The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry
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A few yards ahead, Lojab came out of the brush. He removed his helmet and bowed low, then straightened and smiled at the blonde.
“Hello, madam. I seemed to have misplaced my Porsche. Can you direct me to the nearest McDonald’s?”
She smiled but said nothing. He watched her rock back and forth in an easy, fluid motion, perfectly synchronized with her elephant’s movements, like an erotic dance between woman and beast. Lojab walked along beside the animal but then found he had to jog to keep up.
“Where are you ladies headed? Maybe we could get together tonight for a beer, or two, or five.”
She spoke three or four words, but nothing he could understand. She then turned her attention back to the trail ahead.
“Okay.” He stopped in the middle of the trail and watched her reach to push a tree branch out of the way. “I’ll see you there, at about eight.”
“Lojab.” Karina came up to stand beside him. “You’re pathetic.”
“What do you mean? She said to meet her tonight at Joe’s Bar and Grill.”
“Yeah, right. What city? Kandahar? Karachi? New Delhi?”
“Did you see their tattoos?” Joaquin asked.
“Yeah, on their faces,” Kady said.
Joaquin nodded. “They looked like a devil’s pitchfork with a snake, or something like that.”
“Incoming elephant,” Kawalski said.
“Should we hide, Sarge?”
“Why bother?” Alexander said.
The third elephant was ridden by a young man. His long sandy hair was tied at the back of his neck with a length of leather. He was bare to the waist, his muscles well-toned. He looked at the soldiers, and just like the two women, he had a bow and quiver of arrows on his back.
“I’ll try a little Spanish lingo on him.” Karina removed her helmet. “Cómo se llama?”
The young man ignored her.
“A qué distancia está Kandahar?” She looked at Sergeant Alexander. “I asked him how far to Kandahar.”
The elephant handler spoke a few words, but they seemed to be directed more to his animal than Karina.
“What did he say, Karina?” Lojab asked.
“Oh, he couldn’t stop to talk right now. He had a dental appointment or something.”
“Yeah, right.”
“More elephants on the way,” Kawalski said.
“How many?”
“A whole herd. Thirty or more. You might want to get out of the way. They’re spread out.”
“All right,” Alexander said, “everybody get on this side of the trail. Let’s stick together.”
The platoon didn’t bother to hide as they watched the elephants go by. The animals ignored the soldiers as they grabbed tree branches with their trunks and chewed them while walking along. Some of the animals were ridden by mahouts, while others had handlers walking beside them. A few smaller elephants followed the herd, without anyone tending them. All of them stopped occasionally, pulling tufts of grass to eat.
“Hey, Sparks,” Alexander said.
“Yeah, Sarge?”
“Try to raise Kandahar on your radio.”
“I did already,” Sparks said. “I got nothing.”
“Try again.”
“Right.”
“Did you try your GPS T-DARD to see where we are?”
“My T-DARD has gone retard. It thinks we’re on the French Riviera.”
“The Riviera, huh? That would be nice.” Alexander looked around at his soldiers. “I know you people were ordered to leave your cellphones in the barracks, but did anyone happen to accidentally bring one along?”
Everybody pulled out their phones.
“Jesus!” Alexander shook his head.
“And it’s a good thing, too, Sarge.” Karina tilted her helmet up and put the phone to her ear. “With our radio and GPS on the blink, how else could we find out where we are?”
“I got nothing.” Paxton tapped his phone on a tree trunk and tried again.
“Probably should pay your bill.” Karina clicked out a text message with her thumbs.
“Nothing here,” Joaquin said.
“I’m dialing 9-1-1,” Kady said. “They’ll know where we are.”
“You don’t have to call 9-1-1, Sharakova,” Alexander said. “This is not an emergency, yet.”
“We’re too far away from the cell towers,” Kawalski said.
“Well,” Karina said, “that tells us where we’re not.”
Alexander looked at her.
“We can’t be on the Riviera, that’s for sure. There are probably seventy cell towers along that section of the Mediterranean coast.”
“Right,” Joaquin said. “We’re somewhere so remote, there’s no tower within fifty miles.”
“That could be ninety percent of Afghanistan.”
“But that ninety percent of Afghanistan never looked like this,” Sharakova said, waving her hand at the tall pine trees.
