Chapter 11: Hotak's Mountian

Fortress

“It looks pretty much the same as the last time we were here. Except for all the new stuff.”

Mike had to agree, except for all the new stuff. Afghanistan never changed, and no one could coerce the Afghani to make meaningful change, including their own people.

They’d watched the valley floor turn from night into day from the backside of a pine-covered hilltop. As the sun rose above the mountains behind them, illuminating the valley below, it reminded Mike of that day ten years ago. Not a good memory. He forced his anger down. He needed to block it out. He was here now and needed to focus.

The drive through the night and an arduous trek through the dark had been no easy task. However, it allowed them to find the hilltop they lay on without detection. They’d seen two observation posts on each side of the valley, both on high ground. The hill they took refuge behind afforded them excellent observation of the valley and remain undetected.

The local clothing Cpt. Amadulah had provided them they wore over their Western clothes. It wasn’t much in the way of camouflage, but it was something.

“Did you notice the road entrance to the south of the valley? Whoever put those fortified guard positions up upgraded the hell out of the road.”

“Those JADMs did a number on the road, that’s for sure,“ Tom said. “Now, you can’t even tell.”

Mike kept his eyes on an early morning truck as it ponderously drove up the dirt road. Now graded, the road in the middle of the valley no longer presented hazards to unwary drivers.

“What I don’t get is the entrance to the tunnel. There are the guard positions and what appears to be a large cleared parking area.” Tom handed the binoculars back to Mike. “What’s also a little weird is they all have Afghan National flags flying above them. It's almost like it’s Government-run. Is it?"

“Doubt it. But I agree.” Mike had seen plenty of local, tribal, Taliban, and a few National flags over buildings or towns. His lips twitched upward, remembering some of those towns. One he remembered distinctly had appeared, from a distance scenic, idyllic, even tranquil. Then, they drove into the town. It was nothing more than some dirty mud buildings along a ridge line.

This had a different feel. He couldn’t explain it, but those flags, here, he frowned and looked south at the guard positions. Hotak had Government officials on his payroll. The flags flew proudly above, flapping in the breeze blowing up the south road. It wasn’t only the flags. There were the guard shacks. They were exceptionally well made. And when compared to anything else he’d seen in Afghanistan, they looked expensive to construct. Made from reinforced concrete, they had two rooms with doors and windows and a smoke stake above. The men manning them didn’t have uniforms. They instead wore their dirty man dresses. But their weapons looked new. More interestingly, the men carried AK-74s. Mike knew the AK-47 was pretty much the standard in this country. He had seen a few AK-74s in his travels. The Russians had begun to arm their Afghani soldiers with them during the occupation. There were far more AK-47s floating around. These guns looked new, and they all had folding stocks, not something he’d expected to see here.

A light suddenly went off in his head. “Everything, it's not just new but upgraded.”

Tom turned. “What’s that?”

“Everything we see down there, maybe it can be explained, maybe.” Mike continued to watch the truck plodding along the dirt road below them. Everything we've seen is upgraded, or improved, or new. All of it to accommodate or facilitate the movement of commercial trucks like the one down there.”

Tom scanned the valley again. “Hmm. Nothing new ever gets built unless the U. N. did it, especially this far from Kabul. And that isn't the U.N.’s doing. After the bombs tore up the road, it and the parking area would have needed a lot of work. Some heavy equipment would have been needed to grade and improve what’s down there.”

Mike looked back at Al and Julia, who were ten meters below, keeping an eye out for any stray patrols. The Afghans manning the hilltop observation posts appeared stationary, but they didn’t want to risk it.

The blue cab of the lumbering old truck had weeks worth of dust covering its faded paint. The long shipping container attached to the trailer was dirty brown. It had ten times the dust on it. Some wreck had twisted the frame, leaving the cab to lean to the side. Probably happened before he joined the Army. The tired old vehicle leaned to the right as it drove, but it never faltered. There were far more miles on the truck than the manufacturer had envisioned, but the ingenuity of people trying to make a living with some duct tape and baling wire never ceased to amaze.

A dust cloud followed the truck north to the tunnel. The sand-colored dirt settled on the sparse grass and plants on the sides of the road. The brakes’ squeal reached their hilltop as the truck slowed to a stop at the guard position a hundred meters from the tunnel. The barrel of a machine gun extended from the window of the second guard post near the tunnel entrance. The man behind the machine gun had tracked the large vehicle up the road. Two guards walked out into the light. It wouldn’t be stifling hot down there yet, but it would be hot as hell in a couple of hours.

The driver opened his door, spoke with a guard, got out, and walked to a bench next to the building. Another Afghani guard pulled himself up into the cab. He drove it to the entrance, past the guard shack, and into the tunnel.

“Captain Amadulha said Hotak would be here today or tomorrow. I’m guessing he’s not in the back of that truck.”

“Huh, agreed.” Mike looked south. Another truck prepared to enter the valley. “Another truck.”

“Grand Central Station,” Tom grunted. “Again, unusual. You rarely ever see those trucks traveling that close together. Not enough commerce or money to justify it.”

“Do me a favor, get Julia. I want her to see this. Maybe she’ll have some insight.”