Chapter 8

Mission Two, Day Seven, 3 km Southwest of Sapparai Kandao, Afghanistan

The pass, or rather a saddle on the ridge of the White Mountain range, was about 3200 meters altitude. O’Brien stopped the column of the nine animals - seven Marines and two donkeys, just inside the trees above the main side canyon. The trees were grouped along the ridges at the bottom of the ‘Y’ formed by two ravines radiating from the ridge-line.

“Pistol, scout the western OP. I’ll take the east OP.”

“If they’re both occupied?”

O’Brien opined his thoughts in his best, but subdued, Donald Sutherland voice, “Negative waves, man. Always with the negative waves.”

“I don’t know what’s worse, boss. Your quoting ‘Oddball’ as a tactical option, or your ‘Oddball’ impression with a Texas accent. But your beard almost supports your impression...”

O’Brien stroked his week-old reddish-brown beard. “Whatever. I’m thinkin the Paki border guards are probably sleep-walkin. Other than hajis fuckin goats, nothing ever happens at the top of these mountains. If Troi and Spock are quiet, we’ll be across the border and several clicks into Afghanistan before they’re able to react to any sensors they got.”

“If they shoot at us?”

“We get our ass across the border and find a rock to hide behind or into the trees or whatever.”

Cheeseburger chimed in with his whatifs per Pistochini’s ‘negative waves’. “What if the Pakis pursue us into Afghan territory?”

“We turn around and assault through their shit with the two guns covering. In any case, once those fuckers react, noise discipline then becomes shit, so we can haul ass down the north side of the mountains. Was gonna talk later about contingencies. Now is a good time as any...”

The next twenty minutes were IAs for contingencies, fields of fire at various positions for each side of the border, and longer term plans for an exfil path into Afghanistan if O’Brien and/or Pisotchini were to become incapacitated.

“ ... any more issues?” Nothing was heard from either the Marines or the donkeys. “Okay, unload Troi and Spock. Pistol, wanna look at Troi’s hooves? I’ll do Spock.”

The five urban Marines watched the two rural Marines perform equine maintenance with interest. The troops’ interest in the operation were piqued when Pistochini and O’Brien softly talked to their respective donkeys. They were dumbfounded to hear a kind and gentle inflection in their voice. The revelation of a compassionate side to their NCOs was reminiscent of their boot camp experience where, or at least during the last day of boot camp, the drill instructors talked to their charges almost like a human.

“Everyone hit the rack for a few hours. We’ll go around 2400.”

Pistochini and O’Brien stood next to the donkeys and watched as the troops pulled out their second pair of frogs and gloves to prepare for additional warmth, then searched for a place to lay. As the Marines slipped in slumber, Spock arced his head towards O’Brien. O’Brien removed his glove and placed his hand on the head, between the donkey’s ears as Spock exhaled a long sigh of seeming contentment.

Pistochini looked over at O’Brien and Spock. “Shit, boss. You never scratch behind my ears.”

“I can do you better ... Sit down ... close your eyes and listen to my voice, only my voice. Think about breathing...”

O’Brien and Pistochini meditated for almost an hour, very much aware of their fucked up world, but temporarily isolated above and free of the stressors that constantly emanate from life outside the wire.

Shortly after 2330, O’Brien sent Pistochini to roust the troops while he worked on loading Spock. Then he went to work with duct tape and parachute cord and three grenades.

“What’s that?”

“A welcome package for anyone that pursues us on the way down the mountain. Did something like this ‘bout three years ago ... Ya got an MRE foil package?”

“Yeah, I’ll get it...”

Mission Two, Day Eight

Pistochini did not like their position as it was downhill in a direct line-of-sight from the small building to their west, and there were few trees along the south face of the mountain ridge to provide cover for their crossing. Hartman, Pistochini, and O’Brien had watched the building from various vantage points for over 25 minutes; nothing was seen and nothing was heard. The OP site to the east, in contrast, was dimly lit and movement was noted by a light being momentarily occluded. As the site was about 100 meters above and a kilometer distance, the more distant OP was not a short-term concern.

The final 30 meters of vertical distance, and over 100 meters of horizontal distance, to the top of the ridge was open and devoid of trees, or any other plant life. O’Brien put the troops on-line in two staggered rows, with the two donkeys on the right side being led by Pistochine and Hartman; he wanted everyone across and down the ridge together.

