Rolling Thunder (2007) s-4 Read online

I see, Sikes said. Do Turkish soldiers take over when we cross into that country?

  Bangash, who had been listening to the conversation, shook his head. They're the bad guys, dude. The last people we want to see is a column of motorized Turkish infantry roaring our way. That's when the law is against us. But we don't have to sweat that shit till we get close to Turkey. Sometimes, it's best for us to stay on the Iranian side of the border. He strode ahead, motioning the others to follow him. Those other guys will take care of the donkeys. They'll stay penned up here till we get back from the run with all our goodies. Then we load them up and trek back to the stronghold, where everyone is happy as pigs in shit to see us and the stuff we bring.

  The four followed the head smuggler over to the buildings, where a group of military officers stood waiting. Sikes noticed both Iranian and Afghan uniforms among the Army men. When they arrived, Khadid greeted them as old friends. There were some customary Islamic hugs, kissing motions, and backslapping. The Iranian pointed to Sikes. This is Orakzai's new field commander. He's going on this run to familiarize himself with this part of our operations. Quick introductions were made, but the names went right by Sikes. He really didn't give a damn who they were anyway. What he did make note of was the fact that they didn't seem too surprised to see him. That told him all the military men had already been fully briefed on his background.

  As the group stood in conversation, another officer over by the Iranian trucks called out something in Farsi that caught Khadid's attention. He took Sikes' arm and led him over to the man. After an exchange of salutes, a large envelope was handed to Khadid. He immediately passed it on to Sikes. The Englishman frowned in puzzlement. Wot's this then?

  Open it, Sikes Pasha, Khadid said.

  Sikes took his knife and ran it along the top edge of the envelope. He opened it and pulled out what appeared to be a legal paper. A diploma of sorts was with it. Khadid watched Sikes look at the unfamiliar script of the Farsi wording on the documents. That's for you, Sikes Pasha, he said. It is your appointment as sargord. You are now officially a major in the Iranian Army. Thus, as it is said in the language of my people, tabrik! Congratulations!

  Sikes grinned to himself. After all the strife and trouble, he had finally ended up a proper officer. Maybe the commission wasn't in the Royal Regiment of Dragoons, but it was of field-grade rank. He wouldn't be surprised if he went all the way to the top of the Iranian General Staff. Say, Cap'n Khadid, how d'you say 'field marshal' in Farsi?

  Our equivalent is called an arteshbod, the Iranian replied.

  Motor sounds from a distance caught everyone's attention. They turned to see a convoy of four large military transport trucks coming across the desert toward them. As they drew closer, Sikes noticed they were UK TM 6-6 models. The sight of vehicles used by the British Army caused him a flash of nervousness. But when he saw the green-white-black stripes of the Afghan flag on the bumpers, the new major relaxed.

  Khadid noticed him gazing at the trucks. Sikes Pasha, those vehicles bring us the preprocessed opium poppy powder. The loads are not so much, because there are no modern facilities available for the final production of the powder into heroin; thus, the amount available is limited. But the quantity is sufficient to make each caravan a very profitable operation.

  So wot's gonna happen now then? Sikes asked.

  The bales will be transferred from the Afghan trucks to the Iranian ones, Khadid explained. When that it is done, we will begin our journey out of Afghanistan. We are going to spend tomorrow traveling across Iran, and the day after, Allah willing, our caravan will be in Turkey or at the border.

  I'm starting to see a lot o' this part o' the world, hey?

  Yes, Khadid said. By the way. Do you wish to be addressed by your military rank or the title you have chosen?

  I'll stay Sikes Pasha.

  Chapter 19

  SHELOR FIELD

  SEALS HANGAR

  15 MAY

  1600 HOURS

  COMMANDER Thomas Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer were in a magnanimous mood when the SEALs arrived back at Shelor Field after their hurry-up return from patrol. The two staff officers actually allowed them time to take showers, then go to early chow at the base mess hall, before having them settle down in the hangar for the new briefing.

  Clean and belching, the Brigands sat in the folding chairs with pens and notebooks held at the ready as Carey stepped to the front of the group. It looks like it's deja vu all over again, gentlemen. You've gone from cold to hot to cold, and you're about to go back to hot again.

  Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, glad to see that things were picking up from the slow going of the previous weeks, asked, Is this a continuation of earlier actions, sir?

  Negative, Carey replied. This is a brand-new mission that's being thrust into Operation Rolling Thunder. And it's a damn critical one. The mission statement is as follows: You will make an attack or attacks on an opium-smuggling trail to neutralize the activity.

  Jesus! Bruno Puglisi exclaimed. Who the fuck do they think we are? The DEA?

  There's more than that to it, Carey said. Now here's the situation. Iran's bid for power now goes beyond WMD programs. They have organized an extensive Special Operations branch in their Army to take over all Shiite insurgencies in the Middle East.

  The commander quickly but fully informed the SEALs of Operation Persian Empire with all its implications and ramifications. The potential dangers resulting from Iranian success in the operation were immediately appreciated by the audience.

  The N-3 continued. This program is being financed by their participation in opium poppy-smuggling from Afghanistan to Turkey. Obviously, this operation must be destroyed not curtailed but destroyed!

  Lieutenant Junior Grade Jim Cruiser raised his hand. Why not turn it over to the flyboys? Couldn't they bomb the hell out of that route?

  That won't work, Carey said. Unfortunately, the way from Afghanistan through Iran and into Turkey could run through hundreds of mountain passes. Aerial bombardment would just slow the bad guys down temporarily. Then they'd pick up the pace along another direction.

  What the hell? Chief Matt Gunnarson said. If Afghanistan isn't the best place to hit them, then cream the bastards in Iran.

  That is not even under consideration, Carey said. So we can forget that little tactic. Politics, diplomacy, and old-fashion chickenshit will allow us to make our attacks only in Afghanistan. As I mentioned, the flyboys won't be able to handle it, so somebody has to go in there and get down and dirty. That means DPVs. The smugglers are using trucks for hauling and machine gun'mounted Toyota pickups for protection.

  They've already had some attacks from rival smugglers and even Turkish Army units, but they've shown they can handle any adversity quite effectively. You'll find your enemy consists of professional soldiers. Be on your toes!

  The Skipper was thoughtful. Mmm. We know the mission and the situation. And I have to tell you, sir, I'm real curious about the execution phase of this operation.

  You are going to be flown by C-One-Thirty from Shelor Field to an area we're calling the Opium Trail, Carey said. You'll be facing a dozen of those Toyotas, but you'll have six DPVs with two machine guns on each and you can go eighty miles per. It looks like you'll be involved in the same-type combat you had against the armored cars. But it should be easier.

  Excuse me, sir, Senior Chief Dawkins said, but we're outnumbered two to one, and them Toyotas can go a hell of a lot faster than eighty miles an hour. And as an Alabama farm boy, I do know my pickups.

  The Toyotas don't have run-flat tires, Carey said. And keep in mind that they are not armored.

  Well, shit! Puglisi exclaimed. Neither are we!

  Carey showed an apologetic grin. What's the name of that old song? 'I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.'

  Oh, well, Puglisi said with a shrug. There's also another old song: 'You Always Hurt the One You Love.'

  Carey's grin turned from apologetic to wry. Yeah. And I do love you g
uys.

  If you're both through discussing American music, let's get back to the situation at hand, the Skipper said with a frown. There is one small potential being overlooked. You mentioned rival smugglers. Don't you think if we laid enough hurt on the main bad guys, all the smugglers are going to get together to resist us?

  We don't know that for a fact, Carey said.

  Now Chad Murchison joined in the conversation. I can foresee yet another situation arising, sir. Could it be that our hegemony would be willing to allow this narcotic smuggling to continue if it could be removed from the Iranian sphere of influence?

  I take it that, by 'hegemony,' you are referring to our command structure, Petty Officer Murchison, Carey said. Let me answer that by saying there is no way that anybody in authority, whether it be political, military, or diplomatic, is going to condone the smuggling of narcotics to the West under any circumstances. The reason this job has been handed to you is that the situation has global implications. If Operation Persian Empire isn't completely obliterated, the domino effect will be catastrophic. It would be a disaster destined to plague the civilized world for decades.

