Khost

by Vincent Hobbes

  “Those look like . . .”

  “Snake drones, ten of ’em. And thirty mosquito drones. I’ll send them all at once. They’re faster, and will fill the cave. Maybe a few will get by. We can follow.”

  “Do it!” Dale said. Then the team leader turned to his team. “Get ready, boys. Close quarters, three men in the front. Jefferson, Clements and Thompson will go first. Clements, get that M240 pumping once you see any signs. We won’t rely on our night vision. Too much of chance of it going down. Attach your flashlights, turn them on. It’s time.”

  The men hustled. Clements loaded another magazine drum, a hundred .30 caliber rounds attached. Three more were at his disposal. He attached his light, turning it on. It provided some light in the dark cave entrance.

  Jefferson also got ready. He slid his M4 to his side, opting for some more firepower. He pulled out his backup, an AA-12 automatic shotgun. He attached the thirty round drum, flicking on his spotlight, taking stance next to Clements.

  Thompson stood next to his friends, his brothers. This was it. This was why they were the best of the best. They overcame their fears, knowing they’d meet their deaths. Thompson reloaded a new magazine into his M4 Carbine, readied his muzzle into the cave.

  “All right, I’m ready,” Rivers stated. He flicked a few more buttons and all at once the miniature drones came to life. The snakes, a mere foot in length, began to slither in the sand. Rivers guided them as they moved quickly along the ground, entering the cave.

  Next came the drone mosquitoes. They hummed, scrambled in a swarm yet not hitting into one another, and also entered the cave. They swarmed in, a cloud of miniature insects. Their scanners were sensitive, they’d detect any movement. The snakes would test for vibrations on the floor of the cave, perhaps let the team know if the creatures were coming.

  With the tablet in his left hand, his AK-47 in his right, Rivers nodded to Dale. “Let’s do this.”

  Dale commanded the team into the cave, following the drones.

  110

  Reynolds scrambled down the incline, moving faster and faster. He hurried down the rocks, pushing past shrubbery, all the while looking for targets. He found none. Reynolds would sprint twenty feet, stop, and scan his surroundings.

  Then, he’d do it again.

  On and on. Downward, racing, praying against all odds he’d find the team in time. What could he do to help? Were they still alive? What were those actually monsters he had seen?

  He kept moving. Nearing the bottom, the man was short of breath. He began his final descent when he heard it—a noise high above. A noise that caught his attention. A noise that he knew well.

  A Gulfstream airplane.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Sounds close,” he mumbled.

  Then, to his horror, Colonel Reynolds saw it. Looking up, in the moonlight, he caught a glimmer, a flash of motion. Staring hard now, Reynolds noticed something floating down. At first, he thought it was perhaps one of them. One of those creatures. Taking cover and watching carefully, he finally made out the shape.

  Someone was parachuting down.

  Reinforcements, Reynolds hoped. Thing is, he knew better. He saw but one, and only one. A lone figure spiraling down, landing on the top of a ledge, a hundred meters above the cave’s opening.

  Reynolds thought it strange. Why only one? But he knew there’d be no backup, no calling in the cavalry, no help. They were alone in this valley. Alone to die.

  Who could it be?

  Then it dawned on Reynolds.

  He hurried farther down, moving faster. He neared the trailhead, looked up, staring at the cave. Reynolds took in a breath, gripping his Remington tight. He adjusted the scope as far back as it would go—4X. It widened his field of view. He then reached down, patting his father’s .45. It was chambered, hot, hammer back and ready.

  He moved forward, speaking into his mic. “Delta One, come in,” Reynolds said, attempting to reach Dale Comstock.

  Nothing.

  “Hollywood One, you there?” he asked, seeking Rivers.

  Only garbled static followed.

  Discouraged, he nearly gave up. Then, for a brief moment, he heard something. A pop, maybe words. Reynolds adjusted his radio dial, calling to the team once more.

  “Delta One?”

  “Delta Two?”

  “Hollywood One?”

