“So, how much further to your safe house, Hasan?” Brad questioned.
“Not much further, just over these hills and on the approach to Aybak,” Hasan replied, not looking up from his rifle.
Brad took a long look around. They were in a valley; the ground had gotten very hard and this gave him a comfortable feeling knowing there were fewer dunes for the primals to rise out of. He walked to the back of the vehicle and examined the two holes there courtesy of the trip through Kholm. He went back to his bag, grabbed a large roll of green duct tape, and plugged the holes. He placed a large amount on the spiderwebbed hole in the glass to try and keep it from breaking further. When he was finished, he noticed Sean and Brooks had made their way back to their seats in the Defender. Brad took that as an indication that their rest stop had ended and moved back to his position in the vehicle.
The mountains had grown high and there were even patches of green appearing on both sides of the winding road as they drove further south. They started to come across several stone buildings and even an occasional mosque. But there were no signs of life, or if there was any life, they were hiding it very well. As they passed over a large hill, Hasan signaled for Brooks to move off of the road and onto a small trail that broke east away from the highway. The trail was nothing more than a heavily rutted goat path that wound down and into the boulder-strewn terrain.
Out of the terrain, smaller homes started to pop up. They were very old and most were crumbled—many without roofs.
“This village has been abandoned since the Russians came,” Hasan spoke. “Occasionally some families will live here during migrations to the river, but for the most part it is always a ghost town.
“At the end of this trail, go to the right; our house sits at the top of the hill against the mountain,” Hasan said to Brooks while pointing.
Brooks eased the vehicle down the winding trail, careful to avoid rocks or large dips in the road. At the top of the hill was a stone-walled home. It was very small, unlike the villa they had stayed at on the Hairatan road. The house settled into a very high mountain slope and faced an open view of the terrain below. It appeared to be carved into the side of the mountain, as were other homes they saw when looking at neighboring dwellings.
They could see that all of the homes in the area did indeed look uninhabited. Surprisingly, there was grass and vegetation in the area and a mountain stream cut a path down through the back of the empty village. This home had obviously been kept up by someone. Brad was surprised that the coalition forces would miss it, but then again it was far off the trail and you could not see its condition until being on top of it.
Brooks pulled the vehicle in close to the stone wall and positioned it behind a pile of stacked boulders to hide it from any approaching vehicles. The men stepped out of the Defender, stretched, listened, and tried to remain quiet until they were sure they were alone. After several minutes, Sean readied his rifle and approached the house. Hasan indicated that he would check the home first.
“It is often left booby trapped. I should go first and clear the way,” Hasan whispered to Sean as he stepped forward and headed to the house.
The wall here was badly damaged. Although it wrapped all the way around the home until it ended in the face of the mountain, its height varied from one to four feet at its highest point. The door to the home was made of planks, but Hasan did not use it. Instead, he went to the window and moved his hand slowly along the sill. Finding a wire, he traced his hand back to the corner of the windowsill and, from within a carefully carved hole, removed an old Russian-style grenade. He pulled a pin from his shirt collar and attached it to the head of the grenade. He then grabbed a rubber band from his pocket and carefully wrapped it around the spoon, then placed the grenade on the ground at the base of the window. Next, Hasan leaned his rifle against the wall and pulled the 9mm pistol he had found at Bremmel from his pack, then slipped into the home through the window. After countless uncomfortable minutes, the door unlatched and opened outwards. Hasan walked through the open doorway and retrieved his rifle. “This home, as you would say, is clear,” Hasan said with a smile.
The team gathered their packs and secured the vehicle before moving into the house. They found one large communal room with a fireplace along the back wall which rested against the mountain. Sean went to set his pack down when Hasan grinned at him and said, “Not yet, my friend.” Hasan put on his backpack, dropped to his belly, and crawled into the open mouth of the fireplace. Rising slightly, he disappeared into the back of it.
Sean just looked at Brooks and Brad with a puzzled expression.
