Closure

by Ethan Jones

  “I’m getting out,” Javin said.

  Ali said, “No, wait—”

  But Javin had already thrown his rucksack over his shoulder. He pushed the door open, jumped out, and kept his rifle in a low-ready position, with the muzzle slightly down. He did not want to draw fire from the machine gunner or any other gunmen he might have missed.

  He had taken only five steps when a barrage erupted from the right.

  It was the rooftop gunman.

  The front of the SUV exploded in a million metal and plastic fragments. The bullets shattered the windshield, then the shooter turned his sights toward Javin.

  He had already taken a knee and had pointed his rifle at the gunman. Uncertain about the reason for the hostility and the fate of his teammates, Javin did not shoot to kill. He fired a couple of rounds, enough to send the shooter behind the parapet, seeking cover. If this shootout was to be explained away as a misunderstanding or someone being trigger-happy, he did not want to have taken some poor chap’s life all because of a mistake.

  Javin glanced at the SUV. Neither Ali nor Naveed made any moves. Javin cursed the turn of events, then bolted toward the house.

  As he reached the courtyard’s entrance, a gunman appeared inside the courtyard. He aimed his rifle at Javin, who shouted, “Drop it.”

  The gunman squeezed off a quick burst.

  Chapter Eight

  Kuhiya, seven miles northwest of Al-Abawia

  Southern Iraq

  Javin had already fallen behind the wall.

  The bullets struck the other side, lifting slivers from the cinderblocks, inches from his face.

  He glanced at the SUV as more bullets peppered it.

  Naveed crawled out, grasping at his chest. He was bleeding and gasping for air. He tried to reach Javin, but halfway Naveed gave up. He lay there, motionless.

  “Naveed, Naveed,” Javin shouted.

  A long barrage erupted from inside the courtyard. Bullets again thumped against the cinderblocks.

  “Naveed,” Javin shouted one more time.

  No answer, and Naveed did not move.

  Javin shook his head. Now it’s war.

  He heard footsteps approaching, so he backed away from the entrance.

  The move saved his life.

  A split second later, a rocket-propelled grenade punched a man-sized hole through the wall. Cinderblocks rolled next to Javin’s feet, while a storm of debris hit his back and side.

  He crawled toward the gap and aimed his rifle. Through the thinning dust cloud caused by the blast, he noticed the silhouettes of two gunmen approaching the entrance. Javin fired single rounds that hit them in the chest and legs. They both collapsed to the ground and lay still.

  Javin cast a sweeping gaze up and down the alley and all around him. No shooters, but shouts came from the distance. They’ll be here very soon.

  He climbed over the cinderblocks, bent at the waist. He advanced through the courtyard, swinging his rifle left and right, covering all angles. His eyes took in the door and the windows of the house.

  A gunman stepped out of the door.

  Javin squeezed off a quick burst, planting three bullets in the gunman’s chest.

  Someone returned fire from one of the windows.

  Thankfully, the shooter was a poor marksman. Bullets kicked up dirt around Javin’s feet, but did not hit him.

  Javin rolled on the ground and crawled toward a heap of construction debris piled up to the left of the door. He wanted to return fire but was worried he might hit Danyal.

  A man burst through the door and into the courtyard.

  Javin greeted him with two bullets to the head.

  Then everything went quiet, but for angry voices echoing from the alley.

  Time to go.

  Javin dashed toward the door. He stopped when he reached it and began to slice the pie—the tactic of clearing a corner slowly and carefully, starting as close as possible to the wall and moving out—as he advanced inside the house. He cleared the hall and the large room to the left.

  When he entered the hall, he saw the body of a gunman sprawled against one of the walls. He was no longer breathing. Is that Danyal? He wanted to call the Iranian, but the voice would give away Javin’s position. So he tiptoed carefully, trying to make no noise as he moved across the carpeted floor.

  A moaning came from the next room, about four steps away. Then a gasp and a curse, which sounded like Farsi.

