Title: Back To Barak, Chapter Eight

Author: Rocketpowerpack

Rating: NC-17

Date: February 22, 2006

Archive: Not without Permission of the Author

Disclaimer: "Over There" and all its characters belong to FX Networks and other entities that may have been involved with its production. No infringement of copyright is intended. This story was written for personal enjoyment and to share with other "Over There" fans.

Summary: When Lieutenant Hunter volunteers the squad to infiltrate and capture Iraqi insurgents, all hell breaks loose.

Warning: Be warned that this story does include depictions of war; these depictions may describe consequential injuries and death, and while not overly graphic, they may cause some readers discomfort.Please read at your own risk.

A/N reminder that this story takes place between Episode 12 "Suicide Rain" and Episode 13 "Follow the money"


"Colonel, permission to speak freely, sir…" Baron began

" Oh, Sheezus, James, just tell me what's on your mind," Colonel Casper Ryan, replied from his position in Baron's chair, stretching his legs in front of him and placing his highly polished boots on the makeshift desk.

"In regards to Lieutenant Hunter, Colonel, is it true that General Downer hand-picked him for this mission because of a family relationship-"

"-You mean is it true that Hunters his son-in-law?" Ryan asked laughing loudly. "Close family relationship my ass! You better not let him hear that! But, oh yeah, it's true! Downer's probably hoping a mortar' will land on the guy and put him out of his and his daughter's misery! Last comment I heard the general make about Hunter, was when his daughter called to tell him he might be becoming a grandfather, and Downer says to her, 'Please, please, tell me its someone else's and not that horses ass you're married to!" More laughter. "He told her if he had his way, Hunter wouldn't be allowed to breed!" He slapped his leg and kept laughing.

Though maintaining a cool exterior, Baron was seething underneath. St Claire had gotten him some good solid information; information he now wished he did not possess when he considered his men who were stranded behind enemy lines.

Hunter had played part time soldier while at Georgetown University and did a little time playing weekend warrior in the Reserves, thinking he was a real soldier while the real soldiers were out fighting for a living. After Basic Training, and Officers Candidate school came a cushy assignment in D.C practicing law, most likely earned on strings pulled by his father-in-law, who undoubtedly did so to keep his only child, a daughter, happy. But wanting to get into the shit and do some real fighting, Downer again pulled some strings, placing him some place where he could do the least amount of harm and stay as far as fuck away from him as possible; there he was supposed to stay, until a paperwork glitch shipped him to his current billet.

He shook his head and looked up to find Ryan observing him carefully." So how'd you find out about that?" Ryan asked.

"I'd heard the rumor."

"Really? I've never heard it." Ryan asked peering closely at Baron. "That's your story and you're sticking with it, huh? Well, you got yourself a good source, James; I'll leave it at that. "

"You said speak freely so I intend to." Baron retorted. "They're my men out there and I lied to them, because I was lied to, sir! And I don't like lying to my men. And I don't like backing up a soldier who fucks up and then rides the coattails of a general to keep the smell of shit off him!"

"'I've had men come to me and ask that Hunter be reassigned, and I quickly remind them of their place, and that Lieutenant Hunter is an officer in the US ARMY; that he didn't get there by accident, when in all candor it seems as if-" He stopped himself before finishing the sentence and sat down heavily in the folding chair opposite Ryan.

"If I had to place bets on who might have found Lieutenant Hunter offensive, I'd bet on Sergeant Scream any day and twice on Sunday." Ryan commented. " Scream's a good soldier. He's respectful. He's respected by his men and well liked, which you know yourself isn't easy. So I'm glad he's the one out there with them."

Baron swallowed. "We're missing one."

"What! Who?" Ryan said bolting upright.

"Dumphy."

'The college kid? Tall, thin. Glasses? They call him..D…Dim?"

"Yeah. They think he's in the village. He and King went to try and rescue an injured soldier left in the field after Mallatucci's squad got killed. Insurgents came in and they think Dumphy might have hid under the truck."

"Aw fuck! Ryan said angrily, "No one told me that!" He jumped up from his chair and walked down the entire length of the tent and back. Baron looked at him strangely, and Ryan dropped his gaze to the floor. "I guess I better tell you Downer's solution to this whole mess then."

"Sir?"

"We'll be going in with the tanks and heavier artillery. We'll cover them with RPG's and small weapon fire. Once we get your crew out, we'll be calling in air support to bring in the Stingers. We're going to flatten that mother. There ain't going to be nothing left!"


It was sometime after noon; he could tell by the height of the sun in the sky because it was beating directly down on top of the small shed. He was sweating profusely but he didn't even consider taking off his B.D.U jacket, which contained his body armor. He sipped at the small amount of water he had left in his Camelbac. It wasn't just the heat of the day that was making him sweat, he was pretty sure he was running fever; the area around his left shoulder was red, very hot to the touch and very swollen, and it hurt like hell which was not a good thing. It could mean an infection and left untreated, it might result in-

He heard a scraping noise outside and got to his feet in a crouching position ready to spring on whatever was now, moving the rotted plank of wood covering the doorway. He had his M16 in his hand, finger cocked on the trigger, when in popped a dark head of curly hair. Dim took a deep breath and sighed, then shook his head and smiled. "You gotta be more careful kid! " The little boy simply smiled and carefully placed the basket he'd been holding in front of him.

