Fire and Forget

by Andrew Warren

  He nodded. “Doctor’s orders, right?”

  A trembling smile crossed her lips. “Hurry.”

  Caine let go and slapped a fresh magazine into the Tavor. “I’ll be back as quick as I can. Now stay here, and stay down. Got it?”

  She nodded and stepped back into the building. Caine watched as she hid behind an overturned table. Then he turned and continued jogging down the street towards the front of the hotel. He spotted the Ghost Jackal’s trucks still parked in the middle of the intersection. He charged towards them, but a line of gunfire cut though the street in front of him. The shots were coming from above.

  Pivoting around, he spotted shadows running along the roof of an empty building. Dark figures popped up from behind the roof’s low wall and took potshots at the fleeing civilians. Caine squinted in the dim light. He sprayed the roof with automatic fire as he jogged towards the abandoned trucks. The shadows scrambled back from the edge of the roof, shouting in panic. Caine continued laying down suppressive fire until the weapon clicked empty.

  Caine pressed himself close to the first truck and ducked down as bullets tore through the street. Another mortar round whistled above him. Caine followed the sound with his eyes. A concrete building to the east of the town square crumbled as the explosive round slammed into its roof. Men in uniform scurried for cover amidst the shrapnel and debris.

  South Sudanese forces, Caine thought. They must have been using the building as a garrison.

  The squad of soldiers took cover behind a barricade of heavy rubber tires at the end of the street. Caine watched as a bullet twanged off one of the men’s helmets. The soldier flew back from the barricade as if jerked by an explosive force.

  Bullets ricocheted off the side of the truck. Caine covered his head with his hands. The window above him exploded into a rain of sparkling glass shards. He ejected the empty mag from the Tavor and used his last spare to reload the weapon.

  He heard more shouting and saw dark figures approaching from the opposite side of the street. Before he could react, another of the rebel pickups skidded through the town center. It swerved left, and one of the men onboard tossed a bottle stuffed with a lit rag towards Caine.

  Caine charged away from the trucks. He ran towards the group of shadowy figures who had fired on his position. The Molotov cocktail shattered, spreading a burning slick of fire across the roof and bed of the first vehicle. The flames picked up in the hot night wind, and thick smoke billowed up into the dark sky.

  Caine raised his rifle as the advancing rebel squad came into view. He watched as their faces were lit by the flames of the burning truck.

  He saw wide, terrified eyes reflecting the orange glow of the flames. Small mouths twisted into snarls of rage and fear, baring tiny gritted teeth. Baggy, scavenged clothes hung from their malnourished limbs. Their lanky arms could barely support the weight of the heavy rifles they carried.

  They’re children.

  Caine froze. He watched as the child soldiers pivoted their weapons towards him. One of the boys wielded a machete. He shook the bloodied weapon in the air. They were shouting, yelling. The words were in their native tongue; he couldn’t understand what they were saying. But the tones were familiar. After a lifetime of violence and conflict … a lifetime spent dealing death, both on the battlefield and in the dark allies and streets like this … Caine knew exactly what those sounds were.

  War cries. Chants meant to exorcise their own fear. That was how the killing got done. In a place like this, if you couldn’t rise above your fear, if you couldn’t make yourself kill … then you became the prey.

  The children moved towards him. They were shaking their rifles now. They pointed them into the air, fired bursts to frighten and intimidate him. A pair of them ran off into the darkness, overcome with fear or revulsion.

  Caine’s finger froze on the trigger of his rifle.

  Children. The word echoed through his head, over and over.

  One of them, an older boy maybe fourteen years old, bit his lip. He raised his rifle towards Caine and took aim. Caine took a step back and lowered his gun. He stared at the boy.

  “It’s okay,” he shouted. “It’s not your fault.”

  Suddenly, a heavy shell streaked through the air and slammed into the burning truck. A thunderclap echoed around them and the truck exploded. The shockwave knocked them both to the ground. Caine rolled through the mud, trying to get as far away from the wreckage as he could.