Behind the elephants came a baggage train of oxcarts loaded with hay and large earthen jars filled with grain. The hay was stacked high and tied down with grass ropes. Each cart was pulled by a pair of small oxen, barely taller than a Shetland pony. They trotted along at a good pace, driven by men who walked beside them.
It took twenty minutes for the hay carts to roll by. They were followed by two columns of men, all of whom wore short tunics of different colors and styles, with protective skirts of thick leather strips. Most were bare to the waist, and all were muscular and heavily scarred. They carried shields of elephant hide. Their double-edged swords were about two feet in length and slightly curved.
“Tough looking soldiers,” Karina said.
“Yes,” Kady said. “Are those scars for real?”
“Hey, Sarge,” Joaquin said.
“Yeah?”
“Have you noticed none of these people have the slightest fear of our weapons?”
“Yeah,” Alexander said as he watched the men walk by.
The soldiers numbered about two hundred, and they were followed by another company of fighters, but these were on horseback.
“They must be filming a movie somewhere up ahead,” Kady said.
“If they are,” Kawalski said, “they sure got a bunch of ugly actors.”
They saw more than five hundred mounted soldiers, who were followed by a small band of men on foot, wearing white tunics that looked like togas.
Behind the men in white came another baggage train. The two-wheeled carts were filled with large earthen jars, slabs of raw meat, and two wagonloads of squealing pigs.
A horse and rider came galloping from the front of the column, on the opposite side of the trail from the platoon.
“He’s in a hurry,” Karina said.
“Yeah, and no stirrups,” Lojab said. “How does he stay in the saddle?”
“I don’t know, but that guy must be six-foot-six.”
“Probably. And check out that costume.”
The man wore an engraved bronze breastplate, metal helmet with red animal hair on top, a scarlet cloak, and fancy sandals, with leather laces wrapped around his ankles. And a leopard skin covering his saddle.
A dozen children jogged along the side of the trail, passing the wagon train. They wore short sarongs made of a rough tan fabric extending to their knees. Except for one of them, they were bare above the waist and dark-skinned, but not black. They carried bulging goatskin bags, with straps over their shoulders. Each one held a wooden bowl in his hand. The bowls were attached to their wrists by a length of leather.
One of the boys spotted Alexander’s platoon and came running to them. He stopped in front of Karina and tilted his goatskin to fill his bowl with a clear liquid. With his head bowed low, and using both hands, he held out the bowl to Karina.
“Thank you.” She took the bowl and lifted it toward her lips.
“Hold on,” Alexander said.
“What?” Karina asked.
“You don’t know what that is.”
“It looks like water, Sarge.”
Alexander came over to her, dipped his finger into the bowl, then touched it to his tongue. He smacked his lips. “All right, take a small sip.”
“Not after you stuck your finger in it.” She grinned at him. “Kidding.” She took a sip, then drank half the bowl. “Thank you, very much,” she said, then handed the bowl back to the boy.
He took the bowl but still wouldn’t look at her; instead, he kept his eyes on the ground at her feet.
When the other children saw Karina drink from the bowl, four of them, three boys and the one girl in the group, hurried over to serve water to the rest of the platoon. All of them kept their heads bowed, never looking at the soldiers’ faces.
The girl, who appeared to be about nine years old, held out her bowl of water to Sparks.
“Thank you.” Sparks drank the water and handed the bowl back to her.
She peeked up at him, but when he smiled, she jerked her head back down.
Someone in the line of march shouted, and all the children held out their hands, politely waiting for their bowls to be returned. When each boy got his bowl, he ran to his place in line on the trail.
The girl ran to take her place behind the boy who’d served water to Karina. He glanced back at Karina, and when she waved to him, he lifted his hand but caught himself and turned to trot along the trail.
A large herd of sheep came by, bleating and baaing. Four boys and their dogs kept them on the trail. One of the dogs—a large black animal with one chewed-off ear—stopped to bark at the platoon, but then he lost interest and ran to catch up.
“You know what I think?” Kady asked.
“Nobody cares what you think, Scarface,” Lojab said.
“What, Sharakova?” Alexander glanced from Lojab to Kady.
The one-inch scar running up and over the middle of Kady’s nose darkened with her quickened pulse. But rather than let her disfigurement dampen her spirit, she used it to embolden her attitude. She gave Lojab a look that could wilt crabgrass.
“Blow this, Low Job,” she said, then gave him the finger and spoke to Alexander. “This is a reenactment.”
