Rolling Thunder (2007) s-4 Page 17

  Sikes had no illusions about being able to instill a bashing on the square discipline into the Pashtun mujahideen's collective psyches. This was against their nature, and in their culture such a thing would be seen as unnecessary and peculiar as putting puhtee caps on their goats. They considered the saluting, standing at attention, and stomping of boots as some weird ritual the foreigners felt they must do. However, Sikes knew there was one kind of systemic method he could apply to the Pashtuns, and that was crew drill.

  He started with the mortarmen, using the Soviet M-1937 mortars. These 82-millimeter heavy weapons were perfect for developing the teamwork necessary for their effective application. There were four of them available, and Sikes was happy to learn all the Pashtun mortarmen knew how to use the sights and aiming stakes to properly align the tubes on the same azimuth at spaced intervals. This was the means of assuring that battery fire on a target or area would be accurate and effective. The problem was that when it came to firing, as far as the weapons crews were concerned, it was a matter of first come, first served for the different jobs in manning the mortars. The Pashtuns would run with their best friends toward the same weapons and grab the sights and bipods. The slower guys ended up with the least desirable jobs of handling tubes and weighty base plates.

  Sikes began his training with a strict organization. He broke down the twenty-one mortarmen available into crews of four for each weapon. That meant he had five left over as supernumeraries to handle the donkeys that carried the boxes of shells. Each crew would consist of a gunner, who would carry the sight and use it to align on the aiming stakes; an assistant gunner, who would be the one to drop the shell down into the mortar during firing, and carry the tube and bipods; and two ammo men, who would carry the base plate as well a set of aiming stakes each. They would also be the ones to prepare the shells for firing and pass them off to the assistant gunner during fire missions.

  The way Sikes got the Pashtuns to carry on crew drill was to have them run to an indicated spot to set up the mortars. The two ammo men would lug the heavy base plate into position, and immediately, the assistant gunner would attach the tube and bipod. At that point, the gunner attached the sight to the weapon, while the ammo men ran out to set up the aiming stakes. The gunner would then sight in on the stakes, telling the ammo men which direction to move until both sets were aligned one behind the other. When that was done, the gunner would leap up and yell, Chamtu, the Pashto word for Ready.

  When everyone understood the procedures, Sikes had them rotate the jobs until all had several opportunities to perform at each crew position. Then he began timing them, making a contest of the drills. Before long, the Pashtuns worked hard to have their mortar properly laid and ready, and the competition became so hot and heavy that any member of a crew who stumbled or made a mistake was loudly but good-naturedly jeered by his buddies. Even Jandol Kakar and Malyar Lodhi joined a couple of the crews to participate in the practice drills. Everyone was having a good time, yet they all were still being shaped up into damn good heavy-weapons teams.

  Naser Khadid, who had carefully observed the drill, complimented Sikes. You have these fellows keen to be the best. Well done, Sikes Pasha. I do believe you are going to be quite successful in this endeavor.

  Right, Sikes said. Wot about that bluddy commission for me as major in the Iranian Army?

  I have put in the request, Khadid assured him, along with my strongest personal recommendation.

  We'll have to see, Sikes said. He decided to spring an impromptu drill on the men. Turning from the Iranian officer, he suddenly hollered, Fire mission!

  The crews flew into action, each man keenly aware of his duties within his team.

  WITH the mortarmen evolved into an efficient and standardized organization, Sikes turned his attention to the machine gunners. He had them perform the same applicable drills on the Dashika 12.7-millimeter machine guns with gunners, assistant gunners, and ammo bearers. Shaping this bunch up was a much easier task than with the mortars since the machine gunners had watched the mortarmen acquire their different skills. When their English field commander got around to them, the Pashtuns were more than ready to get with the program. Contests in speed also encouraged them to try to be the best of their group.

  BOTH the machine guns and the mortars had some problems with parts that were either missing or broken, and it was at this time that Sikes became acquainted with the most important logistical and maintenance members of the Pashtun communities: the blacksmiths.

