Travesty (SolarSide Book 1)

by Austin Aragon

  “Easy-Bravo, Easy-Bravo. We copy. Little bird on is on its way. Make sure LZ is clear. Command out.”

  The firefight becomes louder as they get closer. Red smoke wafts through the trees behind them. As they near Easy-Alpha, their arm pads come within range and an arrow appears, indicating their precise location. Easy-Bravo follows it down a small path where a local appears running towards them, a teenage boy that sold odds and ends from the village.

  “Hey! Native our way!” says Peter.

  “I see him,” says Isaac. The boy from the shop cries and waves his hands at them.

  “Wait a sec guys, could be a trap from the rebels,” says Vance. Easy-Bravo kneels fast with guns at the ready. They surround themselves in full camouflage trench cloaks that mimic the surrounding environment, blending them in.

  The boy keeps running.

  “We can’t wait for this kid to pass!” says Tommy. “Our brothers needs us.”

  CRACK!

  As if someone whipped the air. Easy-Bravo hits the dirt.

  CRACK! CRACK!

  More rounds fly past over their heads.

  “Enemy fire!” says Peter. They crawl to the trees and foliage for cover.

  “It must be another fucking ambush!” says Isaac.

  They hope the cloaks are actually effective.

  The boy is still running towards them.

  CRACK!

  A red burst exits out of the boy’s side and he falls flat onto the path. “They hit him!” confirms Peter. The boy raises an arm at them—it is frail and skinny. Peter can hear his whimpering. The sniper fire stops.

  “Fucking shit, where is it coming from!” says Isaac.

  “I can’t see anything!” says Tommy.

  “Easy-Bravo!” blurts the radio on Vance’s side. “Our man is dying here, what is your location!”

  “Ah shit,” mutters Vance, he talks into the radio, “We encountered a sniper. We’re close to your location.”

  “Keep moving!” says the radio.

  “You heard Conal!” says Vance. “Zig-zag down the path, the second you hear fire hit the trees for cover!”

  Bravo gets back onto the path and they keep running, passing the boy’s body. His left side is gored and some parts of his hip blown off. His rags are soaked red, and his intestines have strung out into a line behind him from where he tried to crawl away. In his hand is a crumbled up note. Peter stops to grab and read it.

  Watch the trees.

  So they do know English. “Hey guys! The boy had a letter, it says watch the trees!?”

  “Well no shit! Fucking sniper is probably hiding in one,” says Isaac.

  CRACK!

  Tommy who is behind Peter falls over with a yelp.

  “Shit! Tommy! Pop smoke!” says Vance at Isaac. “Fucking son of a bitch, I’m gonna kill you!” he says at the trees.

  “Back to cover!” says Isaac as he throws smoke down the path and ducks into a bush.

  “Tommy! Tom, are you okay man?” Peter says to him. His shoulder is hit and a pool of blood is already forming around his body.

  Tommy gasps for air and he tries to shove his hands down his chest. “Is my scarf fine?”

  “Hold on, let me get a bandage on you.”

  “My scarf!”

  “Hold the fuck on! Let me stop the bleeding.” Peter tosses the medical bag on the ground, and ties a gauze bandage around Tommy’s shoulder. He undoes his vest and zips down the neck cuff where his scarf is. “It looks okay. I’m gonna give you morphine too.”

  Tommy grabs his scarf, feeling it with his left hand. “Let me get back to the base. I can walk.” Peter stabs him with a syringe gun on his lower neck. Tommy moans back at him. Peter goes to reload another capsule, then realizes that he just gave him the last one, the last morphine capsule.

  “What’s going on over there!” says Vance.

  “Fixing him up!” says Peter. “He says he can walk back.”

  “Is that true Tom?” says Isaac.

  “Yeah, yeah,” groans Tommy.

  “He said yeah!” Peter shouts back at them.

  “Well fuck,” says Vance. “Alright, have him walk to the smoke and wait for the bird. But don’t have them leave yet ‘cause we still have to bring our other man. Grab his XM-12 too!”

  “Alright buddy, get outta here,” says Peter to Tommy. He hobbles down the path under smoke holding his shoulder bandage tight. Peter turns back to Vance. “I don’t know how to use the 12 well!”