“Of what?” Alexander ran two fingers across his upper lip, erasing a tiny smile.
“I don’t know, but remember those PBS shows where the men dressed up in Civil War uniforms and lined up to shoot blanks at each other?”
“Yeah.”
“That was a reenactment of a Civil War battle. These people are doing a reenactment.”
“Maybe.”
“They’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get it right,” Karina said.
“Get what right?” Lojab asked. “Some kind of medieval migration?”
“If it’s a reenactment,” Joaquin said, “where’s all the tourists with their cameras? Where’s the TV crews? The politicians taking credit for everything?”
“Yeah,” Alexander said, “where are the cameras? Hey, Sparks,” he said into his communicator, “where’s your whirlysplat?”
“You mean the Dragonfly?” Private Richard ‘Sparks’ McAlister asked.
“Yeah.”
“In her suitcase.”
“How high can she fly?”
“Four or five thousand feet. Why?”
“Send her up to see how far we are from that Registan Desert, “Alexander said. “As much as I’d love to hang around here and watch the show, we still have a mission to accomplish.”
“Okay, Sarge,” Sparks said. “But the suitcase is in our weapons container.”
Chapter Three
The soldiers gathered around Alexander as he spread his map out on the ground.
“What’s the cruising speed of the C-130?” he asked Airman Trover, a crewman from the aircraft.
“About three hundred and thirty miles per hour.”
“How long were we in the air?”
“We left Kandahar at four p.m.” Trover checked his watch. “It’s now almost five, so about an hour in the air.”
“Three hundred and thirty miles,” Alexander whispered as he drew a wide circle around Kandahar. “An hour to the east would put us in Pakistan. In that case, that river we saw is the Indus. One hour to the west, and we’d be just inside Iran, but no big rivers there. An hour to the southwest is the Registan Desert, right where we’re supposed to be, but no forest or rivers in that region. An hour to the north, and we’re still in Afghanistan, but that’s arid country.”
Karina looked at her watch. “What time you got, Kawalski?”
“Um, five minutes to five.”
“Yeah, that’s what I have, too.” Karina was quiet for a moment. “Sarge, there’s something haywire here.”
“What is it?” Alexander asked.
“All our watches tell us it’s late afternoon, but look at the sun; it’s almost directly overhead. How can that be?”
Alexander looked up at the sun, then at his watch. “Beats the hell out of me. Where’s Sparks?”
“Right here, Sarge.”
“Check that GPS reading again.”
“It still says we’re on the French Riviera.”
“Trover,” Alexander said, “what’s the range on the C-130?”
“About three thousand miles without refueling.”
Alexander tapped his pencil on the map. “France has to be at least four thousand miles from Kandahar,” he said. “Even if the plane had enough fuel to fly to France–which it didn’t–we would have to be in the air for over twelve hours–which we weren’t. So, let’s cut the crap about the French Riviera.” He looked around at his soldiers. “All right?”
Sparks shook his head.
“What?” Alexander asked.
“See our shadows?” Sparks asked.
Looking at the ground, they saw very little shadowing.
“I think the time is about twelve noon,” Sparks said. “Our watches are wrong.”
“All our watches are wrong?”
“I’m just telling you what I see. If it’s really five in the afternoon, the sun should be there.” Sparks pointed to the sky at about forty-five degrees above the horizon. “And our shadows should be long, but the sun is there.” He pointed straight up. “On the French Riviera, right now, it’s noon.” He looked at Alexander’s scowling face. “France is five hours behind Afghanistan.”
Alexander glared at him for a moment. “All right, the only way we’re going to settle this is to find our weapons crate, dig out that toy whirlysplat of yours, and send it up to see where the hell we are.”
“How are we going to find our crate, Sarge?” Lojab asked.
“We’re going to have to find someone who speaks English.”
“Her name is ‘Dragonfly,’” Sparks muttered.
“Hey,” Karina said, “here comes more cavalry.”
They watched two columns of heavily armed soldiers pass on horseback. These horses were larger than any they’d seen so far, and the men wore iron breastplates, along with matching helmets. Their shoulder protection and wrist guards were made of thick leather. Round shields were slung across their backs, and each man carried a long sword, as well as daggers and other knives. Their faces, arms, and legs showed many battle scars. The soldiers rode with bridles and reins, but without stirrups.
