"Yes, sir," Jim Cruiser said. "Will we have air support?"
"Not unless Iranian aircraft come on the scene," Carey replied. "Anybody else? Good. Now I'll let Commander Berringer give you the intelligence portion of the briefing."
Berringer had no notes with him. He walked up to the front of the group and assumed a relaxed position of parade rest. "The intel we have on the bad guys is a couple of days old, so figure there's probably going to be some changes and alterations, understood? Their approximate total strength is sixty, with an overall commander and three subunit commanders. Two of those subunits are infantry assault troops, while the third is a support element of some kind. That probably means a combination of machine guns and mortars."
"Can you be more specific, sir?" CPO Matt Gunnarson asked.
"No," Berringer replied in a flat tone, then continued with his dissertation. "They are situated in a preprepared fighting position that was constructed under the supervision of Russian military engineers. We know nothing of the layout or defensive capabilities of the area."
"In other words," Brannigan said, "we'll have to dig up our own intelligence."
"Yes," Berringer answered. "Our knowledge is limited because the asset Aladdin is unable to transmit long, detailed messages to us. And we do not know the actual location of his radio. He might be moving it around for security purposes. Any questions?"
"Yes, sir," the former preppy Chad Murchison said. "What is the physical milieu of the area between the warring factions?"
Berringer hesitated before speaking. "I think you want to know what the terrain is like between the SEAL positions and those of the enemy, do you not?"
"Yes, indeed, sir," Chad replied. "I am, of course, referring to the area similar to what they called 'no-man's-land' during the trench warfare of World War One."
"Well, Petty Officer Murchison," Berringer said, "no-man's-land is a valley floor about two hundred meters across. There is cover and concealment available, but the area is under full visibility by either side. You'll have to go up some fifteen meters of steep slopes to reach the fighting positions."
"Ah!" Chad said. "So one must descend into the valley, cross it, and then ascend the slopes on the opposite side to reach the enemy for any close--hand-to-hand--engagements."
"That is correct," Berringer said. "Any more questions?"
"About a thousand," Mike Assad said, "but I guess we're not going to get any answers."
Berringer spoke up sharply. "If you're a nervous Nellie, Petty Officer Assad, we can pull you out of Operation Battleline."
Now Brannigan's temper flared. "With all respect, sir, but I have to remind you that Assad spent many long weeks undercover within the al-Mimkhalif terrorist group and came out with enough valuable intelligence to put them out of business."
"I don't care if he's been fucking Usama Bin Laden in the ass," Berringer snapped back. "I will not tolerate insubordinate remarks!"
"Aye, sir," Brannigan said. He looked over at Assad. "Shut up!"
"Aye, sir!"
Berringer went back to join Dr. Joplin as Carey retook the floor. "Alright, that's it. You'll be fed additional information by us and the Air Force as it becomes available. In the meantime, take what you've got and turn it into an OPLAN. That is all."
Brannigan called the detachment to attention as the two officers and the diplomat left the hangar. He turned to the SEALs in the chairs. "Alright! I want to see Lieutenant Cruiser and Ensign Taylor in the cubicle. Senior Chief Dawkins, take over the detachment and set 'em to work."
Operation Battleline was now official and functioning.
.
ZAHEYA POSITIONS
IRAN-AFGHANISTAN BORDER
1400 HOURS
ARSALAAN Sikes, born Archibald Sikes in Manchester, England, was a commissioned major in the Iranian Army. He had insisted on the appointment to solidify his position within the Zaheya to avoid any loss of his prestige as commander of the al-Askerin-Zaubi. Sikes Pasha, as he was called within the strike force, did not trust officers of any army, and that included the ones in the Zaheya.
Now he stood alone on the front lines of his unit's defensive position, using his binoculars to peer across the valley at the area about to be occupied by the enemy. He knew the place well, having lived there for many long weeks. Every defensive position, bunker entrance, and the paths up and down the mountains were familiar to him. This had been the stronghold of the rebel Pashtun leader Yama Orakzai, who had surrendered to the Afghanistan authorities after the American SEALs ripped his organization apart. Part of the dismantling process had included shutting down his opium poppy smuggling operations. That illegal activity provided financial support not only to the Pashtuns but also benefited the very armed force in which Sikes now served.
The sound of footsteps interrupted Sikes' study of the area, and he turned to see the Iranian Army officer Captain Jamshid Komard approaching. Komard was the commander of the fire support unit made up of Spanish LAG-40 grenade launchers and German MG-3 machine guns. The Iranian saluted the Brit. "Good morning, Sikes Pasha."
"Sob bekheyr,"Sikes replied in Farsi.
Komard smiled. "So you are learning more Farsi with each passing day, rast, Sikes Pasha?"
"Right," Sikes replied in the accent of northern England. "I figger it's the bluddy least I could do since I'm a major in the army, yeah?"
Komard pulled his binoculars from the carrying case. "I am ready for you to point out the positions across the valley."
"Right," Sikes said. "We'll work from left to right." He grinned. "That might be a bit sticky for you, since your lot do your reading and writing from right to left."
"I shall manage, Sikes Pasha," Komard said.
"Right then," Sikes said. "Now look slightly up to where the ridgeline runs from the mountaintop. That's the farthest out the bastards can go to the north, and them Pashtuns laid it in good to protect that flank. I'd look for both heavy weapons and infantry to be there."
"I see it plainly," Komard said. "I expect they might try to camouflage it better once they move into the area."
"More'n likely," Sikes agreed. "You can see it well enough now, since the brush around it is dead and dried out."
Komard took his compass and shot an azimuth on the location. After entering the information in his notebook he said, "I'm ready for the next one."
The two men spent the next half hour meticulously noting all the fighting positions the Pashtuns had established in the past.
ARCHIBALD Sikes had once been an excellent noncommissioned officer in the British Army's crack Royal Regiment of Dragoons. This armored infantry unit had a long and colorful history in the colonial days of Queen Victoria's domains. The sun did not set on the British Empire, nor did it set on the battlefields on which the Dragoons had fought and died in the greatest traditions of Great Britain.
Sergeant Sikes had been an ambitious soldier and decided he would like to earn a commission to continue his career as an officer. He was approved by both his platoon leader and company commander to go before the board for attending officer training. He passed the examinations and interviews with flying colors, but when he requested his commission be made in his home regiment, he was turned down. The major in charge of the examining board told Sikes he was not socially acceptable for the officers' mess of the Royal Dragoons.
Sikes had no idea of the rigid class system of the regiment's elite. In reality, they were all from wealthy families with the right connections and a standard of living far above that of the typical British unit. To keep up appearances, the officers had to use more than their army pay. They had high dues and subscriptions in their mess, all uniforms were tailor-made, they kept privately owned polo ponies in the regimental stables, and they enjoyed a lifestyle of the truly rich and famous. Television and movie stars visited their mess along with powerful politicians and industrialists. It was hardly the place for a young Brit whose father worked in a building materials supply warehouse as a stockman.