The man who seemed to be the senior of the two spoke in a quaking voice. "They are information about how to vote. The people in this area missed the last election."
"And what exactly were you going to do with this information on how to vote?" Kharani asked. "The people here do not want to vote."
"Uh . . . uh, Allah protect me!" the man stammered. Kharani swung his gaze to the younger man. "Answer my question!"
"To teach the people how to vote."
"I see," Kharani said. "It seems you are unwanted intruders within our land. We do not like people to bother our farmers."
The first man found his tongue and spoke rapidly in a beseeching tone of voice. "We are officials of the government! They will ransom us! Do you understand? You will be paid much money to give us our freedom."
"That is correct," the second agreed. "You should not kill us.
"Why not?" Kharani asked mockingly, though he knew that Warlord Durtami had every intention of obtaining money for their release.
"Please, sir! We both have families!" the older man said, beginning to weep. "We are Muslims! Followers of Islam."
Kharani turned to his men and barked short, terse orders. One man ran to the sedan and got in while another took the driver's seat in the van. The prisoners were pushed and bullied into the back of the vehicle while Kharani and the remainder of the men joined them.
The two vehicles sped from the village and out to the dirt road, turning in the direction of the warlord's compound. The three old farmers came out and gazed at the sight of the four corpses. The dead had to be taken care of properly, since they were Muslims. The Holy Koran forbade leaving the bodies of the faithful unburied to be eaten by jackals and vultures.
.
MUJAHIDEEN PATROL
EAST RIDGE
1400 HOURS LOCAL
THE patrol was made up of a half dozen of the youngest mujahideen in the compound. This was more of a training mission than an actual reconnaissance patrol, and they had been sent out on their own to see if they could find any sign of the infidel interlopers who had proven so deadly. The senior men of the warlord's band were certain the attackers had drawn off and concealed themselves on the other mountain. This little excursion would be good for the kids without putting them in any real danger.
The boys laughed and shouted threats to the enemy, waving their weapons above their heads as they pranced around on their way up the rocky slope. Several wore green headbands with white lettering in Arabic that read "Maut-laKafir"--"Death to Infidels," while others said "Ash Tawil al Jihad"--"Long Live the Holy War."
This was going to be a great day. They were away from the strictness of the instructors for a few hours and had even been given some rice and wheat cakes, with cold tea to wash it all down. With luck they might run into the skulking cowards who had been brazen enough to enter the domains of Warlord Durtami. What an honor for them if they found the infidels and killed them all. .
The lead boy, a sixteen-year-old, sped up to race the others to the top of the mountain. "I shall be the first to glory!" he shouted as a challenge to his comrades. He had just begun to gain speed when a shot echoed from somewhere, sending a bullet that struck him just below his right eye. His face caved in as the back of his head blew out, spewing brains and blood in one instantaneous millisecond of horror. He fell back on his buttocks, appearing to sit down on a boulder, then rolled to the side.
An instant later, two more of the boys spun under the impact of body shots, slumping down to the rock-strewn terrain.
The last three snapped out of the shock of the moment as they quickly got behind the sparse concealment of some thorn bushes. Two of them fired back some useless, unaimed shots while their buddy squatted in terror.
It was suddenly quiet, the only sound being the moaning of a dying young mujahideen up a bit higher on the mountain. The two active survivors stood up and moved upward toward the summit, pumping out quick bursts from their AK-47s. The sound of the M-203's firing was masked by the noise of their own shooting, and the kids failed to note the HE grenade falling toward them. It struck a waist-high boulder and exploded, shredding them with shrapnel, as they buckled under the multiple impacts of white hot metal pellets.
The last rookie, panicked into insanity, leaped up and began running down the slope toward the valley floor. He didn't quite make four full strides before a 5.56-millimeter round hit him between the shoulder blades. He tumbled face-first onto a spread of small stones. The neophyte mujahideen raised his head just in time for one more bullet to split his skull.
Bravo Fire Team, led by Senior Chief Buford Dawkins, came out of their ambush site, gazing down at the destruction they had blasted into the small patrol. Chad Murchison shook his head at the stupidity of the dead fighters. "It appears that we ruined their whole day."
"Let's go see if there's anything useful on them dumb shits," the senior chief said.
They made their way down to the corpses and stopped, shocked at the youth of their victims. "Uff da! " Gutsy Olson said, falling back into a Norwegian-American expression. "I thought they was just nuts the way they were singing and yelling. It never dawned on me they was a bunch of idiot kids."
Connie Concord, holding his combination M-16 and M203, rolled one over. "There ain't any sense in searching these guys, Senior Chief. Nobody is gonna give 'em anything important to tote around."
"You're right:' Dawkins agreed. "The sound of our shooting irons is gonna attract attention. We better pull back."
"Well, the Skipper said he wants to keep the sons of bitches off balance," Concord said. "Mission accomplished for today?'
The Bravos turned and followed their fire team leader back up the mountain.
.
WARLORD COMPOUND
1800 HOURS LOCAL
WARLORD Ayyub Durtami seethed in silence, ignoring his tea. Across the table from him Ahmet Kharani kept his eyes averted. This was a dangerous time. Even though he had brought back two valuable hostages that would net them a million afghanis, his chief was in a black mood. When Durtami finally spoke, his voice was low in a subdued fury.
"Just before you arrived, I was told that six of our youngest fighters were discovered slaughtered," the warlord said. "We heard the firing and I sent some men to investigate. It was a massacre."
"I was not aware of that," Kharani said.
"This was supposed to be a pleasant outing for the lads:' Durtami said. "The instructors let them go up onto the mountain ridge to have some fun after weeks of hard training. They were obviously victims of some vicious treachery by an older, more experienced enemy."
"Are you going to punish the instructors?" Kharani asked. He knew the men were probably fearfully anticipating certain death for the mishap.
But Durtami shook his head. "We have done this a dozen times to reward youngsters who have been training hard. Today was a most unusual event."
Kharani was relieved by this uncharacteristic mercy. One of his cousins was among the instructor cadre of the warlord's small army.
"It is now obvious that numerous enemies have invaded my fiefdom," Durtami said. "Perhaps they are Americans."
"It is possible," Kharani said. "And I think they are here to stay awhile. There is only one place for them to remain out of sight. They must be skulking atop the far mountain from here:'
"I agree. But they could be anyplace up there. The entire ridge is a natural fortress."
"What about your brother-in-law Hassan Khamami? Does he not number mortars in his arsenal?"
"Au," Durtami replied affirmatively. "He has a large cache of weaponry. Some of his arsenal is new."
"Ask Khamami to help you, Amir," Kharani suggested. "With mortars we could shell that mountain from one end to the other."
"My brother-in-law would want too much money," Durtami said.