“Well, what the hell,” Brooks said as he put on his own pack and followed Hasan through the hole. Sean went next, then Brad. After a very tight squeeze thorough the mouth of the fireplace, they also traversed the high step up into the chimney and found the tunnel that Hasan had disappeared into. They had to crawl another fifteen feet directly into the mountain before the tunnel opened into a large cavern. When Brad exited the tunnel, he rolled to his side and Brooks helped pull him to his feet.
They found Hasan at the center of the cavern, lighting lanterns and tossing stacked wood into a fire pit.
“What do you think, my friends? Afghan engineering at its best, yes?” he said with a big smile. “You can place your things over there.” Hasan pointed to a large area carved into the wall that was filled with cots.
“I am very impressed, Hasan,” Brooks said. “This is not the first time I have ventured into one of your caves, but this is the first time I have been a welcome guest.” He walked towards the cots and tossed his heavy bag onto one before moving back to the pit and helping Hasan with building a fire.
Brad looked around the room, walked to the center and, finding a stool, sat down. “You are full of surprises, Hasan,” he said. “How many places like this are there?”
“More than I can count, my friend,” Hasan answered.
With the fire growing hot, Brad watched the smoke lift to the top of the high cavern and drift farther into the mountain.
“How far does the tunnel go back?” he questioned.
“I am not sure. I have been deep in the mountain, but never to the end of the passage. There were limits to where I was allowed to venture,” Hasan said.
He then got to his feet and lifted a large iron pot from a stone shelf. After placing the pot in the coals, he used bottles of water from his pack to fill it. “There is a spring in the back of the cave that flows from the river for water, we can refill these bottles before we leave,” Hasan said while working. He then walked back to the stone shelf and lifted the cover from a large clay vase, from which he removed several heaping bowls full of a rice and bean mixture to add to the iron pot.
As the water boiled, Hasan added spices and a large bundle of dried meat that he removed from his pack. “After two nights in that steel building, we deserve a hearty meal,” Hasan said to the group.
“How do you know of this place, Hasan?” Sean asked.
Hasan smiled and sat on a bench near the pot before telling his story.
“I first came here when I was a boy; my father used to bring me here. We would come to the village often to trade his livestock for goods. In those days, people lived in the village at the base of the hill, but the Russians changed that because of a disagreement between the elders and the local commander. The village fell quickly out of favor with the Russians and it was burnt. The mujahedeen rebuilt this home and a few others. I don’t know how long the passage to the cavern has existed. My father talked of visiting it when he was a child, so I imagine the house was built around the entrance.
“After this place was destroyed, the people left. The next village was beyond walking distance from our home, so we lost our ability to safely trade our livestock. My father was angry at the loss of our trade and our friends so he took up arms against the Russians. Weeks later, I walked the road from our home to this now empty village with my father and two older brothers. My father negotiated a trade with the mujahedeen commander. My father gave the best of our flock in exchange for rifles and ammunition. Purchasing our own weapons gave us independence. In those days, if a mujahedeen commander gifted you a weapon, he then owned you, and you were a member of his force. My father, by purchasing weapons of his own, was able to freelance, I believe you would say.
“We traveled the road often after that. Sometimes the mujahedeen would pay us to do missions for them. Mostly we helped lead foreign fighters to cross the Amu Darya River from the borders of Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. And even sometimes your own CIA would come here with our help; business was good for us. When the Russians left, my father retired our small force, and my brothers and I tried to return to the village life. But the peace did not last for long. After the Taliban took control of the government, my father was urged to rejoin the fight. He took all of his sons with him and we traveled to the northeast and joined the Alliance. My father was killed in a skirmish with the Pakistanis soon after. Later, I lost both of my brothers to a suicide bomber.
“I stayed with the Alliance for many years, even after the death of our leader. I even supported the U.S. invasion, but soon after the U.S. forces arrived the Alliance broke up in the name of a new, weakened government. So I returned to my home in the village. I tried to adapt to the new ways of peace and forced prosperity.
