“Colonel Killpack?”
“Yes, Sir. Good morning, General Robertson; I hope it’s a good morning. PLEASE HOLD.” A low rumble followed by an explosion rocked the Kabul bunker and showered bagged sand fifty yards in all directions. “Sir, are you still there?”
“I’m here, Colonel; what’s your status?”
“If I hang up on you, it’s because I’m dead.”
“Gotta keep a sense of humor, or we’re all dead, Colonel. How are you weathering the storm, Bobby?”
“We’ve had a rough forty-eight hours, Sir. What can I do for you, General?”
“I’ve been studying aerials from our Lockheed UTR-1, looking for your two MIAs. Won’t go into all the details now, but I think we’ve located at least the one from Bravo Company, over the border in Peshawar, sector 9, on your map.”
“Add one more MIA, General. Before the attack on Kabul, a Shambling Martino went AWOL. Just dropped off the map. We think he traveled toward Jalalabad with refugees but can’t be sure. That makes three we’re missing to date.
“I have no intel on that one, Bobby, but the good news is we have a positive ID on Sergeant Virginia O’Dwyer. At 1600 hours she was alive in Peshawar.”
Killpack responded, “Good news, Sir. Did you know her squad, including Lieutenant Randall Staley, was ambushed, General?”
The General went silent.
“You still there General?”
“Yes, Bobby, I’m still here. Barely. I’ve seen Staley’s file. It came through before you took Howard’s place, God rest his soul; but as I said, O’Dwyer is still alive, I hope.”
“Roger that.”
“Got time for an update, soldier, or do you want me to handle this from my end?”
“Spill it out, Sir. I don’t know how long before all hell breaks loose here again. I don’t even know who we’re fighting this morning, but I’m snug as a bug in a bunker; tactical HQ is rubble, destroyed along with Howard and his staff; but you know all that.”
“Roger that. American treasure. If the people who run this war from Washington only knew what’s going on out here.” Robertson paused long enough to shift in his bed and overcome the temptation to have Tommy rehearse the update. He continued, “My cognitive dominion decreases at the same rate as the morphine hits my bloodstream–but here goes.
About the time of the assault on your base, we dispatched a company north to transfer prisoners– six jeeps, 2 Humvees, and a truck load of, well, let’s just call them enemy combatants. About midway, they came under attack, and we lost radio contact. All available birds had been redirected as air support to either Kandahar or Kabul. But knowing something had gone to snot, I finally dispatched an Apache to recon. The site of the ambush had been scrubbed of equipment, but the ground was strewn with our boys—our brave boys. Based on current intel, I’m confident the local clan was behind the ambush. We bagged and retrieved the entire platoon for exfil to Dover, save one–Captain Ed Durant.”
“Yes, sir, I know Durant. Served with him on my last tour. He had a pregnant wife and two kids.”
After another sober pause, the General continued. “We think most of the jeeps and one Humvee were driven northeast by escapees. Somebody must have tipped them to avoid Kabul. How the hellena they got away from the Taliban scot free is a mystery to me. Their ring-leader, Billie Joe Quagmeyer, alias Karim of Kandahar . . .
“Did you say Creamy Candle Jar?”
“No, K-a-r-i-m of Kandahar. Sorry, I’ll slow down. Back in Mississippi, the FBI has a warrant out for his arrest. His given name again is Billie Joe Quagmeyer.”
“Roger that. Oh, yes, I saw his mug on a poster when we were sorting through HQ debris looking for a sat-phone. What caught my attention were the thumb-tacked eyes. Excuse me, General, continue.”
“Roger that. I’m forwarding aerial photos—verification that our hijacked jeeps and one Humvee made it through the Pass to Peshawar.”
“ISIS recruits, General?”
“Don’t think they ever got that far Mac, I mean Bobby. Info’s sketchy. Anyway . . . excuse me a second.” The phone was muffled. “Take that back. Guess I’m not hungry today. . . Tommy, grab that photo that just floated under my bed, will you? . . . I’m back. Of course, the Pakistanis had eyes on our vehicles from the moment they crossed the international border. We monitored their pilot to command and control communications. I’m sure a drone took in the whole scene.”
“Yes, I’ve seen their drone—or should I say, our drones—with a live pilot on board. Iran’s flying them, too. Hard to detect. High tech.”
General Robertson coughed into a Kleenex. Blood. “Just before dusk today, the convoy of jeeps loaded up and left Peshawar, headed east toward Islamabad; fifteen minutes later they were blown to hell by a pair of Bell’s Viper choppers. The Humvee remains parked at Peshawar.”
“Sir, were our soldiers killed in that explosion and can we expect reprisals from Pakistani air or ground forces?”
“As I said, what we know for sure is that Sergeant O’Dwyer was left alive in Peshawar. The photos are clear on that point. Before You came on board she flew out of your base—very fine soldier; a sharpshooter at age 18.”
“So, we want to know who, if any other soldiers, are with her?”
“That’s half the recipe, Bobby. The other half is—figure out how to get them out of there before they’re captured. NOW. If the Pakistanis investigate, Jinny–I mean, O’Dwyer–is toast.”
“Sir, with your authorization I am prepared to breach the border, drop in behind Peshawar and get our soldiers–or body bags–out of there.
“What you got on hand?”
“We have a couple of Blackhawks on standby at the Jalalabad air field. They are the closest and quickest option.”
“Roger that, Colonel. You’ll meet no resistance at Peshawar. It’s a refugee encampment. Photos will show you the best place to land. My aid spotted O’Dwyer on a roof. Wish we had radio communications with th. . . Wait a minute, there should be a sat phone in that hummer. Tommy, can we turn that sucker on remotely.”
“Yes, sir, and we can make it bark like a dog. They’ll hear it,” replied the General’s aid. Unless Quagmeyer found it.
“Did you copy that, Colonel?”
“Yes, General Robertson. I’ll get our choppers in the air—one for pick up; one for cover. Will you let me know when radio communications have been established with Sergeant O’Dwyer? We’ll get in and out before the Pakistani’s react. Think the Three-Star can calm Pakistani nerves?”
“Count on it,” replied Robertson. He’s my mother’s brother. The round trip should only take an hour and a half. Well, maybe a little more. Lieutenant O’Dwyer will likely know the status of the other two soldiers. Thank you, Colonel. Keep me posted.”
“Roger that, Sir. You’ll be going home soon. Get better. Out.”
Major General Robertson would return home, but, like many “heroes proved through liberating strife,” he would never recover. Not really.