Strigoi

by John O'Brien

  The doors of the SUVs open and four bearded men step out, looking once around the area before marching into the house. Four of the men who came from within vanish inside with them, the other ten taking up positions around the house.

  “Data sent,” Henderson states.

  “Everyone mount up. We’re going in,” I radio. “Henderson, Denton, remain in place and provide overwatch.”

  We go through last-minute checks, donning our NVGs as darkness settles.

  “Otter six, Falcon. Facial indicates some of the bigger players in the game.”

  “Copy that. We’re moving in. The timetable we established is twenty-four hours off. Our party is happening tonight, not tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure this is the location,” I reply.

  “Response forces are moving up on standby, ready for your call,” Lynn notifies.

  “Keep them out of this valley. I don’t want to hear a single thump from a rotor,” I state. “Oh, and tell them thank you.”

  “Copy. A request has come down to take them alive if possible,” Lynn radios.

  “We’ll see,” I respond as we begin our descent.

  * * * * * *

  Dim lights spill out onto the central avenue from behind curtains and drapes across the doors. I can’t imagine many of the villagers feel very easy with such an armed presence—things like that tend to attract rockets and missiles. They may support the rebel cause, or just be innocents trying to live their lives, but either way, the tension behind those curtains has to be high. Especially knowing that American hostages are being detained. At this point, I’m near certain they’re being held in the compound.

  “McCafferty, take us around the outside and bring us to the back wall,” I radio.

  Without a word, McCafferty leads us up to the outer walls of the back courtyards. This way we’ll be able to proceed without being observed by the guards on the roof. If we ventured into the surrounding fields, we’d be more visible as we approached. Allie watches toward the front, alert for anything that might slip over the walls or appear from around the corner of the villa ahead. Gonzalez focuses on the fields to the front quarter while I cover directly to the side. Greg will keep our backside clear. The nice thing about having an overwatch is that we can get a moving account of where everyone is, so I’m able to keep my mental map updated and plan accordingly.

  Lynn has a bird’s eye view, but a distant one, being so high above. Fly too low over the area and the drone of those engines would reach into the valley and reverberate off the steep hillsides. We can’t afford for those in the compound to have any hint that we’re in the area, or the hostages will suffer the consequences.

  The night is quiet; even those within the adobe walls are keeping their voices down. There are a few chirps from insects in the fields, but otherwise it’s just us as we creep along the outer walls. As far as we know, there are twenty-two men in the compound: twelve in the courtyard with two on the guns, two on the roof, and eight inside. There may be more, but we haven’t observed them. Henderson and Denton are continuing to keep us updated with clear lines of sight to the rooftop.

  Everything is cast in a green glow with no observable thermals. McCafferty is guiding us slowly, taking a few steps to listen and watch before moving on. There isn’t a single crunch of our boots on the soil, our weight being slowly transferred for each step. Any misgivings I might have had previously are dissipating. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say I was with one of my old teams.

  I’m thankful, and a little surprised, that we haven’t discovered any dogs within the village. Those can become problematic. There are ways to take care of them, but that amounts to a separate operation unto itself.

  At the corner of the compound wall, the top of which is over our heads, we halt in place. Our two on overwatch can’t see the back of the house, but they reported that a couple from the front group of armed men ventured that way and haven’t returned. That means they’ve either set up shop in the back courtyard or entered via an out-of-sight doorway.

  McCafferty snakes a fiber cable over the wall. Shielding the light of the screen with my body, I watch the projected images. There are two armed men standing together in the middle of the courtyard, only partially paying attention to their surroundings. Several darkened windows adorn the back of the house, with a wooden door to one side. There’s a faint glow toward the front where light is leaking from the windows there.

  “Can you take out the rooftop?” I call the two snipers.

  “As long as they don’t suddenly find a coin on the ground at the wrong moment, we should be able to,” Henderson answers.