  A few more pops and he got a response. His suspicions were true, and he gasped as the voice responded.

  “Sierra Bravo Four, this is Hotel Bravo,” Elizabeth said.

  “Command!” Reynolds said enthusiastically. “I hear you. You’re broken, but I hear you.”

  “Roger that,” Elizabeth replied. “You’re muffled, but I have reception, as well. Where’s the team?”

  “I don’t have a visual, Hotel Bravo. Heading up the trail. I heard a jet. It was close, east side of the ridge. What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s me,” Elizabeth said. She unstrapped herself from the parachute, allowing it to float away, making sure her gear was intact. She un-slung her MP5, checking the action and making sure it was ready. Safety off, fully automatic. Elizabeth then adjusted the heavy pack strapped to her, making sure it was tight.

  It was dark out, and she took a moment to allow her eyes to adjust. Scanning the ground, she looked for the entrance—a side route she believed existed.

  She hoped.

  She prayed.

  “Hotel Bravo, this is Sierra Bravo Four,” Reynolds said. “Who parachuted in?”

  “I did. I’m headed into the cave.”

  “Say what?” Reynolds exclaimed, now running up the trail as fast as he could.

  “This is Hot Bitch, and I said I’m going in,” Elizabeth answered.

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Stop me,” she dared, eyes searching. Where was the entrance?

  “Are you alone, Hotel Bravo?” he asked.

  “I am. You’re to get our men out. Do it now. There’s too many of them. I repeat, their numbers are more than we expected. Get them out now!”

  “I will. Now what the hell are you doing?” Reynolds asked, breathing heavy as he ran.

  “I’ve got a surprise for these fucks,” she said. “Something to distract them while you get the men out.”

  “Something that goes bang?” he asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “What about you? How will you get out?” Reynolds was concerned. He didn’t like this one bit.

  “I’m not of your concern, Colonel. You’re under orders. Don’t worry, I’ll get the hell out. Meet you on the far side of this valley. Get the men out!” she commanded.

  “Careful. They’re brutal. Delta Five and Six are dead. Going in, looking for the rest,” Reynolds said. He was now at the top of the trail, staring at the gaping hole of darkness.

  The opening of hell itself.

  Having found the hole in the ground, small and hidden, Elizabeth stopped. She peered down, briefly shining a light. Not too far a drop. I can make it, she thought.

  Elizabeth clicked her radio. “I heard gunfire. At least some are alive. Get the team out. Past the village. Do it fast, this thing is on a timer. I’ll retreat from the top, move along the ridge. We’ll blow this damn thing and get out of dodge,” Elizabeth said, staring down into the black of the cave.

  Then, she jumped down.

  “Roger that, Hot Bitch. Good luck. Sierra Bravo Four, moving in.”

  111

  The drones went in deep.

  The men followed.

  The creatures deep inside, the first wave, hiding, waiting . . . they frenzied. They had already felt the disturbance, felt these humans’ flight machines enter their cave. Had long since smashed it to bits.

  They waited in the shadows.

  *

  Deeper and deeper.

  “See anything?” Dale asked.

  “Movement. See that—they smashed my bird,” Rivers responded, pointing to the destroyed hawk-drone. “Oh shit!”

/>   “What?” Dale asked, turning. They were halfway in.

  “Definitely movement. The drones are pissing them off, that’s for sure. Those bastards are taking them out, but we have enough to see. Dale, look! They’re preoccupied. We go in now, we have some element of surprise.

  “Let’s hurry,” Dale said.

  “They’re close. Forty meters, maybe,” Rivers said. “Here, maybe this will help. All eyes, look away,” Rivers said. “Fire in the hole.”

  By sheer instinct and training, all members turned their heads.

  An explosion, followed by a bright flash of light, filled the long corridor.

  It was loud, bright, but did no real damage.

  “What the hell was that?” Dale asked.

