Chapter 6

Bravo Company CP, Afghanistan

Mission Day 1

Pistochini’s team members had their packs ‘decomposed’ so as to display the contents. The team talked quietly among them selves while their sergeant quickly scanned their equipment.

“Charles, get a roll of duct tape ... and you might want to put three of your M14 mags and the four M9 mags at the bottom of your pack ... also...”

After several thumps, the plywood hatch flew open when two Marines pushed a civilian through the opening. Pistochini pointed to a cot away from his team.

“Put your gear there, Mr. Acorn. Charles, get that roll of tape and secure his gear. That pack looks like a fucking noise bomb.”

As his team was putting their gear back together, the CIA field officer, obviously over-acting with his best attempt at obsequious behavior, “Sergeant, when am I to be issued a rifle?”

“You will not have a rifle during this mission, sir. We will provide an M9 rig with one loaded magazine. The magazine may be inserted, but there will be no round in the chamber. The pistol will be secured in the outer pack flap pocket, and will not be worn unless I authorize. If you pull the pistol out without being told to, my team members have orders to put a bullet in your head.”

Pistochini handed the M9 and its rig to Charles. Charles checked the chamber, allowed the slide to go home, then inserted a magazine into the well. Charles handed the holster rig to Acorn, who put the pistol in the outer pocket of his pack.

“Mr Acorn, when we leave the compound, you will remain in the column, behind Charles and myself. If you lose contact with Charles or myself, wait for Corporal Vera, then follow him. If you violate sound or light discipline, we will end you. Let’s go, people.”

Turning to the four marines that were assigned as ‘guards’ for the team and Acorn, Pistochini looked at them as if to remember them well and said, “Use the cots if you want, two shall stand watch at a time. Do not leave this building until 0600. If someone leaves the hutch before 0600, the others will immediately inform Gunny Rogers ... if any of you fuck this up, I’ll have Gunny Rogers put all of you on perpetual shit-burning detail for the fucking duration...”, then turning back to his team, “Ok people, Charles will lead to first way point. Five to ten meter spacing, no talking until first way-point. Any questions?”

Turning out the lights, they filed out into the night.

Pistochini was still concerned that he was embarking one or two days too early - mostly because the moon had just past the first quarter phase and would not be at a decent illumination percentage and angles for the intended route. The initial part of the route was familiar to Pistochini, Doc Sanders, and Charles. Charles had selected a good path on the first mountain ridge which resulted in making excellent time. Pistol was somewhat surprised that the CIA officer had no problems maintaining the pace.

Going down the back-side of the second ridge, about half-way to the way point, Charles froze and crouched. Pistochini crouched and started scanning in the general direction that Charles was observing. Pistochini knew that his mission could not tolerate any additional weird shit. They needed to be at that first way-point before sunrise. When Pistochini could not see shit, he could have smacked himself in the head for not having a pair of NVGs ready to go. A muted sound of a rock being kicked over centered everyone’s attention. A sudden burst of sound and motion came from a mountain goat as it rapidly traversed the slope at an orthogonal angle to the line of men. Charles stood up, looked back at Pistol, shrugged his shoulders, then continued the lead at the same pace while wondering about the taste of a mountain goat.

Having descended into the next canyon, Charles stopped to scan the canyon floor and up the other side. Charles knew he was supposed to go straight across and climb out to west, then straight down. He cussed himself for not properly negotiating the loose rocks covering the mountain. Charles could not understand how mountain goats run on the loose ramble.

Just as he was about to crest the slope, Charles noticed the sudden change in wind direction and wind smell. He silently mouthed a ‘what the fuck?’ There was an 180 degree wind change in less than a minute, and the wind smelled wet. Charles crouched down and Pistochini signaled ‘hold’ to the team. Scanning the dark slopes down and to the east, Charles saw nothing. Pistochini crawled up next to him and pointed to the southeast on next slope up, about 400 to 500 meters away. Another mountain goat, or something else four-legged, was silhouetted in the sparse moonlight. When the animal disappeared down the mountain side, Pistol signaled his team to resume as Charles and Pistochini turned eastward to descend into the next canyon.

