Scenario: Worst Case

By Brian Sankey

Follow along in this true to life fictionalized sequel to Americas most devastating terror attack. Is another attack possible? What are the motives behind the continued anti-American rhetoric coming from Islamic fundamentalist groups? Do they hate us? If so, why? Are we safe from future attack? How likely would it be for another attack to occur? Is the U.S. Government doing enough to prevent such an attack? Do the very freedoms we enjoy in America give necessary cover to underground anti-American movements? This work of fiction attempts to depict the fragile state of security that exists in America today. Are you willing to suffer some infringements on your personal freedoms to enhance national security? Should we, as a country, shy away from any and all appearances of racial, ethnic, or cultural inequality even if in doing so we place the general population at risk? Should we continue to allow the judiciary to restrain those that would sacrifice their very lives to protect ours? Is there no room for both freedom from governmental oppression and absolute national security? Is it OK or even healthy to be a bit wary of people from other cultures and other countries without being perceived as xenophobic? Read this book then ask yourself these questions again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499054019

Brian Sankey

Brian Sankey has extensive military experience, bachelors and masters degrees in Criminal Justice, has been married for 26 years and has four children. He has lived in 8 states and on 3 continents.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

March 2010

The past is gone, yet it still lives on

In the minds of many, in their heart of hearts

Tis to some an end, to others a start

The light-skinned holy man from the South spoke limited amounts of Pashto or Dari (the two predominant languages of Afghanistan) but was well-versed in Arabic. He was immediately popular with the Pashtun villagers as they had, at last, someone who could read to them out of the Koran. Eighty percent of the village was illiterate and the remaining twenty percent were only moderately literate in Pashto, but certainly nobody could read Arabic, which was the traditional language of the Koran. With his slow methodical speech pattern, solemn look, and reverent manner, he instantly found his niche as the village cleric helping the Imam clarify and expound on the verses of the Koran and bridging the cultural gap between a book written by an Arab, in an Arab land, in an Arab language, and the people of the Hindu Kush mountains that have little knowledge and experience of the desert or the lives and culture of the people of the desert. His was a simple life; his needs were basic and his existence obscure. He strived to live the life the prophet Mohammed had taught. His fame was spread far and wide in the Arab world, especially among the Sunni sect. His role as a religious leader of the more fundamentalist Salafist followers was uncontested. His personality complemented his bid for anonymity, nicely. Through the years he had developed a great need for reliable communication. He had witnessed those that traded security for speed or convenience. It was through these lessons that he had decided to insist on the most tried and true form of communication. Therefore he chose the method of courier to ensure security and that choice had served him well. His communications were not as instantaneous as technology would allow, but these plans, which were laid long ago, were nearing completion. The preparatory work was done. The final act would follow shortly. He recalled before leaving Saudi Arabia, a meeting out in the desert under a series of interconnected Bedouin tents with the small contingent of influential Khumeinist and Salafist leaders from all over the Middle East. The meeting was scheduled during the annual Haj so as to not attract any undue attention. With the pilgrimage of well over 2 million of the world’s faithful followers of Mohammed, there was sensory overload of all kingdom and international security intelligence collection capabilities. Although he was certain that he and his compatriots would receive no attention from the King’s security services, one could not account for Israeli agents working at the behest of Western powers. The Mossad and other foreign agencies had deep connections and even deeper pockets and were willing to pay for information relating to his activities. They also had agents, he knew, embedded within the Saudi Security Agencies, who were adept at collecting information for Western powers and acting on their behalf where the kingdom would otherwise have turned a blind eye. The foreign governments had accurately estimated the means and loyalty of the Saudi people and realized that attempting to induce their allegiance or support for a reward or bounty program was a waste of time. Therefore they chose to infiltrate the Saudi government as best they could to keep track of Islamic extremists, terrorists in general, and those that support the various terrorist organizations. They used a variety of people to do so, but to date, their successes were limited. He remembered that as the meeting progressed, and how the attendees had significant differences amongst themselves, but those with an eye toward the future were able to be persuaded to fix their efforts, and their numerous resources, on one common goal.