  “Should? Should is reserved for guesses,” I reply. “I need a little more than that.”

  “We can take them,” Denton cuts in.

  “Line it up and go on my command,” I order, retrieving the fiber cable.

  I motion for Greg to kneel. McCafferty climbs onto his shoulders from where she crouches below the wall.

  I tap Allie on the back of her leg, asking if she’s ready. She looks down and nods, her 6.5mm carbine held at the ready.

  “Standby…3…2…1…Go,” I radio.

  McCafferty rises, swinging her carbine over the wall. I barely hear four shots from her weapons, like the sound was being absorbed by a large wad of cotton.

  “Two on the rooftop down,” I hear Henderson call.

  “Down,” Allie whispers.

  Greg rises from his position, lifting McCafferty over the wall. She had planned to use her hand on top of the wall and swing over, but Greg’s strength against her light weight caused her to miss her handhold. She went over with a soft squeak of surprise, landing on the other side with a soft crunch.

  I turn to look at Greg, the NVGs hiding my irritated look.

  He shrugs. “Sorry, I may have misjudged that a touch. She’s a light one.”

  A few seconds later, she radios, “Clear.”

  “If you vault me over like that, you’ll need a proctologist to remove my boot,” I whisper.

  “You’ll need to go on a much needed diet before I can lift you like that,” Greg responds.

  I struggle with an appropriate comeback, but lose the battle.

  “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Henderson informs us that the ones in front are still gathered together and haven’t moved. With Greg’s gentle nurturing, Gonzalez and I land in the back courtyard, then Greg scales over on his own. McCafferty is against the wall, watching the house and the corners. Two bodies lie motionless in the middle of the dirt yard.

  “I thought I was going to the moon there for a second,” McCafferty whispers after we join up.

  “We’re going to need to get some cheeseburgers in you when we get back. I’ve lifted heavier kittens,” Greg replies.

  “Oh man. I could really go for a cheeseburger about now,” Allie says.

  “Save it, you two. Remember? Mission stuff going on,” I comment.

  “Falcon, Otter six. In the compound,” I radio Lynn.

  “Copy that,” Lynn replies.

  My habits coming to the forefront, I alter our positions and lead the way across the darkened courtyard. We’re about to head inside, and I feel more comfortable in front. We practiced our urban training in this manner—in all combinations, to be frank—so it’s not like I’m forcing myself into a new role in the middle of a mission.

  Greg and Gonzalez drag the bodies and place them against the house wall in case some of those in front decide they want to take a nature walk. I’d thought about taking out those in front first, but the chance of commotion is too great, so we’ll deal with those later. At the door, there’s a large enough gap at the bottom to slide the fiber under. The room on the other side is dark, with boxes and other items stacked on shelves.

  Withdrawing the cable, Gonzalez grabs the handle, pulls it tight to minimize sound, and slowly turns. It rotates fully.

  “Amateurs,” she whispers.

  I mentally chuckle; I’ve said the same on numerous o
ccasions. She slowly pushes the door open so there’s no draft that could move curtains further inside. Once there’s enough of a gap, I slide through, my carbine coming up.

  We slide silently through the house down cramped hallways, checking the rooms as we pass. The back of the house is without light and empty of people. The furnishings of the rooms indicate that people live here full time and I’m tempted to search for intel, but that can come later with any follow-up forces. Brushing past beaded curtains, we near the front of the house.

  The fucking place is a maze, but we finally come to a room with light showing from a doorway on the other side. It’s difficult to see much of anything beyond the hanging beads, but there is a voice emanating from the room. We haven’t found any sign of the soldiers being held hostage, but I still don’t have any doubt that they’re here. With the others creeping behind, I edge toward the frame.

