Title: Back To Barak, Chapter Ten

Date: March 12, 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 writtenfor 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.


"I'm not stopping you, Sergeant. You and your people go right ahead. "Hunter had replied, before turning around and duck-walking back behind one of the small groups of trees in the low depression, which now served as the squads' only cover.

Silas watched him go. This was one incompetent, impotent, mean-spirited, crazy, bastard. How he'd risen to the rank of lieutenant was amazing. How he'd survived this long in the Army without one of his own men killing him, was a fucking miracle!

Shaking his head, Silas crouched as low to the ground as possible and joined his squad huddled behind a slightly larger stand of withered looking trees. "Alright, listen up!" He snapped. "I know exactly what you're all thinking, so put that shit aside for now! If we're going to risk going in and finding Dim, we gotta do it now, before Recon shows up and blasts this place back to the goddamned stone-age!" He watched as the members of his fire team nodded. "Tariq, Angel, you're coming with me. Hunter says Recon will be here by night fall but my personal opinion is it's going to be a few hours before we see shit! It's going to be getting dark soon so we'll try and use that to our advantage. "

He reached into his BDU jacket and pulled out a map which he opened and placed on the ground in front of them. "If this map's still accurate, if we follow this side of the road a coupla clicks we should come to a swamp area that empties into a small stream by the bridge, "he said, using his finger to trace the path." That's how we'll get in. Now there's likely to be guards posted, so we'll probably be looking for away to go under, not over. Once we find Dim, we'll come out the same way, and re-join you all back here and hopefully our backup will have arrived."

He turned to the three remaining members of the squad. "Smoke, we're going need your fire power here to keep this area clear for our support troops to move in. Mrs. B., Doublewide, you're going help him do that."

"Got it Sarge." Smoke said.

"It's highly probable that we'll lose radio contact with you," Silas continued. "Under no condition are any of you to risk your sorry-ass, useless lives trying to get into the town while it's under fire. Am I understood?" Silas shouted." If we're not back by the time Recon gets here, you'll advise them of our exit position and make sure they put a coupla bodies there in case we come back with a few hundred crazy insurgents on our backs."

"And you," he growled staring Mrs. B. down, " I know there aren't any available Humvees or walls for you to drive thru, but no crazy stunts! Or you'll walk back to the base with my foot planted in your ass every step of the way!"

"Yes, sir." Mrs. B. replied.

"Don't call me sir! Just stay down and don't get dead!" He turned his head. "Tariq, Angel! Let's move!"


He didn't know what time it was, but he could tell thru his glazed eyes that the sun was no longer beating down on the roof of the small, rickety shed he'd been hiding in, for the last two days. Or had it been three days? Something told him that it was important that he know exactly how long he had been there, but another part of him simply didn't have the energy to pursue the thought.

He was still sweating profusely. The boy had come back briefly, a third time, to bring him some water, and had helped him remove the BDU jacket that was almost soaked with perspiration. He'd covered the man with a small woven blanket, and placed the jacket on top to keep him warm and dry.

He sipped at the small amount of water he had left in his Camelbak, which was now lukewarm; it didn't do much to quench his thirst but it helped to soothe his throat, which was now as parched as the Sahara. But the pain from his throat was only an annoyance compared with the intense heat that radiated from his shoulder; enough heat to warm a small Iraqi village, he supposed.

He giggled weakly at his own joke, then damned himself for the small body movement the laugh had caused, as a sharp pain that could only be likened to being sliced with a knife, shot thru his body. His shoulder began to throb with a steady rhythm of its own, and he had to fight back the wave of nausea that came swiftly on its heels. He bit down on the sleeve of his jacket until his jaw ached and began to breathe furiously thru his nose to keep from crying out in agony. His head felt heavy and suddenly the entire shed seemed to be spinning. The acid in his stomach began to rise. Unable to hold back the inevitable, he rolled over, turning his head to the side, and threw up. He continued to gag for several minutes, before managing to roll onto his back once more. Tears, burning his skin, as though composed of acid, slid down his face and he began to weep, but not before stuffing the sleeve of his jacket back in his mouth.

Down by his feet he heard a short rapping sound and looked down to find that one of the emaciated chickens had wandered back into the shed, perhaps recalling in its tiny brain that a scrap of food had once been found there. The chicken pecked along the ground, weaving from side to side but its search was in vain. It stood still for several moments, its neck working back and forth and then, began to peck rapidly on the toe of his left boot. He kicked his leg out and the chicken jumped up, flapping its wings in anger and squawked loudly, before starting to peck at the boot once more.

Forcing himself to sit up, the open wound on his shoulder burning as though someone had doused him with gasoline and lit a match, he kicked out with his other foot. The chicken jumped up again, landing on his lower leg and began to peck furiously, its beak like the point of an awl. He yelped and tried to backhand the chicken, but it only flapped its wings harder and jumped onto his thigh. He tried to kick his legs in an effort to dislodge the angered fowl, but his legs were heavy and leaden. He slapped at the bird with his hands, connecting with it twice, but his attempts were feeble, and only served to enrage the chicken even more.