We must de-stabilize the West and reestablish the caliphate the speaker uttered in his closing remarks.

After several minutes of muted side-bar conversations, a hush fell over those gathered as a quiet man from the back of the gathering slowly made his way to the front of the crowd. As he drew near the position of honor, the murmurings and muted sidebar conversations came to an end as the man’s face was slowly recognized throughout the small crowd seated on pillows atop Persian carpets. The moderator of this particular meeting stepped forward to embrace the king’s emissary as he reached the front of the tent, lightly kissing him on either cheek in the traditional Arabic greeting. No introduction was needed as the presence of the king’s personal cleric was recognized. Many present had thought him to be much older than he appeared and were a little confused by the ease of his movements, the clarity of his voice and the strength of his gaze. As he spoke, they knew he spoke with royal authority. They also knew that he spoke words and conveyed ideas and meaning that the king was not able to convey personally or publicly, but who supported them nonetheless. The message he brought was one of finality and decisiveness. He briefly outlined the plan that was to be executed and asked each person present to pledge all needed support. He assured those present that any additional support needed would be made known through an intermediary. The old men nodded consent at the closing remarks and certainly understood the need for such precautions. Finally, they were informed that this spiritual leader was taking the precaution of distancing himself from the royal family while at the same time attempting to bring the ultra-radicalized Saudi born Osama bin Laden into line before he did something even more damaging to the plan of attack than his recent bombings of the U.S. embassies in Africa.

CHAPTER 1

Around the campfire on a star filled night the tall, bearded, light-skinned Arab, whose eyes seemed as soft as the mist over the Hindu Kush, spoke of meetings he had attended near the holiest of cities, on the Arabian Peninsula. He told of sitting with Muslim leaders, who spoke of ways to deal with the kufir or the infidels. He related the many imams he had heard who spoke of the infidels as a scourge upon the earth, even as a swarm of locusts that would gather on the horizon and as if by some unholy design they would rise as one into the air and descend upon the flowers of the field and the grain of the stalk before the harvest. The village elders had seen some of the foreigners and heard of others. They knew of their actions but this soft spoken man of Allah told them of things, as if speaking to their hearts. The stranger told of smart men in distant lands who had been thinking on the subject of dealing with the Kufir, for many, many years. They knew, he said, that the weakness of their spirit must be used against them. For is it not easier to bind up a man stricken with disease? The beards bobbed up and down, if not in agreement, then in the understanding of the metaphor. As the others around the smoky flames listened, he detailed the carefully conceived plan to deal with the Kufir before they became too numerous. In the details of the operation, the stranger spoke of how the carefully laid plans, of the Wahabi leaders in Saudi Arabia, would be carried out and how these particular tribal leaders could assist. He simply said that although the Wahabi’s had a plan they also wanted to wait a hundred years to act. Who should wait one hundred years when Allah has spoken? argued the stranger, more for his own benefit of reinforcing what he was trying to do than for the benefit of those gathered around him. The long beards, the wrinkled faces, and the old eyes were fixed on this man, wondering what he wanted from them. As the stranger paused in his speech, the old men spoke amongst themselves. Gesticulations, emphatic speech, and finally silence overtook them and then they waited for the visitor to continue. What they wondered, amongst themselves, but were too respectful to ask, was if this man was a prophet of Allah or someone who had other motives? Neither afraid to ask nor afraid to act, the elders wanted to know how the Kufir of the west would best be weakened. The new comer sat quiet for a minute or two, gathering his thoughts before he spoke carefully and slowly. Nothing was audible but the crackle of the campfire, the flames seemingly adding years to the grizzled faces. The shadows distorted the usually calm features of the stranger as he spoke. And when he spoke he recounted the savageness and the brutality of the Russians and the Soviet occupation. The nihilistic attitudes of the soviet leaders and their attempts to suppress Islam and the true believers were reviewed. He compared the United States and the other western countries to the Soviet’s behavior by saying the communists tried to conquer your lives, the West is now trying to conquer your soul.

