With the radar-guided air defenses down around Mary, the third wave of bombers cruised in — twelve more Backfire bombers, each carrying twelve RBK-500 dispensers bearing area-denial mines and antitank and antipersonnel cluster bombs. They flew virtually unopposed over Mary Airport. Each cluster bomb was designed to explode either on contact, if it was disturbed, or automatically within seven days. If any Taliban should escape the first two attacks and were rushed enough not to sweep carefully for mines, the cluster bombs and mines would get them — but each one would destroy itself before the Russian invasion forces moved in.
“I have heard the blessed news!” Wakil Mohammad Zarazi exclaimed as he strode into his alternate headquarters, which was far from the airfield and had survived the assault.
Major Aman Orazov did not try to rise from his seat as his commanding officer entered the room. His head and neck were wrapped tightly in bandages, and he winced from the pain of shrapnel wounds to his neck and shoulders as he took deep drags on a thick hand-rolled cigarette, which had a little opium sprinkled in with the tobacco to help dull the pain.
“An entire company of Russian commandos, sent to hell by Turabi and his soldiers.” Zarazi looked at Orazov as if it was the first time he had seen him. “What happened to you, Major?”
“I was caught in the initial firebomb attack,” Orazov replied. “I watched an entire truckload of our soldiers incinerated before my eyes.” He did not bother looking up at Zarazi. “Where were you, General?” he asked.
“In the shelters, of course,” Zarazi replied. “You saw to the deployment of the mobile antiaircraft units, as I directed?”
“Most of them made it out,” Orazov said. “I ordered the operators not to turn on their radars until someone spotted aircraft near the airfields.”
“You told them not to engage the Russians? Why?”
“Because if it was just a standoff antiradar-missile attack, General, the Russian missiles can kill each radar-equipped unit from over thirty kilometers away,” Orazov said angrily. “The launch aircraft would be well out of range of our air-defense weapons, but our radars would be easy targets for their antiradar weapons.”
“Then you countermanded my order, Major,” Zarazi said, “because I ordered the men to attack and keep on attacking until every one of those godless Russian scum were dead.”
“Then you sealed their fates, Zarazi,” Orazov said, “because I would guess that every unit that turned on its radar was hit by a missile and destroyed.”
If Zarazi noticed that Orazov had not addressed him as “sir,” “General,” or “master,” as he usually did, he did not indicate it. “Deploy the rest of the air-defense units around the airfields,” he ordered, “and this time make sure they get hits — radar or no radar.”
Orazov winced, not just from the pain now, but from Zarazi’s completely ridiculous order. “Where is Colonel Turabi?” he asked, ignoring the order.
“Colonel Turabi informed me that he wished to stay on patrol in the northeast in case the Russians try another assault,” Zarazi replied. “He asked for more supplies, enough for perhaps another week, and then he asked for his task force to be relieved.”
“You should recall Turabi immediately to help with defending this base,” Orazov said tersely. “He is out in the desert safe and plinking off simple Russian probes, while we sit on this airfield and have our heads handed to us by the Russians!”
“I agreed with the colonel’s reasoning that the Russians will very likely try another heliborne assault,” Zarazi said. “Their air bombardment was not nearly as effective as I’m sure they anticipated. Turabi thinks they desperately need to open up another front.”
Orazov wiped sweat from his forehead caused by the excruciating pain and suppressed a disgusted laugh. Easy for this Afghan desert rat to think the Russians’ air assault was “not nearly as effective”—he was safe in a deep underground shelter while Orazov and his men were on the surface trying to defend their base and getting the hell blasted out of them. The only way the Russians had been ineffective was in not wiping them out of existence completely. “Is Turabi still deployed around Nishan?”
“I believe he has shifted his forces farther north and west, near Yagtyyol,” Zarazi said. “Turabi surmised that the Russians used the Chärjew pipeline to navigate to their infiltration point and that they will not make the same mistake again — they’ll stay far away from roads and pipelines.”
“I have to give him credit. Colonel Turabi is a very clever and resourceful fighter.”
“It takes more than being clever to win favor in the eyes of God, Major,” Zarazi said. “The colonel is a capable fighter, but he needs to learn the relationship between being a good soldier and being a true servant of God. Fighting just for the sake of earthly goals is a waste of spirit and not a true calling at all.”
“Oh, really?” Orazov said bitterly.
“You yourself are a true and loyal servant of God, Major — you know this very well,” Zarazi said. “Fighting for other than the glory of God is the definition of evil.”
Orazov took another puff, then painfully shifted himself in his chair so he could look at Zarazi out of the corner of his eye. Zarazi, as usual, was off in some transcendental fog. “Well, I think Turabi should be running out of fuel and water soon,” Orazov said. “He’ll be expecting a resupply mission today. I shall fly out and meet him. But first there is an important matter I must attend to.”
“You will go out and see to the redeployment of our air defenses and then organize burial and rebuilding parties,” Zarazi said. “We must be prepared for when the Russians strike again.”
No response.
“Did you hear what I said, Major? Carry out my orders immediately.”
Still no response.
Zarazi glanced back — and saw Orazov aiming a pistol directly at his head. “What in God’s name is this, Major?” he barked, thunderstruck. “Put that weapon away immediately! Are you insane?”
“Not insane — just smart,” Orazov said. “Smart enough to realize that you are no longer in command here.”
“No longer in command? Of course I am in command here! This is my operation, my mission!”
“Not any longer,” Orazov said. “From now on I am in charge.”
Zarazi looked at Orazov, his eyes bulging in outrage. “How dare you point that weapon at me, Major,” he breathed. “I am the leader here. You will obey my orders or you will be eliminated.”
“You are no longer in control here, you old fool,” Orazov said. “You are nothing but a religious fanatic who was fortunate enough to score a few meaningless victories against incompetent Turkmen soldiers. Your victories were just dumb luck. Now that the Russians are coming, you are nothing but a walking corpse. I was a fool to follow you. I think if I deliver you, Turabi, and a good number of your Taliban fighters to the Russians — alive or dead, it probably won’t matter — they’ll let me live. They may even make me an officer in their occupation army.”
“I have been appointed by God to carry out His plan for a safe haven and training ground for all true believers!” Zarazi cried. “Do you think that God will look as favorably on you?”
“God doesn’t give a shit if you or I believe in Him or not,” Orazov said. “The plans have changed, and you are not included in my new plans.”
“God will strike you down for blaspheming His name—”
“But I shall strike you down now,” Orazov said, grinning as he pulled the trigger.