by Jim Roberts
He wrapped everything up by saying, "Let's get this one right, boys. This is our last op in this dustbowl. Be ready for anything and let's leave these insurgents with something to remember the 76th for!"
The squad leaders howled in acknowledgment. They were ready, willing and able.
One last op.
Joe ordered the men to fall out and alert their squads to mount up. The remaining squad members were mustering at the Humvees being prepped in the motorcade.
"Nice speech Sergeant."
Joe whirled around to see who had spoken. Danny Callbeck, the Canadian CANSOFCOM Joint Task Force 2 operator stood directly behind him. Joe hadn't heard a thing, as usual.
"Someday you'll have to show me how you sneak up like that, Callbeck." Joe wasn't angry, just slightly annoyed. The Canadian Special Forces operative had an amazing knack for sneaking up and making you jump out of your boots with a single word.
"It's a gift Sergeant. Not much else to it. Command says I'm traveling with you on this one."
Joe guessed as much. Corporal Callbeck was fitted for the op, complete with flak jacket, helmet, and C-7 Assault Rifle. Joe had tried to get the Canuck to switch to the M4 carbine, but Danny refused; something to do with UN regulations that forced its soldiers to stick with the weapons assigned them. Joe had let it go. After all, Danny Callbeck was not here as a regular soldier.
Callbeck was one of the most unusual men Joe had ever met. He’d known few Canadians in his time with the Rangers, and less still while serving in Afghanistan. Those he did know, however, were well-trained and strong-willed. They served as a tribute to Canada's outstanding army training programs.
Danny was, however, the first Inuit person he’d ever met. Twenty-seven years young, his face was youthful and handsome, with high cheekbones and dark, almond brown eyes. His raven-black hair, hidden underneath his helmet, was cut high and dry. He was shorter than Joe by an inch or two but made up for it with a slender, athletic physique.
His presence in a camp filled with Army Rangers was the result of a joint NATO / UN transfer program to allow Special Forces operatives from around the world frontline access in the war. Corporal Danny Callbeck had jumped at the opportunity. At the time, he was an operator in Canada's Joint Task Force 2, the elite special force of Tier 1 soldiers renowned as one of the best units of fighting men in the world. In fact, their training was comparable to the USA's own Navy Seals.
While at chow a few months back, Joe had summed up enough courage to ask this unusual addition to the base about his background and ancestry. Danny had been surprisingly open to questions and had answered Joe as best he could. Born in Alert, Nunavut (formerly the Northwest Territories) in Canada, Danny's father was serving in the Canadian Signal Corp when he met Danny's mother, a schoolteacher. They were both stationed in Alert, the northernmost regularly inhabited location on the planet. The rest, as Danny had said, was history.
The Ranger and the Tier 1 soldier had formed a unique friendship. The Rangers in the 76th accepted Danny easy enough; the risk of living in a combat zone formed a common bond between the band of brothers. But Danny went one further, proving his mettle throughout the last few months as a reliable and at times frightening adversary in combat. A master of the art of Kenpo, a brutal fighting style focusing on takedowns and harsh hand-to-hand combat, Danny always dominated his comrades in tests of martial skill. This was no better proven than during a 'pro-social' gathering of the Rangers where they each tested each other's martial prowess in one-on-one fights. Corporal Callbeck had soundly defeated every single Ranger in Firebase Foxtrot without a single mark on him.
Joe smiled at his friend, glad this amazing soldier was on their side. "Well Corporal, let's not keep them waiting."
Danny nodded, falling in beside his friend as they made their way towards the motorcade.
One of the other squad leaders, Corporal Jensen, came up beside Joe and Danny as they walked. Jensen was younger than Joe—twenty-five, give or take a year.
"So Sarge,” Jensen asked, “What did you mean when you said Unidentified Aerial Objects? You mean like...UFOs?"
Joe gave the Corporal a nonplussed look, "Come on Corporal, don't be dumb."
"I'm just saying, Sarge...it sounds kinda weird, that's all."
