Tom Smith - Agent 6

– What did this?

The captain was wearing sunglasses and Leo stared at his own distorted reflection in the lens.

– These villages seem serene and quaint, your typical primitive backwater with cow-shit houses and kids chasing goats, pots and pans and bags of rice. This was a terrorist haven. The brothers who came from here were armed with enough explosives to create this kind of destruction, or worse. They were going to bring down an entire dam. Do you know how many people would’ve died, not only soldiers but civilians too? What did this? The villagers who lived here did this. They brought this upon themselves. Our helicopters came under heavy fire.

Leo didn’t know the classified technical specifications of the Hind attack helicopters, but they were heavily armoured: their blades were titanium tipped. Rifle and machine-gun fire wouldn’t be enough to bring them down.

– How heavy was the fire?

The captain kicked at the ground.

– The situation we are here to address is not an investigation into whether our pilots made the wrong decision. Fuel-air bombs were an appropriate choice of weapon, in my view. We’re here to convince these people that there are better and smarter options than fighting us – that fighting us is going to bring misery to millions.

Picking up on an earlier term, Leo asked, the jargon meaning nothing to him:

– Fuel-air bombs?

He’d never heard of them before. The captain briefly glanced at Nara. Even though she’d spied on Leo, even though she’d reported on the deserters, she was still foreign and the captain would only trust her so far. He spoke softly, quickly, making sure she couldn’t follow his Russian:

– They produce blasts of a longer duration, a pressure wave that is much harder to survive. They suck up the oxygen from the surrounding air. Normal explosives contain a large percentage of oxidizer. Thermobaric weapons are mostly fuel.

Listening to the captain, Leo understood why the military planners were so sure they would win this war. They had weapons of such ingenuity that anything other than a victory was illogical. He remarked:

– To ensure no one survives?

– They’re designed for cave networks. If the bomb can’t destroy the entire cave, it can at least suck out the air, turning a base that is safe structurally into a death trap.

Leo added:

– And villages?

Leo didn’t expect an explanation, the captain was already walking away, but he belatedly understood their use. They were weapons that would ensure everyone died, reducing the visible scars of the attack without compromising the lethal intent.

Nara crouched down. There was a steel cooking pot, turned black, but otherwise undamaged. She rubbed a small patch of it clean.

Outside the former centre of the village a shallow lake of ash was forming. The toxic surface lapped at Leo’s feet. The network of irrigation channelould ered the orchards had been destroyed in the attack. The water was still being carried down from the mountains but now it had nowhere to go. He scooped up a palm full of water. It trickled through his fingers, leaving a smear across his skin. He rubbed the residue with his thumb. The captain was becoming impatient:

– We need to move into the hills, talk to the people and discover what they want. Obviously we’ll we replant the orchards, clean up the water, and distribute the land to the relatives of those who were killed. You’ll handle the negotiations.

Leo stood beside Nara.

– Nara and I will go alone. It would be best if you and your men stayed here.

The captain shook his head without giving the idea a moment’s thought.

– Could be dangerous.

– No more dangerous than if you come with us.

The captain took out a pair of binoculars, regarding the nearest village.

– They’re going to get a medical centre or a school. We don’t need to be too precious about it.

*

The nearest village to the site of the massacre was called Sau. It consisted of a cluster of houses located on the side of the mountain, at an altitude several hundred metres above the valley floor. From their position the villagers would have been able to watch as the helicopters hovered over their neighbours, launching missiles, dropping bombs, fire consuming the trees and houses. Though the village didn’t look far away it took almost an hour to cross the scorched land and climb the terraced slopes, following the irrigation channel, walking along the concrete edge. The captain had not only insisted upon coming with them, he’d brought his five soldiers. Leo was confused by his approach. It was true: there was an element of danger. But ambushes were unlikely within the village itself. The mujahedin’s tactics were to attack Soviet positions while presenting the enemy with no targets to retaliate against, forces that dissolved into the mountains. Their aim was not to recapture cities since such a victory offered Soviet troops a target to attack. Refusing to engage in conventional warfare, instead, they would slice at the occupation, inflicting upon it a series of cuts, some deep, many shallow. They would bleed the Soviets while the Soviets dropped bombs on dust and rock, or, in this case, apricot trees.

His brow damp with perspiration, Leo wiped his face, studying the approaching village. Sau was small. Whereas the village of Sokh Rot was founded in the lap of once-fertile orchards, this village had no obvious industry other than livestock, herds of goats that scattered as they neared it. For such a small village there was a large crowd in the centre, several hundred men, many times more than would normally be found in a village this size. Leo caught up with Nara and the captain.

– What do you make of that?

He pointed at the crowd. More people were arriving, travelling down from the mountain paths and across the valley. The captain surveyed the landscape, observing the crowd. Inscrutable, he remarked solemnly:

– They want to see the destruction for themselves.

Leo shook his head, pointing to the opposite side of the valley.

– Why are they crossing the valley? They can see the devastation from there. Why are they coming here?

The captain didn’t reply.

*

Uneasy, Leo climbed the last few metres, entering the centre of the village and finding himself completely surrounded.

At a casual count there were no more than forty houses and yet in this small village was a crowd of men so dense that many were standing shoulder to shoulder: the centre was as busy as a market in Kabul. There were young boys, grown men, elders. More were entering the village from the mountain trails – so many that some had taken position on the higher ground, squatting on a terrace ledge, lined up like crows on a telephone wire. The village had become a pilgrimage site, drawing people from every direction. Some were carrying gifts: jugs of goat’s milk and bowls of dried fruit, nuts and berries, as though there were a religious festival or wedding taking place. The celebratory nature of the gathering should have put Captain Vashchenko at ease. However, he seemed agitated. The Spetsnaz soldiers readied their weapons, taking up defensive positions, none of them going as far as to point their guns directly at the villagers, an act of provocation from which there’d be no turning back.

Appreciating that this situation could rapidly descend into violence, Leo took the lead, raising his arms, showing that he carried no weapons. He spoke in Dari:

– I am unarmed. We’re here to talk.

He appreciated that the claim he was unarmed carried little weight considering that he was flanked by heavily armed special forces. A wall of inscrutable expressions made it impossible to judge whether or not they’d even understood. Leo’s accent was easy for an urbanite Afghan to follow, perhaps harder in rural areas. He turned to Nara.