by Caleb Adams
“I’m not sure yet, sir.”
“Yeah, well fuck, neither am I.” The general then stood up and arched his back like a cat. Even from where I was sitting, I could hear his spine crack as if every vertebra had been out of place. He paced for a moment or so. “I don’t know. Every team of specialists we have is out on a mission right now. It’s gonna have to wait until tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow may be too late, sir,” Lance Corporal Myers said in a respectful protestation.
“Of course tomorrow is going to be too goddamn late. I’m well aware of that. Nothing turns these motherfuckers on like a good virgin rape party. Fucking pedophiles.”
“I’ll go, sir. I can take Corporal Doyer along with PFC Seznick. They had the night off,” Staff Sergeant O’Neil said as he rose from where he was sitting.
“Fuck, O’Neil. What took you so goddamn long? I have one minute and thirty-two seconds on this watch since you stepped in. All the while I’ve been scratching my balls wondering when the fuck you were going to open your pie hole and offer some assistance. Jesus Christ, I trained you my fucking self. Now go get your men ready and report back immediately. Lance Corporal Myers.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re going to stay here with me—”
“I want to be a part of this operation, sir,” the lance corporal said.
“You’re going to be. But let me finish my fucking sentence, will you?”
“Yes, sir. I thought you were finished, sir.”
“Well, I fucking wasn’t. What I was going to append onto it before you rudely interrupted my ass was that I want you to get a message to the Jinn. I want him in on this one.”
The general then walked over to one of the amps. After reaching in the back of it, he returned holding a King James Bible in one of his hands.
“Look in Numbers, Lance Corporal,” the general said as he shoved the Bible into her chest. “If you don’t know your Good Book, it’s the chapter right after Leviticus. You’ll find the instructions and codes there to make contact. Tell him we’re planning our operation at 0700.”
“It’s short notice, sir. What if he doesn’t respond in time?”
“He’s not going to respond, Lance Corporal. That’s why he’s the fucking Jinn. But he’ll be there. He waits for this kind of shit. And no one likes putting holes in those ragheads more than him.”
The general and I were now alone in the command center. It was 0212. I was about to return to my desk and continue on with my work when the general, a glass of whiskey now in his hand, started to speak to me.
“You know what bugs the shit out of me, Translator?”
“No. What, sir?”
“These fucking pricks above us aren’t even religious zealots fighting the good fight for the sake of Allah. What they are is a bunch of repressed fucking teenagers. And half of the time I don’t even think it’s their goddamn fault. It’s the fault of the fucking culture. You forbid these kids from looking at porn and playing with their own dicks, then what the fuck do you think you’re going to end up with. I mean how the fuck would you like having a hard-on for the last five years of your life and not being able to do anything with it. The only thing they ever wanted is to take what nature’s been waking them up with every morning and squirting what’s inside of it out. But the mullahs and imams were fucking smart. They used that repression to recruit every one of them. That’s how the whole fucking jihad thing started, long before our asses ended up down here. Someone handed them a flyer with a few fucking quotes from the Koran and told them to join Team Allah. Inside, I damn well know they were thinking, ‘Go fuck yourself, I’m not fighting for you. I’m sixteen fucking years old and certainly not ready to have an American drone shoot my ass up. You crazy bastards are out of your minds.’ The Allah recruiter then said to them that on your way to paradise, you get to stick your little dick in as many girls as you can grab. And so the sixteen-year-old kid says ‘Fuck, yeah. This has got to be better than sneaking looks at my sister’s ass after she’s slipped out of her jilbab.’ ”
“What do you think our chances of success are, sir?”
“Zero if you define success as retrieving all of those kids. But we’ll bring a few back. That I’m fucking certain of. That bastard always comes through.”
“You mean the Jinn, sir.”
“Yes, I mean the Jinn.”
“Who is he, sir?”
“Well, I really don’t know who the fuck he is, Translator. And even if I did, I sure in the hell wouldn’t be telling you. I’m still not convinced you’re not one of them. But I can tell you that they fear him up there more than Allah. He’s got a bounty on his head of more than four million in gold. The problem is that they don’t have a picture of him and we don’t have a picture of him, which makes it pretty goddamn difficult to find someone when you don’t even know what the hell they look like.”
I didn’t want to press on, so I said nothing more. The next morning when I arrived at the command center at eleven hundred hours, Lance Corporal Myers and Staff Sergeant O’Neil were standing before the general. He saluted them off, and I was left wondering what had happened. That was until I departed the command center late in the night to head back to my quarters. There, coming toward me, a line of children were being escorted by four of our soldiers, two in front and two in back. I counted the children. I couldn’t believe it. Whoever the Jinn was, against all odds, he was able to assist us in saving five of those kids.
✽ ✽ ✽
Two weeks later, after exhaustion had claimed the general, I walked over to the amp. If he awoke, I knew he would have shot me with no questions asked. Inside, I found not only the Bible but a plastic binder full of reports addressed to the general from the Jinn. Each one either detailed his operations within the city of Ayla or gave intel on what we should target. They were absolutely enthralling. It was as if I was reading letters from a serial killer. He was walking among them seemingly unobtrusive and, if not providing intel to Sector 4, then randomly killing them for pleasure. He certainly was not discriminating, and every death sentence he handed out seemed to be more sadistic than the last.
