9

ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

THE MORNING AFTER the surrender of the six hundred enemy fighters, Mat, Jamie, Captain Lancer and the fourth member of their team, Stevie ‘Ruff’ Pouncer, headed out of Mazar on what was basically a bodyguarding mission. Mat knew Ruff as a tough, uncompromising soldier. His alternative nickname was ‘the Animal’ and he had a reputation for being a killing machine when the shit went down. While Ruff wasn’t exactly the world’s greatest conversationalist or philosopher, Mat always appreciated his presence in a potential combat situation.

Not that he felt they were going to get much action on today’s mission. A US Navy admiral was scheduled to visit a local Afghan hospital around lunchtime. The hospital building had been damaged during the fighting, and as part of the ongoing hearts-and-minds activity in the Mazar region the US had offered to rebuild the facility. The Admiral’s visit was the first step in that process – to assess what help the US could best provide. Captain Lancer’s four-man QRF team were tasked with checking out the security in the area prior to the Admiral’s visit.

They left Mazar city and drove out into the open desert, passing by an ancient mud-walled fortress. Its sloping ramparts rose some sixty feet above the desert, and were topped off by a massive, crenellated wall some ten feet high. Squat towers dominated each of the six corners of the fort, which were laid out in a rough hexagonal shape, and it had to be at least five hundred yards from end to end. It resembled a giant sandcastle, straight out of the Arabian Nights. But while it looked like something from the history books it was obviously still very much in use: a couple of Toyota pickups were parked up at the gates, and a dozen or so Afghan troops were wandering along the walls.

‘Holy fuck,’ Mat exclaimed. ‘What the bollocks is that?’

‘That, mate, is Qala-i-Janghi,’ Jamie replied. ‘Means “Fort of War”. Like something out of Lawrence of Arabia, ain’t it? That’s where Dostum has his HQ now.’

‘Awesome place,’ Mat exclaimed, shaking his head in amazement. ‘Awesome place. Ain’t that where the prisoners from yesterday are being held?’

‘You got it, mate, that’s the place,’ Jamie confirmed. ‘Never been in there – but inside it’s supposed to be a maze of compounds and bunkers and underground passageways.’

‘Sounds like something out of Lara Croft,’ Mat said. ‘Best place to put the fookers, anyways. Looks like they won’t be breaking out of there in a hurry.’

‘I reckon,’ Jamie replied. ‘So, spill the beans, mate. What d’you get up to in the Naka Valley, then?’

‘Not much. Like I said, ace quad-bike drivers, us,’ Mat grunted. ‘I got the verbal shit kicked out of me by an Afghan elder cos I wasn’t dressed smart enough to be paying a visit to his village; we were compromised by a wrinkled old goatherd, but we never realised it; and the US top brass refused to believe our intel reports cos they thought we were a bunch of nutters.’

‘That good, was it, mate?’

‘Yep. That and the fact that the US intel’s “mother of all terrorist training camps” turned out to be a school; their “unarmed combat training sessions” turned out to be school PE lessons; and their “terrorist recruitment rally” turned out to be the village funeral. So we called off the air strikes, gave the kiddies some sweets, had tea with the village elders, blew a few ammo dumps and came home.’

‘Doesn’t sound like we missed much then, mate.’

‘You know what, mate, in a way it was a cracking op,’ Mat replied, all serious for a moment. ‘Us lot stopped a load of innocent Afghan women and children from getting malleted by the US Air Force. Wasn’t what we went there intending to do, but what plan ever survives contact with the enemy?’

There were a few seconds silence while Jamie reflected on what Mat had just been saying.

‘Tell you what, mate, I’d rather’ve been on that op than this one, any day. At least it sounds like you did something. Over here, what are we? I mean, what are we? Special forces or a bunch of glorified bodyguards? Shakyboats, or tour guides for the US and Afghan top brass?’

‘That bad, is it, mate?’

‘It’s worse,’ Jamie snorted in reply.

Once they had arrived at the destination village, they set up fire positions wherever they could find a bit of shade, and waited for the top brass to show. Captain Lancer then accompanied the US Admiral on his walkabout of the village and the ruined hospital, while Mat, Jamie and Ruff tried not to look too bored. By lunchtime the visit was over, and the SBS lads were going out of their minds with the tedium of it all. When they’d left Poole for deployment to Afghanistan, some three weeks earlier, the last thing they’d expected to end up doing was acting as armed escorts to the US officer class. That sort of work did not require the unique skills of special forces soldiering.

