by J. F. Holmes
“The usual?” I asked.
King let out a long exhale, as if preparing himself for a speech. “The Djinn are something like ghosts or spirits. Shapeshifters, and made of fire. They don’t usually hang out in our world. Unless they’re summoned. That’s usually through a deal, or sacrifice, or both.” I suddenly became very sad for what that could mean for Malik. “But nine times out of ten, there’s someone nearby and in charge.”
“Like a necromancer?” I asked, cutting in, dumbfounded by what I was hearing. But hell, how could I not believe it at the same time?
“Nah, necros work with dead dudes. Djinn aren’t dead,” Carland said as he put a pinch of tobacco into his lip. “More like a sorcerer.”
I was speechless. I wanted to believe I was being pranked. A bunch of Special Forces Marines playing a joke on the grunt. But I’d seen the Djinn.
“So we kill the sorcerer, we stop the Djinn in the area,” King said matter-of-factly.
“Wait, if Djinn are ghosts, how were we able to kill them?” I asked.
Quince answered that one. The large Marine was in the middle of taking off his helmet to scratch his head. “They don’t live in our realm, but when they cross over, they play by our rules.”
“You guys are serious about all this?”
“It’s the dumbed down version, but yeah.” Quince put his helmet back on, then spoke into his mic. Immediately the other Marines began moving and exiting the TCP. There were fourteen of them in total, operating in what appeared to be two teams of six, with Captain King as the patrol leader, and Master Sergeant Quince as the executive.
I kept close to King and Quince; I must have stood out like a sore thumb. I dug deep into my memory to recall everything I’d learned and trained on. These guys were heavy hitters, and I was the weak link; I needed to make sure I did everything right, and not be the thing that slowed them down. King asked me where Malik had been from, and I pointed out the village in the distance.
“We’ve only got an hour and a half left before the sun starts to rise,” the captain said with a glance at his watch. He motioned for the Marines to move, and we were off.
I was slightly surprised at the way they moved. It was almost like any other patrol I had done with my squad; they simply moved a bit faster and more efficiently. These guys were much more comfortable working with their night vision optics than my Marines had ever been. There was little need for communication between them, other than directions. They moved as one. It was hard to describe, but I could feel it. A part of me loved it.
Malik’s village wasn’t that far, and we were there in twenty minutes. The sky was still dark and filled with stars, the air was cool, and there was a slight mist coming from the Helmand River. Only the sounds of insects wandered in the air. There wasn’t even the bark or howl of a kuchi. I became nervous and thought about what the three Marines had said about a sorcerer. I eyed the few small compounds that made up the village. There were only a few gates and windows, and I couldn’t help but stare at their dark shapes through the night, wondering if there was a Djinn waiting for us.
I saw Captain King and Master Sergeant Quince speaking quietly into their mics but couldn’t hear the words. Instead, the two teams split. The first moved to take up overwatch positions. I recognized where they were going, they were taking the same positions my Marines had occupied when we’d first arrived. Master Sergeant Quince took the second team and advanced into the village. Captain King motioned for me to follow him.
We moved toward the overwatch team, kneeling just behind them. One of the Marines began to set up the bipod of an M240 machinegun, only this one seemed strange. To my amusement, I realized this one had a small collapsible stock and shortened barreled compared to the long, encumbering thing my Marines had. It was really beginning to sink in that these guys were a different breed of Marine, and I craved to be them.
“Which house is your guy’s?” Captain King whispered to me.
I pointed out the central compound whose gate was always open. Malik was the friendliest, kindest man I’d ever met. Strangers were always welcome for a meal and conversation. Now, the gate was closed.
King nodded and repeated the information into his mic. I was about to ask something when another voice cut in.
“Heat signatures to the south, three of them,” a Marine laying in the prone said, just loud enough for all of us to hear. His right eye peered through a long scope that led into a secondary device, a thermal optic, atop a M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System. No one but King budged; the other Marines continued to eye their own sectors.