After a few meters down hill, O’Brien gave the reins of Spock to Pistochini and pulled the string of three grenades hanging in an ad-hoc loop around his neck and on his molle. Taping the MRE foil bright side out to a rock, then taping the end of the parachute cord to the rock, O’Brien lay the string of grenades next to the reflective shine of the ‘attractor’ rock.

After the summit, the Marines followed O’Brien and Spock at a Northwest angle to intersect a drainage path that led to a side canyon that sloped down to the North into a larger canyon that drained to the Northwest. For the first 100 meters into Afghanistan, a minority of the Marines had concluded that the border crossing had gone undetected; at least until the bright magnesium light of a parachute-connected flare round illuminated a 20 meter radius above the fleeing group. The Marines, per the IA for this particular contingency, spread out and scrambled down the mountain slope for the top of the tree-line on the Afghan side of the range.

Grabbing the cheek piece of the donkey bridles, O’Brien and Pistochini pulled Spock and Troi about 30 meters past the tree line and secured their animals to the nearest tree. As the two donkey-whisperers returned to their line of troops, about a dozen soldiers crossed over the ridge line and started down-slope. Troi, smelling the solicitude and disquiet of the Marines, voice her own unease with a loud and sharp bray.

After hearing Troi’s comment, O’Brien struggled for a second to find the unfamiliar G3’s select lever to make ready. The two, presumably, Pakistani soldiers on the right side commenced firing towards the perceived direction of the well-articulated donkey.

O’Brien returned fire, knocking down two soldiers. A second later, the three grenades exploded when a curious soldier picked up the brightly-covered rock which pulled the tape from the spoons. Two soldiers went down from the grenade blast, with one or two more limping from shrapnel wounds or the blast.

The remaining soldiers continued down the North slope of the mountains. The forward assault on the Marines’ position induced O’Brien to free all weapons. “Fire at will!”

The soldiers were now the group caught in the open, resulting in their leader’s panic and releasing all to fire. The soldiers all commenced firing into the tree line as the Marines methodically reduced their count with a minimal expense of ammo.

Standing over the two nearby bodies, O’Brien was pissed. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Did not want the shoot Paki soldiers. We’re so fucked!”

During O’Brien’s exhortations, Pistochini examined the bodies. “Boss, look at this. Some of them are fucking ANAs.”

“What the fuck?!?”

“Yeah, and others have the Pakistani army insignia. Fucking weird, sarge.”

“Damn. Jammer, Digger! Cover us. Everybody else search the bodies for papers, IDs, and electronic equipment. Do it!”

Four Marines converged on a dozen bodies, ripping open clothes with their ka-bars and tossing aside vests and weapons and munitions. All of the dead had IDs - most were Pakistani, but three were ANAs. The resultant collection yielded two cell phones, a radio, a small plastic box with an LCD and two toggle switches, and a notebook. O’Brien returned the electronic devices to Hartman. “Cheeseburger, remove the batteries and pack ‘em up.”

“Boss! We have visitors coming from down the hill from the east!”

O’Brien and Pistochini glassed the area. They detected group movement that had originated from the other OP further up the ridge, but it was too dark for a head-count or to assess their arms.

“Vamos people! Now. Don’t wait for me. I’ve got the animals. Fuckin go!”

Pistochini led five Marines to the Northwest, down into the nearest ravine, while O’Brien ran into the trees to retrieve Spock and Troi. Freeing the donkeys’ reins, O’Brien stepped in front of the animals’ faces to make a plea.

“Look guys, we’re in another shit sandwich. Both of you, mostly you Troi, have gotta keep it going. You guys gotta help me. Okay?”

O’Brien dropped the reins lightly stroked above the nostrils of his two furry charges, then gently wrapped his arm around Spock’s neck. Spock snuffled and Troi voiced a quiet ‘honk’. Satisfied with their acknowledgment, Sgt O’Brien tied a two meter section of parachute cord from Spock’s pack lash to Troi’s rein. O’Brien exited the trees and headed down the mountain to the Northwest. The two animals did not balk and did their best to keep up with O’Brien. After reaching the opening to the first canyon about a kilometer down the mountain, O’Brien dropped the reins and simply walked downhill with Spock closely following his favorite human with Troi in tow.

