Knife (9780698185623) (21 page)

Mike smiled and congratulated him and then his face hardened a little. Bear slapped Dalonna on the back.

“Three,” Barnes said, nodding from across the aisle. “Three's a good age.” He put his hands on his kneepads and smiled at Dalonna. “Wish I was three again. Happy Birthday, Little Donna.”

Mike smiled and nodded along with the bumps in the road. He looked at his watch.

“Sun's up.”

Then it started to rain, the large drops splashing loud and hard against the metal sides of the carrier. It seemed every face in the cabin peered down at their watches at the same time and then the gunner on the .50 started shifting sides on the mount in jerks, practically throwing himself from wall to wall. He came over the comms, talking fast.

“Engaging targets on the roofs.”

Shaw recognized the rain as incoming rounds and the .50-caliber on the roof started spitting its thumb-sized rounds,
woomf, woomf, woomf,
out into the streets. The men racked their weapons and tightened their helmets and kits.

“Well, this is nice,” Barnes said. “The whole city'll be out.”

Dalonna made the sign of the cross with his fingers and Shaw bit his lips until blood came thick, tasting like rust. Bear had his eyes closed, the back of his head resting against the side of the carrier. He looked asleep.

The carriers slammed to a halt and the door dropped to the ground.

Shaw jumped off the ramp first, into a cloud of dirt and exhaust and a city on fire in the sun.

•   •   •

S
haw brought his sight up to engage targets before his boots hit the dirt. He saw Hagan and Cooke run out from their carrier just a couple meters ahead, then two large women came into view dressed in long black chadors. Their faces were visible, so Shaw looked for the husbands. He saw only the women herd some kids back inside, so he ran through all the dust thrown up in the air by the GMVs. He threw his weight against a wall that looked like it couldn't hold him, and it didn't. Brick shifted at the base of his back and then dust and pieces of the wall landed on his shoulders.

AKs cracked their 7.62, and the .50s from the carriers answered with their
woomf, woomf, woomf,
while 5.56 started spitting around the alleys and streets as the teams hit the ground. Cooke aimed at a blind spot Shaw couldn't see—behind the house the women had just herded the kids into—and squeezed off a few rounds. The casings ejected and glittered in the sunlight and then settled in the dirt. Cooke and Hagan and Dalonna ran across the road with ladders on their shoulders, weapons up and scanning with one hand. They settled into the wall behind Shaw.

The air snapped, pinged, and buzzed around them. The GMVs raised their doors, stayed put, and the .50s continued sending rounds into the buildings, storefronts, and rooftops. The men moved toward the compound, and targets that popped up on roofs were dropped down onto the street. There wasn't a lot of screaming, but the fire was total, the roar of weapons deafening. Rounds came from all over and were sent out the same. Shaw led the two teams hugging the wall down its length and turned when it ended in front of a storefront with yellow fruits and vegetables spread out on a ledge. A gangly male wearing a white T-shirt, dark green pants, and flip-flops was leaning out of a doorway in front of the stand, his back turned. He sprayed rounds down the street and his back rippled with the AK's kick. When Shaw raised his sight and dropped him, his head snapped and his long black hair caught on the wind. He twirled and face-planted, settling between the doorway and the street. They ran past him and Shaw heard a
pop, pop
as Hagan put two in him to make sure he was down. The air smelled of burning metal and tires. Calls of fire came in so fast they were jamming the airwaves. The comms were useless.

Fire to the east fifty meters, on the rooftops.

Storefront ahead one hundred meters.

Alleys.

On the roof.

South one hundred.

West seventy-five.

North fifteen meters.

East one hundred fifty.

Shaw shot a man wearing sunglasses and propping a rifle on a third-story windowsill, and the man fell back inside the room. Then a woman stuck the muzzle out the same window and he put her down, too. She was wearing a hijab with her face exposed and had strands of black hair cobwebbed over her face from the wind. He could've sworn he saw her eyes light up as the rounds hit her chest. He turned a corner and saw the compound on the next block, the walls the color of sand and smoke. Rounds chipped away at the concrete, sending puffs of rock and dust into the air. Black smoke from tire fires rose on the sides of the compound and started blotting out the sun. Apaches had already been called in over the comms and were speeding to the area.

