He sounded rattled, but they were all rattled. He glanced at Mulligan. "We need to do this now. I’ll cover you.”

  "Under fire?" He gaped at him, "They’ll shred us if we go out there."

  "We don't have any choice. It's either that, or we’ll never get out of this place."

  Sergeant Jones shouted at them to wait while he ordered the vehicles to saturate the area with gunfire, but there was no time, and he ignored him. He climbed out clutching his M249, and Mulligan joined him on the road.

  "Let's go."

  Getting to the patch of newly dug earth meant running the gauntlet of machine gun bullets and assault rifle fire. Twice they were forced to take cover behind rocks while Eddie returned fire, and he managed to take down some of the shooters. He couldn’t count how many, but the incoming fire slackened. They kept running to the target site, and Mulligan took out his gear. Eddie took up position between him and the enemy just in time. Robed figures were everywhere, popping up to fire a few shots while others raced from cover to cover. When they paused for more than a second in one place, he sprayed them with bullets, but most of the Talibs stayed out of sight.

  "Mulligan, you need to work faster. They're getting closer."

  "Hold them a bit longer. I'm not done."

  The incoming fire slackened, but only because they’d be changing position again. Soon they’d be close enough to start scoring hits on him and Mulligan. He surveyed the ground ahead, searching for enemy positions, and found what he was looking for. Several hostiles crouched behind a pile of rocks, setting up a machine gun.

  "Corporal, I'm going up there to take them out."

  "Eddie, no, I need you here to watch my back. "

  "The best way to watch your back is to kill the enemy. You handle the IED. I'll take care of them."

  He scrambled up the slope, and he'd almost reached the pile of rocks when a turbaned head popped up in front of him. The man was startled, not expecting to see his enemy so close, and Eddie took him out with a short burst. He ran on with his M249 aimed ready, finger on the trigger. When he rounded a heap of rocks, they were in front of him. Six men, and they looked up in astonishment when he appeared like an evil genie.

  You’re about to learn how evil this genie can be.

  He squeezed the trigger and held it down. The box magazine held two hundred rounds, and he guessed he had one hundred and fifty bullets remaining. When he stopped firing, six bloody bodies lay in front of him.

  He called down to Mulligan. "We're clear up here. I’ll cover you from up here until you're done."

  He waved an acknowledgement and continued working. Fifteen minutes later Mulligan signaled he'd dismantled the IED. They ran back to the waiting jeep and Sergeant Jones reported they were ready to move forward. The savage voice on the radio told them to wait. A minute later the door was wrenched open, and Weaver’s hard face was glaring at them.

  "You said you’d cleared the route, you morons."

  "We cleared the route you gave us," Eddie replied, "But you must’ve made a mistake. You gave us the wrong route number."

  “That’s crap. You’re lying, you bastard!"

  He lashed out with his fist, and Eddie took the punch on the chin. The power of the blow threw him backward, and dimly he heard Weaver snarling at Sergeant Jones, "Keep that useless bastard out of my sight. If I had my way, I’d send him for a long spell in the stockade. Tell him no more screw-ups, or next time I’ll kill him."

  He stalked away, and they continued driving along the highway, following the main route to Mazari Sharif. The region had been peaceful for the past two years, until insurgents mounted a major attack on the city. Inside the jeep, no one spoke to him after the debacle with the Master Sergeant. No matter what he said, he knew he'd never convince them of the truth. In the end he accepted that not only was he on Weaver's shit list, he was close to being on Sergeant Jones’ as well.

  As they neared the city, aircraft zoomed overhead, flying low to pinpoint insurgent positions. Intelligence said these weren't Taliban. They were ISIS, the bloodthirsty Islamists who'd caused so many pointless deaths in Syria and Iraq. Now they were determined to export their brand of slaughter further afield. The F/A 18s came in fast and low, with flares streaming out behind them, a precaution against heatseeking ground-to-air missiles. A wise precaution, for several smoke trails arrowed up toward them as ISIS launched missiles in an attempt to pluck the aircraft from the sky. They exploded harmlessly next to the flares, and the fighters hurtled down toward their targets that disappeared under a storm of missiles and cannon fire.