  Peeking around the entrance, I see three men in robes seated on cushions, all looking toward one part of the room. Their postures seem calm and their expressions stoic. The voice coming from the room is intense, the words in heavily accented English. Easing to the other side, I gently move one line of beads. Three fatigue-clad men are kneeling on the floor, their heads lowered and hands tied behind their back. Behind them, four men have their weapons hanging loose, but more or less pointed at the three soldiers. It’s damn near the same setup as in the original video, the flag draped on the wall in the background. Out of sight, a man harangues.

  Looking at the others, I indicate the number in the room and their positions. I point to Gonzalez and McCafferty, motioning that they are to take the four armed men behind the hostages. I don’t see how we’re going to take the ones Lynn wants alive, but I tell Greg that he has the three. I’ll cover anyone we don’t see.

  “Henderson, Denton, be ready to provide support. Start thinning the herd outside once I give the go order.”

  “We have given you our warning,” the man in the room states. “To show that we mean it, one will…”

  “Go,” I sharply whisper in the radio.

  McCafferty and Gonzalez sweep in, the beads clacking together from their swift passage. Muted shots fill the room, brass cartridges ticking across the dirt floor and off the walls. I follow in time to see blood splash across the flag with the rounds tearing through the four armed men, who stumble backward and leave smears of red as they slide down the wall.

  Passing the startled men on the cushions, I flow into the room, telling the soldiers to get down, targeting the man who was talking and anyone else who was out of sight. The speaker, in mid word, is staring with a startled expression at his dead colleagues who were thrown backward from rounds slamming into their bodies.

  “Gunners are down,” I hear Henderson call.

  The man turns toward where we swept in, the stunned look permanently etched as my bullets stitch up the front of his robe. He falls against the camera equipment, his hands thrown outward as if they can stop the bullets tearing into him. He hits the ground amid a clatter of equipment, his eyes wide and unseeing, but still showing surprise. His robes turn red around the tears in the cloth, the stains of flowering blood growing larger. He draws in shallow gasps as his body fights, not knowing it’s already dead.

  There’s no one else hiding in the room, so I turn back toward Greg. McCafferty and Gonzalez have each put a round into the gunmen to make sure they don’t rise to majestically save the day. The three in robes are all down, each with a chest wound.

  “Best I could do,” Greg says with a shrug.

  “More than they deserve. Stay with them. McCafferty, Gonzalez, with me. We have a yard to clean up.”

  Looking out the window, there are a couple of bodies lying in the dirt. Others have taken cover and are shooting up toward the hillside, red tracers streaking off into the night with a chatter of gunfire. One man is racing across the open dirt yard, running for the house. They apparently haven’t realized that they’ve already been infiltrated and think an attack is just starting from outside the walls. The door is thrown open, an eager man with a fearful expression entering to warn those within, as if they wouldn’t have heard the gunfire.

  “They already know,” I say, my bullets crashing into his chest.

  His momentum carries him inside, his body twitching with each strike. He doubles over, his weapon falling to the ground, as blood pours from his mouth and splashes to the floor. He falls with a thump over the one who was speaking, the two of them looking like they are in the throes of some kind of orgy. The camera equipment in their midst doesn’t help that impression.

  Outside, what is left of the gunmen have taken refuge behind the wall, where they’re focused on the darkened ridgelines beyond. The three of us sweep from side to side. Most never know what hit them as our suppressed rounds quickly eliminate them. The worry is that the villagers might be armed as well and will attempt to respond, but Henderson and Denton radio that they’re remaining in their homes.

  Leaving Allie and Gonzalez outside, I reenter and have the soldiers rise. From inside my cargo pocket, I pull pictures from within a sealed plastic storage bag. I ask each of them to look up so I can compare their bruised faces with the pictures and, like before, match their coded responses to those written on the backs. Satisfied, I cut the ropes.

  “Falcon, Otter six. We have three canaries in hand and three injured wolves. You can release the cavalry,” I radio.

  “Copy. Forces inbound, ETA fifteen minutes.”

  “You’re going home, your ride is inbound,” I inform the three soldiers.

