by Cliff Hedley
It had barely been enough to rock the Humvee, so he figured it must have been an incendiary device, designed to burn in close proximity rather than a widespread percussive explosion. He had seen Chase drag the girl with him around the corner of the building to relative safety, so felt a sudden knot develop in his gut when the explosion went off. He could just make out the edge of Chase’s protective suit. He seemed to be flailing but at least he was still alive.
Tucker had to make a call: he couldn’t leave Chase out there if he was in trouble.
“Roadrunners. Circle the wagons. Renshi is down! I need cover fire while we try to get him.”
He clicked off the radio and yelled to Winters, “Get us as close as you can to the side of that building. I’ll take Isaac with me. If you need to lay cover fire for us, jump on the fifty. Otherwise, if you can get us out of the line of fire we might be able to pull back. And keep the motor running!”
Isaac felt the Humvee lurch forward at the same time as Tucker tapped him on the leg, so he stopped firing and ducked back inside the cabin. Tucker grabbed his shoulder to pull him closer. “Chase is down. We’re going to get over there and try to pick him up. I saw him moving, so you need to help me get him back in here.”
The Humvee lurched to a stop next to the building Chase had hidden behind moments later. There was no sign of the girl. Chase was lying on his back, struggling to get up then flailing his way back to the ground.
All around were small burn patches, with smouldering chunks on the ground and smoke starting to come from the house. Chase’s suit was a charred, blackened mess on the front and his helmet had become opaque from the blast. He was struggling and moments later Tucker realised why. Something had exploded here, and it was still burning him. Tucker had seen a phosphor explosion before. They could melt human flesh on contact, burning it to nothing and would keep burning until there was nothing left. He realised in horror that was what Chase, in his concussed and bewildered state, was fighting against.
The one part of his suit that was exposed was his hands. Most EODs, like Chase, never wore gloves — they needed a delicate touch for their work, so would at the most wear light gloves. Chase’s bare hands had been right next to the girl’s belt when the explosives in the harness had detonated. His hands must have been incinerated instantly and Tucker could now see that the phosphor was still trying to consume the fuel it had available, by working its way up Chase’s arms.
“Help me get this off!” he yelled to Isaac, yanking at Chase’s suit, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do anything with it in the way. Isaac rushed to help, turning Chase so they could unclip him from the suit. The rear was largely intact and undamaged. Tucker pulled the top half of the suit off as quickly as he could, fighting with Chase’s thrashing to get him clear. Finally it was gone and Tucker could see the remaining shreds of Chase’s arms. He wasn’t sure if the smell of burning flesh was from the girl, or Chase, or both.
“Hold him down!” he screamed to Isaac, who put his weight on Chase’s shoulders, pinning him flat on his back. Tucker could see the white phosphor fragments still eating their way into Chase, melting his arms in front of them. He had no time to waste.
“Keep still, buddy. This is gonna hurt!”
Tucker unclipped his combat knife from the scabbard on his hip. He moved it first to Chase’s right arm, which was closest to him, digging into him and flicking the remaining phosphor away from Chase, chunk by chunk. Soon there was nothing left burning on that arm and he jumped over Chase to get himself in a better position. Bullets ripped into the building in front of them and they were met in response by the roar of the fifty-calibre machine guns from the Roadrunner convoy.
Tucker was aware that the enemy could be flanking his position — the Roadrunners had stayed still for too long— but he had to stay focused on Chase before he could make a move. Chase seemed to have blacked out, so he was at least not fighting with him and Isaac any more. He had stopped thrashing and lay still on his back. Tucker buried his knife into what remained of Chase’s left forearm, flicking out or cutting away the pieces that were left burning.
“Jesus,” Tucker muttered when he had finished. Chase’s forearms were shredded and melted, barely recognisable as human. At least the burning had cauterised the wounds, closing off the major blood vessels. He wouldn’t bleed out just yet but the shock could still kill him. “Call the medic up here, Isaac. I’ve got him.”