Hagan and Dalonna sprinted across the street ahead of the rest and threw the ladders at the wall. They climbed the rungs and hopped into the compound without pause. The rest of the teams followed suit and dragged the ladders over the walls and inside. Barnes and Bear immediately climbed the rungs and engaged targets. Brass from their fire started raining on the concrete inside the compound. Shaw breathed heavily, scanning the surrounding rooftops and the walkway in front of him that led to the doors and stairwells of the compound. His sight was shaking, bobbing up and down with each rapid breath, so he tried to steady himself. He held a couple breaths and let them go slow.

“Hog and Mass. First floor with me,” he said.

Cooke and Dalonna ran up an exposed stairwell bisecting the first floor to the second level. They didn't need to be told. Rounds tore through the compound and over the walls, embedding into the walkway that led to the rooms and against the sides of the first level. Shaw heard shots coming above them.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.
Then the rounds landing in front of them stopped. He and Hagan started down the walk slowly, Massey watching the surrounding rooftops and following behind them. They crept over chips in the walk and spent casings. Hagan and Shaw tac-lighted the rooms and found empty carpets spread out on the floors and sham cloths hung for doorways that led to more carpeted empty rooms. There were bookshelves lined with scattered paperbacks and knickknacks, and a couple pairs of shoes but nothing else. Massey fired at targets outside the compound from the doorways and Hagan and Shaw cleared the rooms and made their way to the next one. It sounded like the world was burning itself down.

The sky was a beautiful blue and the air swarmed with helicopters, lead, and smoke. The Apaches leaked streams of brass shells onto the streets below. Massey changed a mag and Hagan and Shaw cleared another empty room. Massey brought his rifle up and Shaw saw a man in a loose red T-shirt across the street on a third-floor rooftop shoulder a weapon, then fall back as rounds tore through his front. The casings from Massey's rifle hit him in the face and Shaw brushed the burning metal away from his collar, the skin already blistering.

Shaw pressed on to the last room in their sector and walked into a windowless space, dark except for the light coming through the open door. His tac light lit up a dozen pale faces huddled into a corner. Boys and girls of knee to hip height with snot and tears crusted on their faces stood bunched together behind a single woman dressed head to toe in black. She had her arms flung out to her sides. She was short but cast a wide arc. He lit up her face and she squinted in the light. Full, wrinkled cheeks and thick, dark brows. A wide nose and deep black eyes.

“Erfa yadayk,”
Shaw said.
“Dasthaa baalaa.”

He tried to say it softly, but she winced with each word. He saw her arms trembling and could smell her breakfast on her breath. Fruit and some type of cornmeal. Her chador twitched and her breast heaved.

“It's okay,” Shaw whispered. “Show me your hands.”

Shaw's throat was dry and thick. It felt like he'd swallowed a whole apple. The kids were whimpering and staring out from behind her. Some of the kids had their hands raised and others had them cupped around their ears. The noise had been deafening.

Shaw dropped the light from her face a little.

“Erfa yadayk,”
he repeated.
“Dasthaa baalaa.”

Her arms trembled, but she raised them in the air.

“Good,” Shaw said.

Shaw let his sling hold the weight of his rifle. He brought his wrists together, gestured toward her. She mirrored him, held her hands toward him.

“Hog. Cuff her. But light and in the front.”

Hagan stepped in front of him and placed the flex-cuffs around her wrists. An RPG impacted the wall somewhere outside and large blocks of concrete peppered the walk inside the compound. Gravel scattered into the room from the open doorway. The kids recoiled with the blast and the woman started to cry. Hagan patted her on the shoulder and then ran the backs of his hands along her body. She avoided his touch and Shaw shook his head.

“She's good, then,” Hagan said.

“Okay,” Shaw said. “Okay.”