  “A special flash-bang grenade. Here’s our window. Let’s do this . . . oh, and Dale . . . I’ve lost all the drones. The mosquitoes dropped, the snakes stopped working. Something is interfering with the signal.” Rivers dropped his tablet, pulling his AK-47 to the ready position. “We’re going in blind now.”

  Jefferson looked back, saying, “Let’s do this the old fashioned way.”

  “Kill ’em all,” Dale said, and the team of seven moved in.

  *

  Elizabeth stared into darkness. It was a small opening. She looked around, feeling claustrophobic, yet conquering her fears as she crawled through the entrance. This was most likely an old ventilation shaft, and the farther in she went, the wider it got.

  A hundred feet, she was sweating.

  Two hundred feet and she was breathing heavy.

  Time was against her. Elizabeth prayed she was headed the right way. Using her instincts, she kept on.

  Pure darkness, she could smell death. She could feel it.

  She proceeded forward, her Glock on her hip, her MP5 pointed forward.

  “Here we go,” Elizabeth whispered.

  *

  The team was twenty feet away from the end of the tunnel, their lights bouncing off the walls. They could see where the tunnel curved—a sharp right. They could see the smashed drones, the hawk, the snakes, all stomped to small pieces.

  “They must be here,” Dale said.

  Flashlights scanning, muzzles looking up, to the side, back down the tunnel.

  “Must be around that corner,” Jefferson said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, the man caught something. A movement. He turned, backing up at the same time. He opened his mouth, gasping loudly. “What the hell?”

  Inside the rock, along the wall, were two dozen creatures. Not hidden in crevices as Dale had guessed. They were morphed into the rock, somehow blended in, unable to escape. The team had never seen such madness. The creatures’ heads protruded, giant monstrosities, gaping mouths, reptile scales, reptile eyes. They lashed out with their long arms, clicked their teeth, flickered their tongues.

  One reached at Jefferson, who in turned jumped back, raising his AA-12. He unloaded a burst from the automatic shotgun.

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  Jefferson emptied ten rounds into the first creature, screaming, “They’re in the walls!”

  It took a moment for the team to realize what he meant. It was true. Dozens of them had long since been morphed into the rock, their DNA scrambled, their bodies melting into the rock, forever prisoners. The creatures looked like reptiles, their arms like tentacles, scratching at them.

  Svetlana was motionless, terrified at the sight of the monsters. One reached out, snatching her. “Help me!” she screamed, flailing against the hands gripping her.

  Rivers grabbed her, struggling to free her from its grasp. “A little help here,” he yelled to the team.

  Thompson obliged, lowering his M4 and raising his Glock .45 caliber. He was careful of ricochet, pressing the pistol to the thing’s head.

  The beast glared, uttering something not human, though not quite animal either. A scream of a thousand damned souls.

  “Die, you fucking freak,” Thompson said, putting three rounds into its head.

  The creature’s hands dropped, Rivers pulling Svetlana to safety. For now.

  The rest of the members had their hands full. They looked to the sides, to the ground, above—dozens of these things, all morphed into the rock, all blended into the cave, as if a part of it.

  The creatures reached at them, their long, white spindly arms, like drooping vines, attempted to grab the men.

  Dale and York killed four each, their M4s barking thunder.

  Jefferson pumped more three inch slugs, spraying the long row of trapped creatures.

  And Clements, the man with the muscle, fired his M240 machine gun down into the cave, spraying everywhere, haphazard, hot lead punching into the walls.

  Rounds bounced off walls. The noise, despite their ear protection, was deafening.

  Finally, they stopped.

  “Report,” Dale commanded.

  Moments later, he heard them shout out, “Clear.”

  “All right, boys, that’s how they got the drones. We’re going around that corner. Clements, you and Jefferson first. Delta Two and Three, turn that corner and fire!” Dale said

  They were happy to. They wanted payback.

  Especially York.

  They now knew what awaited them. They had seen the monsters. It was more horrific than they had ever imagined.

