by John O'Brien
Reynolds fired, taking one target after another, and O’Malley squeezed the clackers when the targets presented themselves in one of the kill zones they had set. Explosions rolled down the narrow pass, each one leaving torn bodies sprawled across the ground. The horde of reapers was thinned, but the hillside was a mass of screaming figures with white opaque duplicates by their sides. The air seemed one big smudge as the apparitions lunged forward, the reapers blurring behind.
Reynolds eyed a blurring ghostly image and waited for the body to materialize, then shot. It wasn’t as fast as he would have liked, but it was the only way to effectively take them down. Still, it wasn’t enough.
“Okay folks. We don’t have time to be choosy here. We have plenty of ammo and little time. Try to pick targets, but the idea is that we put up a hailstorm and let them walk into it. Burst fire, but keep the air thick with rounds. We stand here, so hold the line,” O’Malley said. “Let ‘em have it.”
The top of the hill erupted in a chorus of muted coughs, rounds sailing down the slope. Reapers materialized and were met with high-speed projectiles that slammed into their recently formed bodies, sending them to the sandy and rocky slope. Some were catapulted backward to slide all of the way to the bottom. The reapers charged along a narrow line, all wanting to be the ones to get to the team, making the team’s job a little easier.
Bullets flew through immaterial bodies, which formed and then were hit with force. It was almost like the very act of becoming solid was a catalyst for destruction visited upon their bodies. Screams echoed up and down the corridor as the reapers continued their charge.
“Hold it, boys. Hold it,” O’Malley yelled.
Screams, muted coughs, the metallic exchange of magazines, the solid meaty whacks of rounds forcefully striking bodies. One after another, those that made it through the killing zones and Reynolds’s carefully aimed shots were sent toppling down the hill. Still, the distance closed, since the reapers did not have to actually climb the hill, just morph their way up it. The opaque nature occupying the hillside began to fade, lines of dust showing where bodies had slid down toward the road below.
One reaper appeared just in front of the team, near enough that its apparition could reach out with a single lunge. Bullets slammed into it, propelling it backward to join its comrades. One moment, they were on the edge of being overrun, then it was just over. No more reapers attempted to scale the hillside, although a few tried to crawl up the steep slope and were quickly silenced. Along the pass, a quiet settled. The exhausted team rose to look at the hillside littered with bodies.
“Well, that was something else,” Hanson said.
“Yeah, and that’s just the first town,” Reynolds responded.
“You would have to say something like that, wouldn’t you,” Hanson replied.
“I’m just sayin’.”
Reynolds looked up the road in their direction of travel and saw the three camels on their knees, seemingly unperturbed by the noise that had filled the corridor. He felt light-headed from the heat and flow of adrenaline.
“Well, that probably woke up the natives. We’ll move up the road a ways before we camp,” O’Malley said. “And, in the future, let’s make our next pass around a town or village a little wider.”
“I’m all for that,” Hanson commented.
* * * * * *
The sun peeked over the rim of the mountains to the east, illuminating an arid land filled with sparse scrub brush. The team rose from their positions, their muscles sore from the last two weeks of traveling. The heat, distance, and tension of having to continuously skirt cities and villages had taken its toll.
Staying on the highway hadn’t worked out exactly as they anticipated when they started. They’d spent at least half of the time off of it, negotiating their way through rugged terrain in order to avoid populated areas. Narrow fertile fields accompanied the river next to the only road through the area, making them cut over ridgelines and through tight ravines. They’d cut back to the highway only to have to do the same thing a few miles later. Behind, they left a trail of freshly covered trenches where they’d waited out the intense heat of the day.
The day before yesterday, O’Malley halted them next to a small stream for twenty-four hours to rest up and to gain a measure of strength for the second half of their journey. Even though they were in shape, having to walk for two solid weeks in the summer heat over rough terrain had drained them, slowing their daily mileage. Over the day of rest, they refilled the two water trailers and dumped all of the iodine they had into them. The brown silty water didn’t look too appealing, and the last thing they needed was to fall ill to some bacteria or virus.
“Okay folks, we’re behind schedule. We left Forward Operating Base Lagman and the city nearby behind. There’s a road that heads south out of the city and we’re going to follow this creek until we intersect it. From there, the highway winds its way in pretty spectacular fashion through the mountains, which will take time, but I don’t see any other way through. Just before it ends, we’re going to find a track or stream that cuts straight south and enter Pakistan. The terrain is steep and rugged, but once through, it’ll be roads again until we reach the shipbreaking yards.
“The terrain won’t allow a lot of visibility, and an ambush could await us with every step. The bonus is that there are very few inhabited areas, so our main foe will be T-men hiding in the hills. I don’t have to tell you to stay alert. This will also be the last of any water we see for some time, making the water trailers important, but not so much that we have to defend them with our lives. If we come under fire, we return it and withdraw. We’ll figure the rest out once we’re secure,” O’Malley briefed. “Twenty miles a day for the next couple of days may not be possible, but we’ll make it up once we cross the border and descend out of the hills. This is our last push. Steady and cautious, then a big sprint at the end.”
“It’ll be nice not having to detour every ten minutes,” Hanson said, kneading the kinks out of his lower back.