I came to the conclusion that he must be Muslim, otherwise, how could he operate in the city without being noticed. Most fantastic though, were the postscripts he would give the letters. They were mocking in tone. And not mocking of the other Muslims he lived among but of the general. Sometimes he would conclude with Metallica sucks, or James Hetfield licks donkey balls. I believed the general when he said that he didn’t know who the Jinn was. However, it was quite apparent that the Jinn knew who the general was.
Entry #5
I was in the command center sitting on the couch. Unbeknownst to the general, I had stuffed the canals of my ears with a few pieces of merino wool snipped from a pair of socks. Even with that acoustic barrier, the music was still coming through loud and clear. Four songs into the set, the band was on its next one and the general was laying down the solo to “Fade to Black.” By now, I knew most of the Metallica oeuvre by heart. I admit I never tired of it. If you had to listen to a cover band in the bowels of hell, why not this one then. And as a guitar player, he was as exceptional as he was as our general. It made me wonder where he had learned to play like that. It made me wonder what he had done prior to the invasion. There was this huge gap that he never spoke of. He would mention his teenage years to his early twenties, and he would speak of his time on the Mannheim Front. The years that connected those, however, were a mystery. I could only surmise two occupations. The first, and most logical, was that he was career military. For the second, I imagined that he spent his life training German Shepherds, all the while keeping the torch lit as he played in a variety of bands waiting for a record deal that would never come.
“Goddamn, I didn’t miss a fucking note, did I, Translator.”
“No, sir. I don’t think you did.”
“You have no fucking idea how good it feels to finally nail that Hammett solo. Got to be up t
here with the best of them. Better than sticking my tongue inside the prom queen’s pussy. Better than picking off that sniper at the Mannheim Front. And even better than any shit I’ve ever taken. Fuck, I feel like going up there right now and shooting some Ahabs my fucking self. Okay, we’ve got business to attend to here. Sergeant Raymonds.”
“Sir, we have—”
“I know who the fuck you have there, Sergeant Raymonds. Jesus Christ, I’m the one who asked to bring the detainee here. Take the hood and abaya off but the leave the goddamn chains on.”
PFC Thomas then stood up from behind his drum kit and threw a small black and white flag of the enemy to the general. The general snatched it out of the air and started to wipe the sweat from his face and hair, all the while slowly walking toward the detainee. All of us in the room knew it was The Assassin. We had been informed of the arrival. If there was another down in the freight tunnels who had the same rock-star status as the general, it was him. His kills were legendary. Like the Jinn, the city of Ayla was plastered with posters offering millions for his capture. The city here in the freight tunnels had elevated him to a Christ-like status. When the hood and abaya were removed, I thought, as I’m sure everyone else in the room did, that the general was just messing with us because we were all staring at a girl no older than seventeen. She was perhaps five feet ten, with honey-colored hair that meandered its way to her waist. She had on a black long-sleeved shirt, which she filled out like an Olympian. But it was her face that commandeered everyone’s attention. It had to have been God-sculpted, for there was beauty in every feature. There wasn’t anyone in the room who wouldn’t have sold their soul for her.
“You have any fucking idea why you’re here?”
She was just about to open her mouth when he squeezed both of her cheeks.
“Don’t. Don’t say a fucking thing until I give you permission.” She nodded and he let go. “Okay, that’s good. We have an understanding. Now first, I’m going to start out by telling you why you think you’re here. And then after that, I’m going to tell you the real fucking reason I brought you here. Does that sound like a plan?”
This time she just blinked her reply.
“You think you’re here because I found out you had the fucking balls to bring some Ayla cunt down here and give her shelter. Am I right on that?”
She nodded her confession.
“Yeah, exactly what I thought. However, the real goddamn reason is that I send my number one assassin to take out the military commander of Ayla. And instead of killing him that day, you return with their number one assassin. Now if that isn’t the fucking perfect definition of irony, I don’t know what the hell is. But I also have another word for everyone. And that’s serendipity. Anyone want to tell me what the fuck that means.”
“Sir,” I said while raising my hand.
“Well, go on, Translator. Tell the class what the word serendipity means.”
“Sir, it means coming upon something fortunate when you least expect it.”
“Fucking right, that’s what it means. And we just had a huge shitload of serendipity because not more than four hours ago, just as one of our reconnaissance teams was coming back, they spotted your new friend trying to leave with a souvenir from here. Any guesses on what she was taking back up to Shariaville with her?”
The Assassin removed her eyes from the general and looked to the floor.
“A Jew. That’s what she decided to bring back. And to be specific, it was your Jew. All fucking packaged up and ready for delivery. I mean that’s just goddamn beautiful. Not only are you able to get inside the enemy’s stronghold, but you decide to return with a prize. But I’ve got one last surprise for you. And believe me, you’re gonna love this one. Sergeant Martin, bring her in.”