  These craftsmen were traditionalists, passing the skills of their trade down from father to son through countless generations. The peshane, although using only the most basic of tools such as hammers, tongs, anvils, and hand bellows, manufactured cutting tools, pots, ladles, and other items necessary for the day-to-day life of the community. This also included such implements as crescent wrenches and pliers. This work was done using smoldering charcoal arranged within fire rings on the floors of their small shops.

  They could also turn out gun parts through the use of sand molds. Although bolts were a bit too much for them, these peshane could manufacture operating slides with handles, flash suppressers, iron sights, butt plates, and other simple parts. After items were cast and cooled, hand files were used to further shape them for proper fit. The craftsmen could also turn out crude, albeit efficient, smoothbore single-shot rifles and pistols. All the metal needed for these operations was melted down in homemade furnaces, which, though slow and cumbersome, could produce the molten steel for pouring into the molds.

  Sikes had the machine gunners and mortarmen check all their weapons and see if any missing or broken parts could be taken care of by the smithies. Since the weapons had not been fired in months, most all were in good shape; thus, the only things needing attention were a broken carrying handle on one of the Dashikas and a couple of adjustment knobs for the heavy mortars.

  HOWEVER, Arsalaan Sikes Pasha had more to worry about than his military responsibilities. There was also his marriage to deal with. At times, he wondered what his parents back in Manchester would think if they knew he had married a thirteen-year-old girl.

  Banafsha was a complete enigma to Sikes. Although she looked her age now, he knew that within a couple of years she would be like the rest of the shedze, women, and begin to age fast. He had taken notice of the females he knew to be in their early twenties, and all had lines around their eyes and hard-set mouths that resulted from their lives of hard work and many births. The hair of a few was streaked with the first signs of graying. Banafsha's hands were already calloused, with the fingernails short and worn down from the grasping, handling, lifting, and other activities of her daily chores. The Englishman had to admit she was more than a satisfactory wife. She was always up before he awoke, having the cook fire going and the cave interior warm and lit. The food she prepared, while still a bit exotic and strange to Sikes, was tasty and filling.

  He had begun to feel an affection toward the girl, and wanted her to enjoy their sex life as much as possible. Some passion on her part would increase his own pleasure. Sikes was no great lover by any stretch of the imagination; he had never had a steady girlfriend and all his sexual experiences had been with prostitutes. But he had read manuals on marriage, and knew that women liked what is called foreplay with all its show of affection, tenderness, and a slow approach to sexual intercourse. He did his best, cooing to her in English, since he didn't know any love phrases in Pashtun and wasn't about to ask any of the men what he should be saying to his woman. He realized she didn't understand the words, but he hoped the tone of his voice would please her. Sikes also caressed her gently, in his campaign of arousing her passions, but it was useless. No matter what he did, she was the same as on their wedding night: submissive, quiet, and cold as she waited for him to have his way with her.

  It was strange, but Arsalaan Sikes was beginning to have more of a sense of loneliness than before he had taken a wife. The lack of real affection in the relationship was hard to b
ear for this living product of Western society.

  .

  12 MAY

  1430 HOURS

  A signal from the lookout post was passed down to Orakzai's headquarters. Those people in the stronghold who saw the waving of the old Soviet flag by the guard on duty burst out in loud shouts of happiness, running around the area to inform others of the good news.

  The men on the latest opium run were only a short distance away and rapidly approaching the stronghold.

  Sikes, using his twenty Arabs as assistant instructors, was in the middle of having his infantry mujahideen run through squad formations with their AK-47s when the call reached the mountain meadow where the drill was taking place. The men immediately abandoned the activity and hurried up toward the village beneath the caves, leaving the Arabs confused and dismayed at this unauthorized departure. Warrant Officer Shafaqat Hashiri looked over at Sikes, raising his hands in a gesture of perplexity.

  Wot the bluddy hell! Sikes shouted in rage as the mujahideen made a rapid disappearance.

  Captain Naser Khadid, beside him, laid a hand on his shoulder. Calm yourself, Sikes Pasha. The smugglers have returned from their latest expedition.

