The long november, p.40
The Long November, page 40
“I did.”
“Well, then you need to be honest too. The demands of your job aren’t all that different from mine. You’re always headed to who knows where to cover the latest breaking story. So you can’t guarantee you’ll be able to provide a stable environment for MaKenna, either. And I don’t see you giving up the job you love in order to care for that little girl.”
“True. But you’re really comparing apples and oranges here. What I have are a number of friends who’d take care of her if I have to be gone for a few days. And if I need to be away for a lengthy period, my mother would be eager to fly in from Chicago to stay with her. I can’t tell you how many times she’s told me she’s dying to have a granddaughter. So I have a backup system. You have none.”
His head dropped. “But it’s going to be so hard to face this—turning my back and walking away.”
“I know. But you’ve got to be realistic. If we survive the next few days, it won’t be long before helicopters arrive to whisk us out of here. And it’s not like you can bring Fareeda along and that will be that. Even if you decide you’re going to give up everything for her, there’s going to be tons of red tape involved in getting her out of here. It’s not like we can drag a Pakistani child along with us with no questions asked. It might take months, even years, to work through the mountain of paperwork involved in such an action. You said yourself, Fareeda doesn’t have that kind of time. So tell me again what you’re going to do when the time comes to get on those helicopters?”
She hadn’t intentionally set out to crush him. But someone had to ensure he understood where things stood. If not, when the time came, she suspected Porter and the girl would both be devastated. From the expression on his face, it was clear he was beginning to understand the reality of the situation. Dejected, he looked at Wells. A deep pain inched across his brow. He wasn’t, however, ready to give up.
“There’s got to be something we can do. Someone who can help,” he said.
Even though she suspected it was futile, she didn’t want to leave him without a glimmer of hope. “Before you return to your foxhole, why don’t you speak with Ambassador Ingram? He knows Pakistan better than anyone. When he’s not on the front lines carrying stretchers, he’s been trying to determine if Kari McCaffrey had a sister. And how we’ll handle things if she doesn’t. He’s doing all he can for me. Maybe he can come up with a way to help you too.”
81
1:32 P.M., NOVEMBER 25
4TH PLATOON, BRAVO COMPANY, 2ND BATTALION, 69TH ARMOR REGIMENT, 2ND ARMORED BRIGADE COMBAT TEAM (SPARTANS), 3RD INFANTRY DIVISION
SIXTY MILES FROM DOWNTOWN KARACHI, PAKISTAN
It was over. The horrific endeavor had ended in the dark of night thirty-six hours earlier. The battle’s results were appalling. Over one million jihadists had perished. More than 70 percent of those who’d endured were wounded. With no medical care, many would perish in the coming days. Their leadership was gone. No one remained to guide their efforts. The stunned peasants were disoriented and confused. For the disheartened masses, only a token few were interested in continuing to resist. The majority had lost their taste for war. Most had thrown down their weapons and walked away.
As the smoke cleared, the Allies’ numbers weren’t exactly encouraging. The Americans had experienced three thousand casualties, the French and British even more. After the abhorrent onslaught, it had taken the division a day to gather its dead and wounded, resupply its units, and lick its gaping wounds. Finally the orders had come: “Leave your defensive positions and attack the enemy wherever you find him.”
* * *
• • •
The breakout had occurred two hours earlier. It had taken little effort to brush aside the scattered cultists who stood in their way. With Walton in the lead and the platoon’s other fighting vehicles flanking him, they rushed across the landscape. Two hundred yards behind them, the M1 platoon kept pace. To their rear, the division’s unyielding caravan stretched for miles. Above, Apaches and Black Hawks kept watch. Reaper drones buzzed in every direction.
There were bodies and burned-out armored vehicles across the Allied front. They stretched far and wide. Yet finally the Americans broke free and reached a major highway running alongside the Indus River. For the first few hundred miles their intentions were to never stray far from the wide river. Through heavy agricultural areas and mangrove swamps, they’d work their way toward the northeast.
At a cautious fifteen miles per hour, the point element continued on. With Walton in command of the platoon, their broad tracks churned across the countryside. Every so often they’d hear smatterings of gunfire, but nothing overly significant. Always on alert, the veteran sergeant moved forward.
What lay ahead, they didn’t know. At this point, they had no concept of how complete their victory had been. Each assumed the fanatics were re-forming. They suspected somewhere ahead the enemy had prepared a sturdy defensive network. Over the next hill, around the coming corner, Walton was certain a lethal engagement would be waiting.
None realized that the southern Fedayeen were in disarray. Only when cornered were they putting up the slightest resistance.
Inside the Bradleys, a sullen stillness consumed their worlds. After the death of the lieutenant and his crew, and the battering they’d taken, few words had passed between them since the attack ended. After inflicting so much suffering and receiving their share in return, an ominous black cloud consumed their battered psyches. An open wound, deep and painful, was crusting on their souls. From his intense combat in far too many wars, Walton understood no matter how long he lived, his anguish would never heal. And the vivid images of what had happened some hours earlier would forever live within him.