  "Company forward," Captain Rogers ordered over the radio. Winston Bellows hit the gas pedal, and they lurched toward the smoking ruin. This time no enemy machine-gun fire hit them, and they weren’t surprised. There was no way anyone could have survived that bombardment. Flames licked out from a score of fires, and smoke hung over the entire area like a thick fog.

  The Captain’s voice came again on the radio, "Bravo Platoon, what are you waiting for. Follow C Charlie and keep up."

  Sergeant Jones' Humvee led their other three other jeeps, and Eddie looked back to watch for Weaver’s platoon, Bravo, following them, except they weren’t there. He had no idea why and didn't have time to think about it. Twin streams of machine gun bullets arced out from the smoking ruins in front of them, followed by the launch of several RPG-7 missiles. He heard a cry from the cupola, and he looked up in time to see the new man, Andy Blackford, slumped over, his body torn apart by enemy gunfire.

  Dan looked around and grimaced. “Take over, Eddie.”

  “You got it.”

  He eased the body out of the turret, climbed in, and swung the gun around to return fire. Too late, the enemy had dropped out of sight. The Humvee drove forward, and moments later another rocket hurtled out of nowhere, slamming into their vehicle. More missiles hit the two Humvees behind.

  "Get out. She’s about to blow," Sergeant Dan shouted, and they leapt out as flames began to lick around the vehicle. The enemy was still firing, and they dived to the ground to keep below the hurricane of incoming fire.

  Chapter Three

  Minutes later the firing eased. The Sergeant listened to his headset and glanced around at them. "Captain Rogers said we're to get back to the rear as soon as possible. We’re too exposed if we stay here. Bravo Platoon has halted three hundred meters back. If we join them, we’ll be safe until they bring up reinforcements."

  They started to crawl back, keeping their heads down. The going was hard and slow. Survivors from the other Humvees joined them, and a total of eleven men made it back to where the four Humvees of Bravo Platoon had stopped in line. The crews looked nervous, fingers on triggers, expecting the enemy to hit them at any moment. A hard, brutal shout slashed at them behind one of the vehicles, "Hold it! Advance and be recognized."

  "Are you blind? We're on your side," Dan shouted a reply.

  They heard a grating chuckle. “You look more like insurgents than soldiers, so drop your weapons and stand where I can see you."

  They put down their guns, and Master Sergeant Weaver walked out into the open.

  He stared at Eddie. "You're the clown who messed up and got my men killed."

  He couldn't stop himself. "At least I wasn't hiding back here."

  "What did you just say?" He started forward, fists raised; “I’ll kill you for that.”

  Dan put up a hand to stop him. "Hold it. Don't do anything stupid."

  The Sergeant shoved him aside and came at Eddie, who raised his fists to defend himself. Fortunately, the radio in one of the Humvees suddenly came to life. "This is Captain Rogers, acknowledge."

  "This isn't finished," Weaver snarled. He grabbed the microphone. "Sir, it's Sergeant Weaver. We were pinned down, but we’ve cleared the enemy positions, and we're waiting for further orders."

  “What about Charlie Platoon?”

  "They ran, Sir. They're with us now."

  A pause. "We'll talk about this later. There’s been a change of plan. We’re not pulling out yet. There’re more missile shooters up ahead, and I need you to neutralize them before the next wave of fighter-bombers comes in. Report back to me when it’s done."

  "Copy that, Sir."

  He put down the microphone and gave them his familiar sneer. “You men lock and load. There’s work to do. Sergeant Jones, you’ll lead them in, and you can take that useless gunner of yours with you. With any luck, he'll stop a bullet, and maybe his replacement will be better."

  Dan gave him a cold look but didn't reply. It was the Army, they were under fire, and it was no time to argue. It was time to earn their pay.

  "You heard the man. Follow me and keep low.”

  They snaked across the ground until they were close to the insurgent position. Dan glanced back to make sure they were all with him, and he nodded.

  "Hit them hard and fast. Go now!"