  Garth Redhawk brought up another angle. But if we take out these bad guys, what's to stop the Iranians from working with those rival smugglers?

  Right, Doc Bradley chimed in. The Iranians could change outlaw organizations as fast as we could knock them off.

  We'd be shoveling shit against the tide, Joe Miskoski added.

  The answer to that is simple, Carey said. You have to get rid of the Iranians involved. When they are gone, then things will get back to normal after a while. The rival smugglers will shoot it out, then the winner will control everything. They'll keep all the money, meaning the Iranians get nothing for their Persian Empire. He gestured to Lieutenant Commander Berringer. Pass out the maps and photos, Ernie.

  Berringer had arranged packets of satellite photographs and maps of the smuggling area for the SEALs' use. As he distributed them among the Brigands, the Skipper spoke up again. What about assets? Surely, there must be one available from among all those miscreants.

  Berringer walked back up to the front of the room. We do have an asset. His code name is Aladdin.

  Are we going to get a chance to meet with him and ask him some questions?

  Unfortunately, Berringer said, we have never met him. He transmits his intelligence from an unknown location somewhere in western Afghanistan.

  Well, hell! Brannigan said. Give us his frequency and I can have Gomez contact him.

  We have never had a reply when we tried to raise him, Berringer said.

  Jesus Christ! Brannigan sputtered. Isn't he working with one of our intelligence agencies?

  No, Berringer admitted. He just popped up out of the blue.

  What the hell! Brannigan barked. Then how in God's name do you know he's reliable?

  We have been assured by the CIA that the information he gives us is accurate, Carey interjected.

  Shit! Brannigan said, standing up. This Aladdin son of a bitch could be setting us up for a big fall.

  All I can tell you is that it has been determined that he is trustworthy.

  Brannigan was really pissed off now. That isn't good enough for me, goddamn it, sir!

  Now Carey lost his temper. It's going to have to be good enough for you, Lieutenant! An OPLAN has been drawn up based on Aladdin's transmissions, and you are going to turn that into an OPORD and obey any other orders you are given! Understand?

  Aye, sir, Brannigan said, sitting down but still seething.

  Carey checked his watch. I will expect a briefback from you at 1600 hours tomorrow. As far as assets go, you will have Lieutenant Commander Berringer and me. That's it! If you have any questions for us, we will be here to help. If we can't answer a specific inquiry, we'll contact the SPECOPS Center on the Combs. If the SF staff on board can't get an answer for you, there's nothing else we can do. Let that be enough motivation for you to be prepared for any contingency. He paused and looked at the eighteen frowns directed at him. Turn to!

  The SEALs did not have time to spring to positions of attention as the two staff officers quickly exited the briefing area.

  .

  THE OPIUM TRAIL

  16 MAY

  THE attaching of the German MG-3 machine guns to the roofs of the pickup trucks fascinated Arsalaan Sikes Pasha.

  The mounts had been expertly manufactured and securely attached to the vehicles with six heavy-duty fifty-millimeter bolts per weapon. The arrangement allowed an arc of fire through 140 degrees. Although the MG-3s were belt-fed, there was no problem with belts of ammo dangling off the side. These weapons had belt drums, each holding 150 rounds, that could quickly be changed when reloading was necessary. However, with a firing rate of 1100 rounds a minute, it would take only a little less than eight seconds to empty the weapons with a continual pull on the trigger. For that reason, the gunners had spent time practicing until all could manage four-and five-round fire bursts.

  The gunners were professional soldiers of the Iranian Army, and they went to a great deal of trouble to keep their weapons clean and operable. Even in the dusty atmosphere of the Afghanistan high desert, the machine guns looked as if they were ready to stand a full field inspection by a regimental sergeant major. Canvas covers were kept over the MG-3s at all times, except when dismounted for preventive maintenance or during firing exercises. At any time they were exposed to the elements, the Iranians continually wiped and brushed them to make sure no foreign debris worked down into the mechanisms.

