Combat Alley (2007) (24 page)

Yarkov turned to Andy as the echoes of the volleys died off into the distance. If they discovered we were fugitives and alone, they would have shot us down like mad dogs. But we fired first.

Right, Tchaikurov said. The Tajiks are very brave when they outnumber you.

Andy frowned. It would seem you are very unpopular with the natives.

Yarkov chuckled. We have treated them badly in the past. They undoubtedly feel they had some old scores to settle with us.

Andy looked off in the distance. Those guys minding the horses have ridden off. It looks like they've turned the animals loose.

Tchaikurov pulled himself back into the saddle. I will go get you one, Luka Ivanovich. Then we can ride back to your horse and get your rifle and gear.

Andy decided to wait with Yarkov.

.

LOGOVISHCHYEH

16 NOVEMBER

0815 HOURS

CLOSE to a hundred of the Russian ex-military convicts had gathered in a group, pressed close together because of the cold. To their direct front stood three men: Aleksander Akloschenko, Pavel Marvesky, and Valentin Surov, who leaned against the Mercedes. Andrei Rogorov, bodyguard and chauffeur, stood off to the side. He was ready for a confrontation. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for signs of trouble.

Marvesky and Surov helped Akloschenko up on the bumper, then gave him a boost as he stepped onto the hood of the car. The corpulent man looked down over the sullen faces gazing at him with suspicion in their demeanors. The crime boss crossed his hands across his chest and stood defiantly with his feet apart. Alright, brothers! I have some startling news for you. Through my system of informers, I recently discovered that the man Molotosky who came here was not who he said he was. In fact, Molotosky was a gunman for the Moscow Mafia who want to move in here and take over the opium harvest for themselves, see? I am sure you all remember he showed up with a lot of cash. Well, he had even more than any of us thought, and he had bought off both Luka Yarkov and Igor Tchaikurov to join his gang in their scheme. They were going to knock off me and all my boys over in Khorugh.

The little underboss Fedor Grabvosky was in the front. He looked up into Akloschenko's face. How could three men arrange a takeover of so many others?

Akloschenko had expected challenging questions, and gave an immediate, confident answer. The Moscow syndicate was going to send down enough men to handle the operation here after most of us had been eliminated. He paused to check the men's reactions to the news. He liked what he saw. After I learned about the plot, I decided to trap those three bastards, but they somehow got wind of it and escaped. I do not know where they went, except that Yarkov and Tchaikurov could not go back to Russia. But Molotosky would have no trouble, and I am sure he is hiding from his pals who will want to settle with him about fucking up their plans.

What are we going to do now? a voice asked from the crowd.

I have placed Surov in charge, Akloschenko announced. You will obey every command he gives, because he now represents me. In other words, he has taken Yarkov's place.

The diminutive Grabvosky spoke again. But is not the Moscow Mafia powerful and well financed? Surely they can send enough men down here to get what they want.

I have taken that into consideration, Akloschenko said, elaborating on his falsehoods, and turned to my contacts in the Tajik government. These politicians and bureaucrats are going to use official funds to invest in the opium harvest. And they will add some two hundred soldiers to the mix. That is more than enough to handle a few city boys from Moscow. I will tell you something surprising that has been kept a secret until this very minute. We will all become rich, because the entire harvest will be sold to the Taliban. They will take care of all smuggling, transport, and distribution. All we must do is let them know where and when to pick up the powder and gum.

Aleksei Barkyev, another of the underbosses under Yarkov, stepped forward. I thought the Taliban were on their last legs.

They have grown stronger, brother, Akloschenko said. They have financing from Saudi Arabian oil princes. They will use the money they earn from the sales of the opium to finance arms dealing, training camps, and provide aid to several of the former Muslim countries of the old USSR. Such as Chechnya.

One of the ex-soldiers was confused. Excuse me. But are not those Muslims fighting against our own people?

Brother, said Akloschenko, we no longer have our 'own people.' Every person you owe allegiance and loyalty to is gathered here and now.

The truth of the statement was instantly recognized by the former convicts, who expressed their acceptance of the changes with silent looks of acquiescence.

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YARKOV'S FORMER HOUSE

17 NOVEMBER

1000 HOURS

THE rusted-out Toyota pickup without doors rolled up to the front of what had once been the home of Luka Yarkov. The rear was filled with the household belongings of Valentin Surov and his sixteen-year-old Pashtun woman, Aghala. They hadn't needed to bring a lot since Yarkov's property was still in place and that included his two women, Zainba and Gabina. The pair had stayed with the house because no one had told them what to do after their master's disappearance, and they had no other place to go anyway.

Surov and Aghala got out of the truck cab and walked to the front door. Surov led the way into the house with the girl following him. Zainba and Gabina stood nervously in the kitchen waiting for them. At this point Aghala stepped around the Russian and walked up to the other two Pashtun girls. She gave them a look of haughty contempt, showing what was more of a sneer than a smile on her young face.

You are to stay here, she announced to them in Pashto. You now belong to Surov and that makes me the wrumbanay shedza the first wife.

Zainba spoke up angrily and loudly. I am older than you. That makes me the first wife.

Aghala showed a furious scowl. Surov has already told me I am the chief woman! And if you do not obey me, I will have you taken down to the barracks and thrown in for the men's enjoyment. You would not survive past the third night of their rough treatment.

Zainba and Gabina looked at each other, realizing that they were completely at the other Pashtun girl's mercy. They both bowed their heads to indicate they accepted the conditions imposed on them.