  “Christ man, give it to Isaac then, fuck. Let’s go!”

  Isaac grunts and retrieves the LMG off the path, drops his XM to his back strap, and lugs the ammunition on his shoulder. Easy-Bravo then runs in a zig-zag through the smoke ahead.

  They break through the trees to Alpha pinned under rebel fire. “On your six!” says Vance talking through the earpieces to alert Blake. “Friendlies coming in.” Isaac enters a prone near the path and lays down suppressive fire with the LMG, while Vance and Peter dive behind a prickly wall of foliage near Conal.

  “Alex and Vick are down right in front of us,” says Conal. “Blake and Rommel are up more, pinned as well.”

  “Easy-Bravo! We need that smoke and suppressive fire as we withdraw!” says Blake. He is meters ahead near a fallen tree and boulder formation.

  “Got it!” says Vance. He tosses a canister at the boulder by them, and another on their far left.

  “Tommy!” says Blake. “Make sure they don’t flank us on the road as we pull back. Pin them so they don’t advance on our position.”

  “That’s Isaac, Tom is down!” reports Vance.

  “Goddamn! Same orders none the less,” says Blake. “Peter and Vance, get over here and switch with me so we can get our men out!”

  Peter and Vance hop over the vines and needle bushes as Blake shimmies to Vick and Alex near them. They are both hit and lying on top of each other, one of them moaning. “Alex tried to get Vick but was hit,” says Blake as he checks their arm pads for vitals. “Hand me the stretcher,” he says. Peter unhooks the cylinder bag holding the roll out stretcher. Blake straightens it. “Go up and hold with Rommel, Private, we got it from here.”

  Peter crawls up to Rommel near the boulder. Rebel and LMG fire zip about overhead, hitting trees and sending splinters flying “Releasing more smoke!” says Peter. The first screen is already dissipating but comes back to life as he hurls a new canister into the cloud.

  “Toss grenades!” says Blake. Peter and Rommel pull the pins on their grenades, and toss them over their heads at red diamond shapes where the enemy was last targeted. After the booming sounds of them going off end, they lean over and fire through the smoke randomly.

  “Let’s go after them, war hero,” says Rommel snidely into Peter’s ear.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Peter glances over at his bloodlust eyes, then at his dangling necklace with rotting ears and Herculean appendages that has morphed into his armor, or maybe Rommel himself.

  “You know, let’s go at them Tionem style. I want a medal too.” He pushes Peter to the side, knocking him out of cover temporarily.

  “Fucking knock it off!” says Peter.

  “What? Are you scared? Huh pussy? I thought you were a war hero, not a bitch.” Rommel grabs Peter’s arm pad, dosing him more Buzz, and hops over the boulder.

  Ah, I’m back! You took exceptionally long to find again, you know that? You’re one bad follower. Peter’s goes crazy with wanting to actually see the enemy face to face, so that he can kill them personally—and bring me some overdue satisfaction.

  Blake yells something out about there being no morphine in the spare medical satchel. So Peter doesn’t have to deal with his pity call, he hops over the boulder in frenzy for fresh carnage. He runs through the smoke to try and catch up with Rommel.

  The rebels must have retreated. As Peter and Rommel run through the jungle following dead corpses and distant noises, jets scream overhe
ad blowing apart the canopy. Random shells land from indirect artillery fire called in from field HQ. They crawl for a freshly created shell hole to wait out the salvos. As they near it a shell lands near them flinging Rommel over Peter into the crater. Peter slides in after him. Rommel lies in the middle of the muddy crater, his armor and clothing ripped and torn as smoke fumes from his back.

  “Gah! Fucking get it off me!” says Rommel. Peter pulls his vest and sack off, and discovers burning hot shrapnel has plastered his back. Peter begins squirting water on it from his bladder mouthpiece to clear away the dirt, and then starts to pull out pieces as they cool off.

  “Ah fucking shit! Stop!” he shrieks. “Just stop.”