“The roadside bombings started the spring after I returned home. We had nothing to do with the insurgents in our area; nonetheless, our elders were labeled as collaborators. The helicopters came in the night and left with many of our village leaders. Soon I found myself back in these caverns again, doing what I knew best. I was on a hired mission working for a cell in Hairatan when this new enemy attacked my people.
“I was far north of the border arranging delivery of rockets to be shipped to the Taliban when word reached me. My first instincts were to get home to my family, but I soon realized that would be impossible. I discovered most of the roads to be impassable, and in the early hours the streets and highways were flooded with the hordes of walking monsters. I fled with others to the hills. We were not armed north of the border, and our primary defense was to become faster than those who traveled with us.
“I made my way to the banks of the river, and I was able to barter with a boatman for passage across. By sticking to the high ground, I was able to avoid the mobs and make my way back to Hairatan. I met Junayd in a safe house east of the city. We were known to each other by reputation alone, but we do not share the same principles. We agreed to work together only for reasons of self-preservation.” As Hasan finished, he reached forward to stir the boiling contents of the pot.
“What do you know of your family?” Brad asked.
“In the first day my cell phone operated, but there was mass chaos. My wife was confused and didn’t know where to go. I was able to negotiate with a cell member in the area who promised to keep them safe. Unfortunately, the phones stopped working before I could confirm that she had been rescued. I have to admit that it is selfish motives that brought me to join you on your venture. My wife and child do not live in this region. I moved them near the main airbase years ago. I joined you in hopes of finding information on their wellbeing,” Hasan answered solemnly. Brad just hung his head in sad thought as Sean stood and extended his hand to Hasan.
“We are happy to have you on our team, brother; you have already proven yourself useful, thank you,” Sean said.
“Very good then. Let’s feast tonight on real food. After two nights in the steel building we deserve a good meal, and not the mess that comes from the cans that Brad feeds us,” said Hasan with a grin.
After they finished eating, Sean told Brad that they needed to go outside and set up security. The front had been left unattended way longer than it should have been. Because of the tunnel and isolation of the watch station, they had decided the watch would be two men at all times in the home. Brad readied his rifle and followed Sean into the tunnel. The sun had started to go down and the tunnel had grown dark with most of the ambient light from the house gone. Sean exited first and took a knee just outside and waited for Brad to post up next to him. They sat for a few minutes listening to make sure they were alone. Then Sean rose to his feet and moved to the window. Brad came up behind him and they both scanned the horizon. The sky was orange and they probably had less than an hour of daylight left.
“I need to get some gear out of the Defender before we lose the light,” Sean said.
“Okay boss, I can observe you from here,” Brad replied.
Sean walked out through the door and moved to the vehicle. It could be seen easily from the house, but was near invisible from the road or the small trail that approached the home. Brad looked beyond the vehicle and saw that the shadows over the ruins of the village had started to stretch. He hated this time of the day, when the sun seemed to move quickly and the shifting shadows could play tricks on your mind. More than once he thought he spotted a primal staring at him, only to look through his binos and find a boulder or a long ago knocked-over wall.
Brad turned his attention back to Sean. It looked like he had finished what he was doing and was locking up the Defender. Sean threw a bag over his shoulder and started the walk back to the house. As he entered the doorway, he dropped his bag before securing the old rusty bolts at the top and bottom of the plank door.
“You get what you needed Sean?” Brad asked.
“Yeah, grabbed up a couple thousand rounds of ammo from the cans you picked up. I got to thinking how it would suck to get surrounded and have all the ammo sitting out there in the truck,” Sean said.
“Damn, good thinking! Guess that’s why you’re the chief,” Brad said with a grin.
Brad found a chair and set it to the back of the window in the shadows, but still in position to where he could see out. Sean began pulling items from his bag and laying them out on a table in the center of the room. He sat his MK11 sniper rifle on the table, and two extra magazines next to it, but kept his suppressed MP5 across his chest where it hung from a tactical sling.