, four in my chest pack and six in my ruck.”
Before she could reply he took the AKS and said, “Lemme show you something.”
Removing the curved mag, he said, “If you’re in the dark and can’t see your rifle very well, you can still tell if you’re loaded. If there’s no round in the chamber but you want it loaded, drop the mag and feel the top cartridge. Say it’s on the right. Reload, chamber a round, and pull the mag again. If the top round is on the left, you know you’re set. Reload again but remember to pull on the magazine to be sure it’s seated.”
“I’ll practice that drill this evening.”
“Good. Oh, there’s another thing. Do you have tracers?”
“You mean, illuminating bullets?” she asked.
“Yeah. They light up when you shoot ‘em.”
“No. Should I?”
“Well, they’re useful for signaling. But if you get lost or something, there’s a standard signal. Shoot three rounds one minute apart. Everybody will hear the shots but only we’ll know it’s you. Just sit tight. If you don’t hear a reply after ten minutes, do it again. Your pistol’s best for that. Save the rifle ammo for when you really need it.”
“I certainly shall.”
Steve Lee had chosen his crew with efficiency in mind: Rustam Khan, four shooters, a radioman, CPS, a Pakistani doctor and medic, and three mule skinners — one for each animal. With himself that was thirteen in all: a group presumably large enough to deter brigands yet flexible enough to adapt to changing situations. If the team had to break up, Khan would lead the second section.
Lee briefed his team again the night before leaving. “We’re committing most of our linguists to this op: Major Khan and the Paki doctor both speak Urdu, of course, while the major and I have passable Pashto. Dr. Mohammed is staying here in case we need somebody fluent with the locals.” In truth, Lee and Leopole doubted that Mohammed was up to the physical challenge, and neither was enthused about their female colleague’s prospects.
Following the briefing, the operators were introduced to their four-footed colleagues. Carolyn Padgett-Smith, for one, had never met the business end of a mule. For that matter, neither had any of the other SSI personnel, though Breezy voiced pretensions of equine ability.
Padgett-Smith did not know which was more cantankerous: the mules or their handlers. All possessed two things in common: unpronounceable names and an attitude.
The SSI men put their suppressed MP-5s in the mules’ panniers; submachine guns would draw attention or envy where the team was headed. To blend in better with the locals, everyone had full-size rifles: the Americans carried AKs and most of the Pakis used G3s. The pistol-carrying types had Brownings beneath their vests. Other gear included night vision, tactical radio headsets, MREs and bottled water plus some fodder for the animals. The area where they were headed was rocky and low on vegetation.