  The shelling quiets down, and Peter hears the voices of people nearby. Rommel bites into his bloody ragged vest to muffle his cries. Peter crawls up to the top of the hole, hiding under his camouflage cloak, and peeks out. Two men, covered in overcoats with makeshift camouflage of taped on leaves and branches walk Peter’s way, one carrying a Kalashnikov. One of the rebels is injured and falls to his knees, holding the shredded remains of his arm out to the other, who turns his back to Peter to try and help him up. They are only a few meters away. An easy kill—an easier sacrifice. Peter lurches out of the hole screaming while he tackle the armed rebel.

  They both look at him in horror. One of them in poor English cries out, “No! Me American!” Peter unsheathes his machete, raising it above his head as the sound of a salvo erupts out in the distance. The two men weep in their injuries and blood. The man Peter tackle tries to roll away but Peter’s blade slices into his back. He howls in pain as Peter places a boot against his ass to pull the machete out. Peter rips away vertebra with the strike and his body starts a compulsion of seizures.

  The man with the gored arm has fallen backwards pissing himself. He fumbles about for a concealed sidearm. Peter sweeps the machete down onto his forearm chopping partly through it. The blade is stuck in the bone, and Peter tries hard to wiggle it out as the man screams.

  In between his screams a faint noise of branches breaking alerts Peter’s attention to the foliage near him. A stout rifle barrel pops out of the foliage, followed by the entire man into the clearing of fallen trees. He aims his Dragunov sniper rifle wrapped in green cameo tap at Peter but a landing shell nearby causes him to miss. They both run for the shell hole Rommel is in for cover as a new wave of salvos lands heavy around them.

  Peter tackles the sniper’s Dragunov away as they fall into the crater. Rommel yelps in surprise as he tries to get out of the way. The sniper reveals a combat knife and jumps on top of Peter. Peter twists his sides to throw him off, and the sniper’s swinging arm misses him and the knife smacks into Rommel’s neck instead. Peter kicks out at the sniper’s face and he falls to his side releasing his grip on the knife. Peter jumps up and tackles him against the earth.

  The sniper frees his leg underneath Peter and wraps it around his neck pulling him off. He now has Peter’s arm locked, and he leans back placing him into an arm bar. Peter looks over at Rommel. He hands are holding onto the hilt of the knife and they are shaking terribly causing the gash to grow. Blood spurts out between his fingers and lips as he tries to talk.

  “Don’t try to pull it out!” Peter grimaces through the pain; he smacks the sniper with his free arm as he tightens his arm bar on him. “Rommel hold it there and keep your hands on the wound to stop the bleeding!”

  Rommel looks at Peter. His eyes are bulged and he chokes on the lodged knife, coughing out spurts of blood. His hands try to pull the knife out of his neck at the cost of more blood seething out.

  “Rommel stop!” says Peter. Peter’s arm feels like it’s going to break under the pressure. “I’ll fucking kill you!” Peter roars at the sniper. He reaches his arm out towards Rommel to try and stop him from pulling it out. Rommel grabs his hand tightly with one of his own. The blood and dirt makes the grasp slippery and they constantly lose each other’s grip. Rommel pulls harder on the knife while his other hand finds Peter’s again, holding it with the rest of his strength as he stares at him.

  “Brother! Rommel!”

  Rommel rips the knife out and his body shakes one last time as he tosses it towards Peter. Peter grabs the knife and thrust it deep into the sniper’s thigh. The arm bar loosens somewhat as the sniper screams. Peter twists the knife into his flesh as the sniper bashes at him with his knee.

  “Stop! Or I’ll fucking fill you with lead,” says a voice from above.

  Peter looks up at the top of the shell hole. More traitors surround the crater, their weapons aimed at him. What are you doing, fight to the death! Peter turns back to the sniper but he has already slipped away grabbing the hand of a nearby rebel.

  “Get out and keep your hands raised,” says the rebel leader. A black bandana covers the lower part of his face, where a white skull insignia dots the center. Other rebels slide down and help their injured comrade, while more grab Peter by the limbs so he can’t fight back.

  “Fucking tough boy here, isn’t he guys?” says the leader. Peter feels a hard smack against the back of his head, and the world swirls around him as he slumps in their grasp.

  XXIV

  Come back to me brave warrior.