Joe shrugged, "I'd put money on it being CIA drones...classified from even the military. It's probably nothing."
In Joe's peripheral vision, he saw Danny clasp something at the neckline of his combat fatigues.
Corporal Jensen still had questions, "Do you think we'll catch heat on this op, Sarge?"
"Who can tell Corporal? Our reports are saying Taliban activity is at a record low for this area."
"Fair enough," the Corporal retorted, "but what if the towel-heads are waiting to start something new?"
"Use that phrase again Corporal and you'll be on point every mission for the next week."
Jensen glowered for a moment before responding, "Sorry Sarge. It was just a question."
The young soldier was right - it was a legit question. Joe responded the only way he could, "We're Rangers Corporal. You just keep your eyes open and you'll be fine."
AFTER THE Ranger squads had mustered in front of the Humvee column, the squad leaders performed a quick inspection: checking weapons, flak jackets and rations. It may very well be a one day op, but with this war, you never knew. Danny Callbeck stood to Joe's side, silently watching the Rangers prepare. During his missions with Joe, the JTF2 soldier tended to stay in the back acting as Joe's right hand during the ops.
The general feeling among the higher ups was that Corporal Callbeck could take care of himself and he certainly could at that. Joe’s personality just seemed to click with the guy; they worked off each other on instinct. So Joe had asked the base commander, Lieutenant Colonel Aberman, to assign Danny as his provisional second in command. Aberman at first disapproved of allowing an outsider to have such pull within the Rangers, even provisionally, but Joe managed to convince him that Danny was the man for the job.
After the inspection, Joe looked over his men with an approving eye, "All right boys, MOUNT UP!"
They demanded their vehicles, five per Humvee: four in the seats, one operating the .50 caliber Browning M2 machinegun mounted to a turret above the cab. Joe and Danny hopped into the passenger and driver seat of the lead Humvee, respectively. Danny started the eight-hundred horse power engine and hit the gas. The Humvee column trundled out of the northern entrance of Firebase Foxtrot.
Joe checked his watch. It was 07:00.
Good. They were on schedule.
Joe clicked the comm unit attached to his collar, connecting him to the radio frequency shared by the squad leaders of the Ranger platoon, "Alright ladies, keep a weather eye. Taliban activity is reported to be limited, but we weren't sent out here for nothing. Check the hills for activity."
Danny operated the Humvee with expert efficiency, leading the convoy as it powered through the arid waste of the Balkh province towards the Imam Sahib district. Joe fingered his M4, resting the weapon butt-down on the floor of the vehicle. Behind him, in the back seat of the Humvee, Privates Gorman and Blackburn sat at the ready. Joe had served with Blackburn for almost two years and had grown to respect the hawk-nosed, mohawk-sporting Ranger. Gorman, on the other hand, was a narrow-minded Midwesterner with bleach-blonde hair and bleary eyes. Joe had a less-than-high opinion of Gorman.
They drove for an hour, with no sign of activity. Several herds of wild gazelles charged through the plains, excited by the large Humvee column. They ran with extraordinary speed, bounding across the steppe to escape from the metallic invaders. It was one of the sights in this harsh country Joe actually loved seeing.
He took a swig of warm water from the plastic bottle stored in the cab. He passed it to Danny, who took a quick drink and then tossed it to the men in the back. Another two hours went by with little event. The arid badlands were beginning to change up into rocky crags. This route would soon transfo
rm into the north-eastern mountain system comprised of the Pamir chain, the legendary 'roof of the world'.
Joe removed the map from his rucksack and checked the coordinates. Private Gorman, operating a large suitcase uplink to the NATO predator drone, chimed up from the back seat, "Sergeant, Predator Drone is coming online."
Joe looked back and nodded, "Good, keep your eyes on it. Check the ground within a two-mile radius from the vehicles for any movement."
"Copy that Sarge, but it's dead out there. Nothing's moving."
Joe smiled to himself.
Good. Maybe this last mission will be a cakewalk after all.