  112

  None had ever been in such a fight. The monsters flocked, racing down the tunnel, the younglings first. They were white, hunched over. Red eyes. Drool dripping from their fangs.

  Thompson killed a dozen, reloading and killing more.

  Clements emptied his ammo drum, pumping round after round, shredding the creatures apart.

  Dale and Rivers, side by side, killed the ones on top. The ones racing along the top of the tunnel like lizards. Some had tails, most had scales.

  The team screamed out like wild madmen, a warrior’s call.

  They rounded a corner, entering a large corridor. A massive room. They paused a moment, seeing piles of bodies—the villagers. Most were dead, half-eaten, shredded. Others were still alive, moaning in agony.

  Some were still being eaten.

  York fired first, running forward, killing the creatures, seeking the death he so desperately craved.

  The others followed. Jefferson and Clements flanked left, shooting those that climbed on the walls, those that rushed from another tunnel.

  Rivers and Dale swept to the right. They killed and killed, calling out when they changed magazines.

  “Loading,” Dale said.

  Moments later, as Dale commenced, Rivers did the same.

  “Loading.”

  Pushing forward, they were having success. Their firepower, their sheer will was overbearing to the creatures. The hot steel, the massive amount of firepower and the courage of these Special Activities Operators was too much.

  Closer and closer, step at a time, the team slaughtered everything. On and on.

  One of the bastards jumped from a shadow. It was atop Rivers, biting at his neck. Rivers twisted, flinging the thing off. Before he could fire, though, the creature was back up. It rushed at him, wide mouth open like a sick grin, ready to tear Rivers’ throat open.

  Crack!

  The report startled Rivers, who finally raised his AK-47, shooting at the creature, though it was unnecessary. The thing was already down, head split open.

  He heard Dale, a few steps in front, moving forward and killing. It wasn’t his long-time friend. Rivers turned back, and to his surprise, Svetlana held out her Glock .40 pistol with shaking hands, pointing it at the dead beast.

  “Thank you,” Rivers said.

  She merely nodded, pale as a ghost.

  “Shoot the fuckers,” Rivers added, having no time to calm her. More came and he turned, firing, helping Dale advance.

  Svetlana followed, doing the same. For a woman who’d never known combat, who’d never imagined herself in such a nightmare, she did just fine.

  Svetlana killed without mer
cy.

  *

  Clements and Jefferson had made their way to the far left side. They were at the edge of a wide tunnel, and entered without saying a word. They moved swiftly, killing the hoard of creatures that raced toward them.

  “Loading,” Clements hollered.

  Jefferson killed more.

  On and on, deeper and deeper. The masses of creatures, the waves of demons were too much. They entered yet another chamber, finding hundreds. The beasts were packed like cattle. Some looked human, others didn’t. Some had tails, lizard-like tongues. Some were like spiders, crawling along the ground. A few slithered like snakes, their legs and arms long since missing.

  “Kill them!” Clements shouted.

  “Loading,” Jefferson yelled, putting another thirty rounds from his AA-12 into the chests and heads of every single beast.

  They kept moving, far from their teammates, closer and closer to their deaths.

  As they entered the depths of the chamber, they realized they were surrounded.

  Clements turned to Jefferson, his face grim. “Down to my last mag.”

  “Me too, brother,” Jefferson replied. “It’s been an honor fighting with you.”

  The two men fought, killing dozens more. They expended their rifle ammunition, dropping and grabbing their pistols.

  They killed and killed, down to their last bullets.

  Clements and Jefferson, these two heroes, met their untimely deaths side-by-side, dying as brothers, dying by one another’s side.

  They did so as a member of The Unit was expected—with great honor.

  113

  Elizabeth scurried down the tunnel. She was close. She could hear the gunfight, hear that the team was near.

  Turning another corner, she finally stopped. Her mouth open, she saw it!

  Something not remotely human was hidden deep in the corner. It looked as if it were once female, though any resemblance of humanity was long gone. The thing, the female, kept in the shadow, its red eyes blinking, staring at Elizabeth.