The canyon floor had much less fractured rabble, with a well-defined and wide drainage. Pistochini signaled echelon left then pointed to Charles to continue east and up the canyon. After a click, the south canyon wall was broken up by two ravines that had eroded out each outboard side of the downward folds of an anticline. Pistochini signaled for a stop then thinking some more, waved the team to a rally point using his location. Pistochini traveled another 50 meters up the canyon trying to look at the grade and rock condition of the first ravine. Noting the poor lunar illumination, he gave up, set his pack down then dug out a pair of NVGs. Leaving his pack in place, Pistol scanned the ravine. Pistol realized that there was too much loose rock and that it looked like class 3 climbing all the way up. Pistochini was thinking that it could also be class four at top, and they had no gear. It became obvious to the team leader that they were not going to negotiate this particular route at night.

Pistochini exited the side ravine and hiked to the next ravine and almost immediately concluded that the team could do this slope. Pistol walked further south and looked up the ravine. Noticing a large patch of vegetation in a pocket about 30 meters off the canyon floor, he scanned carefully for any signs of wildlife or humans. Realizing that this feature had not been the sat images, he started to doubt that he was in the correct canyon. He looked closely and noted two ravines on each side of this formation, about one click up the main canyon’s curve, so decided that their location was correct. Following the ravine up to the ridge crest, he saw any easy climb. Pistol returned to his team a few minutes later to find them in a defensive 180 degree arc.

Climbing out the ravine, Pistol stopped the team when just above the top tree of a vegetation patch, approximately 30m x 60m, probably from a contact spring. He signaled this as the rallying point.

The CIA officer did not understand why Pistochini was establishing a rally point on the side of a canyon wall. He did not understand if the team was supposed to gather here for a meeting. As not a word had been said since they walked out of the building within the CP, the CIA officer noted that these people were as ‘bad’ as rangers.

Down the next ridge, then more to the east, then up another ridge. Pistochini noticed the constant wind changes and increasing humidity as they approached the first way-point, an escarpment beneath a ridge with a flat top, about 50m width. When the team had gathered among a row of truck-sized boulders, Pistol had all sit, except one.

“Charles climb up to just below the top - observe for about three or four minutes then return.”

“We have one more segment before we go off the AO map. Doc, want the lead?”

“I got it, Pistol. Which end do you want me to aim for? What’s my pace?”

“I’d like over five. But we have fucking weather moving in.”

Charles returned from the mountain ridge.

“Sarge, we got a wall of clouds coming in from the north and east. Nothing out there except a large bird doin donuts in the dark. I caught a strange, musty smell. But nothing else.”

“Sounds good. Call the CP and advise pos is whiskey papa one. If you can’t get the LT, don’t fuck with it. Repeat the message twice and turn off the radio. Doc, not sure about how to approach the spring - it was dark when we found it on that alternate route back. Ok, people, change one. We are not gonna play with those Taliban fuckers in the village. Maybe on the way back. We are gonna stop at the oasis, then keep heading to the north and east. If we find a trail, we set up the magical spook systems and look for other trails. If we find tangos in the higher elevations, we’re gonna assume that they represent their last troop movements of the fighting season.”

Vera asked, “sarge, what about getting up into the mountains if we get snow?”

“That’s why were not gonna stop at the village before we go up. Need to get up there before the first freezing rains - there may be ice the rocks - really bad shit for us. I do not want to climb on icy rocks. We don’t have the equipment. Coming back down will suck but not be as bad. And coming back down will be a straight shot down to the playa and village.”

The spook was getting unnerved, his chance for ‘acquiring’ a Taliban leader would be diminished. But he knew he had no influence with these Marines and their corpsman. He would bide his time and be ready for any opportunity.

Bravo Company CP

Gunny Rogers and Lieutenant Espinoza were monitoring the radios while working through the night on logistics and construction schedules.

“Golf control, bravo mike at oscar two, over”

Gunny Rogers smiled. “LT, looks like we have the big fire-control guys at the tango ammo dump, almost six hours ahead of schedule. What’s the latest? We holding for Pistochini’s team to be in place?”

“That’s affirmative, gunny. The captain and S-2 think there may be one last Taliban group in transit. We want Pistochini’s people to be able to track them if they are actually inbound.”

“Bravo mike this is Golf control. Continue over-watch. We are standing by for Golf Sierra status, over.”

