Back to Hell
I am walking, to my surprise, without crutches. No, not walking, advancing, wearing full tactical gear, my M16 pointed at the corner. I pause, peek around it, and gesture for my team behind me to advance. They pass by me, in silence, one by one. Fast. Efficient. Three of them, the last Ridgers, who faces me and covers our 6 down the street behind me. He taps twice on my shoulder, and I know to join the rest of the team, who entered the house at my 3 o’clock.
Ridgers catches up to us a few seconds later. Jennings is positioned at the window, watching our flank. Donovan at the back door that marks our exit. He gestures for us to hold and listen. Jennings indicates that the street is clear, we’re good to go. We’re silently making our way to Donovan. He slowly opens the door, peeks outside and gives us the ok. Ridgers leads, I follow, Jennings next and Donovan last. We hug the walls, advance car by car, rubble to rubble.
The radio hisses then: “Team Sierra, do you copy? Over”. Ridgers hand signals where he wants us and kneels next to a car. We scatter and cover him, aiming outwards. “We copy, Mission Command. Over” I hear him reply. “We have reports of hostiles approaching. What is your 20? Over.” I curse under my breath as Ridgers gives Command our location. “Best exfil is north bound. Over” Donovan has already turned towards our exit route to survey it. Ridgers grunts and asks “What about our mission? Over”. A pause then the crackle of the answer: "Standby. Over"
The civilians are our mission. They are huddled up at the school just a few blocks away, so close. We’re supposed to evacuate them out. Our intel told us we would have more time. The radio buzzes: “Your orders are to evacuate. Try to avoid hostile contact. All appropriate action granted to get back to rendez-vous point. Area is no-go. Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission. Over.”
“Damnit.” Ridgers is fuming. He brings the radio to his mouth once more: “Can we expect immediate air support? Over.” We keep still as we wait for the reply. The radio crackles: “That’s a negative, Lieutenant. You’re on your own for at least an hour. Evac at LZ at 0800. Over and out.”
What a joke... I scrutinise the empty street, waiting for Ridgers to take the lead. We stealthily head North, apprehension in our guts, and guilt in our minds. Who knows what will happen to the people we are leaving behind.
“We’ve got movement.” Jennings indicates, pointing at a window, a few doors up. A small head shoots up, a smile missing a few front teeth, a hand on the window. The child giggles as he gently knocks on the glass while softly singing to us a tuneless song in his native tongue. We don’t have much time, but he is right there. We have to take him with us. Jennings approaches the window, gestures to the kid to open it, reaches in and carries him away.
We get ready to move forward again, when out of the building comes a man charging at us at full speed, screaming. I do not hesitate as my fingers steadily squeeze the trigger. He drops to the floor in a surprised yelp. I immediately get to him.
He is so young. He looks up at me, his eyes wide in pain and terror. My bullet has gone straight through his throat. He chokes on his blood as I pat him to check for weapons. He has none. I look at him puzzled. “Fuck” says Ridgers, surveying the rest of the street for more hostiles. The boy looks at me as he struggles to speak. “Friend” he gurgles in a heavy accent, his bloodied fingers tapping his chest. “I… brother”, he points towards Jennings and the little boy he is carrying.
In horror, I press my hand to his wound, trying desperately to stop the warm liquid from streaming out of him, knowing all too well I cannot undo what I have just done. And then, with a raspy bubbling sound, he takes his last breath. His eyes still fixated on me, his assassin. In his eyes, I see my soul and it is terrifying.
My world slows down. I just killed a kid. Someone I was supposed to protect. His broken English resonates in my head, and I feel nauseous. What was he doing here? Why did he charge at us? Was he trying to tell me that the young kid in Jennings arms was his brother? Was he simply trying to get him back? Was he trying to stop us from leaving them all behind?
Then all hell breaks loose. It feels like hours have passed between the moment I closed the boy’s eyes and now, but it has only been a few seconds. It takes me a moment to realise what is happening. We are taking heavy fire, from down the road that we just came from. I run towards where I can see Donovan and Ridgers taking cover behind a pile of debris and firing back.
“Where’s Jennings and the kid?” I yell. Ridgers is firing blind. My ears are ringing. Donovan points past me in the middle of the street, then resumes shooting. A few feet away from where I was just hunched over the young boy I killed, lies the lifeless body of Jennings.
The boy is lying face down on the ground. I am relieved when I see him stir. He seems to gather his senses as he starts crying and crawling to where his brother lies. He shakes him as he wails and howls in despair: “Worour! Momen, hoshalawol! Worour!”
“Cover me” I yell, as I jump and run to where Jennings is. I check his pulse but I already know he is dead. I hear Ridgers screaming for me to come back. A few bullets fly past me and I duck behind a pile of rubble. I aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire. I have no time to think.
“We need to fall back! Get your ass over here!” Ridgers yells as he launches a grenade towards the incoming hostiles. I brace for the explosion, then turn to the kid, still in the middle of the street, begging his brother to wake up. I lunge towards him, scoop him up and join Ridgers and Donovan as they run and turn a corner. We rush through the debris, turning back, every now and then, to return fire. I realise after a minute that the boy in my arms is hitting me with his tiny fists, struggling against me, wrestling me, his eyes full of rage. “Qatel” he calls me, hatred in his voice. Yes, little one, I am a murderer. “I’m sorry” I whisper over and over, out of breath. He keeps on hitting and trying to get me to drop him, but I won’t have his death on my conscience as well. I dare not look him in the eyes again.
We’ve reached a part of the city where we can stop running for a minute. We can still hear firing in the distance, but nowhere near us. As we slow our pace to catch our breaths, the radio feedbacks its hiss at us.
