Kaare folded the map and rubbed his eyes. He knew he had to focus on the operation and return to the compound. Before leaving the area, they had to ensure that all prisoners and objects seized were photographed. After briefly commending his men for their well-executed raid, he ordered them to mount the vehicles. The cuffed and hooded prisoners were disbursed onto the jeeps, while the dead bodies and seized objects, weapons and ammunition, for security reasons, were placed on the two Toyotas driven by Hans and JK.
‘You’re sure you’ll manage the drive without passengers?’ JK shouted through the open window to Hans, with a nod towards the two dead bodies in his back seat. He then turned the ignition on.
It had been a long night, and after a short, rocking drive, the sun started to ascend in the sky. Kaare felt fatigue flow through his body. They had at least two more hours of driving ahead of them in the scorching heat. Once back at base, they were to debrief properly, write patrol reports and see to the maintenance of weapons and vehicles; then they could succumb to their exhaustion and get some sleep. He tried to dodge his body’s cry for sleep 55by fishing his MP3 player from his breast pocket. This morning he was particularly grateful for having brought it, and he found the song that was on his mind, grabbed the mic from the jeep’s radio, ready to make a joint call to all members of the assault force:
‘All Calls, this is Zero Alpha,’ he announced, loudly, and paused for effect as he put the MP3 player to the mic and the Queen song ‘We Are the Champions’ blared out over the airwaves.
Kaare closed his eyes and let Freddy Mercury’s voice wash over him. It was a clear violation of comms procedure, but he knew the men would love the stunt.
The drive back went according to plan, and as Kaare had hoped, traffic in Kandahar was still sleepy when they passed through the town at top speed. The car’s rocking motion had done its best to send Kaare to sleep, but it was not until they passed the battered signs for Dolangi Airfield that he allowed himself to relax. Last night had been his baptism of fire, the unit’s baptism of fire. Slowly, it dawned on him – the full extent of what had happened. The thought filled him with a strange mixture of pride and humility. As the vehicles passed through the two checkpoints and crossed to the Danish section at Forward Operation Base Rhino, Kaare relaxed a little deeper into his seat.
They finally stopped in front of a ramshackle building that had once been home to the airport’s meteorological centre. It was the DANSOF HQ but was called ‘B-05’ after the painted number on its gable end. Decades of sun, wind and dust storms had rendered it barely legible, as if a colossal eraser had attempted to delete it. From the scant furnishings, it would seem meteorology and weather forecasting had not been high-priority services. There hadn’t even been a phone line when the advance party arrived. For 56several weeks, they’d been forced to walk across to the opposite side of the airport whenever they needed to make a call, send an email or otherwise communicate with the Jaeger Corps staff back in Aalborg. The US Marine Corps HQ, naturally, had everything anyone could wish for, and the Americans had been obliging, installing a phone line by the time the main DANSOF contingent arrived. But the US Marine Corps HQ remained the only place with an internet connection. Their level of service is simply outstanding, Kaare thought and suppressed a yarn as he watched a detachment from the US Military Police assemble in front of B-05. Master Sergeant Hans Kruse, accompanied by a US Lieutenant-Colonel and a female US Major, were also there. Kaare’s brain was slow to kick into gear, but after having brushed his smock, he headed towards them and extended his hand in greeting.
‘This is Lieutenant Colonel Johnson, G3 in the operations section,’ the Master Sergeant said as he grabbed Kaare’s hand in a steely grip.
‘He needs your account of what happened. Your statements are vital if this ends up in court,’ he continued.
‘Court?’
Kaare looked at him, with astonishment.
‘Yes, if it goes to trial.’
‘Sorry, some information in Danish,’ the Master Sergeant said to the American Colonel, and turned to Kaare again:
‘Kabul believes that you most likely intercepted a drugs shipment destined for the Balkan route.’
Kaare glanced at the vehicles, watching as the MPs led the prisoners onto a truck.
‘Between you and me, the shit may hit the fan, politically, I 57mean. You haven’t done anything wrong. But the Russians back in Kabul are part of the International Security Assistance Force. The fact that you’ve shot some of theirs and taken other prisoners is unlikely to go down well with them. That’s if they are innocent, of course. However, the reality is that you need to prove they had nothing at all to do with that illegal shipment, and that they were not just coincidently visiting the local Afghans. You do follow me, right? I hardly think they’re clapping their hands back in Moscow.’
‘You know full well we had no choice but to do as we did.’
He stretched in an attempt to muster enough energy to focus on the political implications, and a wave of irritation rushed through him. The Russians had been armed and in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one should cast doubt on his operators’ professionalism.
‘I know! And the only thing that matters is that none of you came to any harm. Due to the press policy, I must urge you and the men not to make any comment whatsoever to anyone. Army Operational Command is in charge of what information can be released. It’s already a very delicate situation,’ Hans Kruse answered and smiled as he turned to the female American Major.
She stepped closer and held out her hand towards Kaare. Looks like a sharp woman, and good looking too, Kaare thought as a smile found its way to his lips. And a good, firm handshake. Kaare instinctively lowered his eyes. Ulla was back home in Aalborg and should be more in his thoughts. He did love her, although their relationship had been strained in the last few months up to his deployment. Kaare rubbed his eyes and concentrated on the Major’s instructions while carefully studying her business card. He kept himself from eying her body, but he inadvertently looked after 58her as she walked to her HUMVEE. He suddenly realised he was waving at her, and as he turned around, the knowing expression on Master Sergeant Hans Kruse’s face did not escape his attention.
‘Wipe that smug look off your face!’ he said, and signalled to the patrol leaders to join them for the detailed debriefing of the night’s events.
‘You’re going to be famous back in Denmark, trust me. Army Operational Command is already talking about turning it into some big media storm when you’re back there on rotation,’ the Master Sergeant said, as he squeezed Kaare’s arm.
Kaare nodded thoughtfully but was only half-listening, trying as he was to hide a prolonged yawn. It was still only 09:30. It had been a long night, and the uneventful drive back had drained him of any last trace of adrenaline. His energy was evaporating fast. The thought of writing his after-action report, not to mention cleaning his weapon and sorting out his kit, could have seemed more manageable, had he been rested. But then, had he been rested, he would have found the developments on the back of the straightforward operation alarming. As it was, his fatigue shrouded every worry in a fog of indifference.