The Soviets, he said, "tried to control you in this world, they tried to make you forfeit this life… but these invaders from the west… they try to deny you the world which is to come. These people, these invaders, are like the termites that eat the floor of your homes….the moths that eat your clothes. They slowly invade your mind with provoking images in their magazines, huge immoral signs on the roadways of people with little clothing. They bring with them alcohol to alter the mind. In the evenings they watch morally debasing images and their language is often profane. That, when pieced together, tells a story of a people that have no love for Allah. They only have a love of money and a love of themselves. They have many weaknesses, however, and we shall use those weaknesses against them. We shall capitalize on the efforts of the great leaders of Islam. As we are unable to defeat them on the open field of battle, we shall first defeat their minds, and then we shall defeat their bodies. This is an urgent matter, as we must do this before they can achieve their goal of depriving all of the faithful their eternal rewards. Their jealousy of what awaits us in the next life drives them. They have no real faith. They claim to worship God on Sunday but as soon as they leave their churches they shed their pious disguises as quickly as they shed their clothes. For the only thing they honor, their one true love, is money. We attempted to show them how fragile and corruptible their wealth has made them but the lifeblood of their morally corrupted lives runs even deeper than imagined. We must fight them for as long as Allah directs. We must work tirelessly towards our goal of a supreme caliphate. A holy reign where everyone must live a holy life, where Allah is the center of all we do, and where the name of the most holy prophet, Mohammad… peace be on his name… rolls off every tongue in a refreshing manner like the sip of cool water of a summer’s day. Only then will this world be moved into the next phase of existence. Only then will the 12th Imam appear. Only then will the world be made right, according to the plan of Allah. However, standing in our way is the West and their harlot, Israel. And chief among them is the United States. We have struck them hard, but now we will strike them deep. We will wound them like never before. Our efforts will continue until they sue for peace. And this is why I have come to you this night. I need solace, protection and succor over these next troubling years. I know they will come for me but they must not find me. They look for another, much like the camel searches for water. They will find him. He has served Allah well but he is far too public. His name and face are known. The money they use to entice betrayal will be too much for some to resist. I have attempted to distance myself from him so that I may walk the earth for as long as possible doing this great work that must be done."

He paused for several long moments, allowing his words to be absorbed. He wanted their understanding and their cooperation. Once the visitor felt he held their full attention, he continued. There is a message that I must send. Can I rely on your protection and your understanding in this thing that I do? I need to communicate the wishes of the great leaders of Islam to the believers spread out far to the west. The elders, making up the regional council and their immediate audience, looked at each other. They knew each other well. Their clans had been supporting each other for generations. The stories of these clans were intermingled in the oral traditions of their history. Their histories, customs, and cultures were not independent but interdependent. They could almost hear each other’s thoughts. They knew that Islam was the most important of all. They knew that to further the cause of Islam was the duty of every good Muslim. They had heard stories from the Imams of the restored caliphate and now this soft spoken, curious stranger from the holy land was before them asking for their assistance in doing just that. This man had an inescapable quality that held their attention, demanded their respect, all the while begging their assistance. The chief elder, seeing no dissent around the circle, seeing no fear in the eyes of his contemporaries, spoke in his best broken Arabic, words of encouragement to the stranger, words of support. The collective tribal support was promised. In the act of extending pashtunwali to the stranger, the support of the local tribes was offered, unconditionally. He would have their assistance and their loyalties. A message was then handed from the adopted son to the adopted elder. This message was to be delivered to a non-descript house, made of sun dried mud and bricks, in the village of Pol e Charki, on the outskirts of Kabul. From there it would dictate the plan of attack which would buckle the knees of America. Madrassas from across Europe and North America would be given orders to dispatch their holy warriors in the next wave of attacks. Yes, some would die for the cause, but great would be their reward in the next life. In a way, the cleric from the South envied those whose fate had just been determined.

