ECHOS, TARIN KOWT
Matt walked to the back corner of the camp and punched the numerals 1957 – SAS’s formation year – into the rear security gate combination lock. The push-button combination lock clicked open and the spring disengaged, allowing Matt to turn the awkward handle on the heavy gate.
‘Operational security,’ he grumbled to himself as he stepped through, leaving the Special Forces compound.
Walking along the dusty track that wound its way through the centre of the base, Matt passed a group of shipping containers that had been converted into small offices for the occupying Dutch forces. A group of five Australian infantry soldiers walked towards Matt and looked him up and down. They were in full battle rig, wearing long-sleeved shirts and weighed down with ridiculous old-fashioned body armour. They carried their Steyr rifles as if they were patrolling downtown Mogadishu. The infantry guys muttered something between themselves and then all stared at the ground as they passed Matt, who was wearing MultiCam pants and a faded brown t-shirt. His Heckler & Koch USP pistol sat on his hip secured by a paddle holster. Matt gave them a sideways glance and continued on his way to the cafe, Echos. This was the only place where the infantry troops could send and receive emails home, as the task force signallers had still not set up wi-fi in the soldiers’ accommodation. In contrast, the Australian Special Forces guys had wi-fi connecting all their buildings, so visiting Echos was a novelty rather than a necessity. You could get a decent Italian coffee or a milkshake, depending on who was on shift.
Matt moved indoors, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the soft lighting and the green and blue furnishings. Echos looked like a 1980s disco lounge. The old Italian lady who managed the place recognised Matt and gave him a sour nod from behind the main counter. She seldom smiled and made no exception for him. She barked some orders at the young Filipina serving the customers at the front of the queue. Matt took his place in the line and studied the menu board. Nothing had changed since his last visit and probably never would, he thought.
‘Hey, man, how long have you been here?’ Matt looked up at the guy who had joined the queue behind him and then back at the woman making the coffees. This was obviously Todd, but there were games yet to be played.
‘Too long,’ Matt said, somewhat dismissively.
The blond all-American sports star was not to be so easily ignored.
‘Really? So since breakfast then?’ he said in a teasing manner.
Matt frowned, partly at the theatrics of the young woman making the coffee. She was taking orders, frothing and spilling the milk and bashing the cups on the side of the machine, all the while shouting in Filipino at some either deaf or non-existent helper in the back room whose absence only served to frustrate her all the more.
‘You probably would assume that, mate,’ Matt said dryly, ‘because we are always outside the wire in combat, while you guys –’ he turned to face the American commando, needing to tilt his head back a little to take in the man’s height ‘– are always in the gym or slapping each other’s arses in the shower.’ Matt turned back to the coffee pantomime.
Todd laughed raucously and slapped Matt forcefully on the back, giving Matt an immediate understanding of his strength.
Matt glanced at the American a little more cautiously now, wondering if his smart-arse response had perhaps overstepped the mark.
‘When this broad finally gets her act together and actually makes us a coffee, let’s sit and have a chat, you and me – what d’ya say, Matt?’ Todd extended a huge hand for Matt to shake.
Matt nodded as he shook Todd’s hand. ‘I have nowhere else to be, mate,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’m hoping you can tell me how I can get those Black Hawks of yours to fly my platoon somewhere.’
‘Flying is the only safe option, pal,’ said Todd.
‘Three lattes and two Americanos!’ barked the barista as she spilled half the contents of the cups while pushing them across the counter.
Todd and Matt looked at each other. Matt shook his head.
‘What are you having?’
‘I’ll take my chances with a black coffee, thanks, buddy,’ said Todd.
‘Two black coffees, keep the change. We’re sitting over there.’ Matt gestured towards a table in the corner of the dimly lit, blast-protected building. The walls were festooned with photos of the world’s capital cities, all artificially faded to give the appearance that they had been there for a decade. The barista squinted towards the table.
‘Okay, ma’am, sir,’ said the barista. She always addressed everyone as ma’am and sir simultaneously – just to be on the safe side, Matt assumed.
