Hellhole

by Jonathan Maberry

  “And you aren’t? Then who do you fight? Monsters?”

  Wolfman’s silence was answer enough. After a few seconds, he said, “One of the men you photographed is Saleh al-Hindawi.”

  The name meant nothing to Hood, but he withheld comment.

  “Saleh al-Hindawi is a known associate of Dr. Rihab Ammash. Her stepson, actually.”

  That name was vaguely familiar, and as Wolfman went on, Hood’s recall increased. “Ammash is a former Iraqi WMD expert—you might know her by her nickname, Doctor Tox. She was one of the highest-ranking females in Saddam Hussein’s regime. We arrested her after we took Baghdad and held her for more than six years without trial. A few years ago, she was released for political reasons and disappeared, but rumor has it she and Saleh have gone over to the Islamic State, no doubt looking to settle an old score with us. Further analysis of the photographs gives a seventy-three percent probability that one of the two women in the group is Ammash.”

  “They were both wearing burqas,” Mad Dog countered. “How do you do further analysis on that?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “So Doctor Tox is the ‘monster’ you’re hunting? We had her once and let her go. What’s changed?”

  “She ain’t out here in the ass end of nowhere because she wants to get away from it all,” said Sharky.

  “Our intel says she’s working on something new,” said Wolfman. “Something very bad. We’re here to end the threat. Permanently.”

  Hood shook his head. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. Or why we’re on the bench. We’ve hunted high-value targets like her before. And we’ve done our share of looking for imaginary WMDs. We could have handled this, too.”

  Wolfman exchanged a look with Bride. She shrugged. “He’s not going to just let this go. You might as well tell him.”

  Wolfman sighed. “One of Ammash’s lines of research dealt with teratogenic compounds.”

  “Teratogenic?” said Hood. “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds bad.”

  “It’s the scientific name for any compound known to cause serious birth deformities,” Bride supplied. “The word is derived from the Greek word teratos, which means—”

  “Monsters,” Sharky supplied, grinning fiercely.

  “Doctor Tox isn’t interested in causing birth defects,” Wolfman said. “She’s after something that can literally transform people into monsters.”

  Sharky finished. “And now you know the real reason they call us ‘the Monster Squad.’”

  AS THEY TREKKED back to the observation post in silence, Hood considered what Wolfman had told him. It sounded completely implausible... No, worse than implausible. It was the plot of a bad science fiction story. An elite spec-ops team with a corny name, hunting a fugitive Iraqi scientist intent on developing some kind of Jekyll-and-Hyde serum that would transform a healthy individual into an unstoppable rage beast.

  And yet, somebody a lot higher up the food chain was taking it all very seriously. And as curious as he was to know if any of it was true, Hood was starting to feel less like he’d been cut out of the mission, and more like he’d been let off the hook. But his curiosity was nonetheless aroused sufficiently that he decided to bypass the OP and head directly to the cave entrance. He radioed the team mates he’d left keeping watch to inform them of his decision. “Rollie, Bender. You guys awake?”

  The voice of Ron “Rollie” Menzies, the troop’s master breacher, crackled in his ear a moment later. “Barely, bossman. This is about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

  “Boring green paint,” added Jeremy “Bender” Graves. “Please tell me our honored guests brought some Red Bull.”

  From somewhere behind him, Sharky let out a short laugh. Evidently, the Monster Squad was still listening in on their radio traffic.

  “Negative on the go-juice,” Hood answered. “So I take it all is quiet on the objective?”

  “Roger that, bossman.”

  “All right. Stand by. We’re gonna walk our new friends down to the entrance.”

  “Aw, we don’t get to meet ‘em?” Rollie asked, affecting hurt.

  Bender added, “What’s the matter, boss. We embarrass you or something?”

  For some reason, the light-hearted banter rubbed Hood wrong, but he fought the impulse to respond abrasively, and instead simply repeated, “Stand by,” before switching off his radio again.

