The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (42 page)

Afterword

A few months ago, it was reported that the United States, having expended billions of dollars in Syria, training forces to fight Islamic State, had very little to show for it.  Reports I saw varied wildly, with the most extreme suggesting that the United States had no more than
five
loyalist fighters - or, somewhat more believable, that most of the fighters they’d trained had simply defected to Islamic State when they were asked to fight the Islamists, rather than the Syrian Government.  Reactions varied too, with accusations that President Obama was secretly collaborating with Islamic State being merged with the suggestion that no Muslim could possibly be trusted to fight Islamists.  In short, the entire program was a complete failure.

The United States has rarely enjoyed success in raising local formations to fight America’s wars.  In Iraq, early attempts to create an Iraqi Army and National Guard produced very limited results.  Some units simply disintegrated when they were asked to go into combat, most notably in Fallujah, while others were rapidly infiltrated by religious fundamentalists and became militias.  Shia-dominated units, in particular, wound up as nothing more than enforcement arms of Shia politicians, helping to prolong the war.  And yet, during the Surge, America enjoyed a wave of success that, alas, was not capitalised on.  What was different then?

Consider, if you will, a thought experiment.  You are floating in the air over the White House, Washington DC, turning slowly so you can look in all directions.  To the north, you have a peaceful ally; to the south, you have a containable problem; to the east and west you have vast oceans, presenting an impassable barrier to anyone wanting to invade the American coastline.  You appear to be in a largely invulnerable position.  Now, repeat the thought experiment while floating over Paris.  All of a sudden, your position looks a great deal less secure; your eastern neighbour is having considerable problems with migrants, your neighbours on the other side of the Mediterranean are dangerously unstable and the EU, which you see as a way to buttress your position, is stumbling and may yet fall.  The world looks profoundly different if you look at it from Paris, rather than Washington.

And if that’s true of first-world nations, why would it
not
be true of small local factions?

The problem facing the United States - in both the Middle East and Afghanistan - is that the world looks profoundly different to the locals.  They do not, for example, have much respect for borders, hence the United States’ refusal to chase Taliban fighters over the border to Pakistan merely gives the insurgents useful safe havens.  Nor do they agree, always, with the Americans when it comes to pointing at the enemy.  The United States may be more concerned with Islamic State than the Syrian Regime, but the local fighters may have different ideas.  To them, Islamic State is a potential ally while the Syrian Regime is a deadly threat.  And that’s why so many fighters defected when asked to fight Islamic State.

But there is a greater problem facing the United States - and anyone who wishes to build up a force of local sepoys.  The United States has a nasty reputation as an untrustworthy ally, a force that expects its allies to be willing to commit suicide on its behalf.  This tends to create distrust among the locals, who are quite happy to take all they can get from the United States, but less willing to commit themselves.  Because the United States has this reputation, the locals are always watching for the moment the United States pulls out and abandons them to their enemies.  The United States manages, somehow, to be a permanent presence in the Middle East while being viewed as a
transient
power, one that will not be present after a certain point. 

American politics influence this on both a macro and micro scale.  On the micro scale, rules of engagement that hamper American forces, for example, convince the locals that the United States isn't actually sincere when it comes to supporting them.  The absurd American insistence that irregulars comport themselves with great decency - a luxury allowed by vast American resources and technological capabilities - makes the locals roll their eyes - and decide, again, that the United States is not serious.

On the macro scale, things are worse.  It is impossible to simplify the politics of the Middle East, let alone track how hundreds of different factions might interact.  But consider this - the Kurds, not to put too fine a point on it, are the most loyal allies in the Middle East for the United States.  However, they (understandably) want independence from the other powers in the region.  This alienates them from Turkey, Iraq, Iran and Syria ... and gives the United States a major problem when it tries to maintain a balancing act.  Unsurprisingly, the United States is simply incapable of
maintaining
the balance, because the Kurds - and their enemies - are at such odds.  Thus, even the Kurds watch the United States for signs of betrayal. 

