By the time dawn began to break over Mount Ayrybaba, the ten-thousand-foot mountain that sat on the border between Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan, the Turkmen troops had assembled outside the gates of Kerki Air Base. To General Zarazi’s joy, more than four-fifths of the Turkmen soldiers, including a good number of pilots and officers, remained behind. The Turkmen conscripts were very unhappy with their treatment by the elitist professional soldiers; the younger professional soldiers who were not part of the new quasi-Russian regime in Turkmenistan also chose to remain.
Jalaluddin Turabi, who had met up with Zarazi shortly after the deadline passed, administered the oath via loudspeaker to almost two thousand Turkmen troops assembled in front of base headquarters. They had already organized themselves into companies, chosen new unit commanders, and torn the Turkmen patches and flags off their uniforms. Zarazi, still bloodied by his treatment at the dead commander’s hand, led the assembled force in prayer. He then ordered the men to return to their barracks and for the company commanders and senior noncommissioned officers to meet him in headquarters.
“Allah has blessed us and answered our prayers, gentlemen,” he began. “Our crusade to build a haven for warriors of Islam begins right here, right now. It is our duty to organize and secure this area, prepare to fight off any challengers to our authority, and work to spread the word of God throughout this country.”
Turabi watched the newcomers carefully and, to his great surprise, noticed that a good many of the new officers sat in rapt attention, gazing at Zarazi like he was some sort of demigod. What was wrong with these men? he wondered. Could their lives be so screwed up out here in the wilderness that they would be willing to betray their country this easily and quickly and join up with a foreigner?
Zarazi stood before a large wall map of eastern Turkmenistan. “Our first objective will be to secure the Kizyl-arvat hydroelectric dam. This dam supplies power to all of eastern Turkmenistan as well as southern Uzbekistan. Once we take this facility, we also control the Turkmen oil and natural-gas pipeline that connects to Afghanistan and Pakistan, and we also control several irrigation and freshwater pumping stations for the region. The oil facilities shall be destroyed immediately.”
“Destroyed?” Turabi asked. He said it louder than he meant. He didn’t want the men assembled before them to see any sign of confusion or disagreement in the leadership, but they hadn’t discussed this move beforehand. “Wakil, we can hold those pipelines and wells for ransom. The Turkmen or whoever built them will pay us handsomely to keep them in operation.”
Zarazi glared at Turabi as if the man had pissed on his boots. “And if they don’t, Colonel?”
“Then we destroy them,” Turabi said. “But I think they’ll pay to keep their precious oil flowing. That means more money we can send back to our clans. Let’s give it a try, at least.”
Zarazi looked as if he were going to order Turabi to be silent — he appeared angry enough even to strike him — but instead he held his anger in check and nodded. “Very well, Colonel. I shall leave that task in your hands. Make contact with the Turkmen oil minister or their Western puppet masters and tell them that if they want their oil to keep flowing, they will pay.”
“Yes, General,” Turabi said loudly, thinking that he’d better do whatever he could to show everyone that Zarazi was back in command. “I’ll make the pricks pay out their asses.”
“Our greatest threat is the infantry base at Gaurdak,” Zarazi continued after giving Turabi a final warning glare. “They have a full brigade there, do they not?”
One of the Turkmen officers shot to his feet. “Master, they are authorized to brigade strength, but they have been unable to get enough equipment and supplies to fully equip a brigade,” the man said, standing at ramrod attention. “Most have not been paid in many weeks; most of the officers, like ourselves, have not been paid in many months. They have had many desertions and crimes against the local population. Many of the soldiers have resorted to stealing from the locals to feed themselves or selling fuel and equipment to smugglers. Their overall readiness is very poor.”
“Stealing from the people we are dedicating ourselves to liberate and protect will not be tolerated in my army, is that clear?” Zarazi said sternly. “But I also hereby command that anyone who does not declare himself a true servant of God shall not be entitled to own land, property, or resources under our jurisdiction or protection. That includes the water, the oil and gas through the pipelines, the power that flows from the hydroelectric power plant — everything. If it is under our protection, then either outsiders must swear allegiance to us and our cause, or they must pay for these resources.”
Now he had all their attention, Turabi noticed. Zarazi had a good number of men here who believed that he was some sort of holy warrior, but most of them were just tired of the old commander and wanted to be paid. Zarazi was promising them a paycheck. He was definitely in business now.
Zarazi outlined his wishes for patrols, security, and reporting to him, then dismissed the company commanders and their senior noncommissioned officers. The officer who spoke up in front of the others, a transportation and supply officer named Lieutenant Aman Orazov, remained behind, along with Turabi. Orazov was a tall, heavyset man with long, unkempt hair, no mustache or beard, and filthy boots and uniform — Turabi worried the guy might be infested with lice. “It is a great honor to serve you, master,” Orazov said in halting Pashtun. “I am proud to be part of your command.”
“You are a loyal and brave servant… Captain Orazov,” Zarazi said. The scruffy-looking clerk looked as if he were going to kiss Zarazi’s hand — and then, disgustingly, he did. “I hope you are correct about the base at Gaurdak.”
“I am, master,” Orazov said. “I do not think they will be a threat to us. They are even more isolated than Kerki; they do a great deal of black-market trading with smugglers and villagers from Uzbekistan and Afghanistan. I think you will find many who support our cause.”
“We shall see,” Zarazi said.
“My concern would be for the major and the other company commanders that you are allowing to walk free, master,” Orazov said. “I would be afraid they will spread lies and wild stories about you. They should not be allowed to reach Chärjew.” Chärjew was the location of the largest military base in eastern Turkmenistan, about 180 kilometers upriver. The Turkmen zealot’s eyes brightened, and he fairly rocked from foot to foot in anticipation. “I shall kill them for you, master. Let me organize an attack. We outnumber them. It would be my very great pleasure to lead your loyal Turkmen soldiers on an attack against the oppressors from whom you have liberated us.”
Jalaluddin Turabi could scarcely believe it, but Wakil Zarazi was actually nodding in thought at this peasant’s psychopathic ramblings. Thankfully, Zarazi responded, “No, Captain. I am grateful for your enthusiasm and drive, but those men are not yet our enemy, only our adversaries. If they organize and return to do battle, you shall lead our forces against them.”
Zarazi glanced at Turabi. Was he looking for approval or afraid his second in command would object to his giving a command to a Turkman? Turabi remained indifferent.
“I have given my word they shall not be harmed if they surrender — so it shall be. Now, go. Organize your men and report to me when they are ready for my inspection.”