After two kilometers down the canyon, O’Brien held up Spock. O’Brien was uncertain if the Pakistani OP personnel would pursue into Afghan territory, and he wanted eyes on his Marines. Dropping his pack in front of Spock, O’Brien started up the North side of the canyon wall for a better view back to the South. Spock, did not understand that this was but a way point and attempted to follow O’Brien up the 70 degree canyon wall.

Unable to climb the slope, Spock snorted in frustration, worried about being abandoned by the ‘good’ human. Climbing about 10 meters above the canyon floor, O’Brien had a line of sight up the mountain, over 500 meters to the South, but the ambient light and shadows did not provide detail. Looking down the mountain to the North did not reveal his Marines.

Re-joining the two animals, Spock expressed his happiness and his concern about being abandoned by pushing his head against O’Brien’s side. Putting an arm around Spock’s neck, O’Brien assauged the animal’s fears. O’Brien was Reasonably certain that he was not being pursued, so he broke out the canvas bag and lightly watered both Troi and Spock. “Ya know what Spock? If ya called Scotty, we could beam up and leave that whiny Troi here.” Spock look at O’Brien as if he was giving the idea due consideration.

Pistochini stopped above the mouth of the side canyon, where it emptied into a larger valley, generally running east/west. Directly ahead and to the Northwest were terraced crops. Further west was small agricultural settlement.

“Cheeseburger, let’s stop here, get into those trees ... Jammer, back up the canyon. Go to the East wall to keep watch back up the canyon and West into the valley. Everyone else spread out. Put batteries back in the radios. We’ll wait for the boss here.”

Pistochini did not want to walk past the houses during dark, and he did not want to go further without Sgt O’Brien. Pistol leaned against a weird, at least to him, tree that looked to be a cross between olive and oak trees.

Hearing his radio key, Pistochini stood. “Corporal, we got movement about 200 meters up the canyon, just past that ‘S’ curve. Might be the boss.”

“Roger that. Give me a positive ID when you can. Break. Everybody else except Digger up on the lip of the bend. If that’s not Sergeant O’Brien, we’ll give them a warm welcome to Afghanistan.”

As the canyon drainage shifted towards the west, then a hair-pin curve back to the East, O’Brien could feel the wind shift. The smell of agriculture quickly became the dominating scent. As the canyon’s orientation continued its sharp curve, he was again traveling North, into a wider and more level drainage.

As the canyon’s width increased, the wind became intermittent and confused. Both Troi and Spock reacted to the constantly changing scents with unease and head-bobbing, not unnoticed by O’Brien. The animals were led to the west canyon wall where their journey was paused.

Walking the short distance to the next bend in the canyon drainage, O’Brien slowly scanned the low, broad elevated section to his north. Noting how the area controlled access to both directions of the canyon, O’Brien recognized it as an ideal ambush site. He figured that either the Taliban or his Marines could be among the rocks and brush along the lip of the rise. Further recalling that the Afghan villages along the foothill and base of the White Mountains were not tango sympathizers, O’Brien decided to make his progress down the canyon more obvious, as it would likely be his Marines lying in wait.

Returning to the west canyon wall, O’Brien gave a low whistle to get Spock’s attention. Approaching the two donkeys, O’Brien stopped to observe the animals’ reaction. Spock bobbed his head once before started to walk to the human, towing Troi in the process. O’Brien’s smiled as he was reminded of his childhood dog and horse. And Spock was greeted as such by O’Brien upon reaching his location.

“Miss me, Spock? Let’s go find our people.” O’Brien stroked above Spock’s nostrils. As he turned 180 to continue down the canyon, ‘his’ donkey dutifully followed in the Marine’s wake with Troi being towed along.

The Marines aligned on the lip of the canyon’s wash did not miss that the lead donkey was following Sgt O’Brien like a dog. O’Brien stopped in the middle of the canyon floor to stand in front of lower canyon wall that sloped into the valley just below. A brief look down the top of the wall did not reveal anything obvious, but O’Brien knew that his people were there. He was careful not to exhibit pride, but his confidence in the platoon increased more than incrementally. Their selection of sites and apparent planning exhibited a level of tactical maturity simply not found in a group of junior Marines on their first hitch.

Facing the south wall, he pointed down the canyon then gave the signal for a rally point. Pistochini instructed the Marines, as they carefully backed down from the lip of the canyon wall, to re-assemble inside the tree line where the canyon drains into the broader valley. Pistol, more than happy to finally see his sergeant, walked about 30 meters east to enter the canyon in an intercept with O’Brien’s course.