Captain King leveled his own rifle in the same direction as the sniper. I tried to do the same, but without any sort of night vision, I could barely make out details within fifty meters. “I got ‘em,” King said, his voice trailing off just a bit as he sighted in. “Corporal Lake, peer through that glass and tell me what you see.”
The sniper rolled to his side and allowed me to take up his position behind the rifle. As I shouldered the weapon, he began to whisper the direction into my ear. “Hundred fifty meters out, just before the corn field.”
I spotted them before he finished. Not based on my own skill—the signatures were just that bright. Three of those damned dogs were walking in front of the field, slowly making their way toward us. Unlike when they’d first come toward TCP 2, they almost seemed relaxed. There was no mistaking it, those were the Djinn. “That’s them, alright.”
Captain King relayed the information over their communication gear. Then he spoke to the overwatch team, “Pierce, Sanders, Wilkes, get eyes on the pooches in the field. Be ready to engage as soon as Carland makes entry into the compound.”
Two more Marines shifted their aim; they both had large tan Mk17 rifles chambered in 7.62. The weapons mounted thermal optics and suppressors.
“Djinn still wandering around means the sorcerer is up somewhere,” King whispered to me, and I looked back to the other team getting closer and closer to Malik’s compound. They were moving along the outer wall now and made it to the gate. I could just barely make them out; they were dark shapes against the wall. One appeared to take off a ruck, lean it against the wall, and climb up—it was an assault ladder. The Marine quickly rose above the wall, clearing the area closest around him, then the distant spaces. I realized he was then not only setting security for the other Marines to enter, but he’d also gotten a visual clear of the gate. The other Marines pulled at the metal door and wordlessly entered the compound. I couldn’t hear anything but the Afghan night. I was tense for them, my hands white-knuckled around my M4. The next second the Marines were inside the building, and we could only wait.
There were three hushed snaps that caused my heart to jump into my throat. It was Pierce, Sanders, and Wilkes engaging the distant Djinn. “We got ‘em,” one of them said. After my nerves settled, I was once again overwhelmed with admiration for these guys. The execution had been perfect.
“Dry hole,” King said suddenly. I turned to face him; Master Sergeant Quince must have transmitted their find. “They’re gonna hit the other compounds. Pierce, we’re linking up with them.”
“Roger that, skipper,” a Marine with one of the Mk17s said.
“I fucking hate that.”
“I know, skipper.”
Captain King rose up and pulled on my plater carrier’s shoulder straps. “We’ve got to secure Malik’s building while Carland clears the others. I’ve got to warn you, it’s not going to be pretty.”
I accepted that Malik was dead then. A part of me had hoped he was still alive. “Let’s go.”
We made our way to the metal gate, King in front, and me close behind. Another Marine met us, opened the gate, then directed us inside. It was a slightly wasted effort. I’d been here plenty of times before and knew the layout like the back of my hand. In the courtyard’s opposite corner, where Malik would gather most of his trash, I saw the legs of his wife and family. I didn’t give it a look or even more than a glance. It was just s
omething out of the peripheral of my vision, and I would keep it at that. We went inside, then hit a wall made up of the scent of rotten decay and death.
In what would have been the living room where I often had tea was Malik’s lifeless body. There wasn’t much different to the room, no circles, strange runes, or candles like I’d envisioned. Just Malik on his back, arms and legs straight, throat cut, empty eyes staring at the ceiling. He was grotesque; his corpse had been baking in the building for the past few days. I wished I hadn’t seen him like that, but it made me more resolved to hunt down this sorcerer.
Master Sergeant Quince met us, then Gunny Carland took his team and began their hunt. “We got lucky, fucker left his phone,” the master sergeant said and presented the cell phone in a zip lock bag, already labeled with a date, time, and location for evidence.
“Same group?” Captain King asked and took the bag before putting it into his assault pack.
“Looks like it,” Quince said, then motioned with his head toward a kettle. “He can’t be far, the kettle’s still hot.”