A moment later, Sergeant Martin returned with the prisoner. She had a plastic bag tied over her head and seemed to be struggling for each new breath. Around her body, they had wrapped her in the black and white flag of Ayla. The general then gave a nod to Sergeant Martin and he unceremoniously disrobed her.
I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. From shoulders down, she was inked in this most elaborate design of black lines, almost like an architectural print of a building. I was still studying it when the general grabbed The Assassin by the hair and pulled her closer to the prisoner.
“Take a good fucking look. Pretty impressive, isn’t it? I have to admit, when I took my first look, my cock was standing about a foot high. I mean here I was thinking this is the girl of my goddamn dreams. She’s tatted all over the fucking place. After I got closer though, I realized it wasn’t ink at all. It was goddamn black marker. And finally, it fucking dawned on me. This wasn’t some fancy Arabic shit she had on her body. It was . . . Anyone? Anyone here want to venture a guess as to what the hell she’s drawn all over her body?”
“A map of our tunnels, sir,” I blurted out.
“Fucking right, Translator. A perfect rendering of it. Go get yourself a few Kit Kats from the desk drawer.”
While I still hadn’t found a taste for the candy bars, a month or so back I decided to start collecting them. Not as barter, but to bring to the girl and the prostitute. The girl absolutely loved them. Every few days or so I would drop by to see how the three of them were doing. Along with some baby food I had managed to obtain, I brought her the Kit Kats.
I was just reaching into the desk drawer for the candy bars when I saw two soldiers bring over a long wooden board, to which they began strapping the prisoner. At the same time, I heard the general ask PFC Thomas to start filling up an empty metal ammunition box with muriatic acid. I knew what they were going to do. But instead of contending this death, I just returned to where I was standing. Not because it was to become the most heinous act I had yet witnessed down here in the freight tunnels, but because I had finally begun to realize that any voice of conscientious objection would be coming from the voice of a fool. This was war, and all of us knew the consequences.
“Remove the plastic bag from the prisoner,” the general said.
The prisoner took in a few deep breaths, and then slowly turned to face The Assassin. I was expecting her to ask for forgiveness. Instead, like any warrior of a higher power, she started screaming to her God, “Allahu akbar.” The general took out a handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it into the ammunition box. He then walked over and put her to silence by stuffing it into her mouth. Her body shook violently, and I watched as her eyes rolled back into her head.
“First Sergeant Jensen.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When she comes back to life, remove that map from her skin with the muriatic acid and then pour a few cups of it down her throat. And if she isn’t dead by then, shoot her in the fucking head. And as for you,” the general said as he turned to The Assassin. “I really don’t give a fuck whether you stay with her or not. But she’s going to die. And as far as your status, I don’t know yet. Sure as shit though, now isn’t the time to ask me.”
Entry #6
“Started today at noon, sir. There’s a good size audience, too. They’re fucking cheering, sir.”
“Who’s fucking cheering, Corporal Clarke?”
“The women and children below, sir.”
“Shit, I was wondering when that idea would get into their heads,” the general said after being informed that captives were being pushed from the top of Willis Tower. “How many did they throw off?”
“Five, sir. They threw off five.”
“You can’t snipe the motherfuckers?”
“No, sir. The closest position we have is at least eight hundred meters out of range.”
“Then move eight hundred meters closer. Jesus Christ, Corporal, you have any idea how utterly goddamn terrifying it must be standing on a ledge one hundred ten stories up and waiting for someone to send you into a swan dive to a concrete street below?”
“No, sir, I don’t. But we scouted around. There’s nowhere for us to set up any closer. They’ve got heavi
ly fortified positions all over that area.”
“There is somewhere closer, Corporal Clarke. We’ve got a safe house not too far from that area that’ll put you in range. Tonight I want you to take five men and a couple of 240s and stay the night there. In the morning, I want you and your men on that roof by 1130 hours.”
“Sir, we’re only going to be able to get a couple of rounds off before they unload about twenty RPGs on our position.”
“They won’t be there tomorrow, Corporal.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“Because tomorrow at 1145 I’m going to order in a few diversionary explosions about two klicks to the west of the Tower. They’ll start moving out those positions to see what the fuck’s going on. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. They always call in a five-alarm fire, even when it’s just a kid lighting a match.”
“That’s brilliant, sir. We’re going to pick off every one of those fucking towlies.”
“You won’t have enough rounds left, Corporal Clarke.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“I’m not asking you to shoot the soldiers, Clarke. I’m ordering you to empty your rounds on the women and children.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“You heard me right, Corporal. I want you to mow every one of those people down.”
“They’re innocents, sir.”
“They were innocents when they were cooking up kabobs and playing with their halal coloring books. When they decided to gather for an execution of our people, they became ducks at a goddamn state fair. Now, if you think you’re going to have trouble unloading one of those 240s tomorrow, then I want your uniform right now and I’ll give you a transfer to the Department of Excavation.”
“No, sir. I’ll gather up the men.”
After the corporal left, the general looked at me.
“Oh shit, I suppose your fucking bleeding heart must be spilling all over the goddamn place at about this time.”