  They jumped to their feet and charged toward the enemy. Firing at anything that moved and plenty that didn't move. Released to kill, they screamed battle cries of defiance. A soldier took a bullet and fell. Another soldier ran past Eddie, and a moment later he also fell.

  He knelt beside him. "Are you hit?"

  The soldier was a medic, a regular guy, brave as a lion. They called him Padre, because he carried a Bible in his pocket when he went on operations. His eyes looked up at Eddie, terrified he was about to die, and then the expression changed to one of puzzlement.

  "I thought I was hit, but maybe not. I felt the bullet, but I don't feel any pain."

  Eddie felt beneath Padre’s armored vest, and he smiled. The bullet had entered from the side, beneath his armpit and smacked into the Bible he carried inside his camo jacket.

  "Padre, you were lucky. Look where the bullet hit." He pulled out a small Bible, "Guess that’s one good argument for religion."

  The bullet had buried itself inside the pages, and when he opened the cover, the slug had stopped at Revelations. He grinned. “I’d say that’s appropriate.”

  The medic started to get back on his feet. “It’s not just the Bible, Eddie. There’s another reason they don’t target me. This.” He pointed to his medical pack with the prominent red cross and his medic’s armband.

  Hawkins wasn’t convinced. “I’m not sure that’s any guarantee, so I’d keep my head down if I were you. Have you seen Sergeant Weaver? He was supposed to be joining us in the attack, but there’s no sign of him.”

  “Nope, but there’s so much smoke I haven’t see much of anything.”

  “Maybe he’s up front, tangling with the enemy. If you’re okay, we’ll try to catch up.”

  They made no more than a few meters when a man rose up in front of them. He’d been crouched inside a foxhole. “Where’re you men going?”

  "Sergeant Weaver!" Eddie exclaimed, "We were looking for you."

  "Why aren't you men with the others? What are you doing skulking back here?"

  Someone shouted, "Sergeant Weaver, give them a break.” A helmeted head appeared. Second Lieutenant Tony Lopez, in charge of Alpha Platoon. “Sergeant, the attack’s fallen apart, and we need to regain the initiative. Order the men to inch forward in small groups. We have to take out those missile shooters.”

  "You got it, Lieutenant. Lead the way. I’ll be right with you."

  The officer nodded and crawled away. Weaver turned, and his eyes fell on Padre, the medic. He even managed a smile. “You come with me, and keep your head down. Hawkins, get moving.”

  “Have you seen my outfit, Sarge?" Eddie shouted over the noise.

  "They’re probably hiding, just like you. I suggest you go forward and find them.”

  “But where are they? Which direction?”

  “Head towards the shooting. If they’ve got any guts, that's where they'll be. Padre, stay with me. There’s a wounded man who needs a medic.”

  Eddie left them and snaked along the ground toward where he’d last seen Sergeant Jones leading the platoon. He came upon them crouched behind a tumbled wall, with machine gun bullets zinging overhead.

  “Hawkins, where did you spring from?”

  "I got lost."

  "You’re here now, and we need some firepower. Prop that machine gun on the wall and start shooting. Kill a few of the bastards before we go forward. We have to find those missiles. Give it everything you’ve got. We’ve seen you shoot, and right now that’s what we need, good shooting.”

  "Sure, Sarge, it’ll only take a moment."

  He didn't get a moment. The whistle of a mortar shell sounded overhead and exploded a few meters away. They hunched down as shards of metal and fragments of stone rained down over them. When it cleared, Eddie propped his gun on the wall and searched for a target. A turban appeared fifty meters in front of him, and he squeezed the trigger. His aim was true. The man dropped back, hit by at least three of the deadly 5.56mm bullets. But more were coming.

  "We need to take out that mortar before we can get any further," Dan shouted, "See if you can pinpoint their position."

  Ten seconds later another shell popped up into the sky, arced overhead, and landed on the opposite flank from where the first had landed.

  "They’ve bracketed us," Al shouted, "The next shell could drop on our heads.”

  “We’ll go forward,” Dan shouted, “If we're not here, they can't hit us. Let’s go!"

