Chapter 3 The trek
We waited until sunset when the general temperatures would drop from thermonuclear to just plain hellish. We had water, if we were careful we could go four days. The question was where to go? Who could we trust? We needed to put the cremated canyon far behind us least the rebels make a return visit. East was the canyon but beyond were Basra and Shia strongholds. West was more desert. North was back into population and the rebels. South was Saudi Arabia which did have a major highway running near the northern border. Southeast was Kuwait. They were less trigger happy than the rebels. Kuwait won by default. There was still no guarantee we wouldn't be turned immediately back to the Army and tried as deserts or worse, but hopefully someone in Kuwait will listen to us first. What sane people would chose to be in Al Muthanne Provence and not As Sulaymaniyah where water is more readily available? We surely did not hijak the aircraft for a little walk-about through endless sand and dirt.
Between us and Kuwait was a heck of a lot of open land, some tough terrain in parts, a few oil rigs, pumping stations, and one highway. The highway would be dangerous. We couldn't exactly stand there with our thumbs up in the air. If by some miracle we make it to Kuwait City, who do we go to? Chances are we'll die of thirst or sun stroke long before we need to make that decision.
Traveling by night kept us from the intense heat. Aircraft lights and noise gave us plenty of warning so we could dig in to avoid detection. The nights were cold, the exercise kept us warm. Shelter wasn't always available during the day so we'd scratch out a depressing so our prone bodies were less visible, but the sun and heat were intense.
After a few days our water situation became critical. We had been moving towards a pipe line pump station that had a guard shack. After hours of observation we detected a routine for the guards.
Manoso said, "I'll go in and refill. If things get dicey, create a diversion out here." What did he want me to do, stand naked in the sun?
I watched his movements, they so reminded me of his uncle Fernando I almost wept. Was this genetic? Can one get a panther-like gene? Fortunately I didn't need to create a diversion. I did not ask if he had to kill any guards.
After another three days march I stopped and sniffed the air, "I smell goat."
"You don't smell much better," Manoso uttered.
"Sounds like Uncle Fernando needs to beat the crap out of you again Manoso; plus I out rank your sorry stinky ass, show respect."
Manoso's eyes got hard. His face was a rock. No reading his body language. Remind me never to play poker with this guy, if we survive this holiday. 'Yeah, I didn't think you recognized me. You were higher than a kite that night."
We sat in silence. I had no idea what he was thinking but I hoped, like me it was ideas on how to get out of this hell hole and not about the New Year's debacle years before. When the wind shifted again I said, "I still smell roasting goat." We set off.
A small caravan had stopped for the night. The group was comprised of about a dozen adults, equal number of children and several trucks.
"Bedouin most likely," I uttered. "Bedouin jinsiye....those without a country, no papers," I explained. Like papers would do them any good, I mused to myself. They were refugees with no home country. They'd be killed in Iraq or settled into refugee camps in Kuwait without a chance of gaining legal status.
We were three days without food and the water was getting critical again. "Think they want company?" I asked.
He looked at me like I was nuts, "We aren't that desperate. We could steal water."
"That's an instant death sentence. If we ask, they can't refuse. Code of the desert," I answered.
"Seriously major, you think they adhere to Bedouin traditions these days?" He paused, "Ah hell, they'll probably shoot us first anyway."
I was dressed as modestly as possible with a long skirt over my ACU pants, long sleeve shirt, over garment and hijab over my head and shoulders. I had an extra scarf if I needed to make a pseudo niqab. Manoso had on his uniform shirt but wore loose fitting tribal pants.
Two rifles were pointed at us as we became visible. Our hands were held high as were our weapons. Seeing a woman with an M16 probably was a surprise. They'd find a few other weapons if they looked under my skirt.
"We mean you no harm. We are trying to get to Kuwait." I said in Arabic. I hoped they didn't speak some tribal language, my Arabic was OK.
"Women don't speak..." the younger man started but not wanting to play with this sexist baloney I quickly inserted, "They do if the man doesn't speak Arabic." I forgot to ask Manoso if he spoke Arabic.
"Who are you," the younger man asked. Curious the older men were standing back letting this younger man do the talking.
"US Army. I'm Major Castillo, this is Captain Manoso."
"A woman officer?" They were horrified. "How do we know you are a woman?"