“Roger, golf. Bravo mike out.”

“Now we wait, sir. For what its worth, I am certain that Pistochini will go straight into the mountains and not bother with that village.”

“Get some chow gunny. I am not going anywhere for a while.”

“Aye, sir.”

Lt. Espinoza did not want to leave his ‘comm center’ until their first report, as it would determine the order and conduct of the remaining mission elements. The army battery commander had called up late last night with questions about the village and location of friendly patrols in the area. The army was not happy that Espinoza was unwilling to discuss particulars about the two teams currently outside the wire on a net that the ANA could also monitor.

When Golf company commander’s was ready to dance through the compound with mindless glee when Gunny Rogers reported that the team with a DM and ANGLICO were already at an over-watch of the Taliban ammo storage caves. If they could destroy the main source of IEDs, the coming spring would reveal a different fighting season. The captain was confident that the sniper sergeant could run this mission, but he was concerned about the fomented level of unconventional operations for his AO.

“Golf Control. Golf sierra is at whiskey papa one. Over.”

Espinoza had been reading on a ‘duty’ cot when the call came. After stumbling over a shit can to get to the number two radio, he again heard their call.

“Golf control. Golf Sierra is at whiskey papa one.”

Grabbing the hand-set, Espinoza replied

“Golf sierra this is golf control. Roger. Interrogative. Next whiskey papa, over.”

After a 20 second pause, “Golf Control. Golf sierra is at whiskey papa one. Golf sierra out.”

Lt Espinoza was frustrated. He needed an antenna with better gain or something. He was hoping that Pistochini’s team could climb to 2000 meters for better comm.

Mission Day One end and start of Day Two

“No reply, sarge.”

“No problemo, Charles. If they do not hear from us in another five to eight hours, they’ll know we’re heading east and skipping the ‘ville.” Looking at his team members, “Looks like we made it through the foothills without notice. Once Captain Karel decides to blast the caves, every tango within a twenty click radius will be running a muck. So we need to be up there and close to a reasonable over-watch before ANGLICO kicks over the ant-hill. Also, we’re starting cold-weather protocol. Once we stop, preserve body heat, etc. Don’t forget your ammo. set aside at least two mags to keep close to your body. Doc, take us to the oasis. Vera, you’re number two, and I’ll be at the rear. Increase pace, four point five to five, people. As the boss says, we’re burning day light.”

The sun was dipping behind the mountain ridges, and the canyon floor was rapidly cooling. Doc was certain they were only 300 to 400 meters from the oasis. He decreased his pace to be able to have a better audible ‘margin’ on the approach. Which was good, because he saw scuff marks of the sandals and flat boots on the trail edge. Doc stopped, crouched, and looked up at the trail edges and saw a few other marks and over-turned rocks. Pistochini went to the front of the column and crouched down with Doc Sanders, whom pointed to the trail marks. Pistol looked at the marks for about 20 seconds, then signaled for the team to move back west to the previous bend.

“Appears that we have a tango mix of locals and imports, at least three, maybe four or five. They are also heading east towards the oasis. Mr. Acorn, this will probably be your only chance to snag a tango. But only if minimal risk to my team. Vera, take the 2d hand-held radio and get up the north canyon wall. The spring is about 400 meters up the canyon, so stay to the west of this point while climbing out, then go east on the ridge line until you have eyes. You and Charles take my binos and our spook with you. Mr. Acorn, ID the one tango, and only one, that you want alive. We’ll assign targets from east to west, one and two are yours, three and five our ours. Doc and I will climb up the southern side. If there are more than four, Vera or myself will take the western tangos. Remember range estimation issues with extreme earth-normal angles. There will be a single transmission; I’ll key the radio, than a number from Vera that references the designated survivor. Wait five seconds. No follow-up rounds unless you hear doc or myself continuing to fire. Four to six closely-fired rounds should not be a problem - we are 10 to 15 clicks up in these mountains from anyone.

“The tricky shit is the survivor tango. He can easily go hide behind those big boulders and hold us off indefinitely, so Mr. Acorn, in his best command voice needs to stand up and yell down to the guy to stay away from weapons and do not move or we’ll shoot him. If he breaks away, doc or myself will attempt a disabling shot - if that’s even fucking possible ... in which case we would then have to decide what to do with a wounded tango.

