are there kin of any sort. And I cannot muster the desire for another woman. I believe, for whatever reason, that Allah in his mercy does not want me to remarry. I am now an old soldier alone in the world." He gestured around him. "And here I am in this strange situation, tied down by puzzling orders issued by my government."
"It ain't all bad, sir," Sikes said. "We do have some leeway in that we can carry on harassing tactics in any manner that suits us." He leaned forward. "I'm working on a couple o' plans, sir. When I get everything straight in me head, I'll bring 'em up." He was thoughtful for a moment, then spoke again. "I was wondering, Brigadier, that wot if we had some rotten luck and them Yanks kicked us out o' here, hey? Wot'd happen then?"
"I have heard no official word," Khohollah said. "However, in my personal opinion, almost the entire Iranian Army would be sent here to storm straight into Afghanistan and create a situation the Yanks--as you call them--would find most disturbing. We will stay low-key as long as they stay low-key. But we are eventually going to conquer Afghanistan, then the entirety of the Middle East."
Khadid smiled at Sikes. "The preliminary steps we take on this journey to glory must be careful and deliberate, Sikes Pasha. At least at this point in time."
"I understand," Sikes said. "But I don't like it one bluddy fucking bit."
"By the way, Excellency," Khadid said, "I am due to make a transmission back to Iran this evening. Do you have any messages for the high command?"
"Only that we are moving along according to plan," Brigadier Khohollah said. "There is nothing negative to report. By the way, will you be using the radio in the signals center, Captain?"
"No, Excellency," Khadid said. "That will not be necessary. I still have the one I took to Orakzai's fortress."
.
WESTERN AFGHANISTAN
JUNE 1600 HOURS
ENSIGN Orlando Taylor sat in the web seat aboard the Pave Low chopper, furtively studying the eight other SEALs who shared the aircraft with him. From their demeanors, anybody would think they were on their way to a peaceful picnic in the country instead of a violent confrontation in which men would be killed by other men.
Taylor had marveled about the fact that he had finally been under fire. Although he knew it wasn't a prolonged battle with many casualties, it was still combat. He had been scared, sure, but it didn't keep him from doing the job properly. He kept an eye on the situation, watched over his men, and coordinated everything through Petty Officers Paul Schreiner and Tony Valenzuela, who were his fire team leaders. When the SAW gunner Doug MacTavish had been hit, Taylor hadn't lost his head or flinched at the sight of the man's bloodied face. In fact, it had been he who pulled the wounded SEAL from the rubble of his blasted fighting position to safety. The best thing about the whole experience was that he had done nothing to shame himself or the Taylor family. He could openly and truthfully discuss the fighting with his father without fear of disapproval.
Taylor grinned to himself in a somewhat fierce manner as he thought of this latest experience in context with his three older brothers. As the youngest he had been the butt of jokes from those overachievers, who never accepted him as an equal. It seemed he would always be "the kid" in the family. The oldest sibling, now thirty-two years of age, was a vice president in a very prestigious bank in Atlanta; the second, at age twenty-nine, was an aerospace engineer with NASA in Houston in the Shuttle Program; and the twenty-seven-year-old was on the staff of a Georgia senator, and being groomed by the state's Democratic Party to run for Congress in the next election.
Damn fine accomplishments, Taylor thought, but not a one of them has been in combat as a Navy SEAL. He hoped his father would take notice of the fact and mention it at every opportunity during the next family reunion.
THE helicopter came in low and slow at an
"It ain't all bad, sir," Sikes said. "We do have some leeway in that we can carry on harassing tactics in any manner that suits us." He leaned forward. "I'm working on a couple o' plans, sir. When I get everything straight in me head, I'll bring 'em up." He was thoughtful for a moment, then spoke again. "I was wondering, Brigadier, that wot if we had some rotten luck and them Yanks kicked us out o' here, hey? Wot'd happen then?"
"I have heard no official word," Khohollah said. "However, in my personal opinion, almost the entire Iranian Army would be sent here to storm straight into Afghanistan and create a situation the Yanks--as you call them--would find most disturbing. We will stay low-key as long as they stay low-key. But we are eventually going to conquer Afghanistan, then the entirety of the Middle East."
Khadid smiled at Sikes. "The preliminary steps we take on this journey to glory must be careful and deliberate, Sikes Pasha. At least at this point in time."
"I understand," Sikes said. "But I don't like it one bluddy fucking bit."
"By the way, Excellency," Khadid said, "I am due to make a transmission back to Iran this evening. Do you have any messages for the high command?"
"Only that we are moving along according to plan," Brigadier Khohollah said. "There is nothing negative to report. By the way, will you be using the radio in the signals center, Captain?"
"No, Excellency," Khadid said. "That will not be necessary. I still have the one I took to Orakzai's fortress."
.
WESTERN AFGHANISTAN
JUNE 1600 HOURS
ENSIGN Orlando Taylor sat in the web seat aboard the Pave Low chopper, furtively studying the eight other SEALs who shared the aircraft with him. From their demeanors, anybody would think they were on their way to a peaceful picnic in the country instead of a violent confrontation in which men would be killed by other men.
Taylor had marveled about the fact that he had finally been under fire. Although he knew it wasn't a prolonged battle with many casualties, it was still combat. He had been scared, sure, but it didn't keep him from doing the job properly. He kept an eye on the situation, watched over his men, and coordinated everything through Petty Officers Paul Schreiner and Tony Valenzuela, who were his fire team leaders. When the SAW gunner Doug MacTavish had been hit, Taylor hadn't lost his head or flinched at the sight of the man's bloodied face. In fact, it had been he who pulled the wounded SEAL from the rubble of his blasted fighting position to safety. The best thing about the whole experience was that he had done nothing to shame himself or the Taylor family. He could openly and truthfully discuss the fighting with his father without fear of disapproval.
Taylor grinned to himself in a somewhat fierce manner as he thought of this latest experience in context with his three older brothers. As the youngest he had been the butt of jokes from those overachievers, who never accepted him as an equal. It seemed he would always be "the kid" in the family. The oldest sibling, now thirty-two years of age, was a vice president in a very prestigious bank in Atlanta; the second, at age twenty-nine, was an aerospace engineer with NASA in Houston in the Shuttle Program; and the twenty-seven-year-old was on the staff of a Georgia senator, and being groomed by the state's Democratic Party to run for Congress in the next election.
Damn fine accomplishments, Taylor thought, but not a one of them has been in combat as a Navy SEAL. He hoped his father would take notice of the fact and mention it at every opportunity during the next family reunion.
THE helicopter came in low and slow at an
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