The key that made the Surge work was two-fold.  First, the United States expanded its operations within Iraq, both moving additional combat troops into the country and settling up smaller patrol bases that made it easier to keep in touch with the local population.  Second, the United States deliberately sought out allies among the Iraqi Sunnis (who had been marginalised during the Occupation, which drove them into the hands of AQ) and offered to support them.  This forced the Shia to come to terms with the fact that the United States might have had enough of their blatant power grab and attempt to forge a power-sharing agreement with the Sunnis and Kurds.  In short, the United States made a major commitment to Iraq’s future.

But it didn't last.  The United States chose to pull out of Iraq once it looked as though the country was on the way to recovery, thus weakening its commitment
before
Iraq was truly ready to stand on its own.  And now the United States is seen, once again, as a betrayer. 

Americans have a tendency to think in terms of presidential eras.  The Bush Era replaced the Clinton Era, only to be replaced in turn by the Obama Era.  But the rest of the world does not see it that way!  Stabilising Iraq called for a far longer commitment than was actually made and, in the end, the task was only half-done.  Whatever Obama’s motivations in abandoning Iraq actually were, they don’t matter to the locals.  All that matters to them is, once again, that the United States abandoned people who depended on it.

This stands in interesting contrast to Britain’s experience in both India and Malaya.  Why was the British Empire so successful in raising sepoy troops?

As I see it, there were three major advantages that the United States lacks.  First, there was never any
genuine
belief, at least not before 1919, that the British Empire would eventually collapse.  The Raj’s administrators didn't think of themselves as building and exploiting a temporary edifice; they thought they were building something for the ages.  And this attitude was passed on to their subordinates.

This gave the British Empire a major advantage.  The bureaucracy they built gave countless natives a stake in the system.  They could and did call on thousands of native officials to keep the system running, eventually transferring the system to the natives upon independence.  It was that bureaucracy that made the counter-insurgency campaign in Malaya such a success - and it was the
lack
of such a support structure that destroyed British efforts in Iraq.

Second, British officers assigned to sepoy troops were expected to go as close to native as possible.  They spoke the language of their men, they understood their concerns and, to a very large extent, shared their lives as much as possible.  Indeed, the British Empire was quite happy to make use of native races it had defeated in battle.  (Sikhs and Ghurkhas were very welcome in the Indian Army, allowing them a chance to win honour.)  But they didn’t have any illusions about their men either.  They saw nothing wrong in soldiers taking gruesome trophies from the battlefield, if they wished.

They also had a degree of freedom of action that would be inconceivable to any modern-day American (or British) officer.  In the days before the internet, before radio, before telegraph messages, it could take weeks or months to send a message to London and get a response, by which time the problem on the ground could have become a great deal worse.  The officers on the spot had vast authority to handle problems, which they often did successfully before London knew what was going on.  These days, politicians in Washington (few of whom have any real experience with the military) try to micromanage military operations.  Even with the best of intentions, the need to keep the politicians in the loop imposes a time delay, delays that could easily become fatal.

Third, the loyalty of local sepoys was returned.  British officers looked after their men who, when they retired, were sure of a pension and a place of honour in their community.  (India never hunted for collaborators after independence, unlike many other colonised countries.)  This was, intentionally or otherwise, an investment; the British Crown looked after its subjects, so the subjects returned its loyalty. 

These days, both America and Britain have shown little loyalty to the incredibly brave men and women who risked everything to serve beside western troops.  It was hard, very hard, for an Iraqi or Afghani interpreter to get a visa to emigrate to Britain or America, even though his life was in considerable danger at every moment.  The failure to protect one’s allies ensured that one would wind up with
few
allies - why should they join you, if you could not protect them?

***

With all of this in mind, how might we move forward?

Truthfully, I have seen nothing in America (or Britain) that suggests the government, Republican or Democrat, is capable of the long-term thinking it needs to solve the growing chaos in the Middle East.  The prospect of putting together a force capable of occupying the Middle East, from Tunisia to Pakistan, is a dream (or a nightmare) that will never be realised, certainly not with the current political realities.  And yet, with the Middle East collapsing, we need to do something to stem the chaos.  Putting together a force composed of local fighters may be the only way to keep Islamic State from growing into a far greater threat.