They were glad to get in the vehicle and get on the move again. At least there would be a bit of a breeze on the drive back to Mazar. But they hadn’t been on the road for more than ten minutes when their Land-Rover slowed to a stop. Looking over the cabin roof Mat could see that there was a roadblock made of burning tyres up ahead, with a couple of very agitated-looking Afghan policemen waving all vehicles to a halt. The Land-Rover pulled off the tarmac and drove up to the front of the queue of stationary pickups and battered cars.

‘What the fuck’s that?’ Mat asked, as they came to a stop at the roadblock. He’d caught the distant noise of what sounded like gunfire. ‘That’s shooting, ain’t it, mate?’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Jamie said. Both of them were on their feet now, listening intently to the noise up ahead of them. ‘Sounds like a bevy of AKs – going at it hammer and tongs.’

As Captain Lancer went forward to speak with the two Afghan policemen, Mat and Jamie kept a close eye on him. There was an air of panic and confusion about the roadblock, and Mat doubted whether the Afghan policemen knew much more than they did about what was going on up ahead of them. Every now and then, among the distant crackle of small-arms fire, they could hear the heavier crump of larger weaponry, which sounded like RPGs and mortar rounds going off.

‘Sounds like a bit of a bloody rumble,’ Mat remarked, hopefully.

‘Yeah, about two miles distant, I’d say,’ Jamie replied. ‘Back up on the road to Mazar – the route we’re supposed to be taking.’

‘That’s all good then, mate,’ said Mat, with satisfaction. ‘Let’s get back on the bloody road, cos there’s no way we’re missing out on this one.’

‘Lads, something pretty major’s kicked off up at Qala-i-Janghi fort,’ Captain Lancer announced, as he strode back to the Land-Rover. ‘The police are going to let us through, but keep an eye out as it’s very confused out there. Before we go, I’m just going to see if I can raise Boxer Base.’

The Captain put a call through to headquarters on the Land-Rover’s radio, but it turned out that the 5th SOF officer on duty at Boxer Base seemed to know little more about the firefight than they did. He had confused reports coming in of US personnel missing in action (MIA) at the fort. Some sort of rescue mission was being mooted, but the officer couldn’t say exactly who the MIAs were, or who had captured them. The one thing the officer was sure of was that he wanted Captain Lancer and his QRF force back at Boxer Base as soon as possible.

Some twenty minutes after making that radio call, the SBS Land-Rover pulled into Boxer Base compound. Captain Lancer and his men now knew that there was one hell of a shit fight going down at Qala-i-Janghi. On the drive past the ancient fortress they’d seen scores of Northern Alliance troops on the outside firing in, with a barrage of fire coming back at them from the fort’s occupiers. There was little doubt in the minds of the SBS soldiers what had taken place: the enemy prisoners had launched an uprising. As Mat had pointed out, none of the AQT prisoners had been properly searched, so they could easily have used hidden weapons to start an armed revolt. Captain Lancer headed off into Boxer Base to have a word with his opposite number from the US 5th SOF.

‘Any of you lot know what the fuck’s going on?’ Tom asked, as he and Sam came ambling over to the Land-Rovers.

‘Dunno exactly, mate, but it’s kicking off big time over at the old fort,’ Mat replied. ‘Reckon the shit’s hit the fan with the prisoners.’

‘That’s what it looked like to us, anyways,’ Jamie added. ‘What’s the score from your end?’

‘Don’t know a fuckin’ lot,’ Tom said. ‘Just what we’ve been told by the 5th SOF boys – which is to get our shit together cos there may be some US boys in the fort that need rescuin’.’

‘Reckon we’d better go get tooled up, then,’ said Mat, excitedly. ‘You never know, lads, but we may be getting a piece of the action, after all.’

The SBS soldiers made their way over to their own small storeroom and armoury and started breaking out boxes of ammunition and other kit. But just as they had started doing so, two of the 5th SOF soldiers came charging through the doorway into their room.

‘Grab all your fuckin’ kit, now, cos we’re movin’ out!’ one of them yelled.

‘What’s up, mate?’ Jamie asked, glancing up from an ammo crate, the contents of which he was stuffing into his backpack.

‘There’s been a breakout in the fuckin’ prison, an’ you guys are needed over there, pronto,’ the soldier replied, at volume.

‘Yeah, we know that, mate,’ said Jamie, calmly. ‘We’re just getting our shit together.’

‘A’right, cos we’re movin’ out,’ the US soldier yelled back at him, and then they were gone.

‘What the fuck?’ Jamie tried to stifle a chuckle. The US soldiers were charging around the base like headless chickens.

