"All right," the Skipper said. "Move out!"
Mike and Dave stood up and renewed the westward trek.
.
TOP OF WEST RIDGE
0720 HOURS LOCAL
THE door of the Mi-24 helicopter's troop compartment was open, and Warlord Hassan Khamami stood in it, looking down at the place the enemy had defended with such ferocious determination and skill. They had chosen the spot well, he concluded, and he noted that they had an excellent view of the valley on all sides of the mountain. When the chopper touched down, Khamami leaped to the ground and hurried over to where his field commander, Major Karim Malari, waited.
The major saluted. "Asalaam aleikum, Amir."
"Greetings," Khamami said. He looked around at the bare area, seeing no indication of anyone having recently been there. "What is the situation here?"
"The infidels seem to have walked off the face of the earth, Amir," Malari replied in an apologetic tone. "We know they were here because they constructed field fortifications, yet there is no evidence of anything else. Not even boot prints or latrines." He gestured in frustration. "It is pristine, as if no one had been here for decades!'
"What about equipment?" Khamami asked. "Surely they could not carry everything they had away with them."
"There was not as much as a single cigarette butt," Malari said. "Not even a thread or button. It seems the entire ridge top has been carefully swept over by some diabolical giant with a huge broom. As Mohammad is the prophet, they must have buried things, but my men cannot find any evidence of it, no matter how hard they search."
"At any rate we don't have the time or need to start digging around here," Khamami said, angered by the situation. The foreigners were indeed a clever enemy. "The only direction they could have gone is west."
"I agree, Amir. The foothills and ravines leading to the western mountain ranges offer excellent concealment."
"Prepare some men for aerial transport out to the foothills ahead of where the enemy must be," Khamami ordered. "Meanwhile I shall dispatch the helicopters to make an aerial search for them. The foreigners are not invisible! We will find where they are eventually."
"Au, Amir!" Malari said, again saluting. "I shall order two platoons to ready themselves for air transportation. They will be waiting when the aircraft return from their scouting mission."
Khamami turned and trotted back to the helicopter to order the aerial reconnaissance to begin. Now there were more than material reasons to destroy this elusive enemy. He had grown to hate them in a cold, calculating way. The warlord was ready to apply his own tactical talent, and the tenacity of his mujahideen, to destroy these maddening foreigners.
.
THE FOOTHILLS
1045 HOURS LOCAL
THE platoon could hear the helicopters long before they made an appearance. Brannigan ordered a halt, then scurried up to the top of the ravine and looked toward the eastern sky. Two dark shapes, flying in a zigzag search pattern, drew closer. It was obvious they were scouting the foothills and surrounding terrain. And the Skipper knew exactly who they were looking for with such painstaking diligence.
"Now hear this!" Brannigan said over the LASH. "Get into the shadows at the side of the ravine. Keep your heads down and don't move!"
He slid down to the ravine floor, heading back to his position between Frank Gomez and Senior Chief Buford Dawkins. The senior chief patted his CAR-15. "D'you think we ought to shoot 'em down if they come in low enough, sir?"
"Negative," Brannigan said. "If they receive fire, they'll radio their positions immediately. I don't want the bastards to have any idea of where we might be. Our best hope is remaining phantoms."
Frank Gomez grinned. "Maybe they'll end up thinking we're figments of their imaginations."
"Not likely," Brannigan said. "I'm sure they've counted their dead and treated their wounded. Imaginary enemies don't inflict casualties." The sound of the chopper engines was much louder by then. "Everybody down!"
The Mi-24s came in cautiously, knowing better than to get too close to where these particular infidels might be concealed. One of their comrades had already paid for that carelessness with his life, the life of his gunner, and a helicopter. The aircraft went past, made a sweeping turn, then came back. After a half dozen runs, they took one final look and headed eastward.
The sound of the engines gradually faded away. Brannigan let fifteen minutes pass, then stood up. "All right, guys. Let's haul ass out of here. Assad and Leibowitz, step out sharply!"
"Aye, sir," the Odd Couple replied simultaneously. The fourteen-man column was once again on the move.
.
TOP OF WEST RIDGE
1185 HOURS LOCAL
WARLORD Khamami and Major Malari watched as the two helicopters came in for a landing. They turned away from the clouds of gritty dust the rotors kicked up, waiting for the engines to be cut.
Captain Mohammed Sheriwal, as the senior pilot, left his aircraft to make a personal report to the warlord. "Amir, we could not find the infidels. The terrain is cut up by numerous ravines and some stands of trees. They had no trouble in remaining concealed from us. But they are out there. There is no doubt of that."
Malari pulled the Soviet Army map from beneath his jacket and knelt down to spread it out. "Show us where you went."
Sheriwal joined him, putting his finger on the topographical chart. "We flew in a search square. I kept us together, since the more sets of eyes we had, the greater the chance of spotting the infidels. We went a hundred and fifty kilometers on both sides of this area."
Khamami stood with his arms crossed on his chest, looking down at the map. "Excellent. I agree with your search pattern, Captain Sheriwal. The enemy would not be so stupid as to wander too far north or south."
"The problem is the loss of our number two aircraft," Sheriwal said. "It cuts our capabilities by a third."
"Yes," Khamami said. "I must get a replacement helicopter as quickly as possible."
"I could go to Kabul," Sheriwal said. "It would not be too difficult to steal an Afghanistan Army aircraft there. A small bribe to a guard would allow easy access. I could fly it straight back here."
"It would do us no good without a third pilot," Khamami pointed out.
"But if we were able to obtain a helicopter, you could hire another, Amir," Sheriwal argued.
Khamami smiled sarcastically. "You have amassed a great deal of money since joining my army, have you not, Captain Sheriwal?"
"Of course, Amir," Sheriwal replied. "I shall be eternally grateful to you for the opportunities you have given me to enrich myself."
"The opium smuggling was the best paying of all your activities, no?"
"Yes, Amir," Sheriwal answered.
"You are a good servant and soldier, Mohammad Sheriwal," Khamami said. "But if you ever withdrew from my presence, I would not trust you to come back."
"I would come back!" Sheriwal said. "I swear, Amir!"
"I am aware of the money you have sent to Switzerland," Khamami said.
Sheriwal swallowed nervously. "But . . . but . . . that is for my old age, Amir."
"Some men are old at thirty-five," Khamami said. Now he knelt down and studied the map for a few moments before looking at Major Malari. "Take careful note of that canyon that is shown far to the west."
Malari looked. "Yes, Amir. I know the place. It is the Wadi Khesta Valley."
"The enemy must pass through it if they are to successfully evade us," Khamami said. "I want two platoons flown to the far end to take up positions. Understood?"
"Au, Amir!"
"Additionally, I want one more platoon between here and that canyon," Khamami said. "That way the enemy will be caught between that one platoon and the two-platoon force: Those devils will have no escape, and the rest of our fighters can join up with the single platoon to crush them."