And yet, doing it may be impossible, because locals see the world differently from outsiders. 

There are measures we can take to encourage locals to sign up with us.  We can promise immigration rights to people who serve us faithfully, even to the point of taking their wives and children out of the country beforehand.  We can provide training that is more suitable to their needs, provide weapons and equipment they can actually use and provide air cover and other measures without worrying about absurd ROE.  And we can put officers on the ground with the authority to make whatever calls are necessary without reference to Washington.

And we can try to understand that they may not share our concerns.

But we will still have to overcome the problem of our reputation.  Over the years, Washington has betrayed and abandoned too many foreigners who trusted it.  (Right now, even America’s oldest allies are doubtful of anything that comes out of Obama’s mouth.)  It would be grossly unwise for a Syrian, all too aware of just what Islamic State will do to his family if he takes up arms against him, to put his faith in the United States. 

The problem with counterinsurgency - and nation-building - is that it takes
decades
.  And, these days, the West wants everything at once, or it loses interest.  And
that
, I suspect, is why so many of our counterinsurgency missions are doomed to fail.

Christopher G. Nuttall

Edinburgh, 2015

If you liked
The Black Sheep, you might like Desert Strike, by Leo Champion.

It’s about to go hot.

On the dry world of Arkin, the Zinj are taking over. A technologically-competent strain of Islam that make ISIS look like the Amish, they’re challenged only by the nations of the West – and a divided West without much will to fight.

Among those who do have the will are fighter pilot Egan O’Connor, a working-class kid from a tough neighborhood, ready to test himself and serve his country. He’s a chivalrous rookie ready for an honorable battle.

Jimmy Newland’s a cavalry NCO who’s earned his spurs. He’s ready to fight but he doesn’t want to; he’s seen enough skirmishes to know how bad it can be. But he’ll do his job if the cold war gets nastier – as it’s about to.

And there’s nothing chivalrous at all about Air Marshal Elisabeth Jaeger, a career intelligence officer promoted to field command. Twenty-five years ago she saw her husband murdered by the Zinj; she’s spent the time since avenging him. As she’s about do on a scale just a little bit broader than spywork…

Free Sample!

Warplanes raced east through the desert night, the Smoking Skulls’ A and C Flights under the squadron commander personally.

The radio in O’Connor’s earpiece, or at least the general-communications channel of it, was going crazy. From all he could understand, the situation had gone hot theater-wide over the timespan of a few minutes – the Zinj laagers moving out, every last one of them. Planes in the air, launched from the laagers and the towns they’d taken over to the east of what had been called the Brodie Line, although that was really just nine battalion-strength tank concentrations isolated from each other across perceived lines of Zinj laager supply.

Those armor battalions were coming under heavy air attack – Brusil with B and D Flights had been sent to help the nearest of those, 97/2 – as well as ground harassment.

Miners too. The Zinj were going all-out and not every vehicle from every laager was going against the Brodie Line tanks or their resupply convoys. But the civilians weren’t anybody’s particular problem right now but their own, as the cold war suddenly erupted in a blaze.

“OK,” came Commander ‘Icefish’ Hauraki. “We’re going in, as stated, to help out a convoy that left our very own base today. They are under attack from an approximately battalion-strength formation, themselves being company-strength plus what defenses the supply vehicles have. Enemy have since been reinforced with air support, Djinn at a minimum and possibly more.”

“So we get shapes,” came ‘Sauron’ Mordar. “Good. Ground scratches were getting boring.”

“More than you might be bargaining for, Sauron. Didn’t you hear when Jimmy-Jane said the latest intel says Murads could have been placed around here?”

“Met a couple of those this afternoon,” said Lieutenant ‘Shaker’ Jamison, O’Connor’s wing lead. “They’re not so tough, sir. Cut and run blue-falcons they looked like to me.”

“Don’t count on these ones being the same. The Murads reported are known Djegouni, and the boys on the ground have seen hourglass flags. Same clan, they won’t buddy-fuck each other like your incident earlier.”

“Hourglasses schmourglasses,” came back Mordar. “We can take them.”

