Marine

by Shiralyn J. Lee

  Then they became aware that the insurgent wasn’t alone. Within moments, a hail of bullets zinged over the Marines’ heads. The Marines fired back, relentlessly. Gray lay down on her belly and positioned her rifle on its bipod, and squeezed off a continuous, controlled, and accurate 200 rounds. Although she was focused, and had years of training and experience under her belt, she still felt the hairs lift on the back of her neck as she slowed her breathing. She had to tell herself it wasn’t a human she was aiming at, rather a target, and if she, or one of her squad didn’t take this target out, then the consequences would be dire.

  Two insurgent fighters dropped to the ground after being hit. Further shots were fired from both sides, then the rest of the insurgents retreated and ran off into a wooded area, disappearing as fast as they had arrived.

  “Hold your fire, hold your fire,” Blake yelled at the squad. He moved forward and called back, “Keep moving, don’t remain stationary.”

  They moved forward guardedly, and just as they reached the main path, an explosion went off just ahead of them. In a thick cloud of gray dust, rocks, dirt and leaves flew in all directions, and immediately Vincent yelled for a medic. No one could tell who was injured, and it wasn’t until the dust settled that they realized it was actually Vincent, laying on the ground on his back and pressing down on his thigh.

  Gray held on to Zabba’s leash as they rushed to Vincent’s aid, and Zabba whined as he constantly looked around. Unnerved by all the commotion, he held his hindquarters low and his tail between his legs.

  Joined with the presence of the chemical smell from the bomb, loud, high-pitched ringing ran through the Marines’ ears, and a moment of disorientation was quickly dealt with when Blake yelled for a medic to come over to them.

  “Easy, buddy, you’re going to be fine,” Blake comforted Vincent with a soothing voice.

  A rolled-up stretcher was placed beneath Vincent, and they carried him over to covered ground and set him down where they wouldn’t be a sitting target for further insurgent attacks. A purple smoke flare was set off for the medevac chopper to find their location, and within minutes the chopper arrived. They checked his wound and bandaged him up, then carried him over to the chopper, loaded him onboard, and took the injured soldier away.

  “Come here, boy,” Gray said softly. Panting gently with anxiety, Zabba sat at her side while she crouched. She patted his head and stroked his back, calming him down as best she could.

  There was no time to think about their situation, they had to keep a clear mind on the task they were there for. They walked with slow, cautious movements, checking constantly for signs of suspicious activities. It didn’t make them heartless bastards, it made them able to stay alive and alert.

  Each Marine was a finely tuned soldier, constantly thinking ahead, and trained to observe, but it didn’t stop them from fearing they could be the next one to take a blast, or a shot. Internally, each of them felt physically sick that a brother had been taken out, none of them wanting to look each other directly in the eyes, as they’d know the presence of fear was laying heavy.

  When they reached the two dead men, they held their rifles ready for an attack, while Blake inspected the bodies.

  “This one’s got two shots to the head, and this one took a shot in the throat,” he said, still keeping his distance from them, as they could potentially be rigged with explosives. “Mother-fucker! They used a time managed device to set off the explosive.”

  Gray immediately shortened Zabba’s leash to keep him closer to her. She knew what they’d been after. To them, trained dogs were a tool, a very efficient tool, and taking them out would leave the Marine’s without the ability to seek out IEDs or lessen their chances of finding their men.

  Zabba was now a target.

  Chapter Four

  In a land filled with a mix of gunfire, explosions and attacks, Gray found herself trapped in a moment of serenity when she realized wildlife still existed around them. Caught out by birds chirping in nearby trees, it made her wonder how they could stay and act as if nothing affected them. They gave her warm memories of her homeland, which, in fact, was a false sense of security, but nevertheless, just for a short moment, her tension lessened, and she felt a spiritual connection to the land around her. That lasted all of two minutes, when reality flooded back into her mind, causing her remember she was in a country that taught violence and intolerance, and that supressed the freedom of its people, especially its women.

  The unit moved forward. At points, it was a slow process; waiting around while others secured the area was part of the job.

