Project Apex (27 page)

Branning said nothing. He had long grown used to the icy instinct inside him which told him everything about the current situation was wrong, and yet he wasn’t able to do anything to stop it. People were relying on them. Even so, hiding his disdain for Hamada was hard.

"So this is where your kind hide, up here in the rocks."

"We don’t hide, Branning. We choose to make camp here because it offers us security. Your people have taken over our cities."

"We came here to liberate this country from people like you." Branning hissed.

"People like us? Citizens of Iraq who are forced to flee like animals because of your countries propaganda."

"Don’t give me that shit," Branning said as they descended down a scrub of rock into a narrow valley. "Nine-eleven wasn’t any propaganda. It was real. People watched it on TV all over the world."

"So you think every man of Middle Eastern blood must be punished?"

"We're here to protect, not to punish."

"Come on, Branning. Surely you have seen by now our people don’t want you here. Of course, there are a few, but the majority just want you Americans and British to leave us alone."

"People want our help. If you people stopped pushing your agenda, things would be different."

"Our agenda?" Hamada snorted. "Look to your own leaders before you talk about agendas."

Branning was getting angry and had to remind himself how isolated he was and how far away from any help. He squinted up at the sun, and then to Hamada, feeling a pang of envy at how little the heat seemed to be affecting him. They walked without speaking, climbing ever higher and deeper into the hills.

"So," Branning said between breaths. "What do you think is happening here, with these attacks?"

Hamada didn’t answer, at first, waiting until the ground levelled out.

"When I was a boy," he said eventually, "My father told me a story, a legend passed down from my people about when Alexander the Great first came to our lands. Alexander had already conquered most of Arabia, Iraq and Iran, and had set his sights on entering Eastern Persian territory. At the time, it was known as Bactria. Today you know it as Afghanistan."

Branning glanced at the grizzled Middle Eastern man, his face framed against the pale blue sky.

"Alexander spent less than a year conquering most of the known world, yet found himself unable to conquer Bactria for more than ten years. Do you know why?"

"No," Branning said, genuinely interested in Hamada's story.

"Alexander struggled because the people of Bactria did not give up easily. They were warriors, they were proud, they did not like invaders and would do everything in their power to get rid of Alexander and his army. I’m sure this sounds familiar to you, Branning." Hamada said, glancing at the American.

"Alexander was a great warrior, and was used to winning, and so he also refused to give in. He became obsessed with conquering Bactria, so much so that it consumed him completely. Alexander was said to send a gift to his mother, Olympias, from each land he conquered.  Olympias sent a letter to ask why his gift from Bactria had not arrived when gifts from other conquered lands had arrived promptly.

Alexander read her letter and then grabbed a bag and filled it with the dirt from the ground of Afghanistan. He sent it back to her with a letter which told Olympias the bag contained the reason for his delay, and that she should scatter the dirt in her chambers and see what happens so that she might better understand his plight. Curious as to the strange reply, Olympias scattered the dirt around her room and waited to see what would happen."

"Go on."

"You're curious, aren’t you, Branning?" Hamada said with a thin smile.

“Actually, I am. It’s interesting.”

“Very well, then I shall tell the rest."

Hamada composed his thoughts and continued.

"Later, Olympias had two of her guards come to check on her. Before they entered, one of the guards stood aside to allow his companion to go in first. The second guard returned the offer, insisting the first guard crossed the threshold first. This went on, Branning, back and forth, each growing more and more angered that their offer to allow the other to go first was repeatedly denied. The guards drew swords as Olympias looked on, and they fought until both were lying on the floor dead. Olympias, of course, had seen this unfold, and immediately knew what had happened. She responded to Alexander’s letter, telling him to take his time as she now understood the reason for his delay.

Alexander was said to write back to his mother to tell her that the dirt of this land is very hostile, even to its own inhabitants, how could it be expected to be kind to invaders. It proved to be true, from that day until this."

Branning glanced at Hamada and then turned his attention back to the trail ahead.

"Do you understand why I tell you this, Branning?"

"Yeah, I think I do. You're telling me your people are willing to fight for what they believe in."

"In part, yes. The main point, in this case, isn’t so much about the American occupation, but more about the current situation. We are a small country, Branning, and because of that, we are underestimated. However make no mistake, we will fight for our freedom, and do whatever it takes to defeat this new enemy, as impossible as it seems."

"That’s something we agree on at least," Branning said.

"Soon, we will be with my men. Perhaps yet you might change your opinion of my people."

"Maybe. That all depends on what happens from here on in, doesn’t it?"

Hamada gave no response, and the two men walked in silence, deeper into the hostile Afghan terrain.

II

Branning could no longer deny his exhaustion. The intensity of the heat barraging the craggy, inhospitable landscape had become almost too much to bear. He thought he had done a good job of acclimatising to the harsh conditions during the time he had served, however, this was different. This was wilderness survival without the luxury of transport vehicles and fresh water waiting for him at the end of a patrol. They were a million miles away from civilization, so much so that Branning had to remind himself why they were even out there in the first place. As much as it pained him to admit it, he had been forced to respect Hamada's resourcefulness in helping them to survive. It seemed both of their respective cultures had every different methods of living off the land. Hamada found water where there should be none, digging in certain areas in the sandy earth, until the fine ground darkened and moisture was found. He also knew which native plants were good to eat, leaving Branning with little option but to put a little trust in his travelling partner, despite his personal thoughts. Now, at the end of their third day of walking, the sun had finally started to retreat, and hung like a giant, golden eye just above the horizon line, throwing their shadows into long, skinny shapes ahead of them.

