Then he got into opium poppy cultivation.
This stroke of luck was almost accidental, when a smuggler who had been operating before the war came back to renew his association with the people he'd dealt with in the past. Unfortunately for him they were all gone. Fortunately for Hassan Khamami, he was in the right place at the right time to fill the vacuum. Deals were made with the smuggler, and a group of farm villages were recruited and organized to begin a big-time cultivation and production business. Now great amounts of money rolled in to fill the warlord's coffers. His personal army was stronger and better structured than ever due to these unexpected, substantial opium revenues.
Additionally, the intelligent and perceptive Khamami had learned much about strategy and tactics during the long fight against the Russians. He also accumulated large stocks of Soviet weapons, uniforms and equipment. But the most important commodity Khamami acquired was knowledge.
During the struggle against the Soviets, the warlord quickly realized that mass, disorganized attacks almost always ended in disaster, and he recognized the advantages of breaking his army down into subordinate units coordinated along a chain of command. He created squads, divided them among platoons; organized the platoons into companies; and the companies became part of battalions--all under his leadership. Khamami also developed tactical skills in such things as patrolling, fire support, ambushes, attack and defense. But most importantly, he learned to pick the right times to fight and how to safely break contact and withdraw when things went wrong.
Arms was another phase of warfare he took note of. Khamami gathered all the weapons given him by the CIA and combined them with the arms he'd looted from the Soviet Army. He even had no less than three Soviet Hind Mi24 troop-carrying helicopter gunships at his disposal, and the pilots to fly them.
Additionally, he acquired a spiritual leader to back up his activities. One day a hermit appeared at Al-Saraya after fifteen years of living and wandering in the mountains. This was Khatib the Oracle, who claimed he was the new prophet of Allah who had been sent to lead the faithful in a struggle to destroy all the infidels in the world. Khamami was aware that the old man was as crazy as a flea on a goat, but he recognized the oldster's potential usefulness. Khatib the Oracle had a way of mesmerizing the crowds who listened to him speak. The warlord told the pseudo-prophet that he would be welcome to remain in the fiefdom if he slanted his sermons to teach the audiences that Khamami was a warrior guided by Allah. That was fine with the elderly fellow, who recognized a good meal ticket. Thus he acquiesced wholeheartedly to the warlord's program. Consequently, the people obeyed Khamami's every command with a reverent adoration.
The last bit of resistance Khamami had to deal with was the Dharya Clan. These Pashtuns were a small group of dissidents who tried to set up their own poppy cultivation on lands controlled by the warlord. They paid a terrible price for the affront. After a vicious attack that decimated their numbers, the survivors were place into slavery, and held there with many of their young females put into enforced concubinage--the worst fate for Muslim women. According to Islam, they were as much if not more to blame for this shameful situation as the men who violated their bodies.
Because of this, they would never know freedom from the warlord or forgiveness from their male relatives.
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THE REFUGEE CAMP
KHAMAMI FIEFDOM
22 AUGUST
AYYUB Durtami and Ahmet Kharani were off to the side of the convoy that by now had deteriorated into a miserable, milling mob. Although there was no shouting or struggling, the people who had fled the compound in the south were bunched together in an instinctively protective manner. The motors of the vehicles were now turned off while everyone waited nervously to find out what would happen next. They were tightly surrounded by an armed detachment of Warlord Hassan Khamami's mujahideen, who glared at them as if daring the refugees to try to disturb the peace and tranquility of the fiefdom.
Durtami and Kharani sat in the back of the Soviet sedan. Their bodyguards, who normally stayed close by, had wandered off, as if wishing to put a great deal of distance between themselves and their former chiefs. The former warlord and his lieutenant were plainly worried, and both had AK-47s within easy reach. If Khamami was going to kill them, the men he sent would pay dearly for the assassinations.
Kharani rolled the window down a bit to let some air into the old Soviet automobile. "Perhaps we are worrying over nothing," he murmured, to himself as much as to his companion.
Durtami shook his head. "I do not know what to think. We are defeated, Brother Ahmet. We show up here with naught but what we have in our vehicles. Even our fighting force is down to almost nothing."
"Surely we and our men have some value," Kharani said. "And is your sister not still the favorite of Warlord Khamami's wives?"
"I do not know," Durtami said miserably. "Perhaps he has gotten younger, prettier ones."
"But she gave him four sons," Kharani said. "Surely a man would honor such a wife for as long she lived."
"Maybe she no longer lives," Durtami said. "I have had no news from here in two or three years. She could have sickened and died."
"Allah help us!"
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AL-SARAYA CASTLE
1400 HOURS LOCAL
N0 less than a squad of riflemen had gone to the refugee camp to fetch Ayyub Durtami and Ahmet Kharani for an audience with Warlord Hassan Khamami. The leader of the unit was brusque to the point of being rude and threatening. This behavior made the two even more apprehensive than they had originally been.
After being hurried from their vehicles and through the village to the gate of the castle, they were almost trembling with fear. By then they figured the best they could hope for was a quick and painless death. When the gate was opened, the castle guards took them in hand, escorting them into the interior of the two-story building. They stopped by a door in one of the inner hallways. The senior guard stepped inside and closed it. A moment later he appeared. "The Amir Warlord Khamami deigns to speak with you. Enter!"
Durtami and Kharani hurried inside the room, where the warlord sat on a throne-like teak chair flanked by a pair of guards. The two reluctant guests threw themselves down, touching their foreheads to the floor. It was now time for them to practice nanawatey, the act of total submission in the Pashtun culture.
Durtami, as the senior, spoke for them both, his voice quavering. "Amir! We appear before you humbled and defeated.
We beg your mercy and submit to your authority and power without hesitation or limits."
Kharani added, "Amir! It is written in the Koran that Allah loves those who show mercy to the believers."
"Don't tell me what is written in the Koran!" Khamami bellowed in fury. "I have Khatib the Oracle to advise me on religious matters."
"Of course, Amir!" Kharani acknowledged in cold fear. "Forgive my rude audacity, I beg you!"
"And here you are, driven from your lands by Infidels!" Khamami said. "Both of you have disgraced Islam with your ineptness and cowardice. Why do you come to me instead of remaining to martyr yourselves against the enemy?"