As Isaac ran back to the Humvee Tucker took a moment to assess his surroundings. The building in front of them was still putting up a good enough defence against the hail of incoming bullets. If these insurgents were any good — if it were him — they would be looking for a way to circle around the Roadrunners and pen them in. They had been good enough to pull one over on Chase, so he didn’t want to take any chances.
He had an Army medic beside him moments later, who quickly applied a tourniquet to each arm above the burned areas. He nodded grimly to Tucker. “Into the truck. We’ve got to move!”
Tucker flung open the rear passenger door of the Humvee and motioned for Isaac to help lay Chase across the back seat. The medic piled in after them and Tucker was on the radio moments later: “Roadrunners, turn tail! They’ll be trying to flank us, so we get out the way we came in. Head for the canyon road!”
The big trucks roared in response, nobody taking the time to offer Tucker an acknowledgment over the radio. They needed no invitation. The Humvees all rapidly reversed, engines and tyres screeching as they hurtled back towards the outskirts of the village. Roadrunner One was leading and it was cramped inside. Tucker scrambled into the front passenger seat, while Isaac took his position back on the machine gun. Just behind him, the medic worked feverishly to make sure Chase was stable, injecting him with morphine and working as fast as he could to apply field dressings to the badly burned remains of his arms.
A new hail of bullets rapped across the hood of Roadrunner One as the Humvee neared the last building and Tucker turned to see the muzzle flash. He had been right, but Isaac had been quicker to spot it. Almost immediately in response, the fifty-cal roared overhead and the man firing at them fell limply backwards in a cloud of dust.
“Watch your flanks, they’re circling us!” Tucker bellowed into the radio as Roadrunner One burst free of the village.
Behind him, he could hear sporadic blasts from the other Humvees until at last each one made it out of the village. They raced forward, as fast as the big machines could go, along the long stretch of road that led from the village. Tucker shuffled in his seat so he could see the village in his wing mirror and eventually the flashes of gunfire cleared away from behind them.
Moments later, satisfied that the immediate danger was behind them, he was back on the radio to deal with the next problem. “Hawkeye One, we are coming in hot. Confirm the coast is clear.”
“Copy that, Roadrunner One, we weren’t expecting you back so soon.”
“We just rolled into a shit-storm, Hawkeye One. Renshi is hit, so we’re running for home.”
“Copy that, Roadrunner One. Your route is clear. I’ll shoot the bastards myself if they get anywhere near you.”
Tucker made one last call on the radio, this time back to base. “FOB Ramirez, this is Roadrunner One.”
“We have you, Roadrunner One. Go ahead.”
“We have encountered a large hostile force at the village and are heading back through the canyon. Our EOD is badly wounded and will require immediate medivac on our return. We’re about twenty minutes out.”
“Acknowledged, Roadrunner One. We’ll have a bird ready to go. God speed.”
Chapter 4
The man with the scars watched from a safe distance. He was carefully camouflaged and had a set of high-powered binoculars with him. His plans for the day had worked perfectly. He had herded the sheep just where he had wanted them, testing and probing for their weaknesses. They had taken no chances
, until presented with an impossible choice — at least, impossible to them. The EOD he had been watching was good but not good enough. He took pleasure in watching him fall and burn. If the EOD survived at all, which he doubted, he would share in the long agony of recovering from burnt flesh. Perhaps the pain alone would kill him after he spent time suffering. The thought was a comfort.
He had successfully taken two chess pieces off the Americans’ board. They had lost their robot yesterday and now their EOD. Others would come to replace them, he was certain. But that would take time. In the interim, his associates’ would either inflict more damage or scare off the soldiers until the cowards felt it was safe to venture out again. By the time that happened, they could be outmanoeuvred and his associates would have more freedom to implement their plans.