“Team Sierra, what is your status? Over”
Ridgers replies hurriedly: “Base, we took fire. Jennings is KIA. Unable to retrieve body. We have withdrawn out of reach for now. Heading to LZ now. Over”
“Roger that. What is your ETA? Over.” The voice on the radio asks.
“We will make it in time for the 0800 take off. Over and out.” He gestures to us to pick up the pace again. “Come on, I want to get the hell outta this shit show.” My lungs are on fire, my legs and arms feel like lead, and my world is spinning around me, but we push on.
We reach the limits of the city and make for the hills. Evac is near, right on the other side. At this point, the boy, who had seemed to have tired himself out, suddenly punches me on the nose. The surprise and force of his strike throws me off my feet and I stumble back down. As I am sliding down the hill, the boy wriggles free of my arms. I’ve landed in a sort of field. I look around me and see the boy standing defiantly 20 yards away, above me halfway to the top of the hill. Ridgers and Donavan have stopped and turned around to wait for me, almost at the top.
I stand up and dust myself off, cursing under my breath for that boy. He looks down at me and grins when he sees how far I fell. He yells “Marha, kaseef spee!” and spits in my direction before running with great agility down and away, back to the edges of the city and disappearing amidst the rubbles. I give up. I’ll deal with my conscience later, but now it’s run or die. I start sprinting towards the rest of my team, just as I notice the random craters around me, just as I hear Donavan yell at me “Active minefield!”.
And then… Nothing… Darkness… Weightless slumber…
I wake up in a jolt, drenched in sweat, heart palpitating, ear ringing.
Flickers of searing flesh, the screams, the smell of blood and fire. The pleas and the cries echo in my ears, images of the atrocities flash in my eyes. I hear the boy’s hatred when he called me a murderer, I see his eyes flashing in fury, and his grin when he saw I was in the minefield. The blood, warm and sticky on my hands when I put them on his brother’s throat. The pain and shock and terror on his face as he was living his last moments. The kid, smiling and singing and knocking, unaware of the tragic events that are about to unfold. It all rolls over me, drowns my mind in a whirl of horrors.
I am trying to take a deep breath, and want to reach for the light on my bedside table. But I cannot move. I am frozen where I am, paralysed. “Sleep paralysis” comes to mind, although I have never experienced it. I cannot control any part of my body, nor can I calm my breathing. I cannot even make a sound. I am voiceless and terrified. I feel so vulnerable, like something is watching me and getting ready to pounce.
My mind is in panicked frenzy, and I can do nothing to stop it. Without being able to apply the exercises my psych gave me for when I was triggered, I know I cannot avoid the spiralling that's coming. It all rolls over me again and again. The screams. The blood. The grin. The explosion. The hatred. The landmine. The death. The fear. The gurgle. The empty eyes. The smile. The giggle. The song. And the knock.
And the knock, as I lay tetanized unable to move. And the knock, as I am incapable of making a sound. And the knock, as I can barely breathe.
And the knock, and the knock and the knock.
Original story & Copyright by Julia Mesrobian
Part IV coming out on Sunday 31st October 2021
These are the military terms and tactics I describe in this instalment. I apologise for any inadequate terms, I tried to make it as close to reality as possible.
(1) our 6 ➡ rear, towards the back.
(2) my 3 o’clock ➡ on the right
(3) our flank ➡ sides
(4) Team Sierra ➡ codename for the team. Sierra for S, in phonetic alphabet
(5) Over ➡ used in radio communication when the speaker tells the listener he has finished speaking
(6) Mission Command ➡ people at Base conducting the operations
(7) your 20 ➡ shorthand for “What is your location?”
(8) exfil ➡ for extraction, process of retreating out of hostile environment
(9) Standby ➡ wait for instructions
(10) Intel ➡ for intelligence, collected information and analysis to provide guidance and direction
(11) All appropriate action ➡ all necessary means taken in self-defense
(12) rendez-vous point ➡ meeting point that has been established prior to mission
(13) Area is no-go ➡ zone that is compromised and dangerous
(14) abort mission ➡ terminate mission prematurely, cancel
(15) immediate air support ➡ request for unplanned air support, such as air strike, during battle
(16) Evac ➡ urgent evacuation from a combat zone
(17) LZ ➡ for Landing Zone, area where aircrafts, especially helicopters, can land
(18) 0800 ➡ (pronounced “oh-eight-hundred”) 8:00 AM
(19) Over and out ➡ used in radio communication when the speaker is telling the listener that he is done talking, and the conversation is complete
(20) taking fire ➡ being attacked, being shot at
(21) firing blind ➡ typically shooting without aiming, in the general direction of the target. Usually done by raising one’s gun around or over their cover and firing, stating in the safety of cover
(22) fall back ➡ retreat of a military action, or a backup plan
(23) Base ➡ facility that shelters military equipment and personnel, and facilitates training and operations
(24) KIA ➡ for Killed In Action, a casualty, death of soldier at the hands of hostile force
(25) Roger that ➡ Message received and understood
(26) ETA ➡ for Estimated Time of Arrival
(27) Take off ➡ aircraft departure, airborne
(28) Active minefield ➡ area throughout which explosive mines have been laid and activated for maximum damage
These are the translations of what the little boy says throughout this instalment. I apologise for any mistakes in translating into Pashto language.
(a) Worour! Momen, hoshalawol! Worour! ➡ Pashto for ‘Brother! Momen, please! Brother!’’
(b) Momen ➡ Muslim male name, means ‘servant of all faithful’ in arabic
(c) Qatel ➡ Pashto for ‘murderer’
(d) Marha, kaseef spee ➡ Pashto for ‘Die, filthy dog’
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