  The Toyota pickup trucks were just as well maintained. The drivers were also career military, justly proud of their status as driver/mechanics. They came from a society where such skills, while not rare, were still beyond the comprehension of the average person, and their jobs gave these soldiers a prestige that did not exist in Western society. They even received extra proficiency pay.

  All in all, even in comparison with the Royal Regiment of Dragoons, Sikes Pasha felt he was in excellent company.

  .

  1400 HOURS

  THE ride across the firm desert was not too uncomfortable. The ground was firm and fairly flat, making traveling fast and easy. Sikes sat on the passenger side of the Toyota cab, dozing a bit as the journey toward Iran continued. The Iranian soldier driving the vehicle had little to say since he knew no English and Sikes had hardly any knowledge of Farsi.

  The monotony of the trip lulled Sikes into his private world of fantasy. He settled back and closed his eyes as images of his glorious future floated through his mind. He could picture the lounge of the Royal Regiment of Dragoons' officers' mess:

  THE large-screen TV is tuned to the BBC evening news, in Sikes' imagination, and the rankers sit around in the easy chairs and sofas, their eyes worriedly glued to the images being presented to them as they sip their after-dinner brandies and whiskeys.

  The Middle East is lost! the announcer declares in his upper-class accent. The Iranian Army under the command of Field Marshal Sikes has struck its final blow in defeating coalition troops and consolidating the countries of Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Kuwait, Qatar, Yemen, Oman, Afghanistan, and Pakistan under the control of Iran. Western influence has been effectively tossed out of the most oil-rich area of the entire world! What a calamity for the West! The question is, what will be Field Marshal Sikes' next action? The Prime Minister fears this great commander Sikes will turn his military ambitions toward the oil fields of the Russian Federation!

  At this point a major declares, Sikes? By Jove, chaps! That name is familiar to me for some reason.

  And to me, says a captain nervously, his brandy snifter shaking in his trembling hand.

  The dragoon regiment's commander, a crusty brigadier, speaks up. Now why the devil does the name Sikes mean anything to you chaps?

  Before they can answer, the image of Field Marshal Arsalaan Sikes with his name on the screen is seen. He is wearing a field uniform with medals pinned across the front, while epaulets bearing
the Iranian national eagle over a wreath with crossed batons show his rank. As he begins speaking, every officer in the room suddenly realizes who the man is.

  I say! the brigadier exclaims. Wasn't that chap a sergeant in this regiment at one time?

  Yes, sir, replies a nearby subaltern. I believe he went before some of our officers for approval of his application for a commission and to become a member of this very mess. I believe his request was disapproved.

  And who were the bloody fools who turned him down? the brigadier roars. My God! The man is a military genius! There's probably been no one like him since Wellington at Waterloo!

  The major and captain quietly get to their feet and slip out of the room.

  SIKES was close to falling asleep in the cab of the pickup truck, a slight smile on his lips.

  .

  SHELOR FIELD

  SEALS HANGAR

  16 MAY

  1600 HOURS

  TWENTY-FOUR hours had passed since Commander Thomas Carey's presentation of the OPLAN directing Bran-nigan's Brigands to take on the opium smugglers in northwestern Afghanistan. Now, after long hours of work and little sleep, the detachment was ready to present their briefback to Carey and his fellow staff officer, Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer. Carey and Berringer were seated in the front row of chairs, their own pens and notebooks ready for use during the presentation.

  Brannigan was the first up. He went to the podium at the front of the room. We're going to conduct this antismuggling operation in three phases. The first is the transportation from Shelor Field to the OA. He turned to the blown-up satellite photo mounted on the wall behind him, flashing his laser pointer on a location. That will be our LZ. We'll need two C-One-Thirties to transport the six DPVs, personnel, weapons, and gear. Vehicles Alpha One, Alpha Two, and Charlie Two will be in the first aircraft. Bravo One, Bravo Two, and Charlie One will be in the second aircraft. Upon landing, we will quickly unass the aircraft to allow the two Hercules to remain on the ground with engines running for the minimum amount of time. As you can see from the map, the LZ is long enough that the airplanes will not have to turn around. They'll be able to make a straight run and get back up in the air as soon as we and our vehicles are disembarked. They will be back to Shelor less than forty-five minutes after leaving.