Again the chicken rose upward and this time landed directly on his crotch, and he gasped as the sharp clawed feet gripped his BDU trousers but failed to break thru the fabric. This time he did cry out, not in pain, but in anger. Enraged, he leaned forward and grabbed at the chicken, catching it around its scrawny neck, earning him several quick pecks to his right hand. The bird was squawking loudly, flapping its wings, feathers flying this way and that. He tightened his grip and with a quick motion of his hands, he snapped the chickens' neck, killing it instantly.

Panting and gasping for breath, he hurled the chicken into the air where it landed behind a few rotted boards on the opposite side of the shed. He dropped his chin on his chest and closed his eyes, shaking his head sadly.

His head came back up when he heard the sound of gunfire in the distance, followed by the sound of several men yelling in Arabic. Thru the cracks between the wall boards he could see several of them run past the dilapidated shed, and saw one man stop, hesitating just outside the door. He forced himself up on his feet, crouching as far back in the dark corner as he could, and raised his rifle towards the door……..


The convoy slowed just before the road leading into Barak, as ordered by Colonel Ryan, from his seat in an armored vehicle, sporting a mounted M60 machine gun, up top. The vehicle its self was equipped with armor on the sides and underneath to protect the crew from small arms ammunition and mines. Behind his vehicle sat three more armored vehicles, one carrying an MK19 grenade launcher, the others, an M2 machine gun each. Several vehicles behind those were two M6 "Linebackers"; sixty ton tanks meant for air defense, each equipped with a four-tube Stinger missile system. The convoy was rounded out by two additional Bradleys up front and a M998 troop carrier. A medivac helicopter was awaiting co-ordinates if necessary. Colonel Ryan was not 'dicking around'.

"Listen up people!" he shouted into the microphone of his headset." No fuck-ups!

The tanks move in first and plow the way for the rest of us. No one fires until I give the word! Lapus! "

"Yes, sir Colonel!" Lieutenant Lapus responded briskly from his vehicle.

"You make sure your people haul ass out of that truck and get behind that first berm lickety-fucking-split! Hunter and his folks will be moving forward to rendezvous with your team."

"Yes sir, Colonel!"

"One we get down the road and do some house cleaning, we'll proceed forward into the village. Once that's done the Stingers will bat clean-up. We stick to the plan, we're in and out in a few hours! Understood?"

Several voices answered in the affirmative.

"Fucking outstanding! Now let's go kick some insurgent ass!"


Silas, Angel, and Tariq slowly made their way down road toward the bridge but the first few thousand yards proved to be slow going; there was a bit more cover to be found here in the way of scrub and brush, but in between them there was nothing but open flat land and they'd had to move one man at a time. Eventually the ground sloped back, giving them enough cover to make it to the 'swamp' that flowed under the bridge and into the tiny village just as it had turned dark.

"Nice swamp," Angel commented as he looked out from behind a water deprived bush at the circular depression of water that was composed mainly of dirty run-off from the roadway left when it had last rained. The water was only calf height and there was no sign of any life was, except for a few scraggly plants, which had managed to take hold in the dank, dark, smelly water.

"What were you expecting?" Tariq asked.

"I don't know," Angel said, "But this ain't no swamp."

"Smells like a swamp." Silas said shrugging off his pack and reaching into it for the last of his ammo.

"It smells like Detroit."

"Well, just think of home as your wading thru it. " Silas commented, and began to loosen his boot laces and tuck the hem of his trousers snugly inside it. When he realized the other two men had made no move to copy him, he turned his head to see them both staring at him. "What!" he snapped. "You got a better idea? I don't see any goddamned rowboats, do you?"

Shaking their heads the other two men followed suit and started around the perimeter of the 'swamp', the bottom of which was rather mucky, making it impossible to walk thru without stopping to pull one foot up above the brackish water before placing it down again, slowing down their progress. They were still several feet from the bridge when they heard the sound of machine gun fire, followed by a volley of tank fire coming from the direction they had just left. Almost immediately activity could be heard from the area above them on the bridge.

"Shit! Let's go! Move it before they spot us!" Silas hissed, pushing himself thru the mire, with Angel on his tail.

Suddenly there was a loud splash from behind them.

"What the-?" Silas said, turning around quickly, his rifle ready in hand, to see Tariq lying in the murky water. "Goddamn it, Tariq, get up!"

"My foot's stuck on something," he replied, turning over onto his butt and trying to pull his foot free. "Son of a bitch" he yelled, tugging once, twice more.

Angel turned to help but Silas pushed him back in the direction of the bridge. "Get going! Anything happens to us, you go get Dim the fuck outta there!"

"Sarge-"

"Goddamn it, that's a direct order, Angel! "Silas shouted as he tried to get to where Tariq lay, desperately trying to free himself. Up above them several large military vehicles were speeding across the bridge and heading down the road to meet the arriving troops.

Below the bridge, Angel had turned back and began to push his way thru the muck as ordered, making it beneath bridge where he watched as Silas and Tariq both struggled to pull his leg free.

"Goddamn it!" Silas yelled, luckily unheard above the noise of machine gun fire and exploding mortars. He reached under Tariq's knee and yanked hard, dislodging the trapped foot, but landing on his ass in the water as well.

"Thanks Sergeant-" Tariq began

"Save it!" Silas yelled, pulling at the wet trousers hugging his skin. " Just move your ass!"