* * *

The Zinj were coming, a battalion-sized flood onto the convoy, elements splitting around to block their advance and cut them off. The great cumbersome overland trains were turning but not fast enough; they were hundreds of feet long, vast multi-jointed mechanical caterpillars, and they had not been designed for sharp turns.

“You ready?” Jimmy Newland asked TFC Barocce and the two in back. Red-headed beanpole Corporal Reiss was on the machine-gun. Sub-Corporal Mark Wagner, a short and wiry black-haired man, had a six-cylindered grenade launcher.

“Ready,” said Reiss.

“Go,” said Wagner.

“Hit it,” said Barocce.

There was no time for dismounts. Doctrine said that the other two – in this case, Reiss and Wagner, with Newland taking Reiss’ machine-gun position – would normally dismount.

A quick discussion with Lieutenant Ojibwe and Troop Sergeant Miser had had unanimous agreement that this was not going to be an infantry fight. Too many of them, too fluid a situation. This had become a fighting retreat back to Cone Hill and hope
that
place was still intact.

Barocce didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“Let’s do this thing. Over the dunes
now
, Rock!”

Barocce wheeled the Raider around and they crested the hill—

And the Zinj were close, a jeep no more than thirty yards away, others on its heels. Newland was already looking through the iron sights of his anti-materiel rifle, put a round – the heavy gun
boomed
and the shock wasn’t helped by the confined armored space of the Raider – through the Zinj driver, a robed man in goggles. The man slumped, and
oh my fucking fuck I just killed someone
coursed through Newland’s mind.

He’d just put a .55 round, designed for destroying engine blocks from a mile away, through a human chest at a hundred feet. He might have hurt someone before in the skirmishes; he definitely had killed a man now.

More explosions came as Wagner burped rounds out from his grenade launcher – fragmentation rounds, they looked like, bursting around the Zinj jeeps and technicals.

No. Zinj aren’t people
, he thought as Barocce wheeled the Raider back down into the cover of the dune.
Zinj are vermin. You’ve seen the people they’ve murdered. Zinj are pond scum.

More Lancers coming up, meeting the Zinj with some real firepower. Another Zinj jeep crested the ridge –
my ridge
, Newland realized he was thinking of it as – and a second thereafter stopped a rocket, exploding in a blaze of flame.

Barocce took them around for another pass. Zinj, Zinj
everywhere
! Bullets ricocheted across the Raider’s armor, glanced across the windshield. Reiss’ machine-gun clattered back at them; Wagner’s 40mm grenade launcher chugged out a couple of high-explosive rounds.

And coming in behind the Zinj were aircraft. Friendly-to-the-Zinj aircraft, apparently.

Oh fuck.

* * *

Flying Officer Second-Class Mabruk Idris Djegouni bared his teeth hungrily from behind the controls of his Djinn. He flew with eleven other of the dual-engined turboprops, hastily flown into one of the laagers just a few hours ago, refueled and sent into action
nobody
had expected this soon.

Big events were happening, he knew, but not a lot more than that. Everyone had known that the Zinj would eventually go all-out, that the infidel resistance would not remain so pathetic forever, as the Zinj pushed further and closer to the homelands of the Confederated Union and those nations too cowardly to even resist at the miserable level the CU had. But everyone Djegouni had always expected it to take longer; there were higher-level clan politics at work here, stuff it was far above Idris’ station in life to think about.

Ahead of him were the vehicles from the cavalry battalion; a sea of them, sixty or seventy, with a few light tanks rumbling in behind them. Ahead of
them
, clearly visible in the star-spackled and double-mooned night, were the Confederated Union vehicles, fighting vehicles outnumbered five or six to one by their attackers.

They were arraying themselves into a swirling skirmish line, moving to block the attack and defend the supply vehicles. Those supply vehicles, three big long overland trains and a bunch of semi-trailers, were turning, but the turning radius of an overland train was something like a mile to do a half-circle. With one company of twenty or so jeeps moving in to cut off their retreat…

This was going to be a last stand, nothing more, on the enemy’s part.

