Jack Terral - Seals (2005)

"I understand," Khamami said. "And I hope you understand why I did not choose to fight to the death as I normally would have."

"Of course," Aburrani said. "You realize that if you submit to Kabul's authority, you will be under government, thus American, protection. And your activities in the opium trade will be able to continue unabated without us having to find a replacement for you."

"If I cannot have glory in war, then I will console myself by becoming a wealthy man."

"That is most wise of you," Aburrani said. "By the way, the helicopter pilot Mohammed Sheriwal has surrendered to the Americans. He used his Russian name, saying nothing about converting to Islam. The fellow has asked them to help him get home to Russia."

"He wants to go to Switzerland to get his money out of the bank," Khamami said. "He will leave behind his women and never come back."

"It doesn't matter," Aburrani said. "You must let him go. If he is forced to stay, he will betray you, me and many others who make money from the poppies."

"Very well."

"There is an American rifle platoon here along with Brannigan's men," Aburrani explained. "They will be watching you and your surviving mujahideen most carefully. The infidels know you cannot defeat them in battle, and any bad conduct by you or your people will be severely punished."

"I am serious about nanawatey," Khamami said. "So let us get back to business. Will there be any problem smuggling out the next opium crop?"

"None at all," Aburrani said. "Now that everything is settled, I will inform my companions that you have formally surrendered and agreed to serve the causes of the new Afghan government." The envoy turned to Brannigan, Cruiser and Latrelle.

Both Khamami and Kharani sat in silence as their friend spoke in the strange language of the infidels.

.

1330 H0URS LOCAL

THE 101ST Airborne troopers began setting up a tent camp for the stay at the fortress. When the SEALS offered to help, their commander, an African-American lieutenant by the name of Lawton, told the Navy men they had been through enough. The air assault troopers were more than happy to do the work.

As the camp was erected, Colonel Latrelle had some more important information for Lieutenant Brannigan. And the SEAL skipper was not pleased by most of it.

"There'll be a UN aid team coming in here tomorrow," Latrelle explained. "They're coming for the purpose of giving help and instruction to the people living in the fortress and the villages around it."

"What the hell is that all about?" Brannigan asked.

"The usual stuff," Latrelle said. "There'll be two medical clinics. One for men and the other for women and children so as not to offend any Islamic sensitivities. The UN people will also present a special program for the women about female things, and other lessons that will pertain to everybody. They use posters and leaflets as well as videotapes to explain nutrition, hygiene and sanitation in their presentations. It's actually quite beneficial to the indigenous personnel."

"Does this have anything to do with me and my men?"

"You are to remain here with the rifle platoon for security reasons," Latrelle said. "When SOCOM deems it is time to end your mission, you will return to Kabul. The UN aircraft will be provided to you for the flight."

"Godamn it!" Brannigan cursed. "We came over to this fucking place to pick up a defector on a quick in-and-out operation. So far we've been on this mission almost a month, fought several major battles, lost two damn good men, and now we're supposed to stand around a fucking dilapidated fort with our thumbs up our asses."

"Hey, Lieutenant," Latrelle said testily. "I'm only the messenger. SOCOM wanted you to hang around here because they feel the Pashtuns have a great deal of respect for you." He shrugged. "Actually, they're scared of you."

"They have good reason to be," Brannigan snapped.

.

2 SEPTEMBER

0945 HOUR LOCAL

ALL the SEALs felt stabs of homesickness when the white United Nations C-130 touched down and taxied across the hard-packed terrain toward the tent camp. They knew this was the aircraft that would carry them out on the first leg of the long trip home. The sight of the big plane made them anxious to get aboard and haul ass away from Afghanistan as fast as possible.

The rear door slowly opened under the hydraulic drive, then a loading ramp was pushed out by the crew. The first thing to appear was a Mitsubishi truck that was driven off the plane. Another followed, then a couple of dozen people pulling roll-out luggage walked down the ramp to the ground. The SEALs' collective interest rose when they noticed that among the disembarking passengers were a number of females. A man led the group, and he paused to look around as if searching for someone to greet him. Brannigan and the leader of the rifle platoon, Lieutenant Lawton, picked him out to be the head man. They walked up and introduced themselves.

"How do you do?" he said. "I am Dr. Bouchier. I have some tents and other accommodations to set up. There is a crew of laborers still aboard the aircraft to do the work. Where do you recommend that we establish ourselves?"

Brannigan pointed to the south side of the warlord's fortress. "The wind is cut off there. You'll be more comfortable."

Lieutenant Lawton made an offer. "I have a platoon of men here if you need any help."

"No, thank you," Dr. Bouchier said. "We have plenty of hands to tend to the task. The sight of soldiers putting up our camp gives a bad impression:'

"All right, Doctor," Lieutenant Lawton said. "I don't suppose good impressions mean much if it turns out you need any protection, so we'll be close by."

The doctor ignored the remark that bordered on sarcasm. "Our laborers will go back with the plane tomorrow, but will return to repack us when it's time to leave." Then he added, "By the way, I am Belgian not French."

I almost give a shit, Brannigan thought, but he said. "Really?"

"Yes," Bouchier said. "Really." He turned and yelled out some orders in French. The effort produced a dozen Afghan laborers who cheerfully trotted down the ramps over to the trucks. An impatient gesture from the doctor set the vehicles off in the right direction.

Chad Murchison stood with his CAR-15 over his shoulder, with Senior Chief Dawkins and Connie Concord, watching the activity. He had started to turn to go back to the platoon tents when a female voice caught his attention.

"Chad! Chad Murchison!"

He turned to see who had hailed him. A young woman wearing white coveralls walked rapidly toward him, and the sight caused a deep feeling of sweet sadness to sweep over the young SEAL. It was Penny Brubaker, the girl who had dumped him for a varsity jock back in their college days. He managed an awkward grin, not really happy to see her.

"Hello, Penny."

She embraced him tightly around the neck and kissed his cheek. "Chad! Oh m'God! I never expected to see you. I mean here. Y' know, in Afghanistan." She laughed nervously. "Oh m'God! I am so flustered."

"I'm a bit surprised to see you too," Chad said.

"Oh m'God! I hardly recognized you," she said. "I had to stare a minute to make sure it was you."

He noted that she wore a name tag on her coveralls with her last name as BRUBAKER instead of ARMBREWSTER. The big man on campus she'd gotten engaged to was Cliff Armbrewster. She suddenly realized what he was looking at. "Oh! Cliff and I never married. He was such a shallow buffoon." She gave Chad a bold gaze. "You look so rugged! And you've filled out! But then you're a SEAL, aren't you? I heard about it from Pauline Dillingham. She said you had gone into the Navy and became a SEAL. How exciting. I thought that was so brave and mature of you."

Suddenly his feelings of awkwardness disappeared and he felt manly and macho. "Yeah. It was tough sledding, but I made it."