They were now heading closer to the mountains whose presence began to overpower the narrow view through the HUMMVEE’s low windshield and the rain in front of the EOD Techs. The inside of the vehicle became darker as the peaks loomed over them.
The HUMMER circled left back toward the international airport. The tower and the top edges of the largest of the aircraft on the field could be seen. The last remnants of the sun were blocked by dark clouds; the late afternoon was now completely illuminated by headlights, campfires, navigation aids, and chemical sticks.
The diesel grumbled and stopped as Ironhorse flipped a switch on the dash. Rain sounded louder on the roof of the HUMMVEE than the -53.
Ironhorse pointed to the mountains on their right.
“You guys see that?”
“What?” said Ash.
“See those doors?”
In the side of the mountain were several metal doors set in concrete that appeared to be painted brown and green camouflage.
“Yea, I see ‘em now,” said Ash. “Those things are all over the Med. So what?”
Ironhorse turned around and faced Jazz and Ash. “Those are the magazines that the Albanians gave to us,” he said in a hushed tone as if telling a ghost story at camp. His eyes shifted back and forth nervously.
“There are ten of ‘em along this ridgeline. We think the government gave them to us because they lost control of them. They figured that we’d move out the local junta and turn ‘em back over to the federales when we leave.
“The current government tried to get into them after the coup. The ones that they tried to open were booby-trapped. One guy got killed, came from together as he opened the door. A couple of others got injured, fragged.
“Most of them had trip wires fixed to a hook on the door. Pull it open so far and it tugged a nonconductive barrier from between two metal contacts in a homemade firing circuit wired to an APERS mine facing the door. The mine was plussed up with metal fragments. Nails and shit like that.
“Open the door, pull out the barrier. Bang. Big pink mist.”
“Damn,” said Ash.
“Yeah. If you knew that the device was there it was a simple op. You only had to open the door slowly, a few inches and then you could slip the pull line off the hook on the door.
“When we went in them, as I said, some were empty, some had shit in them, and two of them even had training aids.”
“Training aids?” said Jazz.
“Yes, sir. Full out cut-aways of landmines, grenades, anti-tank rounds, just like EOD school except for one thing.”
“What?” said Jazz and Ash together.
“We ain’t never seen a one of ‘em.”
“You’re shitting me,” said Ash.
“Naw, and remember this is our backyard. The 617 is out of Germany. We have guys in my unit that are on their fourth stint in Bosnia.”
“LT and I were just talking about that,” said Ash.
“Are they Albanian?” asked Jazz.
“We are not sure. Some say they are Russian weapons that the Albanians modified. A lot of them do look like former Soviet stuff, but the dimensions are all wrong. We even think that they may have had technical drawings with no sizes on them.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah, so we took photos of all of them and sent them to the Technical Division at Indian Head.”
“Can we see them?”
Ironhorse turned to T-Ball. They smiled again.
“Okay, Lieutentant.”
The Air Force EOD Tech pointed and commented with each one as they drove by as if he was a tour guide on a safari.
“Number one, a general purpose magazine. This one had anti-tank mines, APERS mines, hand grenades, and small arms. It was booby-trapped. Number two, general purpose. This one had tank mines, APERS mines, rockets, RPGs. It was booby-trapped. Number three, tank rounds and arty. This place had boxes and boxes of 76mm to 155 mm. Booby-trapped.”
They passed seven of the magazines. From the outside they all looked non-descript to Jazz. Brown metal doors, probably steel, concrete frames.
They stopped at the eighth bunker. Ironhorse turned the engine off. He and T-Ball got out, followed by Jazz and Ash. Per regulations governing operations in Albania, all of them still had their sidearms strapped on and rifles slung over their shoulders. Only back in the tent compound could they secure weapons.
Jazz mimicked T-Ball and Ash, collapsing the stock on his weapon so that it was less obtrusive.
The men sank in the mud while standing still waiting for Ironhorse to open a two-inch thick lock used by the U.S. military for securing magazines.
He opened the door and they all moved in quickly to avoid more of the rain. Jazz heard a click as Ironhorse turned on a light. In the back of the room was a pile of ordnance “cut-aways” that showed the innards of each; half mines, half rockets, and half artillery shells. It reminded Jazz of the replica of the SANPAT Bomb.
“Holy cow,” said Ash. “It’s a Bosnian EOD school.”
“Yep,” said Ironhorse proudly. “We found a lotta good shit. I can’t wait to hear back from TECHDIV.”
“Was this one booby-trapped?” Jazz inquired.
“Nah,” Ironhorse answered. “All training aids. Who cares?” he chuckled.
Ash walked to the stockpile of faux ordnance. He picked one up.
“These are right off the line, metal not plastic. Manufacturers must have demilled a couple and cut them in half, or built some from the ground up as training aids.”
“Smart really,” allowed T-Ball. “That way there are no mistakes. I know that we’ve had training ordnance at Two, stuff that we used for years, that we later found out was nowhere close to what the stuff really looks like. Limpets especially.”
“What are you going to do with these?” asked Jazz.
“Most will be shipped to TECHDIV, sir. After that, who knows? I will tell you this, some of them will end up as mantelpieces at the 617 and will become ashtrays in the homes of a few Airmen.”
Jazz could see that Ashland was studying the devices closely. Ash looked at Ironhorse.
“Could we see the pictures of these, or better yet obtain copies?”
“Sure,” said Ironhorse. “You guys ready to see the next one?”
Quickly, he opened the camera bag and pulled out the body with a telephoto lens on it. Ayman even provided false press credentials in case Guido was questioned about his sophisticated camera gear.
The rain was still heavy. He fumbled for the rubber covering that would protect the front of the lens from rain.
Shit, why wasn’t I ready? he cursed to himself.
He took two photos before the last man disappeared into the magazine. He snapped another one of the vehicle in case it revealed anything.
It was only the second time he observed anyone moving into the magazines. Usually they just drove back and forth on the road in a security patrol. Perhaps he could discover what was stored in the magazines now. Nasih suspected it was ammunition for further action in Kosovo. Guido wondered if this was an advance party that was about to draw ordnance in time for an attack.
He waited until the men emerged. There were four of them. The camera whirred as Guido snapped photos. He was sure that he only got one face.
Just as he thought he observed nothing of significance, a cursory inspection revealed that they were moving toward the ninth magazine. His magazine.
This time he was ready when they emerged from the vehicle. Fortunately the rain muffled the constant click of the camera as he held the button down, moving it from man to man like a sniper rifle. He got a good still shot on each of them as they lined up and entered the magazine.
Another two-inch lock was fumbled and pulled open. T-Ball squirmed as if he were a child on Christmas day. Jazz wondered what was so exciting about this magazine. It was obviously the center of Theodore’s excitement.