  They passed within a hundred meters of the OP. Hood didn’t look up to the hillside where his men were stationed, but he could feel their eyes on him. This close to the cave entrance Hood chose his steps carefully, moving slowly to avoid alerting the enemy fighters inside. He also kept his rifle at the high ready, pointing at the cave entrance. His finger rested beside the trigger guard, his left hand poised to activate the PEQ-2 laser-aiming device secured to the HK’s upper rail. With the Monster Squad’s fancy integrated battlefield monitoring system, it was probably an unnecessary precaution, but Hood wasn’t going to let his guard down. The technology was unfamiliar to him, and therefore, not to be trusted.

  As they got within about twenty meters, Hood felt a hand on his shoulder—Wolfman, signaling him to stop. He complied, but did not lower his weapon as the five-person element continued forward without him. They were all business now, balaclavas lowered, every square inch of skin covered. They looked more like ninja warriors—or maybe comic book superheroes—than soldiers. Hood guessed there was more to their coveralls than just insulation and camouflage; probably some kind of lightweight bulletproof miracle material.

  The cave entrance itself was unremarkable, a half-buried scallop at the base of a steep cliff face. But for the fact that more than half a dozen people had disappeared into it, Hood would not have believed that it was anything more than a sheltered niche in the hillside. As the Monster Squad drew close, they broke formation, spreading out to form a defensive line. One of them—Bride judging by physical size and weapon choice—advanced to within a few feet, taking a position that forced Hood to shift his aimpoint to avoid flagging her. She didn’t linger there, but instead took something from her chest rig and, with an underhand toss, lobbed it into the cave.

  Hood started at the abruptness of the move. He didn’t know what she had just thrown in, but whatever it was, it would bring on some kind of reaction.

  “Relax, Major,” came the whispered voice of Vlad from a few feet away. “Is reconnaissance drone. Very small. Very quiet. Nothing to worry about.”

  Hood caught his breath.

  “A little warning next time,” muttered Mad Dog.

  Wolfman turned and hiked back to stand in front of him. “No next time, Major. You’ve done your job. You and your men should clear out.”

  “I thought we might stick around. Just in case you need backup.”

  “We won’t.” He turned and started for the cave entrance without another word. He did not linger outside this time but continued inside, with the rest of the Monster Squad following. Bride brought up the rear, and just before she went inside, she looked back toward Hood and raised the barrel of her rifle in what he thought must have been a salute. Then she was gone, too.

  Hood stared into the empty recess for what seemed like several minutes. Finally, he turned to Mad Dog. “Come on. Let’s go.” He started back up the trail to the OP, and as he moved, he keyed his mic again. “Rollie, Bender. Pick up your shit. We’re moving out.”

  “Finally,” replied Bender. “A change of scenery.”

  “We’re buggin’ out?” Mad Dog sounded disappointed. “I wanted to see how all this shakes out.”

  “Hoping to see some real monsters? Or just want to see the Monster Squad in action?”

  “Both? Come on, aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

  Hood was curious, but he didn’t want to admit it to his friend. “Frankly, I’m sick of all this GI Joe bullshit. And monsters? There are real monsters in the world, but they’re as human as you and me.”

  HOOD WAS AS eager to put some
distance between his team and the cave as he was to resume their original mission, and the further away they got, the less curious he felt. The last two days had been a colossal waste of their time and resources. Worse, he hated the fact that higher-ups had dicked his team around. Someone would get an earful when they got back to HQ.

  But even his ire began to fade as he focused his attention on basic soldier skills—stealthy movement across uneven terrain and three-hundred-sixty-degree situational awareness. The night was so quiet that he jumped a little at the sound of someone breaking squelch on the comms. A moment later, he heard a strange voice in his earpiece.

  “Major Hood, please respond.” The strangeness wasn’t limited to unfamiliarity. The voice was male, but the cadence and intonation had an artificial quality that immediately marked it as computer-generated speech, probably generated from text entry. The use of his rank was similarly odd. Unit operators weren’t sticklers about following regular commo protocols, especially on the internal channel, but one thing they never did was mention rank.