At the corner table, Todd and Matt discussed the war, their soldiers and their countries’ politics, and Matt felt himself relax. It had been a while since he had been able to talk openly and unguardedly with a peer. Command was a lonely business. Every action and word had to be considered. ‘The men need leaders not friends!’ This was the mantra he – and no doubt Todd – had heard repeatedly at officer academy and the principle was now ingrained.
Todd talked of the new restrictions applied to his operations. His platoon was comprised of only three teams of six, but these eighteen men were responsible for mentoring one hundred and twenty Afghan commandos. They trained them, equipped them and then led them right into the fight. Recently, however, they had been ordered to base themselves in outlying villages for six weeks at a time in a futile attempt to deny the Taliban a safe haven or area of respite. Of course, the Taliban just found other villages to go to. Todd’s men were frustrated by this strategy of waiting out the enemy and dreamed of getting back into the fight.
Matt told Todd of his own frustrations, and how he felt he was always left out of the higher-level planning. As he was talking, he noticed Todd become distracted and he turned to see a woman entering though the air-lock doors. She waved at Todd and her white smile, made all the brighter by her tanned skin, illuminated the room.
‘Allie, how’s it going?’ Todd called.
Matt watched as she approached. She was about his height, dressed in khaki combat trousers and a light brown t-shirt that clung to her generous curves. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked like the military equivalent of Xena, the Warrior Princess.
‘Hello there, Todd, I haven’t seen you around much. Isn’t there any work for you guys to do?’ Even in what was clearly her second language, the woman was cheeky. ‘Who’s your little friend then?’
‘This is Matt, he’s the commander of the Australian Special Forces platoon. Matt, this is Allie van Tanken.’
‘Oh, right, I have heard a lot about you guys,’ Allie said. ‘The bearded devils! Lots of time playing in your cars, I think.’
Matt couldn’t help but laugh. It was hard to be offended by her.
‘Yeah, we’ve done our fair share of driving around the place. I’ve corrected a heap of map data in and around Chora, that’s for sure’. Matt held her gaze as he spoke, wondering if she, too, felt a spark of attraction.
Her light green eyes narrowed as she said, ‘Map data? What kind of map data?’ She leaned in closer to Matt to hear his answer. He could smell the slightest hint of her deodorant and it immediately aroused his senses.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Matt, embarrassed. ‘So what’s your role here, Allie?’
‘I’m the intelligence officer for the Dutch Apaches,’ she replied.
‘Wow, that’s a big job.’
‘What, for a girl you mean?’ She frowned.
‘Huh? No, of course not – that’s not what I meant.’ Matt shifted awkwardly and looked across at Todd, who was laughing into his coffee.
‘It’s okay, Matt, I’m fucking you,’ Allie said in her accented English.
At that Todd burst out laughing, spraying coffee onto the table.
‘What’s so funny, Todd?’ Allie asked innocently.
Matt rose from his seat. ‘Can I get you a coffee or something, Allie?’
‘Yes, I would like a vanilla milkshake, please.’ Allie pulled a chair across from a nearby table as Matt went to place the order and get another round of coffees.
When he returned, Allie and Todd were discussing the spotter network and how they could best be defeated.
‘One interesting point, Todd, is that the network often tells each other not only the direction of the helicopters in flight, but also their projected arrival times. That’s why it’s so important to make sure that the route is varied and that the duration is deliberately extended or shortened. Usually they are more accurate in their calculations than our own air controllers.’
‘We could help with that, I think, Allie. Maybe Matt and I could join together, conduct another operation after this one to dismantle their spotter network up and down the valley. I’m sure Matt would like a chance to get out in the helicopters for a few days.’
‘That could work,’ said Matt, passing Allie the milkshake and handing Todd his coffee. ‘We just have to survive this next operation first. The rough plan is for the other commando platoon, X-Ray Platoon, to start at the bottom end of the Mirabad Valley and my platoon at the top. We’ll lock the place down and then you guys will fly in with your Afghan commando company and clear the key compounds of interest.’