CHAPTER 2

All around America, from when the sun rises until long after it sets, most every night of the week, recruiters for the United States Army talk to young men and women from all walks of life. They talk about the opportunities that await them in the service of their country and they ask them to consider serving their country. Each year approximately 80,000 young men and women answer that call and enlist in the United States Army and Army Reserve. The other branches of service, combined, enlist about that same number of people into both their active and reserve components. One such patriotic young man, Theodore Johnson, was looking for excitement and adventure in his life. He could think of no other place to turn than his uncle, who seemed to have more stories to tell than there was time to listen. Uncle Herb had seen action in Vietnam, on more than one occasion, and on an occasional Friday night Uncle Herb hosted a poker event which was more about reminiscing with his war buddies than about playing cards or taking each other’s money. Young Teddy, as he was called, doesn’t remember a time when his Uncle wasn’t telling stories. As Teddy grew older he became more and more enchanted with his uncles tales of adventure and it was not uncommon for Teddy to forsake his high school friends on one of these Friday nights and sit in the corner of his uncle’s small apartment and listen as these American heroes, who laid their lives on the line in a little-known country in a far corner of the world, paid tribute to those who did not come home by retelling story after story of hope, action, love of country and love for one another. So towards the end of his senior year in high school, with nothing but the prospect of either more school or increased hours at the local grocery store, young Teddy approached his uncle and sought some sage advice. Without hesitation, the answer was unequivocal and direct. The following Monday Teddy stopped by the local Army recruiting office on the way home from school. The recruiters there were more than helpful, albeit somewhat shocked, and yet immediately refreshed that there was still some unrestrained patriotism in this small West Virginian town. After a quick interview and some preliminary evaluation, Theodore Johnson, for the first time in his life, knew what he was going to do. He had no idea just what would be required of him, but he knew he had what it took to honor his commitments to his country and to himself.

CHAPTER 3

The United States Army recruiting process is conducted every day across the United States. The same procedure happens with countless young men and women who seek the opportunity to serve their country. This enlistment process is not so dissimilar to the application process for many Fortune 500 companies throughout the land. It starts with an initial interview, and then transitions into the application process, wherein the applicant’s background is thoroughly checked, their mental and physical capabilities are tested, and then they are either offered employment or told that they were not qualified to serve. Oftentimes through the process, the applicants are required to return to fill out paperwork or to provide additional documents for background screenings and other administrative requirements to ensure that the right people are given the right jobs. The honest broker in the entire process is the Military Entrance Processing Station, which is under direct control of the Department of Defense and is charged with ensuring that all applicants are screened and evaluated in an objective manner before being allowed to enter the service of their country. This independent command is oftentimes referred to as the gate keepers to the Department of Defense and is represented in over 300 cities across the country. These processing stations conduct physical evaluations and mental assessments of all applicants for the armed services on any given day. In this country, thousands of mental aptitude tests and physical examinations are given as applicants are shuttled through the process with name tags affixed to their civilian clothing, not unlike so many businessmen attending a conference. They all have their own reasons for exploring this employment opportunity. Some come for adventure, others seek stable employment, and still others are in search of themselves. Whatever their reasons… they come, and they come by the thousands.