"Alright Private, keep me posted," said Joe, sweeping his eyes across the plain. An annoying bluebottle fly buzzed madly in the cab of the Humvee. Gorman swatted at the fly angrily, to no avail. Joe tried to swish the large bugger out a crack in the bulletproof window, but the pest wouldn't leave. As it buzzed towards Danny Callbeck, the Inuit soldier eyed the fly, waiting with tempered patience. Then, without taking his eyes off the road, Danny flung his hand out and snatched the fly out of the air, trapping it in his palm. The two men in the back scoffed in amazement. Danny held the bug in his clenched hand for a moment before letting it loose to buzz around the cab again. Joe smiled and shook his head.
They rode in silence for a few minutes until Blackburn asked Private Gorman something under his breath, "So are you going to ask him?"
Gorman looked over, an alarmed expression on his pock-marked face, whispered back, "I thought you were."
"No, you said..."
Joe rolled his eyes, "What are you two babbling about?"
Gorman snapped back in his seat, "Ah, we were..."
Blackburn took over, "...We were just wondering about...something that Corporal Callbeck..."
Joe interrupted the young soldier before he made a complete fool of himself, "And why can you not ask him straight up Private?"
"Umm..."
Gorman elbowed Blackburn, "We were just wondering about Corporal Callbeck's necklace, Sarge. I guess it's because we've never seen anything like it."
Joe looked over at his Canadian driver, "You wanna field this one?"
An amused smile stretched across Danny's face, "It's okay Joe." He reached into his tunic and pulled out the aforementioned necklace. It was an intricately designed symbol in the shape of what looked like a whale, carved out of some sort of bone. As he drove the Humvee, Danny spoke eloquently about his mysterious charm.
"This is a spirit charm carved from caribou antler. It’s a simple ward meant to fend off evil spirits, given to me several years ago by...a great man."
Gorman leaned forward, a curious look on his face, "What kind of evil spirits, sir?"
Danny had to think for a minute how to best explain, "Well, in my people's history, we have lived hard lives...lives of fear, pain and random peril. Spirits that we called anirniit exist in everything...in people and animals, in rocks and plants. Everything has a spirit that is released at the point of death."
Gorman and Blackburn were fascinated by the tale. Joe listened intently as his friend continued to speak.
"Some of the spirits could become angry...like, for example, a caribou we killed could return in spirit form to take its revenge on us in...strange ways. This charm is meant to protect someone from the angered spirits of the things he kills." Danny's voice grew quiet with the last sentence. Joe looked at his friend. The conversation was starting to touch a nerve in his stoic comrade.
Gorman hazarded a question, "Do you believe all that Sarge?"
Danny seemed to come out of his funk, "Well... most people from where I come from have embraced Christianity, but...my father still clung to the old ways and he always wanted to see me protected. I suppose it seems like little more than a superstition, but..." he looked over at Joe, a wry smile on his lips, "all myths have some basis in reality."
Another half hour passed. The men were getting sore asses and Joe was about to call a temporary halt for a quick break.
Danny spoke up, pointing at a place on the horizon. "Joe, check that out!"
Joe snapped too, looking to where Danny was indicating. A plume of black smoke wafted up from the horizon. He keyed his mic, "Eyes up everyone, contact to the northeast."
The Humvees powered forward towards the smoke, prepared for anything.
Joe yelled back to Gorman, "What's the Predator showing, Private?"
"Uhhh...nothing right now Sarge, the smoke is obscuring the location."
"Come on Private, give me something better than that!"
Gorman searched the heads-up-display in vain for any info he could get, "Uh...it looks like some sort of...I think it's a village Sarge. Several of the buildings are burning!"
Joe's heart started to pound. The villages on the northern border had been hotly contested during the Northern campaign several years ago, but things had been relatively quiet of late.
Joe hit the comm, "Ok people, stay frosty! We're going in for a look. Follow our lead and prepare to secure the site. Be careful, these guys are friendlies."
Danny looked at Joe quizzically, "What do you think happened?"
"Who knows? Taliban incursion from Uzbekistan maybe?"