It took almost twenty minutes for the cavalry to ride by. Behind them, the trail was empty all the way back to a point where it disappeared around a copse of young Aleppo pine trees.
“Well,” Lojab said, “finally, that’s the last of them.”
Alexander looked down the trail. “Maybe.”
After the passage of forty elephants, hundreds of horses and oxen, and over a thousand people, the trail had been worked down to pulverized dirt.
A horse soldier galloped by on the opposite side of the trail, coming from the front of the column. The platoon watched the rider pull his horse to a skidding halt, then turned to ride beside a man who’d just come around a turn in the trail.
“That must be the guy in charge,” Lojab said.
“Which one?” Karina asked.
“The man who just came around the curve.”
“Could be,” Alexander said.
The man was tall, and he rode a huge black charger. Twenty paces behind him was the tall officer with the scarlet cloak who’d ridden by earlier, and behind the officer rode four columns of horsemen, wearing shiny bronze breastplates and matching helmets. Their scarlet capes fluttered in the breeze.
The man on the warhorse trotted along as the scout spoke to him. He never acknowledged the messenger’s presence but seemed to listen intently to what he had to say. After a moment, the man on the charger said a few words and sent the messenger galloping away toward the front.
When the officer came abreast of the Seventh Cavalry, his horse pranced sideways as both he and his rider studied Sergeant Alexander’s platoon. The officer showed more interest in them than anyone else had.
“Hey, Sarge,” Karina said on her comm, “remember that four-star general who came to Camp Kandahar last month to review the troops?”
“Yeah, that would be General Nicholson.”
“Well, I’ve got a feeling I should come to attention and salute this guy, too.”
The man on horseback sat ramrod straight, and his polished bronze helmet with a red mohawk of boar’s hair on top made him look even taller than his six-foot-two height. He wore a tunic like the others, but his was made of a red silk-like material, and it was sewn with fine double rows of white stitching. The strips of his leather skirt were trimmed in silver, and the hilt of his sword was inlaid with silver and gold, as was the scabbard of his falcata. His boots were made of tooled leather and came up over his calves.
His saddle was covered with a lion hide, and the horse wore a heavy breastplate, along with leather armor on its front legs and a thick silver plate on its forehead. The horse was high-spirited, and the man had to maintain pressure on the reins to restrain him from galloping ahead. A dozen small bells hung along the neck harness, and they jingled as the horse trotted by.
“He does have a certain air of authority,” Alexander said.
“If anyone had stirrups,” Kawalski said, “it should be this guy.”
A scout came galloping down the trail and turned his horse to come up beside the general. With a flick of his wrist, the general turned his warhorse away from the platoon and listened to the scout’s report as they rode away from Alexander and his people. A moment later, the general gave the scout some instructions and sent him off toward the front.
The squadron of horsemen with the red capes showed more interest in Alexander and his troops than the other soldiers did. They were young men, early to mid-twenties, well-dressed, and riding fine horses. They weren’t battle-scarred like the other men.
“They look like a bunch of candy-ass second lieutenants to me.” Lojab spat in the dirt as he watched them.
“Just like cadets fresh out of the academy,” Autumn said.
Behind the cadets came another baggage train of large four-wheeled wagons. The first one was loaded with a dozen heavy chests. The others contained bales of furry hides, spare swords, spears, and bundles of arrows, along with many earthen pots the size of small barrels, filled with dried fruit and grains. Four wagons were loaded high with cages containing geese, chickens, and cooing pigeons. The wagons were pulled by teams of four oxen.
The wagons and carts rode on solid wheels, without spokes.
After the wagons came more two-wheeled carts, loaded with slabs of meat and other supplies. Twenty carts made up this group, and they were followed by a dozen foot-soldiers carrying swords and spears.
“Wow, look at that,” Kawalski said.
The last cart held something familiar.
“They’ve got our weapons container!” Karina said.
“Yeah, and the orange parachutes, too,” Kawalski said.
Alexander glanced at the wagon. “Son-of-a-bitch.” He stepped onto the trail and took hold of the oxen’s harness. “Hold it right there.”
The woman driving the cart glared at him, then popped her whip, cutting a slit in the camo covering of his helmet.
“Hey!” Alexander shouted. “Cut that out. I just want our weapons crate.”
The woman flicked her whip again, and Alexander caught it, wrapping the braided leather around his forearm. He yanked the whip from her hand, then advanced on her.
