By the time the big troubles with the Soviets came along, the two friends were in their teens. They joined Warlord Khamami's band to fight against the invaders, and found themselves in a world of constant warfare. One of their main jobs was to dog Russian patrols to keep track of the activities and whereabouts of the infidels. Even though they were daring to the point of recklessness at times and had many close calls, Abdullah and Ashraf were never discovered by their prey, and guided many detachments of mujahideen to successful ambush and attack sites.
.
0830 HOURS LOCAL
ASHRAF moved slowly down the valley, at times bending over almost double as he studied the spoor he had picked up more than two kilometers back. He noted dislodged rocks, a bent twig on a bush or a scrape along the ground where a misstep had left a boot mark. It was Abdullah's turn to carry the R-100 pack radio, and he watched his friend doing his best to pick up clues of the men they tracked so relentlessly.
Ashraf suddenly stopped, then pointed to the side of the valley. A fresh smudge in the dirt showed where somebody must have stumbled and bumped against the earthen wall. Abdullah saw it too, and nodded to indicate he thought it a very significant sign. This was more than just the evidence of a recent passerby to the skilled eyes of the Pashtun friends. It was a clear indication that the enemy they followed, though skilled and crafty, was growing tired and careless. Both could remember when even the elite Soviet Spetsnaz troopers, highly trained and motivated, compromised themselves at times during long, arduous missions. Their carelessness was mostly dropping cigarette butts when their senses were dulled with exhaustion. They also urinated anywhere they pleased, leaving wet spots in the ground easy to identify if one stuck one's finger in the dampness and sniffed it. Human piss is much different from that of animals.
Abdullah stood beside Ashraf, also noting things that would be invisible to the uninitiated. He put his mouth close to his friend's ear and whispered, "This is fresh, ror! They cannot be far away."
"Au! " Ashraf agreed. "Stay here with the radio. I shall go ahead and take a look."
He slowly and silently ascended the wall of the valley. When he reached the top, he went down flat on his stomach and snaked his way through the brush. After carefully raising his head for a look at the surrounding countryside, he quickly ducked back down. He had seen the head of a man wearing a brimmed cap made of camouflage material. It was not like the kamufliron kurtki pattern of the Russians; instead it had brown spots of various shades on a tan background. Ashraf took one more quick peek. Now he saw another fellow beside the first. He crawled carefully backward, reached the edge of the valley and noiselessly lowered himself to where Abdullah waited. He signaled to his friend to follow him, and they moved a few meters back in the direction. They had come from. Ashraf lifted the radio handset out of its cradle.
"Amir! " he said in the informal manner of mujahideen communications. "We have located the infidels!"
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WARLORD KHATAMI'S CP
WEST RIDGE
0850 HOURS LOCAL
WARLORD Hassan Khamami sat cross-legged on the carpet in his tent. He leaned forward as he studied the Soviet map of the area in which he once again was waging war. His radio operator spoke into the microphone of the R-108 radio, then held out the handset for his commander's use.
"I have contacted Major Malari, Amir," the commo man said. Then he sat while he patiently listened to what seemed to him a one-sided conversation as the warlord spoke to his field commander.
"Yes, Major, I have good news. We have located the enemy. They are well into the Wadi Khesta Valley. Yes. It is reliable information. They were found by Abdullah and Ashraf. Ha! Ha! Yes, they are. The foreigners are now trapped. There is only one way for them to reach safety. They must continue to travel westward by following the valley. Their only alternative is to go up into the high, flat country where there is neither cover nor concealment. Now listen to me, Major. We are going to advance some companies to their front. They can move on foot, and we will fly the helicopters back and forth between their column and the target area. The movement will go very fast. That is Phase One. Phase Two will be simultaneous with Phase One, and other companies will move to the rear of the invaders. Both groups will occupy the valley as well as the flat land above. That is right, Major. There will be no escape for the enemy. No matter which direction they turn, we will have them covered and outnumbered. Now! Listen to this carefully. Do not attack. I say one more time, do not attack! I have a special assault group to throw at them first. Who? Durtami's bunch of miserable beggars, that is who! They will soak up a great deal of the foreigners' ammunition. The attack they make will also confirm the enemy's exact location. Do you understand all I have told you? Der khey--very good! I will give you orders by radio to let you know what to do and when to do it. Any questions, Major? Excellent."
He handed the handset back to the radio operator.
"Will you want to contact anybody else, Amir?" the man asked.
Khamami shook his head. "Na. But fetch me Sheriwal and the other helicopter pilot. Os! Now!"
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WADI KHESTA VALLEY
0930 HOURS LOCAL
LIEUTENANT Bill Brannigan called a halt. The men were dragging their feet now, thirsty and sweat-soaked from the heat. He knew they hadn't much more than a few ounces of water in their canteens. This was a worst-case scenario when it came to heatstroke. Even an adult male in the pink of condition would crumble fast when he became dehydrated, with his body temperature soaring while he was unable to perspire. Brannigan hoped a half hour in the shade of the valley sides would cool them down enough to continue the tortuous hike.
Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz joined the platoon commander. They sank down wearily beside him. Mike licked his dry lips before he spoke. "Any special orders, sir?"
"Yeah," Brannigan said. "Find some fucking water!"
Neither of the Odd Couple bothered to make a reply. That's all they'd been thinking of as they moved forward on the point. But the valley was as dry as the proverbial bone.
Senior Chief Buford Dawkins walked up slowly and stood silently beside the trio for a few moments. Finally he asked the same thing the Odd Couple had inquired about. "Any special orders, sir?"
"Put out the word," Brannigan said. "We've got no choice now but to avoid any further contact with the enemy."
Dawkins shrugged. "I don't know how the hell we're gonna do that, sir. We're gonna run into 'em sooner or later."
"Well, then, godamn it, Senior Chief, if we do make contact we're going to have to take some pretty fucking drastic steps, aren't we?"
Dawkins nodded, ignoring the Skipper's angry sarcasm. "I'll pass the word, sir."
Brannigan watched him walk away to inform the fire teams. He pulled out his canteen, then stuck it back in its carrier without taking so much as sip. "When you find yourself down deep in a shit hole, you got to stop digging."
The Odd Couple looked at their commanding officer, then each other. Mike yawned. "I think I'll take a nap:'
"Good idea, Assad," Brannigan said. "I'll call you in about two minutes."
"Thank you, sir," Mike said. "Being surrounded and outnumbered by a vicious enemy, thirsty as hell and as hungry as a starving bear is a great inducement to sleep."