Rolling Thunder (2007) (2 page)

Mileage, sir? Andy Malachenko asked.

Ten miles to the gallon, Carey said. The gas tanks hold twenty-one gallons, so you'll be able to go about two hundred ten miles per tankful. And here's some more data for you to digest. It has a wheelbase of one hundred fourteen inches, overall length of one hundred sixty-one inches, height of seventy-nine inches, and can manage a maximum grade of seventy-five degrees and a side grade of fifty degrees. Now hear this: She can go eighty miles an hour if you really have to haul ass.

Mmm, Guy Devereaux mused. It's nimble little thing, ain't it?

That it is, Carey said. Now! I have a bit more interesting news for you. You won't be taking the CAR-15s you usually carry along. Instead, there will be a brand-new weapon waiting for each of you at Shelor Field. I'm not familiar with it now, except to say it's a state-of-the-art enhanced carbine designated the Heckler and Koch Four-Sixteen System. Or, as your crowd is going to call it, the HK-Four-Sixteen. Don't ask me any questions about it. I've never even seen one, but the Navy wants written evaluations on all aspects of the weapon's performance submitted by each and every man.

Brannigan, who had been scribbling in his notebook, waved his hand. What about resupply, sir?

Ah, yes, Carey said. You will need chow and gas, won't you? Everything you need will be at Shelor Field, so you'll have to time your patrols so that there will be enough fuel to get back. You'll fly in with a basic load, then additional goodies will arrive as needed. Both Commander Berringer and I will be aboard the USS Combs as usual. You can contact us if anything disturbing pops up. He put everything back into his briefcase. So, with all that taken care of, I'll turn the meeting over to Commander Berringer.

The N-2 passed out maps of the OA as he spoke to the Brigands. You are going to be operating in the area already mentioned by Commander Carey. The terrain is flat desert. The eastern limits will be approximately longitude sixty-five degrees east. That is the location of Shelor Field, but you'll be staying well west of there in order to perform effective patrols. But to avoid colliding with other operations, do not go east past that point.

Bruno Puglisi spoke up. What if we're chasing some assholes?

Brannigan interjected, Then we'll keep chasing the bastards even if we go clear across the Asian continent.

You will remain in Afghanistan, Berringer said. The sight of mountains will make your northern extreme very obvious. To be safe, make your southern border latitude thirty degrees north. That will keep you well clear of Pakistan. The western edge of the OA will be an impenetrable salt-marsh area, so Mother Nature will be putting the kibosh on any slapdash wandering around. That is located very close to the Iranian border. Needless to say, stay out of both Pakistan and Iran.

Joe Miskoski piped up. Unless we're chasing somebody.

Berringer barked, Don't cross those fucking international borders period, goddamn it!

Aye, sir! Miskoski replied.

The OA is populated by Pashtun people, Berringer continued. You are very familiar with them from your first operation as a unit in Afghanistan. You know they are a bit cranky pardon the understatement so it will be up to Lieutenant Brannigan to establish the sort of rapport with them that the situation dictates.

Understood, sir, Brannigan acknowledged. What about opium production in the area?

That is indeed going on up in those mountains, Berringer said. That is not your concern. As of now, we're leaving that problem to the Afghan government. However, there is a UNREO camp that has recently been established some twenty miles north of the Helmand River. They could be handy for information on the local situation.

Hey, Murchison, Chief Matt Gunnarson called over. Is that the same outfit your girlfriend is with?

Affirmative, Chief, Chad Murchison replied. I received a letter from her a couple of weeks ago. They've moved down there from that warlord's compound.

Haw! Bruno Puglisi laughed. Romance on the Afghan desert will bloom again.

Everyone chuckled, including Commanders Carey and Berringer, as Murchison slid down a bit in his chair with a red face.

Berringer looked around. Any questions?

Brannigan raised his hand. I need to talk to the men.

Carey stood up. In that case, Commander Berringer and I will take our leave. We will be aboard the USS Combs eagerly awaiting your radio traffic. Good luck, guys, and watch those international borders.

