Exfiltration

by Jillian Anselmi

  Minute after minute ticks by.

  What’s taking them so long?

  “Alpha two, this is One. Are we clear?” I breathe a sigh of relief hearing Dalton’s voice.

  “One, this is Two. All clear.”

  While we wait for Dalton, I check on Kimberly, whose visibly distraught. Her body is trembling, and her eyes are wide. Walking over to her, I place my hand on her head. “You’re all right now,” I say, stroking her hair.

  “Is everyone . . . dead?” she croaks, sinking down the wall to the ground. When I don’t say anything, she looks up at me. I can’t lie to her, so I nod my head. “I was sleeping. I didn’t hear them come in.” She pales as she grimaces, trying hard to hold back the sobs threatening to escape her throat.

  “It’s not your fault,” I whisper, trying to comfort her, but it’s not working. Tears stream down her cheeks.

  “Of course it is,” she argues, pulling her long blonde hair away from her face. “They were there for me.”

  “You didn’t know one of the doctors was working for the Taliban,” I explain, wiping the tears away with my thumb.

  “My father always told me to play my cards close to the vest,” she confesses, placing her elbows on her knees and head in her hands.

  “They were your colleagues, you couldn’t have known,” I maintain, kneeling in front of her. “We’re just glad you’re safe.”

  “I should have never come here,” she mutters, dropping her chin to her chest.

  Placing my fingers under her neck, I lift her head. “Stop that. Stop it right now,” I snap. “You are an amazingly caring and generous woman who has so much to give. Don’t let this stop you from doing what you love.”

  “I knew this was dangerous,” she starts to argue, but I stop her.

  “Walking across the street is dangerous. You could get hit by a bus. Stop trying to make excuses,” I blurt, standing up.

  Out the corner of my eye, I catch Dalton. His team is back with a guest.

  “TOC, this is Alpha one. We’ve reached the rendezvous point,” he says, pushing al-Rahman to the center of the alley. “Target secured,” Dalton adds.

  Al-Rahman’s arms are zip-tied behind his back and he looks pissed. Kimberly stands when she realizes who Dalton brought back.

  “You son of a bitch!” she screams, moving toward al-Rahman. Grabbing her arm, I restrain her.

  “No, Kimberly. He’s going to be punished for his crimes,” I promise her.

  “And then some,” Buckley mutters.

  Al-Rahman starts uttering in Arabic, which is strange.

  “That’s not Dari,” Dalton murmurs, his forehead creasing.

  “No, it’s Arabic,” I say, just as confused.

  “What’s he saying?” Kimberly asks.

  “He’s saying he’s not who we think he is,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  Standing in front of him, I say in Arabic,” Then who are you?”

  He repeats himself again without answering. I’m not who you think I am. I’m not who you think I am. He’s trying to manipulate us into letting him go by speaking in Arabic.

  Clever fuck.

  I switch to Dari. “We know who you are, and what you’ve done. Your tricks won’t work,” I inform him with a smile.

  He stops talking and looks from Dalton to me. Then, in perfect English, says, “Jihad is the sixth pillar of Islam. Shia are heretics, and anyone who does not agree with these views will be killed.”

  Dalton grabs him by the vest. “You are responsible for the deaths of some of my closest friends—my family. You will pay for your actions.”

  Turning his head to me, al-Rahman switches back to Dari. “Foreigners may have the watches, but we have the time,” he announces, his eyes glowing with rage.

  Pure rage.

  His stare sends a chill down my spine, but I stand tall.

  Narrowing my eyes, I get close and whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “Bring it on.”

  Dalton pushes al-Rahman into Perry’s waiting arms, then puts a gag in his mouth and a black hood over his head. “I don’t what to hear anymore, and he doesn’t need to see where we’re going,” he murmurs.

  The squealing of a shell overhead sends us into panic mode, and we dive for cover. Pieces of the concrete building next to us fly through the air like a volcano erupting, raining down on top of us. “Two, this is One. You alright?” Dalton asks as he dusts himself off, concerned.

  “Alpha one, this is Two. That was damn close, but I’m good,” Spencer advises.

  “Shit’s starting to go sideways, and I don’t like it,” Dalton confesses.

