Seals (2005) s-1 Page 24

  "Well, godamn it, they don't!" Brannigan said angrily.

  "It doesn't make any difference to people from the old country," Mike said. "I even know of a girl who was taken out of my high school and sent back to Jordan against her will to get married." He took a deep breath. "Anyhow, a warning was sent to the Syrian girl by her younger sister. The boy's family came unglued and made arrangements for them to stay with relatives in Texas. They're still out there as far as I know."

  "Well," Brannigan said, "I don't think those cases apply here. These local girls were forced into prostitution. They weren't seduced by pimps or anything. Hell, they were prisoners:'

  Mike violently shook his head. "That don't make any difference, sir!"

  Brannigan could see how serious Mike was. He stood up. "Let's go see that doctor."

  They left the tent and walked toward the UN camp in long strides. "Say, sir," Mike said. "Have you seen Murchison's girlfriend?"

  "Yeah," Brannigan replied as they hurried along. "She seems like a nice young lady."

  "She's hot," Mike said in genuine admiration. "He's a lucky guy."

  "Let's keep our minds on the lives of those poor girls:' Brannigan snapped.

  "Aye, aye, sir!"

  When they reached the medical tents, Brannigan went straight to the doctor's quarters. Dr. Pierre Bouchier was sitting at his desk filling out forms to be inserted into the UN's administration mill regarding the data on the treatment programs they were using with the Pashtun population. He looked up from the work. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

  "This is Petty Officer Mike Assad," Brannigan said. "He's an American of Arab descent, and he tells me that the women taken from the brothel will be killed if they're returned to their families."

  "That's true," Bouchier said. "Honor killings, they're called."

  "But it's not the women's fault what happened to them," Brannigan protested.

  "That doesn't matter," Bouchier said. "It wasn't too long ago that an Islamic court in Mauritania sentenced a married rape victim to be stoned to death for adultery. Only strong pressure from the UN got her sentence commuted."

  "We can't let these women be murdered," Brannigan said.

  "I haven't the slightest intention of letting that happen, Lieutenant:' Bouchier replied. "It's not widely known, but the UN maintains an area for abused Muslim women in Cyprus. If I can get these young women to Kabul, they can be easily transported to safety there."

  "Do you need any help?"

  "It wouldn't hurt to have some armed men handy if necessary," Bouchier admitted. "I plan on calling in our C-130. It can be here this afternoon. Meanwhile, I'll have these unfortunate victims put in the back of our vans. They can make a quick trip out to the airplane and voila! They will be flown to our compound in Kabul."

  "I'll post some of my men here," Brannigan offered.

  "That is not a good idea, Lieutenant," Bouchier said. "We must make things appear as if nothing extraordinary is happening. If the Dharyans get suspicious, I fear it would engender a deadly confrontation. It would be best if you had your men located nearby where they can keep an eye on things."

  "I'll alert my platoon," Brannigan said. He grabbed Mike by the sleeve. "C'mon, let's get Senior Chief Dawkins in on this."

  The two SEALs left the tent.

  .

  BRANNIGAN'S CP TENT

  0930 HOURS LOCAL

  BRANNIGAN'S Brigands kept their personal weapons, along with extra bandoleers of ammunition, close at hand. Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins had placed them on standby in case the situation with the Dharyan women got out of hand.

  Brannigan had taken his camp chair out in front of the CP after buckling on his pistol belt with the Sig Sauer 9-millimeter automatic in its drop holster. He also had binoculars in his lap, and he raised them every once in a while to gaze over at the UN camp. He had noticed a small group of indigenous Afghanistan males approaching the tents. He waited for a few minutes, then they reappeared and begin walking toward the CP. He took another look and noted that the young interpreter was with them. The Skipper let out a shrill whistle to alert the platoon.

  It took five minutes for the small crowd to reach him, and the Skipper maintained his seat to show he was the boss man. The interpreter spoke in a somewhat forced cordial way. "Dr. Bouchier has asked me to bring these six gentlemen to see you, Lieutenant. They are inquiring about the women rescued from the brothel, and wish to have them returned to their families. The doctor explained that you were the senior military commander present, and they must speak to you."