  Javin listened for footsteps or other noises.

  There was nothing but the man’s groaning.

  Javin waited for another moment, then whispered, “Danyal, is that you?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m here.”

  Javin hurried toward the voice. He found Danyal slumped behind the door. A pool of blood had formed by his left leg. His left hand was pressed against a large wound on his thigh that was oozing blood. Danyal’s right hand held a small pistol. “Javin.”

  “Danyal, can you walk?”

  “No, I tried.”

  “Well, I’m getting you out of here.”

  “Where’s Ali and Naveed?”

  Javin shook his head.

  He lifted Danyal over the shoulder in the fireman’s carry. The Iranian operative was heavy even for Javin, who had no trouble lifting over two hundred pounds. He tried not to re-injure Danyal’s leg wound as he came to the door.

  Javin turned sideways and stepped into the hall.

  At the exact moment, a gunman appeared near the back of the house.

  Javin had anticipated the danger, so he fired a quick burst.

  The gunman also pulled the trigger as he dropped to his knees.

  His bullet slammed into Danyal’s swinging leg. An inch to the left, and it would have struck Javin in the chest.

  Danyal gasped in pain.

  Javin fired again, and the gunman collapsed to the floor. “You okay?”

  Danyal cursed the gunman. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Watch our back.”

  “Got it.”

  Javin hurried down the hall and came to the back door. He stopped for a moment and studied the small yard. There were no gunmen or anyone else. Shouting and cries came from beyond the wall, and they were getting closer.

  He crossed the yard and reached the back entrance. Javin placed Danyal on the ground for a moment, then unlatched the door and cracked it open. Then Javin stole a peek. A group of three gunmen were running toward the house, followed by another two.

  “We can’t go this way.” Javin shut the door and latched it. “Back to the house.”

  Danyal cursed the shooters again.

  Javin threw him over his shoulder as Danyal winced and panted. They were just entering the hall when loud banging came from the door. A moment later, an explosion shook the area.

  Javin did not look back and did not stop. He struggled with Danyal’s weight as his feet bumped against the walls and furniture. Javin raised his rifle and aimed it at the front door, expecting shooters to appear at any moment.

  And they did.

  He fired a couple of rounds at two gunmen who had just entered the courtyard. They fell to the sides, dead before they hit the ground.

  Javin hoisted Danyal higher up, as his body had slid because of the rush. Then they descended the stairs.

  They were now almost at the courtyard’s entrance. Javin looked behind. It was clear. The house seemed empty. So he neared the entrance and glanced around the corner.

  A gunman was standing about fifty yards away, looking away from the house. The truck was still there, about thirty yards in the other direction. No one was in the cab or positioned on that side of the alley.

  “We’re going for the truck,” Javin said.

  Danyal shook his head. “No, we have sensitive material in the SUV. We need it.”

  Javin quickly assessed the damage to the SUV. The front tires seemed intact, but he could not be sure of the engine. The SUV had taken a fierce pounding by the machine gun. He doubted it would run.


  “The truck’s the better option.”

  “No, no. We need the SUV.”

  “Stay here.” Javin dropped Danyal near the entrance. “Cover me.”

  Danyal nodded. “No one comes through that—”

  He aimed the pistol and double-tapped the trigger.

  A gunman who was bursting through the house’s door fell on his face a couple of feet away from the stairs.

  Javin pulled a fresh magazine from his chest rig and reloaded his M4A1 assault rifle. He looked back at the house, then at Danyal and said, “I’ll be back.”

  Chapter Nine

  Kuhiya, seven miles northwest of Al-Abawia

  Southern Iraq

  Javin stepped through the courtyard’s entrance and sprinted toward the SUV. Without Danyal weighing him down, Javin reached the SUV in a matter of seconds. No one shot at him.

  He stepped around Naveed, whose lifeless eyes were staring at the sky. What about Ali? Where is he? Javin looked inside the cabin. Ali was not there.