“We’re set up just above a farming community. Didn’t want to walk through it during dark, so here we wait broken-hearted.” Pistochini quickly strode to Troi to greet his whiny donkey. Troi responded to its favorite human with a ridiculous wag of its small tail and a snorted breath. Disconnecting Troi’s rein from the parachute cord, he pulled the donkey abreast of O’Brien and Spock.

“Good site selection, Pistol. Anything of interest in that local farm area?”

“Nada, boss. Less than an hour before sunrise. Want to go then?”

“Dunno. Probably. Let’s look around. Getting light enough to look at shit.”

“Anyone following you?”

“Nope. But Spock detected y’all while in that 180 bend.” O’Brien petted down the front of the donkey’s face. “This guy knows his shit. Troi, not so much; but he knows enough to follow Spock.”

The sun was not above the surrounding mountains, but the valley was well illuminated. A few goats and chickens were the only source of movement. The scene was pastoral, and if not for the knowledge that this was Afghanistan, the vista would be quite relaxing.

“Let’s wait until we see some people outside. Take the loads off of them. Have the troops crash. And we’ll water and feed these guys.”

As the Marines found suitable spots beneath the trees to sleep, Pistochini and O’Brien unloaded the donkeys then resumed watch over the valley.

“How much of the DIA money ya got?”

“Most of it. Ninety Euro. Why?”

“I put the ten note I had for that grain. Reckon we’re gonna have to buy horse feed at least twice more to get back to the FOB.”

“Shit, boss. You’re over-paying. They’d probably be fucking estatic with five Euro note.”

“Whatever. What if just you and me approach those buildings, with the donkeys not loaded and wearing only pistols, and ask to feed our two boys?”

“Why?”

“One - don’t wanna walk up to these people with a nasty-lookin military pack-full of shit. Two - wanna hide our troop count. And three - wanna see what they do after we buy some grain then go back up that canyon.”

“Think they’re Taliban or Isis supporters?”

“Dunno. The spook intel says the villages in this area are okay and are Karzai people. But the Major did show me a report that said Pakistan’s ISI has some influence in the area.”

“Who fucking knows, boss. These farmers should not be considered idiots. They’re probably playing both sides.”

“Yep, wouldn’t be surprised ... How many water tabs we got?”

“We all started out with that package of fifteen. I have nine. Think that most of have ten. Why?”

“Just doin the arithmetic. Dunno about transport back. We have another 60 to 80 clicks to hump if we cannot get a truck for these two. I’ve decided that they’re comin back with us.”

O’Brien, for no particular reason, hid two grenades on his back, hanging from his molle straps. Carrying only M9s with three extra mags, Pistochini and O’Brien exited the trees after 0800, their donkeys in tow. Heading first to the South then turning Northwest down the valley to the small agricultural village, mostly to mask their origin. The other five Marines took up various positions overlooking the valley and the two adjacent canyons that drained into the valley.

After a short walk, O’Brien stopped at an area enclosed by an embankment, apparently used as a corral for goats. As several supposedly Afghani males approached, one looked to be an elder while the other two appeared middle-aged. A juvenile male followed the three Afghans out but remaining next to the main building of the settlement. O’Brien smiled and said, “sahar mo pakher”. The most close afghani nodded but did not reply.

O’Brien pulled the grain bag off of Spock, reached in, then presented his palm filled with grain feed. The ‘front’ man remained expressionless until Pistochini pulled a ten Euro note out of his front pocket.

“I speak English. You are American?”

“Yes sir. We need feed grain and water for our donkeys.”

“We can fill your bags. Take water from the cistern. Give the money to the chief.”

Handing Spock’s reins to Pistochini, O’Brien carefully approached the old man, offering the Euro note. The elder slowly retrieved the money.

“You came from Pakistan?”

O’Brien saw no use in not responding truthfully to this particular question.

“Yes. We came across the mountains to return to Afghanistan.”

“You were lost?”

“No, we were hiding from Taliban.”

The English-speaker remained neutral in both expression and verbal intonation.

“You may fill bags. Follow me.”

The village speaker shouted something, not in Pashto, to the child, whom ran across the corral, returning with a shovel.

O’Brien filled the grain bags with, by his estimation, about 10kg of feed grain, while Pistochini filled the canvas water bags.

“Thank you for your hospitality. We may return through your village in a few days. Can you recommend the best route to Jalalabad?”