Brannigan went to the head of the room as the two staff officers departed. He had some scribbled notes in his hand.

Okay. Here's the setup. We'll only have two guys in each vehicle. That means the commander is gonna have to also be the driver. The gunner will be concerned only with his weapon, which, you should recall, is an M-Two fifty-caliber heavy machine gun. The detachment will be broken down into three elements. Command Section, Green Assault Section, and Red Assault Section. I'll be in Command One vehicle with Devereaux. Command Two will be the scout car. That will be the Odd Couple Assad and Leibowitz as usual. Command Three will be Gomez as RTO and Doc Bradley in his usual function as our kindly hospital corpsman.

What about call signs? Gomez asked.

The vehicle designations I've just given you will fill the bill, Brannigan answered. By the way, everyone will be issued an AN/PRC-One-Twenty-Six radio with LASH headsets. These have a range of three kilometers and will be used for intradetachment yakkety-yakking. Gomez will also have an AN/PSC Shadowfire radio for commo with the Combs or any other longer range contacts.

How are you setting up Green and Red Assault Sections, sir? Jim Cruiser asked.

You will be overall commander of the Greens, Brannigan answered. You'll have Chief Gunnarson, Puglisi, Murchison, Redhawk, and Concord. Break 'em down any way that suits you between your three DPVs. He looked over at Dawkins. The Reds are yours, Senior Chief. Take the remainder of the detachment and organize things the way you see fit.

Aye, sir! the senior chief responded.

Well, Brannigan said, stuffing his notes into his pocket. We got some packing to do. Take over, Senior Chief.

On your feet and move out!

Chapter 2

CHEHAAR GARRISON

EASTERN IRAN

0600 HOURS

4 APRIL

CAPTAIN Arsalaan Sikes stepped from the tent, pausing to look out over twenty fully armed Brazilian EE-3 Jararaca armored cars properly aligned in parade formation. The combat vehicles looked formidable and deadly in the early morning sun. Sikes was dressed in a desert-camouflage uniform that was bare of markings except for the British three-pip insignia of captain slipped over the epaulets. He sported a black-and-white-checkered keffiyeh on his head and a pistol belt holding a holstered Beretta Model 92 9-millimeter automatic. The crews of the vehicles, dressed similarly to Sikes, also sported UK insignia of rank. They stood dressed right and covered down beside the vehicles they served.

Sikes glanced over to the side where the Iranian brigadier and an elderly Englishman in a safari-style uniform stood ten meters away. They smiled and nodded to the captain as he walked toward them.

Sobh be-kheyr, Sikes said to the Iranian in Farsi.

And good morning to you, Captain, Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah replied in English.

The Englishman held out his hand, speaking in a Cockney accent. Good luck to you, Archie.

Thank you, Harry, the captain replied in the broad speech of northern England. Good job on getting ahold o' them EE-3s, hey?

I'll admit it took a bit o' doing, Harry Turpin replied. He was an international arms dealer operating out of Singapore and had contacts on every continent on earth. But enough money and a bit o' tweaked paperwork gets the job done, don't it? Them Spick gen'rals worked their own bit o' magic to get them beauties out o' proving grounds in Camp Maior. This particular model ain't been released to the Brazilian Army yet.

Sikes looked out at the vehicles. Wot'd you say that word Jararaca means in Portuguese?

Me Portuguese ain't wot it should be, Turpin said. But as it was explained to me, it's a kind o' bad snake. A pit viper to be exact.

Then it would be called an afa in Arabic.

Ye're right about that, Archie me lad, Turpin said. I recalls the word from me 'listment in the Foreign Legion. I picked up a bit o' the ol' Arabic lingo during them 'appy days so long ago.

Sikes turned his eyes to gaze appreciatively at the vehicles. Blimey! Them's real beauties, they are!

The EE-3 armored car, manufactured in Brazil, was a wheeled vehicle that was thirteen and a half feet long by a bit more than five feet in height. It was highly maneuverable with a fully closable hull manufactured of a double layer of three-quarter-inch steel. The fighting wagon was powered by a 120horsepower Mercedes-Benz 4-cylinder turbo diesel engine that could push it up to a top speed of sixty miles an hour.