The SBS lads ignored them and carried on arming their weapons. Whatever shit might be going down at the fort, there was little point rushing in there unprepared. No one knew how long they’d be in there for, but one thing was certain: once they’d fought their way into that fort there would be little chance of a resupply. Which meant that they needed to take all of the kit that they might need with them now, plus maximum ammo.

Because they had been ordered to deploy to Mazar low profile and showing no weapons, the men only had their Diemaco assault rifles and 9mm Sig Sauer pistols with them. This meant that they had no light or heavy machine guns, grenades or anti-armour weapons. Having seen the ferocity of the firefight now underway at Qala-i-Janghi, Mat would have chosen to take the heaviest weaponry possible, if only it had been available. As it was, they’d just have to make do.

Each man loaded up three mags of 9mm ammo for the Sig Sauer pistols, and some fifteen mags of ammo for the Diemacos (each of which contained thirty rounds) – making up some five hundred rounds per man. That sounds like a lot of ammo, but in an intense firefight such as was now going down at the fort, five hundred rounds could be used up in no time. Each man slung nine mags on to his chest webbing, and the rest of them were stuffed into a grab bag, along with the pistol mags, some emergency field dressings, extra water, a twenty-four-hour food ration pack, NVGs, a torch and a knife.

Special forces legend generally has SBS/SAS soldiers deploying with giant, commando-style knives – seven inches long and with cruel, serrated edges – for close-quarter combat. But Mat and the rest of the lads preferred to pack a Leatherman each – a multi-use tool comprising of several short-bladed knives, pliers, a file and a screwdriver set. If it ever got to the stage of close-quarter combat, they would prefer to use their Sig Sauer pistols and shoot the enemy in the head. Last but not least, the men packed a couple of laser target designators (LTDs) and the related comms kit, as they had little doubt that they’d be calling in air strikes once they got to the fort.

It took the SBS soldiers the best part of thirty-five minutes to get fully tooled up, by which time they were ready to hit Qala-i-Janghi and get into action. But first, the lads gathered to listen to the intel briefing on the top floor of the Schoolhouse, along with the ten soldiers from the US 5th SOF who would be going in alongside them. In theory, Major Michael E. Martin, the 5th SOF commander, was in overall command of any joint SBS–5th SOF operation, as he was the most senior officer on the ground. But in practice the SBS lads would be under the orders of their OC, Captain Lancer. As Qala-i-Janghi fort had been under the control of the Northern Alliance and the CIA, the intel briefing was being given by a CIA officer.

‘Listen up, guys, this is as much as we know,’ the CIA agent began, hurriedly. ‘’Fraid it ain’t much, but first off, there’s some six hundred AQT prisoners held at that fort and they’ve broken out in some sort of uprising. Seems the fort was also General Dostum’s ammo store, and we reckon they’ve got into those stores. Y’all heard about this Afghan and Islamic honour shit? Well, the prisoners were kinda supposed to behave themselves in there. Instead, they captured or killed – we ain’t too sure yet, reports are still real confusin’ on this one – two of our CIA buddies. They broke out the weapons and they’ve now started fuckin’ World War Three in there. So, we gotta get in there, lift the siege and rescue our boys. That’s about as much as I know.’

‘Where were your two CIA blokes when they were captured?’ Mat asked. ‘And who’ve we got up there that we’re in contact with?’

‘Good point, buddy. They were interrogatin’ the AQT prisoners in the southern end of the fort. That’s where the uprising took place. The fort’s kinda split into two halves with a dividin’ wall in between – you’ll see it when you get up there. And that’s where our boys were, in the southern half. They had some Afghan guards with ’em, but only a handful, and it seems a couple of ’em were killed and the others escaped. Now we ain’t really got comms with anyone directly, cos the Northern Alliance guys don’t have fuckin’ radios. There’s been a satphone call from one of our CIA boys, but that comms link has now gone down so seems like we lost him. The NA are keepin’ the prisoners holed up in the fort for now, but they can’t do that for much longer.’

‘Any idea how many Alliance soldiers are up there?’ Jamie asked.

‘Between fifty and a hundred, but again we ain’t too sure.’

‘You reckon your CIA blokes are still alive, mate?’ Mat asked. In the back of his mind he had an image of CIA Bob being captured – and tortured – by a murderous enemy. When they’d left CIA Bob at Commander Jim’s fort, he’d been scheduled to remain there for a long and detailed debrief on the Naka Valley operation. So the chances of him having ended up in Qala-i-Janghi three days later were next to zero. But for Mat it nevertheless made the uprising all the more real.