He had plans of his own. He had taught them all he could, so it was time for him to move on. A deal was a deal. They would use their connections to help him travel halfway around the world, to his next objective.
Chapter 5
The Roadrunners were back at the intersection soon enough and each one dusted off only just enough speed to make the turn. Tucker turned in his seat. “How is he?”
The medic looked up for a moment. “He’s critical. I’m not sure how much blood he lost back there but the bleeding is under control for the moment. There’s still a lot of concerns right now — mainly shock and infection. I’ve given him something for the pain. It should keep him knocked out for the rest of the trip. We need to get him to surgery as fast as possible.”
“OK. Do your best.”
Soon the ridgeline of the canyon loomed up ahead of them. The convoy raced past the old wreck without incident and for a brief moment Tucker thought he saw a glint from the top of the hill above them, just before the canyon swallowed the convoy. It was a sniper rifle but there was no shot fired. No doubt it was Collins looking out for his friend.
The canyon walls rushed by, barely a foot away from the Humvees in places but they were going a hell of a lot faster now than when they came through earlier in the day. Winters deftly threaded Roadrunner One through the canyon and as it burst out the other side, Tucker patted the Roadrunner sticker on the dash.
“Nice driving, Winters and good work old girl.”
Ahead of them was a straight run to Ramirez and speed was the only thing now that would save Chase’s life. Winters floored it and they lurched forward, back onto the open road.
***
The next few hours were a blur to Chase. He was in and out of consciousness, not really sure of what was going on. Something must be wrong but he knew he was in safe hands. There was always someone bent over him, checking on him. He fought to stay awake, stay alert but every time he fought it off the drowsiness returned and he quickly returned to the darkness. Images flashed by, seemingly disconnected from one another. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten to each new setting — a stretcher, being hauled out of Roadrunner One. A helicopter, the rush of the blades beating the air overhead as he was loaded into it. Voices, yelling, sounding urgent but he didn’t register what they were saying. A hospital. Wheeling down a corridor on a gurney. Surgeons bending over him. A long blackout.
Chase finally woke with a gasp and tried to sit up. His body was still in fight mode, his mind still looking to check every angle. A nurse came over to him and gently pushed him back down. He scanned his surroundings and realised that he was in a hospital bed, heavily bandaged. Despite all the painkillers, his arms hurt like hell.
“Where am I?” he managed to whisper, his voice croakily pushing through a harshly raw throat.
“You’re in the hospital, at Bagram. Here, drink this.”
She pressed a button on the side of his bed and raised him up slightly, offering a plastic cup filled with water. She held it to his lips so that he could ease his burning throat. He swallowed, sighed, then studied his body.
“Thank you. Bagram, huh?”
“You’ll be going home as soon as you’re well enough to travel.”
Chase noticed how she had held the cup for him. He could feel his hands, wanting to hold it himself but he couldn’t see them. His arms were bandaged up to his biceps but the overall dressing didn’t look like it reached far enough down to cover his hands. The bandages stopped around the middle of his forearm on both sides. It was then that he fully understood what had happened and he felt it like a sickening punch to the gut.
“I guess I’m no use to the Army any more.”
She smiled but he could see that she was holding back a tear.
“You don’t need to worry about that now. Just rest. Would you like any more water?”
“Please,” he croaked.
She walked to a cooler at the other side of the room and returned with a full cup.
“Thank you again.”
“No problem, Master Sergeant. I’ll go let the doctor know you’re awake. He’ll come and see you as soon as he’s free.”
He focused his eyes a little more, trying to shake away the blurry haze he was seeing. He managed to make out Simmons on her name badge. She smiled and turned to walk away. Chase felt sorry for her. She was only young, probably in her mid-twenties and was doing her best to put on a brave face for his sake. She probably saw maimed combat soldiers all too often. It would be quite a burden to bear. He knew that he was in bad shape but the fog had lifted and he was thinking straight. He did the same thing he normally did whenever he got injured: systems check.
