PROLOGUE
Near Kandahar, Afghanistan, weeks prior
The walls rattle as an RPG explodes against the side of the building. The insurgents had the Light Reapers Team trapped in this hovel for the last ten minutes. “Jesus Christ!” yelled Neville. Not one for a loss of words, Sargent Neville dove to the floor and rolled against the opposite wall.
The building they were using for cover was a blown-out hovel in the Dahle region. It was reinforced with clay brick, but that didn’t offer much protection.
Some family had abandoned it long ago because of the fighting in the region. It was tight quarters with all eight members of the team. “Nuts to butts” so to speak.
The building was approximately 12x12, but the addition of the broken furniture made it a tighter space for the team members and their gear. A table sat to the east side, probably used for dinner. There was a piece of furniture on the west wall that looked to have been a couch. The rugs that littered the floor were packed with sand and dirt.
This mission had been a cluster-fuck since day one. Intel was spotty, and there were “kids” trying to run the operation. Team leader, Captain Webb, didn’t even want to know the ages of those in S2 running this mission. It caused him acid reflux to even think about it.
“Cap’n, we gotta move!” Priest yelled. Master Sargent Priest commanded most of the moments of jocularity on the team, but this was not one of those moments. He was laying down suppressive fire towards the location of that last RPG.
“I’m working on it,” yelled Webb. Rounds ricocheted all over the room. Acrid, cordite smoke, dirt, and sand filled the already dusty room. Priest’s throat was dry and pasty. He tried to peer through the smoke, searching for a way out of the building that would allow him to flank these insurgents.
“Frag out!” screamed Staff Sargent Abarra as he threw a grenade through the front window. It bounced down the backside of the ridge just a few yards in front of the building.
Just before Abarra yelled, Priest locked eyes on a side door on the eastern wall. When he heard “frag out,” Priest sprinted the two or three strides and slammed his shoulder through the weak door.
He came out on the other side and rolled up on his feet like a cat. “Don’t let the fat fool ya,” he mumbled to himself. He used this line many times as a valuable, but painful, lesson in how not to underestimate your opponent. He was a martial arts instructor, and when sparring with a young, cocky black belt, he would ham it up by stretching, moaning, and groaning before the sparring match. The young black belt would soon incur a minor hit to their pride, along with a few bumps and bruises.
Priest dove for cover behind a small retaining wall two yards outside the broken door. He immediately heard rounds hitting all around him and felt their i
mpact in the dirt. He had attracted some insurgent’s attention. Priest worked his way down the retaining wall where it opened up at the mouth of a ravine which the insurgents were using for cover. Priest clicked on his comms, “I’m headed across the ravine from east to west. Cover me, and we’ll push the off button on these fuckheads.”
Abarra barked, “Copy. Shaw, get your big ass to that window and lay down some shit!”
“Copy that,” Staff Sargent Shaw said and brought his M48 to rest on the window frame. He started dropping .50 cal rounds downrange, clipping off the top ridge of the ravine.
The insurgents tried to duck down deeper into the gorge to escape the rapid weapon fire coming their way. Some were successful, some weren’t. “Get some, goat fuckers,” Shaw bellowed, tobacco juice dribbling down his chin. Shaw had the tobacco wad nice, warm and juicy. He had a nasty habit of spitting a glob of tobacco spit in the face of every insurgent taken prisoner. Right between the eyes. Outlaw Josie Wales was one of his favorite movies. Shaw seemed to value insurgent POW’s about as much as Josie Wales did the stray dog in the film.
Webb shouted to his men, “Check your fire; Priest is getting close. We don’t want to take his fucking head off.”
Just as he hoped, they preoccupied the insurgents with Shaw and his barrage of rounds, so Priest could traverse most of the ravine basically untouched. He rounded another curve in the terrain with his M4 locked into his shoulder, where he finally spied the chaos of the insurgents. Two of them had their heads down, running right at him, looking for cover.
“Hello ladies,” Priest said before he opened up a three-round burst on each.
The insurgent on the right took two rounds center mass. The third round trailed up the man’s jaw, taking most of the right side of his face with it. Teeth shot out the side of his face while his tongue lolled out of the cavern that had been the lower half of his jaw. Blood spewed from his face, and he dropped face-first to the ground.
The insurgent on the left had a split second more to react and ducked to his left for a half measure. One round blew through his forearm, while the other two embedding themselves in the side of his torso. The exit wounds exploded with blood and pieces of his ribs. He screamed as the rounds ripped through his body, only to be silenced by a follow burst that Priest laid into him. Those he expertly placed in the side of his head, obliterating it like an M-80 inside a ripe watermelon. Blood, brain matter, and shards of a skull painted the ground as the insurgent went limp and collapsed with his ass in the air. Priest shook his head and moved on. “Way too many jokes for this situation, which I don’t have time for,” he thought.
Shaw kept up his suppressive fire on the ridge of the ravine but trailed his firing to the left, staying 20 yards ahead of Priest.
Webb yelled out, “Myles, go back up Priest, and cover his six.”
“Copy,” Myles yelled back. Corporal Myles ran out the door, down the retaining wall and into the ravine.
Webb keyed Priest, “Priest, you copy?”
A second or two of silence, “Busy here, Captain,” Priest blurted, showing only a slight bit of sarcasm.
“Myles is coming up on your six, don’t shoot him.”
Priest retorted, “No guarantees, but good copy.”
Webb looked over his shoulder to see something unusual to most, but normal for this team. Sargent Shin was meditating, and Neville was now playing cards with Doc. “Are you shit heads aware of what is going on out here?” Shin never opened his eyes from his meditative state.
“Yes, Shaw is providing suppressive fire along with Abarra. You are providing oversight to Priest in the ravine.”
“Okay,” Webb said. “What about you two?” referring to Neville and Doc.
“Damn Cap’n., I’m sure nobody needs sniping,” Neville objected.
“I didn’t hear anybody calling for a medic,” Doc exclaimed. “Besides, nobody else can fit next to Shaw and use the rest of the window as a firing position with his big ass in the way,” Doc quipped.
Shaw spit some tobacco juice. “Yep, that’s about right. This window only accommodates one man… or the two of ya’ll!” he chuckled.
“Keep firing, or I’ll come over there and slap the shit out of that big, corn fed, redneck head of yours,” Doc bitched.