Dim peered into basket and reached in, taking out a large piece of cloth, which was warm and slightly moist; he sniffed the wrapped bundle and smiled before opening it and sniffing it again. The wrapped bundle was a large piece of thin flat bread, not unlike a pita; it was folded over and inside were chunks of meat and vegetables and it smelled heavenly. There was also a pouch, something like a wine skin that was filled with cool cold water.

Dim placed both items back into the basket. "Thank You. I mean… Shukran."

The boy smiled back and nodded, then looked concerned as Dim's face fell. Being here with the obviously kind child, whose heart had yet to be destroyed by war and hatred, made him think of Eddie, who undoubtedly would have done the same thing for a stranger, no matter who they were.

He looked up at the boy and said, "You remind me of my stepson, Eddie." He reached into a pocket of his B.D.U jacket and removed two pictures….one of Vanessa and one of her son. He reached over and handed the picture to the other boy, pointed to the picture. Placing his hand palm down on his chest, he said, "My son. Eddie. He's seven years old." He thought for a moment. "I don't remember how to say seven…

um…" He raised both hands to show seven fingers, then bent each one forward to count," one two three four five six seven."

"Ah, Saba'a!" the boy called out excitedly. He held up both of his hands in turn and

and said, "Ashra! Wahid, Itnan, Talatha, Arb'a, Khamsa, Sitta, Saba'a, Tamanya, Tisa, Ashra! "proceeding to show Dim how to count in his language. He then pointed to himself. " Ismi Dawud."

Not to be outdone Dim pointed to himself and said, " Uh Iz…my Frank."

"Fraaa -nck"…Dawud said giggling.

"Hey, I didn't make fun of your name, you know!" Dim said laughing too. He suddenly had an idea; It was customary to say thank you for a gift by giving a small gift in return and grabbed his pack, looking for some pieces of candy that the soldiers usually had on hand to give out to the children when traveling thru these small villages. He pulled out several items, and placed them on the ground, trying to reach the bottom of the pack. He pulled out another item and saw Dawud looking curiously at the Ipod sitting on the pile. He picked it up. "Its music" Dim said. "Hmmm. How do I explain music? La la la la la …….." he began singing, making the child giggle.

Dim picked up the Ipod and flicked the 'on' button. Through the attached ear phones he could hear the sound of Pavarotti….He nodded and pantomimed a big man with a large stomach, singing, "Figaro, Figaro, Figaro…Opera….Uh, Op-A –RA, OP A RA….No? " he asked, shaking his head, when the child kept laughing.

"Okay let's try this."

Dim carefully placed the headphones on the boys head, adjusted the volume, then pressed 'play' and Dawud gasped loudly; for a moment Dim thought the volume was too much for the boy, but it wasn't. He watched the child's' face light up as the sound of Puccini's' ' Nessun Dorma' came to life courtesy of Luciano Pavarotti; his head cocked to the side, he drew breath deeply in his chest and the look on his face, was like that of a blind man, who had seen a sunset for the first time.

After a the aria finished, Dawud took the headphones from his ears and handed the Ipod back to Dim, who shook his head and handed it back." You keep it. For you." He pointed to the basket. "To say thank you. Shukran."

But theboy shook his head and smiled. "Shukran Fraaa nck". He then carefully picked up the now empty basket and slipped out the door.


Eddie was sitting at the kitchen table, enthusiastically coloring a picture in his large drawing pad with the colored pencils that Vanessa had bought for him in the PX several days ago. While they'd been shopping he'd seen and admired a beginners artist set, that included paints, brushes, drawing and painting paper, and pastels as well and his mother had commented that if he showed some skill with the pencils perhaps she'd keep the kit in mind when his birthday came around in a few weeks.

It was nice having his mommy around more often. She wasn't sick and tired in the morning and didn't yell at him so much, although she had been very sad and sick when the baby had died, and he was sad about that too, because he had been practicing really hard to be a big brother like Frank had said he should.

He placed his chin down on the table and sighed. He really missed Frank; he missed playing ball with him and watching television and listening to music. Frank was going to teach him to play chess, but then he had to go away to Iraq. He didn't like Frank being in Iraq; he had friends whose mommies and dads came home from Iraq hurt really bad and some that didn't come home at all, because they had died "over there". He couldn't understand why anyone would want to shoot at Frank, because Frank was a nice guy.

He picked his head up and started coloring again. He was drawing a picture of their house, and drew himself and his mommy in front of it, waving . Mommy was going to mail it to Frank tomorrow. He hoped Frank hadn't forgot about them.