A crew of three served the EE-3. The driver entered through a hatch in the roof to his seat in the center of the chassis. The gunner was in the turret above and behind him. In these specially configured models, a Russian DShK 12.7-millimeter heavy machine gun aka Dashika was mounted on top of the turret. The commander sat to the driver's left. He had his own periscope for use when the hatches were closed and a Russian R-108 tactical radio for commo. Additionally, each of the EE-3s packed an RPG-7 antitank launcher with a dozen projectiles, as well as an American Stinger antiaircraft missile. These were stowed as auxiliary weapons.

The twenty that were now positioned fifty meters from the garrison Quonset huts had arrived through Harry Turpin's efforts. He had legally purchased the vehicles from the Brazilian government using his international weapons export license. But he still had had to grease some palms since the vehicles should have been turned over to regular armored infantry units. When Turpin presented his money for the deal, he showed an end-use certificate that was signed by officials of the Iranian Defense Ministry. The fact that it was genuine impressed the Brazilians, who were shipping them as cargo to an official military warehouse located on the docks in the port city of Bandar-e Abbas. What they didn't know was that Brigadier Khohollah, the receiving officer, was in the Iranian Special Forces. His assignment was the command of a Muslim insurgency group known as Jihad Abadi Eternal Holy War. However, the mujahideen in the organization were not Iranians. Instead, they were Arabs from several different countries who had been recruited by Iranian intelligence as part of a supersecret program to take over all insurgencies in the Middle East.

The operation was so clandestine that Khohollah had to keep the vehicles out of the army's established intendance system, unlisted and unnoticed. It took him three months of easing them out on commercial transport trucks a few at a time to get them to Chehaar Garrison, where they sat that day.

Captain Arsalaan Sikes's fast-assault company was a brand-new unit of Jihad Abadi. He and his troops were just beginning a campaign out of eastern Iran. The military post, twenty-five kilometers from the Afghan border on the east, was locked in by a near-impassible salt marsh. However, a well-camouflaged solid road had been built through the marshes that offered a way through the treacherous terrain. The Jihad Abadi, under the command and control of Iranian Special Forces, was now ready to conduct a campaign of harassment and intimidation against the infidel invaders of Afghanistan by making surprise attacks out of Iran. Through the use of the secret route, they would be able to strike fast and hard, then retreat back through the salt marshes to the safety of Chehaar Garrison.

Now Captain Sikes shook hands with Turpin and Khohollah, then turned to his troops, ordering them inside their vehicles. He walked to his own EE-3 and climbed on top to slip through the hatch and occupy the commander's seat. As soon as he was settled, he grabbed the microphone of his tactical radio. He pressed the transmit button and spoke out the call sign to alert the other nineteen vehicles. Ilhakni min karib follow at close intervals!

The convoy quickly formed into a column as he led them toward the road that would carry them through the marshes and into Afghanistan.

IT had been ten years before when Archibald Sikes arrived at the induction depot of the crack Royal Regiment of Dragoons at Ragland Barracks just outside London. Even though he still had that adolescent civilian awkwardness about him, one of the drill sergeants who had been giving the detachment of recruits a critical survey suddenly sighted Archibald. The NCO leaned over to the duty corporal and said, Now there's a lad that's keen as bluddy mustard.

The sergeant didn't know the half of it.

Archie came from a working-class family his father was employed in a building materials warehouse as a stockman and the boy had always hoped for a better life. He disliked school a great deal, being unable to get along with the teachers or his fellow students, who considered him an odd duck. He had ambitions for money and glory, but lacked the maturity to attain his goals through acquiring superior work skills or an advanced education. Through his illogical and senseless thought processes, he decided that becoming a war hero would be the way to go. He fantasized about leading a division or corps of troops to a great victory, then becoming famous and adored by the British public. Of course, after performing these great deeds, he would be decorated, knighted, and given a peerage and a great estate by a grateful monarch.