"No hair," as I rubbed my face. "Have your wives search me. I'm not disrobing in front of men."
After assuring their husbands and brothers I was indeed a woman I was returned to the men.
"Why are you here?"
"We have become separated from our company." I was not going to tell them we got pushed out of an airplane against our will. "The rebels around Al Bandar have forced us south." Once again I wasn't telling them we had no intention of even trying to breach the rebel line. If that made us cowards, then fine, I'd grow chicken feathers.
"You deserters?" An older man asked.
It was time to come clean, sorta. "No. I found several in the Army are in collusion with the rebels for profit. US armaments-guns, ammunition, grenades- are ending up being used by our enemies. I can't speak if I'm dead. Someone is trying to make that happen."
"What about him?" They asked referring to Manoso.
"He was sent to kill me if the rebels couldn't, but our own military tried to kill him too. He decided he'd like to live." I looked at Manoso and he had a strange look on his face. How much Arabic did he understand? Did he know what I just told them? How close was I to being right? Was he to have been my assassin?
We must have passed some test as we were offered water and a bit of goat. Both were delicious.
"What do you want?" An elderly man asked Manoso. I waited to see if he would answer. He remained passive and turned to me.
"This is it. If you have spare water we'll be on your way." I answered.
"You are walking to Kuwait?"
"We've been walking from Al Bandar," I replied.
It was a weak story and I wouldn't blame them if they shot us and continued on. Instead after much discussion we were invited to join them. They probably wanted us to help protect them on their journey. Two more rifles doubled their defense. Once the Kuwait military or police showed up their rifles would have to disappear, quickly. The border wasn't far off, maybe 30 miles after we crossed the main highway. The east west highway carried oil and other materials from the seaport and oil refineries around Basra. Though sparsely traveled it was still difficult to get across as visibility was near limitless in this area unless you crossed in a sand storm.
Passage was slow, roads were a suggestion. There was no "Welcome to Kuwait" sign, Howard Johnsons or any defining mark; especially for us as we stuck to the back...trails.
We stopped for a few hours rest. Tarps were thrown over the vehicles to camouflage their presence and provide a bit of shade. Perimeter lookouts and those of us with rifles were posted around the camp.
Manoso brought me kefir and flat bread, "Why do you think I was sent to kill you?"
"You understood what I was saying?"
"Your Arabic is better than mine and I remind you, I'm a lowly Captain."
"I'm still not convinced which side you are on." He looked and me without emotion, I was waiting for a little apology.
I decided to continue, "After your first declaration of concern about the mission, you disappeared. I figured you knew the mission would fail, perhaps you were sent to make it fail. Either you had your own exit plan or you were on a suicide mission."
"You had to leave the aircraft," he said unapologetically. "I was there to make sure you jumped."
"Into a Force 5 storm?" I hissed. I had no idea the intensity of the storm but it seemed severe enough. "You were going to kill an Army officer?"
"Not me, the jump master. The storm saved your life, our lives."
"OK, I'm not going to play guessing games, tell me what was really going on Captain."
He started, "You were going to Amir Almarta for some reason, I don't know what. My assignment was to kill Amir Almarta."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It's what I do."
He's a specialist, wonderful. "What about me?" I asked.
"You were my way into his camp."
I got that part. Did you have an exit plan?"
"Improvise to Karkuk or to Bashur Air Base. You were a diversion for the men. While they were interested in you, I'd kill Almarta," he stated plainly without emotion.
"Seriously?" I asked. "What if I had been injured?"
He shrugged. "I guess I'd have to carry your sorry stinking ass out of there. I wasn't keen on you being bait. That's why I thought the whole plan stunk."
OK, that made up for the cut about Fernando and the roasting goat. I wanted to ask what he'd do if I was too badly injured but I didn't because I immediately turned it around and asked what I'd do if he was too injured to move. I didn't like the answer.
He watched me think. He's probably been in the situation before, but it was new to me.
I moved on, "What about the explosives?"
"Since it didn't explode while we were there, I don't believe we were the intended target. I suspect the air crew was, assuming there was a blast after we left."
I agreed. "Probably the air crew was transporting military equipment to the rebels. Maybe they got greedy; stole from one side or both. Either the person or persons on our side providing the materials or the rebels decided to eliminate them."
