AFGHANISTAN

"Feeling awful exposed out here in the daylight like this, boss." Kowalski sounded spooked as he crouched behind me.

Fifty six miles out from Kandahar, was nothing abut mountains of desert. No roads, no villages.

We had flown in on Black Hawk Mortem One, out here under the hot sun in our desert fatigues with floppy camouflage sun hats on. We were like a bunch of overgrown kids playing soldier... with real bullets and grenades.

We were in Afghanistan, not behind some desk or cash register or sitting in the cafeteria staring out the window across a sleepy barracks. We did things like jump out of airplanes, fast-rope out of helicopters, rappel down cliffs... stuff like what we were doing over here, doing good, chasing around an exotic Third World capital after a murderous warlord.

Our team was bearing south on foot, heading toward the back end of the target house and toward a the dusty road we'd come in on. At least I thought that was where we were headed.

Most of the scenery of Afghanistan looked the same, rutted orange sand with big gouges in the middle and treacherous mounds of debris, shabbily mortared stone walls on both sides, stubby olive trees and cactus bushes and crisscrossing the sandy terrain.

Now there was just that musky stink of Afghanistan, the trace of desert dust in the air, and the slight aftertaste of diesel from the chopper in our mouths.

"Tac, this is Alpha One. We're passing Lincoln." Flag said into the comms. Kowalski was right. It felt wrong operating without the cover of darkness.

"Copy, Alpha One. Enjoy the hike." Blackburn replied.

I signalled for Kowalski to take point, and I fell in behind Hayes and Spenser.

"Last man." I grunted, taking the rear position.

"No movement at the target house, boss." Kowalski informed, looking through his binoculars.

"Maybe Ghani's a late riser." Hayes assumed, crouched beside Flag.

"Yeah, he's probably the real Bohemian type." Taylor droned.

I grumbled irritably.

"Cut the chatter, all right? Move it." Flag signaled forward, and each man sneaked through the tall crunchy dead weed across the desert. The shack was in sight, but maybe Hayes was right.

Every step, we took with caution, not taking our eyes off the target building. Flag sped ahead of me, blocking me from the first sight. Kowalski took the lead, and slowed dramatically.

What I saw and heard was a flash of light and a violent crack. I stood and took one step forward and heard the whooosh of a second missile. There was another flash and explosion. I was thrown to the ground. Thick dust flew into our faces as we dropped to the ground.

"Contact front! Contact front! Move it!" Flag yelled. "Kowalski, where'd that come from?"

"Mortar team, northeast corner of the target building!" he yelled over his shoulder.

You would think bullets flying past would command your attention, but I'd been too preoccupied to notice.

Now I did. Passing bullets made a loud snap. As big a target as I made, I figured he'd better find some cover.

"Perry! Push left, after that mortar team!" I shouted over the rattle of gunfire, and the patter of missed bullets arounds us.

"Not happening right now!" Perry replied, crawling into a grassy patch for cover.

I rolled over slowly into a nearby ditch just feet away, and pulled myself into a crouch.

There was another explosion just meters away into the bank on the other side of the road.

The explosion is powerful enough to dismember anyone standing near it, and it hurls deadly sharp metal fragments in all directions.

My heart banged in my chest and I found it hard to breathe. My head was filled with the sounds of shooting and explosions and visions of my team, one by one, going down, and blood splashed everywhere oily and sticky with its dank, coppery smell and I figured, this is it for me.

And then, in that moment of maximum terror, I felt it all abruptly, inexplicably fall away. One second I was paralysed with fear and pain and the next... I had stopped caring about myself.

I would think about this a lot later, and the best I could explain it was, my own life no longer mattered. All that did matter were my buddies, my brothers that they not get hurt, that they not get killed.

These men around me, some of whom I had only known for weeks, were more important to me than life itself. It was like when Hayes ran out on the road to pull Perry back in.

I understood that now, and it was heroic, but it also wasn't heroic. At a certain level I knew Hayes had made no choice, just as he was not choosing to be unafraid. It had just happened to him, like he had passed through some barrier. He had to keep fighting, because the other guys needed him.

"One, this is Six. I'm heading up the hill." Spenser began to climb the rise on the other side of the road, hoping to do what Flag wasn't in a position to do- he was stuck on the hillside, narrowly missing fire.

"We got two squirters out the back!" Taylor screamed, still firing his rifle over my head.

"Is it Ghani?!" I shouted back between rounds.

"I can't say!" Taylor replied.

Kowalski was propped up in the ditch ahead of me. "You know we don't chase squirters, Trig."

I peered above the ditch, and eyed the two figures fleeing around the side of the building. "Son of a bitch, it's Ghani." I murmured. "I'm going after him." I told the men, and crept down the ditch leading toward the shack.

"Rolling with you, Trig!" Kowalski followed close behind, gun up.

"Let's go! I'm ending this!" I shouted to him.

"This isn't the way, Jaz!" Flag argued.

I scoffed. "Are you gonna cover us or what? On me." I ordered. "Three, two, one." We dashed out into the field, trying to avoid any fire on us. Mortars were fired at us, but luckily those guys had a terrible aim, and we were able to evade them.

"Crazy bitch." Someone breathed into my earpiece.

"The squirters stopped moving." Taylor said, as Kowalski and I scurried across the dirt, slamming ourselves into the wall of the shack.

"Doubt they're waving a white flag." I replied.

"Bravo Four, this is Tac. Be advised the targets have stopped moving, and appear to be taking up defensive positions." The radio chattered.

"Copy, Tac." I panted.

We were distracted by a gunman down the side of the shack who would pop out to shoot and then duck back before we could return fire.