“I don’t want to hurt you, lady.” He pointed with the handle of the whip toward the fiberglass container. “I’m just taking what belongs to us.”
Before he could get to her, six of the men behind the cart drew their swords and came at him. The first one shoved his fist against Alexander’s chest, pushing him backwards. As Alexander stumbled, he heard twelve rifles being cocked. He regained his balance and held up his right hand.
“Hold your fire!”
The man who had shoved Alexander now pointed his sword at the sergeant’s throat, apparently unconcerned that he might be cut down by the M-4 rifles. He said a few words and tilted his head to the right. It wasn’t hard to understand his meaning; get away from the cart.
“All right, all right.” Alexander held up his hands. “I don’t want you people to die over a weapons container.” As he walked back to his soldiers, he wrapped the whip around its handle and shoved it into his hip pocket. “Lower your weapons, damn it. We’re not going to start a war over that stupid box.”
“But Sarge,” Karina said, “that has all our gear in it.”
“We’ll get it back later. It doesn’t look like they’ve figured out how to open—”
A blood-chilling scream came from the other side of the trail as a band of men armed with spears and swords ran from the woods to attack the baggage train.
“Well,” Lojab said, “this must be Act Two of this never-ending drama.”
As the attackers began grabbing slabs of meat and jars of grain from the wagons, the woman driver on a wagon pulled her dagger and went for two men who’d climbed into her wagon to take the weapons container. One of the men swung his sword, cutting a deep gash in the woman’s arm. She screamed, switched her knife to her other hand, and lunged at him.
“Hey!” Kawalski shouted. “That’s real blood!”
The wagon train’s soldiers ran to join the battle, swinging their swords and yelling. One of the two attackers in the wagon jumped down, pulling the weapons container to the ground. A foot-soldier swung his sword at the man’s head, but the man dodged away, then stepped in, stabbing the soldier in the stomach.
A hundred more robbers charged in from the woods, and all along the trail, they leapt on the wagons, fought the drivers, and tossed supplies to their comrades on the ground.
The wagon train’s soldiers ran to attack the robbers, but they were greatly outnumbered.
A horn sounded three times in rapid succession from somewhere up the trail.
The robber in the last wagon had knocked the woman to the floor of the vehicle, and now he raised his sword and gripped it with both hands, preparing to run it through her heart.
Kawalski brought up his rifle and fired twice. The man in the wagon stumbled backward, falling to the ground. His comrade’s eyes darted from the dying man to the woman in the wagon.
The woman moved like a jungle cat as she snatched her dagger from the bed of the wagon and went for the man. He drew back his sword and began a swing that would cut her legs from beneath her–but Alexander’s pistol slug hit him in the chest, knocking him sideways and over the weapons crate.
An arrow zinged through the air, passing just inches away from Alexander’s head. He jerked his head around to see the arrow hit a foot-soldier in the throat.
“Spread out!” Alexander shouted. “Fire at will!”
The platoon ran along the trail and between the wagons, firing their rifles and sidearms. It wasn’t difficult to distinguish the foot-soldiers from the attackers; the robbers wore ragged animal hides for clothing, and their hair was shaggy and unkempt.
“Lojab!” Karina shouted. “Bandits on your nine. Roll right!”
Lojab hit the ground as Karina fired over him, hitting one of the attackers in the face, while Lojab took out another one with a bullet to his chest.
“More coming from the woods!” Sparks yelled.
A bandit kicked away Lojab’s rifle. He rolled to his back to see a second bandit swinging his sword toward him. He pulled his Yarborough knife and got it up in time to block the sword. The attacker yelled and brought his sword around as the second bandit thrust his sword down, aiming for Lojab’s heart. Lojab rolled as the sword cut into the dirt, then got to his knees and shoved his knife into the man’s groin. He yelled, stumbling backward.
The remaining bandit swung his sword at Lojab’s head, but Karina had reloaded, and she blew him away with two shots to his chest.
Lojab leapt on the man he’d stabbed and cut his throat.
Four more bandits charged in from the trees, yelling and brandishing their spears, running toward Sparks. They were followed by two men armed with bows and arrows.
Sparks took aim and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. “My rifle’s jammed!”
“Sparks!” Autumn yelled and tossed her handgun to him. She emptied her rifle magazine, firing on the run. Two of the attackers went down.