I wondered if just one crew was involved in shipments and how their actions and perhaps actions of others remained unnoticed. I wasn't a forensic accountant. I caught the overall operations, but who ever came after me…if someone came after me….I hoped they had a better feel for numbers and could follow shipment redistribution, new shipping labels, creative accounting.
Manoso seemed to have some extra sense to know when my brain quit spinning, maybe the smoke ceased coming out of my ears. "So who do you think ordered the aircraft to fly south, not northeast?" He asked.
Good question. "I'm thinking it was the air crew themselves. That way I wouldn't make it to Almarta, you wouldn't kill him and who would look for us down here in Al Muthanne Provence?"
I sat and thought for a while. Who wanted Amir Almarta dead?
"Who gave you the order to kill Almarta?" I asked Manoso.
He sat for a while and then answered, "Petersen, Special Ops."
"Is he your usual contact?"
"Yes, mostly him. He sent me to Nichols."
Did you know the name Almarta before you came to Nichols?
"Yes."
My mind went back to the air crew. If the air crew was stealing from Nichols, did he have the air crew eliminated? That would make sense. So if Amir was working with Nichols, then my elimination made sense, but why send Manoso? Assuming there someone higher up than Nichols involved, Nichols was double crossing the higher ups?
My mind was spinning but suddenly I saw upright. I saw something in the air cargo plane, other than the explosives, it was in the upper rack, somewhat hidden. It was a box of grenades, what did the box say? Kuwait. Was someone in Kuwait supplying weapons north into Iraq for sales? If the aircraft did explode, where was it? Did someone, like Nichols, plan for it to be up in As Sulaymaniyah Provence but did the flight crew continue south into Saudi Arabia or Kuwait for another pick up? If the plane did explode south, we, Manoso and I, may not be tried at deserters after all.
Manoso sat and watched me think. "You are smiling?"
"Assuming the aircraft exploded soon after we left, how will its location be explained? The wreckage will be seriously off course. Also I saw a crate of grenades with Kuwait labels. They won't survive the explosion but does open up the question how large is this operation?"
"Do you know who is selling on our side?" He asked.
I have my suspicions, but not the whole structure. I think it goes much farther, probably up to the stars." (Meaning general officers) "I'm purposely not telling you what's going on to keep your butt out of the fire."
"I'd say my butt is well toasted already."
"I'm sorry."
Sounds carry through the desert; we could hear traffic from the main road to Kuwait several miles to the east. But this new sound was from the west, from the desert. I wasn't the only one who heard it. Quickly the women and children fled to the east leaving the men to protect the camp. The goats tried to follow the children but were tied to the trucks. The rest of the men had hand guns, joined Manoso and me in the rocks attempting to drive off the invaders. Unfortunately we were four rifles and several handguns against a dune buggy with two guys armed with a grenade launcher and heavier truck with a .50 cal gun mounted on the reinforced roof and unknown number of men inside the truck, perhaps eight to ten, probably armed at least with rifles, or worse. We were out gunned.
"Who are these men?" I asked one of the Beduoins.
"Vultures, they prey on whomever or whatever they can find. They will take the women and children and anything else of value," he spat.
My priority was to disable the vehicles and at least put the invaders on foot out in the open. When one of my shots hit a tire and caused the dune buggy to roll over, my worth went up in the camp. For a while we were holding our own.
When the grenades started falling, the tide turned back to the invaders. The camp was being destroyed. The Bedouin trucks disappeared in a flash causing a great plume of black smoke to ascend into the sky. Grenades were decimating the camp. Fortunately we were hidden by the rocks and were whittling down the rebel numbers as they approached. But then the invaders decided to destroy the rocks where we were hiding.
A rocket fired grenade found Manoso's position and I watched in horror as the rocks above tumbled down on him, completely burying him. We couldn't go help him and I had no time to mourn, I was still fighting for my life. The number of rebels was down to just several but only the same number on our side. It was mutual destruction. I saw the RPG pointed at me. I lunged but the grenade landed near me and I was further flung through the air. I was barely conscious but felt my handgun by my side. Through partially opened eyes I watched one rebel walk up to me, handgun in hand. He was distracted by my camo covered legs under a woman's skirt. He hesitated and I didn't. Then it was sleep time.