  The interpreter helping the troops, DelAfrooz, a Private in the Afghan Army, had walked ahead of the unit, and when they’d reached a walled compound on the top of a slight hill, he went in to speak with the men inside.

  “He’s been gone a while,” Gray mentioned to Blake.

  Blake looked at his watch, then pondered for a moment before he answered. “If he’s not back in five minutes, then we’ll do a sweep without him.”

  Gray sat on the ground with her legs out in front of her, her rifle rested across her lap, and Zabba lay down in the shade her body had cast across the ground. She was hot. Even the air was thick with heat, and warmed her throat as she inhaled. “Fuck, it’s like breathing in hot, molten lava,” she said to Iggy.

  “I’m being cooked from the inside out,” he joked.

  In the distance, gunfire sounded, putting the unit on alert.

  “Is that outgoing rounds, or receiving?” Blake asked, while they all listened.

  “Could it be another unit storming the compound from the other side?” Gray asked.

  “We need to find out.” He radioed the base for confirmation of another unit in the area, then waited for a response.

  “Affirmative, there is another unit engaging on the north side of the compound. Over.”

  Blake gave a slow nod of his head as he thought about the unit’s position. “We need to get a track on the target. Over.” he radioed back.

  “A Bird already has eyes on it. You’re half a klick away, and good to go. Over.”

  Just as they were about to move, DelAfrooz returned. His gaze bounced from one Marine to another while he rubbed the back of his neck. Pointing in the direction the unit were about to head to, he said, “There are men hiding out in a house toward the edge of the village.” He pinched his nose, then rubbed it with his fingers. “They have captives.”

  A shudder ran through Gray’s body at the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Her last involvement in rescuing captives had resulted in Jake’s death. She crouched down in front of Zabba, and, in a placating voice, said, “We need to do this, boy.” She put her arms around his neck and hugged him as if he was a child—that same negative chill still reminding her he could be gone without any warning. “I love you, Zabba,” she whispered into his ear. Not letting the lads see, she wiped a tear from forming in the corner of her eye, then stood, ready to move on.

  With every stride taken, the unit cautiously looked around, taking mental and verbal notes of possible ambush locations, paying particular attention to the rooves and eaves above them. The compound was like a fortress, with high walls, and a large wooden gate to keep security tight for the occupants.

  They kept their voices low when communicating, and the sound of gravel crunching underfoot dissipated as the firing rounds grew closer. Each Marine took turns to check and secure the immediate area, then tapped the shoulder of the Marine in front of them to move forward to the next point of entry into the compound.

  Zabba’s behavior changed. He became more alert when they approached a small building to the right, then whined and pricked his ears forward. The building was the first one in the compound, a basic box type with a door and a gap classed a window.

  “You found something, Zabba,” Gray asked.

  “What is it?” Blake asked.

  “Dunno, but there’s someone in that house he’s staring at.

  Blake held his arm
out, indicating for the unit to halt. They listened and looked around while pointing their rifles toward a possible unseen target.

  Gray’s adrenaline increased as she and Zabba moved first, followed closely by Iggy, who had his rifle pointed directly at a shuttered window. They walked slowly, Gray checking the ground, while Zabba’s mood grew more excited. Then, when they reached the edge of the house, she held her rifle ready to fire and checked around the corner, with Iggy moving to her side, his rifle to his shoulder, prepared to shoot anything that moved.

  “What the fuck?” Gray said, looking at a black Labrador dog chained to a post. “That dog’s wearing a K-9 vest.”

  The black Labrador sat in a small area of shade, barely enough to keep it sheltered from the full sun. It wasn’t aggressive, like a local dog guarding the property would be, and whimpered when it saw the unit approaching the house.

  Gray held her hand out flat and signaled for the dog to lay down. The dog laid down. “That’s a fucking brother’s dog. Bastards just left it.”

  Zabba turned his face toward the door—his ears picked forward.

  Blake, Sanderson and Bobby moved in front, and with the two Marine’s ready to fire, Blake kicked the door open. Inside the house was dark, but a faint mumble coming from a back room caused them to wait for Zabba to check for insurgents.