  “Should we continue to exfil?” Buckley asks.

  “Negative. I don’t like this,” he admits. Pressing his comm button, he says, “TOC, this is Alpha one. The situation on the ground is fluid. We need another exfil strategy.”

  “Copy that, Alpha one. Back to you in two,” Bradburn answers, then clicks off.

  Dalton paces in a circle, then asks, “Anyone have any ideas?”

  “I hate this shitty dust covered city,” Miller mutters, but doesn’t answer Dalton.

  “This entire country, for that matter,” Perry adds.

  “Alpha one, you hear that?” Spencer asks over the comm.

  We all stop talking and listen.

  I don’t hear anything.

  Not a sound.

  Shit.

  “Shelling’s ended,” Dalton mutters.

  “Alpha one, this is TOC. Got an exfil for you,” Bradburn comes through.

  “TOC, this is One. Copy,” Dalton answers.

  “You’re not going to like it, but it’s the best I could do. There’s a building half a click south of your position. You can hole up there until Bravo team comes to exfil you.”

  “Negative, TOC. Things are getting hinky here. We need a route out,” Dalton says.

  Silence stretches.

  Only an hour ago, the blackness was absolute, and we were hiding in the shadows. Now, we stick out like sore thumbs.

  I don’t like it.

  “One, this is TOC. There’s a warehouse one click west of your position. I can get you exfil from there, but you need to be there soon.”

  “How soon?” Dalton demands.

  “An hour.”

  Normally, walking a kilometer in an hour is a piece of cake, but when you have hostiles running around the streets with assault rifles trained to shoot anything American . . .

  “Copy that,” Dalton says. “Alpha one out.”

  “Streets are clear,” Spencer informs us. “Should be smooth sailing.”

  “Streets are probably littered with IED’s,” Perry mutters, frowning.

  “We’re gonna have to haul ass, anyway. Sun’s about to breech the horizon,” Dalton grunts. It’s just before dawn, and the eastern sky is filling with blended tones of rosy pinks and sandy yellows. It would be beautiful if we weren’t in the middle of a war zone. No longer needing my night vision goggles, I push them to the top of my combat helmet.

  We start to move through the streets, but it’s difficult to be quick when you’re dragging an insurgent who doesn’t want to go.

  Even with a gun to his head.

  We haven’t gotten a hundred feet when a voice comes over the comm. “Hold your positions!” Spencer shouts. “You’ve got a big ass anti-aircraft gun pointed right at your exfil path. Pull back.”

  “Copy. Taking cover,” Dalton answers as we turn back and hide behind a vehicle parked to the left of us. Noah and Perry get caught behind, and duck into a building across the street.

  As we crouch behind the car, we hear what sounds like an explosion coming from inside that same building.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask.

  “Alpha five, this is one. You guys all right?” Dalton asks Perry over the comm.

  “Negative. The floor of the building collapsed, and Noah fell through. He’s injured.”

  “Fuck,” Dalton mutters.

  “It gets worse,”
Perry whispers. “There are Taliban fighters inside the building.”

  “Have you been spotted?” Dalton asks, his jaw clenching.

  “Not yet, but that won’t last long.”

  “All right,” Dalton whispers to us, “Brock and Miller, take the two straps and our target to exfil. I’ll stay back with Spencer and get Perry and Noah.”

  I’m torn.

  Do I stay and help my partner, or do I go with Miller and keep Kimberly safe?

  Fuck it.

  “I’m staying. He’s my partner. I’m not leaving without him,” I snap, making sure he knows I’m serious. Kimberly’s in good hands with Miller.

  “God dammit,” Dalton growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a second, he sighs. “Fine. I don’t have time to argue. Miller, get going,” he says, restraining his anger.

  “Deloris—” Kimberly squeaks, but I cut her off.

  “You’ll be fine with Miller and Brock. Besides, you get the dog,” I tease. “I need to do this. How’s your foot?”

  She puts pressure on the injured limb and doesn’t wince as much as earlier. “I can walk,” she admits.

  “Good. Now, go.”

  Once the group is out of sight, Dalton, Buckley, and I move toward the building. “Two, this is One. From your perspective, anything?” Dalton asks.