  He looked down the street. An armored personnel carrier rolled up behind the barricade of tires. The heavy vehicle was backing up the South Sudanese soldiers’ position. It was armed with a 30mm automatic cannon.

  Caine staggered to his feet and blinked, clearing the haze from his vision. His ears were ringing. The battle around him sounded muted, like a television playing behind a closed door.

  He watched as the boy picked himself up and shook his head. Blood seeped from a gash across his cheek, and his clothes were soaked with mud. His rifle was wedged in the soft earth a few feet away from him. He stared at it for a second, then glanced up at Caine. Then he turned and bolted. He ran between two nearby buildings and disappeared into the shadows.

  “Tom!”

  The voice sounded distant, but he jumped as he felt hands touch his shoulder.

  He spun around. It was Nena.

  “I told you to wait—”

  “They were shelling the building, I had to run. Look, there!”

  She pointed north, towards the opposite side of the street. The pickup that had driven past him earlier had crashed into a row of parked cars. The men on board were now corpses, littering the mud-soaked streets, cut down by the soldiers’ weapons.

  The heavy cannon thumped again. The air seemed to crack in half around them as another shell tore past. Behind them, the building that had housed the snipers exploded. Heavy chunks of concrete tumbled to the ground.

  Caine grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the debris. They raced across the street towards the truck. More rebels whooped and hollered as they poured out of the darkness. The armed men surged toward the soldiers’ barricade. Their crackling rifles sent a curtain of death flying through the streets. Caine felt trails of hot air whizzing past their heads.

  As they made their way to the truck, two rebels scrambled out of a nearby building and took up a position in the street. They were wearing red armbands and Caine could see white smeared across their faces. Long, painted fangs streaked down their cheeks.

  Ghost Jackals …

  One of the men dropped to his knees and lifted a long, tube-like barrel onto his shoulder. The other shouted orders into a walkie-talkie.

  Rocket-propelled grenade, Caine thought. These rebels have been well-supplied.

  He hopped into the rear bed of the pickup truck. One of the rebels sagged against the mounted gun. His lifeless eyes stared unseeing into the darkness. Caine shoved the corpse out of the pickup bed and grabbed the handles of the heavy machine gun.

  “Drive!” he shouted to Nena.

  She climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. The keys were still in the ignition. The engine sputtered for a second. Then it turned over and roared to life. Nena shifted into reverse and hit the gas. The twisted metal of the truck’s front bumper screeched as it tore loose from the mangled parked cars.

  The men in the street spun around at the noise. Caine saw the man with the walkie squint, then point in their direction.

  “It’s them! Target them!” he shouted.

  The man with the RPG spun around. The truck lurched to a stop as Nena shifted into drive.

  Caine spun the gun towards the Ghost Jackals. He pressed forward on the handles, locking the gun’s bolt mechanism into the firing position. He knew the RPG was unguided, but he could see the man lining them up in the weapon’s sights.

  He squeezed the trigger on the handle, punching the air with a barrage of heavy slugs. Puddles of mud splashed into the air as the line of death swept towards the Gh
ost Jackals.

  The man with the walkie staggered backwards as the projectiles tore through his body. The gun vibrated in Caine's hands, and he saw the other man fall sideways and crash into the mud. A plume of red hot exhaust fired behind him … he had fired the rocket launcher! The explosive projectile lanced into the air, streaking sideways into an abandoned building on their left side.

  "Nena, punch it!” Caine shouted.

  WHOOSH!

  Every window in the building exploded out into the street. A wave of super-heated air tore through the structure’s interior. The rippling heat ignited the peeling paint and decayed wood floor. The explosion lit up the street. A cloud of dust and smoke billowed from the wreckage, glowing orange and red against the black sky.

  The truck picked up speed as the building collapsed into the street behind them. The rumbling drowned out the sounds of the battle.