  Zabba went straight to a shabby wooden door and sat in front of it. Gray, knowing how Zabba reacted to tracking and finding targets, knew something wasn’t right. His normal reaction would be to be more excited, and let them know he’d found what they were looking for. “What is it, Zabba? What are you telling us?”

  He remained seated in front of the door and whimpered, then cocked his head.

  Maintaining silence, Blake, Sanderson and Bobby listened for the mumbled sound again. It came from behind the door. Blake nodded to Sanderson, then showed three fingers, then two, then one, then kicked the door open. The Marines moved fast, giving no one opportunity to react.

  Inside the room, huddled together in a corner, were a woman and a man, both, wide eyed and shaking. “We’re American, we’re American,” they cried out with rasping breaths.

  Gray stood in front of them, pointing her rifle down at their harried faces, while Zabba paced across the room and back.

  The woman raised her trembling hands, as if she was begging for help, but was unable to say the words. Her eyes bulged without the ability to blink, and her nostrils flared as she snorted out her breaths. “Please. Please help us,” she asked weakly.

  Iggy, Blake and the rest of the platoon moved swiftly, and checked beneath a pile of blankets for any hiding enemy.

  “Clear!” Iggy informed the unit.

  Blake then turned his attention to the two people whimpering. “Who are you?”

  The man held his hand in front of his face as the light from the open door brightly shined into his eyes. His voice quiet and broken, he answered, “Luke Burrows. I’m a camera man for America’s World News. This is Tabatha—”

  “—Steel?” Gray interrupted.

  Tabatha understood her image was far from her ‘in front of the camera’ look. She tousled her blonde wavy hair, not that it made it any neater, then looked down at her attire. She was filthy. Her pale-pink shirt was torn at the shoulder seam, and covered in dirt, and one of her shoes was missing, the bottom of her foot black from where they’d forced her to walk without caring. Where her tears had streamed down her cheeks, they’d left a clean trail through her stale, dusty makeup.

  “Is that a bruise on your cheek?” Gray asked her.

  Tabatha lightly brushed her hand over cheek, then lowered her gaze. She nodded slowly as if she’d been defeated. “Yes, one of the men who brought us here yelled at me, but I didn’t know what he was saying, so he punched me. I woke up here, in Luke’s arms, shortly before you came to rescue us.”

  Blake stood next to Gray and looked down at the woman. “We didn’t know you were here until a few minutes ago. Are you able to walk?”

  Luke brushed his khaki pants down, then stood and offered a helping hand to Tabatha. She grabbed his hand and stood, then lifted her bare foot off the ground.

  Gray knew she was in pain—the blisters on the side of her foot showed they’d walked for at least a day, if not more. She looked around for something to wrap around it, and spying a rag on the ground, she whipped it up and offered it to Tabatha. “It’s better than walking barefooted.”

  Tabatha slowly reached out with her trembling hand and took the rag from her. “Thank you,” she said humbly. “So, if you didn’t know we were here, what were you doing—?”

  “That’s our concern,” Blake interrupted. “We’re ready to go.”

  “Don’t mind him, his bark’s worse than his bite. He’s our squad leader,” Gray informed them.

  Tabatha placed her foot on a wooden box and wrapped the rag around it, tucking the end in to keep it in place. She basically did a crap job of it, so Gray stepped in and helped her, making a better job of it.

  “Thank you,” Tabatha said, brushing her hair back then tucking it behind her ears.

  Gray glanced around the room, then back at Tabatha. “Don’t worry about the way you look. I haven’t been in a rain locker for over five weeks.”

  “Rain locker?”

  “Yeah, shower. I stink, and so do these buffoons.”

  Iggy pulled out a bottle of water from his backpack and offered it to Tabatha, who took it from him and handed it to Luke. Luke twisted the cap off and guzzled some, then passed the half-drank bottle back to his co-worker.

  •••

  Firefights on the north side of the compound came to an abrupt end, and news of the deaths of five Taliban insurgent fighters quickly reached the unit.