  "Sure," Brannigan said, maintaining a haughty air.

  The interpreter turned and spoke to the visitors in Pashto, then gave his attention back to the American. "This gentleman is Bashar Dahrain, the chief of the Dharya Clan. He is the one making the request."

  Dahrain salaamed politely to the American.

  "Tell him that the unfortunate women are receiving medical treatment for a number of ailments and injuries," Brannigan said. "When they are deemed to be fit, they will be returned to their families."

  The interpreter translated and Dahrain then spoke at length. When he finished, the interpreter gave Brannigan an apologetic look. "The clan chief asks you to return them now, sir."

  Brannigan mustered a frown of anger. "Tell him that would not please me! So I'm not gonna do it, godamn it!"

  The message was delivered, though in a more courteous manner than Brannigan had spoken it. The visitors salaamed once more, then abruptly whirled around and stalked angrily away. The interpreter watched them depart. "I think that will hold them for the time being, sir."

  "Those women will not--I say again--will not be returned to their families to be murdered," Brannigan said. "Tell Dr. Bouchier I will give him all the help possible to keep that from happening."

  "He will be happy to hear that, sir."

  .

  1430 HOURS LOCAL

  THE white C-130 appeared in the distance, the deep hum of its four engines barely discernible. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins quickly alerted the SEALs and formed them up in front of the CP. The whole platoon was present, with the exception of Milly Mills and Gutsy Olson, who were on the afternoon watch.

  Lieutenant (J. G.) Jim Cruiser walked up from the Second Squad area just as Brannigan came out to see what the hell was going on. He quickly noticed the approaching aircraft, and he called over to Dawkins. "Take the guys over to the UN medical tent, Senior Chief. Lieutenant Cruiser and I'll tag along."

  By the time the SEALs arrived at the UN camp, the C130 had landed and was taxiing up toward the tents. Dr. Bouchier appeared, and a look of relief flooded his features when he saw Brannigan's Brigands. "Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed. "I am so happy to see you. We have been under constant surveillance by the Dharyans." He signaled off to the side, and the vans immediately drove up and stopped. The drivers got out and opened the side doors.

  "Maintenant! " Dr. Bouchier said toward the tent flap. "Now!"

  The flap was brushed aside by an emerging nurse who held it open. The first of the Dharyan girls appeared, quickly followed by the others. They were pathetic looking young women, their eyes wide with fear as they nervously glanced around. Brannigan felt a surge of anger as he imagined these teenagers forced to endure the sexual cruelty of lusting, laughing mujahideen.

  "Vite!" Dr. Bouchier said, urging them to hurry.

  As the last girl emerged, another nurse followed. She counted off six for the first van and another six for the second. Suddenly a dozen men and boys of the Dharya Clan appeared around the tent. When they perceived what was going on, they let out a collective howl and surged forward to pull the girls from the vehicles.

  The SEALs went into action.

  The Dharyans were unarmed, so the Brigands left their CAR-15s slung over their backs. But they charged forward, and punched their way into the crowd of men. The smaller Dharyans were quickly overwhelmed, but their rage gave them enough strength to fight back savagely. Several tried to go around
or through the SEALs to grab at the women. Consequently, the SEALs got rougher and delivered sharp kicks to punctuate the pummeling.

  After a minute the Dharyans' fury subsided under the relentless pounding. They were eventually pushed back far enough that the vans could be started and driven out toward the aircraft. The C-130 sat with idling engines, ready to receive the panicky passengers.

  Several of the less injured Dharyans attempted to follow, running out toward the aircraft. But the swifter Americans caught up with them and gave them additional attitude adjustments via their fists. Within short moments the clansmen were down on the ground, getting some more kicking to make sure they stayed there. By then the first of the girls were out of the van and climbing into the interior of the fuselage.