  “We’ve got problems,” Spencer mutters. “More fighters appeared out of nowhere.”

  “Where the hell’d they come from?” Dalton growls.

  “I don’t know. I was watching the street the entire time. It’s like they came out of nowhere,” Spencer states, frustrated.

  Dalton turns to Buckley. “Remember Abadan when they came out of nowhere?”

  He nods. “Yeah, bad guys dug a tunnel. You think they did the same thing here?”

  “Maybe,” Dalton murmurs. “Alpha one to Alpha five, what’s your position?”

  “I managed to make it down to Noah. He’s in bad shape. Think he broke his leg from the fall.”

  “Any hostiles?” Dalton cringes while waiting for the answer.

  “They’re on the floor above us. So far, they don’t know we’re here.”

  “Alright, watch your six,” he says, then releases the comm button. Turning to Buckley and me, he smiles. “Tunnel’s our only way in.”

  “We need to find it first,” Buckley mutters.

  “We could always ask one of these guys for directions,” I quip. Dalton narrows his eyes, not looking amused.

  “TOC, this is Alpha one. We need the location of a tunnel system that leads into the following location,” Dalton says, giving them GPS coordinates.

  “Alpha one, this is TOC. Copy,” Bradburn answers.

  The dawn sends shimmering rays over the dusty desert. The sun breaches the horizon, the sky exploding in beautiful colors.

  We are completely exposed.

  We need to get off the street and out of sight—fast.

  “Alpha one, this is TOC. We think we found you a way in,” Bradburn announces. “There’s a pile of dirt that showed up on a satellite pic that wasn’t there yesterday. Could be your tunnel. The house is a block to your right.”

  “TOC, this is Alpha one. Copy.” Dalton stands and surveys the street. “We’re clear,” he tells us. “Let’s see what Spence sees.” He turns on his comm. “Two, this is One. Do you have eyes on that building?”

  “One, this is Two. Affirmative. There’s a mound of dirt on the east side next to a blown-out window,” Spencer informs us.

  “An artillery shell must have blown out the window, letting out the dirt from inside the house,” I mutter.

  “Sounds about right,” Buckley says. “We got lucky twice today.”

  “Let’s just hope there’s no third,” Daulton mutters. “Witt, stay behind me. Buckley, watch our six,” he says as he raises his Colt M4A1 5.56 NATO assault rifle.

  “That’s not the typically issued assault rifle,” I mutter, impressed.

  “That’s because we’re SEALs” he says, proud of his gun. “It’s more compact than a standard issue rifle and capable of both semi-auto and full-auto modes.”

  “Has a rate of fire between seven-fifty and nine hundred rounds per minute and uses a quick-attach suppressor,” Buckley adds, stroking his stock. “Helps with the echoes between the buildings when we fire.”

  That explains why the sound of the shot was different earlier.

  Makes perfect sense.

  I need to school myself on their equipment when I get back.

  “Alpha two, this is Alpha one. We’re on the move,” Dalton informs Spencer, moving out in front.

  “One, this is Two. I have eyes on you. You’re good to go.”

  In a crouching run, we scramble down the street toward the house. Dalton leads us through a side yard, and within minutes, we’re next to the dirt pile. Entry is easy. All the hostiles are in the building with Perry and Noah. Once we’re inside, we search the house for the hole in the ground—which isn’t too difficult to find.

  There’s a giant gap in the floor in the center room with a wooden ladder leading down. The sun has finally risen and is shining through the front window, illuminating halfway down the hole. Dalton goes down first, followed by me, then Buckley.

  “Alpha two, this is Alpha one. We’ve made entry,” he informs Spencer.

  “Copy that, Alpha one,” he answers. “Thermal can’t see through dirt, so I can’t help on that end.”

  “Yeah, hate going in blind,” Dalton mutters. “Alright, on my count,” he tells us. “Three . . . two . . . one.”

  Dalton charges down the dirt tunnel toward countless hostiles. Buckley and I follow close behind, guns drawn. The makeshift hallway has a slight incline leading to a hole in the wall of the building. As I exit the long corridor, I hear the thump-thump of Dalton’s Colt M4 assault rifle. I go left, and Buckley goes right, making sure there aren’t any hostiles Dalton missed.