  Javin shrugged. Ali could be in any of the surrounding houses, had he survived the initial onslaught and the ensuing firefight. We just don’t have time. It pained Javin to not be able to search for their teammate. He hated leaving anyone behind. But Danyal was seriously wounded, and the gunmen were closing in. If they did not make their exit now ...

  Javin shook his head and the doomed thoughts: We’re not dying here. We’re not.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and started the SUV. The engine coughed and spurted to life.

  But only for a moment.

  Then it went dead.

  Javin tried again and got the same result.

  He cursed the SUV and tried a third time.

  It worked.

  Javin thanked God and stepped on the gas. He drove the SUV as close as possible to the entrance, then called to Danyal, “Let’s go, come on.”

  A couple of bullets whizzed right above Javin’s head.

  He slid down in his seat, then slipped out of the SUV. He turned his attention toward the gunman, who was crouched near a house corner fifty yards to Javin’s left. He tapped the trigger twice and sent two 3-round bursts at the gunman. At least one of the bullets struck the gunman in the head, and he collapsed to the ground.

  Javin stepped closer to the entrance.

  Danyal had climbed to his good leg and was leaning against the wall.

  Javin put his arms around the Iranian’s waist and half-lifted, half-dragged him toward the SUV. Javin opened one of the rear doors and placed Danyal in the seat. “Where’s the gun?”

  “Ran out of ammo.”

  “Take this.” He gave Danyal his assault rifle.

  Danyal shifted his body in the backseat and turned toward the back. “Let’s go, go, go.”

  Javin stepped on the gas. The Nissan SUV jumped forward, then slid to the right. Javin jerked the steering wheel, aiming for the first turn. The SUV entered it, and they faced a couple of gunmen running toward them.

  Javin’s hand went for the pistol in his ankle holster.

  Before he could open fire, Danyal squeezed off a long barrage, mowing down both gunmen.

  Javin’s ears rang, as Danyal had held the rifle close to Javin’s head. But he was not about to complain. He flattened the gas pedal, and the SUV bounced over the gunmen’s dead bodies. “Which way?”

  “Right, then straight ahead.”

  “What happened back there?”

  Danyal did not reply.

  Javin said, “You’ll have to tell me sooner or later.”

  “Let’s get out of here first.”

  A few bullets thumped against the side and the roof of the SUV.

  Javin yanked at the wheel and drove to the left, then swung to the right, to make the SUV a harder target. A moment later, he took a sharp turn. The SUV slid over the dusty road. The back hit the cinderblock wall. Javin lost control of the vehicle, which slid again, this time toward the other wall. He fought with the steering wheel and straightened the wheels. Then he stepped on the gas again, and the SUV continued straight ahead.

  They went past a block without anyone firing at them. Then they came to a checkpoint, but no one was around. Javin looked in all directions, but his eyes found no gunmen. Maybe they’re all running toward the house.

  He turned his head and realized that was not true.

  Not all the gunmen had vanished.

  One was standing right behind the SUV, at a distance of perhaps seventy yards. He was shouldering what resembled a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

  Javin shouted, “RPG, RPG.”

  Then he jerked the steering wheel.

  A split second later, the rocket-propelled grenade projectile whooshed a couple of feet away from the SUV. It left behind a trail of smoke, then it struck the wall of the nearest house. The explosion sent debris in the SUV’s path.

  Javin swerved and went around them. He drove through the dust and smoke cloud, then gunned the engine. The SUV flew through the checkpoint. Javin kept swerving left and right, praying no other rocket was going to be launched.

  Danyal laid a curtain of fire, squeezing off round after round until he emptied the assault rifle’s magazine.

  Javin looked over his shoulder.

  The road behind them was clear.

  He drew in an easier breath and sat up straighter and slightly more relaxed. Then he said to Danyal, “All right, we’re out of the village. What happened?”

  “An ambush happened.”

  “Yes, I gathered that much. What went wrong?”