  A minute or so later, when the aircraft engines roared to life, everyone--American and Dharyan alike--watched the C-130 roll along the ground, then begin a slow climb into the air. Brannigan spotted the clan chief, who was on his hands and knees. The Skipper grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, shaking the man violently in his rage.

  Bashar Dharain, knowing he'd been outsmarted, dropped back to the ground, touching his head to the earth. He began muttering in Pashto. Dr. Bouchier walked up, smiling. "He is giving up. The Pashtos call it nanawatey. ."

  "Yeah," Brannigan said. "I've heard of it. It's a kind of apology ceremony or some fucking thing."

  Warlord Hassan Khamami and Ahmet Kharani walked up with their entourage of bodyguards. Khamami smiled at Brannigan and spoke in his native tongue.

  The interpreter, who had been watching the melee, quickly translated. "The warlord asked if you now understand why he was so harsh with the Dharyans."

  Brannigan asked, "How do you say yes in Pashto?"

  The interpreter told him, and Brannigan looked over at Khamami. " Au! "

  Both Khamami and Kharani laughed aloud.

  .

  UN AID TEAM MESS TENT

  1900 HOURS LOCAL

  CHAD Murchison sat next to Penny Brubaker at the long table. A total of eighteen diners occupied the other places on the benches, waiting for the food to be served. It took the SEAL several moments to figure out that the picnic table was actually three separate ones, pushed together and covered by a large cloth. He felt strangely out of place among the civilians. They were of various nationalities, and he picked up snippets of conversation in French, German, Italian and Spanish. As a linguistic scholar, he was fluent in all four, so was able to eavesdrop with little trouble. Most of the talk involved their day-to-day work with the indigenous women and children. Evidently the UN people were enjoying a good reception from their patients and students, while making excellent progress in their work.

  The recently hired waiters, all teenage boys from the nearby village, suddenly appeared and began placing the dishes of food on the table. The menu for the evening was green tossed salad with Roquefort dressing, roast beef, fried potatoes, green beans and rolls. This was Chad's first chance in a long time to have a real meal of Western-style dishes, and he found the fare delicious beyond description. The chef was a Senegalese who had left a prestigious job in a four-star Paris restaurant to serve in the UN's humanitarian efforts.

  Penny had invited Chad to eat with her colleagues after learning that he and the SEALs were living on MREs. She would have liked to have invited the entire platoon over, but Dr. Bouchier rightfully figured it would be too big a strain on their food supply. He was absolutely correct. If the Brigands had come to eat, they would have easily left the UN personnel on half rations.

  The relief workers were polite but reserved toward the SEAL. These were hard-core, experienced people who were already anti-militaristic before leaving their native lands to serve humanity abroad. After enduring countless experiences of seeing people in the depths of absolute misery and despair, it was not surprising that their pacifist tendencies had been reinforced. This was mainly because much of this misery had been caused by military actions. Consequently, they had developed an animosity toward the soldiery of even democratic nations.

  The dining experience was a pleasant one for Chad and Penny, who found it a good opportunity to swap some more news about their old haunts. Although both had been away from home for a long time, they had garnered snippets of information through exchanges of letters with family and friends.

  .

  THE COUNTRYSIDE

  2010 HOURS LOCAL

  CHAD Murchison and Penny Brubaker walked side by side but did not make any attempts to hold hands. Although there was no real danger, Chad had strapped on his pistol belt with the 9-millimeter weapon, loaded with fifteen rounds and one in the chamber. There was always the chance that some disgruntled Dharyan still held a grudge about the young sex slaves. Chad's latest experiences in Afghanistan had taught him that Pashtuns were an unpredictable, wildly emotional people.

  Neither young person talked much during the initial minutes of the stroll, and Penny would glance at Chad with fond nervousness from time to time. Finally she blurted out, "It was a big mistake of me to take up with Cliff."

  Chad shrugged. "What the hell? He was a lot better looking than I. I couldn't blame you at the time."

  "There are different types of handsomeness," Penny said. "You were a cute boy, Chad." She sighed. "Oh m' God, I was such a stupid girl."