82
8:47 A.M., NOVEMBER 28
C COMPANY (BLUE MAX), 3RD BATTALION, 10TH AVIATION REGIMENT, 10TH COMBAT AVIATION BRIGADE, 10TH MOUNTAIN DIVISION (LIGHT INFANTRY)
CAMP NOWHERE
THE SPĪN GHAR MOUNTAINS OF NORTH-CENTRAL PAKISTAN
Their Black Hawk’s repairs had been completed not a moment too soon. Scant minutes later, the urgent call came in. Near an isolated ridgetop, a half dozen men were trapped by an overwhelming insurgent force. They’d gotten separated from their unit and were trapped in a box canyon. One American was dead, with the remainder suffering wounds running the gamut from minor to severe.
There was no time to spare. Washington’s crew rushed to their helicopter. It took some time, but finally all was ready. “Deicing’s complete, ma’am,” White said. “Engines and instrumentation looks fine.”
Washington brought her fingertips to her lips and touched her daughters’ picture. She lifted the straining craft into the air. As she did, a fifty-mile-per-hour gust came out of nowhere. It blew them sideways with her holding on with everything she had. Nonetheless, the sudden squall was little more than a momentary distraction. As quickly as it had appeared, the wind returned to manageable levels. She steadied the Black Hawk and raced skyward.
It would take eighteen minutes to reach the canyon. They had no idea what they’d find when they arrived. They would have loved to have had Apaches in support, but none of the far-flung attack helicopters were close enough to be able to do so. For this mission, they were on their own.
* * *
• • •
Rushing in from the north, they soared over the lip of the confining ravine. “There they are!” White exclaimed. “They’re pressed up against the canyon wall on the southern side. At least a few are alive; I can see them firing. And hundreds of rifles are firing back.”
The moment the Black Hawk pilot located the spot, a frown seized her. With where those she’d been sent to rescue were located, it was going to be nearly impossible to reach them. “How the hell are we going to extract them from there?” she said as they buzzed overhead with scores of AK-47 rounds trailing their shadow.
Her copilot paused, searching the scene for an answer. Yet nothing came to him. “Haven’t a clue, ma’am. But we can’t leave ’em there. We’ve got to do something.”
They turned and rushed toward the menacing conflict in progress. As they did so, she seized upon an approach. It would be beyond precarious, but it was all they had. “With them pressed against the wall, the only chance we’ve got is to land between our guys and the enemy. With the edge of the canyon so near, it appears the best we can do is to set down about twenty feet north of them.”
“Are you sure, ma’am?” White understood the extreme danger such an attempt would create. “I don’t see how we’d possibly survive such a move.”
“Well, if you’ve got a better idea, Shaun, let me hear it.” Her comment was met with silence. “Risky or not, the one thing I’m not doing is turning and running away.” She directed her next comment to her crew chiefs. “Not sure whether it’s going to be better to land with our nose pointing east or west. But whichever way it is, the machine gun on that side will need to attempt suppressing fire while the other heads out to help get our guys on board. Don’t know how many trips it’ll take, but you’re not to leave even one behind. Is that clear?”
Both responded with, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now let’s do this.”
She headed the Black Hawk toward the swirling chaos. Machine guns firing, they landed a short distance from the besieged Americans. The moment the skis touched, Sergeant Mercado leaped out and raced toward the wayward force. White rushed out to join him. Vinson and those on the ground unleashed everything they had against the jihadists. Yet their efforts had little effect. Scores of rounds slammed into the stationary Black Hawk. Its left engine sputtered. Moments later, with black smoke pouring from it, it died. They were down to two engines. But the remaining pair were more than enough to get them home.
Mercado grabbed one of the severely wounded and carried him toward the waiting craft. With bullets striking everywhere, he placed the American in the hold.
“How we doing out there?” Washington turned and asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mercado could see White approaching with yet another. “Need another trip for the last of the wounded and dead.” His words were rushed. “Once we’ve got them, the two with lesser wounds will try to make it over on their own. The moment they do, we can get the hell out of here.” He turned and raced back for another. White showed up with a second injured soldier. Dropping him in the rear compartment, he ran toward the one who lived no more.
In seconds, Mercado was heading toward the Black Hawk with another wounded soldier. Behind him, White picked up the lifeless form and carried it toward the helicopter. The final pair hobbled along with him. It wouldn’t be long before they’d make their escape. Fifteen seconds and they’d be in a position to do so.
Suddenly, the Black Hawk’s machine gun stopped firing. A puzzled Washington turned to look behind her. Inside the hold, Vinson was lying in a pool of blood. She glanced to her right. Her concluding human cargo was almost there. But so was something else.
Scarcely a blur, it ripped across the landscape toward the helicopter. Mercado, White, and the struggling pair had just reached the Black Hawk when the RPG hit. It struck dead center. In a tremendous blast, the wavering Black Hawk exploded. In less than a passing instant, the craft was engulfed in a ferocious blaze. The Americans were trapped. There’d be no escape. Its feral flames would soon overwhelm them.
Still alive, even if only barely, Bea Washington brought her fingertip to her bloodied lips. With her final breath, she reached out to touch her daughters’ picture.