The speaker’s expression flashed a momentary surprise. “It would be seventy or eighty kilometers. Continue west for ten kilometers until end of the canyon, then follow the canyon North to Laghar Juy, where the road begins. Then Dawani then Bati. You can get transport for the last twenty to forty kilometers at Dawani or Bati.”

O’Brien faced the elder, “Dera manana.” Then turned to the English speaker, “thank you very much, sir.”

O’Brien and Pistochini quickly secured the donkey loads and turned Southeast at a brisk pace. Striding up the canyon for almost two km, past the hair-pin turn, they halted in the canyon bend, screened from the North and South views. Pulling out their radios, O’Brien was not able to raise Malone or any other of his troops. Pistol climbed up the North canyon wall to get a clear line-of-sight for communications.

“Cheeseburger, this is Pistol.”

Roger, Pistol. Go.”

“We’re in the 180 curve. Status of village?”

“Normal farm stuff until about 20 mike when male child took off running east up the valley.”

“Destination?”

“Don’t know. We lost him as he turned South and climbing out of canyon.”

“Roger. Standby. Maintain over-watch.”

Pistonchini descended back down about 5 meters to call O’Brien.

“The boy ran to the east then headed south out of the valley.”

“Yep. I’m guessin he’s the messenger to that Paki border OP.”

The Marines had been in place for, essentially, the entirety of the day. They were at the brink of abandoning their canyon bend over-watch positions when the sharp noise of scrambling rocks and sudden laughter broke the mountain calm. After another ten minutes, The Marines on the lip of the lower canyon wall were able to see the head of the haji column.

The level of incredulity was beyond a simple suspension of disbelief for O’Brien’s and his Marines. The mix of Pakistani and ANA troops in the column was stacked tight. There were 18 to 20 soldiers spaced so close that they were intermittently touching each other as they threaded through one of the more narrow passages of the canyon. Even worse, or better for the Marines, there was no tactical awareness. The column was not maintaining situational awareness and were talking among themselves.

O’Brien, seeing the number of haji soldiers, was not happy with the number of magazines of 7.62 NATO ammo remaining for his purloined G3. Three full plus one partial magazine would have to do. Pistochini’s ammo status was similar. But because Pistochini and O’Brien were at the base of the ‘L’ ambush, their ammo requirements were, in theory, less the the main body of the ambush.

As the last member of the column passed the second bend, Hartman had counted 19 hajis. As the first person entered the choke-point below the two Marines, immediately over the canyon bend, three M40 shots rang out after the third keying click over the Marines’ comm sets, with the three hajis dropping in place, immediately followed by two M249s raking the length of the column. The ANAs and Paki soldiers wildly fired towards the top of both canyon walls.

As Pistochini and O’Brien commenced firing into the disorganized and frantic array, the few experienced soldiers recognized the structure of the ambush and forced their way forward to the only possible cover - about 10 meters down the canyon. Three soldiers ran forward while the remainder of their diminishing number continued to fire wildly into the canyon walls. O’Brien scrambled down and jumped the last three meters to the canyon floor to assault through the rear of the remaining column.

Shooting the two aft-most surviving members of the canyon, O’Brien continued his forward progress. Shooting another, O’Brien’s bolt locked to the rear. Dropping his rifle to pull his pistol, O’Brien looked into the muzzle of an AK as he was bringing his M9 to bear. A sudden sharp pop of another pistol from behind O’Brien rang out. O’Brien felt the pressure of the muzzle blast from behind as he watched the haji’s last shots impact the canyon wall to his left. Knowing that his corporal had saved his stupid ass, O’Brien moved forward, stopping to retrieve the G3 rifle of a fallen Pakistani soldier, then removing a magazine from his body. Pistochini repeated O’Brien’s action pilfering from a body further up the column of dead and dying bodies.

The withering fire from the side of the canyon continued uninterrupted, following the last five surviving members of the haji column as they fled to a covered position. Reaching a truck-sized boulder, the hajis’ only available immediate action to the staccato, but constant impact of bullets was to plaster their bodies to the bottom of the boulder. This, of course, enabled an unrestricted and exposed path for O’Brien and Pistochini to the side of the haji’s covering boulder.