“Hit the trains,” came the cold voice of squadron commander Hafiz. “Their defenders are just a detail. Remember the mission: cut their supply lines.”

Idris armed rockets and aimed his plane for one of the overland trains.

Kill you. Then your protectors.

Think you can challenge the Zinj? Die, godless infidels.

* * *

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck,
fuck FUCK
!” came convoy commander Hammond’s voice over the general radio channel as the enemy aircraft came in.

“Ditch them,” Captain Bradford snarled from the shotgun seat of his Lancer. “Ditch the cargoes and blow them, get your men and your engines out of there. They’re worth more!”

“Like hell, Bradford. My orders were to get this shit to 97/2. If we can’t do that, we’ll at least get this shit back to Cone Hill for another try.”

You fucking idiot
, Bradford thought.

In the other radio seat in back of Bradford’s car, Corporal Jones was going “Mayday mayday, we have incoming air!”

“Hola, India Company,” came a new voice. Jones gave it priority, put on the loudspeakers.

Above them, the attacking aircraft fired rockets into the overland trains. Something blew up in one of them; other explosions ripped up the ground around the convoy and its protectors. Something clanged
hard
against the Lancer’s armor, a heavy piece of metal thrown by one of the high-explosive blasts.

“Who the hell’s this?” Bradford demanded.

“Skull Six, Icefish Hauraki here. We’re from the Air Force and we’re here to help.”

* * *

“Twelve in all,” came Icefish. “One flight circling high cover; we’ll take them.”

A Flight began to lift; the Vipers had been hugging the dirt at two thousand feet, trying to stay off the enemy radar and keep surprise.

“Sauron, you think you can handle a two to one fight? Sounds like Djinn, not Assads or Murads.”

“Any day of the week,” O’Connor spoke up. “We’re jets, sir; they’re just turboprops. They’re multipurpose; we’re fighters. Two to one is nothing.”

There was laughter across the channel. Some of it – O’Connor was pretty sure one of those guys was ‘Cock-Eye’ Castle – seemed derisive.

“Don’t knock the Djinn until you’ve fought them,
Meat
,” came Icefish. “You might be able to go faster. Those things can turn on a tin lid.”

The Confederated Union’s last circulating coin, the quarter, was called the ‘tin’ or the ‘tin lid’ for how it looked, although it was only a bit over an inch in diameter.

“Use your speed. They get on your six, hit the burners, shake them off that way. Do
not
try to duel Djinn, they’ve got a stall speed like nothing,” said Mordar.

“We can take them,” said O’Connor, a little embarassed.
Fuck you, Cock-Eye.

“Damn right we can,” said Mordar. “Engage.”

* * *

Captain Steve Bradford watched his digital map with dismay, as reports came in and his RTOs in the back seat updated them. As he updated them, as the cumbersome road trains slowly made their way into a turn. The shortest of the three was three hundred yards long; the longest was four hundred and change. They’d take five minutes to do a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, and right now Bradford wasn’t sure they had one minute.

The first aircraft pass had been ineffective, mostly. One of the road trains’ trunnions – the eight-foot-diameter wheels went in quads, a four-wheeled trunnion on each end of the seventy-foot-long carrier car – had been shot to crap and both axles were dragging, slowing the turn. The armor on others had been pecked, and something was burning on Landcrawler C.

Two of the semis, on the other hand, had been hit and were burning wreckage in the night. Another one was staggering along, something in the back of its trailer burning but the driver not just yet willing to give up.

Bail, idiot. Ditch it and bail with your cab intact!

Because those planes were coming back for another pass.

* * *

Flying Officer Second-Class Mabruk Idris carefully lined up one of the overland trains in his rockets’ sights as he came in again. Below was a firefight, the armored battalion engaging, the convoy and its protectors desperately fighting back—

And blips appeared on his radar. In the air, close and coming in.

The radio net erupted:

“Hostiles!”

“CU air about to engage,” said Squadron-Colonel Hafiz.

Looked to be eight of them, four going high to engage his squadron’s high cover. The CU were outnumbered three to two.

“Focus on the objective,” ordered Idris’ flight commander. “We’ve got them taken care of.”