  He keyed his mic and spoke in a low whisper. “Who the hell is this?” He actually had a pretty good idea who it was—not the identity of the individual, but definitely the person’s affiliation. “You’re with them, right? The Monster Squad?”

  “You may call me ‘Phantom.’”

  Phantom, Hood thought, resisting the impulse to spit the word out. Naturally. “You need to stay off our comms. If you have traffic for me, send it through the JOC. No, actually, don’t. There’s a chain of command. If you need something from us, talk to my boss, and he can pass it down.”

  “Major Hood, please listen carefully. You have been temporarily reassigned to my command. You may confirm that if you like, but the situation is critical and time is short, so please listen to what I have to say before you do so.” The flat, automated voice held none of the urgency the words were meant to convey. “First, I need you to instruct your men to switch off their radios. This conversation is for you and I alone.”

  Hood glanced back at the others, all of whom were staring back at him intently, ready to follow his lead. He wanted to refuse, to demand confirmation before doing anything for this disembodied interloper who had hijacked their signal, and now seemed intent on hijacking their mission as well, but he knew that Phantom, whoever the hell he was, probably did have the clout to requisition them. He sighed and gave a throat-cutting gesture, signaling them to turn off their MBITRs. When they had complied, he depressed the push-to-talk again. “All right, Phantom, they’re off. What do you need from me now?”

  “Major, I need you and your team to return to your original location immediately. When you get there, I want you to collapse the cave entrance with explosives. It needs to be sealed. Permanently.”

  “What, is clean-up duty beneath the dignity of your precious Monster Squad?”

  “Major, they’re all dead.”

  The pronouncement was delivered with such utter dispassion that Hood thought perhaps he had misheard.

  Now he understood why Phantom had requested a private conversation.

  He turned his back to the others, covering his mouth and lowered his voice even more. “Dead? Are you sure?”

  There was a long pause, and he imagined Phantom as a masked figure, hunched over a keyboard, typing furiously. “I lost contact with them approximately thirty minutes ago. There can be no other explanation except total mission failure, with no survivors.”

  “They’re underground. Maybe something is blocking the signal.”

  Another pause, then, “Our communications system doesn’t rely on FM radio waves, Major. And this isn’t a discussion. I’m ordering you to seal that cave. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

  Hood was still struggling to process Phantom’s revelation. How could the man be so sure of the Monster Squad’s fate? More to the point, why was he so willing to just write them off? “If there’s even a chance that they’re still alive—”

  “There isn’t. I know this must sound cold-blooded to you. Those people were my friends. Now, do you understand your orders?”

  Fuck this guy, he thought. He turned back to the others and waved to Mad Dog, signaling him to switch on his MBITR. He didn’t know if Phantom would be able to detect that Mad Dog was back on the air, nor did he care that he was violating what was probably a direct order from his new superior. Let ‘em court martial me.

  Aloud, he said, “Monster Squad down, no survivors...”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Mad Dog start visibly, but he pressed on. “Recovery of remains impossible. We are to proceed to the cave entrance and seal it with explosives. No, I don’t understand any of it, but I copy.”

  “You may now contact your chain of command to confirm your status,” Phantom replied. If Mad Dog’s eavesdropping had been detected, no indication was given. “I will continue monitoring this frequency. Signal me when you have completed the mission. Phantom, out.”

  Hood switched off his radio and went to join Mad Dog.

  “Holy shit,” whispered the sergeant major. “All dead?”

  “That’s what he says. I’m not sure how he knows, but he seems pretty certain.”

  “And we’re supposed to blow the cave entrance? Bury them inside?”

  Hood nodded. “So much for ‘Leave no man behind.’”

  “That’s pretty fucked up,” Mad Dog said. He shook his head. “I don’t buy it. No way did those camel-fuckers get the drop on them. Not with the tech they were using.”

