"Sikes Pasha!"
He looked up the path at the sound of his name, and saw Captain Naser Khadid of the Iranian Special Forces approaching. Sikes lifted a hand in a gesture of greeting. "Out for a stroll?"
Khadid shook his head as he walked up and took a seat on the ground. "Brigadier Khohollah wanted me to drop by to see how your Arabs are doing."
Sikes gestured downward. "They're 'standing to,' as is said in the British Army."
"The Brigadier is extremely pleased to note how well you have trained them,"
Khadid said. "He is particularly pleased that their morale has remained high in spite of the previous setbacks. I thought you might be interested in the fact he speaks highly of you to others."
"That's always nice to know, ain't it?" Sikes remarked, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. He offered one to Khadid and took one himself. "Them lads o' mine are damn good, no doubt. Good thing for them they're here, ain't it? If they was back in Iraq, they'd prob'ly all been sent to blow themselves up as suicide bombers by now."
"Indeed," Khadid said, lighting a match to serve both of them. "That is the one thing my government wanted to stop. That was the driving force behind the concept of Iranian control over all Shiite insurgencies."
"Here now, Naser," Sikes said. "I ain't completely stupid, y'know, hey? You Iranians want to own the whole bluddy Middle East. Even I figgered that out though nobody sat me down and actually said it."
Khadid looked at him carefully. "How do you feel about that, Sikes Pasha?"
"I got no problems with it," Sikes said. "I'm a major in the bluddy Iranian Army, ain't I? So when this all happens, I'll be sitting pretty." He took a drag off the cigarette and slowly exhaled. "But I'm a bit confused about this here operation, know what I mean then?"
"What is bothering you?"
"Aw, there ain't nothing bothering me, but I can't quite figger out what we'll be accomplishing here, hey?" Sikes said. "What if we win? What if we lose?"
"Although there are not many troops here, this is an important operation," Khadid said. "For both sides. Our objective, of course, is to get a good foothold in Afghanistan, then have large units of the Iranian Army follow up to occupy our conquered area. A victory on our part will bring Yama Orakzai and his band back to us. When that happens, more Pashtuns will rally to our cause. Afghanistan will be completely dominated by Iran within six months."
"Then what in the bluddy hell are we waiting for, hey?" Sikes asked. "There ain't a single, solitary Yank across that valley sitting in Orakzai's old stronghold. All we got to do is make our way over there and it's ours."
Khadid shook his head. "The Americans would simply contain us there, then push us back here. What we must do is defeat them here as they attack us, understand? In the meantime, do not forget that more and more Shiite Arabs are joining our ranks. If we can keep the infidels occupied long enough, we shall have a strong force."
"Alright," Sikes relented. "I'll take yer word for it. Tell the Brigadier that me Arab Storm Troopers are ready to fight."
Khadid stood up. "He will be glad to know he can depend on you, Sikes Pasha."
"Tell me, something, Naser," Sikes said. "Do you miss your Pashtun wife?" They had both entered temporary Muslim marriages with teenage Pashtun girls during the time they were stationed with Orakzai's people. When the leader pulled out to submit to the authority of the Afghanistan government, the marriages were ended. "I sure miss Banafsha."
"And I long for Mahzala's charms," Khadid said. "But we will be without women for a long time." He got to his feet. "I must go, Sikes Pasha. Good day."
"Ruz bekheyr,"Sikes said. "And tell the Brigadier that I'm working hard at learning me Farsi."
"You learned a lot of Arabic quite rapidly," Khadid said. "I am sure you will have an excellent working knowledge of Farsi within a few more weeks." He nodded a good-bye, then went back down the path.
Sikes settled back and lit another cigarette off the first. In truth, he didn't have that much faith in his Islamic brothers-inarms, but he had no choice but to stay with them. He would face years in a military prison if he returned to Blighty. He had cut himself off from his native land the moment he deserted and joined the enemy. But if the Iranians succeeded in their plans and really controlled the Middle East, he had much to gain.
His twenty-man Arab Storm Trooper detachment would eventually be expanded to division or perhaps even corps size as the Persian Empire began spreading outward. Brigadier Khohollah had once told him they would branch out to the east and south after conquering Afghanistan and Pakistan, swallowing up Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Syria. After that came the destruction of Israel before continuing to scoop up other nations until the Great Army of the Empire of Persia was in Turkey, ready to invade Europe itself.
Sikes glanced down at his soldiers on duty in the trenches. They wore Iranian camouflage uniforms and keffiyeh headdresses, giving them an exotic yet fierce appearance. While he and Warrant Officer Hashiri wore Iranian insignia of rank, their noncommissioned officers wore British chevrons. Somehow, the sight of the familiar badges made Sikes feel more confident.
He finished the cigarette and flipped it over into a stand of rocks. God! How he would love to go down to his favorite pub in Manchester for a few pints with his old mates.
CHAPTER 3
SEAL OA
9 JUNE 0625 HOURS
THE Afghan pilot who flew the Huey chopper was good at his job. He had made countless insertions of U. S. Army Special Forces teams into combat situations all over Afghanistan, and instinctively reacted to every aspect of the parachute insertion.
Now, as he swung his aircraft along the proper azimuth over the DZ/LZ, he made note of the wind by studying the directions of the dust clouds being kicked up at ground level. He swung farther away from the western edge of the area to give the three jumpers in his troop compartment more space. However, he knew at that low altitude it probably didn't make much difference. They were headed for a very short trip between aircraft and terra firma. The pilot sincerely hoped it wouldn't be too quick.
Mike Assad, Dave Leibowitz, and Garth Redhawk sat on the deck, their legs dangling out of the aircraft. Mike was the jumpmaster, and he waited until he was certain they were in the middle of the flat area designated for the DZ and LZ. When he was satisfied, he pushed himself out. The down-blast from the rotors pressed him hard, and he turned to his side slightly as he rushed earthward. He could see Dave and Garth at slightly different altitudes above him. Suddenly his canopy opened and two beats later he hit the ground hard, unable to make a decent PLF. Pain shot through his legs up into his lower back, but when he got to his feet he was sore but obviously had suffered no serious injury.
After hitting the quick-release box, his harness dropped to the ground and he retrieved his M-16 rifle. A moment later Mike and Garth walked up to him, both limping slightly.
"Shit!" Garth said. "I don't know why they bothered to give us parachutes."
"I think we ought to have a rule in the SEALs," Mike said. "From now on, low-altitude jumps from choppers will be performed by officers only."
"Good idea," Dave said. "Be sure and mention that suggestion to the Secretary of the Navy."
"That'll be the first thing I'll do the next time he calls me up for some advice," Mike said. "Alright! Dave will take the point, and Garth, you're the Tail-End Charlie. Let's go check this place out."