  Blake, Sanderson and Bobby checked the area outside the house, and giving the all clear, they moved out of the house, but before they left, Gray untied the dog from the post and handed its leash to Iggy. The dog immediately befriended Iggy by jumping on his hind legs and giving friendly nudges with his head.

  “I’m not a handler, Gray.”

  “I know, but I need to be focused, and so does Zabba. Just fucking hold the leash and stop being a pussy about it.”

  Luke supported Tabatha with his shoulder tucked into her armpit and his arm around her waist. She limped as they left the dark building and followed the lead Marines out of the compound.

  Ahead of them, Blake had radioed the base for a chopper to pick them up, and advised them they’d found the captives. He’d also inquired about the black Labrador, and asked if any squad had reported it missing. While they trekked to an area for the chopper to pick them up, he received a message back from base.

  “Roger that, a unit reported one of their K-9s missing two days ago during a firefight. The handler was killed while on patrol, and the dog ran off. Out.”

  •••

  Sanderson popped a smoke to signal the incoming helicopter. The chopper hovered a few feet above the ground, the low sun shining brightly behind it—it cast a shadow over the dry earth and rocks, while the repetitive rotary motion of the air being disturbed by the blade created a thick, pulsating sound wave. For a huge machine, it landed with finesse and grace. The troops and released captives raced to the bird, their heads low, covered by their hands to avoid the rush of dust and wind being blown into their eyes. It was a quick operation, and as soon as they’d boarded, the chopper lifted from the ground with graceful flight.

  Tabatha held her hand over her forehead and closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. The drone of the helicopter rippled through her body, giving her a moment where she thought she was going to throw up. It was at this point where she realized just how much danger she and Luke had been in.

  Luke placed his clammy hand on her shoulder—his sigh signifying his relief they’d been rescued, then broke a thankful smile as he raised his eyes to look at each Marine. “You risk your lives every day to keep people like us safe. I don’t know what they would have done with us
.”

  “Take a wild guess,” Gray answered with a cold tone to her voice. Even though she’d ensured the safety of the two captives, she also found herself resenting their presence. She’d prejudged Tabatha’s reason for being caught in the first place, and in her opinion, a woman with no combat skills had no business in a war-torn country. She was just asking to be captured and tortured, she thought. She patted Zabba’s head and stroked his back—he had more common sense than the two human beings in front of her.

  Tabatha moved her hand away from her face and sat up straight. Even without looking at Gray, she knew she was glaring at her. She avoided eye contact with her, and looked at the other Marines, then at her colleague.

  Gray kept staring at her. “What were you two doing? Why are you here? How did you get caught? We’re all thinking it,” she asked firmly.

  Hit with a flood of questions, Tabatha swallowed hard, then cleared her throat. “I’m a war reporter—”

  “—Sorry, can’t hear you over the engine noise, you’ll have to speak up,” Gray interrupted.

  “We were about to go live on air with a newscast when the building was stormed by Taliban fighters.”

  “If we hadn’t come across you when we did, they would’ve probably used you as bait to lure us into the compound. And the sad thing is, we would have had to risk our lives to save yours, even knowing their intention was to blow up the building you were in. Lucky for us, we found you before they got the chance.”

  Tabatha lowered her gaze and shook her head in an attempt to mask her fear. “They’re not afraid to die. In fact, they welcome death as an honor. When they moved up the street toward our building, we could hear them kicking in doors and shooting the occupants of the homes, as if they were traitors. They were women and children and old men. How could these people be an enemy? This is why I report the war, because the world needs to know what’s happening to these innocent civilians. We could hear them talking as they approached the door to our building, one of them even laughed. I found myself ironically mesmerized by how cold and callous these people are. Don’t you understand why reporters are needed in these types of situations? We’re not stupid, and we definitely don’t set out to get captured, but if we don’t report to the rest of the world what’s happening in countries like this, then how can we justify what and why the government send in the military for?” She inhaled deeply, then let out a long breath. “It’s my job, just like you carrying that rifle and shooting at anyone who shoots or attacks you is your job.”