We both got down on one knee at opposite sides of the building waiting to nail this guy. From a distance, all the Afghanistan fighters looked the same, skinny black guys with dusty bushes of hair, long baggy pants, and loose, oversized shirts.

While most of them would wildly spray bullets and then run, some were fiercely persistent. Occasionally one would run right out into the open, blazing away, and invariably be mowed down.

This one was smart. He would lean out just long enough to take aim and shoot, then duck back behind the corner.

I tried to anticipate him.

The shooter's head would appear, I would squeeze off a well-aimed round, and the man would duck away again.

I was determined to get him. I stayed down on one knee around a corner trying to hold my Colt M4A1 perfectly steady, drawing a bead on the spot down the alley where the shooter would briefly appear.

Sweat stung my eyes. I grew so absorbed in this fruitless duel that I lost track of time and place and was startled when a Kowalski yelled my name. "Hey, Trig! Come on!"

We continued forward.

I looked back at Kowalski and waited for him to catch up, when I saw a trail of smoke behind a mortar heading our way. I saw it happen.

There wasn't even time to shout a warning, even if Kowalski had been able to hear me. There was just a blaaaap! and a spurt of smoke from the grenade and the Lieutenant went straight down in the dirt on his face.

The blast had hammered my eardrums, and my head was still ringing.

"Man down! Bravo Five is down!" I shouted into the comms.

I watched Kowalski's unmoving body. "Mike!"

"Yeah." He groaned.

I felt relief. "Talk to me, man. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You good?" I repeated.

Kowalski waved at me and nodded, then began to crawl to me. "I'm good, I'm good. Go."

"Okay, move to cover." I instructed.

"Go after Ghani. Go!" He shouted, groaning and coughing. Blood was coming from his mouth and back, inking through his fatigues.

"This is Bravo Five." He said into the comm.

I lurched ahead, trying to stay out of Ghani's sight, and the gunfire surrounding me.

"I'm just a little dinged up right now."

I heard the explosion of gunfire and the zing and pop of rounds passing close.

"Alpha Four, you okay?" Ellis asked.

"All good here." I answered bluntly, getting a visual on the two escapees. They had stopped in an opening behind the building, loading up a machine gun propped on a bipod.

One of the men had an RPG resting on his shoulder, aimed directly at my team.

I ran on some desperate last reserve of adrenaline. I ran and shot and swore until I began to smell my own blood and feel dizzy. For the first time I felt some stabs of pain. I kept running.

As I approached, I lifted my rifle and shot the man at the machine gun. His body fell forward, his hands not reaching out to lessen his fall.

The RPG was propelled toward my team, and I couldn't risk losing Ghani to see if they made it out of the way. I rushed at him, dropping my rifle to the ground as I ran at him, my hands clutching his neck.

He shouted something, as I pushed him to the ground, one hand still on his neck, and one hand smashing into his face over and over until I couldn't lift my arm anymore. So I just squeezed his throat-tighter and tighter until his spluttering and groans stopped, and he stopped moving from under me.

"Tac, this is Bravo Four. Jackpot. I say again, jackpot."

Gunfire continued, in Kowalski's direction.

I looked down at Ghani, who remained still. So I got to my feet and snatched up my rifle, aiming it at the men running toward a helpless Kowalski.

One of the men went down, though I couldn't see who shot him. I skidded to a stop beside Kowalski, and gripped my rifle, panning the hill for more shooters.

I looked at Kowalski, who gazed up at the hill behind us.

"Bravo Four, you're clear to move." Spenser said.

Panting, Kowalski got to his knees. "Nice shooting, kid." "One, this is Five," Kowalski said. "Target secure. On our way to you."

I put Kowalski's arm around my neck and I heaved him to his feet, and we slowly crept back towards the team.

"Copy, Five." Flag replied, "Prepare to exfil."

We made several steps toward our team, but something whistled behind us, and the ground rushed up to meet me.

"Kowalski!" I shouted when I came to, my ears ringing. I couldn't see anything past the blurred vision. "Kowalski!" I could barely hear my own voice. "Answer me!"

I searched through the dust and smoke, Kowalski's waist was on my arm, unmoving.

My eyes stared at Kowalski's lifeless body, the smoke and dust drifting past my face and into my eyes, making me squint.

Kowalski's skin was already gray and his eyes were open wide and rolled back so you could only see the whites. He had been hit in the upper back where the Kevlar flak vests had no protective plate. The round had pierced his heart and passed through his torso, exiting and lodging in the vest's frontispiece, which did have an armored plate.

Time seemed to slow down, and something lifted me off the ground, and I lulled my head back helpless. "Kowalski!" I screamed, finally able to hear myself.

"He's okay, he's gonna be okay!" I heard Flag shouting. "We've got to get her back in a hurry or she's gonna die!"

I hung there, limp, as he loped swiftly through the sand. Some part of me knew this should upset me–being carried away by a stranger. But there was nothing left in me to upset.

It didn't seem like too much time passed before there were slurred figures and the deep babble of many male voices. Flag slowed as he approached the commotion.

"I've got her!" he called in a booming voice.

The babble ceased, and then picked up again with more intensity. A confusing swirl of faces moved over me.

Flag's' voice was the only one that made sense in the chaos, perhaps because my ear was against his chest.

"She's hurt badly," he told someone.

"Kowalski," I said weakly.

"Jaz, he's going to be fine. Don't worry about him, he's going to be fine. "

I was relieved, but I wasn't sure what was happening.

I felt something warm press against my wrist, and then it was pressed against the skin of my cheek. I hoped that I was fainting, but, to my

disappointment, I didn't lose consciousness. The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under.