83
6:52 A.M., NOVEMBER 29
FEDAYEEN HEADQUARTERS
NINETEEN MILES FROM ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
A single vehicle roared toward the encampment and came to a stop. Its screeching brakes announced its sudden appearance. Basra’s oldest son, Muhsin, was behind the wheel. The moment he emerged from the vehicle, he said to the first person he saw, “Where’s my father? I need to speak with him immediately.”
The sentry pointed. Muhsin ran in the direction indicated. It didn’t take long to reach his father. Out of breath, he yelled, “Father, I must speak with you. I’ve spent the night trying to locate your encampment. Thank the one true God I was able to do so. I didn’t expect to find you in this place. What has caused you to leave the mountains and move so near Islamabad?”
“The foreign dogs have forced me from the safety of the snow-covered hills. I’ve had no choice than to take refuge here. What is it you want, my son?”
“I have come from the south. With me, I carry terrible news. An overpowering American force is on its way. They’re being led by hundreds of armored vehicles and are moving fast. They’re no more than two hundred kilometers from here. With every passing minute they shorten the distance between us. There’s nothing to slow them. Our remaining southern units have been smashed. We’re essentially defeated. What holy warriors remain will be brushed aside in the coming hours. It’s my belief that in less than a day the Americans will reach Islamabad. If we wish to live, we must leave this place and hide deep within the tribal territories.”
Despite what Muhsin had told him, Basra wasn’t ready to accept his impending defeat. “I don’t understand. Bila Chachar promised he’d lead us to victory. Why has he failed me?”
“Bila’s dead, Father. Has been for a number of days.”
Rather than responding to his son’s horrific words, Basra turned to his followers. The intense fixation he carried hadn’t waned. “Before we consider withdrawing, I must know: Does the American embassy still stand?” Fearing what the repercussions might be, none said a word. The highly volatile Basra’s patience was at its end. “Does it?” he screamed.
“It stands,” one quietly said.
To their surprise, such information appeared to calm him. It gave him something to focus upon other than Muhsin’s unsettling news. “Such may be true. But it won’t be standing much longer. Before we make our escape, I promise you we’ll kill everyone cowering within it.” He paused ever so slightly. “There can be no delay. We’ll strike in the next few hours. We’ll destroy all we find inside its walls. By nightfall, our swords will run red. I’ll join you and lead you to a rapturous victory. With me at its head, our army will prevail in this final battle.”
It was another of his false assertions. Basra would accompany them and give every appearance of being involved in the fray. He had every intention, however, of remaining safe. Rather than leading his followers as they stormed the walls, he’d secrete himself out of harm’s way while others perished in his service.
“But, Father,” Muhsin said, “you heard what the American attack helicopters did to those who attempted to do as you describe. Such an assault will cost thousands of lives.”
“Such losses are of no consequence. All that matters is for those whose presence makes a mockery of Islam’s holy lands to pay for their insolence.”
“Father, please reconsider. I beg you not to do this. We’re out of time. We need to flee before it’s too late.”
But Basra’s mind was made up. “Gather our men. Under my direction, the American embassy will fall.”
84
2:24 P.M., NOVEMBER 29
ALPHA COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH MARINE REGIMENT, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
UNITED STATES EMBASSY
ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
They hadn’t been prepared for this. With the war all but over, the last thing those guarding the assailed compound had expected was another enormous attack. Nevertheless, when the threat appeared, they had responded quickly.
In the past ten minutes, a handful of Camp Nowhere’s fearsome Apaches had arrived. With a mighty thrust, they’d roared into the formidable battle. Guns blazing, rockets firing, they swarmed over every inch of the contested field. A thousand fresh bodies had been added to the accursed landscape. And the attack helicopters scarcely had begun.
Even with the toll the Apaches were taking, the swarming peasants were nearing. With so massive an onslaught, it wouldn’t be long before the weakened outpost would be overrun.
On the western edge of their fraying lines, Sanders and Porter fired their rifles at one inviting target after the next. Yet, screaming at the top of their lungs, the unceasing fanatics continued to scramble across the chaotic landscape.
When he paused to catch his breath, Porter spotted something strange in the distance. Numerous figures were crowded around a single individual. With each outlandish movement his animated gestures were causing one or more to scramble away.
“You see what I’m seeing?” Porter asked. He fired a lightning burst at a group of insurgents working their way through the shattered concrete two hundred yards away. A pair went down.
“What’s that?” Sanders replied.
“Out there at ten o’clock—the crazy bastard jumping around and waving his arms? He’s inside what’s left of that big building. Most of the time he’s hidden by the steel pillars. But every once in a while I get a glimpse of him.”
It took Sanders a moment to find the location his partner was describing. The instant he identified the spot he stopped, examining the scene. The antics of whoever it was were beyond normal. “Oh, yeah,” Sanders said. “What’s with him? That guy’s got to be nuts.”
“Maybe. But do you see how those around him are responding? They look like they’re terrified.” Perplexed, he studied the situation further. “Hold them off for a minute,” Porter said. “There’s something I need to do.”