  Yes, Sikes Pasha! Jandol Kakar said. It is a time of great excitement and joy among the people.

  The young translator Malyar Lodhi was also excited. Let us go see their arrival. Tadi kawa hurry up!

  Sikes signaled Hashiri to form up the Arabs, then reluctantly allowed his three companions to lead him from the meadow, back up into the higher country where the village and caves were located. I swear to God! he grumbled. There's gonna be some discipline applied around here before much more time passes. And I don't give a thundering fuck who I offend!

  When the men reached the village, it seemed that every single man, woman, and child of the community was present, and all were yelling and talking at the same time. Even Orakzai and his attendants stood with the throng, gazing upward at the trail that led down from the lookout post. After a couple of minutes, loud shots erupted and the women's shrill trilling sang out over the scene.

  The first man, leading a heavily laden donkey, appeared from the boulders. He waved down at his people as he continued toward them. Then another man appeared with a burdened donkey, then two more, another, and yet another, until a total of twenty could be counted.

  Sikes leaned toward Kahnani. Wot's on them donkeys then?

  Many things, Sikes Pasha, the Iranian replied. There are gifts, tools, food, and other items prized by these Pashtuns. That is how the Pepsi and potato chips are brought in here. Also He pointed to a couple of donkeys. See those cubes of metal? That is scrap for the blacksmiths to melt down for their work.

  Now Sikes became excited. Look at them ammo boxes, hey?

  That would be the ammunition you wanted for the machine guns and mortars, Kahnani said. The smugglers do a double duty. There are sellers of many wares awaiting them in Turkey at the place where they turn the opium powders over to the buyers. That includes Harry Turpin when he has things for us.

  Now physical pandemonium broke out as the people surged forward. Several blacksmiths took the reins of the donkeys with the metal and led them away. The smugglers were hugged by their male relatives with smiles and more shouts of greeting. Sikes noticed the women stayed off to one side, looking happy but demure, though they made no rush to welcome any of the men as husbands or relatives.

  One of the smugglers went up and shook hands with Yama Orakzai. Malyar tugged at Sikes' sleeve. That is Husay Ban-gash, the chief of the smugglers. A very important man.

  Orakzai and Bangash spoke for a few moments, then left the location to go up to the Pashtun leader's cave. Sikes watched them for a moment, then turned his attention back to the activity at hand. I want that bluddy ammunition, he said.

  We can get it now, Sikes Pasha, Malyar said. There are the donkeys with the crates. Call to four of your Arabs and we shall fetch them.

  Sikes bellowed at Hashiri to send a quartet of the men to him. When they arrived, Malyar took them to the animals. After the boy spoke some rapid Pashtun to the smugglers, the animals were turned over to the Arabs. Sikes gestured to his warrant officer, Hashiri. Take them bluddy little beasts up to the bivouac with the men. I'll be there shortly.

  Hashiri saluted and barked orders at the Arabs to get them moving. As the group headed up the far slope to where they had established their camp, Sikes went over to the smugglers and began circulating around, seeing what had been brought in. Khadid walked with him as Kakar explained who the stranger was to the opium runners, who had never seen Sikes before. They were slightly leery of the Englishman, but greeted him with respect when they learned he was the new field commander.

  Sikes noted bolts of cloth, canned food, sugar, salt, flour, sandals, clothing, and other items to meet the basic requirements of a simple life. The potato chips and Pepsi were also being picked up, every family representative getting a certain amount. Sikes pointed to the activity, asking Khadid, How come they don't get Coca-Cola or maybe some fruit juice, hey? And why crisps all the time? Ain't they heard o' pretzels or crackers?

  Khadid shrugged. They can only obtain what the trader with the opium buyer has to offer. He, on the other hand, must take what his own supplier can produce for him to sell. Right now it is Pepsi and potato chips, and has been for more than a year. Who knows when something else will be available. At any rate, the Pashtuns consider them delicacies.