That is much better! Aghala said. Now there are some things in the back of the truck outside. Fetch them in here and I will show you where to put them. I will also organize the sleeping arrangements. Tadi kawa hurry up!

A moment after the two girls scurried through the front door, Akloschenko and Marvesky entered with Surov. The three men went to the kitchen and settled down at the table. With the others fetching and toting, Aghala took care of serving the men vodka, then quickly withdrew to further instill her authority over the house.

Akloschenko took a full swallow of the liquor, looking at Surov. Everything went fine with the men. They will obey you with the same willingness they did Yarkov.

Yes, Surov agreed. As long as they are able to earn money and live safely and comfortably here, everything will be satisfactory.

Marvesky finished off his vodka and refilled the glass. Now that we have solved the problem of acceptance, we can begin laying down our plans for the winter.

Exactly, Akloschenko agreed. Before the harvest this spring, we must consolidate the Pashtun tribes on the steppes. They must all swear allegiance to us. Those who refuse will be forced to participate.

The problem is the two holdout tribes, Surov said. Both the Yousafzais and the Janoons are strong clans. It will be difficult to defeat them.

Akloschenko smiled. We will be able to use the Taliban to put more pressure on them. They will be the only customers for the harvest, thus those two tribes will be at our mercy.

For any reluctant tribesman, it will be a case of join or die, Marvesky said.

That is an enticement that never fails, Akloschenko said in agreement. He looked at the liquor bottle on the table. I hope you have better taste than Yarkov, Surov. This is a very bad quality of vodka.

I will rectify that situation as soon as possible, Aleksander Ivanovich.

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THE PRANISTAY STEPPES

19 NOVEMBER

1300 HOURS

CHARLIE Fire Team rode slowly along in a diamond formation. Dave Leibowitz was to the front, Pech Pecheur on the left flank, and Bruno Puglisi covered the right, while team leader Gutsy Olson performed as Tail-End-Charlie. They were on a perimeter patrol moving in a circle while maintaining distance of a couple of kilometers away from the bivouac. This was strictly a security job since the Brigands were more or less stood down until some assignment or reassignment popped up with something to keep them busy.

The wind was strong enough that it howled across the countryside, creating a windchill factor that made the temperature feel fifteen degrees colder. The SEALs wore mittens with trigger fingers along with ski masks and heavy parkas. They dismounted and walked as much as they rode in order to keep the circulation moving through their lower extremities. They had gotten back into the saddle a few minutes before and settled down to cover their fields of fire when Puglisi suddenly spoke.

Hold it! he said in the LASH. I just sighted something at three o'clock. He pulled his binoculars from their case and scanned the distant horizon. Three riders... mmm, not Pashtuns... Europeans... Christ! It's Andy Malachenko and two other guys.

Right flank, Gutsy ordered.

They broke into a trot, going straight toward the trio of riders. When they rode up, the SEALs greeted Andy, who was obviously very pleased to see them. Charlie Team gave his Russian companions stares of unabashed curiosity. Who are them two guys? Puglisi asked.

I'll explain later, Andy said. I got to get back to the Skipper immediately if not sooner.

What the fuck's going on, Andy? Gutsy asked.

A whole lot o' shakin', as the old song goes, Andy replied.

Gutsy spoke into the LASH, Brigand, this is Charlie. We've made contact with our wandering boy. He's brought two friends for dinner. We'll be there pronto. Out.

The column of horsemen turned west.

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SEALs BIVOUAC

1325 HOURS

LUKA Yarkov and Igor Tchaikurov had been relieved of their weaponry as soon as they rode into the camp. For a brief moment it appeared as if they were going to resist, but the sight of a couple of dozen tough Navy SEALs convinced them there wasn't much they could do. Now they sat scarfing up MREs while Tiny Burke and Joe Miskoski watched over them. Frank Gomez had been ordered to send a message to the USS Combs to inform General Leroux of Malachenko's return with two defectors.

Due to the sensitivity of the situation, Dirk Wallenger and Eddie Krafton had been sent over to their own quarters and told to stay there until further notice. The two journalists' instincts told them a big story was going down, so they did their best to pick up information by listening to conversing SEALs as they walked past.

Andy Malachenko had been called over to the Skipper's hootch for a confab with Brannigan, Jim Cruiser, and Orlando Taylor. Brannigan only asked one question but it was a meaningful one that set Andy off with a rambling oral report on his mission.

So, Malachenko, Brannigan said. What's been going on?

Well, sir, Andy began, them two Russians I brung with me were being set up to get bumped off so that another guy could take over their gang. There's a crime syndicate in the city of Khorugh, Tajikistan, run by a guy named Aleksander Akloschenko, who is planning on muscling in on next season's poppy harvests. I think he's got some loose connections with the Mafia in Moscow. Anyhow, he's got these ex-convicts from a Russian prison working for him. They've been raiding down in Afghanistan stealing women and stuff. They're in a settlement up in the Kangal Mountains and go down to a town at the nearest highway called Dolirod for R and R. I also heard enough about the massacre at the Swati village to think they might have something to do with it.

Jim Cruiser grinned. Listen up, Malachenko. Get some paper from the detachment chief and write out a report. He's got a manual that will show you the format to follow. I know there's a lot more for you to tell us.

Aye, sir, Andy said.

Meanwhile, you can act as an interpreter, Brannigan said. He signaled over to Tiny Burke and Joe Miskoski, indicating they were to bring the Russians over. They immediately complied, escorting Yarkov and Tchaikurov into the Skipper's presence. The two fugitives sat down, and the Skipper began grilling them through Andy, although Tchaikurov had a good working knowledge of English.