“Can I ask questions?” I blurted out. I should have probably been more tactful in the situation.
King and Quince looked at me for a moment. “Shoot,” King said.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked, then quickly added, “Sir.”
King took another look at Quince. The master sergeant simply chuckled and lifted an eyebrow. “You already told him about the Djinn.”
The captain motioned for us to leave the building. “Let’s talk outside. Sorry, Lake, but your friend here stinks.” We exited, and I made sure I kept my back to the bodies of the remaining family. Once outside and settled, I could hear the rustling as Carland’s team began clearing the other compounds. “So, the Djinn are…”—King paused to think of his next words carefully—”interesting.” The words hung in the air for a moment before he continued, “They’re normally not threat, or even a concern. For the most part they live in their space, realm, dimension, spiritual plain, whatever you want to call it. Texts say they’re jealous of humans and our relationship to God; how true that is, I don’t know. Sometimes they can be summoned, or they’ll strike some sort of deal, or in the cause of Malik here, they’re brought in by a sacrifice. Once they’re here, it’s not hard to convince them to wage war against us.”
“Because of jealousy?” I asked.
“Like I said, interesting,” Captain King said, then continued with his explanation, “There’s a Taliban cell that’s been attempting this sort of thing all across Afghanistan. Usually we’re able to intercept in time.”
I couldn’t help but feel bitter at that last bit. “Usually?”
King’s eyes stared into mine, and I began to feel bad about my remark. I could see he was just as bothered as I was. “I’m sorry, Lake. This one blindsided us; we came as quickly as we could.”
Master Sergeant Quince cut in, “This is also the biggest incursion we’ve seen. Usually there’s no more than ten or fifteen.”
“I think we got hit with thirty of them.” I had a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing it had taken so many to bring down our TCP.
“There were the twenty-seven Djinn corpses, plus the three in the field. There’re bound to be a few more,” Quince said, while rotating his head and massaging his neck.
“But what that means is the sorcerer here knows his stuff.”
I found myself massaging my neck as well, then put my hands back on my M4. At the feel of its cold steel, I resolved myself to finding this sorcerer. Quince put a hand to his earpiece and stepped out of the conversation. As quickly as he’d done so, Quince was back. “Carland’s got nothing.”
“Goddamnit.” King kicked at a rock with his boot, and we followed him out of the compound. In a minute the overwatch team met up with us, and the squad was reformed. There was cursing and small talk; they were obviously upset about missing the sorcerer. King was next to me, and I could overhear his radio transmission. “Archangel, this is Nighthaunt, we’ve got nothing here. What’s the status of ISR?” He waited, and then spoke again, “Roger that, two mikes.”
That left us waiting. I kept examining the Marines around me. They held their security positions with relaxed confidence and professionalism. Two of the Marines carried on a quiet conversation about something I couldn’t quite make out. During the talk, they kept their heads and eyes locked on their sector. I’d heard before of the “big boy rules” a lot of Special Forces communities lived by; as long as there was mission accomplishment, the strict rules of the military became more like guidelines. Again the desire to become one of these guys intensified within me.
Soon enough there was the low hum of an overhead drone. Captain King received a radio transmission shortly after, then spread the news to the rest of his team. “We’ve got something in the next village over.” He looked at his watch. “Sun’s coming up soon, we need to hustle.”
“Do the Djinn avoid sunlight?” I asked Carland quietly.
“No, they ain’t vampires,” Carland said to me as if I was a child, “but the sorcerer’s still human.” He motioned to the night vision on his head. His team started to move, and I fell back into my position between King and Quince.
I knew the village we were heading to; it wasn’t far, and there was only a wide canal we’d have to cross as any real obstacle. I whispered into King’s ear about a crossing point not far off. The bridge was nothing more than the twisted trunk of an old tree. It wasn’t the easiest thing to walk over, especially at night. In my naivety, I thought I could show off a bit by being able to cross without issue, but the Marines traversed the bridge without a problem. I guess the only thing I did well was not slowing them down.