  “Tech can fail. Maybe they walked past an iron deposit, something that fritzed their fancy augmented reality system. And don’t forget who they were going after. Maybe Doctor Tox cooked up some kind of nerve agent. Or perfected her monster juice. That’s probably why Phantom wants to seal the cave. And why he doesn’t want us to attempt to recover the bodies.”

  Mad Dog considered this and then swore softly. “Damn.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “You say that like we have a choice.” Hood sighed. “I’ll verify with the JOC, but I already know what they’re going to say.”

  “Jeff, we can’t just leave them in there. You don’t even know for certain that they’re dead. If they’re alive and we blow the entrance, then we’re the ones that killed them.”

  “It’s not our call, Dale.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Hood frowned. He knew exactly what his friend meant with that statement. Internal loyalty was one of the key drivers of success in the special operations community, and implicit in that was the knowledge that, no matter what happened, your brothers would move heaven and earth to bring you home. The Monster Squad might not have been part of the Unit, but they were still family.

  Mad Dog was right. If there was a chance that even one of them was still alive, then collapsing the cave entrance wasn’t an option. And if they were all dead, then they deserved to have their remains returned to their loved ones.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s dig out the pro-masks. I guess we’re going in.”

  ALTHOUGH THEY HAD all spent endless hours training for operations in CBRN—Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear—environments, none of Hood’s team had ever had cause to don their gas masks in a real-world combat scenario. Hood hated wearing his protective mask. It was hot and constricting—a regular face sauna. Breathing in one was a chore. It severely limited peripheral vision, and using them with NVGs was very nearly an exercise in futility. But the possibility of what might be waiting for them inside the cave was reason enough to stifle such complaints.

  The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that the Monster Squad had fallen victim to a chemical attack. Not only did it seem the likeliest explanation for how a handful of poorly equipped insurgents could have overwhelmed a better-armed, better-trained force of spec ops shooters, it also provided a plausible reason for Phantom’s refusal to even consider recovering the bodies. The remains were probably contaminated with whatev
er nerve agent Doctor Tox had cooked up, and too hot to justify risking more lives. Hood understood that kind of caution; in Phantom’s place, he might have given the same order.

  Even now, as they moved beyond the mouth of the cave, getting their first look at what lay beyond the scallop-shaped opening they had been staring at for the past two days, Hood questioned his decision. The masks would only provide protection against inhalation agents, and even then, they were not one hundred percent reliable. Since there had been little chance of encountering CBRN threats, they hadn’t bothered to bring along their MOPP suits, so if the toxic agent could penetrate clothing and skin, they were fucked. But that was a chance they were all willing to take. He hadn’t ordered his men into the cave; they had all volunteered.

  Before going in, Rollie had broken out their M256A1 Chemical Agent Detector Kit and deployed a sampler-detector to check for the presence of airborne nerve agents. After observing the test papers for several minutes, he’d raised one gloved thumb, and their journey into the underworld began.

  The subterranean darkness was absolute. The cool rock gave off no infrared radiation, and with a complete absence of ambient light for the NVGs to amplify, they were forced to switch on the built-in IR emitters. Though invisible to the unaided eye, the little lights blazed like tiny suns in the NVGs’ display, lighting the way ahead, albeit in sickly green monochrome.

  A narrow opening at the back of the larger recess led into a passage just wide enough for them to move single file, with Rollie taking point, followed by Mad Dog and Hood, with Bender bringing up the six. Hood would have preferred to take the lead, but Mad Dog had vetoed that idea, as was his prerogative. Ultimately, it didn’t matter, because after about fifty meters, the winding passage broadened to allow them to walk two abreast.

  The new passage, which sloped downward gradually, was too straight and uniform to be the work of natural forces. Hood recalled stories of the CIA spending millions to dig tunnels in the mountains for Mujahedeen fighters to use as a staging area for their insurgent war against the Soviet Union, and wondered if that explained the origin of this tunnel. If so, perhaps there was more to it than simply a remote mountain refuge for weary extremists.