‘Far as we know they are,’ the CIA agent replied.

‘So this is a mission to rescue them, first and foremost? I mean, the twenty-odd of us aren’t going to retake that fort, however good we are.’

‘In terms of the mission brief, we’re gonna have to keep it fluid,’ the US 5th SOF Major cut in. ‘First off, we’re gonna head for the fort entranceway – cos we do know that’s still in friendly hands. We got some CIA and Northern Alliance boys in there holding firm – at least for now. From there, we’re gonna have to take a view. Like I said, we’re gonna have to keep it real fluid.’

‘To clarify, the mission priority has to be to rescue the two CIA agents,’ Captain Lancer said. ‘After that, it’s to contain the enemy in the fort and stop them breaking out any further.’

‘Any chance of some reinforcements?’ Jamie asked. ‘I mean, I don’t want to sound like a homo or anything, but we could do with a few more men.’

‘Right now, we’re on our own,’ Captain Lancer replied. ‘All of our lot are committed elsewhere across country, and Delta and the other US forces are down at Kunduz. Plus the Northern Alliance are down there too. Word is we’ve got to contain this, at least until they get some reinforcements up to us.’

‘Well then, let’s fookin’ do it,’ Mat announced. ‘Got the names of the two captured CIA blokes, mate?’

‘Yup. One’s Johnny Michael Spann,’ the CIA agent replied. ‘An’ the other’s Dave Tyson. I’ll be up there with you all, so if there’s anything else you need you can ask me on the job.’

With that, the men got to their feet and filed down to the waiting vehicles. Mat was relieved to know for sure that neither of the captured men was CIA Bob. But it turned out that Jamie and Tom both knew Dave Tyson. During the previous two weeks stationed at Mazar they’d become pretty friendly with him. Several evenings they’d sat around with Dave Tyson on the top floor of Boxer Base, cracking jokes and telling war stories.

Before coming to Afghanistan ‘CIA Dave’ had been based in neighbouring Uzbekistan. For years he’d been the Agency’s field officer there. He was well keyed in to the culture and traditions, speaking several of the local languages. The fact that a couple of them knew one of the captured (or killed) CIA agents made the mission all the more personal for the SBS soldiers. Although he wasn’t a Brit, the lads still felt as if they were going in to rescue one of their own. And as for Sam, this had now become very personal. It was about saving the life of a fellow US warrior – a warrior who had either been captured by a fanatical enemy, or who had fallen on the field of battle.

The SBS soldiers headed up to the fort laden down with their weapons, ammo and other gear. The atmosphere in the vehicles was tense and silent, as each man mentally readied himself for the assault. Due to the woeful lack of intelligence, none of the men knew what they were up against now. This was the worst type of combat situation: basically, they were going to have to fight their way into that ancient fortress blind. Normally, the SBS prided itself on having as full an intelligence picture as possible, then planning and rehearsing a mission over several days. By contrast, the men were heading into Qala-i-Janghi with zero intelligence, no battle rehearsals and no concrete plans. There was an old saying in the SBS: ‘Fail to plan – plan to fail.’

In the worst-case scenario there were some six hundred hard-core al-Qaeda and Taliban in that ancient and impregnable fort – so-called prisoners who had decided instead to fight. Against those six hundred battle-hardened terrorists they now had eight SBS soldiers, ten US 5th SOF operators and between fifty and a hundred Northern Alliance troops. At best, they were outnumbered some six to one. To cap it all, the men had been ordered to leave all their heavier weapons – grenade launchers, LAWs, machine guns – back at Bagram, so they could deploy into Mazar ‘low profile’. And what sort of bollocks order had that been? Mat was thinking, angrily.

As they left Mazar city and hit the open road Mat glanced at his watch: it was 1.05 p.m. They had six hours of daylight left in which to fight their way into the fort. As the wheels hummed on the hot tarmac Mat found his mind drifting. What were their chances of coming out of this one alive? Every way he looked at it, they weren’t too good. He thought about Suzie, and he wondered for a second if he’d ever get to see her again. Back in the Naka Valley he’d had a lot of time to himself to think, and the idea of kids with Suzie had become increasingly appealing. If it was a boy Mat had already decided to name him Gary, after his favourite footballer, Gary Lineker. If it was a girl, the naming was going to be Suzie’s decision.

Catching himself daydreaming like this, Mat cursed himself and forced such thoughts to the back of his mind. Was he going soft or something? He had to remain focused on the mission. If he started getting all sentimental and loved-up in the midst of the coming battle, then he really would end up dead, of that he was certain. Two CIA officers were in that fort, somewhere, trapped and desperate. And they probably had a wife and kids back home, Mat told himself. It was their job – Mat and the others lads – to go in and rescue them. There was no choice now about what lay before them: they had to go in hard and take the fight to the enemy.

For a split second Mat tried to imagine the fate of those two CIA agents trapped in that fort. Mat thought about CIA Bob being one of them. What was it that he’d said to the little CIA spook on their parting, back at Commander Jim’s fort? You make sure you tell all your spooky mates: if they’re ever in any real trouble – real trouble, that is – it’s the SBS they should call for. That’s what he’d said. If it was CIA Bob trapped in that fort, he would be relying on his fellow soldiers to come fetch him. Well, it wasn’t CIA Bob, but it was two of his spooky mates. And as far as Mat was concerned, he’d made a promise. So be it, he thought to himself, grimly. Let the fighting begin.

Mat was pulled away from such thoughts by the harsh clunk-clunk of Jamie checking and rechecking the GPMG on their vehicle. Since the two vehicle-mounted GPMGs were the only heavy machine guns that the SBS soldiers had between them, Jamie wanted to make damn sure that the gun was in perfect working order, just in case they needed it on arrival at the fort.

‘What d’you reckon, mate?’ Jamie asked, glancing up from the weapon at Mat.

‘To the mission?’ Mat replied. ‘Suicide mate. Think about it. There’s eight of us lot – let’s say twenty with the 5th SOF boys – and six hundred of them. Factor the Alliance lot in as well, and there’s about a hundred of us. Big deal. And they’re inside a bloody great big fortress with towers and battlements and the works, and we’re outside of it trying to get in.’

‘We’ll fuckin’ well just have to fuckin’ mallet the fuckers,’ growled Ruff. Ruff was a man of few words, but he was a killing machine once he was behind a GPMG, or a ‘Gimpy’ as soldiers liked to call it.

‘Yeah – thanks for that pearl of wisdom, Ruff mate,’ Mat remarked. ‘Then there’s the weaponry: what’ve we got? Diemacos. And they’ve got AKs, RPGs, grenades, RPK and Degtyarev machine guns more ’n likely, and probably mortars too. Then there’s the fact that we’ve got no element of surprise, no eyes on the ground, no comms on the ground, fuck-all useful intel and no backup. You want me to continue, mate?’

‘Nope. Shut the fuck up,’ Jamie replied. ‘You want to get off the truck? Never too late to bug out of the mission, mate.’

‘What? I wouldn’t miss it for the bloody world,’ Mat said. ‘Like Ruff there says, we’ll fookin’ well just have to fookin’ mallet the fookers.’

‘About as much of a plan as we have got though, isn’t it, mate?’ Jamie responded.

‘Just have to wait see what happens when we get there,’ Mat said. ‘Make it up as we go along. Won’t be the first time, will it, mate?’

‘So what’s fuckin’ new?’ Ruff interjected. ‘Fuckin’ SNAFU, again, ain’t it?’

SNAFU is a commonly used abbreviation by the men of the SBS and SAS. It stands for ‘Situation Normal – All Fucked Up’. Behind Ruff’s grim humour lay the years of training that had prepared these men for all eventualities – even those that could never be foreseen, like the coming assault on Qala-i-Janghi. In fact, the letters SAS are often wryly said to stand for ‘Suck it and See’.

As the Land-Rovers approached their destination, the sky above was thick with tracer rounds going in both directions. Every now and then there was the rocket trail of an RPG streaking across the fort, followed by the crump of the grenade’s explosion. Added to this was the regular, thumping percussion of mortar rounds slamming into the fort grounds. Even at this distance, some half-mile away from the fort, the noise was deafening. As the SBS soldiers stared up at the fearsome battle that was raging all around the ancient site, it was like nothing they had ever seen, or even imagined, before. Holy fuck, Mat found himself thinking, we’re going into that?

The two Land-Rovers turned right off the tarmac, taking the dirt track that led in towards the massive fortified entranceway. As they did so mortar rounds started slamming into the dirt all around them. One of the enemy gunners must have spotted their gleaming white vehicles, and was calling in fire on them. To Mat’s trained ear the rounds sounded like 80mm mortars. One hit from one of those would flatten the Land-Rover and obliterate all its occupants. The driver of Mat’s vehicle, the lead Land-Rover, put his foot to the floor and started weaving from left to right in an effort to avoid the enemy fire. With the vehicle’s engine screaming and the driver red-lining it, they raced towards the towering entranceway, a massive arched doorway some forty feet high.

‘Let’s fookin’ do it!’ Mat yelled through the window of the cab, as the driver gunned the engine and the vehicle powered across the rough terrain.

The wooden gates were thrown open, but Mat could see that the last fifty yards ahead of them were just a wall of lead. After what seemed like an age – but could only have been a half-dozen seconds – the lead vehicle kangarooed through the open gates, locked its wheels up and came to an abrupt halt. The second Land-Rover was directly behind them, and the Humvees carrying the ten 5th SOF soldiers were just a few seconds behind the SBS vehicles. They careered to a stop just inside the fort entranceway tower in a cloud of diesel fumes and dust. The Land-Rovers and the Humvees were riddled with bullet and shrapnel holes, but miraculously no one had been hit.

‘Am I fuckin’ glad to see you guys,’ Steve, one of the CIA officers based at the fort, started yelling. ‘Fuckin’ Mike’s been set upon by the fuckin’ ragheads, and Dave’s gone missin’ and we don’t know where the fuck he is.’

The SBS and 5th SOF soldiers gathered round CIA Steve, as he briefed them on what he knew about the state of the uprising. He had to scream to make himself heard above the noise of the battle. As the CIA officer spoke, Captain Lancer squatted down in the dirt and scratched out a quick diagram of the fort in the sand, to try to get a better sense of the battle. Inside the hexagonal outer walls, the fort complex was split into a northern and southern half, with a dividing wall in between. In the centre of that wall there was a gateway, which provided the only passageway between the two ends of the fort. The entranceway through which the SBS and 5th SOF forces had driven into the fort was built into the eastern tower, at one end of the fort’s central dividing wall. The entranceway tower overlooked both the southern and northern ends of the fort, making it a good vantage point from which to counter-attack.

Apart from that tower, CIA Steve was unsure which, if any, of the other parts of the fort were still in friendly hands. Although the prisoners had been held in the southern end, firefights now seemed to have broken out all over the fort complex. All he knew for sure was that small groups of NA fighters were stationed at points around the outside of the fort, trying to keep the prisoners bottled up inside it. But as none of the Afghan troops was equipped with a radio, the only way to maintain communications with them was by word of mouth. This was making it all but impossible to keep track of the battle from their side. As far as CIA Steve knew, there were eighty Northern Alliance troops at the fort, or at least that’s what the Afghan commanders had told him.

The CIA officers had been visiting the fort for several days now, questioning prisoners, and returning to Boxer Base each evening. They’d not brought any long-range communication kit with them, which meant that they’d been unable to contact Boxer Base. This accounted for the lack of any definitive intel on the uprising. And things had started going badly wrong at Qala-i-Janghi some eighteen hours earlier. The previous evening the prisoners were being processed into the fort and searched for weapons. But suddenly, there had been an almighty explosion. One of the foreign Taliban had grabbed hold of Nazir Ali, a senior Northern Alliance commander, and held him in a death embrace, pulling the pin of a grenade hidden in his clothing. Both men had been killed instantly, and several other Northern Alliance soldiers had been injured.

The Northern Alliance guards had started yelling at the prisoners, as they cocked their weapons and prepared to open fire on them. With their hands above their heads, the captives had been herded below ground to the subterranean cells, to join the other prisoners being held there. In their rush to get them safely below ground the Northern Alliance soldiers failed to search the remaining captives. Later that evening another of the prisoners had pulled the same trick with a grenade, killing himself and NA Commander Saeed Asad. Since this was the second suicidal gesture of defiance, it should have acted as a powerful warning to the Northern Alliance soldiers and their CIA allies. But despite this, the size of the Northern Alliance guard had not been increased that night.

The following morning two CIA agents armed with pistols and AK47s had gone in to question the prisoners. They were Johnny Michael ‘Mike’ Spann and David ‘Dave’ Tyson. Their mission was to start screening the prisoners for any suspected al-Qaeda terrorists – in particular any that could be linked to the events of 9/11. At 9 a.m., the two CIA agents had gone into the courtyard area in front of the underground cells. They were in the company of Said Kamel, the Northern Alliance’s local chief of intelligence. Prisoners were brought out of the makeshift underground prison for questioning and made to kneel in rows, segregated by nationality: the Arabs were first, then the Pakistanis and, finally, the Uzbeks. With a handful of Northern Alliance soldiers standing guard, the two CIA operatives had started to interrogate them.

Before joining the CIA, Mike Spann had been a captain in the United States Marine Corps. He was quiet, serious and totally unflappable, with a great sense of humour. He also believed that he could handle himself pretty well. The prisoners all had their arms tied at their elbows with their turbans and were largely incapacitated, so Mike Spann hadn’t felt unduly threatened. At first, he had led the interrogations, while his colleague, Dave Tyson, stood by, filming the process on a small hand-held video camera. New groups of the ‘foreign Taliban’ were brought up to them one at a time. With each prisoner they tried to ascertain the same information: their names and their true nationalities, why they had come to Afghanistan and what they had been doing there.

‘Why are you here in Afghanistan?’ Mike had kept asking the sullen prisoners. ‘What did you come here for?’

From most he had received no answers, just a dark, silent defiance. But one of the prisoners, a slightly built, dark-haired young man, had spoken good English and claimed to be from London. Another of the prisoners had claimed to be from Ireland, yet another from Germany. Around lunchtime, a further batch of prisoners had been brought up to face their interrogators. Most of these were from Uzbekistan. By now, Dave Tyson was doing the bulk of the questioning. CIA Dave was fluent in several of the local languages and was able to speak to the Uzbek prisoners in their own tongue.

Suddenly, there was the booming echo of a blast below ground, followed instantly by screams and cries of ‘Allahu Akhbar!’ In a split second, all hell had let loose, with the rattle of small-arms fire echoing out of the basement where the remainder of the prisoners were being held, and the Northern Alliance troops opening fire from the fort battlements. Instantly, Mike Spann realised that the prisoners were trying to break out of their underground prison. Mike knew that he faced two choices: he could make a run for the fort entrance and get away to safety; or he could do what his training and his spirit compelled him to do, and advance and engage the enemy – in an effort to help put down the prisoner uprising. Mike Spann elected to step forward and make a stand.

With barely a moment’s hesitation he started sprinting towards the basement entrance, some thirty yards away. As he did so, prisoners launched themselves off the ground at him, trying to snare his legs and wrestle him to the ground. Mike grabbed his AK47 and opened fire on the prisoners at the basement entrance, where they were surging out and attacking the Northern Alliance guards. Dozens of prisoners had grabbed rocks and knives and were fighting at close quarters. The Afghan guards were hugely outnumbered, and the prisoners wrested their weapons from their hands, killing several as they did so.

At the same time, one of the prisoners jumped CIA Dave, screaming out, as he did so: ‘ALLAHU AKHBAR! KILL THE AMERICANS!’ CIA Dave immediately drew his pistol and shot his attacker. He jumped to his feet and started to put down covering fire, as his buddy, CIA Mike, advanced towards the basement entrance. But by now Mike was in serious trouble, with prisoners lunging at him, ramming him with their bodies. Mike opened up with his AK47 on the enemy that now surrounded him. As his weapon ran short of ammunition, the prisoners turned attackers closed in, and Mike Spann went down in a flurry of kicks and blows. Suddenly, the CIA agent – married and with three children – had become the first US victim of the uprising at Qala-i-Janghi fort, and the first US casualty of the war in Afghanistan.

A horrified CIA Dave had seen his buddy go down. He emptied his AK47 at the prisoners, but the courtyard was now a seething mass of enemy fighters. As confusion turned into chaos, CIA Dave was forced to turn on his heel and run. He’d had no choice but to leave his CIA buddy behind. If he’d remained there a second longer he would himself have been seized by the enemy. CIA Dave sprinted for a large building on the northern edge of the fort compound, which was General Dostum’s headquarters. As he burst inside he’d yelled a warning at the first people he saw, two men from the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC). The ICRC workers had come to the fort to meet with the Northern Alliance commanders and negotiate access to the prisoners. Now they suddenly found themselves in the midst of an uprising, with the prisoners baying for ‘infidel’ blood.

‘Get the hell out of here,’ CIA Dave had cried. ‘The goddam prisoners are takin’ control of the fort and there’s twenty dead Alliance guys out there. Get the hell out – unless you wanna join them.’

The terrified ICRC workers had headed for the basement of the building, searching for a way to escape. But they’d found themselves in a dead end. So they had climbed to the top floor of the fort headquarters and hoisted themselves over the wall. From there they had careered and tumbled down the sixty-foot outer rampart, bullets chasing after them. Once on the ground, they’d been intercepted by a group of Northern Alliance fighters and taken away to safety.