Once we were over, King kept the Marines moving to one of the larger compounds. There was something about the building…I couldn’t remember. We were moving quickly again. They really didn’t want to be out when the sun came up, but the night sky was turning a light blue. I wondered what they would do if this became another dry hole and the daylight came.
They stacked up on the outer wall of the compound. The Marine with the assault ladder once again peeled it off his back and leaned it against the mud barrier. Captain King turned to face us. “Quince, stay here with strap hanger.” I knew he was talking about me. His words were harsh and tense. They were about to make entry into the building, and I needed to stay out of their way. I moved away from the stack and found a corner to pull security on.
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t watch the Marines go in. Instead of watching the Marine climb the ladder and the others stealthily work the gate, I kept my eyes peeled on my sector, determined to play my part. I could just barely hear them, the shuffling of boots and fabric swaying against each other.
There was the muffled shot of a suppressed Mk18 that caused my stomach to jump into my throat. My heart raced as combat was waged just on the other side of the wall. There was the unmistakable sound of a fire catching and engulfing something. Then there was the howl of the Djinn I’d heard so many times now. I knew this compound; I’d been in it multiple times before. While I kept to a knee and held my rifle, I envisioned the fighting inside. Which corners the Marines hit, how they navigated around the center well, the tractor on the wall, the inside of the main building, the rear door. “Oh, shit.”
I jumped up and turned, my body instantly going full tilt into a sprint. “Top, there’s another door!”
“Wait!” I heard the Master Sergeant yell after me. I think he meant for me to wait so he could radio the rest of the team, because he was right behind me when we turned the corner. As if on cue, the slender wooden back door burst open, bouncing off the wall and creating a resounding crack. Fire exited first; a Djinn, then an Afghan.
The Djinn roared at us in angry defiance; the Afghan had a look of shock on his face.
I tried to pull my M4 up and get a shot off, but in my haste the rifle was at my hip. I’d been too focused on sprinting instead of being able to level my weapon. Master
Sergeant Quince was fast. His rifle barked five times, sending rounds into the chest of the Djinn. It crumpled, and its flame extinguished.
My momentum sent me past the dying Djinn toward the Afghan. I desperately reached out my hands and leapt with my legs. I grabbed his shoulders, and we both tumbled and rolled to a stop. The whole thing unraveled in slow motion for me. I didn’t recognize the Afghan. He wore the brown and baggy perahan tunban that most Afghans wore with a black vest over it. A necklace with an intricate jewel hung from his neck. He dropped a rifle with the short profile of an AKS-74U. I distinctly remember seeing the weapon was still on safe. The coward never even attempted to fight the Marines coming in.
The Afghan was on top of me. At first he tried to pull himself up and away to keep running, but I had a firm grip on his baggy clothing. I pulled him close, and his hands started to punch and swipe at my face. I thought the Marines would want to detain the guy, so I attempted to subdue him, but he pulled a knife, its long, curved blade glinted in the dawn sky. It came down at me, and the blade struck center. My eyes went wide, and I prepared myself for pain. Nothing came. He’d brought the blade down on my plate carrier, the ballistic plate easily stopping the fatal blow. The Afghan pulled at the knife trying to free it, and I struck him with the heel of my left fist, while my right reached for the Beretta.
The knife came free, and the Afghan lifted his hands to bring the blade down on my throat. I saw his expression, the young face contorted with pure hatred and disdain for what I was. There was a thick, black beard now covered with dust and dirt, and clean white teeth snarled at me. I saw him for what he was, and I saw the man responsible for the death of my Marines. I’m sure I gave him the same look as I remembered Reid and his sacrifice for me.
“You can’t kill me!”
I pulled the trigger, and the pistol bucked in my hand. The nine-millimeter round hit home. He was coming for my throat, so I went for his as well. Blood burst, and he fell back, dropping the blade into the dirt. His hands clutched at his neck as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail.