Few things weigh heavier than an expectation that you know you can’t meet, especially when lives are on the line. The neighborhood’s silence wasn’t reassuring. Sid had an unshakable sensation that in less than three minutes, all of that silence would disappear. He propped his rifle atop a pile of rocks and leaned against it as he tipped the muzzle in the direction of the square, or what was left of it. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, crunching rocks under his boots. The only other sound was a whistle of light breeze. Sid wished that breeze was more substantial as he sweated beneath a hundred pounds of gear and a desert sun at its highest point. A drop of sweat slid down his nose and gave him a horrific itch.
“Can you see okay Blake?” said a voice on the radio.
“Sir I think… well, this is where I was standing the last half dozen times when I saw him.”
The man next to Sid checked his watch.
“He’s late.”
“Yeah, Jolly.” said Sid. “Welcome to my life.”
“Heh, not the first time a date’s stood you up?”
Jolly was Private Mike Joillet. With a name like that, one is bound to wind up as Private Jolly. It was all the more appropriate since he often seemed to be laughing to himself at a joke only he knew. Sometimes the guys called him Private Joke. Oddly, though, he seemed to be the one with the best sense of what Sid was capable of.
“You got any feelings?” said Jolly.
Sure, he had feelings. He had lots of feelings. Sid and Jolly were sheltered by the demolished wall of a former police post in the Shuhada district of Fallujah, Iraq. The Captain and three other guys were holed up a little deeper inside the building’s remaining structure. Their sniper was stationed on a rooftop a few blocks away, a vantage point from which he could see into the top of the minaret that stood over the small mosque across the square.
Sid glanced at his feet. Resting next to his boot toe was an explosive charge and a block of electronics. He’d found it when they’d first swept the place. Though it was disabled, the device made him anxious. His fear stemmed less from that particular object and more from the knowledge that there were others. This he was sure of. If he was right about his “date”, as Jolly had called it, then he had all the more reason to believe this entire neighborhood was ready to go up.
Chanting voices emerged from a passage on the opposite side of the square. The mourners appeared a few moments later. There were a lot of them. A simple wooden casket floated along the top of the crowd.
Two minutes thirty two seconds.
There was a clock in his head, a clock that spoke with a low voice. That voice sounded as though it were made up of the ticks of gears and levers. It counted down from the moment of his initial sensation.
“Do you see al-Badr?” said Jack, the radio voice in his ear. He was sounding impatient.
Jolly said, “Thought they’d come from the southwest side.”
Sid had said that. Every other time, they’d come from the southwest side. Now they were a little more to the south, just far enough that it was difficult for Sid to see faces. Then there was that damn sun. It bathed the square and all of its sand and alabaster colored buildings with an incinerating glare. Sid fetched his binoculars and tried to get a read on the faces, but it was still difficult. He’d promised them al-Badr and he had every intention of delivering the man.
It figured that on the day they decided to launch their operation, the usual crowd had quadrupled. One minute and fifteen seconds. It was odd how he experienced these holes. The countdown resounded in his head as if it were the Liberty Bell, yet he was unable to predict how outnumbered they would be or that the crowd would be coming from a different angle.
The disembodied mechanical voice whispered at the edges of his brain.
Nobody in the box.
“Hey Jack…” said Sid.
Without quite realizing it, he sometimes called his commanding officer by first name, especially when he was nervous about something. Sid Blake and Jack Walsh had grown up together, though Jack was a little older and had been better friends with Sid’s brother, Will. They’d kicked balls around abandoned industrial lots in Lutton, Massachusetts, a former mill town outside Boston that had seen better days.
Ever since Will had died, Jack did his best to look after Sid. It was luck that they wound up in the same unit together. The irony was that these days Jack was in the habit of calling Sid his guardian angel. Sid had proven himself effective at hunting insurgent leaders like al-Badr. Sid wasn’t inclined to let Jack down, but the very same source that gave him his uncanny ability to locate his prey was now saying that something was wrong.
“Yeah Blake.” said the radio. “Do you have eyes on al-Badr?”
“Jack, there are lots more of them, And they’re coming from a different side of the square.”
He scanned the mosque with his binoculars and then took a look at the minaret. He didn’t see anyone yet, but he suspected he might soon. A week ago, Sid had discovered that al-Badr and his crew were using the mosque as a means a of transporting supplies, weapons and money into and out of the city. They carried their goods in caskets on the backs of fake funeral processions. Sid suspected there was a tunnel beneath the mosque that circumvented the American blockade. Once, he’d spotted a gunner at the top of the tower who likely had the job of covering the procession in case things got ugly. That’s why Miller, the American sniper, was keeping watch.