“Yeah, I’ll take the T-men over those ghouls any day,” Dixon added.
“Need I remind you that the reapers don’t shoot back,” O’Malley replied.
“Point taken,” Dixon responded.
“Okay. Off your lazy asses and let’s get moving,” O’Malley said.
The team followed the creek as it meandered across the arid lands. Before long, the water turned shallower and then ended altogether, the streambed turning to sand. The Kandahar Desert was only thirty or so miles to the southwest, but with the heat building up as the sun rose, it felt like they were standing in the middle of it. The camels trudging with the carts were a big concern as they started across sparse land, but Reynolds had heard that they could go a week or more without food or water and be fine.
I guess we’re about to find out if that’s true, Reynolds thought, the highway coming into view ahead.
A little past the concrete road, a line of mountains rose from the sandy plain, wrinkled and ominous. In those passes and ravines stretching for miles on end with nothing but rocks and sand, hundreds if not thousands of guerilla fighters once hid out, only to flee into Pakistan when the Army or Marines decided to give chase. Or, into their network of caves when gunships made their appearance.
Reynolds heart sank as he stared at the forbidding heights. They were six men about to enter hell’s backyard with zero support. He wouldn’t normally worry about it, as they were very good at remaining hidden, but they had to drag a circus train down the main road. It wasn’t an overly comforting feeling and he hoped that there was no one hiding out in the caves. Like O’Malley mentioned, the reapers didn’t shoot back. But, if they were to get out of this hell, then they didn’t have much choice.
Tentatively, Reynolds stepped onto the road, watching it stretch long across the plain, eventually turning toward the mountains. According to the map, there was a settlement just past the first pass and another a few miles afterward, then there was nothing but wi
lderness surrounding a few scattered settlements for fifty miles.
Three days, then we cut south into Pakistan. Another thirty miles past that and we’ll be out of this mess, he thought, waiting for O’Malley to climb out of the streambed.
“What do you think, Sarge? Five days and then the final stretch?” Reynolds said once O’Malley joined him.
“Maybe,” O’Malley responded.
“I’m not looking forward to the possibility of being on display,” Reynolds stated.
“I’ve seen worse,” O’Malley replied.
“Oh yeah? When?”
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s get going. Sooner started, sooner done.”
An hour later, the road began to rise, skirting a pass between tall hills and onto a high plain. Leaving the road and climbing partway up a hillside, Reynolds scoped two small settlements off on each side of their route. Several sheep milled inside adobe-walled pens, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Signaling the others to hold up, Reynolds and O’Malley watched the compounds, waiting to see if reapers emerged from within the establishments. A couple of bodies lay on the sandy ground, but there wasn’t anything else.
“Well?” Reynolds asked. “Through or around?”
“Around…always around,” O’Malley answered. “Even if we don’t see any, that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, and I don’t like surprises.”
Working their way around the compounds, the road made a sharp turn and began through the mountains in earnest. Once they made the turn around a jutting finger of land, they’d be spending the next several days in ravines or crossing open plains, each leading to the next one.
“Hold up, Sarge. Movement on that finger of land, near the crest…yeah, there it is,” Reynolds said, scoping the route ahead.
“How many?”
“Just one, and it looks like a reaper. Kind of hard to see with the lighting” Reynolds answered. “Yeah, it’s a reaper. I just caught the apparition in the sunlight. I can only see the one, but, there might be more.”
They looked at the steeply rising terrain, searching for a passage through, but there wasn’t one to be found.
“No way around and it has the high ground. Can you take it out?” O’Malley asked.
“If we get close enough and I can get an angle,” Reynolds answered.
Together, they moved off the road and into the hills, taking care to stay out of sight, but looking occasionally to keep the reaper pinpointed. Crawling on the ground, Reynolds peeked over the crest of an adjacent ridge. From there, he was able to see along the extended ridgeline opposite. The reaper was walking in a meandering fashion, the apparition hovering, but occasionally lunging and vanishing, only to reappear with a scream.
“There’s only one that I can see. If there are any others, they have to be buried,” Reynolds whispered.
“Can you get a clean shot?” O’Malley inquired.
“As clean as any other,” Reynolds answered, setting his eye to the scope and listening to the range reading and wind estimate from O’Malley.
The muted cough vibrated the shooting mat under the end of the barrel, the bullet streaking across the intervening ravine. The reaper was thrown backward, landing on the ground with a thud and stirring up a small dust cloud.
“Confirmed kill,” O’Malley whispered, having watched as the mist-like wraith rose from the body and vanished.
The two continued to scout the ridgeline and surrounding area, searching for any others. Nothing moved as the dust settled, with the exception of a couple of birds wheeling in the far distance.
“Looks clear,” Reynolds eventually said.
“Yeah, but I’m curious why a lone person would be on the ridge. The sheep at the establishments we encountered were in their pens and the next one isn’t for a ways. Along with the water at the wells,” O’Malley stated.
“He could have wandered up here from there,” Reynolds offered.
“He could have, that’s true,” O’Malley agreed.
“But, you don’t believe he did.”
“Let’s just say that I’m skeptical. Watch your step.”