They were all quiet for a while then, standing in the room together while the rest of the world erupted behind them. Shaw heard sniffles from a few of the kids, and the woman's breathing had slowed and then softened. The comms were crackling and voices were rushed and shouting, but it was all white noise, faded voices from far away. The kids studied the operators' beards and the bearded men studied their hairless faces. The woman never moved her hands from her front. She stood rigid and upright and stopped crying after a while. Shaw felt bad about having to cuff her. He'd been at it long enough to recognize the hate in her eyes. They would never win over people with eyes like that.

A small girl placed her tiny hand on the woman's side, and the smooth, pale skin on the black cloth stood out harsh in the beam of Shaw's tac light. The hand looked skeletal, ghostly. Shaw radioed in that they had their sector secured, and Cooke and Dalonna came down to the first level and gathered outside the room with Massey. The three of them kneeled on the walkway and scanned the perimeter, popping off single shots at targets Shaw couldn't see. He heard a call for exfil over the comms even as the calls for fire kept coming through. Birds swooped over the compound and their miniguns buzzed like chainsaws and the shells rained down on the streets and dwellings and
plink
ed,
plink
ed,
plink
ed on the streets and rubble below. Rockets
whoosh
ed and hissed and shrieked, crashing into walls and storefronts. Then there was a loud crash and the outer wall caved in on itself where the rear of a GMV plowed through the crumbled stone. The hatch dropped right in front of the room with all the kids.

Massey, Cooke, and Dalonna ran in and Hagan and Shaw turned away from the kids.

“Hog,” Shaw said. “Cut her loose.”

Hagan let his rifle hang on his sling. He took out a knife longer than his hand from his kit and walked to the woman. She raised her chin. Some of the kids tried to hide behind her. Hagan brought the knife to the cuff and sliced it. Then he sheathed the knife, patted the woman on the shoulder, waved to the kids, and ran past Shaw. He ran into the carrier and sat down. Shaw looked at the kids and the woman and held his hand up in the doorway. The woman stared back at him and then turned her back, covering the kids with the cloth of her chador. Shaw saw their little faces start to press through the fabric of her black cloth and then he ran over shells, chipped concrete, and wall rubble and jumped into the carrier. The door sealed shut behind him and the GMV lurched forward and accelerated up the streets.

They bounced over the wreckage and through the chattering gunfire. The gunner opened the hatch in the roof. Sunlight and stale air came through. A loud blast filled the streets as an IED blew nearby and pieces of earth and the blast fluttered into the carrier like snow. Then the gunfire faded away as if the whole world had run out of ammunition at the same time. The only sound was the GMV's engine and the shift of its gears. Shaw took off his helmet and set it at his feet. Everyone looked around the cabin, eyes wide. Flecks of the IED blast peppered the men's boots.

“What the hell was that?” Hagan said. He shook his head, looked at his boots, and spat on the floor.

“Seven,” Dalonna said. “I got seven.”

Cooke put a big chaw in his cheek and rubbed his pants. “Yeah, that didn't go over right, did it?”

Shaw let out a deep breath and set his head against the wall of the carrier. His hair was wet with sweat and he closed his eyes. He wondered what their CO was doing then and how many calls were getting made. Secure lines must've been firing up the world over and reporters would be speeding to the scene. He opened his eyes and took off his gloves and dropped them at his feet. He ran his hands over his face, through his beard.

“Mass,” Hagan said. “Did we take any hits?”

Massey shook his head. “I didn't hear of any over the comms.”

“Christ,” Hagan said. “We must've dropped hundreds. That was totally fucked. Am I right? What the hell was that all about?”

“Got caught in the daylight,” Cooke said. He shrugged and swallowed his spit. “News crews will be in soon.”

•   •   •

I
t took hours to get back to the FOB, the carriers bouncing along and getting stuck in traffic jams in the bazaars. Shaw watched the sun shining bright through the hatch and imagined the street vendors swarming around the carriers, hawking their fruits and clothes. Making their living around those who'd left so many dead. He thought of those kids and the woman with the flex-cuffs on her wrists.

They started nodding off in ones and twos. Then Hagan's voice broke through the quiet.

“Hey. Did we even get any of the Pikes?”

Shaw looked at him and opened his hands. He let them rest on his thighs and shrugged. Everyone else was asleep.