Screw you! Betty snapped at him.
Anyhow, Sam continued, I volunteered for para-rescue and got accepted. I'm being shipping back to the States to go through my training.
Good riddance, Wanda said with a sneer.
Oh, yeah? Sam retorted. I'll be in a real adventurous outfit. Death-defying shit. Making parachute jumps behind enemy lines to rescue pilots that have been shot down. This is boring here. And will I pick up the chicks between missions! You gals don't like to admit it, but you go for us macho types.
Not me! Wanda protested. I go for guys like Randy Tooley.
Now the other airman, Tommy, jumped into the conversation. He's a little runty nerd!
Maybe so, Wanda said. But he's a go-getter. He's only an E-Four, but he runs this place. Colonel Watkins trusts him so much he lets him do anything he wants. Have you noticed he doesn't wear a uniform? He looks like a Santa Monica beach bum who hasn't held a steady job in his life.
So what's that got to do with sex? Sam asked.
Nothing, Wanda said. But when he gets out of the service, he's going to have that same attitude. He's the kind of ninny who ends up rich and powerful. And eventually, I want a rich husband who can get me every single goddamn solitary thing I want.
Mmm, Tommy said. You're probably right about Randy.
Sam turned his attention back to Chad. So I'll be going to Fort Benning for jump school before I go through the rescue course. Is it tough?
Not really, Chad said. The guys that go into the SEALs or Marine Force Recon or Special Forces and Rangers in the Army have a lot tougher training ahead of them. Are you thinking of going to HALO school too?
What's that? Sam asked.
High altitude, low opening, Chad replied. You jump and fall a long ways before opening your chute.
Yeah! I'm gonna do that.
Jesus! You'll be splattered all over the countryside, you dumb shit! Tommy exclaimed.
You'll probably break your ankle before that happens, Chad said.
Penny was growing tired of what she considered boring conversation. She took Chad's arm and stood up. Let's dance.
They left the table and joined others dancing to the country-western singing of Patty Loveless.
.
2350 HOURS
BOTH Chad and Penny were drunk as they walked arm in arm back toward the barracks area. She was in a good mood. That guy Sam is an idiot, isn't he?
Why?
Oh, for wanting to do all that boyish stuff, Jenny said. What a moron!
He wants to prove something, Chad said, irritated by the way she didn't understand the guy.
Prove what?
Chad stopped. He wants to prove to himself that he can accept a challenge. He wants the discipline that lifestyle will give him. It all points him in a direction he wants to go.
Well, maybe, Penny allowed. Anyhow, you've already proved yourself, Chad. In another year, you'll be a civilian.
Being a SEAL is a complicated thing, Chad said. It pulls at you, enfolds you, and makes you feel outside of normal society and its decorum.
Aw! Penny said with a light laugh. You'll get over that shit.
It's not shit, Chad said. It's a way of life.
Penny suddenly sobered, glancing at the young man at her side. For the first time, she felt really frightened about her relationship with Chad. Maybe she had lost him already.
.
PASHTUN STRONGHOLD
GHARAWDARA HIGHLANDS
CENTRAL WESTERN AFGHANISTAN
THE territory occupied by the PPB Pashto Rebel Army was dominated by steep peaks that eased down into slanting plateaus broken up by the craggy terrain. Natural caves dominated the region, in some cases honeycombing entire mountaintops. It was in one of these areas, 6,000 feet ASL, that the leader, Yama Orakzai, had established the base camp for his revolutionary movement.
The population of the camp was made up of five thousand men, women, and children scattered across twenty-five square kilometers of the rugged, steep countryside. Approximately nine hundred of the adult males were well-armed and equipped mujahideen. While the younger ones had not participated in actual battles, except for minor raids and ambushes against the Afghan Army and scattered settlements of Taliban fugitives, the older men had fought the Soviets. These elder members of the band saw to it that their nephews, sons, and grandsons were thoroughly trained to conduct combat operations.
Although they seemed a ragtag mob because of a lack of uniforms, they had an organization of sorts made up of various detachments of riflemen, scouts, mortar and machine gun crews, and antiaircraft elements. Most of these men were heavily involved in lucrative opium-smuggling operations that ran from the Afghan mountains through the Gharawdara Highlands and up across northern Iran and into Turkey. There, the European cartels paid hard cash for the raw powder that would be turned into the narcotics for the insatiable appetites of the Western infidels. The men of the PPB not only provided transportation in the operation, but also security. The AK-47s wielded by the fierce and skilled fighters were enough to deter even the most desperate and daring bandits.
The main goal of the PPB, however, was the establishment of a Pashtun state with independent sovereignty. Unfortunately, not only would the Afghan government refuse to give up their western areas, but the Taliban still lurked about. These religious fanatics had their own plan for the nation, and it didn't include having thousands of well-armed Pashtuns living next door. Orakzai had spent several years trying to figure out how to handle the touchy situation when the English arms dealer Harry Turpin approached him as an agent of the Iranians. These Farsis wanted the PPB to join them in an independent jihad to drive Westerners out of the Middle East. Orakzai was not interested so much in the jihad as he was in having a powerful ally that would frighten off even the zealots of the Taliban. At the same time, the Afghans would think twice about resisting his struggle for independence.
Now Orakzai and his people were ready and able to give armed support to the Jihad Abadi in whatever capacity was required. The Pashtuns' main goal was to clear their territory of foreigners and domestic enemies.
Chapter 9
SHELOR FIELD
13 APRIL
0835 HOURS
THE C-130 stood by the SEALs' hangar, its ramp lowered for unloading. Besides several tons of supplies, ammo, and fuel, it had brought Petty Officer Second Class Reynauld Pecheur back from emergency leave. His wife and two sons lived in San Diego, and he had gathered them up for a trip back to their hometown in Louisiana to check things out after a violent spring storm. The roaring tempest had battered the hell out of Louisiana and Mississippi, and the hurricane season loomed in the near future.
All his SEAL buddies were curious about how Pech's folks had weathered the disaster. His Cajun family lived in boggy country in southeastern Louisiana where a lot of the houses were built on stilts. These residences were scattered through an area called Mouvants Swamp. Like everyone there, they spoke more French than English, and were fiercely self-reliant, fending for themselves in both bad and good times.
Although not flush with cash-money, they were strong and well nourished from hunting, fishing, and growing their own food. By the time FEMA had shown up with help, everyone had already repaired the damage to their homes, docks, and other structures. Any delays in taking care of that necessary mending could result in catastrophic damage during future hurricanes. Pech's last chore before taking Blanche and the kids back to California was to help his father-in-law reshingle his roof. Now, with his family reestablished in their San Diego home, he had returned to duty with Brannigan's Brigands.