Within minutes of the uprising, CIA Dave was the only remaining Westerner in the HQ building. Although he was in a state of shock and knew that he was in grave danger, Dave had opted to stay behind in an attempt to keep eyes on his CIA buddy. It had looked as if Mike hadn’t stood a chance as the mob had pounced on him, and Dave was almost certain he was dead. But none of the prisoners had had any guns at the moment that Mike had gone down, and there remained just a chance that he might still be alive. In which case, there was still hope.

In his last communication from the fort, CIA Dave had used a satphone to put an SOS call through to the American Embassy in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan. This was the main base for US and British special forces operating in northern Afghanistan. In that satphone call, CIA Dave raised the alarm about the fort uprising. He reported that his fellow agent, Mike Spann, had gone down, and that Qala-i-Janghi fort was now completely out of control. CIA Dave was unsure if CIA Mike was dead or alive, and he stressed repeatedly that there should be ‘no strikes by air’ because there was an American still in there. Then the batteries on the satphone that CIA Dave was using had gone down and the line had gone silent.

The first that Ali and his brothers had known about the uprising was when the sudden noise of the explosion had reverberated through the fort’s underground chambers. After processing the night before, the majority of the prisoners had been herded below ground, into a labyrinth of basements and tunnels that ran beneath the fort grounds. Here, they had waited out the night secured by little more than their own black turbans tying their arms. It had been a long night during which few of the brothers had slept. In addition to the dozen men in Ali’s unit, he estimated that there had to be some four hundred other brothers down in the main basement building.

As the grenade had exploded at the entrance, Ali had realised that a group of the Uzbek brothers had started the breakout without him. One of them had thrown the grenade, injuring some of the brothers and their Afghan guards. The entrance to the basement was now seething with prisoners, as they fought hand-to-hand to overpower the guards. Ali felt a desperate urge to be free of his bounds and above ground now, joining the battle for the fort. Suddenly, he was forcing his way to the front of the prisoners. But there were still over a hundred of them down there, and Ali had to fight to get through them all. Finally, he raised his face to the stairwell leading out of the basement. Standing at the open entranceway and silhouetted against the bright midday sun were two of the former prisoners, a smoking AK47 in each of their hands.

‘Allahu Akhbar! Allahu Akhbar!’ Ali began yelling, over and over again, as he surged up the basement steps. ‘Brother warriors! Come untie us, brothers, so we may join you in the jihad!’

‘Allahu Akhbar, brothers!’ the two men yelled back, brandishing their AKs above their heads. ‘By the grace of the Most Merciful One, we are free. The Northern Alliance whores and the American dogs are running for their lives, brothers. By the grace of Allah, the Fort of War is ours.’

‘Allahu Akhbar!’ came the bellows from Ali and his brothers.

The crowd of prisoners gathered around the two brothers who had freed them, milling about excitedly, nervously. In the immediate aftermath of the initial attack it was eerily quiet in the fort. There was little fighting now, as the surviving enemy soldiers had all fled from their end of the fort. There were some wounded brothers gathered around the basement entrance, and they would need bandaging as best they could. Across the courtyard Ali could see the bodies of several brothers lying where they had fallen, and there was also a handful of the Afghan guards lying dead. Among them Ali spotted a man dressed in blue jeans and a dark jacket – the ‘uniform’ of a foreigner. As Ali laid eyes on him, his heart leapt. Could it be that the brothers had already killed one of the cursed infidels, one of the hated American dogs? If so, Ali wanted a weapon and a chance to find some more of the kafir to slaughter.

‘What now, brothers?’ Ali asked, excitedly. ‘What now? What is the plan, brothers?’

‘Make for the armoury,’ the two men urged, pointing out a series of dome-roofed buildings clustered against the fort’s central wall. ‘Some of the brothers are there already, breaking out the weapons. Arm yourselves with whatever you can find. There are RPGs, machine guns, grenades, AK47s. And mortars, brothers. Bring mortars. The mother of all battles is upon us, brothers. This is what we came here for. Arm yourselves, brothers! Jihad! This is jihad!’

‘Fetch me a weapon, Brother Ahmed,’ Ali urged, grabbing hold of his deputy’s arm. ‘Get me an RPG and some rounds, and bring them back to me here. OK?’

‘Of course, Brother Ali,’ a grinning Ahmed replied, as he set off for the armoury.

‘So where are the enemy, brothers?’ Ali continued, turning back to speak to the two men who had just freed him. As he did so, he held out his arms so that his bounds could be cut. ‘Where are the Northern Alliance whores? Where are the American dogs? Where are the cowardly infidels? By the grace of Allah let us hunt them down and slaughter them all.’