‘That’s hardly a challenge, Matt. Cordon and call out has become our main business of late,’ replied Todd.
‘Tell me, Matt,’ said Allie, ‘how is Operation Odin’s Raven going?’ She took a sip of her milkshake, watching Matt intently for his answer.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Matt looked at Todd, who shrugged.
‘Sure you do, Matt.’ Allie laughed and shook her head. ‘Seriously, though, I need to get access to a couple of my contacts out in Chora. Perhaps I could jump in on one of your vehicle patrols when you go out there next? It won’t take long – I just need a few hours at the most once on the ground. I’m sure my commander won’t have an issue with me going out with the bearded devils.’
Matt was still puzzling over her question. ‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He frowned at her. ‘I’m lost, Allie – what’s Operation Odin’s Raven?’
Allie looked at Matt in disbelief. ‘I like you Australians,’ she said, ‘but I can’t get my head around the stupid politics you guys play against each other and with us. Surely the SOTG would be better off all working together.’
‘I agree. But since I’m obviously out of the loop on this one, perhaps you could fill me in?’ Matt was suspicious now; what did she know about the way the Australians were operating? More than he did, apparently.
‘Odin’s Raven is your SOTG operation to seal up the leaks in the human intelligence network in Uruzghan and Chora. I believe it’s been going on for about four months now. I’m really surprised you haven’t heard of it; I receive an unofficial update every week from Sam. There has to be some sharing of intelligence to ensure that it succeeds, right?’ Allie put the aluminium milkshake container on the table and leaned back in her chair.
‘Well, I think that sounds like an intelligence operation or maybe an SAS job.’ Matt sipped on his coffee and looked around the room. Something just didn’t make sense to him; how was it that Allie was able to know about an SOTG operation that he knew nothing about?
Matt took another swig of coffee, trying to maintain a calm demeanour. When Todd rose from the table to go and reprimand some engineers who had entered the cafe with loaded weapons, Allie put her hand on Matt’s forearm.
‘Matt, there’s more,’ she said seriously. ‘I’ve seen your plans briefed as part of this operation. I mean, I see all the plans for this operation and your concept of operations briefs are all submitted under the title “Odin’s Raven”. So, you see, it doesn’t make sense to me that you don’t know about it, if you’re not the one conducting the operation . . .’
Matt stared at her in disbelief. He struggled to make sense of it. I take my guys out on patrol, and the enemy, they know my plans. The CO denies me helicopters in order to slow me down and then keeps me out there, giving me stupid tasks to complete to ensure I stay in position, route recons and reports and such. Then he sends the SAS out to target an enemy who are, not surprisingly, descending on my position.
Matt’s knuckles became white from the fists he was making. ‘I’m the bait – my platoon is the bait and they’re using the leak to make sure the Taliban know where I am going to be!’
‘Perhaps, Matt,’ Allie replied. ‘And it probably affects you more than most, I would have thought, especially given where you are operating and because of who you are chasing.’
‘This has got to be a fucking joke.’ Matt could feel the rage mounting in his chest.
‘I wouldn’t joke about something like this,’ she said. She removed her hand from his arm as Todd returned to the table and instantly resumed her light-hearted, flirtatious tone.
‘So, boys, who’s buying me pizza?’
Matt sat there fuming. He looked across at the far wall at a picture of the Sydney Harbour Bridge hanging next to a picture of a Dutch windmill. How ironic, he thought.
‘I have to go, guys,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll be in touch, Todd.’ Matt got up out of his seat and rested his hands on the back of the chair. ‘I think I need to go and have a word with our intelligence guy.’
‘Matt,’ Allie warned gently, ‘tread carefully – and remember: this information didn’t come from me, okay?’
‘Yeah, of course, sure.’ He stepped back. ‘I’ll see you both later then.’ Matt wasn’t sure what he felt. The death of John Lewis and the Afghan soldiers was on his mind. Someone was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Rapier was top of the target list in Matt’s mind, but a few Australian officers might just be joining him there, depending on their answers over the next few hours. Target one – Sam Long!