CHAPTER 4

On one particular dreary January morning, a Monday to be exact, applicant Theodore Johnson found himself at the local Military Entrance Processing Station in Beckley West Virginia. Having been dropped off the night prior at a local motel, Theodore was not quite rested, having succumbed to the distraction of cable television and the commotions created by other young men and women completely unsupervised, in adjacent rooms. Some of them were away from home for the very first night and it was evident. Having been awoken at 5:00 AM didn’t help matters, either, and Theodore found himself hungry, tired and entertaining second thoughts on his commitment to join the U.S. Army. Teddy, as he was known to his friends and family, was not alone in that this scene was all too familiar in hundreds of hotels across the land as thousands of other young people found themselves in similar physical and mental circumstances. Arriving at the MEPS by way of a shuttle bus, he found a Navy Petty Officer at the check-in counter calling off names. After hearing his name called he was given a nametape and subsequently scanned into the computer database, and told to move to the Army guidance counselors’ office. Teddy was bolstered by others in the line, many who were just as tentative as he was. The anticipation of actually doing what they had signed up to do, after many months of waiting and wondering, was palpable. The internal battle between excitement and remorse was evident in the different faces at the early hour. While most of them fit this mold there were a few that were excited to finally be taking a step forward into their uncertain futures. Teddy wondered to himself if he would ever be as excited and seemingly liberated as these people were about their future. Lost in thought for a moment he was snapped back to reality when the voice from beyond the glass doors called…

Johnson, Theodore for the second or third time

Here Sir replied Teddy, uncertain as to who was calling his name, but certain that he should move in the direction of the voice. Crossing the threshold that separated the calm of the waiting area to the hustling commotion of the processing area, Teddy was motioned to the rear office, where he was given further instructions as to the procedures that would take place that day. A short while later Theodore Johnson found himself standing with a group of 15 other young men in a sparsely furnished room which much resembled the boy’s locker room at school. As he glanced around he saw that he was not the only one standing in nothing but his underwear trying to look nonchalant, which was no easy task as he knew not a soul. His mind raced to figure out what more could possibly happen. Before he knew it the physical was over but not before he and the other applicants had to demonstrate their physical abilities by conducting such exercises as the duck walk, and several coordination drills the likes of which he had never seen. Then he was ushered, along with the other underwear clad men, into a bare room devoid of furniture or wall decorations save some benches along the walls. The doctor stepped out from behind a door and after instructing the young men into four rows, he ordered the second and fourth rows to turn around. Teddy found himself staring at another young man who looked like he had had about the same amount of sleep and liked standing around in his underwear, in close proximity with other men, about the same as Teddy. In their tired state they both stood silently looking at each other. The doctor instructed all the young men in the room to drop their drawers and await his arrival for the hernia examination. Teddy did not know time could move so slow and the young men in the room were certain to retain eye contact with each other as the doctor moved from one applicant to another, deftly taking the latex glove from each applicant’s left hand and quickly conducting a hernia examination, replacing the used latex gloves in the applicants right hand then moving onto the next person after what to them seemed like an eternity. Finally the process was complete and the young men were hoping to regain their modesty in short order but the doctor however, had other plans, as if his purpose was to add insult to injury. The doctor ordered all the applicants to bend over at the waist and grab their buttocks so that and external hemorrhoid check could be conducted. Teddy had no idea what the doctor had said other than to bend over and spread his cheeks so he was clueless as to why they were checking his backside for this unknown condition. Before he could get further down that train of thought the doctor made his rounds and ordered everyone to get dressed. Teddy was wondering what else the Army had in store for him, but was glad this part was over.

CHAPTER 5

At the end of the day it was revealed to Applicant Johnson that he had passed both the mental and physical examinations and if his background was as clean as he stated on the application, the guidance counselor said he was guaranteed the job of his choice. Not knowing what his options were, and only knowing that he was looking for a fresh start and some adventure, Teddy listened as the Sergeant suggested several Military Occupational Specialties which came with several enlistment options such as an enlistment bonus, guaranteed college money, and station of choice. These MOSs, as the guidance counselor kept referring to them as, were primarily in the combat arms, which did not bother Theodore Johnson one bit as his uncle had extolled the virtues of protecting our nation through the use of force. Without much insight, thought or deliberation, Young Theodore chose cavalry scouts, as his future. He was delighted to learn as he was signing his paperwork that this training would be conducted not too terribly far away from his West Virginia home, at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Teddy had only heard about the gold that was kept at Fort Knox and had given no further thoughts to any Army activity or training that might be going on there. He knew that Kentucky was the next state over to the West and somehow this made him feel better that, although he would embark on a new chapter of his life, it wouldn’t be too very far away from his physical and cultural roots. After the swearing-in ceremony, where Mr. Theodore Johnson swore an oath to protect his country and it’s Constitution, by obeying the orders of the President of the United States and the officers appointed over him, he called his uncle with the good news.

