Battleline (2007) (32 page)

Carey didn't waste any time with salutations or an introductory statement. He cut to the chase. "Mission statement," he announced. "You will do a mop-up operation on an Iranian Special Forces camp after it has been bombed and strafed by the Israeli Air Force."

The awe and shock at the announcement was shown on every face.

Carey continued, "I want to emphasize from the very get-go that this is a highly--I say again--a
highly
classified mission. It is illegal, immoral, and reprehensible." He paused and grinned. "In other words, right up your alley."

"Ha!" Puglisi said with a laugh. "What brought this shit down?"

"I'm just about to tell you, Petty Officer Puglisi," Carey said. "The Iranians have secretly--they think--reneged on engaging in negotiations regarding their Afghanistan and nuclear ambitions. They are planning a full-scale invasion of Afghanistan, complete with tanks, armored infantry units, self-propelled artillery, and close air support. They fully expect they can be hundreds of kilometers into the country before the coalition forces will be able to react."

Monty Sturgis, like the others, could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Where do the Israelis come in on this? Are we coordinating our efforts with them?"

"I'm sure they'll be provided with some sort of clandestine aid, but that's just my opinion," Carey answered. "But all that is separated completely from what you're going to do. They will inform us at the last minute of the exact time of their attack, and at that point you will board USAFSOC choppers for a quick trip into Iran to the site of the action."

Ensign Taylor was also not quite catching on. "Just exactly what is this 'mop-up' aspect of our mission?"

"Exactly that," Carey said. "You will unass the choppers, form up as skirmishers, and move through the mess the Israelis made. Your mission is to police up any EPWs among the survivors or anything that may be of interest to our intelligence people."

"How long are we expected to be on the ground?" CPO Matt Gunnarson asked.

"No more than twenty minutes," Carey replied. "The Air Force helicopters will be waiting for you with rotors turning. The Iranian Air Force will undoubtedly send some recon flights over to see what happened. So as soon as you've made your walk through the debris, return immediately to the aircraft for evacuation back to Afghanistan."

"What part of Afghanistan?" Dave Leibowitz wanted to know.

"The same place where you'll take off from," Carey said. "That will be the LZ behind your former positions where you faced the Zaheya forces. The Air Force is going to pick you up here on the
Daly's
flight deck."

"What're we gonna be toting in with us?" the SAW gunner Tex Benson asked. "Is any special equipment called for?"

"Everyone will carry one M-sixteen rifle, two bandoliers of ammo, and a canteen,"

Carey responded. "You'll leave the SAWs behind, along with the grenade launchers." He glanced over to where Puglisi and Miskoski sat. "No calls for snipers on this trip."

"Now, sir," Garth Redhawk said, "I know we're supposed to going in light, but I'm not the optimistic type. I'd like to bring along my personal medical kit, a two-quart canteen, a couple of MREs, and my compass."

Brannigan interjected, "That's a good idea. And any other small items you want. And I emphasize that means no real additional bulk or weight." He glanced at Carey. "How's that, sir?"

"Approved," Carey answered. "And as far as commo goes, you'll use the AN/PRC radios with LASH headsets. Forget any night vision stuff. This is strictly daylight. Any questions so far? Alright! Commander Berringer has some intel notes to run by you."

Berringer now took the floor. "You were told to look for items that would interest the intelligence community. I want you to consider the big picture, and by that I mean keep in mind the CIA and others. Look for documents, videotapes, CDs, books, letters, and those sorts of things that might be scattered around the area. If it's feasible and you run across dead officers, search their pockets. Tear insignia off uniforms so we can use them to figure out orders of battle and ID certain units. And above all, do your very best to get EPWs. And that includes wounded personnel who would survive being carried back to the choppers. And I have these." He held up a handful of pamphlets. "These are charts showing the Iranian Army's insignia of ranks that I'm going to pass out to you. If you see anybody wearing shoulder straps, check carefully to see if they can be evacuated. And if they're sporting stars and wings on the epaulets, bring 'em back, dead or alive. Those would be generals, and I suppose there's a chance there might be one or two out there. It's plain and simple, and you guys have been around enough to recognize what is needed."

Carey took over again. "That's it. There's nothing left to do until we get the word when to move out. The Israelis are playing their cards close to their chests, so we won't know when they'll launch the air strike until the last minute. Commander Berringer and I will stay aboard the
Daly,
and if we get additional information, we'll pass it on to you ASAP." He nodded to the Skipper. "Lieutenant Brannigan wants a word with you now."

"Right," Brannigan said. "We're down to twenty-four guys now, so we have to reorganize. I'm going to wait until we're on standby over at our former base camp to shuffle you guys around. It's going to take a bit of doing, but be ready for changes. And remember! These assignments are not negotiable."

"Okay," Carey said. "I'll leave you guys to it. We'll be in constant touch with you."

He and Berringer left the compartment, and all eyes were turned to Brannigan. The Skipper gestured to Buford Dawkins. "Under the new setup you're the detachment chief. Get the ball rolling."

"Aye, sir!" Dawkins responded. He turned to the others. "Alright! Let's go, people!"

"Hey!" Bruno Puglisi yelled. "Where the hell are them box lunches?"

CHAPTER
21

IRANIAN SF CAMP

THE principal officers who had been commanders in the now defunct Zaheya Force were ecstatic. After the long weeks of being nothing but glorified squad leaders in a clandestine struggle that was going nowhere, they had finally been assigned to meaningful command positions in an important upcoming combat operation in which they would spearhead nothing less than a full-blown invasion. And to make things even sweeter for Captains Naser Khadid and Jamshid Komard, they had been promoted to the rank of major. Komard was not assigned a larger unit to lead, but he was advanced from being Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah's adjutant to the post of chief of staff. This was a prestigious assignment in which he would wear a bright yellow aiguillette attached to his left epaulet as indication of his important new position.