As Pistochini shot the two partially exposed soldiers at the side of the boulder, O’Brien switched to full auto and sporadically fired into the canyon wall behind the boulder, attempting to get the calamitous survivors via a ricochet. O’Brien’s tactic rapidly produced fruit, evidenced by the two surviving hajis tossing rifles onto the canyon floor.

O’Brien dropped, yet another, G3 rifle to pull his pistol. Pistochini rolled his eyes as he held his borrowed G3 at ready while the two hajis exited from behind the boulders, arms held high. Malone was the first Marine on the scene from the main ambush body, peering through his pistol sights, held in a serious weaver stance, with a slight pressure on the trigger.

Turning to his troop, “Digger, cap the fuckers if they twitch.” Being careful not to interfere with any covering firing lane, O’Brien approached the Pakistani soldier wearing sergeant stripes, turned the man to face the canyon wall, then slammed his boot into the back of the Paki sergeant’s knees. As the sergeant collapsed to his knees, O’Brian again kicked the soldier in the small of his back, severely stunning the man when his face impacted the rock outcropping to his front.

O’Brien took advantage of the soldier’s dazed state for a quick pat-down, subsequently finding and removing a knife. As O’Brien was about to search the second survivor, he noted movement from behind the boulder.

“We got survivors, watch these two fuckers. Try not to kill that sergeant. We need to talk to him...”

Pulling his ka-bar, O’Brien approached behind the boulder, measuring each step with a line of sight to the prone bodies. The two hajis with wounds not yet fatal had rolled over and were moaning incoherently. Both hajis seemed to be ANAs per their uniforms. O’Brien guessed that both were within 24 hours of death and that neither were in any condition to be questioned. Their misery was ended at the point and cutting edge of a ka-bar.

A Marine remained above the canyon for over-watch, as three Marines, without grace, scrambled and slid down the canyon wall from the northwest.

“People, let’s get these fucking bodies searched. Disassemble and slam the AKs, collect the G3s and the ammo. Ya’ll know the drill.” O’Brien faced the opposite canyon wall to call the over-watch.

“Crammer, see anything?”

“Two hajis exited the main house about 5 mike ago. Just standing outside the hatch. Nothing else, boss.”

“Roger that. What’s your ammo status?”

“Nada, boss. Half a belt, then its my last five mags.”

“Okay. Standby.”

“Digger, what ya got for ammo?”

“Another ‘nada’, boss. No belts. Six mags.”

“Well, fuckin dogshit...” Turning the volume up a notch, “listen up, people. everyone grab a G3 and all the ammo ya can find ... Jammer?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Get that fuckin repeater and find something open. Tell control we shot up an Paki patrol that was over five clicks into Afghani territory, and that we need to extract some potentially high-value prisoners. Don’t tell those assholes our location, because we fuckin know that they will know as soon as that repeater talks to a sat.”

“Aye, boss.”

The team’s radios popped with a sudden transmission. “Boss, we got movement.”

“What ya got, Crammer?”

“The boy just returned from the west, all three went inside then exited with AKs. Looks like they’re going to head up the canyon.”

“Roger that. Advise when tangos go into first bend ... Break. Pistol, can you see in the bend?”

“Negative, boss. I can move about 100 meters northwest to get eyes.”

“That’s a nope. Continue with the sat connection.”

O’Brien turned around to find his troops waiting to receive orders.

“Cheeseburger, set up on top of that outcropping. If no eyes around the bend, go further north or go up. You’re gonna put a round or two at the feet of the lead haji when I say to. Pistol, tie up these two assholes and take everyone else up that northwest canyon wall. Wanna take the se habla ingles guy alive. Don’t care about the other two; they’re comin with rifles, so fuck ‘em ... Let’s go!”

O’Brien watched his troops getting their gear ready to, once again, climb up a canyon wall to an ambush position.

“Crammer, what ya got?”

“Looks like they’re about to turn into the canyon.”

“When they enter the canyon, go North along the ridge. Find a position that will be behind the hajis as they come outa the bend.”

“Roger that boss, and just lost them. They’re in the canyon and looking sorta tactical.”

O’Brien almost laughed at Mybar’s ‘sorta tactical’ descriptor. Pistochini caught O’Brien’s half grin and shrugged in reply. O’Brien, collected two more magazines for yet another purloined G3 rifle then found himself next to the bound and prone haji prisoners, so he kicked both of them in their sides for general purposes. Satisfied with the result, he claimed a spot behind a small boulder that provided cover from a northerly approach and took a knee in a patient wait.