Hamada found a cave, a hollow in the rocks large enough to give them a place to shelter and rest. The two had gone through their usual routine, finding wood for a small fire and sharing out the meagre amount of food they had brought with them. They sat now on opposite sides of the flames, soldiers from two different walks of life united together by the most unusual of circumstances. Branning was toying with a branch, dipping the end into the flames and letting it catch, before removing it and watching the orange glow fade away. As was his routine, Hamada had been to pray, which in turn made Branning envious that he couldn’t find enough faith in his own god after everything that had happened to want to try and speak to him. They hadn’t spoken since Hamada returned, content to enjoy the silence and rest for a while. The sky went from orange to purple, and Branning’s twig was slowly burned down to an ember before Hamada spoke.

"You look tired, Branning."

"I’m fine," the American said, locking eyes with Hamada. "I just didn’t realise it would take so long to find your men."

"We will find them soon, then we will have the soldiers to fight this war."

"I was actually just thinking about that."

"In what way?"

Branning thought about keeping it to himself, then realised he had nothing to lose by sharing his thoughts with Hamada.

"I was thinking about the people back at the sewer, the women and the children. They're not ready for what has to be done."

"No, I told you this before we left. Is that not why we are out here in the wilderness?"

"I know that, but my point is, even when we go back, it doesn’t change anything. Those people will still be at risk. They still won’t be prepared."

"Many of them will die," Hamada said.

"What?"

"Those people, the refugees and children, the frightened women and men. Many of them will die before this conflict is over."

"How can you be so damn cold?" Branning snapped.

"There you go again Branning, thinking the best of everything. All I do is speak the truth. It is not my problem if you do not accept it."

"You say it like you have no faith in them."

"I don’t," Hamada said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, Branning, there are some people made for fighting, and some who are not. Those people we left behind are not. People like you and I are."

"Careful, Hamada, you'll have me believing you don’t hate me."

"I don’t hate you, Branning. In fact, I don’t believe we are very different apart from our respective beliefs."

"You're a terrorist. I’m a soldier." Branning snapped.

"Ah, but reverse the roles and I would say the same. I am a soldier and see you as the terrorist. Point of view makes all the difference."

"Look, that's beside the point. You're saying those people back in the sewers have no chance to survive, is that right?"

"Oh, I’m sure some of them will survive, for a while at least. Some will run and hide, but more will die. This is inevitable."

"Then why are we even bothering to fight at all?"

"Because we are warriors, Branning," Hamada said, the shadows dancing across his face as he smiled. "We know what is required to take a life. We know how it feels to smell blood and smoke, to know our lives could be extinguished at any given second, and yet we keep fighting. Why?"

"Sorry?" Branning said, not expecting the question.

"Why do we fight? For our country? For our belief? Or because it's in our blood?"

"Are you trying to say it's instinctive? You train to be a soldier, you're not born that way."

"Ah, you see, that’s where we disagree. I believe there are certain people who are more suited to a certain way of life. Great poets are born, not created. Great artists have an instinctive gift for transferring their vision to canvas. I believe warriors are the same. People like you and I, Branning, are born with the instinctive will to live the life we have chosen. This is why I say we are more alike than you may think. This is also why I say that, as unfortunate as it is, many lives will be lost before this battle is done."

Branning said nothing, taking a moment to think about Hamada's words. "It's not certain we will even survive this. Whatever is happening, it's global. Who knows how bad it is out there now."

Hamada shifted position, his face hidden in shadow thrown by the light of the fire. "Do you fear death, Branning?"

He thought about it, making sure to give the right answer. "No. I don’t suppose I do."

"Exactly. You can’t tell me that comes from training? From instruction?"

"Maybe you have a point," Branning muttered.

"See, Branning, you see me only in one way. You look at me, and you see a terrorist. You see a man with an agenda to destroy. However, I am far from this picture painted by the newspapers. I have a wife and family. Like those people in the sewers who we fight for, they are not warriors. When I talk about those who would die, I speak of my own family too. They will not last if this situation continues, which is why I would do anything to stop it. I fight not for myself, for I do not care about my own well-being, but for them. I fight so they can live in peace. If I am to die in the process, then so be it."

"You're no martyr. Nobody will remember you, Hamada. People like us, we will just be another statistic in a war that will kill millions. I think you have too high of an opinion of your worth."

"Perhaps you misunderstand," Hamada said, grinning across the flames. "Anonymity is fine with me as long as it leads to victory. As long as my children and my wife can live as free people, then I will have died a good death."

"In that case," Branning said, tossing Hamada a bottle of water. "I think we are in agreement."

Hamada grinned, and despite himself, Branning found himself smiling too. Hamada stood and stretched. "Get some sleep, Branning. Long day ahead tomorrow. We are close to my people, we should reach them by sundown."

"Best news I've heard all day," Branning said with a sigh as he untied his boots and pulled them off.

"Don’t forget to put those above the floor," Hamada said as he unrolled a blanket from his backpack. "Scorpions climb inside and will sting you when you put your feet in tomorrow."