  They raced over the rubble and dived for cover behind another heap of stones, all that remained of what had once been someone's home. Machine gun bullets stitched through the air, and a mortar shell landed right on the position they’d just left. Eddie looked around and saw movement about fifty meters away.

  He saw Sergeant Weaver disappear into a hole in the ground, and moments later Padre darted across to join him. Eddie assumed they were there to give assistance to a casualty. He propped his gun barrel on a pile of stones and waited for a target. A single shot ring out, and a voice screamed in agony. It sounded like an American voice, and it looked as if at least one ISIS fighter had ambushed them.

  He had to take a chance, and he called across. "Sergeant Weaver, Padre, are you okay? It’s me, Hawkins from Charlie Platoon. Do you need help?"

  "Hawkins, they just shot the medic. I'm taking his medical pack in case any of our guys need help."

  "Is Padre dead?"

  "He's dead, no question. What are you doing, why aren’t you advancing?"

  Sergeant Jones heard him and shouted a reply. "They have mortars and machine guns. We’re waiting for a break in the firing before we resume the advance.”

  His voice sounded frantic, "I don't give a damn what they have. You were ordered to advance, so get out there, and take out those missiles. If I don’t see you moving inside of thirty seconds I’ll put you all on a charge, cowardice in the face of the enemy. Get out there!"

  Dan glanced at him. "You heard the man?”

  “I heard.”

  “We don’t have a choice, but that don’t mean we have to give them an easy target. Cover us with the machine gun. Men, we're going forward again, but hug the dirt like it’s your lover."

  Chapter Four

  They started to snake cross the open ground. A line of men sliding over the dust and rubble, all that was left of the two platoons, like a giant caterpillar worming its way along. The enemy was close, and he watched for the first sign they’d spotted the advance.

  He almost missed them. Two heads popped up, and the barrels of two AK-47s appeared just ahead of the line of men. He squeezed the trigger and moved the barrel from side to side to douse them with bullets. Once again his accurate fire disposed of the enemy, but the threat hadn't disappeared. He heard the distinctive pop of the mortar. Another shell slowly arced into the sky and began to fall. Too close to where the soldiers were inching forward.

  He cupped his hands. "Sergeant Jones! Mortar shell about to drop on your position."

  They didn't need a second warning. He saw men press their faces and bodies so close to the dirt they were almost underground. A moment later the shell detonated with an earsplitting roar. They were lucky. It exploded in the center of one of the many piles of rubble littering the area. Hot metal and stone chips cascaded over them, but they were lying flat, and he was certain no one had been hit. He was wrong. One man cried out as a fragment of metal sliced into his arm, drenching it with blood. A voice shouted, "Okay, I've got this. The rest of you keep moving!"

  To his astonishment, Sergeant Weaver crawled over to him, put his arm around the wounded man, and started dragging him back. Back toward where they'd left the Humvees, and Weaver held the medical pack, just like he’d said. He’d also pulled on the armband emblazoned with the red cross. Hawkins guessed it made a certain kind of sense, grabbing the medical pack, but he wasn't so sure about him wearing the armband.

  He was convinced Weaver had heard them talking about how the medical pack and armband made a man less of a target. Not a total guarantee of safety, for the insurgents had a grim record of targeting medics and ambulances. But some would hesitate to pull the trigger, and that could be what Weaver had in mind, a way to lengthen the odds against getting killed. No matter which way he looked at it, his behavior was strange.

  He’s a fighting man, so what’s he doing in the rear, pretending to be a medic? It’s like he’s sheltering behind those red crosses.

  He thought about Padre. His body deserved a decent burial, and he shouldered the machine gun and ran across to where he’d fallen. When he looked closely, he could see a bullet had entered the rear of his head. It could only mean he’d been looking away from the enemy when it happened. He looked closer, and even stranger were the burn marks on his head just below the rim of his helmet. As if the shooter had pressed a pistol next to his head when he pulled the trigger. The only man with him had been Master Sergeant Weaver.

  It took a few moments for it all to click into place, and he understood it all. The way Weaver had hung back from the attack. The way he’d heard Padre talking about his medical pack, about how it gave extra protection from enemy fire.

 

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