QUETTA
Christopher pointed to a location south west of the main town. "That's the base from which the drones are launched. It's protected by a Pakistani army cordon, but is staffed by American 'security contractors' which usually means spooks and mercenaries crawling around in beards and dark glasses. That useless subterfuge provides the Americans some sort of perceived deniability, but only in America's eyes. Everyone else considers it to be an American base." He grinned. "I've been waiting for the Taliban to mortar that place for five years since its location was identified by Google, but as usual they outsmarted me."
"Google?" Mustapha reacted in surprise. "I didn't know they had investigative journalists."
Christopher pointed at the ceiling. "No journalists. Just aerial photography from commercial satellites. It was plastered all over the European papers in 2008 or 2009."
"Then why didn't they attack? The Taliban, I mean. Why didn't they mortar the base?" Alexandra interjected.
"Would you stop your best recruiting tool if you were the Taliban? An hour ago, I was being lectured by an Afghan Elder about the bombing of innocents. If I were a Taliban leader, why would I stop the drone flights? Every time those drones make a strike, an average of twenty-five innocent civilians is killed if the reports are to be believed."
"But they hide behind civilians," Alexandra protested.
"Do we keep our bases away from civilians? Come on, Alex, both sides base their troops next to civilians. That's why when they attack our bases, they also kill civilians. We're just not effective at using it as a recruiting tool since we don't understand the local customs except at the company or platoon level. All war, like politics, is local." Christopher leaned against the wall. "Why don't we eat and then get back to our next steps?"
"We need to get back to London on our plans in the next hour ..."
"... and we don't have a plan yet. With some food and something to drink, we might get there," Christopher responded as Mustapha carefully studied them. "Let's go through the rotation."
**
Picking at the lamb curry from her rations pack, Alexandra listened as Christopher and Mustapha reviewed the patrol plans.
"I know this may seem as a stupid question, but why not just keep an eye on any approaches to this building? Then we'll know if anyone is going to attack us."
Alexandra's question was greeted by six grins.
"We're paratroopers. Mobility is our God. For the infantry and armored units, holding land, building fortifications and the use of armor is their doctrine. If we have two men out there probing those streets, we will gather intelligence not only about our streets, but about the neighborhood. To attack us, our friends would have to move at least fifteen men down two narrow paths. If we get advance warning of them congregating, we're not staying here."
Alexandra arched her eyebrows as he paused to sip at his cup of tea. "Did you put butter in that tea? Where will we go to if we're not here?"
"Yes. I learnt that trick from the Gurkhas." Christopher gestured to the field packs that the paratroopers had assembled from the supplies under the tarpaulin. "When we move, take the one designated for you. If our friends attack, we can't stay here. We'll be trapped and they'll launch a drone attack. We're going to go straight at them and attack them." He handed her a headset and new radio as two of the paratroopers exited the apartment. "Your responsibility is communications with London if we get into a firefight. Before I forget, did Primo send any messages?"
YOU ARE READING
The Shaddad Conspiracy
Adventure“Your murder victim was not an innocent, naive woman. She was on our terrorist watch list. The fact that she escaped from Basra and lived a normal life in London buggers belief, but she was planted here by a foreign government to wreck the Taliban p...