Back off the hills, they approached the corner. Taking the time to deal with the reaper had set them back even more, but if they went quickly and recklessly and were killed because of it, then their time to arrival would be become much longer. Squatting on the shoulder of the road several yards from the sharp bend, Reynolds watched O’Malley study the landscape. With the sun winding its way across the sky, the heat rising into the high eighties, they sat on their haunches.
“Aha,” O’Malley finally blurted.
“What?” Reynolds asked.
“Look at the road. It took me a little bit to see it, but do you see anything out of the ordinary?” O’Malley inquired.
Reynolds took a minute longer, looking at the stretch of concrete that made a sharp corner. The road was laid in sections with sealed gaps to allow for the expansion and contraction with the drastic changes in temperature. However hard he peered, he couldn’t see what was so obvious to O’Malley.
“Okay, I give up,” Reynolds resigned.
“Look at each block of concrete…pretty uniform, right?”
“Yeah, except for a thinner section there,” Reynolds admitted.
“Exactly…except for that thinner section. It’s been cut and replaced. And there behind the larger rock off to the side. See that small black stick poking out of the ground?”
“Yeah.”
“Radio antenna. I bet that asshole up there has a radio tuned to the same freq. If we bothered, I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that there’s wire heading from the radio buried beneath the thin section, connected to unexploded ordinance or C-4 or the like. Some company or mech unit comes rolling up and asshole talks into the mic at the right time, setting off an electrical impulse from the buried one. And, ka-blam. I really hate this place,” O’Malley said.
“And that’s why I’d rather be doing what we do…or did. No thanks to all that shit,” Reynolds replied.
“Amen to that. They could have set up a pressure plate and left it alone, but then Abdul could come rolling up in his clunker on his way to visit relatives and ruin the whole thing. Let’s move out, but watch those fucking hills as we go.”
* * * * * *
“We have company on both ridgelines,” Reynolds leaned over and whispered to O’Malley.
“I know,” O’Malley said. “They’ve been with us for the last little bit.”
“Friendly?”
“Out here? I highly doubt it,” O’Malley answered.
“There’s a scattering of boulders up ahead that should give us some cover. They have the high ground, so that may get a little sporty,” Reynolds observed. “The road ahead seems clear, though.”
Reynolds looked over his shoulder at the rest of the team a short distance back. There was movement on the hillsides above them as well, obviously already seen by the other four as their heads were turning upward in both directions.
“Let’s just keep our cool and keep moving. Their AKs are shouldered, so they may just be tailing us and observing for the moment. Once we get to the rocks, we’ll halt.”
“Or just the support team for an ambush ahead,” Reynolds offered.
“Or that. To the rocks, then play the watch and wait game. They may not want to come at us if we’re in cover. You know, training versus numbers. We may not like them much, but they aren’t stupid. They beat the Russians, so don’t ever underestimate them. If nothing happens, we’ll slip out and away after dark,” O’Malley said.
“And I assume we’ll be leaving the camels behind,” Reynolds responded.
“I don’t see that we have much other choice.”
The boulders at the bottom of the hill that had rolled down from the steep ledges above formed a rough circle. Reynolds and O’Malley stopped, stretching to make it look normal. The last thing they needed was to dart into cover, alerting the armed men above while the rest of the team was out in the open. On
ce they gathered, they moved quickly off the road and into the rudimentary protection offered by the large rocks.
“Two up, two back, one facing up the road, the other down. Don’t waste your ammo. Wait until they’re close. Reynolds, start picking them off as they descend if they open fire,” O’Malley whispered. “We have decent cover here and can hold until nightfall.”
The team observed men moving on top of both ridges, obviously getting into firing positions. Then the movement all but ceased. Overhead, the sun climbed past its zenith and into the afternoon. Heat poured onto the team, the ground becoming like a bed of coals. But, each second was one closer to the sunset, giving them the cover of darkness and an environment in which they excelled.
Reynolds felt the nervous tension build as he scoped the ridges. They were surrounded. No radio call could bring the cavalry flying to the rescue or shells of destruction raining down from a nearby artillery site. They were on their own, their only safety lying with rocks formed millennia ago that rolled down hills created by tremendous continental pressures. Things that had happened millions of years ago offered this haven to six men.
“What’s that sound?” Dixon whispered. “Is that one of our camels leaving?”
Up the road, deeper into the mountains, heat shimmers blurred anything beyond a couple hundred yards. From out of the blur, as if materializing on the spot, a man on a horse rode up the middle of the road, the barrel of an AK-47 rising from behind his shoulder. The horse continued at a slow walk, the clop of its hooves reaching the men gathered behind the boulders.
Seventy yards away, with several barrels aimed directly at him, the man dismounted, tossing the reins over the horse’s mane.
“Be ready, boys. Keep an eye on our flanks. They want us to concentrate on the one we can see so they can sneak up closer,” O’Malley whispered.
The team members each scanned their sectors, looking for a flash of movement, a stir of dust, a robe flapping, anything. Stepping in front of the horse, the man slowly unslung his AK-47 and bent down, placing the weapon on the ground. Rising up, he raised his hands into the air.