by John O'Brien
It took a moment before the import of what O’Malley said sank in, then the tent erupted in laughter.
“Fuck. You…Sergeant,” Hanson replied.
“Oh, come on, boy. Laugh a little. Besides, it was either that or punch you in the throat. That’s still on the table, by the way,” O’Malley stated.
“No, I’m good, thanks. So, Dad, it looks like straight south is the shortest, which will give us more leeway in keeping to our schedule. Although the terrain is rough all of the way, it’s less so than those mountains where anything could happen. Either way, we’d have to watch out for bad guys, but traveling on more or less level roads is better in my opinion. They may be able to see us from a greater distance, but that also means we can see them,” Hanson commented.
“I’m not a fan of those cave systems. It seems we’d run into less trouble heading directly south. Warm and dry, yes, but less bullets. My vote is south,” Dixon chimed in.
“South,” Reynolds said. “I don’t need to reiterate the reasons already given. I just want to get there as quickly as we can.”
The rest nodded.
“You gentlemen know that the terrain is like a piece of paper that was tightly wadded up and then unfolded, right? You’ve been there and seen it. There are very few water sources and it’s hot…I mean a mile from the sun kind of hot,” O’Malley said.
“Yeah, but it seems like those problems are fairly straightforward, rather than the unknown of a mountain passage,” Reynolds responded.
“Okay, I was just making sure. So, again, it’s summer and it’s going to be hot and arid. We’ll travel from sunup for four hours, find whatever shade we can, then take it back up in the later afternoon until sunset. At night, we set a perimeter of claymores and keep watch schedules. With the mindless ones dying out, it looks like we’ll only have the reapers and Taliban to worry about. So, we’ll proceed slowly, scouting the terrain ahead. This is their land, the Taliban I mean, so they’ll know it much better than we do. But, we’re better trained. So, although we’re on a time schedule, we’re not cutting any corners to move faster.
“We’ll take two water trailers and another with as many MREs as we can find. Scrounge this camp for iodine tablets and first aid kits. I want ammo cans, boxes of grenades, claymores, wire, and fuses to fill the rest of the food trailer. We may need two. For us, we’re going to travel light in order to conserve energy. And, I want that radio and the batteries preserved as if they were your offspring,” O’Malley briefed. “That’s our day, gentlemen. Tomorrow, we go round us up some camels, and then the fun begins.”
* * * * * *
The journey back to the village and their original observation point went much faster than their voyage to the encampment. From the ledge, it didn’t appear that much had changed, other than more corpses lining the streets and the lack of those in a catatonic state. Somehow, the ones with their associated apparitions were able to fend for themselves, perhaps able to use the village well for water and eating who knew what.
Sand had partially covered the bodies of the caravanners they’d witnessed arriving the last time they were here. The camels were still nearby, gathered in the shade of a narrow ravine.
“Well, what do you think?” Reynolds asked, staring through his scope toward the village.
“I think we work our way along the foot of the hills and ease up on the camels. They’re probably used to people, so hopefully they won’t scatter and make a ruckus,” O’Malley answered.
“Do you know anything about camels?” Reynolds inquired.
“They stink, spit, and are generally cantankerous,” O’Malley replied. “Other than that, next to nothing.”
“So, basically like you, then,” Reynolds stated, smiling.
“You know, Reynolds, it’s an awfully long drop from here…just sayin’,” O’Malley responded, not smiling.
The team worked their way back along the ridgeline and descended into a ravine. Cautiously, remembering that the people in the village attacked when the caravan was still a ways away, they crept along the foot of the finger-like ridges poking out into the valley and settled behind a group of rocks on the last finger. The camels were just on the other side of the canyon, reins trailing to the ground.
“So, what now?” Reynolds asked.
“I guess we just slowly approach and grab the reins, then lead them back to the camp, rig something up and attach it to the harnesses they’re wearing, and be on our way,” O’Malley answered.
“That easy, huh?” Reynolds quipped.
