Khost

by Vincent Hobbes

  He had a valid point, one that needed answering.

  Elizabeth answered immediately, saying, “That’s been considered. There are two factors against us. First, the innocent villagers. You may or may not care, but some do. But even if they became causalities of war, causalities for the common good, there’s another reason.”

  “Death is death,” Clements remarked. “What’s the real reason?”

  “The cave. It’s complex, much bigger than you’ve ever seen. The pride and joy of American engineers and politicians,” Elizabeth admitted. “It’s deep. Lots of tunnels, maybe miles down. Even our biggest bunker busters might not do the trick.”

  “You’d get most of ’em,” Clements responded, still not buying the answer. “Shit, close the opening and the few who didn’t die right away would soon enough. To me, seems the easiest solution to your problem.”

  “Because we need to know. We need to reach the deepest part, we need to eradicate the cave. Whether it’s five or it’s fifty, we need them all dead. A hundred percent success rate, and that means boots on the ground.”

  “Guess it’s why we’re here,” Rivers stated.

  She turned, nodding her head.

  “You sending us to our deaths, Lizzy?” Rivers asked.

  “I hope not,” she said, her voice wavering. “I hope with your expertise, a few surprises, that you guys will be successful. I hope you kill them all and rid us of this mess,” she admitted.

  Elizabeth then thought back to York.

  CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

  Asymmetrical Clandestine Elite Services

  Interrogation of Sergeant C. York

  Army, 1st SFOD-D

  Interviewer: Elizabeth (ACES)

  Location: Khost Province, Afghanistan

  Time: 1230 Hours Zulu

  CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET

  64

  “Sergeant York, why did you join the army?”

  “To serve my country, ma’am. Ya know, to be all that I can be. Protect and defend liberty and all that shit.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Elizabeth stated bluntly.

  York grinned. “You want the real answer. I joined when I was twenty. Needed a year or two to—”

  “Sow some wild oats?”

  “Exactly. Needed pussy and beer. When I joined, I gave up on the beer,” he said, smiling.

  “And Delta? Why’d you join?”

  “Can’t say you join Delta. They pick you.”

  “Yes, but you had to apply. To prove your interest. Why?”

  “Probably the same reason I joined the Army in the first place. The truth . . . I wanted to blow shit up. In the beginning, at least. Once you get a taste of war, that changes. It makes you one of three things.”

  “And those are?”

  “A patriot who believes in the cause, a psychopath who enjoys legally killing, or a war junkie.”

  “Which are you?”

  “I have no cause except for my men, and I don’t enjoy killing. Give most of my money to charity actually. Good bit of it, at least. Bet ya didn’t know that about me.”

  “No, I did not. That’s a good thing.”

  “Not bragging, just saying I’ve met my fair share of psychos, and I’m not one of ’em.”

  “So, it’s the third. You’re a war junkie?”

  “I suppose in a way. It’s not the killing, it’s something else. Hard to explain,” York said.

  “Try.”

  “Well, as I’ve said before, the brotherhood. I fight because my boys are here. I wasn’t planning on a third tour, but when my brothers decided to re-up, I did too.”

  “Did you want out?”

  “Thought I did . . . maybe . . . dunno. Didn’t matter. If my boys were here, I was here. But there’s other things, too. Ya see, war is a strange thing. Horrific, something you never want to experience. But there’s a certain thrill to it. For me, at least. Maybe I’m a different breed, but I like it. I feel alive here. You want freedom, real freedom? Come to Afghanistan. I can do what I want here. I can feel like a man, I can live on the edge, I can experience true fear.”

  “And you enjoy this?” Elizabeth asked.

  “The fear? Yeah, sure do.”

  “Do you get scared?”

  “All the time. Shit, at any moment some raghead can luck out with a shot that’ll blow your fucking brains out. Seen it happen. IEDs, they’re worse. Seen many boys get killed that way. Sucks. So yeah, to answer your question, I’m scared shitless out here. Anyone who tells you different is a fucking liar.”

  “Yet you opt to stay? To go out, day after day.”

  “Someone has to.”

  “Do you feel you need to prove something?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Thought you weren’t a shrink?”

  “I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “I figure a real man can’t figure out his fears until he faces ’em. You see, in the primitive sense, men are made for only two things.”

  “Shall I guess?”

  “We’re born for fighting and fucking,” York stated.

  “Ha!” she threw her hand back in laughter. “What a barbaric way of thinking. There are also many civilized men in this world, Sergeant York.”

  “Maybe. But you say barbaric—and maybe that’s true. But the core of a man, the primal instincts, they are barbaric. We might control our rage for the sake of civilization, but something resonates deep down inside a man who knows combat. Especially one who enjoys it.”

  “You look down on regular guys, don’t you?” she asked.

  “It’s hard not to. Have a cousin, he works at a computer all day. Bitches and moans and I don’t get it. He hasn’t the first clue what life’s about. What manhood is. His wife screams and yells, his kids are a mess, and he bitches about life? Don’t know, guess I’m a different breed. I’m Delta, so that makes me rare I guess.”

  “I understand,” Elizabeth said.