Major Arsalaan Sikes, while not promoted, was given the command of no less than forty tracked infantry fighting vehicles, which meant he would lead a total of ten platoons consisting of more than 520 men. His vehicles were MT-LBs, which had formerly been in the Soviet Army's inventory but had been mothballed for a decade after loan to East Germany. Each had a driver and gunner and could transport eleven infantry soldiers. Sikes Pasha truly felt he was back on the career track to the glory he had dreamed about since his desertion from the British Army.

Newly promoted Major Khadid now had fifty vehicles under his command. These were self-propelled 2S3 Akatsiyas howitzers, which sported both a 152-millimeter main gun and a 7.62-millimeter antiaircraft machine gun. The TO of this newly activated unit gave Khadid a bit more than 400 men, including both the weapons crews and a small command and service unit to aid in the logistics and administration of the equipment-heavy outfit. This command would take him out of Special Forces and into the conventional segment of the Iranian Army, but he could rightly expect to make quick rank either during or immediately after the invasion of Afghanistan. That, of course, would also mean an even more prestigious place in the national army's chain of command.

But the happiest of those old sweats from Zaheya was Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah. Along with the outfits of Sikes and Khadid, his expanded command responsibilities now included an entire battalion of T-72 tanks. Like Sikes' IFVs and Khadid's SPAs, these armored vehicles had begun their service life as part of the Soviet Union's army before transfer to East Germany's armed forces. This new development meant Khohollah would be leading a grand total of sixty-four of the armored monsters, along with a Headquarters and service battalion, making his spearhead invasion force number 2,500 men, along with all those vehicles. This was not a large command when compared with other great land battles, but was enough to punch deep into Afghanistan. And a strong combined arms corps-size force would be coming right behind them to mop up and consolidate the gains. After that the operation would turn south, into Pakistan. And that would mean a division or corps would be placed at the brigadier's disposal.

The great invasion was set for 20 September.

.

HARRY TURPIN'S QUARTERS

13 SEPTEMBER

HARRY Turpin was seventy years old, and he looked every day of it plus a hell of a lot more. The old Cockney was tired. Decades of bartering international arms deals with the risks, stresses, and uncertainties were finally taking their toll. No less than a dozen contracts had been taken out on his life by rivals, and that didn't include government agents from nations that had grown disenchanted with some of the deals he had made with their enemies. These unpleasant individuals had been charged with assassinating him, and had come close to succeeding half a dozen times.

In fact, the whole arms dealing business had become more complicated in the past decade, what with computers keeping track of transactions and having permanent, accurate entries in their databases. This electronically stored information had caused a couple of his less than honest arrangements to collapse when certain facts surfaced at very inopportune moments.

Of course, there had been good times too. Harry owned villas in Switzerland and Italy, not to mention luxurious hideaways in Singapore and Monaco. The arms broker had never been lacking for the companionship of beautiful women. He had even had spasms of romantic affections in which he kept some particularly charming and beautiful females with exotic sexual talents stowed away in deluxe apartments in several European capital cities. One of these affairs lasted almost a year, but eventually ended, like all the others, when he paid for a final six months of residence, a rather generous farewell bonus, and some lavish presents. Harry wasn't required to be so generous, but he had a soft side to him when it came to his sexual playmates, even if he wasn't really in love with any of them.

But as the years passed, he began to have spells of erectile dysfunction. Of course, the several drugs available to jump-start his lovemaking abilities took care of that small problem. Lately, however, he had begun not to care when those old desires couldn't be satisfied, and this was mainly because he wasn't having too many of those erotic cravings. The passing of several decades had brought about a "been there, done that" attitude on his part when it came to sexual liaisons with women.

This last deal for the Iranians, with all the preparation, bribery, cajoling, threats, and logistical nightmares of gathering up infantry fighting vehicles, self-propelled artillery, and those goddamned tanks, had really drained the old boy. The officers of the Ukrainian and Russian armies were a rotten bunch and very difficult to set decent prices with. He had to admit this Iranian caper was the crowning achievement of his entire arms-dealing career, but it left him spiritually exhausted. The millions of Euros he made on the transactions soothed his anguish to a great degree, but he finally reached a conclusion: Things were getting too big and too complicated for even the great Harry Turpin to handle alone.

.

2300 HOURS

HARRY had a special guest that evening. Archibald Sikes--he would never be Arsalaan or Sikes Pasha to his compatriot-had been invited over to take pleasure in something he hadn't enjoyed in a long, long time.

English beer!

Harry had several cases of Tetley's with him that were neatly stacked in the rear of his tent. The crates that held them were labeled with the Farsi words
"mive ab,"
so that any casual glance by an Iranian Muslim would make him think the Englishman had brought in some fruit juice. Even though the arms dealer had done a lot of business with the Iranians in the past, he still had to be careful about bringing alcohol into one of their military garrisons. Imbibing was seriously frowned on in the Islamic religion, and even enjoying a few brews by himself was considered taboo.

It was because of this that he had invited Sikes over at such a late hour. They could safely enjoy a few pints if they kept the lantern turned low, the tent flaps shut, and their conversation quiet. Sikes seated himself in a camp chair.

Englishmen prefer to drink their beer warm, so there was no need to ice down the goodies. Sikes seemed almost orgasmic as he took the first few tentative sips. After smacking his lips, he quickly consumed three deep gulps.