Sid said, “They’re expecting us.”
“Don’t care.” said Jack. “As soon as you confirm our target, we’re on.”
“What if that’s a real funeral?” said Jolly.
Sid nodded. He didn’t need to be reminded. The private chuckled. Sid wasn’t sure why that was funny. Nobody in the box, said the voice, the same one with the ticking gears. Sid doubted this was a real funeral, but he felt like his primary reason for believing that was a raspy whisper that only he could hear. He tried to remind himself of his past observations that supported this thesis: the presence of al-Badr and the gunner or the one time someone let the casket slip near the mosque steps. Wads of American dollars had fallen out. Despite these things, without eyes on his man, Sid couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing this time. The insistence of the clock voice only made him more intent to have physical proof.
“I need a better visual.” he said. “I’m going to try another location.”
He put his weapon down and started toward an opening the the bulwark.
“What, no.” said Jack. “Corporal, you stay put.”
“Captain - the sun, the angle, the distance - I can’t see a damn thing.”
Jolly spoke into his radio, “Captain, maybe we should let the golden boy go. I’ll cover him. It’s about time I saved his ass.”
There was a pause and then, “Agreed. Get it done, Blake. They’ll be gone soon. You have a minute. One minute.”
Jack was right about that. Sid took a moment to chart his course and then scurried from his hideout to a car parked along one of the streets that lead into the square. He took a look back and saw Jolly peer through a jagged opening and nod at him over the top of his rifle. Sid happened to like Jolly a lot. Most people did, but usually because they found him amusing. Mike was from the farmlands of Keezletown, Virginia. He often talked about how much he missed those Friday nights when they set a bonfire out in the fields and backed their pickups to it. They’d blare music, drink beer, and tell stories. Jolly sported the affect of a dimwitted class clown with a long throated drawl, but Sid suspected this was at least in part an act. It made him popular, after all.
Sid knew that Jolly carried a lot of sadness inside. He was a recovering meth addict, something that he shared with Sid because Sid had overcome his own addictions. He knew this is what the private really meant when he talked about Sid saving his ass. There were times when Jolly thought he might drop out of the Marines, which meant he was not only going back to the Friday bonfire, but to the meth as well. Sid tried to keep him going. He felt like he needed to. He hadn’t been able to help his brother Will. Maybe he could help someone else.
He peered through the glass. The view from here was much better. Scanning the faces, he noticed al-Badr just as Miller, the sniper, buzzed on the radio.
“We’ve got movement in the tower, Captain.”
“Sniper or muezzin?” said Jack, referring in the latter case to a minaret’s traditional occupant.
Jolly, now on the radio, said, “Muezzin don’t come to these parties.”
Sid noted that the private was right. Of course he was right. There wouldn’t normally be anyone up there leading the call to prayer during a funeral. It was obvious to Sid when he thought about it, but sometimes one made assumptions when under pressure. And sometimes Jolly had these odd bits of wisdom that betrayed his exterior simplicity.
Miller said, “Well… wait… wait…”
Sid chimed in, “Visual on al-Badr.”
“Okay-” said Jack, but before he could continue, Miller came in again.
“I think he sees you.”
“What?”
“Jesus, he’s got a scope and from that angle he can see right in - Captain, you gotta move!”
Jack shouted orders to evacuate his crew. Sid saw al-Badr produce a cell phone from his clothing. He was answering a call from the man at the top of the tower. The fake mourners dropped the casket. It spilled bundles of cash on the ground. The crowd ran into the mosque as the tower gunner opened fire. He got off a couple rounds before Miller pegged him.
“They’ve gone inside.” said Miller.
Jack said, “We surround the mosque.”
The Marines inched along the walls in different directions and took shelter behind rubble, trees and cars.
Beware the ring of fire, said the tick-tock voice.
No longer focused on a single face in a crowd, Sid got a good look at the layout of the square from where he was. He stood behind a totaled car and there were a couple of others standing nearby. If he connected the dots between them, the pattern made a loose ring centered on the mosque.
“Captain?” said Sid. “Captain, this square is hot.”
That’s why al-Badr’s people were holding back. They understood that their opponents would’ve located and disabled any explosives in the police station. There was no point in attacking it. Opening fire meant exposing themselves, but moving inside made them bait for the trap.
Ten seconds.
“Repeat, Blake.”
“Jack, you gotta fall back to the station.”