Brain seems to be OK. I can talk, I can think logically. Respiratory OK. I can breathe, a little pain, maybe broken ribs but nothing major. That’s right, I got shot there. He wiggled his toes and feet one at a time and saw the bed sheet move in response. Feet and legs, check. Then he came back to his arms. He told his fingers to move, one at a time. No movement in the bandage, not that he expected any. There was thin air where his lower arms should be. He tried to bend his elbow. It hurt but he got movement both sides. OK, mid-arm amputation both sides. Otherwise, assorted cuts, minor breaks and bruises.
Chase figured the EOD suit had saved him, from both the bullet that hit him and then the explosion but his exposed hands had borne the brunt. He started to remember what had happened. The girl . . . She would be dead now, he realised. The flash. A phosphorus ignition, designed to burn hot and close with no percussive explosion. The pit of sickness and loss he felt as he remembered staring into the girl’s deep brown eyes was replaced with anger. It had been targeted close-range. It was meant for him. He tried to retrace the steps he had taken. He was under pressure, under fire but he tried to slow down and reassess his actions. He had made a mistake somewhere. There wasn’t a collapsing circuit, or he would have been toast immediately. There had to be a second detonator hidden somewhere out of view but it had gone off when he touched the metal buckle on the side of the vest. Just when he thought he was on the home stretch and ready to get that thing off the girl, it had blown up in his face.
He had touched that buckle. That was the last thing. He turned his head to the side, longing for the cup of water that sat on his side table. Next to the cup sat a lamp. It didn’t have a switch. It was a touch lamp. Chase figured that the Army had put it there so that injured soldiers could still operate it, if they had injured or missing digits and limbs, just by touching it. No need to fiddle with a small switch if you were too banged up to use it.
Smart that they had placed it there. It was a pretty simple design. Basically it worked by using the extra capacitance of the human body to alter the circuit — letting more electrons flow by adding a whole human body as a vessel.
The connection came at him like a wave.
Shit.
Smart.
That’s how he got me. I was the circuit.
“Well, fuck me,” Chase rasped.
He stared at the ceiling, chastising himself, slightly impressed at the insurgent bomber but mostly just a
ngry. Angry at himself for slipping up, at the bomber for taking his hands and the girl’s life, and just angry at everything in general. His heart rate was up, and being angry wasn’t doing him any good, so he slowed his breathing. Slowly he inhaled through his nose and slowly he let the breath go through his mouth. He repeated this until he felt calmer. Years of martial arts training had taught him how to make the most of his breathing and how to quickly control it.
He looked down at his hands again. That would probably be the end of his martial arts career as well. He wouldn’t be holding a sword or any other kind of weapon any time soon. The weird thing was that he could still feel his hands. He had felt them before but this time he was more conscious of it. He had heard about phantom-limb sensations that amputees sometimes reported and now he was experiencing it for himself. He was still staring at his bandaged arms and trying to send commands to his non-existent hands when the doctor walked in.
“Good morning, Master Sergeant. I’m Doctor Renfrew.”
“Hey, Doc. Don’t worry, I won’t make any jokes about whether I can play piano again.”
“Thank you, Master Sergeant, I appreciate that. Unfortunately I’ve heard them all before.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Chase sighed as he realised that many of his fellow soldiers had gone through something similar before him. He figured the doctor did not have the most enviable job.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“Well, I figured out the basics. Mid-arm amputation. I’m guessing there wasn’t much past my suit sleeves to save.”
The doctor wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, the way Chase matter-of-factly said it.
“No. I’m afraid the incendiary did a lot of damage. The men in your unit helped save you from worse, though. I’m told they cut the burning phosphorus out of you in the field, and under fire. If they hadn’t, it would have kept burning its way up your arms. I expect it took your hands immediately. I’ve seen what white phosphorus can do to human flesh before. If you get a chance, thank your team for pulling you out of there.”