  Caine let go of the gun and let its barrel drop to the floor. As they left the buildings of Malakal behind them, a thumping roar swooped overhead. A pair of government helicopters soared past them. Their searchlights cut through the dark streets of the town. Caine stared at the burning pinpoints of light in the sky as their gunfire swept through the distant buildings.

  They raced on into the night. A stray shot rang out from the darkness and struck the side of the truck. Caine didn’t even flinch.

  He remembered Jack’s words from that night years ago.

  Sooner or later you’ll learn … You have to fire and forget.

  Fire and forget …

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was still dark when the truck’s engine sputtered to a stop. Caine jerked awake as the vehicle lurched off the side of the road. A final, smoking gasp wheezed from under the hood. The vehicle rolled a few more feet, then ceased moving.

  Caine shook his head. He did not remember falling asleep, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. The cut in his side ached and throbbed. The hot night air was thick with haze. He heard the chattering of insects from all around him. A high-pitched shriek rang out in the distance. He assumed it was a baboon, or a monkey of some kind.

  “Nena, you okay?” He checked his Tavor rifle and flipped on the safety. He hopped out of the truck bed. The moonlight cast silver highlights across a vast plain of tall grass rippling to the south. Beyond that, he saw clusters of dark, shadowed trees curving up against the purple night sky. To the north, he could detect the earthy smell of the Nile river waters. It was familiar to him now, scenting the air like the exotic perfume of a lover.

  “Nena?” he called again. He walked to the driver’s side of the truck cab. She sat ramrod straight behind the wheel. The whites of her eyes were wide and unblinking. She stared straight ahead, fixated on the darkness.

  Despite the heat, she was shivering.

  “You fell asleep,” she said. “I drove as far as I could. We ran out of gas.”

  Caine reached through the window and rested his hand on her arm. “Hey, it’s okay. We made it.”

  “I … I have seen violence before,” she said, her voice a quivering whisper. “War, fighting. The aftermath … but never like that. Not all around me …”

  “I know,” Caine said. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to reflect the moonlight back at him. “What about you?”

  Caine said nothing.

  “You have seen such things before?” she asked.

  Caine looked at her for a moment. Then he turned and peered into the darkness surrounding them. “We’re alive, Nena. We have to keep moving.”

  He opened the door and held out his hand. After a few moments she took it, wrapping her cool, slender fingers around his. He helped her out of the truck. She looked up at the dark, purple sky. A thin line of red cut across the horizon, like blood seeping from a fine cut.

  “The sun will come up in a few hours,” she said, her voice regaining a trace of strength and confidence. “I think we are maybe fifteen, twenty miles from Kanfar. We should cover as much ground as we can before the sunrise.”

  Caine searched the back of the truck. He found a canteen of water and a canvas sack filled with rations tossed among the machine gun parts and debris. He slung the meager supplies over his shoulder and handed the canteen to Nena.

  “We’ll have to conserve water. Take a small sip every hour.”

  A low growl rumbled across the grass. Caine spun around and raised the rifle. Nena grabbed his arm and froze. The sound was deep and primal. It vibrated in the pit of his stomach.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked in a low voice.

  “We are on the edge of the Ez Zeraff game reserve,” she whispered. “Many animals live in the protected area south of here.”

  “What kind of animals?”

  She glanced at him and gave him a nervous smile. “Elephants, buffalo, giraffe … lions.”

  Caine eyed the dark splotches of forest with a wary stare.

  Nena pulled at his arm. “It would be best to head north,” she whispered. “Follow the river.”

  “Lead the way, Doctor.”

  They hiked off into the moonlit night, heading towards the crimson sliver on the horizon.

  After a few hours of walking through the grassy plains they came to the banks of the White Nile. They followed the serpentine curve of the river west, towards their destination. As they walked, Caine shook the canteen. The sloshing of the water inside sounded weak and miniscule. He doubted they would get more than another few sips each.