  "Pardon my cliche," Chad said, "but it's all water under the bridge. He was a varsity football hero and an older fellow. I accepted it and got on with my life."

  "He was a self-centered egotist," Penny said. "The fact he came from a wealthy family was the only thing that kept him from becoming a complete loser when his days of athletic glory came to an end."

  "What happened to him?" Chad asked, not really giving a damn.

  "His parents stuck him in a do-nothing job in the insurance company where his dad was the CEO. They completely dominated his life, and I knew that was what would happen to me. His mother actually began planning the wedding without allowing any input from my own mom or me. After three months of that, I broke the engagement."

  "I guess you knew what was best:' Chad remarked.

  "I went back to Boston to find you," she said. "I . . . I really wanted to see you, Chad. But I learned you'd joined the Navy and had become a SEAL. I was going to write you, but it occurred to me that you might not want me to."

  Once more a surge of the old romantic feelings flooded into Chad's heart. The emotions were triggered by the revelation that she had come back to Boston to find him. It was as if he had taken a giant leap back in time. His mind and passions removed him from the present.

  He stopped, then turned toward her. Penny looked at him expectantly. Chad took her in his arms and kissed her. This wasn't like the affectionate pecks he used to give; it was a full kiss with his arms tightening, drawing her closer. When he gently and reluctantly loosened the lip lock, she pressed her face into his chest. Chad noticed she was weeping.

  "What's the matter, Penny?"

  "I'm not a virgin," she sobbed. "Cliff was so insistent one night, and--"

  Chad, whose first time had been in a Tijuana whorehouse, gently placed his hand under her chin and raised her face. He kissed her again. "Water under the bridge."

  Then the hormones really kicked in.

  Chapter 23

  SEAL BIVOUAC

  6 SEPTEMBER

  BOREDOM and frustration weighed heavily on the Brigands. The rifle platoon from the 101st Airborne Division was taking care of overall security as well as maintaining defensive patrols around the area. The SEALs' watch bill shrunk to having only one man on duty at the CP except for Frank Gomez's commo watch. Unless an emergency situation flared up, the SEALs had nothing to do.

  This was bad enough under normal circumstances, but Brannigan's Brigands had just come through that series of harrowing experiences that included the battle near the Wadi Khesta Valley when they were certain their deaths were imminent. Their subconscious minds still reeled from those incidents.

  Bad episodes of fl
ashbacks come out of such ordeals. Consequently, Brannigan knew the platoon had to be kept busy at vigorous, demanding tasks to challenge them both physically and mentally. He quickly established a ball-busting PT program that consisted of endless repetitions of calisthenics that left the men breathing hard and sweating profusely. They were given time to get a gulp or two of water, then the day's workout culminated in a fast-paced five-mile gallop complete with chants done in cadence. An activity like that could relieve stress better than any of James Bradley's pills.

  After getting the men good and tired, the two chief petty officers conducted a series of classes on basic military subjects. It was not unlike preseason camp in the NFL, when the fundamentals were reviewed to keep old skills sharp and ready for the coming season's struggle on the gridiron.

  The only guys exempted from the programs were the ones who stood CP and commo watch.

  .

  BRANNIGAN'S CP

  0930 HOURS LOCAL

  LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan had been alerted via LASH by Bruno Puglisi, who was on duty at the CP. "You got some visitors coming, sir. One of 'em is the UN interpreter guy and the others is them ragheads whose asses we kicked yesterday. There ain't but three of 'em."

  "How does their mood seem, Puglisi?"

  "They ain't carrying any sticks or nothing," Puglisi replied. "I'll alert the senior chief and have the guys standing by."

  "Carry on," Brannigan said. He buckled his pistol belt around his waist and stepped through the tent flap. He could see the four men walking toward him. The interpreter gave a friendly wave as they approached.

  "What can I do for you?" Brannigan asked when they had arrived. He recognized the clan leader Bashar Dahrain.

  "Dr. Bouchier has asked me to escort these gentlemen to you," the interpreter said. "They wish to inquire as to the status of their women who were flown away."