  “Do you?” he eyed her, calling her bluff.

  “Actually, I do know more than you think. I have a . . . a friend who is a SEAL. I know the mentality. The Alpha-male traits. He shares many with you, I suppose. A bit different in a way, but still . . .”

  “Different how? Not fucked up in the head like me?” York asked.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You want to know what war’s like?” York asked, lighting up another cigarette, his pack already half empty. “You really want to know?”

  “Tell me.”

  “For guys like me, and maybe for your SEAL friend, war is what we live for.”

  “See, I don’t understand that. I try to wrap my mind around it, but can’t seem to,” Elizabeth admitted, though she didn’t know why.

  “The adrenaline, the exhaustion, the fear . . . it’s all so beautiful. So pure. The uncertainty of not knowing if you’ll live or die, it’s why I do it. You see, guys like me accept our fates. If we die, we die. I don’t ponder the complexities of the universe, I don’t read philosophy or poetry either. I don’t even care much where I’m fighting, and most often I don’t even care why.”

  “Then why do you fight if you don’t care?”

  “Oh, I do care . . . but not for the cause, for the fight. Provided I’m up against a worthy opponent, I’m satisfied. That’s why I left Iraq, ya know? Heard the Taliban were a bit tougher, figured it would be a bigger challenge. Besides, we’d already mopped up Iraq. Was getting boring,” York explained.

  “Does killing bother you, Sergeant York?”

  “Oh, there’s the nightmares, but after what I saw in that cave, I doubt it’ll matter much. One thing is, I’ve never shot a child or a woman. Not once. I’ve never killed an innocent. Never killed someone who wasn’t trying to kill me first.”

  “Do you like it here, in Afghanistan?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Sure do. The Taliban are tough, make for a good challenge. The terrain will kill you too. It’s rough out here.”

  “Do you worry about dying out here, Sergeant York?”
>
  “Ha! Never. Always felt maybe in this place, maybe here in Khost, I’d meet my match. Maybe there was someone out there just as good as me. Found out there is, but not exactly what I thought it’d be like.”

  “You lived. Whether you like it or not, you lived,” she reminded.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Do you respect the Taliban?”

  “Sure, guess so. One thing I learned long ago was to respect your enemy. You can hate him, you can kill him, but have some fucking respect. Those were the words of my first Sergeant way back in my early days. Stuck with me, I guess.”

  “What about those in the cave?”

  He froze up, grimaced, his face paled.

  “There are no words for how I feel about them,” York replied.

  65

  Back in the command center, everyone was silent. They had listened to Elizabeth, had listened to Svetlana. It all sounded surreal, mind-boggling.

  “Super-soldiers?” Dale asked. “You’re saying the Russians tried and succeeded in doing it? You’re really saying this?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth responded.

  “Unbelievable,” Dale said, shaking his head.

  “It’s not really that surprising, actually,” Reynolds said. For the majority of this time, he’d remained silent. Stoic and observant, as a Marine should.

  All eyes turned to him, awaiting further explanation. Everyone was curious, concerned even.

  Colonel Reynolds continued.

  “Well, all civilizations have tried it. It’s nothing new, really. Think back—the Spartans tried it. In some ways, they did create a super-soldier. They used the age old technique of eugenics. They bred only the strong, selected only the strong. The weak were left to die. If a baby was born with defects, they’d abandon it in the wilderness to die. Strong men bred with strong women. Their culture was a warrior one, and with as many enemies as the Spartans had, they needed a super-army. I’m sure you’ve all heard of their successes on the battlefield.”

  Svetlana nodded her head, agreeing. “Darwin’s ideas weren’t revolutionary. The practice goes back thousands of years. Beginning with the breeding of livestock, later into the breeding of genetically superior men and women. The problem with this technique is the genetic quirks that couldn’t be explained. You see, genetics are a strange thing, and even when Darwin attempted to prove his theory by selective breeding, the results weren’t that good.”

  “That’s right, they didn’t work. Darwin wanted to create a super-soldier of sorts with a small circle of friends. I suppose he thought their genius could be bred into the next level of great thinkers. Didn’t work, though,” Reynolds said.

  “They produced sub-par offspring,” Svetlana added.

  “That’s right,” Reynolds agreed. “Now, skip forward to Nazi Germany. Hitler tried it. Selective breeding, strange experiments. We’ve all heard the stories. However, he was successful in some regards, though not necessarily on a scientific level.”

  “How so?” Dale Comstock questioned.

  “Ultimately, he used performance enhancing drugs. Regular men who were on methamphetamines. Just think about it—the Blitzkrieg was successful because of meth. Many countries were overwhelmed by the simple fact that Hitler’s armies could fight for days on end.”

  “But wouldn’t the end result still be adverse?” Dale asked.

  “That’s correct,” Reynolds replied. “Drugging a soldier and creating a true super-soldier are radically different things. Point is, many countries, many civilizations have tried it. They’re still trying it. Don’t think all super-powers don’t explore such options.”

  “Yet, it was done. That’s what you’re saying, right? That a super-soldier was actually created?” Dale asked.

  Svetlana nodded reluctantly, saying, “The Soviets were the first to be successful.”