  A pair of long-legged storks marched across the muddy banks in front of them. They bent their long, graceful necks down to the rippling surface of the water. As they drank, Caine scanned the terrain ahead of them. He spotted a small, dark shape in the distance. They walked closer. It was a tiny shelter, a lean-to built from lashed sticks and brush, perched near the edge of the water.

  As they walked past the storks, the birds spread their enormous wings and took silent flight. Their dark wings were barely visible against the dusky sky.

  The shelter was abandoned and showed no signs of recent use. Sitting on the damp ground next to the tiny mass of sticks was a makeshift raft. The water craft was a collection of scavenged lumber fastened to rows of old rubber tires. A long, crooked stick lay next to the rickety craft.

  “You said Kanfar is near the river, right?” Caine asked. Nena nodded but eyed the raft suspiciously.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Water travel will be faster. And the more distance we put between us and Malakal, the better.”

  Caine grunted as he lifted the edge of the raft and dragged it into the water. He squinted in the dim light and examined the surface for leaks. A few droplets of murky water bubbled through the cracks between the wood beams, but the craft bobbed and floated above the surface of the dark river.

  “Looks water-tight,” Caine said.

  “I hope whoever made it doesn’t mind,” Nena replied. She splashed into the water. Caine held the raft steady for her as she lifted herself up onto the damp planks of wood. He stepped up after her and stood near the rear of the craft. Using the crooked stick as a pole, he pushed the raft away from the bank. They began to float downriver.

  Nena sat near the front of the craft. Caine watched the breeze rustle through her long, dark hair. She tilted her head and looked up at the canopy of stars above them. They grew dimmer as the light on the horizon increased. It was now a heavy orange glow, pushing back the velvet curtain of night.

  The pair of cranes circled overhead, then peeled off and flapped their wings. They glided in a precise, straight line towards the distant trees.

  “It is beautiful here,” Nena said in a breathy voice. “So peaceful. It is almost enough …”

  “Enough for what?” Caine asked.

  “Enough to forget.” She looked back at him. “You have so many scars. You must have many things you would like to forget, yes?”

  Caine drove the stick down into the dark water, pushing the raft along. “I’ve tried.
Tried to forget the past, move on. But somehow the past keeps finding ways to remind me.”

  Nena lay down on the raft and looked up at him. “Give me a rag to wipe away the past, a rose to sweeten the present, a kiss to greet the future.”

  Caine smiled but he kept his eyes on the river. “I’ve never heard that.”

  “It is an old Arab proverb,” Nena said. Her voice was heavy with exhaustion. Her eyes closed.

  “Get some rest,” Caine said quietly. “It’s been a long night.”

  Her breathing became a soft sigh. As she slept, Caine continued driving the pole into the water.

  They floated along, slowly drifting forward into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Caine felt the tingle of danger before he saw the dark object in the water. The sensation crawled up his spine, lingering on the hairs behind his neck. They were being watched. He was sure of it.

  He glanced left and right but saw nothing along the banks of the river. There were still a few minutes of darkness left before the sun pierced the night sky. The rising orange glow was just enough light to see by. The surface of the water was smooth and flat. The dim horizon cast shadows of reeds and trees across the river's glassy surface. All was quiet and still.

  Suddenly, a loud thud sounded from under the raft. The wood platform bobbed up in the water, then settled back down. Caine heard a splash a few yards away.

  Something had struck the bottom of the tiny craft.

  The sudden motion stirred Nena. She moaned as she rolled towards him and lifted her head. Her hair draped over half her face, revealing a single, sleepy eye.

  “How long was I asleep?” she breathed.

  “There’s something in the water,” Caine hissed. “Something hit the raft.”

  Nena scrambled to her feet. The raft dipped up and down as her weight shifted.

  “Where is it?” she whispered.

  Caine was silent as he scanned the dark, calm water. He spotted a ripple to their right side. A dark shape was floating in the water, moving alongside them.