I don't know, Chad said.
Dave eyed him closely. Sure you know. There's an aircraft coming to fly them back to Kabul. We all know about it. Your girl's leaving, ain't she?
I suppose.
Don't you want to say good-bye to her? Mike asked.
Chad's temper snapped. No, goddamn it! I don't want to say good-bye to her. I want to get aboard that fucking DPV and go out into the fucking desert. Is that alright with you two guys?
Sure, Mike said with a frown. Don't snap my head off!
Dave got into the driver's seat. All right. Let's go, guys.
Mike settled in the passenger seat behind the M-60 while Chad pulled himself up into the M-2 gunner's spot, settling down for what was going to be a rough ride. Dave started the engine, calling out, Fasten your seat belts.
What the hell? Mike growled. Do you think the CHP is gonna be out there waiting to pull us over like in California?
Just going by the old idea of safety first, Dave said, putting the vehicle into gear. It eased out of the hangar, then gained speed as it crossed the runway, heading for open country.
.
0700 HOURS
SENIOR Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins had turned the enlisted men over to Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson. The idea was for the CPO to take them out to do a morning of firing with the HK-416s at a spot a couple of miles east of the airfield. Lieutenants Brannigan and Cruiser had gone to a meeting called by the Air Force base commander to cover the upcoming comings and goings at Shelor Field.
Dawkins stayed behind by himself in the hangar office to catch up on some of the nagging paperwork that was his responsibility. Most of it was administrative nonsense, such as contrived rosters of who attended mandatory annual classes in sexual harassment, drug abuse, ethnic discrimination, and similar topics. All this was to be sent back to the USS Dan Daly, where a staff of yeomen would dutifully enter the information into personnel files as proof of mandatory indoctrination and guidance. This would eventually be pored over by a bunch of incredibly candy-ass headquarters pukes who considered SEALs and Marines one step above Neanderthals.
Excuse me.
The feminine voice startled the old salt, and he looked up to see a young woman he recognized as Chad Murchison's girlfriend. Good morning, Dawkins said, displaying his version of a pleasant smile.
Could you tell me where Chad Murchison is? Penny asked. I'd like to see him before I leave for Kabul.
I'm afraid Petty Officer Murchison is not available, Dawkins said. He's out on patrol.
I don't understand, Penny said.
Dawkins had been warned by Cruiser to expect the young lady. The senior chief also knew that for some reason of his own, Murchison wanted to avoid her. Dawkins cleared his throat. Ahem. Well, now, uh, miss, you see, we got to run patrols. Yep. Got to run 'em. You bet. Normal part of our operations. Routine. But important. Yeah. Patrols are real important.
But couldn't you have let someone else go in his place? Penny asked. I'm leaving the UN when we get to Kabul. I'm going home to Boston.
Have a nice trip.
I probably won't see him again for a long time, Penny said. At least, not until he returns to California. She reached up and wiped at a tear running down her cheek.
Well, yeah, I guess you won't, huh? A crying woman was something Dawkins could not deal with.
Now she began sobbing louder. It was... real mean to...make him go...on a patrol...when you knew ...I was leaving...Afghanistan.
Yeah.
Why did...you send him...out there? Penny asked, sitting down in the chair across from the chief.
I didn't, Dawkins said. Now he seemed to be stuck with a weeping woman who planned on staying awhile.
She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. I was real mean to Chad a long time ago. I threw him over for another guy. Sometimes, I think he's still upset about that.
He'll get over it sooner or later, Dawkins growled.
Oh, that's all water under the bridge, Penny said. I broke up with Cliff, then got back with Chad. It was here in Afghanistan.
The senior chief made a mental note to get hold of Murchison the instant he was back from the patrol and chew his ass bloody for causing this girl to come looking for him. Dawkins considered her presence an extreme annoyance. And, as everyone should know, it's not nice to annoy a senior chief petty officer. He opined to himself that the girl was plainly untutored in certain social graces.
Penny's sobbing became more subdued, and she sighed loudly, saying, I just want Chad to get out of this awful Navy.
Look, young lady, I'm really busy right now, Dawkins said.
Don't let me bother you, Penny said. Go right on and work.
At that exact moment, Jim Cruiser stepped into the office. The instant he spotted Penny, he whipped around and tried to retreat, but she jumped from her chair and went after him.
.
STATION BRAVO, BAHRAIN
SATELLITE PHOTO ANALYSIS
0945 HOURS
THE operator, a young Army specialist, set the photograph on the scanner, then settled down at the computer. He grabbed the mouse, sliding the arrow to the correct icon. A couple of clicks opened up the program and the image appeared. He took another look at the photograph that had been sent over from the USS Combs. The circle drawn over the area of interest was almost in the exact center, and the specialist was able to quickly locate it on the screen. Now, after a few right clicks on the mouse, it had been enlarged ten times.
Ma'am! he called out.
The captain in command of the section walked over and took a look at the screen. What are we supposed to see?
According to the request, they want that dark strip analyzed.
Take it up four times more and print it out, she said.
The specialist followed the instructions and sent it to the Hewlett-Packard color printer on the other side of the office; then, he walked over to wait for the result. It took a full five minutes for the picture paper to come out. He picked it up and took it back to the captain. What do you think it is, ma'am? he asked.
She gave it a full five-second study. It's a road.
That's what I think.
What area is this? she asked.
It's the salt marshes in southeast Iran, the specialist said. They border Afghanistan, sort of spilling over into it.
Well, hell, the captain said, it doesn't mean shit to me. Package everything up and put it into distribution for the Two-Shop.
I wonder why somebody would put a road through a salty swamp, the specialist mused to himself.
.
PASHTUN STRONGHOLD
GHARAWDARA HIGHLANDS
1300 HOURS
YAMA Orakzai, commander in chief of the Pashtun Rebel Army, lounged on the sofa in the roomy cave he used as a combination headquarters and living area. His deputy commander, Khusahal Shinwari, was equally relaxed in a nearby recliner.
Orakzai was dressed in a manner he had used for more than a quarter of a century. He wore a puhtee cap, an olive-drab slipover woolen military sweater, and green baggy bakesey pants. A pair of American Army boots liberally covered with waterproof dubbing completed his ensemble. His pipe bowl was filled with his favorite khartumi tobacco that the opium smugglers always brought him after making a run across Iran and into Turkey. He puffed absentmindedly as he gazed out the small opening of the cave.
Shinwari was a hundred-percent native in his bakesey shirt and trousers. They were in the gray color that the Pashtuns considered the best camouflage when operating in their native mountains. A leather belt with pouches for cartridges was worn across his right shoulder. His feet were shod in chapati sandals with strips of blanket wrapped from ankle up to mid-calf as leggings. All in all, a stranger would not be able to tell these highest rankers of the PPB from their most subordinate mujahideen.