“Why not? Not everything has to involve some elaborate plan or require magic. That’s something those planning types in the Army never understood. Keep it simple and there’s less to go wrong. Too many moving parts and it’s bound to go to shit,” O’Malley responded. “So, you and Hanson remain here. Set up where you have good fields of fire and keep those fuckers off our backside if they take an interest. The rest of us are going to grab us some camels.”
“Copy that,” Reynolds said.
“This should be interesting,” Hanson remarked as O’Malley walked away.
“What was that, smartass?” O’Malley said, turning to look over his shoulder.
“I said all of this sand is depressing,” Hanson responded.
“That’s what I thought,” O’Malley said, turning and beginning the descent into the ravine with the others.
“Fucker has some ears,” Hanson whispers, glancing in the direction of the descending team as if O’Malley would hear him.
“One of these days, that’s going to get you in real trouble,” Reynolds said.
“Meh. He expects it. If I didn’t do it, he’d get worried, and then I’d be in real trouble,” Hanson remarked.
“Fair enough. Range the edge of the village for me.”
“Five hundred, ten yards to the northeast corner of the first building on the right. Heat thermals visible, negligible wind, downhill angle,” Hanson said.
Reynolds made the required mental calibrations in his head, placed his shooting mat under the barrel to minimize any dust stirred up if he needed to shoot, and set his eye to the scope. He’d keep an eye on the village and immediate surroundings while Hanson watched the rest of the valley, adjoining hillsides, and up the canyon.
Dixon, Mendez, and Wright walked slowly up to the group of camels nervously eyeballing them. They reached out and grabbed the reins of three and pulled. The camels were reluctant at first, but then began following. O’Malley approached the fourth one, only to have it shy away just as he was about to grab the lead. The camel snorted and moved away a few steps, then stopped. The Irishman stepped forward, the camel moved away. Trying it slower, he approached, slowly reaching out a hand. Just as he was about to grab the reins, the camel hopped back and trotted a couple of steps before stopping. The two stood and stared at each other, the game of willpower in full swing. O’Malley stepped forward, the camel moved back. This process repeated itself several more times.
“I don’t think that one likes you very much,” Dixon said, chuckling.
“Fucking Afghan camels. I’m going to break its leg, then we’ll see if it can move away,” O’Malley retorted.
“If you do that, Sarge, it won’t be able to walk very far, now will it?” Dixon stated.
“At this point, I don’t give a single fuck. This is personal now,” O’Malley responded, reaching out only to have the camel snort loudly and move away.
O’Malley made another attempt, this time lunging and grabbing the leads. The camel bucked and made a ruckus, stomping and making a sound like roaring into a bucket. Realizing that the sounds could carry across to the village, O’Malley let go. The camel took off, running across the sand in the direction of the village.
“Well, shit,” Hanson muttered, watching the camel race across the valley with a dust cloud trailing behind.
“Yeah, it looks like they’ve drawn a little attention,” Reynolds remarked, watching a group of ten reapers gather near the edge of the v
illage.
The reapers stood, the apparitions wavering in the air beside them. All at once, they started running toward the other team members.
“It’s show time. Call my shots,” Reynolds said, lining up the leading reaper in his scope.
Okay, five hundred yards, three and a half mils. Downhill and hot, aim lower. Angling across, two-foot lead, he refreshed his previous thoughts on windage.
He tracked the lead reaper, his crosshairs steady as he adjusted for the correct holdover. Rolling his scope to match the speed of the reaper, with the correct height adjustment, Reynolds began a slow, steady exhalation. By moving his barrel with the target, he wouldn’t need to lead it as much. His finger tightened on the trigger, the kick against his shoulder coming as a surprise. The round exited, spinning as it streaked over the top of the hot sands. Reynolds settled the scope back on target just in time to see the lead reaper tumble to the ground in a flurry of dust.