  “Thank you, sir,” one says, his eyes red and glassy.

  “When you get back, you call your mom right away and tell her you’re okay. That will be thanks enough.”

  It isn’t much longer before the still night is interrupted by the sound of rotors, the whomp, whomp, whomp growing louder. Gonzalez and McCafferty place IR strobes just on the outside of town and guide the helicopters in. Soldiers swarm through the village, gunships circling as they prowl in the dark. The hostages are gathered in addition to the three we injured, who don’t seem to be doing well.

  As they pass on stretchers, I comment, “Oh, by the way, in case you haven’t realized it yet, the answer is no.”

  “Okay, Falcon, our ride is here. Catch you back at base.”

  Chapter Nine

  The chopper hovered next to the hillside to pick up Henderson and Denton, then flew us to intercept our ride home with Falcon. I like the idea of having a gunship over our heads and an eye in the sky, but its transit time across the pond is too long. If we’re needed somewhere quickly, we won’t have that luxury, or at the very least, it will be delayed. I get the idea of having the firepower and communications in one package, but it would be better if we had a faster, longer-range option as well. I mean, if the Organization has money to spend, why not?

  With the eternal drone of the engines and vibration, we all sit outside of the control partition. The rest of the crew is either sleeping or gathered together in their separate group.

  “Okay, it’s time to play the ‘what we did right and what we did wrong’ game. I’ll start by saying job well done by everyone. We pulled the soldiers out with no loss of life or injuries, so that’s a win. That means we did it right.

  “Now, the only thing I have to say, besides Greg attempting a shuttle launch with Allie, is with the wording around whether you can do something or not. If you have doubts about whether you can do it, we all need to know that. I realize things happen and there is never a one hundred percent surety, but an entire plan can revolve around a single aspect. I’d rather us use a four-point system—yes, no assurances, it’s iffy, or no. It’s a little thing, but I’d like for us to all be on the same page.”

  “Sorry I squeaked going over,” McCafferty says. “I tried to remain quiet, but as you’re already aware, that didn’t work out so well.”

  “Just expect us to jump out suddenly from around corners until you can control it,” I answer with
a smile.

  “As long as you don’t mind a throat punch in return. With Greg, I don’t think I can reach that high, sooo, it might be a little lower,” McCafferty responds with a wink.

  “This is all you, Jack. I’m gracefully bowing out of that teaching method,” Greg comments.

  We continue discussing the rights and wrongs, including getting correct timestamps on our intel. Being a day off could have cost those soldiers if we had selected a different village to begin our search. Lynn’s lips fold into a thin line and her gaze hardens.

  “That lapse has been dealt with,” she tersely replies.

  That’s all she has to say on that, and I know she feels bad for giving us intel that wasn’t up to date. In the short time I’ve known her, I’ve come to realize that she’s a perfectionist and has little tolerance for anything less. Having that happen to her is akin to a mother feeding her child spoiled milk.

  “Well, shit like that makes it more interesting. You wouldn’t want us to get bored. Personally, I live for interesting,” I say in an attempt to alleviate her perceived failure.

  “My job is to make things less interesting, not more so,” Lynn states.

  “But, where would the fun be with that?”

  Before Lynn can respond, a monitor beeps nearby, prompting her to head over and check it out, returning after a couple of minutes.

  “Okay, two things. First, two of those HVTs we delivered have died and the third is critical,” Lynn says.

  “Well, they were delivered alive as requested. I didn’t hear any mention of them having to stay that way,” I respond.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jack. I’m not saying we did anything wrong, but you can’t hide behind phraseology like that,” Lynn replies.

  “Oh. Well, that’s certainly going to put a crimp in things.”

  Ignoring me, Lynn continues, “The second thing is that a Marine recon team has been recovered. Although not verified at the moment, it appears they were taken down in the same manner as Calhoun’s team.”

  “Where?”

  Lynn looks at her notes. “Southwest Afghanistan.”