  Two armed men enter from a side room. Buckley turns and fires, getting the first square in the chest. My shot at the second lands in his neck.

  They both go down—hard.

  We keep moving, screams in Dari coming from every direction. One of the hostiles tries to escape out a window, but I manage to drop him before he can get halfway through. Another runs through a door, straight into Spencer’s waiting scope.

  Four more insurgents appear, and four more insurgents are shot dead.

  Buckley and I make a fantastic team.

  “Clear,” Dalton shouts a room ahead.

  “Clear,” Buckley advises from our room. “Great shooting, Agent Witt,” he says with a wink.

  “Top of my class at the Farm,” I answer, winking back.

  We catch up to Dalton, who’s standing over a large hole in the floor. There are five dead bodies scattered around the room.

  “Alpha five, this is Alpha one. What’s your position?” Dalton asks Perry.

  “Right below you,” a happy Perry answers back without using his comm.

  Dalton gets on his stomach and peeks into the hole. “Let’s go home,” he announces, extending his hand.

  The first person to come up is Noah. Dalton and Buckley drag him up the collapsed concrete floor, using it like a backwards slide. Noah grunts as he moves, but at least he’s moving. “C’mon,” he coaxes, until Noah is on solid ground.

  He looks like shit.

  His leg is bleeding with his tibia protruding through a tear in his shin.

  He’s got some cuts and scrapes, but he’s alive.

  “Noah,” I gasp, looking at his injuries.

  “What, this?” he teases as he grimaces. “I’ll be good as new in no time.”

  Once Perry’s out of the hole, it’s time to move to exfil.

  “Alpha two, this is alpha One. We’re good to go. Come on down,” Dalton tells Spencer.

  “Copy that,” he answers.

  While we wait for Spencer to meet up with us, Dalton takes a look at Noah’s leg and whistles. “Way to go, Agent McGuire. T
hat’s one hell of a compound fracture.”

  “Go big or go home, that’s what I always say,” Noah quips.

  “Buck, reach into my pack and grab the medical kit. Let’s see what I can do with this,” Dalton tells Buckley. Buckley goes behind Dalton, pulling out a supply kit from his tactical backpack. I kneel next to Noah, checking out his superficial wounds.

  “I’m fine, Deloris. Stop fussing,” he says, shooing me away.

  “I don’t have a splint big enough,” Dalton murmurs as he looks through the bag. “Can you survive until we get to exfil?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Noah grunts, gritting his teeth.

  “Let’s roll,” Spencer says from behind me. “Damn, that looks like it hurts,” he comments when he sees Noah.

  “Just a bit,” Noah answers, wincing.

  “TOC, this is Alpha one. Proceeding to exfil,” Dalton says into the comm.

  “Copy, Alpha one,” Bradburn replies.

  Buckley and Dalton go on either side of Noah, placing their arms across his back and hooking underneath his armpits. Noah wraps his arms around the two men’s necks, then stands, a little wobbly at first, but starts to move with the help of the two SEALs

  “This is gonna be a little tricky,” Dalton informs us. “Stay sharp. We’re completely exposed now.”

  “I got your six,” Spencer says, now holding the same assault rifle as the rest of the SEALs, his sniper rifle safely attached to his tactical backpack.

  Once outside, Dalton releases Noah to Buckley and checks the streets. Taking the lead, we follow him in a zig-zag pattern. Everyone’s eyes are everywhere—checking windows, looking up at rooftops. You never know where the Taliban could be hiding.

  The closer we get to the exfil point, the more dilapidated the city becomes. The dust is still settling from the artillery shells exploding just a few hours ago, hanging in the air like a dirty haze. Buildings are reduced to rubble, with cars flipped over in the middle of the street. You can’t walk in a straight line without having to step over something. It’s the true definition of a war zone.

  We hop from building to building until we reach the exfil point.

  Without any incident.

  With time to spare.

  Now, to get out of this hellhole.

  Once reunited with the rest of the team, Dalton calls in to TOC. “TOC, this is Alpha one. We’ve reached exfil.”