“Clean hit. Next target…” Hanson began but was interrupted by the next suppressed shot. Another reaper fell to the ground as if it tripped. Reynolds found his groove, taking time to find his next target, settle the appropriate mil-dot on it, and track while applying pressure on the trigger. The muffled shots weren’t heard far beyond the general vicinity. Hanson also ensured that the shooting mat remained in place so they didn’t give away their position from dust stirring as the rounds exited the barrel.
Reynolds continued shooting with Hanson reading off new distances, Reynolds compensating by adjusting his mil-dot compensation. A third and fourth tumbled, then a fifth, a sixth. The distance to the four had halved by the time a seventh sent up a dust storm from its fall. The last two fell before covering thirty more yards.
“Damn, man. I’ve never seen you shoot that well before,” Hanson whispered.
“This rifle and scope make it easy. All I have to do is aim and pull the trigger,” Reynolds replied.
“Still, man. I’m impressed,” Hanson remarked, scoping the figures.
Below, a trail of bodies lay unmoving in the sand. Hanson looked for the telltale ghostly auras around them, but saw none. The 7.62mm match-grade rounds had done their job.
Leading three camels, the four other team members arrived.
“I was wondering if you’d get them before they made it across the country,” O’Malley said upon arriving. “Nice shooting, though.”
“I was debating whether to let you guys have any fun. But, it looked like you were having enough already, so I took it all for myself,” Reynolds countered.
“Just go up and grab them, huh? That strategy seems to have worked out well,” Hanson quipped.
“Dixon, Mendez, Wright, hand your reins to Hanson here. He seems to have too much time on his hands,” O’Malley said.
As Hanson took the leads, all of the camels knelt down with one seeming to actually nuzzle him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” O’Malley said, turning without another word to start their return trip.
Back at the camp, they began working on a contraption to hook up to the existing harnesses in order to tow trailers.
“What do you think about what the commander said, about those apparitions actually being souls?” Reynolds asked O’Malley.
“It’s a bunch of bullshit,” O’Malley answered.
“Then how do you explain what we’re seeing?”
“I don’t need to. They’re there, that’s all I need to know,” O’Malley replied.
“Fair enough.”
After a while, they arrived at a manageable solution, making sure that the ropes and chains were attached in a way that they didn’t rub against the flanks of the camels. They picked two water trailers and an open one for their supplies. The fact that the trailers had four wheels simplified things.
“Okay, ladies, we’re already behind schedule. We’re not rushing it, but we have to make up those days in order to be there on time. We start at first light. If we find the moonlight casts enough light, we’ll continue pushing into the evening, providing we aren’t around any populated areas. We have to preserve our NVG batteries for emergencies. Get some sleep—it’s going to be the last solid night of rest for a while,” O’Malley briefed.
* * * * * *
The sun was hidden below the far horizon, the blue line of the pre-dawn more imagined than actually seen, but the sky lightened more each minute. The team gathered, slightly chilled in the sixty-degree temperature. Once the sun rose, the thermometer would begin climbing and most likely reach a hundred degrees by the afternoon.
“We know where we’re going, but we have two ways to get there. If we keep near the foot of the mountains, it’ll be slower going but we’ll be able to travel with more stealth and avoid many of the populated areas. And, there’s a greater chance of finding shade. Our second choice is to use the road systems, where we’ll find the exact opposite. We can be seen from distances and our route will be predictable. However, the travel will be much easier and we’ll reach our destination faster.
“Now, from what the commander said, it’s fairly obvious that most, if not all, of our troops in the sandbox and worldwide have been affected. We can’t rely on finding any help. Make no mistake, though, there will be enemies aside from the reapers. If our experience is any indication, those hiding out in the cave systems will have made it. They’ll be armed and won’t be inviting us to a cup of tea. That will be true regardless of the route we decide to take.
“Without effective comms, we need to show up close to our rendezvous time. We were lucky to establish contact as it was, so this is to be treated as a one-shot deal. If we miss our link-up and they depart, thinking that we didn’t make it, well, then, that’s it. We have to make our allotted daily distance without slowing down. Six hundred plus miles, gentlemen, in less than thirty days. Close won’t cut it,” O’Malley briefed, with the sky growing lighter.