As the Humvee column approached the smoke, Joe could tell it was indeed a small village, consisting of several ramshackle buildings clustered in among the hills of the open steppe. It was in ruins now - the small huts burning wildly like unkempt bonfires.
With the turret gunners watching their backs, the Rangers stormed out of their vehicles to secure the location. Private Gorman stayed inside the lead Humvee, eyes fixed on the Predator suitcase laptop.
Joe led the platoon towards the village, running up the gentle slope of the hill. As the Rangers approached their target, they raised their weapons, keeping their eyes open to spot enemy contacts or IEDs.
Joe yelled to Danny, who had fallen in with Corporal Jensen's squad to search the opposite side of the village, "Any survivors Corporal Callbeck?"
"Nothing here Sarge. Just bodies." The remains of what appeared to be several Afghani villagers burned beyond recognition lay amongst the village. Joe made an arm gesture for Second Squad to search the far end of the village, as he made his way back to Danny.
After a few minutes, Joe was satisfied that whatever had done this had long since gone. He assigned Second Squad to check the perimeter of the village for IEDs, before bringing in First Squad to take photos of the destruction for JOC. Danny made his way over to Joe, stepping over the charred remains of a young Afghani male.
Joe looked up at his friend, "What the hell happened here?"
Danny shook his head, "It looks to me like someone had quite the beef with these guys, Joe."
Braddock pointed at the damaged buildings, "Look at the rock...it's been melted down to nothing. What weapon could have done that?"
Danny thought for a minute, "Phosphorous?"
Joe shook his head, kneeling over one of the grisly corpses: an older woman by the look of it. Joe set his teeth firmly, wincing at the horrible smell of charred flesh, "No, phosphorous has a garlic smell to it and this isn't it. I think it's some sort of...napalm or other fast burning incendiary chemical."
Danny knelt, gently touching part of the cadaver's still visible clothing, "How did the Taliban get its hands on napalm? And why would they use it on a defenseless village?"
"Sergeant Braddock!"
The shout came from behind the next house down from them, also burned to a molten sludge. It was Corporal Jensen's voice. Joe and Danny stood up and rushed over to the young Squad Leader, mindful of their surroundings. Jensen was squatted over the immobile form of an Afghani man, horribly burned, but still moving.
"Sarge, this fella's alive!"
Jensen stood up to allow Joe to take his place facing the horrifically wounded man. He was in his older forties, with a simple beard, common to all Afghan males. His eyes were glazed over from the pain. Joe doubted the man could see anything. His le
gs were scorched completely away and his entire body was covered in burns.
This man did not have long.
"Sir, can you hear me?" Joe asked in his halting Pashto, the language spoken by most of the indigenous people of Northern Afghanistan. His grasp of the language wasn't perfect by a long shot, but it was good enough to handle a short conversation.
Oddly enough, the Afghani spoke back to him in English, a rarity this far north.
"They were demons...from hell..."
"Was it the Taliban? Did they do this?" asked Joe, not wasting any time.
The man shook his burn-scarred head, "No...they were...from hell...Allah save us..." The Ranger medic, Private Tennyson, came running up behind Joe, his corpsman satchel prepared. He knelt by the man and inspected the wounds. He looked at Joe and shook his head.
"He's burned awful Sarge...I don't know how he survived this long."
The man started to cough, a horrible choking sound. He managed to clear it up to mumble another phrase of nonsense, "They...flew like...birds...burned us...my family...it is our judgment come for us..."
"Why did they do this to your village?"
The dying man pointed at one of the burned out buildings, saying, "We...found...something..."
Joe gestured to Danny. The Canadian nodded and motioned for two of the soldiers from First Squad to follow him to the burned hut. Joe looked back at the poor villager, who had begun coughing. The man wheezed one final time, then violently gagged. Joe held the man's blackened hand as the Afghani gripped it tight in his death throe. He jolted violently in severe pain, opened his mouth as if to say something further, but instead let out his final breath and lay still. Joe set the man's hand back on his chest and stood up. The other men in the squad were quiet, each man harboring their own fears and doubts over what had befallen these poor people.