CHAPTER 6

Approximately 8,000 miles away from Beckley West Virginia in the Hindu Kush mountain range, the decision had been made that the next step in bringing about the fall of the United States had to be taken. The plan was not too terribly detailed and incurred a great deal of risk to the movement not to mention the future martyrs that had not even been told of their assignment. The entire mission, from start to finish, would take no more than 12 months. And if it should be even half way successful, would cause the United States of America enormous consternation and infighting, which would seriously weaken the resolve of the people of that nation in prosecuting their so-called war on terror. The tall foreigner with a long beard, sad eyes, and quiet demeanor received the details of the plan without asking a single question. Once the plan was laid out before him, in its totality, he only asked if the martyrs were ready. The answer given was that these young men were each ready to assist in the return of the 12th Imam and the full restoration of the caliphate upon the earth. All the bearded men around the campfire that night were jealous that they would not be able to act in such a bold manner as these 200 martyrs preparing to act; for to give one’s life for Islam was an act so enviable and so selfless that generation upon generation would be sure to recall the name of each martyr with quiet and sacred dignity and respect. For this history would certainly be taught in madrasas around the world, for centuries to come. As revealed in the Koran, each of these men knew, there was no vocation more important than spreading the word of Islam throughout the world. With such sentiments the order was given and 200 martyrs would be notified. The intent was given in general terms, and the plans communicated were for maximum strategic effect. As the tall foreigner retreated into the shadows with his entourage he smiled to himself and spoke softly to those in his immediate company that God willing this new phase in the grand plan would be far more successful than what had occurred in New York City in 2001. As he walked, he marveled at how easy it would be to exploit the openness and the permissiveness of the great Western power. He knew that such an open society did not deserve to prevail and he could not quite understand how God had allowed it to prosper, as it had, and gain such dominance over the rest of the world, unless of course it was to serve as an example to the whole world as to what should be expected when the mandates of the Koran were ignored. Maybe it was to show that sin and lasciviousness would always be called to account by the power of Allah. Knowing that the seeds had been sown many, many years ago, this tall quiet stranger, with an awkward gait knew that the great Satan could not even comprehend the many steps that had been taken and the inevitable conclusion that waited. Classes had been conducted in Western universities; Western students had studied abroad and been educated in the Middle East; grants had been given to various institutions; programs of study were certified and degrees awarded; minds had been altered; schools of thought created; all in preparation for these next phases that were so far undetected, under the very noses of the godless Western societies.

CHAPTER 7

The road if such could be called from the small village of Pol e Charki to Kabul international Airport was about 40 yards wide to include the median and sidewalks, all of which were open to vehicular traffic, as controlling traffic was the least of Afghanistan’s problems. On rainy days, the driving surface became home to rain filled potholes both large and small, the largest of which would prevent the common donkey cart from passing through, but the large jingle trucks had little problem. These jingle trucks were ornately decorated from top to bottom on the inside and all-around the outer body trim with what could only be described as Christmas Tree tinsel or small, metal tubes that one might associate with wind chimes that tended to sway as the trucks moved back and forth and side to side. The streets in and around Kabul were packed with everything from pedestrians to Mercedes-Benz and everything in between. In fact it was not uncommon to see a compact car with decals, bumper stickers or other markings from countries as far away as the United States. It seemed that the ancient Asian across roads were still alive and well as people and objects from around the world commingled in apparent harmony. People from east and west walked the same streets where vendors sold items from Iran, India, Pakistan, China and other manufacturing nations. There were no traffic police on these roads. Few signs and fewer traffic lights gave direction to the vehicle operators. It seemed at times that ancient and modern worlds were occupying the same space and time. Donkey carts alongside BMW’s, and shepherds tending their flocks as Fords and Chevys drove by. In the evenings, car owners could be seen removing car batteries from their vehicles and taking them into their houses as the sole source of power by which radios or single light bulbs would be powered during the hours of darkness and boredom. Less affluent families used candles or open fires. Aside from the lack of electricity, most houses did not have indoor plumbing but relied instead on outhouses or other such means of relieving themselves out of the public view. It was also not uncommon for black smoke to billow out of the fireplaces as rubber tires were burned as a primary source of fuel in the winter. Along the road one might see food and necessity shops which were operated out of small stalls usually the size of a one car garage. These shops were open air type businesses that sold all the necessities. Butcher shops also occupied such small store fronts and the butchers themselves stood ready to cut requested meat to order, all the while waiving off the flies(that tried so hard to land on the exposed meat) just feet away from the next day’s meat specials which usually stood ignorantly munching on hay or grass in a corral next to, or in back of, the butcher shop. During the days that led up to the Muslim holiday of Eid, the chosen livestock would swell the confines of the small corrals where goats were typically selected as the main dish for the family dinner on the final evening of the holiday. As this particular courier drew closer to Kabul proper, roads change from four lanes of pothole filled dirt roads, to a more suitable driving surface with identifiable lanes and actual sidewalks used by pedestrians. In Kabul City proper, approaching Massoud circle from the North, the traffic intensified and the gridlock from hundreds of thousands of people moving about was inevitable. As the courier’s taxi entered the circle it took an immediate right and was driven down the thoroughfare for about 3 miles where he passed a Soviet Mig-17 fighter aircraft, mounted on a large stand, resembling a life sized model put together as a summer project by a grade school student and left for public display, marking the public entrance to the Kabul International Airport. The driver pulled up to the front parking lot and discharged his passenger. The Courier, a middle-aged man, bespectacled with thinning gray hair and wearing a casual shirt and pants and woven leather dress sandals, took his suitcase from the driver and walked toward the front doors to the airport. Afghan National Police and Afghan National Army soldiers wandered about with AK-47s slung lackadaisically over their shoulders. Several machine gun positions, he noticed, were also in view at both street level and roof top locations. Remnants of the heavy Soviet influence of the 1980s, he silently reflected that these Soviet weapons are not at all uncommon in his country unlike the European city of his destination. The sight of the weapons, to the courier, evoked the memories of farmers outside his small village who carried cap and ball muskets remnants of a war two centuries earlier, when another Western power dominated the Afghan people. That was a time when the British felt the need to conquer and subject as much of the known world as possible. How ironic it was, he thought, that each conquering people arrive with the latest in weapons technology and in their haste to leave, abandon these once invaluable weapon and leave them lying about like so much useless garbage; the refuse of war. Just as the English left their muskets, the Russians left their rusted, hollowed out tanks scattered about, destroyed by the mujahedin, lying in the sun of the windswept plains between Kabul and the Hindu Kush mountains. He remembered how most of them were trucked in from their final battle to the Kabul Military Training Center where they were added to the growing collection of martial waste. He couldn’t help but wonder what the Americans would leave behind once they were finished molding and shaping his country into what they felt was an acceptable society, just as the other empires had tried to do over the millennia, with virtually no success. Having cleared the customs agents at the airport he proceeded through the gate to the aircraft, where he found himself boarding an older commercial airplane where open seating was the norm. Finding a quiet corner he tried to make himself as comfortable as possible and within the hour his flight was climbing out of the capital city’s airspace. As he looked out the window he could see far below the craters from past aerial bombardments, likely from the recent American sponsored invasion, led