SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

“Affirmative. He wants us to be godfathers.” Yates extended a thick arm, snagged a huge mug of steaming, sweet black coffee, and sipped it gingerly. “How’s Kadisha doing? That’s just super.” He listened for about half a minute, his grin crescendoing all the while. “Sounds absolutely effing great, Talgat. I wish we could have been there with you.”

Yates plucked a pair of Wal-Mart reading magnifiers, set them on the ridge of his nose, and checked the scribbled list on the top page of the notepad on his lap. “Listen, Colonel, I’m actually planning to be in your neck of the woods soon, and I’m gonna need a little help.” He took another gulp. “Day after tomorrow, actually.

“Day after tomorrow,” Yates repeated, fighting for the Kazakh word. “Erteng, old buddy, day after erteng. That’s right.” The sergeant major swept his feet off the desk. “Yeah, it came as a surprise to me, too. But you know how these things are — they never tell us anything.” He juggled mug, notepad, and phone as he scrunched his chair up to the desk. “A bunch of us. The old crowd plus a few new faces.”

The sergeant major paused and listened. “Naw — nothing special. Talgat — Talgat, no!” Yates cupped his hand over the handset. “Jeezus, the son of a bitch wants to give us a big welcome party.” He exposed the mouthpiece. “Talgat, we gotta keep this quiet. So maintain OPSEC. Remember OPSEC? Yeah — good. That’s right.” Yates wriggled his eyebrows at the first sergeant and mouthed, “He finally got it.”

Shepard gave the sergeant major an upturned thumb.

“Naw,” Yates bellowed. “We’re just dropping in to see some old friends on the way to Afghanistan. That would be great, Colonel — absolutely terrific.” He tapped his pen on the legal pad. “Well, actually, I do. You got a pencil?” Yates paused. “You still have any of that Iranian 5.45-X-39 ammo left from our last trip? Yeah — about five thousand rounds should do.” He listened. “Uh-huh. Great. And can you have one of your people hit the bazaar? We need some of those Tajik shirts and hats we found last time. And maybe a bunch of Russkie cammo anoraks and those striped Russkie undershirts, too. All extra-large, Talgat. As big as you can find ‘em.

“Right — put ‘em all in that warehouse at the airport we used as our HQ last time we TDY’d.” Yates’s basso profundo suddenly dropped by twenty decibels. “And I’ll need to borrow a plane, too. Nope — not Army. Commercial. Remember your cousin Shingis from Air Kazakhstan who we worked with on jump exercises when we were over last year? Well, if you can make your usual subtle approach to him, let him know we’d make it worth his while if we could borrow one of Kazakh Air’s Yak-42s for a day or so.” He paused. “Yeah — a Yak-42. Nothing else will do. But it’s got to be done very, very quiet since we’re just visiting on an unofficial basis. Like no ripples anywhere, if you catch my drift. Use lots of OPSEC, Colonel. We have to keep this one in the family.”

Yates listened, then grinned. “No problem you say? Oh, I do like that, Colonel. I like that very much, sir.” There was another pause. Then Yates roared, “Anything you need from the States, old buddy? Don’t forget: I’m traveling at government expense — weight is no problem.” He laughed. “That’s easy,” he said. “You got it.” He rubbed a big paw over the top of his shaved head and looked at the wall clock he’d already set to Almaty local time. “I’d say by zero five hundred hours your time.” He paused. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah. Day after tomorrow, Colonel, see you. Sau bol, sau bol, Talgat — b’bye, b’bye.”

Yates slapped the receiver down. “Shep,” he said, “see how the system works? We don’t need to go to Congress and beg for no stinking foreign aid. We don’t need any damn striped-suit diplo-dinks negotiating for us. We don’t got to hijack anything, either. We got ourselves a plane, a pilot, some ammo, local duds, and all it’s gonna cost us is a kid’s shirt, a couple of cases of great bourbon, and a pallet load of Pampers.”

“Not to mention the suitcase full of cash.”

“Hell, yes. The well-known suitcase full of cash. The expediter. Hoo-ah!” Yates stood up, extended his big hand, and high-fived the first sergeant. “Is this a great friggin’ country or what?”

“Hoo-ah, a great friggin’ country, Sergeant Major. God Bless America.” Shepard gave Yates a quizzical look. “But why did you ask for the Russian uniforms. And how come you didn’t tell him about the Rangers?”

Yates plucked a tiny, well-worn copy of Sun-Tzu’s The Art of War from the breast pocket of his BDU shirt and brandished it in Shepard’s direction like a talisman. “The Master says, ‘Use deception to throw your enemy into confusion,’ Grasshopper. We were on an open line, Shep. People listen in on open lines. And I want anybody listening to believe we’re headed for Afghanistan. Besides, if Talgat knew we were bringing a security force, he’d realize we had something serious going on.”