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For Zain’s brother Naveed, there was little love to be found. Instead, hate was woven into the fabric of his very existence. It dictated where he would go and decreed his daily activities. Hate became Naveed’s mistress—and a demanding one.
Early one May morning, a truck picked up Naveed, his father, and his men to drive them to the town of Karachi. When they arrived, it was nighttime. Cool nights were common in this region during this time of the year. Upon reaching Karachi, Farwan’s men opened the truck’s back doors. Each man piled out, some taking time to stretch.
The only light came from the interior light blazing inside the cargo hold. Naveed’s father began , black clothing to his men including black stocking face masks. Without questioning the need to wear new clothing, the men disrobed and pulled on the black uniforms. They were loose and baggy on nineteen-year-old Naveed’s thin frame. He looked at the other men. It appeared to be a one-size-fits-all uniform.
During the time in the truck, Farwan had set a map on the floor. The men had crowded around while the elder jihadi discussed the plan. To young Naveed, it sounded ludicrous. After the plan had been disclosed and he understood his role in executing it, Naveed grasped what his father did for a living. This was what he had been doing when he was a boy while his family patiently awaited Farwan’s return to them in the cave.
His father didn’t work for a living. He killed for a living. Instinctually, Naveed didn’t think killing others was an honorable profession. But there were all these men who had committed their lives to this cause and literally put at risk not only their lives, but also the livelihood of their families. Naveed knew in his heart his father was not a bad person. He loved his family and his men. His father was religious. Taking all those factors into consideration, Naveed concluded the missions—the quests that his father went on—must be sanctioned in God’s eyes and thus warranted.
The light inside the truck was turned off and the doors were closed.
“We have over a kilometer to walk—stay quiet and alert,” Farwan told his men.
Farwan walked toward a large cluster of lights they could see off in the distance. His men fell in behind him and Naveed brought up the rear.
As they walked, Naveed held his black AK-47 out in front of him. His arms quickly tired. Less than halfway to their target, his gun sagged at his waist. Within 400 meters of their first objective, Naveed learned it was easier to carry the assault weapon with it draped over his shoulder by its wide strap. He let it dangle while he walked.
The terrain was flat with only a few scrub bushes growing wearily out of the sunbaked soil. The night was absent of any moonlight—an optimal time to execute the mission. After about twenty-five minutes the terrorists reached the barbed wire fence.
Farwan explained, “This is the only area where the security cameras cannot see us.” He removed a thick pair of bolt cutters and began snipping at the chain links. Less than five minutes later, the men had squeezed through the gash in the fence and had clustered around their leader.
“Take your weapons off safety,” Farwan told his men. “Load the RPGs,” he told two men carrying the rocket-propelled grenade tubes.
Naveed’s father surveyed the brightly lit compound. He pointed to the massive hangars off to the right. “This is our first target,” he said. “Remember your assignments; Allah will protect us.”
Farwan and his men began running toward their first objective. No persons were out in the dead of the night. Once they reached the tarmac, the militants opened fire on the aircraft within the hangar.
Initially, Naveed was frightened by the overwhelming volume of the noise emitted by fifteen guns firing simultaneously. At the camp in Chitral, he heard several guns fired at the same time but never fifteen in unison on full auto. He watched the men shoot the big helicopter in the first hangar. He fired a burst into the chopper’s windshield.
In the next hangar sat a P-3C Orion surveillance aircraft and several warplanes. These aircraft belonged to those responsible for surveilling their locations and the training camps, so the TTP army hated these planes. The man to Naveed’s left squeezed his weapon’s trigger and the rocket-propelled grenade shot from the tube with a concussive boom. The grenade struck one of the Orion’s right engines causing an explosion. It also shredded the wing and engine cowling. Aviation fuel began spilling from the tank located in the wing. A second later a tracer round ignited the fuel and the entire hangar burst into flames.
The group moved to the third hangar and pulverized a second Orion, opting to utilize the RPG to perform most of the heavy work to save on AK ammunition.
Their next objective was to kill people. The group traversed several runways and entered the Naval base from the Faisal Air Force Base’s airfield. Farwan pointed at nearby buildings and his men began a dead run toward the target. The militants closed in on what appeared to be the front of a two-story building. Many of the sleeping personnel had heard the noises and had emerged from the building—some still dressed in underwear and nightclothes.
Naveed stood alongside his father.
“This is for Allah,” Farwan yelled as he indiscriminately fired his weapon in full auto at anyone who moved. Naveed wanted to shoot at the fleeing people but his finger would not pull the trigger. He watched as one naval man after another went down. Prior to falling dead, some of the heads were pulverized like watermelons thrown from a ten-story building. Some people fell seemingly without being struck, but the key point was they all fell. Every single man and woman who exited the building was mowed down. Most didn’t move once they hit the ground. Between AK bursts, Naveed could hear some full-grown men wailing in agony. This was unnerving. He had never heard a man scream with such pain or anguish.
Naveed saw a small woman dart out from the furthest door on the left, attempting to distance herself from the terrorists. Naveed raised his gun and placed the gun’s iron site on her back, but again, he couldn’t pull the trigger. He continued to track her as she ran. As he followed her with his scope, a splash of red appeared on the woman’s neck; she went down just like all the others. Naveed hadn’t pulled the trigger. When he looked over at his father, Farwan’s scope was lined up on the fallen woman. He was smiling. The sight made Naveed’s blood run ice cold.
Some wise men believe that children don’t know the difference between right and wrong. But when it came to terrorism, maybe the children are the only ones who know the difference.