Authors: Richard Fox
The crew chief slammed the door shut and tossed a thumbs-up to Ritter, who returned the gesture. Shannon leaned over in her seat and looked at Ritter and Davis. She did nothing but look, which still irked Ritter as poor tradecraft. The crew chief slid the side door shut and climbed into the aircraft, and it pulled into the air moments later. It left a gift of blown dust, which drowned the landing pad in a brown fog.
Davis coughed and waved at the dust in front of her face. She didn’t turn to leave; her cheek made a quick spasm as she exhaled slowly.
“Too bad there wasn’t any room on the bird. Hard to believe that doctor kicked you out of your seat,” Ritter said.
“She’s a damn Fobbit,” she said.
“True.” He watched her work a glob of saliva round her mouth, which she spat out. “At least brigade sent that bird to get the detainee to interrogation ASAP. Got rid of two problems. So, your convoy will head back in an hour and—”
“He was going to kill me, wasn’t he?” she said. Davis’s breathing became rapid as a sudden panic attack overwhelmed her. She started wheezing and gulping for air. Ritter grabbed her by the arm and guided her back to the T-wall barrier.
“Look at me, Cindy. Your adrenaline is wearing off. This is perfectly normal,” he said. Cindy struggled to speak, but was in the throes of hyperventilating. “Bend over and put your hands on your knees. Count your breaths in your head. That’ll help.”
She did as instructed. Ritter knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Ritter counted to thirty-seven aloud before her breathing returned to normal. “He had that gun, and he-he-he was going to shoot me,” she said.
“See, much better,” he said.
Davis vomited; a tremendous slop of half-digested MRE tuna and breakfast home fries splattered between her feet. Ritter skipped back, but was too slow to avoid all the mess. Davis inhaled and emptied her stomach with another heave.
“OhGodJesusMaryandJoseph.” She groaned. She coughed a few times and stepped away from her former meals.
Ritter shook some of the vomit loose from his pants. “Much,
much
better, right?”
Davis sank against the T-wall separating the landing zone from the main compound. “Was that normal too?” she spat out.
“I’ve seen worse. You could have—” He stopped when she raised a hand.
“Don’t say it. It might happen,” she said.
“I’ll get you some…..” He trailed off as he cocked an ear to the sky.
“What?” she asked.
A sudden whine filled the air, followed by an explosion just outside the base. The concussion popped his ears as gray-and-black smoke rose over the outer barrier. Ritter wasted no time; he pulled Davis to her feet and hustled her to a concrete bomb shelter twenty yards away. His ears rang from the blast as they stumbled toward the shelter. Ritter pushed her head down as he nearly tossed her into the shelter. He fell in behind her; he half lay on top of her in the narrow confines.
Another blast shook the ground as something metallic stuck the concrete shelter. A third blast struck in the distance, too far away for them to feel the concussion. They lay still for another minute.
Davis tried to push herself onto her knees, but Ritter pulled her back down.
“No, that was three. Abu Five Rounds owes us two more,” he said. Davis rolled over to face Ritter. Their noses were close enough to touch; he took a moment to appreciate her deep-green eyes.
“Eric, this is weird but…” She stopped as his lips pressed together hard enough to turn them white. “What?”
“Cindy, you have puke breath,” he said.
She gasped and rolled back over to face the shelter wall. Ritter said nothing else to comfort her. He knew that when you find yourself in a hole, its best to stop digging.
Ritter low-crawled to the edge of the shelter and pulled apart the wrappings on a pallet of water. The water was wrapped in brittle, sun-bleached plastic. He took an unmarked bottle from inside and unscrewed the cap. The water was warm to the touch, but it would suffice.
“Here.” He offered the bottle to her. She sat up and rinsed her mouth out.
They sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for the Abu Five Rounds to finish the job.
“All clear! All clear!” someone yelled from the other side of the wall. Sergeant Greely stepped past the partition and looked into the shelter. “You two OK?”
Davis scrambled out of the shelter and blew past Greely. Greely watched her go, then gave Ritter his best shit-eating grin. “Sir!” he said, flashing two thumbs-up.