  Danyal hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  Javin shrugged. “That’s your decision. I don’t know what else I can do to convince you.”

  They drove in silence for a long minute. Danyal seemed to be struggling with himself, perhaps even with his conscience, about whether to tell Javin or not. He shifted very uncomfortably and continuously shook his head.

  “How’s your leg?” Javin asked.

  “Bleeding, but I’m not going to die from it.”

  “Good. I’ll patch you up in a couple of minutes, once we know for sure we’re out of danger. Then, we’ll return to Al-Abawia, where you can—”

  “No, no, we can’t go back.”

  “We can’t move forward with our op if you’re seriously wounded. We’ll need new transport. Bakhtiar—”

  Danyal shook his head. “No, he can’t know about any of this.”

  Javin slowed down and turned his head. “Give me that.” He took the assault rifle from Danyal, then said, “Tell me what you’re hiding from Bakhtiar.”

  Danyal still hesitated.

  Javin said, “Look, if I don’t know what’s going on, I’m driving straight to Al-Abawia. Convince me that would be a bad idea.”

  Danyal cursed the turn of events, then leaned forward. “Recently, our enemy has known in advance about our operations. We suspect there’s a traitor in our ranks.”

  Chapter Ten

  Two miles northeast of Kuhiya

  Southern Iraq

  “And you’ve been sent out to find the traitor?”

  “Not exactly sent out.” Danyal shrugged. “Let’s say I took the matter into my own hands.”

  Javin recoiled at the answer. “Why? Bakhtiar didn’t strike me as someone who’d tolerate treason.”

  “You’re right. But Bakhtiar hasn’t been in this area very long. He doesn’t know the people, their ties to one another, their allegiances.”

  “But you do.”

  “Of course I do. I’ve worked in and out of Iraq and Syria for the last five years. The commander arrived three weeks ago.”

  “Did he start to look for the person giving away this intel?”

  “Yes, but it’s not working. We’re still being ambushed and losing fighters. It has to stop.”

  Javin nodded. “So you jumped in, since you have connections, right?”

  “Right. And that’s why we went to the village.”

  “Yes, to meet
the people you described as ‘friends.’”

  Danyal grinned. “You’ve never made a mistake?”

  “I make mistakes every day.”

  “So you understand, then?”

  “Yes, a misstep. Who were those people?”

  “Shiite militia, who I wrongly believed were true to our cause.” Danyal’s voice took on a bitter tone as he shook his head.

  “Did they know anything about the mole?”

  “What?”

  Javin realized the unusual word. He was speaking to Danyal in Arabic, but still thinking and using terms with familiar meanings to English speakers. “I mean the spy, did your contacts tell you anything?”

  “No. They made excuses about how difficult it is to find reliable information and asked for more money. When I refused, well, you saw what took place.”

  Javin nodded.

  “And we’ve lost two more men, brave men, Naveed and Ali,” Danyal said in a somber tone.

  “Naveed is gone for sure; I saw his dead body. About Ali ... he just disappeared.”

  Danyal frowned. “What do you mean ‘disappeared’?’”

  “What I said. After I heard the first shots, I got out. The SUV fell under heavy machine gun attack. I saw Naveed crawl out, shot and gravely wounded. Moments later, he died. But Ali ... I never saw him.”

  “He could have gotten out from the other side and escaped.”

  “It’s possible. How safe is the village?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Could Ali hide somewhere or with someone, or is the village hostile?”

  Danyal thought about it for a moment. “Well, until the firefight, we considered the Shiite militia ‘brothers.’ There are Sunnis living in the village, but most of the people are Shiite.”

  “What do you think are Ali’s chances of still being alive?”

  Danyal shrugged. “Not good. If he was wounded during the gunfire, he wouldn’t be able to go far. If he has been caught, we’ll hear about it.”

  “We’re not sending rescue?”

  “No, no one can know about our involvement.”

  “And when Bakhtiar hears about it?”