  I'd like to see them poor bleeding blighters in a proper supermarket, Sikes remarked. They'd think they died and went to heaven. He grinned. Right, then, let's get to the bivouac and see what sort o' ammo ol' Harry sent us, hey?

  They had to follow a steep path up to the Arabs' bivouac. The area was a small plateau between craggy outcrops of boulders that offered good cover and concealment. The Arabs had set up two-man lean-tos made from extra ponchos and shelter halves arranged in convenient spots among the big rocks. When Sikes and Khadid, along with Malyar and Kakar, arrived, they found the donkeys had been unloaded and the crates were stacked neatly beside Warrant Officer Hashiri's bucolic quarters.

  Sikes immediately inspected the crates and had them pried open. He liked what he found inside. Here then! he exclaimed.

  Look wot we got in this'un, hey? Sixty-millimeter shells for them Spanish mortars! He laughed. Them Pashtuns is gonna be glad to learn they won't have them heavy Soviet M-Thirty-Sevens to lug around, hey?

  The sixties will be much better for mountain operations, Khadid remarked. It looks like the second crate has more of the same.

  Let's have a look at them other two, Sikes said. The third and fourth crates contained 7.62-millimeter ball ammo that could be used in both the AK-47s and the Soviet PK machine guns. This is a good start, but we'll need more.

  There will be three additional deliveries of the same thing, Khadid said.

  Well! Sikes said. You're real sure of yourself, ain't you?

  I'm the one that put in the supply requisitions, Sikes Pasha.

  And you made a damn good job of it, Cap'n Khadid, Sikes said in good humor.

  Further inspection of the ammo boxes was interrupted when one of the mujahideen in Orakzai's headquarters guard came up the hill. He went straight to Sikes and babbled some words at him.

  Malyar stepped into the breech. Sikes Pasha, Orakzai Mesher commands you to dine with him and Husay Bangash at sunset.

  I'll be there o'course, Sikes said. As soon as his reply was given, he turned to Warrant Officer Hashiri. Get some tarpaulins to cover this ammo. And I want at least two bluddy guards on it twenty-four hours a day, yeah?

  Yes, Sikes Pasha! Hashiri replied, snapping to attention.

  .

  ORAKZAI'S QUARTERS

  1900 HOURS

  THE three men Archie Sikes, Yama Orakzai, and Husay Bangash sat in a circle on the thick carpet in the firelit cave. Bowls and plates of food were spread between them, consisting of samosas, fried bread, and the contents of some of the vegetable and fruit c
ans brought in by the smugglers. Several women had been honored with invitations to prepare the meal. The trio of diners ate by dipping their right hands into the dishes to pick out what they wanted.

  Sikes had been surprised to learn that Bangash had lived for several years in Chicago in the United States. He had gone there on a student visa to study at DePaul University, overstaying his time. As an illegal alien, he began living and working in the city's Muslim neighborhood. His English was excellent, and he spoke with an accent that was almost American. Sikes had been surprised by the informality the man used when talking to someone the other Pashtuns addressed as Orakzai Mesher.

  Bangash took a handful of green beans and, after studying them for a moment, shoved them into his mouth. He chewed and grinned. I'd much rather have a fork, y'know what I mean? And these are supposed to be eaten hot. He winked at Orakzai. Not that I'm complaining, Yama.

  Orakzai laughed. I have been up in these cursed mountains so long I have forgotten the comforts and conveniences of civilization, not to mention the proper preparation of foods.

  Too bad you never had the chance to get a taste of Western culture, Bangash said. There's nothing better'n that in the whole world.

  Sikes gave him a direct look. So wot brought you back to this place, hey?

  Bangash grinned. A little trouble in America. It had to do with a lapsed visa and dealing drugs to some undercover narc. I jumped bail and got the hell out of there. The cops knew I'd make a run for it, but they didn't care. It was cheaper letting me flee the country than locking me up. You gotta think of the taxpayers, y'know.

  At any rate, Orakzai said, taking a sip of tea. He is back here running our opium operation. And that is why I invited you to dine with us, Sikes Pasha.