“Rooms? Would you like carpeting, granite counter-tops, a mini-bar and indoor plumbing, too?” Ramirez asked with less than subtle contempt for a high-ranking military officer. “This ain’t no Hilton, captain. How long will you be here?”
“Several weeks, a couple of months, not really sure.”
Ramirez looked at Camp’s insignia badge.
“You’re a doctor. Replacement for Major Banks?”
“Yes, something like that. “
“Civilian or contractor?” Ramirez asked Finn.
“Civilian,” snapped Finn. He hated the question.
“GS level?”
“Fifteen.”
Camp got agitated. “What difference does that make?”
“Sir, I’m not going to bunk a GS nine with an O-six, but a 15 is equal to your level.”
Ramirez handed them two keys to Building 89.
“Soon as you stow your gear, you need to check in with the XO and then in at the TOC. Bring your orders. The DFAC serves lunch from 1100 to 1300 hours.”
Building 89 was a standard size B-hut. A long corridor down the middle was lit with two fluorescent light boards, and plywood walls were eight feet high on both sides. Camp and Finn had rooms across from each other. After getting past a simple key padlock on every plywood door, inside each soldier had an open closet with a bay for six hangers and two cubby holes for folded clothes. Four lines of three-inch plywood shelves would hold their toiletries, DVDs and batteries. Beneath the shelves a larger boxed-in bin stored weapons and ammo under separate lock and key. A three-foot by two-foot plywood desk was against the cement wall and beneath the window that was covered with black paper to prevent any light from being seen outside. Lightning was a dark base; no lights at night limited what a sniper might be able to get away with. The extended twin bed mattress sat on a plywood frame and was lifted four feet in the air so that sea bags and battle rattle could be stowed beneath. A 220-to-110 converter and a power strip were on the floor between the desk and the elevated bed.
“You unpacked yet, Finn?”
“Home sweet home. All done. Can we hit the head on the way to the XO’s office?”
“Aye, aye… let’s roll.”
The XO was a National Guardsman from Minnesota. He had attained the rank of a full bird Army colonel on the weekends, but was a full-time literature professor at Gustavus Adolphus College by trade. The longest war in American history required several rotations of reserves and National Guard in addition to active duty enlisted. Even on the front lines.
A long line of local Afghan Pashtuns, each wearing a blue janitor’s smock, stood watching two of their brothers emptying the trash out of the XO’s metal can as two more replaced the liner bag. They were expressionless as Camp and Finn walked past them into the building.
“Ah, Captain Campbell and Special Agent Finn, we’ve been expecting you. The Mayor said you’d be over so, I took the liberty of inviting Captain Henry to join us.”
Camp read the name tag.
“Colonel Kierkendahl, pleasure to meet you, sir. Sounds like a good Nordic name.”
“Sixth generation Lutherans from Minnesota don’t ya know. Campbell, that’s Scottish right?”
Camp tired of the small talk he had initiated.
“Henry? You were with Banks the day he was abducted.”
“Yes, sir, I run a MEDEVAC mentoring program for the Afghan Army with a team of six medics from the 82nd Airborne Division. I was assisting Major Banks that day.”
“On the tularemia outbreak?” Camp asked.
“Yes, sir, it’s been contained. The patients got their full treatment of antibiotics and have been released.”
“Released? Or do you mean arrested?” Camp asked.
“Sir?”
“The report says all three were Taliban.”
“Roger that, sir. The commanding Afghan general on Thunder is well-known in the province, and he thought it would be viewed as an act of compassion to let these patients go.”
“How did the ambulance manage to leave Thunder with an American inside?” Billy Finn questioned.
“Sir, the checkpoint doesn’t usually inspect outgoing vehicles, especially an ambulance with emergency lights on. They ambulance comes and goes throughout the day. The Paktya Regional Hospital is the most sophisticated hospital between here and Khost.”
“How about coming on to the base? Do the Afghan Army guards inspect the ambulances then?” Finn continued.
“Affirmative, Mr. Finn. They do a quick inspect and release. Just to make sure there’s no car bomb.”
“So Captain Henry, the guards know who comes on to Thunder. The guards’ commanding officer knows who comes on to Thunder. And by extension, the commanding Afghan general knows who comes on to his base too.”
“Roger.”
“Once you verified that an abduction took place, who pursued?”
“I can answer that one,” Kierkendahl chimed in, hoping to satisfy Finn’s interrogation. “We immediately called the Afghans and asked for ground pursuit and requested alerts for the various checkpoints in the province. We sent ground units out as well.”
“Air?” Camp asked.
“Unfortunately, no. We don’t have air assets here, and by the time the weather cleared, it was pretty pointless,” Colonel Kierkendahl answered.
“Did the Afghan Army find anything? Any clues? Any leads?” Finn asked.
Captain Henry and Colonel Kierkendahl shifted in their chairs as the colonel abruptly stood and started to pace the room.
“Well, sir, the Afghans were not able to pursue that day,” Henry said.
“To be fair, they complained that they were out of fuel. There was really nothing they could do,” Kierkendahl added.
“Captain Henry, have you had other tours in Afghanistan?” Finn asked.
“Yes, sir, 13 months in Kandahar two years ago.”
“Did you come across any corruption problems with the Afghans you worked with then?”
“Roger that, every week. In fact, most of the time, the issue was fuel. We’d bring in a fully loaded tanker. By the time the generals and the colonels and local government officials siphoned off what they wanted for personal use, there was hardly anything left for the Afghan Army vehicles.”
“When was the last time Thunder was re-supplied with fuel, colonel?” Finn asked.
“The day before the abduction.”
“And they were already on ‘E’? How often do they send patrols out, colonel?”
“They typically send out a three vehicle patrol on a humanitarian mission once a week.”
Colonel Kierkendahl said as his agitation grew. The colonel sat down behind his desk. “Listen, bottom-line, we did everything within our power. We immediately notified the ABP, Afghan Border Patrol. I’m certain that no American soldier has left this country out their back door.”
“The ABP? You’re not serious, colonel. Two TVs, a smart phone, a pack of smokes and some pirated porn, and they’d let you smuggle Jimmy Hoffa into Pakistan,” Finn said as he stood up quickly and walked out of the HQ building, slamming the door behind him for dramatic effect.
“Captain Henry, can you take me over to the base clinic? I’d also like to meet the Terp.”
“Roger that, Captain Campbell. I’ll have my team escort her over to the TMC now.”
Camp got up to leave then hesitated.
“Hey Captain, where do I go on Lightning to make a Skype call back home?”
Kierkendahl and Henry were amused.
“Captain, this Forward Operating Base isn’t quite on the edge of the Earth but we can see it from here. One satellite dish provides barely enough bandwidth for all of our computers to run, let alone ‘shits and grins’ for the folks back home. Better send a letter and hope for good weather to get it out of here.”