“Put our packs behind that boulder, let’s go.” Vera took his team straight up the canyon side, Pistochini and doc took a more gradual route.

Vera scanned the oasis. After determining that there were five tangos, he handed the binos to Acorn. The CIA officer watched the Taliban group getting set up for the night. Acorn observed for almost ten minutes, unable to discern from clothes or demeanor, or apparent age that could be used to determine a leader. Acorn was concerned that they all were but foot soldiers, or it could be a special team. Acorn noticed something atypical. There was one tango wearing hiking boots. The tango set down his AK47 and pulled a pistol out of his side-bag. Acorn watched for another three of four minutes to convince himself that number three was MBA material.

Pistochini scanned for about two minutes and signaled ‘five’ to doc. Pistol pointed to himself and indicated ‘three’, then to Doc and indicated ‘four’. Doc nodded his agreement. Now they waited on the spook to make his assessment. Pistochini was about shoot all of them because they were entering twilight.

A short, feint pop and the hand-held radio broke squelch, followed by a “Three”. Doc and Pistol immediately sighted in and counted to themselves. Their rifles barked within a second of each other, then they heard the other two shots from the other side of the canyon. The survivor was frozen in surprise and fear, then moved towards an AK until Acorn yelled down to advise Mr. Tango of his right to die in Pashto. The man froze again, stepped forward, then sat down on a small boulder.

Pistol grabbed the radio. “Vera, we’ll cover, get down there fast.”

While Vera’s group scrambled down the canyon side, Doc Sanders had the man’s leg in his rifle site while Pistol scanned the other bodies. Sanders was dubious, thinking that a wounding shot was incredibly stupid because an artery could easily be hit, then the tango would bleed out in less than a minute. Both Sanders and Pistochini believed the whole idea of ‘wounding shots’ were Hollywood bullshit.

After about a minute, the surviving Tango was able to track Vera’s group down the mountain side. Thinking that there was no one else, he stood up turned around and reached down for a rifle. Doc Sanders growled an “Oh, Shit!” then fired a round into the middle of man’s right leg. Pistol saw part of it through his rifle scope.

“You got his right leg doc. But fuck the idiot, we’ll keep watch until Vera is on top of his stupid ass, then we can go down an let you look at his leg.”

Pistol handed Acorn his Glock, “If you shoot it, you have to clean it, stay with doc while he works on this idiot. Mr. Acorn, no talking yet. Let doc plug leaks and stabilize. Let’s go get the packs. We need to listen and watch there and back. Let’s make sure no one is in immediate vicinity.”

As Pistol, Charles, and Vera were un-assing the five retrieved packs, Vera was goggling the four bodies. “Damn, sarge. What is with you and Staff Sergeant O’Brien and these head shots?”

‘I dunno. Just think of it as an artistic statement ... But I think doc is today’s outstanding shooter with that knee hit.”

Doc Sanders smirked as he worked on the idiot tango, while the others stripped the bodies and surveyed Taliban equipment. Other than a Tokarav, Pistol noted nothing unusual in the Taliban’s gear. But what was noted was that they had very little water, and minimal rations. He rationalized their kit to himself by concluding that they were within one day of their destination, or some intermediate point for re-supply, or they are very stupid. He also wanted to know about the notebook.

“Mr. Acorn, we need to look at this idiot’s notebook. And you did a decent job with the ID - don’t think I could have figured it out. Gonna give you no more than 36 hours to talk to this haji, so do your best for God, country, and Queen.”

The CIA officer gave the sergeant a sideways glance as he opened the notebook.

“We’re not going to transport him back? Field interrogations are rather limited. He should go back to ISAF HQ.”

“We will see, sir. Let’s see if this book can help my team - right now I am thinking short-term tactical. I’ll let you and the head-shed do the long-term strategic crap. So help me now and I’ll see what can be done ... now the first three pages are obviously maps. Any text in this shit that would ID current Taliban movements in this area?”

Acorn read through the first four pages of text and maps.

“Seems to be suggested routes between Pakistan and Kandahar. Nothing that unusual here. But look at this tabulation on the back of the fourth page. It seems to be shipment dates and weights of each shipment. The last date is yesterday. Ninety five kilograms.”