Ritter just shook his head. “Why is it all clear? My math wrong?”
“No, sir. That Abu Ahmet guy called—said he caught Abu Five Rounds in the act,” Greely said.
“You don’t say,” Ritter said. Abu Ahmet was proving to be a valuable ally, but Ritter suspected he was trying too hard and too fast.
“I do say, and I say you can thank him personally in a few minutes. He said he’s bringing that bastard straight to us. You got some reward money for him?” Greely said.
Ritter touched the bulge of the mint bills in his cargo pocket. “I’ll make it worth his while.” He crawled out of the shelter and stood up. He stretched his arms wide, then let them flop to his side when he looked at the shelter. A hunk of shrapnel, which was the size of a Magic Marker, was embedded in the concrete. He touched it with the tip of his finger. Still hot.
A Soldier raised a yellow-and-black-striped bar, the final obstacle to Abu Ahmet’s BMW before it entered Patrol Base Dragon. Shelton and Ritter stood next to the company guidon, its infantry blue marred by Iraqi dust.
“If that car blows up and kills me, I swear to God I will come back and haunt your ass,” Shelton said.
“Fine. Promise me you won’t scream, ‘This is Sparta!’ and kick him into the burn pit.”
“I promise nothing,” Shelton said.
The BMW stopped a yard from Shelton and Ritter. Abu Ahmet gave them a quick wave before he got out of his car.
“
Hello, habibi. I have a gift for you
,” Abu Ahmet said as he approached Ritter with arms wide. He clasped Ritter by the arms and kissed him on both cheeks. Abu Ahmet moved to repeat the greeting with Shelton, who thrust his hand out to shake Abu Ahmet’s hand instead.
“Tell him I will rip his lips off if he ever kisses me,” Shelton said with a smile.
“
My friend, American men just shake hands when they greet each other. Best to stick with that until he’s been in Iraq a bit longer
,” Ritter said.
Abu Ahmet laughed as he walked back to his car. He fished a remote key fob from his pocket and held it next to his head. The color drained from Shelton’s face as he reached for his sidearm. Ritter lashed out and pinned Shelton’s hand on the holster. Abu Ahmet pushed a button, and the trunk popped open.
“You see Abu Five Rounds in the car? Of course, he’s in the trunk,” Ritter said. Shelton yanked his hand from Ritter’s grasp. Shelton’s lip twitched with anger as he glared daggers at his old friend. Ritter rolled his eyes and moved to the open trunk.
A fat Iraqi took up most of the trunk, his hands and knees bound by silver duct tape. He tried to speak through the tape covering his mouth as he looked up at Abu Ahmet. His eyes widened in shock when he saw Ritter. His murmured protests grew louder as he reached to Ritter.
“
You’re kidding
,” Ritter said.
“You’re kidding me,” Shelton said as he joined the pair at the trunk. They looked at the bound man like he was a dead engine.
“
Abdul Karim is his cousin. When you took him prisoner, this piece of shit had to strike back at you or look like a pussy
,” Abu Ahmet said. “
I knew where he likes to shoot his mortars, so I sent men to his normal spots to wait for him. I tried to stop him before he could fire, but they were set up too far away from where I was hiding to get them in time
.”
“
They?
” Ritter asked.
Abu Ahmet pulled his prisoner from the trunk and dumped him to the ground. The man crawled like an inchworm toward Shelton and away from Abu Ahmet. Shelton backpedaled from the prisoner, who reached for Shelton’s ankles. The man pleaded through his gag.
“
The reward is only for him. The others were just there to help him with the tube and the mortars
,” Abu Ahmet said sheepishly. “
Think nothing of them. They won’t bother you again
.”
Abu Ahmet winked with his last words. “
Besides, I brought you this instead
.” He gestured to the trunk, where a long mortar tube ran the width of the trunk. Ritter bent into the trunk and took a whiff from the tube; it smelled of propellant.
Soldiers gravitated toward the detainee; conspiracy-laden whispers and outright threats emanated from the growing crowd. Abu Five Rounds didn’t care about the encroaching hostility; he tried to put as much distance as possible between him and Abu Ahmet.