“Going down the middle of a road in hostile territory goes against my grain,” Dixon commented. “Just thinking about it makes me nervous.”
“I agree,” Mendez said. “We might as well launch fireworks and fly banners.”
“I’m not so sure,” Reynolds interjected. “Yes, we can be easily spotted if any Taliban are out and about. We’re not entirely defenseless, though. That aside, my thoughts are focused around arriving in time. What if we find places that we can’t pull the trailers through and have to backtrack, searching for an alternate route? We’ll lose God knows how much time. We won’t make it without that water, so that’s key. The farther south we go, the less we’ll be able to find, until there’s none at all. I guess what I’m saying is that the risk of using the roads is worth it. That’s my opinion.”
“I see both sides,” Wright commented, “and to be honest, the thought of trucking down the middle of a highway gives me an anxiety attack. But, there are a lot of variables present with pulling the wagons across rougher terrain. There’s only two with using the road: T-men and reapers, and those are also associated with slinking along the edges. I say we use the roads.”
“And what about you, Hanson?” O’Malley asked.
“Well, we’re not likely to make it anyway, so we might as well make the going as easy as possible,” Hanson answered.
The five others turned to stare at him.
“I’m kidding. Fuck. No one can take a joke. But, I stand by my last comment. We basically have to march the length of California, so we might as well make it easier on ourselves. We can always go around obvious ambush sites, scout them out, or whatever. It’s going to be long enough without having to double back repeatedly, like Reynolds mentioned,” Hanson defended himself.
“Okay, the road it is. Without comms, we won’t be able to scout too far ahead, but Reynolds and I will take the lead positions a couple hundred yards to the front,” O’Malley said.
“I’m usually with Reynolds,” Hanson commented.
“Oh no, no, no. You’re with the camels, Mr. This-will-be-interesting. Sorry to tell you about the break up in
this manner. You’re just going to have to keep your crush to yourself,” O’Malley responded.
“I don’t have a crush. I’m his spotter.”
“Uh huh. Okay, if you say so. Now, let’s get this circus moving,” O’Malley said.
The western sky brightened, a portent of the coming heat. With O’Malley and Reynolds in the lead, the team set out from the camp, leaving behind the corpses lying among the tents for time to eventually claim. The trailers creaked and moaned as the camels pulled them along the dirt track. By the time the sun peeked above the horizon, they’d reached a paved road that stretched across the hard plain of the desert. They turned south; the clop of the camel hooves on the hard surface was added to the groan of the trailers.
There was little talk along the way, each conserving energy. Eyes wandered to the sides, scoping out the ridges of the nearby hills and across the plain. Sand had begun creeping across the road. Without motorized vehicles to keep it swept clean, the land would reclaim it before much longer. The rising heat became an oppressive force, beating mercilessly down and competing with the heat rising from the paved surface of the road. Dried sweat rings formed under their arms.
In the front, Reynolds stopped every twenty or so steps to scout the terrain ahead and to the hills on his left through his scope, O’Malley using the spotter scope to look across the plains. After being relatively assured that no one was either observing them or approaching, they scuttled ahead to keep their distance from the rest of the team.
Four hours later, they stopped and stepped off the road. With all of the team gathered and two keeping watch, they dug a large pit in the ground. A tarp with a small hole cut into the top was staked down over the opening and held raised by shortened tent poles. By digging down, they could keep a little cooler, with heat rising out of the hole in the tarp. It wasn’t much, but even a couple of degrees’ difference was noticeable. And, although the interior was still hot and stuffy, they weren’t being outright baked in the direct sunlight. The wagons were unhitched and the camels tied to stakes. Setting two on watch for two-hour shifts, they attempted to rest, waiting out the intense heat. When the heat began to subside, they packed up everything and began their march again.