  The pain wakes Peter. Instantly, he feels the need to throw up but he is gagged. His hands are bandaged to the ceiling of a makeshift underground room. A lantern illuminates the room from a corner table. The shapes in front of Peter are blurry outlines of people, and their words are unintelligible.

  Thud, thud.

  “It hurts! What’s happening?” Thud, thud. “Fucking Stop!” he mumbles through the gag. The talking becomes less fuzzy. Shapes become clearer. A man stands before him punching at his stomach. “No, no, no, no. Stop!”

  “Ah, he’s awake!” says the man. More rebels come into vision, one of them the sniper that Peter fought in the hole that killed Rommel.

  “Remove the gag,” says the rebel leader with his distinct blank bandana. “He’s trying to talk. Maybe he will tell us now.”

  The gag comes off and Peter throws up, vomit drips down his bound body. “Fuck, must have hit him a little too hard,” smiles the torturer as he messages his fists.

  “Now, tell me again why this jarhead is here?” says the rebel leader.

  The sniper comes forward. “He was chasing down our men as we retreated. Like a savage monster. When I found him he was mutilating one of our injured.”

  “And then I heard the ruckus and found them,” says the torturer. “One marine all alone, a pretty good catch than just killing him off.”

  “So what do you think I can get out of him?” says the leader.

  “I’ll work him up, and you just ask the questions that you want answered,” says the torturer.

  “Alright, what’s it going to be soldier boy, will you talk or will I have to make you?”

  Peter stares at them. Puke, spit, and blood swells and coagulates in his mouth, dripping down his lips. “Just stop, let me free. I, I can’t be controlled. HELP!”

  “Shut up!” The leader smacks his face. “I haven’t even asked the questions yet. A genuine motherfucker this one is.” The leader turns around and grabs something off the wall. He places an outdated holotablet onto the table before Peter. A flat horizontal display pops up. On the screen is a class of college kids sitting in a large auditorium. On a banner atop the stage it says: 100 YEARS.

  “Do you know what this is?”

  Peter remains quiet.

  A professor rises to the podium onto the stage. The crowd applauds. He waves them down then speaks, “One hundred years ago the New Founding Fathers ended the Terrible War. Today marks a century of Earth at peace!” The crowd cheers louder. “It is my pleasure to congratulate you as the graduating class of a world that has been free of war for twenty generations. Our Golden Youth!” The students yell and throw their caps into the air.

  The leader closes the display. “That’s a practice ceremon
y for universities across the world back on Earth. We would be having one here too if you didn’t come. How does it make you feel, soldier, that your own countrymen are celebrating peace while you kill and die over here? Ironic? No, contradictory, just like the promise your government made when it landed thousands of foreigners onto our planet.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Oh now he speaks,” says the leader, slapping the table, “we must have hit close to home.”

  “We came to help you! You’re fighting us.”

  “My nephew was in Khaf’Jadeed working. Now he is dead. Who killed him?” He leans in towards Peter, grabbing him by the chin. “Who killed him!”

  Peter looks down—no! Do not give in. They deserved it!

  The leader nods and the torturer unbinds one of his wrists. He grabs the free hand and ties it against the table with Peter’s fingertips hanging over the edge.

  “When I ask a question, you answer. You don’t answer it correctly, one of your fingers get a surprise.”

  “Let me go! Don’t, please don’t do this!”

  He waits till Peter becomes quiet again. “What is the regional strength of your military in the Kuplar province?”

  “I don’t know that,” Peter says hoarsely. The leader shakes his head. The torturer places the pliers on his pinky finger. The rusty metal teeth clamp around the fingertip.

  No! “Ah! Fucking god, please stop.” The nail is ripped off. “STOP! Fucking stop!”

  “Then tell me the correct answer,” says the leader.

  “Oh god, fuck,” mutters Peter. “My finger. Please let me free.”

  “Rambling again, suit yourself.” The leader rests against his stool. The clamps move across to the next finger.

  “Please don’t!”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I don’t know.” The torture tears the next nail off. “Fucking Jesus! Please, god please! I don’t know.” Peter starts to cry bitterly.

  “Do the rest of that hand before we move on,” says the leader.