“Sounds about right for a group of five hajis. What else is in there?”

Acorn quickly scanned another two pages, then paused on the next page.

“Notes on recent ISIS activity, looks like they are planning to attack some Syrian ISIS fighters soon. And it looks like ISIS is to the southeast of Golf’s CP.”

Acorn continued to rapidly scan through more notebook pages. He froze at the next to last page.

“Sergeant, we never expected this ... damn, there are Talibans among the ANA officers. Apparently long-term plants. This is a ‘contact list’ to enable safe passage of important Taliban members.”

The CIA officer was visibly disturbed.

“Mr. Acorn, what I need to know now is this group’s destination. And who is at that destination. Would also like to know if their ammo delivery was to the same cave that we found a few weeks ago. Any other specific info extraction is up to you. Please do it now. I’ll be back in a few hours, maybe more ... Oh, gimme my Glock. You can go get the M9 out of your pack.”

Pistol pointed to Charles and Vera. They huddled behind a large boulder with a tree growing between the rock and the canyon wall.

“Vera, we found some critical shit that needs to get back to the captain, so we’re gonna get out of this canyon and find something higher. I’ll take one hand-held, you keep the other. If the prick does not have the range, we’ll have to go further east up into the mountains. The spook is gonna do his haji-talk. Keep watch. If I am not back in 36 hours, take the team back to the the company as fucking fast as you can and shove the spook and that notebook directly into the captain’s hutch for immediate de-brief and have Gunny Rogers call Staff Sergeant Carlton.”

“And our Taliban?”

“Cut his fuckin throat. But don’t leave his or these other bodies close to the spring. You know what Opie always says, ‘Don’t fuck with the wildlife.’ And that CIA asshole has suddenly become very valuable. He’s gonna get us troop movement info, so let him do his job. See you in Oklahoma, dude.”

Vera did not like the tone of Sergeant Pistochini’s last statement. “Sarge, are you telling me everything?”

“As much as I know for certain.”

Acorn had been talking to the haji for over an hour, while Doc Sanders was standing watch on top of the huge house-sized boulder that overlooked the spring and densely vegetated area. Vera was watching the haji’s body language and listening to the tone of the conversation. To Vera, it appeared that an impasse had developed.

Vera got a small sharpening stone out of his pack and sat next to Acorn, in front of the Taliban leader. With deliberation, Vera pulled his ka-bar down from the up-side down sheath, and stroked the stone slowly, with theatrical precision, over the ka-bar’s edge bevels. Typically, Vera did not like to keep his ka-bar razor sharp because the edges tended to get small chips broken out during ‘normal use’, but he was doing this for demonstration.

The conversation was obviously getting heated. The haji raised his voice and gave some sort of unknown, at least to Vera, hand symbol using a sweeping gesture. Vera grabbed the Taliban’s left wrist as it passed in front of Vera and Acorn. With unseen and meteoric speed, Vera sliced a 8 cm gash in the haji’s left palm. Acorn froze then abruptly stood up and faced Vera. the haji started to stand up until Vera slammed him back down onto the rock being used as an interrogation chair. Realizing that the pain meant he had developed a significant and life threatening leak, the haji clamped down on his palm and started a low wail.

Stepping back, Vera grinned ferally at the haji.

“I’ll get the doc. Talk to him some more. Bet he just had a change in attitude. Climbing up the back of the boulder, “hey doc, the haji seems to have sprung another leak. Sorry about that, but could you patch the fucker up?”

Doc Sanders gave a lop-sided grin to the corporal.

“Stupid jarheads, always making a mess for me to clean up. Sew him up, or just stop the bleeding?”

“Guess just stop bleeding for now. I doubt Sergeant Pistochini is gonna carry a crip haji back to the company CP.”

Doc Sanders irrigated the wound and looked at the damage. He saw that the median nerve had been sliced and the tendon sheaths cut. His only conclusion was that Vera’s ka-bar must be scapel sharp. Using clotting agent, cyanoacyrlate, and a few butterfly bandages, Doc Sanders closed the wound and wrapped the hand. Vera climbed down. Walking up to the three, Acorn stepped up to Vera.

Acorn whispered “good cop / bad cop”.