Nesbitt shouldered his way to Abu Five Rounds and kicked him in the kidneys. The man curled back and howled behind his gag. “That’s for First Sergeant Dickson!” Nesbitt yelled.
Shelton stepped over Abu Five Rounds and stiff-armed Nesbitt back into the scrum of Soldiers. “Next Soldier that wants to hurt this detainee can go through me!” He held his arms bent, fists balled and ready to accept a challenge. “Any takers?” There was no answer. “You all know how we handle detainees: dignity and honor! It doesn’t matter who they are or what they’ve done. They will meet justice through the courts, not out here.” He lowered his hands. “If we break the law to get revenge, we’re no better than these animals. We won’t win the war with poisoned hearts. You know this.”
He knelt over and slowly pulled the tape from the detainee’s mouth.
“
Please, don’t leave me with him! He’ll kill me. I swear it!
” Abu Five Rounds pointed to Abu Ahmet as he spoke.
Ritter looked around; neither of the interpreters was in the crowd.
“What’s he saying?” Shelton said.
“‘I’m innocent. He framed me.’ Blah-blah-blah,” Ritter said.
“Lieutenant Kovalenko, transport this man to the battalion holding area after you escort the medics back to Victory,” Ritter said to the lieutenant, who was already in his battle armor for the mission. The lieutenant pulled the detainee to his feet and cut the tape at his knees before frog-marching him to the waiting line of vehicles.
“
What was that all about?
” Abu Ahmet asked.
“
Nothing. What did you do with his helpers? Do they know anything about our missing men?
” Ritter asked.
“
I shot them and left their bodies in the dirt. They weren’t al-Qaeda, just mujahideen
,”
Abu Ahmet said.
As an Army officer, Ritter’s duties were clear. Abu Ahmet had admitted to murder and should be handed over to the Iraqi courts. All standards of conduct and decency required Ritter to treat Abu Ahmet as a criminal and end any cooperation. But he wasn’t bound by those rules anymore, not since he’d rejoined the Caliban. The Caliban Program had no rules, and being an accessory to murder was of no consequence.
“
Keep that between us, understand?
” Ritter said. Abu Ahmet waved a hand in front of his face as if he were shooing a fly.
“
I have something for you, but it isn’t here. There’s an empty chicken coop next to the house of a man we detained months ago, Salim Kadur al-Qarghuli. You know him?
”
“
Yes, I know the place
,” Abu Ahmet said.
“
Buried in the coop, near the corner closest to Mecca has what you need to fight al-Qaeda. It’s yours. Put it to good use. But remember, we need our Soldiers alive. Any al-Qaeda who know where they are must be delivered to us alive. Understand?
” Ritter stepped close to Abu Ahmet as he spoke and grasped his hand. An American would have bolted at such closeness, but Abu Ahmet’s Arab sensibilities would appreciate the gesture.
“
Of course, habibi
,” Abu Ahmet said, “
What about the reward for that fat bastard?
”
“
Don’t get greedy on me, but the reward for him will have to go through normal channels
,” Ritter said.
“
Greedy? When you kill a snake, you have to bury it
,” he said, repeating an old Iraqi proverb.
Ritter lifted a plastic bag resting against the wall and handed it to Abu Ahmet. “
Real American cigarettes for you. Cookies for your children
.” Abu Ahmet smiled at the carton of Marlboro Reds but frowned at the green box of cookies.
“
What kind of cookies are these?
”
“
Thin Mints, an American delicacy. Don’t let the Soldiers see them. I won’t survive the night if they know what I gave you
,” Ritter said.
Ritter lifted the drop arm and let Abu Ahmet’s BMW leave the base. As the fulcrum that aided the movement, the drop arm was a pair of cinder blocks chained together. Ritter wondered how much a contractor charged for this technological wonder as he lowered it back into place. He nodded to the Soldier in the driver’s seat of a boxy M113 personnel carrier, who gunned the engine and backed the Cold War-era vehicle to block the entrance.