Even as he said these words, the first bomb went off. There was no one behind the car - maybe the militants couldn’t see very well from their position - but it sent shockwaves and shrapnel through a nearby stand of trees. Sid saw Jack fly back. Jolly chased him and dragged him away. Sid ran into the square in that direction. Jack saw his guardian angel and screamed at him from his prone position as Jolly was still pulling him by his gear straps.
“Corporal, find shelter!”
The car which Sid had just been hiding behind went up.
Sid glanced around. He had the aching feeling there was no ground to go to. Anything here that cast a shadow had the potential for death. But then he noticed something, a building that called to him.
“I don’t know how well they can see us, Captain.” said Sid. “We have time and a path to get back to the station. We know we can…”
The captain gave the command to fall back. The Americans returned along the walls, back the way they came. As they did so, Sid charged across the square. Jack didn’t notice at first, but then he saw and he ordered his corporal to get his ass back with the rest of the crew. Having registered that the Marines’ backs were turned to them, al-Badr’s militia burst through the mosque doors, weapons erupting.
Sid didn’t stop. He headed towards a three story building with hollow concrete arches that stared down at him. It had probably been a hotel once. The interior was a largish, dark lobby filled with the wreckage of tables and chairs. This confirmed to Sid that it had indeed been a hotel and also the scene of another explosion. He could tell from the pattern of debris and the holes in the wall. His feet crunched on glass. Sid looked down and noticed it was smeared with dry blood. Among the shards lay a police officer’s badge.
A voice from behind him said, “I came across the street for tea in the lobby.”
It was the same grumbling whir he’d been listening to all along. Sid turned and saw a figure leaning against a wall. He could make out little more than a ragged outline. An arm lifted a cigarette and the man blew out a puff of smoke.
“I was supposed to meet my wife and son.” he said. “Then the bomb hit.”
Sid approached the figure. Even before he saw the face and its missing pieces, he knew that he was listening to a man who’d died in the blast. The apparition pointed out through one of the archways, towards the street. Maybe that made some kind of sense. After all, the man wasn’t really speaking at all. He wasn’t even there. It was happening inside Sid’s head.
“You should take the tunnels. They have many turns allowing you to hide and ambush followers. Your attackers know this and they won’t come after you.” He blew another puff of smoke. “I can show you.”
“I’d be very interested.”
“I need one thing.”
“We’re dying out there. Anything.”
Again, the spirit made a motion and Sid knew what he was trying to say. He wanted the Marine to go upstairs. There was a room up there that Sid needed to see. There were so many reasons that Sid didn’t want to do that, but he felt like he had no choice. There was no question of trust or not trust. It didn’t matter when one was having conversations with ghosts from within one’s own skull. Nor did it matter terribly when all other options lead to massacre. Hell, in that case it hardly mattered if Sid was losing his mind. The only options were to try or to die.
He he found a stairwell at the back of the blasted room. It was lit only by a few small windows and laser like shafts of light that beamed through bullet holes. Once upstairs, he found himself treading an uneven floor that creaked beneath his substantial weight and felt as though it might collapse beneath him at any moment. As he approached the room that the police officer had directed him to, he heard crying inside. The door was ajar. Inside, Sid found a small space littered with food remains. A child of about seven years lay curled up in a filthy blanket, weeping as the firefight raged outside.
“My son.” said the clock voice.
Sid knelt down by the boy, who shivered beneath the Marine’s touch.
“God, talk about shell shock.”
Another car went up. Sid looked up to a window, which the boy had covered with a blanket. The insistent sunlight cast a sinister rolling shadow from the smoke.
“Alright.” said Sid. “Now or never. Let’s go.”
He scooped the kid up and jogged back down hallway. The floor finally gave way and part of it dropped out just as Sid stepped into the stairwell. Back in the cafe, he had to make a run around the part of the floor that had just fallen before reaching the archways that lead outside.
“Not that way.” said the father’s voice.
Following instructions that took him through alleyways, Sid was able to find his way to the burned out police barracks, where his crew was still defending their position. Jack Walsh didn’t double take at the boy draped over Sid’s shoulders. It seemed he wasn’t going to let very much surprise him.
Sid said, “Kid knows a way out through the tunnels.”
“Yeah and maybe he’s a plant.” said Jack.
Jolly looked Sid in the eyes and said, “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I am about anything.”
“Well I don’t know, Captain, but I have some faith.”
Walsh looked around at his crew. From their expressions, it seemed they had some faith too. That didn’t make Sid feel much better. A part of him would’ve preferred they tried some other way. He didn’t want this to be on him. Then again, he didn’t want them all to die if he could really find a way out. Jack gave him the go ahead and Sid lead them back out through the alleys he had come from, but this time he wasn’t headed back to the hotel.