They engaged in a mock conversation, designed to show the haji that Acorn was (not untrue) the one that could keep him alive. The Taliban leader sung like a mockingbird after the spring thaw.

“He thinks that we are going to turn him over to the village elders. Next time, you might want to inform me of your plans. I am told by my boss that Marines love their knives and to never give a marine a reason to use his knife. Can you actually throw that thing?”

Yeah, the Ka-bar has a little better balance than a bayonet, but both are throwable. I’ve never thrown a bayonet more than 3 or 4 meters. Ka-bars are better.”

“Show me, I’m going to raise my voice to you. As soon as we have his attention, stick it in that tree.”

“You actually are a clever person, Mr. Acorn, please proceed.”

They engaged in an increasingly heated mock conversation when suddenly Vera pulled out his ka-bar and threw it almost 4 meters into the upper trunk of an innocent and hapless tree growing next to the spring. Vera stomped away to retrieve the ka-bar while Acorn re-joined Doc Sanders and the Taliban. Acorn shrugged to the Taliban.

In Pashto, “The big black Marine wants to kill you. Your Taliban group must have done something to make him angry. Marines are dangerous killers of everything. It is best that you do not behave poorly in front of him.”

Acorn knew he had hit the jackpot when the prisoner changed from basic Farsi to Pashto.

“By the grace and guidance of Allah, I will not anger the Marine. We will discuss reasonable answers to your questions.”

“Very well. Did your group take the ammo to the caves in the canyon east of the Marine camp?”

Yes, that was our orders”

“Was it the last supply travel of the season?”

“I believe so, but cannot be certain. If the weather is not poor, than Allah will allow one more travel of the supply people.”

“What other groups are in the mountains between here and Pakistan?”

“All have moved back to Pakistan or Kandahar. There may be another group that watches the trail in the valley, but I am not certain. They may have moved to the west for the season.”

“Where are they?”

“About 15 kilometers to the west and to the north of here. They are at the bottom of the Three Boulders.”

“How many?”

“I am not certain. I have never seen more than four. Perhaps they are normally three.”

“Where are you from?”

“Farah”

“Farah? You are well-educated for someone of Farah. Do you miss it?”

“My father sent me to live with a mullah. He taught me to read and write, and most of the other Farsi-based languages. He could provide a guiding reference in the Quran for any event or plan or idea. He was a gift from Allah. The infidel of ISIS killed him. The Taliban saved our village from ISIS, and I then joined them in jihad. I teach the Quran to the Taliban, and they show me the truth of the struggle.”

“Sierra Pistol, this is Sierra Victor”

“This is Pistol. Go victor.”

“Probably last remaining, three or four, 15 clicks east north east, next to three boulders formation.”

“Good job victor. Did they deliver?”

“Affirmative, delivery complete, they were to report to the village and wait for the next season. Make contact with home?”

“Unknown, Golf’s signal too weak to read, but they seem to get ours.”

“Possible negative on Johnny’s termination? Asshole believes Johnny is valuable asset to us.”

“Do not know. We will talk in morning. Sierra Pistol out.”

Facing Doc Sanders, “Well, at least they may have called the CP ... we’ll see what the sarge says in the morning.”

“He’s returning?”

“Don’t know. I am hoping he doesn’t decide to go into the mountains alone. He had that in mind when he departed.”

“In any case we need to start getting sleep. Two hour shifts?”

“Sounds good, doc. Find a spot, I’ll stay here on the boulder. I’m gonna secure that haji shortly. Any considerations for the fucker’s wounds.”

“If there is a chance we have to transport him back, then no lateral stress on the left leg, and tie-wraps and duct tape above elbows in front of body only.”

Mission Day 3

Pistochini thought about it for several minutes. All of the noise and commotion was from the oasis canyon, so they, and not Pistol and Charles would be the locus of any Taliban search. No one, including Golf, know his current location, and they were above any possible local tango routes. Pistochini decided the risk was worth not doing watches, mostly because there may be no sleep available for more than several minutes over the next three days. Pistochini and Charles both crashed well after 0100 on a gradual slope between two refrigerator-sized boulders. Spreading their sleeping bags over the packs and setting their pistols next to them, then inserting their rifles into their respective sleeping bags, both marines were asleep within a few minutes.