  Dale shook his head. This concept, though it didn’t surprise him, remained baffling. “And this was in the eighties?”

  “That’s correct,” she said. “Though the practicality of creating a super-soldier isn’t as easy as it seems. The results were never good.”

  “Why not?” Dale asked.

  “Human DNA has similarities to animals, plants, everything around us. However, what might seem as slight variances, say between a monkey and a human, are actually quite vast.”

  “I don’t think you answered my question,” Dale commented, leaning forward, interested.

  Svetlana looked to Elizabeth, who took over from there.

  “The concept of creating a super-soldier includes a few basic elements,” she began. “Think about it. You’d want them to be physically superior. Faster, stronger, less sleep—everything. They’d need to be better than your average man, better than even your elite warriors to excuse it. Some things might be done to help enhance a person’s physical makeup, though always a detriment to the person. Secondly—intelligence. You see, there’s no point in making an army of super-soldiers if they aren’t intelligent. Cannon fodder does nothing but waste time and resources. The soldier must comprehend tactics, maintain critical thinking, be good on the battlefield. That’s the hard part.”

  “Shit, and I thought we were the super-soldiers,” Clements chimed in.

  “In a way, you are. Spec Ops are the best of the best for obvious reasons. The goal of other countries would be to create them better. Better than SFOD. Better than DEVGRU.”

  “Better than a SEAL probably ain’t all that hard,” Clements commented, glancing at Rivers.

  “Point is, it’s no easy task, and to our knowledge, only done once with decent results,” Reynolds said, ignoring the man’s comments.

  “So it worked?” Dale asked. “This experiment really worked?”

  “The changing of a subject’s DNA makeup, to cause it to adapt into something else is near impossible. Our modern technology has little clue, although on the right path. But to answer your question, yes, it worked. In a way, at least,” Elizabeth answered. “They created killing machines. Unstoppable killing machines that are more creature than man, and capable of some scary things, gentlemen,” Elizabeth finished.

  66

  “So, the first question is, how’d they do it?” Dale asked. “How’d they accomplish something so advanced?”

  “Like anything else, technology is always fifty years ahead. Our new stealth helicopters are one example. Until one crashes, the public won’t know of them for years,” Elizabeth said, giving an example. “The SR-71 Blackbird was flying for many years before discovered by some curious eyes,” she added.

  “Okay, so they were advanced with their science. Tested it, tried it, then things went haywire. This was dispersed as a gas. Why?” Dale questioned.

  “It reacted faster, through the pores, into the lungs. This compound had to be mixed within a certain time frame, one after the other in perfect sequence,” Elizabeth explained.

  “If what you are saying is true, we’ve got our work cut out for us. I’ve heard stories of Russians trying to breed monkeys and humans before, but creating super-humans in real life . . . incredible.”

  “What the fuck?” Thompson exclaimed with a laugh. “You serious, Dale?”

  “Yeah man, they tried it,” Dale responded, looking back to Elizabeth for answers.

  She nodded. “There are rumors, yet little proof. I’ll say there’s evidence they did try. This was during Stalin’s time. The results would have been futile for one simple reason. Thing is, you can’t breed humans and monkeys, science doesn’t work that way. Scientists all around the world were experimenting with such ways, whereas Mikhail’s ideas were worthy of practical testing and implementation,” Elizabeth explained.

  “Just imagine that,” Clements whispered, nudging Thompson. “Imagine fighting an army of monkeys! That’d be some crazy shit,” he chuckled.

  “We’d just shoot ’em,” Thompson said, cocky. “Thing is man, I think that’s what they’re getting to. I think they’re trying to tell us something, but just won’t sa
y it,” he added, looking back to Elizabeth. “Ya see, an army of monkeys wouldn’t stand up to a handful of A-10 gunships, now, would it? Apaches for clean up, it’d be a slaughter.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Very good, Sergeant Thompson. Stalin didn’t know what he was doing, luckily. The science has since evolved, shall we say. Here’s the thing you must understand. I’m telling you not because I’m stalling, Sergeant Thompson, but because it’s important that you know. There were many black projects, especially during the Cold War. Nuclear and chemical warfare for starters. Others. Some failed, some were successful. Dr. Mikhail would have put the Soviet Union on the map of super-stardom had it worked. Stalin began the line of thought, the push for a super-soldier. The good doctor simply made it happen,” Elizabeth said. “His theories were practical, discoveries made. His results were successful, but in small doses. Much testing was needed. Decade’s worth, but the Soviets were in a bind. They needed their super-soldiers immediately. Their men were losing morale.”

  “So the experiment failed, in essence,” Svetlana added. “They pressured Mikhail, then added a bit of their own. They messed with his method, and created this mess.” She expressed once more her father’s observations, ones she had heard only once, a month before her father took his own life. But she had listened intently, and his words had stuck with her, etched into her soul.

  67

  “The research was nearly scrapped until the late seventies, when a scientist produced positive results. He began official work on the project in nineteen eighty,” Svetlana said. “Mikhail Ivanovich, and he was probably the greatest mind of our generation.”

  “Never heard of him,” Clements muttered.