Through several twists and turns, they arrived at a concrete wall painted in bright pastels and bearing the word “school” in English. A bent gate was hanging off the opening in the wall. The playground and low building beyond looked ruined.
“Jesus.” said Walsh. “They just rebuilt this last month.”
As they filed inside, a few gunshots rang out. The fire was too light to be the entire cell. Perhaps a single fighter had found them. The captain ordered his people to shut the gate. Though it was busted, it covered the gap.
“Pile some rubble in front.” he said.
Sid set the kid down and helped the others lift chunks of broken cement into place. Then he took a glance back. The boy was sitting there in the midst of the very ground he’d probably been playing on not long ago. When his gaze met Sid’s, it was almost as though he snapped out of a trance. He shot to his feet and ran off. Sid started after him, but Walsh held his shoulder.
“We can’t chase after everyone. They’ll probably leave him alone. Where’s the tunnel?”
The corporal stared into the dusty heat, looking for his ghost.
“Sid?” said Jolly. “Hey, come back to us, man.”
“Come on.” Sid muttered under his breath. “I did my part. Show me the tunnel.”
“Sid.”
There were no clock voices.
“Come on!” he shouted. Then he turned to Jolly. “So you have faith in me? That kid’s dad is dead, but he’s the one who knows the way.”
Sid took off. Once again Walsh was calling after him and once again Sid didn’t stop. This time, Jolly ran off in the same direction. Sid turned and tried to wave him off, but Private Joke wasn’t going to let him go. The kid had run into the school building. As the two marines chased him, mortar fire began coming over the walls. The other men scrambled for shelter. Inside, Sid looked around for the boy. He saw a leg dangled from the rafters.
“The damn kid’s climbed up to the ceiling.” he said.
Corporal Blake saw the support column the boy had probably shimmed up and went for it. He was halfway up when a mortar shell came through the ceiling. It missed the kid, but it landed near Jolly. It wasn’t a huge explosive, but it did knock the private down. When the dust clear, he was writhing on the floor. A leg was gone. More shells pounded the ground outside.
“Sid!” called Jolly. “Alright, get the boy later. He’s not going anywhere.”
The tick tock voice came back.
“Now.” it said. “Get my son now or you’ll never get out.”
“Sid! I need a clamp.”
Sid looked up and saw that the boy was still there. He figured he better make it quick. He went all the way up the pole and balanced himself in the rafters. Jolly was still down below screaming his name. The boy tried to scramble away. Damn, he was fast. Sid managed to catch up with though. He grabbed a hold of his arm, but the kid managed to pull away.
Jolly croaked, “What the hell are you…?”
The last words trailed away. Sid tried to survey the scene below. It was hard see in between the beams, but he got a good enough look to know things were worse than he’d first suspected. Not that a missing leg wasn’t bad, but Jolly had started spitting up blood. He’d suffered some sort of organ damage. Sid grabbed the boy. There was no convincing him. He just took hold and pulled him loose, sending the little body falling to the floor. Sid jumped down. He looked the boy over. Still breathing. He went to Jolly. The same couldn’t be said for him.
Sid bent his head.
“I’m sorry Mike.” he said.
There wasn’t much time for remorse. The kid was up again. Sid chased after him and knocked him to the floor. He tried shouting at him, though he knew it wasn’t any good.
“I’m trying to save you! We’re getting you out of here!”
Where was the dad? Couldn’t he speak to his own son? Well, if he could do that then maybe he would’ve already guided the child to safety. Sid was it. He was the one who was going to either get everyone out or watch them die. He bit his tongue hard to keep him from feeling a worse pain, the pain that would come from what he was about to do. Sid had a hold of the boy’s leg. He dragged it across the floor and took the foot into both hands. He moved fast so he wouldn’t have to think about it. He twisted the foot clockwise in one swift motion. The crack of the bones resounded louder in his own head than the sound of the mortar fire. Immobilized by screaming, the boy couldn’t resist when Sid flung him over the shoulder again.
The father’s voice spoke softly, “Go towards the storehouse.”
Sid charged out of the building. Tears filled his face as he whispered to the boy over and over,
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out of here.”
He rejoined his unit and lead them to the back, where they found the storehouse. It was full of shelves and maintenance equipment, but there was a wooden plank on the floor under a workbench. Jack removed the plank and uncovered a ladder that lead into darkness. The Marines descended and, with Sid in the lead, made their way to safety.
